Fluke or a Big Joke

Annika slept through the night last Monday (yes, it's been that long since I started writing this) night.  And when I say slept through the night, I mean all the way.  10:30 to 8:00am.

I know!  I couldn't believe it!  She's my first baby to sleep through the night so young. 

I think it was a fluke or a big joke.  It was, she hasn't done it, nor come close again.

Maybe she did get switched at birth. 

That (Monday night) evening I had 31 minutes in which I didn't have to hold her.  I knew time was limited so I was scrambling to do something I enjoyed.

It was enought time to do nothing.  And I didn't enjoy it enough.

She's kind of high maintance.  During the day, she likes to be held.  A lot.  Kind of all the time.  She'll only sleep, in my arms.  She'll only look around happily, in my arms.

It doesn't help that almost every afternoon is spent waiting somewhere for someone.  The opportunities for her to sleep in her bed and not on me are few.

And I know that someday, I'm going to miss this.

But right now, I miss being by myself.  I miss coming here and writing something, anything. 

And then I feel guilty.  Guilty for not wanting to hold my sweet girl. all. the. time.

Guilty for wanting some time away from my sweet baby.

Guilty that the time she sleeps in her bassinet isn't enough for me.

I crave more time alone.

Changing topics:  I want to make my pictures, unclickable.  A friend linked to this but it is different than what my html code is for my pictures.  Anyone want to help me out?  

Thanks Grandma for our shirts!  (Kolby's matching shirt was in the wash)

Catching a smile before church last Sunday.

Kolby wanted in on the photo shoot. 

I'm That Mom

I'm that mom who after Annika drenched herself in spit up, changed her outfit.  I tried wiping it off, thought about letting it air dry and then I put my hand on her little chest and realized how wet she got herself.  We were sitting in Sunday School and I changed her into my spare outfit from the diaper bag (not the first time I've used the spare outfit on a Sunday, apparantly she likes to do damage on Sunday mornings).

I'm that mom who cringed and giggled a little, a few minutes later as she filled her pants, quite loudly.  Loud enough to make the people around us giggle.

I'm that mom who cringed and giggled a minute later as she let out a man-fart that resulted in more giggling around us.  You know the farts, the ones that the baby lets out but it leaves you wondering who it really was. 

I'm the mom that dutifully took my sweet girl out of Sunday School to change her diaper.

I'm that mom who cringed as I put my hand in something wet oozing out the side.

I'm that mom who realized she had one outfit soaked with spit up and one outfit with poop.  And that it left no outfits.  No onesies.  Just a diaper and a swaddling blanket.

I'm that mom who bummed a onesie off another mom in the nursing room.

I'm that mom who dressed her first daughter after three sons in a boy onesie.  A brown boy onesie.  A brown boy onesie that said "handsome".

I'm that mom who put her pink bow on with the brown onesie that said "handsome".  And then wrapped her in the swaddling blanket.

I'm that mom whose son ran around the therapy center wearing a diaper and a shirt for two hours on Monday. 

I'm that mom who thinks I should start carrying more clothes in my van.

I'm that mom that probably won't.