Caleb passed out in mom's arms

It’s been 7 weeks plus already since our little one, Caleb, was born. It’s been a whirlwind of crying, diapers, spit up, formula changes, poop, burping, changing, and…complete and total love. And that’s what is most important and what’s it’s all about. You see, if people really cared and/or focused on these (in the grand scheme) trivial travails, then the human race would have died off many, many moons ago.  For sure, it sucks big time to not get a full night’s sleep for 7 freaking weeks. Sometimes you most certainly do not want to hold him and walk him around, bouncing up and down like a drunken kangaroo. There are times when the thought of a stinky, Alimentum-tinged diaper is just the last thing you want to tangle with. But, especially this time around, after almost 6 years since the previous baby (our boy Liam) and almost 8 years from out little princess (Natalie), you just accept it more, you appreciate it all much more, you slow down and take a deep breath more. You chuckle and the poop and the insanely load, nails-on-chalkboard board screeching when hungry. You think the spit up is cute in some way.  Because it is. It 100%, without a doubt is. And even if you have to really convince yourself, kicking and screaming while in the weeds with it, you just do.

For all intents and purposes, this is the end of the baby-making road…unless by divine right or some other such obscure chance, this will be the last 11 pd newborn I hold at 3AM. And I don’t want to miss a minute. Because time flies, it really flies by. And you really just have to revel in the little stuff, the good stuff, which sometimes is the bad stuff.

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