Bear with me. This post has been a long time in coming. Stick with me as I ramble, or check out my fb page if you struggle with staying focused... :)
Colson is 6 weeks old. The baby that I carried for nine months, that I felt would never come...is now a month and a half old. I am still amazed at how quickly time has passed.
Labor is still fresh in my mind and at the same time a blur. My water broke at 1 a.m., 1:05 a.m. to be exact. A complete surprise. My first clue that labor was here. By the time we had finished packing our bags and I had showered, contractions were 2 minutes apart and I was fighting (and losing the fight) to keep my composure through each one. My poor townhouse neighbors.
We arrived at the hospital at 3:30 a.m., and my eyes stayed closed almost entirely from the moment I arrived in the delivery room until Colson was here, a mere 1 hour later. After Colson was born, a nurse said something about the labor. I asked her- Oh, were you here for that? She laughed at me. Yes, I was.
My labor was 3 1/2 hours long. Wonderful, some say, and I would have thought it beautiful had I not experienced it. The transitions of labor that I had experienced over the course of 12 hours with my other boys came within 3 1/2 hours. A train barreling down...no chance to catch my breathe...Colson was here, and I was shaking with the intensity of the last few hours. Exhausted, drained...but then there was Colson. What joy!!
Colson has been such a blessing. A head of black hair- unique. His features- unique. Like ours, yet all his own. He cries, fills his diaper, smiles, rolls over...He is like my other boys, but I have forgotten so much of this stage. Each development is new. Each stage leaves me remembering what I had forgotten.
3 children. 3 boys. The transition to this new number has been huge, a larger jump than when Asher arrived. Suddenly I feel like a mom, and the craziness that I heard about and thought I understood is now a reality. Chaos. Fatigue. A simple lack of time to fold the load of laundry that was in the middle of the living room...for two days. A return of energy, making me feel like I had pre-pregnancy, and yet realizing that every bit of this energy is required of me throughout the day. More laundry, more activity, more...more...more.
The urgent is what is required of me right now. Diapers. Meals. Tears wiped. Clothes folded. Toys picked up. Books read to listening ears. Baths given. Kitchen cleaned...and so much more. To expect more of myself, to walk in guilt for the extras that are being neglected, is something I have to let go. To refuse to walk in.