I began this blog just over two years ago. It really started as a simple way to capture some of the adventures in parenting that I was sure to forget. How rapidly one stage slips into another and within weeks you can barely recall that once you could balance your child on your forearm, cup his head in your hand.
But the past seven weeks have been harder than I imagined. It has given me neither a moment to post anything nor the desire to capture much of it. Don't get me wrong. Jack has peachy cheeks and I love him despite the crying, but he does a fair amount of the latter and it doesn't do much for the nerves. Jack's arrival coincided with Max developing a rash that the doctors thought might be chicken pox. For 24 hours we tried a crazy kind of quarantine that would have been totally ineffective if it had been necessary. We were lucky, then, that Max actually had a poison ivy rash. The quarantine was lifted but the sleep deprivation set in and when there are two other children demanding your time and energy, it takes you to new and strange lands. For one, it sends your anxiety levels through the roof. It also rubs away at your patience. Let's just say, the past few weeks have not had me demonstrating motherhood at it's best. Throw in breastfeeding worries, worries galore, a bout of mastitis, trying to buy a house, kindergarten tours with or without a babe in a sling, kindergarten application forms and interviews (so, tell me, what do you see as your child's particular strengths, talents, and weaknesses?) and Jack's vocal gymnastics and I can't say I'm having much fun.
I realise all these things are a mere inconvenience when you consider there are parents keeping vigil in the pediatric ICU. I know I am lucky. And knowing that, makes me try to focus on what I really do want to remember; like the rare and fleeting smile Jack gave me from his cot the other morning, or the way Oli likes to hold Jack's hand while he sucks his thumb, as if Jack is his very own raggy.