The bags under my eyes and the arms muscles I've developed with this little fellow in my life are epic. He needs so much. He is so big and so little. I cling to sanity some days because of it.
And I cling to the sweetness within the challenge, knowing he won't collapse his body so fully into mine for that many more months.
Over an hour spent making a veggie lasagna, while letting the preschooler help, because she is interested and it's good for her, even though it makes it harder on me. Total dish tally involved? Six? Seven? The sink is chock full of dirty dishes, anyway. Total dollars in organic veggies and cheese? Ugh. Don't want to add it up. But I feel proud for getting it done and tucked away in the fridge to be heated up for dinner that night and then at least another night. Freezer meals for the win!
And then it all goes splat in one moment when the preschooler is lurking in front of the open fridge ("Hon? Can you close the refrigerator?" "Bella, close the fridge door!" "ARABELLA! SHUT THE DOOR!") and the super strong baby decides to yank the pan out. And what were you doing at the time? Why making lunch look like a pretty rainbow, at the preschooler's request...which she then doesn't really eat. I clean up while both kids are crying over their lunches - their RAINBOW lunches - demanding I give them my full attention. They are not interested in the fact that there are shards of glass everywhere.
Parenting. Is. Frustrating.
Wine and whining helps :)