I can't believe it.
My baby, my Spawnling, who it seems hatched from his pod only yesterday...
My third and most likely final child, my iddy bitty chubmeister in all his rolls of happy fatness...
Is four weeks old today.
Someone at the Tim Hortons asked me how old he was. I said 'four weeks today.'
She said 'Wow! Already a month old.'
Visions of launching myself over the counter and stuffing her mouth full of fresh, gooey donuts did cross my mind. However, I showed incredible restraint and instead replied 'Not quite. He'll be a month old on the 12th'
And the Oscar for Best 'Way to quibble over semantics, you freaky bitch' look goes to... The Tim Hortons Coffee Wench!
Thankfully, she wasn't there to witness the 'Let's not age him, ok? He's three weeks and six days old' that came out of my mouth more than once at a housewares party last night.
Stop rolling your eyes, reader of stupid blog posts. You don't understand the snowball effects that are likely to occur in this situation. This is my third child and I know how this works now. First, we count sweet little newborn hours, which all too quickly turn into days. Before we know it, days turn into weeks. I'm ok with weeks, because they're still so new and fresh and cuddly.
But then weeks turn into months. It's time to start panicking, because very soon there are too many months to count and we lose track. Then it's years. By then it's all over. By the time you start counting in years, they're learning how to throw tantrums and talk back. Next they're stealing money from your wallet and walking thirty feet ahead of you in the mall, pretending like they don't know that middle-aged loser behind them.
See what I'm talking about here? Years are bad. We're still in weeks and I'm not ready for months yet. Coffee Wench and the rest of you need to let me savour the moment, ok?
And don't give me that crap about how much work this stage is. My baby rocks your beliefs right off the stage. He's cranky, but not uncontrollably so. He pukes, but he eats like a champ. We sleep all night nearly every night and I get to shower most mornings. He sleeps longer stretches during the day, allowing me to clean and cook and spend time with the other boys. Heck, he even slept through the board meeting at Intrepid's school tonight. Two full hours of carseat snoozing.
Spawnling rules! (and also drools, but I digress...)
In all seriousness, I wouldn't change it for the world. I want to enjoy every second with him in all his babyness. There have been four moms in my online due date club who've lost their little ones for various reasons - one preemie, one with serious medical complications who passed away shortly after birth and two stillborn. Four sweet little babies who will never keep their parents up at night or drive them batty with their fussiness. It breaks my heart, but reminds to be very grateful for what I have. I'll take the bad with the good any day.
I'm a lucky Maven.
I must go tend to my four-week-old-but-three-days-shy-of-a-month-so-shut-it-already Spawnling. His feet are kicking my keyboard anyway.
My baby, my Spawnling, who it seems hatched from his pod only yesterday...
My third and most likely final child, my iddy bitty chubmeister in all his rolls of happy fatness...
Is four weeks old today.
Someone at the Tim Hortons asked me how old he was. I said 'four weeks today.'
She said 'Wow! Already a month old.'
Visions of launching myself over the counter and stuffing her mouth full of fresh, gooey donuts did cross my mind. However, I showed incredible restraint and instead replied 'Not quite. He'll be a month old on the 12th'
And the Oscar for Best 'Way to quibble over semantics, you freaky bitch' look goes to... The Tim Hortons Coffee Wench!
Thankfully, she wasn't there to witness the 'Let's not age him, ok? He's three weeks and six days old' that came out of my mouth more than once at a housewares party last night.
Stop rolling your eyes, reader of stupid blog posts. You don't understand the snowball effects that are likely to occur in this situation. This is my third child and I know how this works now. First, we count sweet little newborn hours, which all too quickly turn into days. Before we know it, days turn into weeks. I'm ok with weeks, because they're still so new and fresh and cuddly.
But then weeks turn into months. It's time to start panicking, because very soon there are too many months to count and we lose track. Then it's years. By then it's all over. By the time you start counting in years, they're learning how to throw tantrums and talk back. Next they're stealing money from your wallet and walking thirty feet ahead of you in the mall, pretending like they don't know that middle-aged loser behind them.
See what I'm talking about here? Years are bad. We're still in weeks and I'm not ready for months yet. Coffee Wench and the rest of you need to let me savour the moment, ok?
And don't give me that crap about how much work this stage is. My baby rocks your beliefs right off the stage. He's cranky, but not uncontrollably so. He pukes, but he eats like a champ. We sleep all night nearly every night and I get to shower most mornings. He sleeps longer stretches during the day, allowing me to clean and cook and spend time with the other boys. Heck, he even slept through the board meeting at Intrepid's school tonight. Two full hours of carseat snoozing.
Spawnling rules! (and also drools, but I digress...)
In all seriousness, I wouldn't change it for the world. I want to enjoy every second with him in all his babyness. There have been four moms in my online due date club who've lost their little ones for various reasons - one preemie, one with serious medical complications who passed away shortly after birth and two stillborn. Four sweet little babies who will never keep their parents up at night or drive them batty with their fussiness. It breaks my heart, but reminds to be very grateful for what I have. I'll take the bad with the good any day.
I'm a lucky Maven.
I must go tend to my four-week-old-but-three-days-shy-of-a-month-so-shut-it-already Spawnling. His feet are kicking my keyboard anyway.