So I sit here now. This bundle in my arms. As the 9yr old boy skims the pool, the girls arguing over who gets what floatie.
In the past, post baby, I have found myself in a crisis of identity. No longer "lady expecting a baby" who am I now? What is there to look forward to??
Not this time though. I feel, now, solidly myself. This woman, with a baby, and three other kids, getting on with the business of living. Yes it's a more chaotic life at the moment. Yes I lose my shit still at silly things (no seriously just PICK UP THE PLAY DOUGH!) But, I know things will settle out, settle down.
And it will happen so quickly. And these newborn days, these days of The Last Baby, will be gone.
I find myself holding each moment out to look at it, examine it. Remember.
The tiny fleshy feet to kiss. The sweet newborn breath to smell. The tiny sighs after greedily nursing, my own little suckling pig. His look of delight as he watches the smiling cooing faces of his big sister.
And the 9 yr old dumps a scooped up slug from the net at his screeching sisters feet and I remember his tiny sighs, his sweet breath, his bitty fleshy feet, marveling now at his strong tanned arms, his quick retorts, his complex emotions.
So quickly. I am reminded. It goes so quickly.
And I look down again in my arms at this bitty boy, wondering who he is, who he will become, but reveling in his quiet tiny sighs, for now content in his mamas arms.