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Sunday, March 19, 2017

one year

This baby.

A week ago.

One year old.

I just. I just can't even.

He is gorgeous. So tiring. Funny. Sweet. Tenacious (where oh where does he get that from?) He is non stop joy. Also non stop action.

And here he is. One year old. In all his blue-eyed glory.

What a busy year it has been. Meetings and traveling. Three different living situations. More meetings. Nursing in the ergo, WHILE in meetings, and while teaching for that matter.

I woke up, the night before he turned one, rolled over and saw him asleep next to me and, kid you not, starting sobbing. The year. That precious first year. Is over. And I, I was in so many meetings, and was so stressed out, and it was so hard moving here, and maybe I missed it, maybe I didnt drink in enough of his baby sighs, his coos, his gurgles. And I wanted to give him the perfect year, and I want him to have the perfect house to live in and a settled happy farm life childhood and what if I screw it up? What if we can't give him all that? And now he is so big, and (I sobbed this at husband through tears - of course I woke him up to sob) and soon he will be five years old and arguing with me about having candy before dinner and I just can't even.

And I have no answer. No wise words. Except that I love him, so dearly, but I know, from the third baby experience, that drinking in baby's coos and gurgles to an extreme - feeling that was ALL I was supposed to do, ALL I was supposed to be - pushed me into a dark place, a place that I dont want to go again, a place that does NOT help me be the best mother I can be.

So. This time around it has been different. And the guilt is still there, the questions. Am I enough, doing enough, loving enough, noticing enough. And then there are three more little bodies to care for, listen to, talk with, and it is so so different. And I am older, more knowing of how quickly it goes by, how precious the days are.

So yes.

I drink in the moments. I push the frontiers out, of what my mothering experience is, how I do it, as it were. And I look at him, at his ten year old big brother sitting next to me, and I think. Probably, most likely, from all evidence thus far, I actually am doing okay-ish at this gig - this world of motherhood.

Probably. All evidence points to "okayish!"

And ten year old creates play lists on Spotify, picking "jams" I do in fact heartily agree with in terms of musical jam quality, and I think. Yes, then. Okayish.

And I am good with that.

opening birthday presents. no matter. mom has that camera thing. I LOVE THAT THING

mom i want that thing

i am super cuuuuuuute. GIVE IT TO ME.

i am coming. TO GET IT.


i just. cant. even. the cuteness. i die.



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