Last night was a busy night.
That’s right. I’m measuring time and output in a new metric these days. Biscuit consumption. A heavy night’s work equals nothing but crumbs left by morning.
Before I run the risk of sounding like a crazed comfort eater, let me explain. There’s a reason for all this fat and sugar intake other than the fact that it’s plain yummy!
A tiny new bundle of joy recently arrived in our lives. It takes a lot of energy to power him, but he’s worth every calorie.
His name is Joey (hereafter referred to as Baby J).
Just on two weeks ago our third child, our second boy, our ‘God gives even more’ blessing, Baby J, arrived into this world, into our arms, into our house, nestling his way into the tiniest crevices of our hearts.
And we are now a family of five! Five?!?
|In the delivery suite with Baby J|
I can guarantee that had I hazarded a guess at the direction our lives would take even a year ago this would not be it. This is a monumental plot twist, the sort of surprise story turn that you never see coming. I often wonder, in my drastically under-slept state, if I’m in fact sleep walking through some sort of dreamscape.
Three children… where for a long time we thought we might not have any.* And yet even as I write this, I am aware time is already passing. Each minute, each hour, Baby J is a little bit older, a little bit more a part of our world. A little bit more normal. And with his growth, so too all this newness, this heightened awareness of life and its wonders and surprises, is passing too.
I am simultaneously scared this time will pass too quickly —that we will blink and he will be a curious crawler, a wild toddler, a chat-back preschooler — and that it will last forever, one long day-night of feeding-changing-settling, catching sleep in illusive fragments, waking to face lively older siblings, stumbling around half-blind in the sunlight. And praying we can make it through these heady, rocky times.
And then I look into his face. As he feeds chin pointed up at me like an offering. Or sleeps in his little bed, looking impossibly small (even though he was, by measurement standards, big), his little pursed lips making sucking motions in what I imagine to be his baby dreams. Those black-turned-blue eyes, in shape so like his sisters, wide and long, yet still so new to the world and light and us newborn-eyes, impossibly wise, and innocent all at once. I’m filled with indescribable …love. And I feel incredibly, impossibly, vulnerable.
And it’s clear I’m in another dimension. The newborn zone. A form of exile from everyday life, where every emotion, sensation, moment, feels heightened.