Thursday, March 19, 2015, at 12:05 in the afternoon, Clarabelle Frances was placed on my chest all brand new and crying.
I thought her being here wouldn’t interfere with my blog. I thought surely it should be easy enough to get online and write a simple post.
Not so. Having a newborn is exhausting. Between five–yes, five–days of labor and our first week home I desperately needed rest. Getting bounced from hospital to home again and then bringing this precious one home didn’t allow for much sleep. Maybe that’s a good thing as I hardly have memory of those hard weeks.
But we have adjusted. We will continue adjusting to all of life’s stages. Sometimes other responsibilities will fall to the wayside. Some things are far more important.
This sleeping baby on my chest takes more time and energy than I ever imagined. Our days are long and slow and somehow unproductive. We count victories in wet and dirty diapers and sticking to a feeding schedule.
And someday, somehow, I’m told I’ll miss this.
The snoozing baby who wails if I set her down, who’s heavy sleep sighs reassure me she is indeed alright, who laughs only in her sleep for now.
One day she’ll be holding her own baby, tearing up at the weight of responsibility and love, and I’ll remember my own moments with her.
Sleep, baby. I’ll hold you.