Tuesday, March 5th, 2013
Introducing Rosemary, my second girl, my second R, my second blue-eyed, long-lashed beauty. This one has red hair. Maybe my payment for waiting so long to have babies is that I got my wish – a curly-haired girl and a redhead. Both are perfect.
Rosemary reminds me of all the things I forgot from the sleep-deprived haze that was Ruby’s babyhood. The softness and sweet smell of their identically fuzzy heads. The feel of their fingers around mine. The grunty zombie-esque sounds they make. That one leg kicking out like they are trying to start a motorcycle.
It makes me a little sad this is my last one, a little sad I’ll forget this, too. That in just two years, I won’t remember how my babies felt in my arms. I understand now why mothers always want to hold other people’s newborns. It’s to capture again for a moment that precious lost time when their babies, too, were small.
That said, I am tired. I have a 2.75-year-old, a 3-month-old, a novel I’m querying agents about, a novel I’m editing for a friend, an exercise routine to lose my last two pounds of pregnancy weight (plus 39 more), seven tons of laundry, and oh yeah – my day job at Candy Apple Costumes. I’m trying to maintain some semblance of a social life as well, and remember to kiss my husband and thank him for being less Neanderthal than a lot of men around these parts. We have a weekly date to watch The Walking Dead or Homeland or True Blood, depending on the season, and the rest of the time the TV is tuned to Caillou and Super Why.
Probably the hardest part is that Ruby, while adoring her sister to the point of trying to squish her to death with hugs a la Elmyra, is also taking it pretty hard that she has to share Mama and Daddy. She falls out in the floor crying every time the slightest thing doesn’t go her way, refuses to potty train, talks in an unintelligible whine half the time, and starts slapping at us and yelling “Hol’ me! Hol’ me!” every time someone picks up the baby.
At first this made me sob with guilt on a daily basis. I felt so terrible that I couldn’t give her everything she needed anymore. So terrible that my exhaustion and crazy hormones made me snap at her instead of just sitting down and cuddling with her, which is all she really wanted when she acted up.
Now things have evened out a bit. We take her on fun outings, spend special alone time with her, and read her umpteen zillion books a day (her favorite thing to do besides try on clothes). I’m guessing the only thing that will really help is time. She’s only had three months to adjust to her world turning upside down. In the mean time, wish me luck.