So, we’re two months into life with our sweet Henry and life with two kiddies 2 & under. Things have been amazing and hard and tiring and beautiful and full of love and full of stress.
I feel like I’ve gotten into such a good rhythm with Henry. He’s pretty easy to anticipate (not that it makes him easy, but definitely predictable) and generally speaking, a very good and easy going little dude. He’s pretty consistent in terms of schedule, too. All good things. The best is that he just loves to smile and coo and just be such a chill little man who I absolutely adore.
Charlotte has really been coming into her role as big sister and just seeming much happier and more confident these days. She loves to help with Henry and is back to showering him with kisses. We’ve been spending a lot of time together and she’s just a very special little love.
On our way to school in the morning, Henry tends to cry for the first half until he falls asleep. Charlotte will sing to him (typically her songs are, “Henry, Henry, Henry, Henry” or “balls, balls, ball, ball”) or she’ll simply “hush” him. Sometimes if he’s going for volume and getting a bit relentless, she just gets frustrated and whines, “I want Henry hush.” Me, too. Me, too.
But really, we have such a good routine down and seeing the two of them interact makes me so happy. When Henry isn’t screaming his face off, our car rides are actually quite enjoyable.
However, and here’s the other shoe, I’m exhausted. Like, deliriously tired. Henry’s night sleep is nothing like Charlotte’s (who slept through the night at 5.5 weeks). He sleeps 4-6 hours, but goes to bed at 8:30 (and stupid mommy has been going to bed closer to 11). After his long stretch, he’ll sleep anywhere from 1-3 hours and sometimes demands sleeping on me. While I love his cuddles, sleeping in an upright position with a baby on top of me just isn’t restful. I know these are all normal mom probs, but that doesn’t make me any less tired.
Add to it the fact that I feel like I’m constantly running to pick up or drop off C, hustling to make dinner before C wakes from her nap, and trying to keep the house in slightly functioning order… I’m just tired.
On top of all the normal “mom stuff,” my kitty is dying. I know I’ve made comments and harsh jokes about not wanting my pets, but that doesn’t make this any easier or any less sad. Oliver was my first pet. He was a total companion through some of the rougher, lonelier years of my life and is just a great cat (when he’s not peeing somewhere he shouldn’t). He greets me at the door, sleeps with me, stares at me from across the room, smacks Toby when he deserves it (or when we need a good laugh), always notices (the smell) when I get my hair done or eyebrows waxed, waits outside the door for me when I go to the bathroom, sticks his little paw under the closed door if he’s on the other side, and just plain loves his momma.I’ve never had to say goodbye to a pet and tonight, we’re saying goodbye to Oliver. My father in law (a vet) is going to put Ollie down for us tonight. My husband texted me and asked me if I was ready. It’s a weird question. The only thing I think I’m sure of is that our sweet kitty is ready. He’s skin and bones, not eating or drinking, barely leaves his new spot under the couch unless it’s to throw up or pee on the floor somewhere (which he hasn’t even done for a few days now). He’s just not doing well.
It’s been a lot. Life is a lot right now. I’m trying to stay in the minute and enjoy my adorable little babies and ignore the exhaustion and the stress and the overwhelmed feelings that are looming. Sometimes it works, sometimes not.