Balin, my darling baby boy, will be 3 months old next week. I almost feel I must make some banana cupcakes or ladyfingers to celebrate.We made a damn adorable baby. He's quite observant of Arthur and watches him play. Someday he'll make a great tag-a-long. He smiles when I sing to him even though I'm tone deaf and pitch deficient. He loves finger games. He's in no happier place than a lap watching the action. He's taken to grabbing his penis when he's being changed. (When I asked Arthur if he taught Balin to do that, a mischievous smile appeared on his face and he said, "yes.")
It's a wonderful feeling knowing that Balin is thriving because the last couple of weeks have been particularly stressful. I'm tired, so very tired of not getting a good night's sleep. I crave a full 6 hours straight - even 4 hours would be heaven! - and my bed back to the original trinity: myself, Robinson, and the cat, with Balin nestled peacefully in his own bed.
As I bounced Balin for the umpteenth time today, I found myself muttering, "Patience, patience, patience..."
Oh Goddess are babies exhausting. I don't know how some people have such large families. I struggle with my two youngsters daily. Of course, both are under 5.
I need a nanny. Or a grandma who lives closer.
Blessed be.
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