Rest in peace Uncle Paul

To say Uncle Paul was all heart is completely accurate—and a bit ironic, considering he received a new heart a year and a half ago. It’s with a heavy heart myself that I say rest in peace, Uncle Paul.

Eric’s sweet, thoughtful, loving uncle passed away last week. He was buried in the Quantico National Cemetery yesterday and today is his memorial. Family flew in from across the country, though the girls and I had to stay home. I hate to miss the celebration of his life and seeing our loved ones, but I am remembering Uncle Paul from afar.

As a celebration of his one-year anniversary of the heart transplant—effectively his one-year birthday—he and Eric’s parents hopped in an RV and took a road trip to the West Coast. Uncle Paul hadn’t met Peeper yet, and Kiwi had just been born.

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I am the coziest place in the world

Baby Kiwi sleeps on MamaKiwi spends a lot of time sleeping on me lately.

Whether it’s in the carrier on a walk, on my chest as I watch a football game or leaning on me for the now-requisite 30 minutes after each feeding, she rests with her face on that magical spot of skin beneath my collarbone and her ear pressed against my heart.

Can I blame her? No. After 40 weeks inside me, it’s no wonder she craves that closeness.

But I am tired. So, so tired.

Last night, for example, as she nursed or slept on me (I’m too far gone to remember which), I stared at a spot on the sheet. I couldn’t tell if it was a bug or just a smidge of something. If you had offered me a million dollars to tell if it was moving, I would have had to guess.

People, sleep deprivation would have reduced me to 50/50 at a chance for a million dollars. Read more

Some days

Some days I wake up and take in Kiwi’s wide-open eyes and marvel at how lucky I am to be her mama. Some days I get Peeper out of bed and ask her, “Is it going to be a good day?” And when she says, “Yes!” I am all-in.

Today is not one of those days.

I feel wrung out. I spent part of last night crying and all of it worrying about Kiwi. It’s probably regular newborn stuff, but I’m anxious that her inability to stay asleep, her grunting noises, even the spit bubbles that collect on her lips, reveal something deeper that is wrong.

Is Baby #2 easier?

I skated by in my second pregnancy without the worries of my first. “I got this,” I figured, and I did. I found the answers to the things I’d forgotten about without spiraling into a bout of anxiety.

I thought I’d ease into new motherhood again in the same way. Imagine my surprise, then, when breastfeeding was still hard. Really, really hard. And when I asked things like “Does her belly look distended to you?” And when I found myself paralyzed over whether to unwrap Kiwi’s swaddle or not.

Motherhood, like anything, is riding the ups and downs that come like a tide—if a tide changed every three minutes. It just so happens that I’m in an ebb, and that means not wanting to get out of bed. It means I don’t want to do today.

Probably in five minutes I’ll see Kiwi smile—a new development that lights up the entire house. I’ll eat some breakfast. Peeper will tell me all about the zoo train she is building and the animals she remembers seeing the last time we visited. Maybe I’ll even drink a cup of tea to counteract the zombie brain of waking I-can’t-remember-how-many-times last night.

Will it be a good day? I’m pretty sure it will be. But for the few moments I steal in bed, typing this on my phone, I’d rather go back to sleep and let the day enjoy itself.