The Schlep.

Three days ago I finally got the hell out of my house. I think a lot of you were right--that six weeks thing was a little excessive, and now that I look back on it I don't even know if my doctor meant six weeks before we go into public, before we go into crowds, or before we go insane. I think the excessiveness might have had a little to do with post-H1N1 hysteria or something.

Even though I've had a few outings here and there since her birth--to her doctor's appointments and mine, for example, it took four weeks for me to work up the courage to start really incorporating my baby into my daily life and to take her with me alone, without help schleping the mass of stuff that comes along with a baby. Without backup on standby if she throws a fit. Making a four-week-old fit into a 23-year-old's life is easier said than done.

So. The schlep. I've found since having Adelyn that a lot of Yiddish words are suddenly becoming staples in my vocabulary. And since most of the people around me didn't grow up watching Seinfeld instead of Barney or with a stereotypical Jewish grandma around, I have to explain myself quite often.

Merriam-Webster's defines "schlep" as the process moving especially slowly, tediously, or awkwardly. Or--and these are my words, not Merriam's--living with a newborn.

It took me two hours to leave the house on that first outing. And our destination? Walgreen's. To pick-up a prescription for Vitamin D because my doctor just informed me I'm incredibly deficient since giving birth. My Jewish grandma would have been so proud.

Leaving the house alone with a newborn, it turns out, takes a great deal of patience and finesse, both of which I've been lacking the past four weeks.

By the time we got in the car, Adelyn was crying (after being fed, burped, changed, rocked, sang to, held, kissed and pleaded with). I was crying. But dear God we were going to go to Walgreen's to pick up my prescription by ourselves, without the help of her dad or any grandparents, if our lives depended on it.

Ten minutes into the car ride, Adelyn stopped crying. (I eventually did, too.) It's been freakishly cold in Tennessee this month, so I'd bundled her up more than her poor little body probably appreciated and put her into my Baby K'tan and walked into Walgreen's.

That first moment--stepping into public with my baby, alone--is one I'll never forget. I'm one of those people that is always acutely aware of everyone and everything around me. And I was just waiting for reaction. It felt a lot like walking into public wearing a wig. A pink one. With a bunch of brightly colored feathers adorning the top. I was just waiting for everyone to look as weirded out by me, with a baby, as I felt. I also have a tendency to over-think everything. And that reaction never came, as I'm sure you've guessed.

I felt so good by the time we got back into the car that we decided to make an impromptu visit to Adelyn's grandparents house. And since that first trip, we've been out every day.