Unless we win the lottery, Trucker is our last baby. At least according to my honey.
It is weird to look at your last baby and know it is your last baby. As soon as his first tooth comes in, we will have seen his last toothless grin — barring any unforseen mouth trauma or ice hockey careers.
I’m still getting over my only birth being my last one. Even though it was near perfect, there are so many things I’d like to do differently. I want to have a home birth. I want to have a third adult with me from the get-go. Things like that.
Back to my last baby. I thought I’d tried to savor every baby moment when Cakie was a wee one. This is a little crazy. When Trucker turned one month old, I thought, “I’ll never have a newborn less-than-one-month-old lump again!”
Now that we finally set up Trucker’s crib in Cakie’s room, I think, “I’ll never have a newborn in the co-sleeper again.” Which is totally not true, since Truck starts the night in Cakie’s room and spends the rest of the night in the co-sleeper. But still.
When he grows out of an article of clothing, I can only think… well, you know. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy to get these huge bins of clothes out of my closets. And I’m happy that my boy is growing like a weed.
I’m just trying to be in the moment. I need to try to not be nostalgic for the moments that just happened, lest I miss the one that’s happening now. Like, I’m writing my blog with a sleeping nine-week-old strapped to my belly. My back hurts a bit from his fifteen pound heft. His head is on my shoulder and he’s making those little sleep sucking motions with his lips and kind of frowning in-between. His belly is warm on my belly. His hair is sticking up a little in the back. We can feel each other breathe.