I did not realize that this sweet boy of mine would sleep less than his 3 year old sister, would come out of the womb already teething, set his schedule of never going to bed before midnight, or need to be held, walked and bounced 75% of the time. The amount of time my arms are free is close to none. I pictured Penelope and I playing on the floor while Hank sat happily on his rug, but nope, that's not how it goes. At all.
Penelope and I did manage to steal a minute for ourselves last week. Hank actually slept, so we made banana bread and sat down to do our own activities. I started a new hat for Bruce and Penelope colored and traced things from her book. It was beautiful. I thought if these moments happened every now and then, I would be happy. Our moment was cut short when I went to the bathroom and checked on Hank in the other room. When I arrived back in the sunroom 2 and half minutes later, Penelope had joyfully informed me of how she 'cut the tail' for me. My mouth dropped to the floor when I realized she had pulled out my scissors, cut the working end of my yarn and pulled out quite a few rows of stitching. Those precious moments I had just had to myself, enjoying each stitch I had made, were gone. I tried to pick up all the dropped stitches but there was just too many.
(the hat before it met it's demise)
Tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn't really going to cry over this, was I? But I did. Penny just smiled, patted my back and said "It's okay mommy, just be happy, ok?". I had to laugh a little, and told her I was just fine. But it hurt. It hurt letting go my expectations. I should have known! Babies change everything, I thought I had prepared myself for the worst. I guess not.
(I put him down for a moment just to get some pictures of them together. He cried as soon as he left my arms. Sorry for snapping away anyways, bud).
This week is a new week with it's own set of challenges and I'm just focusing on letting all of my expectations go. If I get to eat lunch today, I will be happy. If the pile of laundry on my dining room table gets even an inch shaved off of it, I will be happy. If I can read a single page of a book, I will be happy. If my mom comes over and comments on the state of my house, I will smile through the pain and anger, and know it's because I've been caring for my children. Penelope has been adapting well, realizing I might not be able to get on the floor and use both hands to zoom her train around, but I can nurse Hank and read her a book at the same time. I can take her outside and watch her run. If she can adjust, so can I.