I have four kids.
I feel like I’ve been there, done that, got the T-shirt.
Heck, I’ve done two babies at the exact same time!
In lots of ways, this whole one baby gig is a breeze.
But…God has a great sense of humor. And just when you think you got something under control, God likes to punk you.
You know, just to remind you that control is something you have none of.
Owen who is still a rockstar at night and only wakes once, eats, and goes right back to sleep.
Owen who is the spitting image of his brother as a baby.
is utterly, unabashedly, ridiculously, unapologetically obsessed with ME.
This kid will not tolerate another human being for even ten seconds.
He wants to be held. All the time. 24/7. Never ceasing.
Lots of babies are like that. In fact, I think my girls went through phases like that too.
But in O’s case, only Mama will suffice.
Since the day he came out of the womb. This is not a new development.
Not aunts. Not cousins. Not grandmas. And no, not even Dad.
I think he’s even kinda hurting people’s feelings.
He goes into that wild hysteria pterodactyl scream within seconds.
And it’s not because he wants to nurse…because the millisecond I touch him…he stops screeching.
Like a little cute (and slightly obnoxious) light switch.
And he looks at me with those big eyes and is all like “Dude. Where’d you go? Don’t do that again. I will pull rank. Don’t test me.”
I’ve had help here since Andy’s been out of town on business the last two weeks, so I’ve been able to accommodate the little Diva’s demands.
Bu I’m a bit concerned when, you know, real life kicks in and I’m here solo and things need to get done…you know, like wiping little rear ends and making sandwiches and maybe, just maybe…taking a shower.
He will live in his Ergo a lot.
And I think he might just have to do his best impression of a pterodactyl too.
Please tell me this is a phase.
Please tell me he’ll outgrow it in…oh, I don’t know…tomorrow.
Because I have never ever had such a clingy child…and now I feel like a newbie at this whole mom thing again.
Oh, and he eats.
A lot. A lot. A lot.
I’m scurrrred for our food bill when he’s a teen.
Not even kidding.