My four-year-old son wanted to wear his cowboy boots on his first day at his new school.
I said no, again, for reasons we’d already discussed. “You’re a bad mom,” he mumbled as he climbed into an empty box. His cowboy boots flew out of the box one at a time.
There wasn’t much to say to that, honestly. In Li’l D’s almost four weeks as a big brother, he’s been remarkably patient and sweet with two tired, grumpy parents who’d previously given him most their attention. He’s protective of his little brother anyway, practically growling at the pediatrician’s office as we drive by. “I won’t let them give him shots! I won’t!”
As we drove to his new school, I realized I was much more nervous than he.
He was enjoying a drive to school. I was thinking about Transitions-with-a-distinctly-capital-T.
He was excited for a new opportunity. I was thinking about new opportunities past, and how he no longer has a name tag on a desk at his old school. Read more…
I spent Monday evening crying while reading posts entitled things like, “I hated breastfeeding.” Reading them helped me feel a little less alone.
I breastfed my eldest for more than two years after a very rocky start. I enjoyed the experience after we’d gotten the hang of it, and fully expected to have the same exultant experience this time around.
My littlest one likes to move.
His dad and I have already learned to leave his feet and one arm out of his swaddle. If we don’t, he flails at the cloth until he’s freed himself.
I’d wonder where he gets it from, but I’m a mover, too. I like to move constantly while awake, which is challenging when I’ve been instructed to rest a lot and drive not at all.
At first, I sang through the pain.
By the end, I’d given up on singing. I was screaming, sobbing, and cursing, taking some comfort in knowing each surge of pain moved me closer to meeting my second child. The pain would pass and leave in its place a miracle.
And, indeed, ten years to the day after meeting my now-husband, I held our second child in my arms and rejoiced.
I really didn’t want an epidural. Read more…