While Eric is mourning his 20s, Henry is relishing in his newfound toddlerhood (not technically though, still a crawler). It's fair to say that I'm equally sad as am happy about Hank turning one. *sigh* I think those sweet, precious baby moments are what keep Eric and me vacillating between two or three kids. Falling asleep on your chest. Curling under your neck. Tiny feet, which mean even tinier toes. The little grunts as he ate. That soft, baby smell.
I'll never forget our first night with Henry at home. I had just nursed him and put him to sleep in his crib. He started crying 30 minutes later. Eric and I looked at each other in bed with our eyes wide open, both of us not wanting to admit that we had no idea what to do. Logically, we grabbed The Baby Whisperer chart, stood over Henry's crib, and tried to decode his cries. Because babies have a manual like that. Or so we thought. And then there was the Boppy. I remember asking Eric to pull it out so that I could give it a whirl. I didn't know what to do with it. College-educated and I was intimidated by a c-shaped nursing pillow. Eric walked around the room modeling how he thought it should be done. That's when my sense of humor came back. Little did I know that he was right. Go figure. I couldn't give him too much credit at that point though because an hour before his modeling career took off he was telling me that the petroleum jelly we had brought home from the hospital was different than the Vaseline we bought at Target; the hospital had sent us home with what was called "vase-line."
I can't remember when it all turned around. But I know at some point, my hormones got back in balance and allowed me to finally stop crying. We didn't have to double-team diapers. And Eric became an amazing father (second to my mothering skills, of course).
I still feel like I'm taking it in
