Thursday, September 27, 2012
Mabel's a month old, you guys. It makes me want to cry, and cry I would if I had time to even cry. But, unfortunately (or fortunately?) there's no time to sit around crying about how my very last baby is growing up at a ridiculous pace and will be slamming her door on me like her nutso siblings before I even know it. Time's at a shortage. We wake up, we run around, we cook and clean and run around some more, we have a few meals in between all that running, we welcome J home just in the nick of time to help get everyone bathed and in bed, and then he and I fold 8,986 pieces of laundry and pass out in our bed as soon as Mabel lets us. She likes to throw a party around 10pm, where she stares at us with big huge eyeballs while we sit there in the dark willing her to GO TO SLEEP. And once she does, she sleeps very well (sometimes through the night, though I did NOT just say that because if I DID just say that it would surely be the end of that and we'd be up hourly from here until Ferber time). She's decided she hates her car seat, which is unfortunate given the amount of time we spend in the car going down the mountain and all around town and back on up the mountain, so there's been a lot of screaming from the middle seat and shushing from the front seat and Anderson in the way back seat going "JUST PULL OVER! PULL OVER! PULL OVERRRRRRR!" while Vivi covers her ears and shrieks. And I sit in the front seat sucking down my coffee between shushes like it's life saving oxygen.
Overall though, three hasn't been AS scary so far as I was anticipating. We're getting by, we're getting out, we're not hunkered down in the basement with unwashed hair and two day old jammies and crazy eyes like I pictured we would be. Not every day, anyway. (SOME DAYS.) We take walks, we're meeting neighbors here and there, we hit up a park nearly every single day to run off energy and soak up the fuh-reaking amazing Colorado autumn weather. And sometimes at the park Vivian plays the fashion police and walks up to other girls and orders them to stop chewing on their necklace or questions why they're wearing pajamas at the park when they're NOT wearing pajamas, they were just dressed by their daddy and are wearing mismatched cotton ensembles Miss V deems pajama-y.
Mabel. She's so sweet. She snuggles like her life depends on it, she's started responding to our voices with tiny coos and beautiful little smiles, and her eyes get bluer by the day. I savor the bigger kids' naptime, forgoing unpacking the final boxes or organizing my "closet" (aka, CRAPSPLOSION) to crawl into my bed with Miss MG and just soak up her littleness. It's not lasting long enough, already.
And also, happy birthday to my mama! My beautiful, wonderful, helpful mama. We love you, Mommo!