An unlikely comparison?
Can motherhood be compared to suicide bombing?
Could it be put up there with giving up your "own" life to become a martyr?
Don't we sacrifice thinking only of ourselves to ensure the good of our own?
Don't we usually terrorize other people in the process?
Okay, maybe the suicide bombing analyogy isn't correct, but I am starting to realize it becomes less about me with every child I have. I am sort of losing a sense of individuality to gain a sense of family. Togetherness. All for one, and one for all.
I am also finding myself a little vain at times, when I look at Charlotte and Rebekah and see how beautiful they are. I mean, they didn't get that cute all by themselves, right? I had a big hand in it. Or an egg, anyway.
Charlie is much like her sister in the sense that she is seeming to forget that she is a baby. I try to remind her, but there she is, insisting on sitting or standing instead of lying on the floor crying. She would much rather "talk" to you in a series of coos and open vowel sounds. I'm almost positive she is mocking the strange faces I make at her in my attempt to communicate. She almost seems to be saying, "Oh, mother, you silly thing. Speak english to me." (And please feel free to use whichever accent you prefer her to be speaking in. I myself like to imagine her with a slight british one.)
The days are flying by. I am back at work. Worrying daily about breaking out the baby talk and excusing myself to go "potty" or "eat a widdle bweakfist".
Pretty much the only thing I am appreciating fully is fitting in my prepreg attire, which at the moment I am realizing is not nearly as professional looking as I remembered it. Time to update.
Kevin is the designated stay at home mommy, and is living up to his duties beautifully. I'm not sure anyone else could handle the job like he does.
He DID almost give me a heart attack the other day however when I got a text message that said, "I think I hurt her".
Let me tell you right off the bat that you don't say something like that to a mom.
All the things that ran through my head!
Did he drop her? Did he shake her? Pop an arm out of its socket? Put a diaper on too tight?
Nope. He thought he heated her bottle too warm. Turns out she was fine, she was just irked that he took the bottle away from her.
Note to self:
Never remove a bottle from a hungry baby.
Don't worry, readers. She let him have it.