This is my first blog (YAHOO!) and why I am writing it right now is very simple: there isn’t a baby sleeping on my chest.
You see, my sweet daughter “Cookie” used to nap just fine in her crib. Then when she was 5 months old, she had a nasty cold and I held her for her naps so she could breathe (keeping her upright helped) and since then SHE CAN ONLY NAP WHILE BEING HELD BY SOMEONE.
I would LOVE to blame Cookie for this tremendous inconvenience– for why I couldn’t play with my 4 year old son while she napped; for why I couldn’t get the laundry folded; for why I couldn’t respond so quickly to those emails; for why I couldn’t keep the house a bit cleaner– but the truth is, I chose not to fix it because I think I just wanted to hold her.
Cookie is my second little and will be our last little. Nothing dramatic here except my pregnancies were anything but fun. I am always VERY grateful and realize how VERY LUCKY my husband and I were in our ability to conceive our sweet littles, but I am just one of those women that pregnancy disagrees with. More on that later one day.
So Cookie is our last little and I’m a SUPER nostalgic kind of a person (like the kind that every year for my birthday says, “This is the last Tuesday I’ll be 25; This is the last Wednesday I’ll be 25…yeah, like sort of nuts in that sense. And yes, my last birthday I turned 26. 😉 So I kind of let the house go, and kind of let the rest of my life go, and kind of was ok if my son watched more TV than the American Pediatric Association’s recommended 2 hours a day; I embraced my choice. I chose to savor as much of my last little’s first year that I could. I literally breathed that sweet baby smell in. And basked in all its glory. And totally got a bruised tailbone out of it. And a hurt wrist. But I did it and stood by my choice.
Cookie, 2 weeks old, sleeping on my chest.