6/22 I’m writing this with my newborn son on my shoulder. It’s been one week, two hours, and seventeen minutes of me being a mom of two. He’s perfect, and I’m faking normalcy.
7/27 My baby is now 6 weeks and 1 day. We’re side by side in the backseat of a car. We took a mini vacation to Memphis. It was challenging. It was an adventure. We’re in the last hour of the drive, he’s tired of the car seat, he wonders why I’m not taking him out of it, and I’m typing this with one hand while I hold his pacifier with the other.
But, he’s absolutely perfect. He’s happy and curious most of the time, but he screams his head off when he’s hungry. And, he expects his pacifier to be available 100% of the time. Doesn’t matter if he wants it. He wants it to be available. We have 6 pacifiers. He’s training me well. Again, I’m holding his pacifier in his mouth this moment.
I’m madly in love. I’m mother to 2 beautiful boys, 13 years apart, and almost identical twins. My heart is full. I can barely contain my happiness, even during 3A feedings and poop filled diapers. Life is good. I’m very blessed.
I can’t seem to wrap my mind around what’s happened in the last year. The break up. The pregnancy. The baby. Nothing was part of the plan. I give up.
And, I don’t give up in a negative way. I give up making decisions regarding love. I give up being sure of anything. Because my happiest moments were being single and open to whatever happened. I was free.
Right now, I don’t want to be a wife, or a fiancé, or a girlfriend. I just want to have a few dates, eventually. I just want a handful of compliments and a few conversations a week. It’s easy, and it lacks decisions.