I'm sure I'm not the first, nor will I be the last mother to wonder if I actually suck at this.
Am I playing with him enough? Am I feeding him the right amount? Does that face mean he's still hungry or is he just remembering what it's like to eat? Am I dressing him comfortably? Should I put him to bed earlier? Is this fabric softener causing his skin to dry out? Will I ever sleep soundly again?
I answer the voice in my head: "I think so, now please piss off because you're stressing me out."
I mean, if I'm getting this wrong, he'd be screaming persistently or failing to thrive or calling Bob Crow or Jimmy Hoffa or whoever runs the squidgy boy union or something, right? But I get babble, coo, smile, cuddle, poo, short-scream-resolved-with-bottle. (The last bit works on adults too.) These would seem to indicate a happy, content little man. So I guess we're doing ok for now. Guess I'll have to pack that voice in a box and ship it off to Timbuktu. Or Boise, Idaho. Or Mitt Romney's house.
I was also recently wondering when to anticipate the return of Aunt Flo. Upon Googling I learned that breastfeeding can delay this indefinitely. I may just have to keep expressing through menopause.