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Category: It Was Awesome

Well, You’d Get Sappy, Too

I was feeding Cian tonight in his bedroom, listening to the girls in the living room below (living in an open floor-plan split-level: so easy to eavesdrop!). They were curled up on the loveseat together, paging through a photo album like two old ladies looking through black-and-white photographs of their youth. The album contained pictures from about two years ago (which was probably the last time I actually had real photos printed out, but you’re the same way, right?), and Saoirse was just talking Quinn through them, telling her stories, explaining who each person was. And as I listened, I heard them talking back and forth in quiet, calm voices, reminiscing and asking questions, and it was exactly–exactly–how I imagine them talking in 30, 40–or yes, when they’re old ladies and I’m long (*sniff*) gone–years. I can’t really explain how I felt right then. Happy, yes, because there’s nothing like hearing your children have one of those moments when they’re in their own private bubble, content. Proud, because David and I are raising two kind, smart…

Getting My Attention

Cian was eating.  He’s just woken from his morning nap, and I was breastfeeding him, scrolling through something on my phone (US Weekly? Facebook? Who knows, but it was compelling).  I feel guilty when I do this, not just because I’m trying and miserably failing in my attempt to cut the umbilical phone cord, as it were, but also because all of the parenting websites (which I read, on my phone, probably while nursing) tell me that all I should be doing while my baby feeds is stroking the little stubby tufts of hair on his head and gazing at him adoringly. Never mind that when you nurse a kid a half-dozen times a day there’s only so much hair tuft-adoring you can do. It’s not like there’s a lot of it to adore anyway, you know? So never mind that. I figured babies don’t mind not being stared at while they’re not paying attention because babies are usually awesome. And probably not vain.  But I was sitting on the bed this time. It was quiet, and the girls were playing together in the…

Yes, I Hear the Jimmy Cliff Song, Too

Something happened when Cian turned five weeks. He started staring at us with wide eyes, analyzing the shape of our hairlines, the shadows of our ears. Then his eyes, travelling over our faces, would unexpectedly meet ours (though they were there, of course, rapt, waiting for him all along), and his head would suddenly rear back, his eyes growing wide, as if thinking, “Oh, hello! Wasn’t expecting to see you there!” And then the smiles started. The SMILES. The gummy, open-mouthed, holy-moley-ain’t-it-great-to-be-alive smiles that transform his whole face and turn us into blubbering globs of cooing nonsense. I don’t want to tell you that David gets most of the smiles. Because, you know, he’s the one up all night, bleary-eyed and barely conscious, changing poopy diapers and breastfeeding until his boobs fall off. Oh, wait. Something else happened at the five-week mark, too. Something remarkable. Something that would have had me turning cartwheels out of our room and into Cian’s, if I actually knew how to turn a cartwheel, which I don’t, which I’ve…