I live on a largish island,
with my husband, our cat, and our tiny baby boy.
Irrationally afraid of going to bed in case it wakes up the baby, who is finally asleep for a minute. A congested 5 week old is so damned depressing - he doesn’t understand why he can’t breath through his snotty little nose. So he screams. And the only thing to calm him is milk. Which backs up in his snotty pipes and ends up coming back out his nose with more snot. Repeat forever.
Maybe I’ve forgotten what it was like over the past month, but right now I would happily go through labour again to make Armand’s head cold go away. He keeps waking up, coughing and sputtering mucus and/or screaming. I’ve got him sleeping on an incline on a pillow in my lap, but fuck, I’m exhausted and need sleep to get over my own cold. I don’t think Yan slept at all last night, dealing with babe, so letting him get at least an hour now. Very not excited about the welcome baby party at my mom’s later today.
He is going to be a big boy. Poor tiny Emma is alway going to be the short one in the group.She’s going to end up getting his hand-me-downs some day, hahaha. Just terrible. <3 Give Emma a hundred birthday kisses for me! I’m glad I got to watch her grow over this past year - it helps gently dash my hopes that Armand will stay tiny forever and reminds me that children only become more wonderful as they grow. <3 <3 <3