Tonight after trying to get my 9 month old to bed for 2 hours, I walked in the kitchen and realized I was sincerely happy. Yes, I totally wanted him to go to sleep, but these moments that are so very chaotic are so shortlived. This is my last baby more than likely. I have grown so accustomed to short nights and long days, noise so constant feeling that it is like the whole world stops when it finally stops. To checking over your shoulder constantly because even though the house is baby proof, not as well the second time around, you know they will find that one thing and get into it.
You never imagine the fear you feel letting your kid go down the slide for the first time all by himself, and holy eff he might fall down from the top if I don't hold his hand or come down to fast and get hurt, but you stand back anyway and find yourself feeling so proud for something that seems so inconsequetial. Every first is like that, at least it is for me. My heart breaks if I think they might feel heartache or disapointment and I breathe because this is life and I can't shelter them from everything no matter how much I ache to.
These first few years that test your marriage and your sanity, they feel like forever until you realize you have an almost 4 year old and when did that happen?
One night after I had my first and way before the second, I sat on the couch and I found myself reminiscing of those nights that were dark and sleepy, getting up for the hundreth feeling time. I couldn't believe I missed it so much. I distinctly remember crying hysterically because He. Would. Not. Sleep. I was positive I was doing everything wrong already, not even a year old and I was messing everything up.
I am rambling. I am drunk on toddlers and babies and feeling complete and in love and enjoying it before they wake up and the battle for my sanity begins.
#Electryone