With a seven-week-old baby in the house (and office), everything I do I do with one hand or I don’t do it at all: dishes, laundry, meal prep, purchase order processing, negotiations with banks and contractors, eating, typing… everything, really.
I don’t know how it happened, but we are really, extremely, painfully busy this summer. Between soccer, preparations for kindergarten (school bar-be-que, evaluations, conferences, oh my!), buying a new warehouse, Tony’s masters classes, and keeping the laundry done and the dinners made, I don’t have a moment to myself. Oh, yeah, there’s an infant vying for my attention, too.
When it’s not overwhelming, it’s perfect. When I’m not struggling exhaustedly to make it through the day, I truly enjoy snuggling my Freddie and smelling his head and his sweet baby breath. When I’m not weeping about how I will never, ever get to hold a baby of mine ever again after Freddie, I’m smiling about how lucky I am to hold a baby of mine in my arms for the third time.
When I’m not pulling my big kids apart to keep them from bloodying each other’s noses, I’m marveling at how well they play together. When I’m not shouting at them for being total assholes, I’m tearing up because they are so loving and sweet.
“Mommy, Freddie LOVES me.”
“Mommy, I’m done holding Freddie now.”
It’s up and down, it’s total chaos, it’s sleep-deprived madness, but we’re happy. Most of the time.
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