This week has been a blur.Mostly a blur borne of sleep deprivation, chocolate deprivation, and too many appointments. I still managed to workout every day, but that is it as far as "free time" (haha - What is that?) goes.
There are many points during the day when I think to myself, please nap time come quickly! Those points usually come as I am reiterating for the 114th time that "no, we are not watching Barney" or breaking up a fight over a plastic fork for the play kitchen - never mind that there are three other identical plastic forks up for grabs.
Yet, somewhere in the midst of it I came to the realization that the days are going by way too quickly. I was sitting on the couch, holding Graham and talking nonsense to him in the typical over-animated baby voice, when suddenly I am crying. Like tears streaming down my cheeks crying.
What is wrong with me? And then it happened two more times!I was just looking at his sweet face, realizing that we won't ever again have a baby this small, and there they were: tears. Later that night all five of us were up in the girls' room. We had been reading books and the girls were dancing around the room to music playing from Jared's phone. Avery bent down and picked up her doll, gave it a kiss, and slow danced with it for all she was worth. Her sweetness and innocence just choked me up.
Our babies are getting so big!Jared saw me crying, shook his head and went back about his business with the wiseness of a man who has endured his wife being pregnant three times.
We had decided that Graham was going to be the last one before we even knew it would be a Graham and not a Blair/Paige/Lainey (okay, Jared didn't like Lainey but I was holding out hope). A 4th baby wouldn't be very wise in many ways. But it still feels bittersweet to pack up the tiny clothes he has outgrown and see firsthand all the ways he is growing and changing. It seems to happen overnight.
I want to make sure I am soaking up all this baby-ness.
Amid all the sleeplessness nights (still!) I am trying to remain positive because I won't get to do this again. I enjoy his snuggles in bed with me, even if they are more like jabs and kicks, because I won't get to do this again. I smile and hold him close as he eats for hours every evening because I won't get to do this again. I breathe in his sweet baby scent because I won't get to do this again.
With the last two, when my heart was aching with the thought of my baby growing so big, I could console myself with the promise of another future tiny baby bundle to love. That isn't the case this time.
I think I am starting to reach the acceptance stage, the one where I finally come to the realization that while I won't feel little baby fingers wrapped tightly around mine forever, the promise of finger paintings and school plays and birthday sleepovers and family vacations is pretty sweet, too.
It doesn't stop me from feeling sad sometimes though, or worrying that I am not doing enough to remember every little moment.
Most of the time I feel like I have to "look good" (which in mom-speak means not covered in baby spit and maybe -just maybe- some eyeliner was applied) to take a picture. But I realize that is dumb. Because this is the mama he knows and looks at every day: the mama in a nursing cami and sweatpants who hasn't touched her straightener in a few weeks. He isn't going to look back at his photo albums and think, Man, would it have killed her to put on a nicer shirt? (Or at least I hope he doesn't!)
So we had ourselves a little impromptu photo shoot.
Oh my little Grahamy, you are getting so big...