Honestly, I don’t know what to say anymore. Words exit after spinning in the revolving door of my brain.
It’s all good. So good.
But gathering the time and energy to say anything beyond that seems difficult.
We are basking in Lyric’s glow still. He starting smiling for reals at about 4 weeks and it brings me to sweet tears almost every time. There is some cosmic dust in a baby’s smile and I swear it’s beyond magic. It’s Euphoria, Utopia, Nirvana, Heaven, Chocolate, The Source. Whatchamacallit.
Life has been lovely and easy with three. Oh, my house is still a wreck each day but whatever. And, in this summer heat, I could totally live without loading three sweaty kids into a hot as Hades minivan, And my showers happen around 4pm, but at least I’m getting showers in (thankfully he likes the sound of the water). . But I’m anticipating much more, um, adventure as he grows. As my dearest three-mama MB said today “Ohhh, just wait until he’s crawling and suddenly you have kids going in three different directions”. Wine and chocolate – I’m stocking up.
He hates his carseat and cries even when he looks at it. So, this made for a very interesting two week road trip in which I perfected the “nursing while in carseat” gig; complete with me buckled in seat belt. I have bruises on my hips from the seat belt digging into me but hey, it calmed him down to have boob-on-tap while riding.
(He also refuses to take a bottle of breastmilk or a binky, which made the “nursing in carseat” option a shoe-in.)
Our little guy adores the spectacle that is his sisters. He sleeps best when they are rambunctious and circling round him with song. He thinks Indigo is his mama and I think she was his mama in another life. He turns towards her voice when she is near. She is tender and kind with him, mothering him in any moment I happen to not be.
Kaia wants to hold him and play with him but her excitement often morphs into a bit of roughness. She is learning and comes up with some ingenius contraptions for him, like this: (gives new meaning to “books on tape”)
He’s already attended two births with me and has two more coming up soon.
At 9 weeks, he has finally found his hands and is perfecting the thumb-sucking that he so frequently indulged in in my womb.
He has coarse, fine, wavy hair and sports the goofiest monk-like hairline, just like Indigo did.
Lyric likes being held, cozied in arms or resting his chubby cheeks upon your shoulder. He wants to sit upright and enjoys walking, rocking, and bouncing.
Wait, those last two sentences totally read like a cheesy personal ad.
He brings out my best giggle and is an every day mystery to me still. The cooing conversations we carry on make me all roly-poly squisy lovey ooey gooey mamamelt.
My words have been reduced to the very basic.
You are sleeping on my shoulder as I type this. How lucky am I? Your legs dangle to my hips already. How is this possible? The chair squeaks as I rock, the washer rumbles with clothes inside of it and your sleepy world sleeps on. Wow.
You remind me of the overarching joy in simplicity.
Your habit of sleeping with your ankles crossed. The sweet growling I hear as you slumber. Your instant happiness when naked. The way that contrasting light and shadows intrigue you. How you never refuse mamamilk as comfort.
I hope it’s not too much that I’ll be relying on your silky sweet love to help ease me through the transition of Kaia starting Kindergarten. I will watch her walk through brand new doors, my teary face hidden behind yours. I will stare at the table where she colors each day and hug you tighter. You will midwife me, as you have already done. Thank you for this gift. Through it, I come to know you deeply. In return, we will forge memories embedded like fossils in the bedrock.
Daddy and I stare at you and then hilariously fight over who gets to hold you next. You are that irresistible, my son. You are still so fresh, so new here, still on the brink of Here and There. And I see glimmers of womb-life in your eyes, that place of safety in which you grew to be YOU inside of ME.
We are silly together, Buddy Boo. You bring out my inner and outer silly. The one who jiggles the flub on my belly and shakes my saggy ass to the Renee & Jeremy station. The one who sings entire on-the-spot operettas to you and your sisters while driving. The one who seriously loves to gently pick and scrape your cradle cap off. I want us to be silly together until the end of my days.
You are my sweet pea. So stinkin sweet. You hold my heart in your wide, useful hands.
You are a third baby. What does that mean?
- It means you get double the love from two older sisters!
- It means we are less anxious and nervous than we were the first time around
- t means we “get” this baby thing
- Instant playmates and entertainment
- It means I can function somewhat normally on interrupted sleep
- And that I don’t bat an eye at baby poop and breastmilk and spit up and mile high dirty laundry piles
- You are held in arms, or carried in a wrap, way more (out of both necessity and desire)
- My cleavage chasm is much deeper and catches tons more spit up
But it also means this:
- Towels used as blankets
- Dirty clothes used as spit up rags
- Diaper changes on the floor instead of a changing table
- Nursing (dangling) from the boob as I chase down your fighting sisters
- Sleeping through a cacophony as opposed to Bach
- Pretty pink blankets
- Cat naps
- You are growing too fast
I love you so much, precious Lyric, for coming as our third. It takes a special person to fill such a big, welcome, and ready space. You get better, and better, and better.
Love – Pure and Simple,