So, everything is still kind of crazy Chez YLM. Tiddler is coming up to three months now and sleeping a miraculous five hour stretch every night, but somehow I'm still firmly entrenched in the baby bubble. My world has shrunk to an obsessive interest in baby poo and sleep cycles with no hope of parole. I thought I was different, that this being my third nipper I was past the baby bore stage. I was confident that giving birth would shift me effortlessly back into Me mode... I was so wrong.
Why is it that when you give birth some of your brain seems to be delivered along with that 7lb-something bundle of joy? Right now I'm operating somewhere left of Planet Idiot so fingers crossed I find my way back to Normal sometime this century. Ordinary conversation is beyond me. My mind (what's left of it) is stuffed full of fat baby thighs and the aroma of newborn poo. There isn't much room for anything else beyond remembering to buy milk and what day homework is due in. I keep trying to read improving books but my brain stutters if faced with anything more challenging than Hello magazine (and sometimes even then it's tricky to do more than look at the pictures). But I remember this zone from before and it's not forever, even if time seems to have warped to an odd foggy slo-mo.
But it's OK. Because this is my last baby and I'm determined to enjoy every moment, even the screaming chaos that comes with every twilight. Even the moments of ice-cold fear. And most of all, the smiles and the coos, and the sight of my three girls, big and small, cuddled up on my super-sized bed. Because one day, probably when they're all teenagers and hugely embarrassed by my very existence, I'll look back at this time and think how incredibly fortunate I am to have shared so many great moments with three lovely, lovely girls. Who cares about sleep deprivation and tummy blubber when you've got all that?
Why is it that when you give birth some of your brain seems to be delivered along with that 7lb-something bundle of joy? Right now I'm operating somewhere left of Planet Idiot so fingers crossed I find my way back to Normal sometime this century. Ordinary conversation is beyond me. My mind (what's left of it) is stuffed full of fat baby thighs and the aroma of newborn poo. There isn't much room for anything else beyond remembering to buy milk and what day homework is due in. I keep trying to read improving books but my brain stutters if faced with anything more challenging than Hello magazine (and sometimes even then it's tricky to do more than look at the pictures). But I remember this zone from before and it's not forever, even if time seems to have warped to an odd foggy slo-mo.
But it's OK. Because this is my last baby and I'm determined to enjoy every moment, even the screaming chaos that comes with every twilight. Even the moments of ice-cold fear. And most of all, the smiles and the coos, and the sight of my three girls, big and small, cuddled up on my super-sized bed. Because one day, probably when they're all teenagers and hugely embarrassed by my very existence, I'll look back at this time and think how incredibly fortunate I am to have shared so many great moments with three lovely, lovely girls. Who cares about sleep deprivation and tummy blubber when you've got all that?
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