4 Weeks

Hope is 4 weeks old today.

4 weeks. That seems so hard to believe. In my mind we’ve only just come home from the hospital but really we’re already one month in. Because I am too tired and fried to write more thoughtfully, here are some brief snippets about what I’ve learned so far:

Eating chocolate will not make the baby stop crying. So I really need to stop eating chocolate every time she cries.

That sleep deprivation and waking up every 2 hours does not get any easier the third time around.

That the community of family and friends that we are fortunate to be surrounded by are filled with far more love, kindness and generosity than we will ever be able to repay.

That all of my babies are born inexplicably nocturnal.

That mother in laws can be awesome. Even when the kids are crabby because she’s helping and she’s not their mommy and even when I’m crabby because she’s helping and she’s not my mommy, she just shows up. And folds our laundry. And cooks us dinner. Even when we are all crabby and exhausted and she’s getting sick herself. Awesome.

That pancakes count as a meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

That I can go from feeling like I totally have this mother of 3 thing down to having no idea at all what I’m doing in a span of about 60 seconds.

That I can prepare breakfast for four, cook an entire chicken dinner, eat salad, fold laundry and kiss boo boos and apply band aids, all while cradling the baby in one arm. Will have massive Popeye-esque bicep by 4 months.

That whenever you bring a new baby home, it creates the illusion that your other children have aged like 10 years in the span of 5 days. When the hell did they get so old and mature and big? #missingmyotherbabies.

That whatever you say to your spouse at 2AM should not be held against you during regular normal human time.

That no matter how cranky and crabby and tired she’s making me, when she looks up at me at 4AM with her big eyes and I feel her hot breath on my neck as she curls up against me, she is pure love.

That hot showers and k cups can make almost everything better in the light of day.

That half a beer or glass of wine can make almost everything better at the end of the day.

That nothing is better than hearing the garage come up and the pitter patter of feet running toward daddy. Who is more excited that he is home – me or them?

That for some reason more and more each day I am amazed that this body, which still feels swollen and sore and lumpy and battered gave me these three people. Whether it ever reconfigures itself to fit back into my jeans, I will always be humbled that it was somehow able to safely usher these three ridiculous, insane, loving, wonderful redheads into my life.

That those extremely rare moments when I am not doing something for someone or completing a task amongst the endless list of chores that never get done, when for one 30 minute stretch everyone is sleeping and I am alone with my thoughts and my third cup of coffee for the day; these moments are heaven. They may be brief but they are mighty and restorative.

4 weeks, small steps. Nap time before the next feeding. In my stretchy pants and makeup-less exhausted face, I am fueled by pure love and caffeine. I am the portrait of new motherhood.