This whole have a second baby thing, not what I thought it would be. I thought this time I would be more organized. I thought nothing would take me by surprise. I thought that I may not be as wonder struck this time around, I was wrong.
I am just as powerless to Tate's charms as I was to Turner's. My delusional plans to keep getting things accomplished during nap time are a joke. Just as I laid on the couch and stared at my son, I now lay on the couch and stare at my daughter. I thought I would put her down and go do the mom stuff that I need to get done. Well I still get my mom duties checked off. But I do it while wearing baby girl in a sling so we still get to be cuddled up right next to each other.
While my mother-in-law was here she kept dropping little nuggets of advice. For example: Set her down, there is no reason to hold her so much. Don't get up with every cry, teach her to get herself settled back down. Etc etc. This is in no way bad advice, just not for me. It suited her while raising five boys. But as long as my back can bear the load, I will continue to pick up both my children as much and as often as I can. It will only be one or two more blinks of an eye and they'll be as tall as me and not wanting for mom to carry them. As for when they cry out, they need only do it once cause I'll always get up and see what they need.
Turner cried at midnight one day last week. I was bleary eyed and not too awake when I stumbled into his room. He wasn't fully awake either and I probably could have ignored him and he'd have drifted off back to sleep without any reassurance from me. But I did get up and go in his room to ask him what was wrong. My sweet baby said in a raspy dream heavy voice "Mommy, there are rollie pollies in my hair". I had to stifle a laugh. I brushed his hair off, then brushed the unseen rollie pollies from his pillow. He laid his head back down and was asleep. Now if I had chosen to just let him cry out and settle himself back to sleep I would have missed the chance to know what angels dream about.
I realize that new babies are a lot of work, but I have never been happier being this dog tired. Tate is one month old today. She has already changed so much. She loves baths. She is starting to smile, but only at Papa. She gazes at Turner with such concentration that I can not wait for her to be able to tell me what she sees.
Delirium is fun. Being a little wacky from sleep deprivation is a state I don't mind residing in. I make myself laugh. Yesterday I told Turner that I put his breakfast in the pool, I meant the living room. The look on my boy's face was priceless, mom has lost it.
I still think Brad and I were meant to do this together. His sense of humor keeps me lifted, he helps with out me asking, and the only thing better than looking at my two babies is getting to watch them with the person I made them with.
There are times when life is less than glamorous. Yesterday Turner was sick. I was up at five am changing sheets and disinfecting his room. Then at seven when he wanted oatmeal I fed it to him. After he finished eating he turned to me and threw up. I caught what I could in my hands, then let him spew what was left right into my bath robe. Hey, it kept it off the furniture. After clean up round number two I had to change Tate's diaper for the seventy fifth time. While I had her tush lifted making sure everything was clean she sneezed and shot poop onto my clean shirt and pants. But even after a morning spent smelling like poop and vomit I was still smiling. I love being the one who is there for them. I love taking care of my kids. I love my husband for buying me a nice washing machine. So if I can keep grinning on the days that literally "blow" and are "shitty", don't you wish you were me on the days when everything smells like roses?
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