part of me was craving the marine layer. but it was fall, and the fall in october in los osos always delivers. not only was it sunny and bright, but it was the middle of the day. not the morning to get organized, or late afternoon to think about dinner and bedtimes, but smack dab in the middle of laundry, lunchtime, two anxious toddlers and now seven pounds of newborness.
all i wanted to do was wave a wand and have it all disappear. the raging pain when i sat down, the demands and cries of the older ones, and the chaos of a house full of guests. i wanted to lay on the couch alone and let her breathe on my neck while i lost myself somewhere east of eden.
instead i grimaced as i stood, placed the baby in her bouncy seat for what i knew would be the first of too many times, and clocked into the life of my 2.5 and 4 year old.
the day i brought tali home was a hard one.
to say i was under prepared for three kids would be an understatement. people kept telling me the change from 2 to 3 is manageable, and really not much different than two. i'm still pretty sure they were wrong. three kids means you don't fit in most cars, you get invited way less places, and the realization that most of america was designed for a family of four.
i don't remember much of that first week. there was a lot of trial and error. it felt like there were too many needs. so many so, that there really was no time for wants. it felt oppressive, and like a haze had descended upon fearn ave. and just when i was beginning to think this was my new reality, one night it clicked. dinner wasn't chaotic and the kids weren't being babysat by the tv. we had music on, fall was in the air, and it felt like
everyone i finally took a deep breath.
the other day i saw a baby that small and i suddenly felt light headed and short of breath. not in a fearful way, but in an exciting sort of way. since i'm not a baby person, it was weird for me to want to reach out and hold that newborn. i thought of tali and her little hats and hunched over back and slanted eyes and flailing hands, and i thought, i might actually miss that.
i knew tali would be the last baby i would birth. as i mentioned, b and i are not newborn sort of people. we like a good 12 months or so under their belt. consequentially, i find myself in uncharted territory to have these feelings of sadness over her growing up. i've always been a what's next sort of parent. no time to wallow in what has left, the future is just going to be better. but now i find myself telling tali almost daily that i want to fold her back up, put her back in my tummy and do it all over again, cuz she really is JUST. THAT. CUTE.
when i tell people i like her the best or that she's the cutest, they just laugh awkwardly -- and think to themselves 'you are really not supposed to say those sort of things.' and even though i think i feel that way, don't ever try and tell me she's the cutest, cuz my momma bear will come out claw you for calling my other kids second best. shelley said it staright to me one day. she told me i don't really love tali more, its just that she can't talk or move much and she's really cute, and the fact that she is going to be my last birthed child creates a unique sentimentality. it was nice to have that clarity cuz i'm pretty sure your not supposed to have favorites.
so tali june, this little post is for you. you have brought me more joy than i knew i contained. i can't imagine life without you. the fullness you bring my heart as we spoon each morning for your first nurse of the day, the way you light up when i walk in the room, and even the way you pinch the back of my arm till i bruise. you are your own crazy minitaure person and i pray i'll really be able to relish every moment, of every day i have with you.