Sometimes my husband makes jokes about trying one more time for another boy and I just can’t hide my disdain for the idea.
I love our family the exact size it is now. What, with like a total of 4 people? I pretty much forget how many kids I’m actually in charge of. It boggles the mind that my body has been a vessel for getting no less than 5 little souls into this world. I’m honored and also, terrified. While I’ve successfully screwed up more than a few times with more than a few of them, I hope I can manage to steer my kids to a semi-decent path which they then navigate all by their lonesome, cause I can barely handle taking more than 2 steps on my own most days.
There have been a few challenges adjusting to big family life, specifically with Arbor and the new baby. For the most part, she’s taken really well to big-sisterhood. And then there are those moments where Arbor comes directly into a room and bops Lucy on the head with a closed fist for no apparent reason.
We’re figuring it out.
Breastfeeding a newborn with a two-year-old watching is fun and interesting. I read all the articles and gleaned all the wisdom, hoping to help Arbor understand and appreciate how a mother can feed a baby with her body. I used proper terminology and discussed the process in a nonchalant manner–this is nature’s way, this is no big deal, this is easy, mommies do this all the time–and now?
“Mommy! Are you feeding Wucy with your breasts? Is those your breasts? Why you got ugly breasts? Are you making milk in your breasts? I got milk in my breasts? I feed Wucy? Is that milk on your shirt you make with your breasts? Mommy! Come quick! Put your breasts in the baby’s mouth! Wucy needs to eat your breasts!”
Arbor has breasts on the brain and no conversation is safe from (LOUD) boob-talk. I probably can’t take her out in public for a while.
Not that I want to go out in public–I love being at at home cuddled up with my family, but the thought of taking my weepy, sweat-pouring, breast-milk-leaking self more than five minutes away from the quiet comfort of my couch works me smooth into a downward spiral of post-partum anxiety. The past three weeks have finally caught up and I just now realized that–holy crap–I gave birth recently. Also–holy crap–the last five years happened and is this my life?