Six Weeks.

I married a good man. Last night when he got home at 8:30, I was sitting awkwardly on the couch with a baby strapped to my chest with a crazy look in my eyes. He took her right away and must have put some kind of daddy voodoo on her, because she slept for TEN HOURS STRAIGHT after being awake nearly all day, eating every hour and a half and generally driving me crazy. 

This has been a really hard week. I told Husband if every week was like this one, I’d so require medication. It’s so difficult to retain your perspective when you’re in the depths of parenting hell, feeling like it’s never going to end, certain that it’s always going to be this way … you will never shower again, and your three children will be in their teens asking you to please come wipe their booty.

Thankfully, nothing ever stays the same. The difficult parts end. The funny things happen. During a diaper change this week, Asher grabbed ahold of his boy parts and starting yanking on them, saying “Off? Off!! Off?”  

Me: No … they’re not coming off, and stop that before you really hurt yourself. 

Pepper is now 6 weeks old. Yesterday I went in her room to retrieve her, and she gave me the biggest, most heartwarming smile. Thank you for that, daughter. I needed it.

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