Her tiny little grunts, snorts and noises stir me from my sleep. I was in a hard sleep, the kind that you fall into immediately when it's been weeks since you've slept through the night. I throw the covers off of my sweating body and shimmy/scoot to the end of the bed. The pack 'n play is squeezed between my side of the bed and the wall, making it an acrobatic feat for me to get out of bed, but Abigail isn't in the pack 'n play.
I kick the bouncy seat, hold back a scream and realize - all in in the same 3 seconds - that I left her bouncy seat on vibrate. I feel my way through the darkness and click the switch over to the off position. Then, step over the bouncy seat. She's not in there either.
I lean over, turn off the baby swing and reach down to grab my, now crying, baby girl. I snuggle her close, smell her head and kiss her cheek, just like I did the hour before.
Together we perform an acrobatic dance as I climb, with her in one arm, back onto my side of the bed, smacking my other big toe against the foot of the pack 'n play.
"I really should move that pack 'n play," I think, "she's not slept in it in nearly a week."
We settle in, I wrap the boppy around my waist and she begins to nurse. Sleepily, I lay my head back against the hard metal headboard. I doze on and off for the next 30 minutes, until I wake up with a stiff neck and a milk-drunk newborn who is snoozing softly in my arms.
All the books say you should never sleep with your baby. All the books say that you should never let your baby sleep in a swing, or a bouncy seat or propped up on the boppy. All the books say you should only let your baby sleep in her own bed and move her to her crib as soon as possible.
All the books say to sleep when your baby sleeps and to rest as much as possible during her first few weeks of life.
I'm betting none of those books are authored by mothers with lots of small children, most of which do not nap during the day. I'm also willing to bet that those books are written for those days when everything seems to go smoothly, your baby nods off to sleep quietly on your chest and those nursing mommas drink their 64 ounces of water a day.
64 ounces. As if. I'd never leave the bathroom. Or maybe I'd just have to buy disposable underwear. That might work better actually.
I lay my sweet, swaddled blessing beside me in the bed, careful to move the covers far way from her tiny body. She stirs, snorts and grunts in disapproval of me laying her down. I offer for her to nurse again and we both drift off to sleep.
An hour or so later we repeat this same process, because somewhere in the last 30 minutes I've gotten tired of sleeping on my side and I have returned my little babe to the swing or bouncy seat or, just maybe, her pack 'n play.
Finally, I hear the click of the door and a sleepy child's body steps through the door way. "Hey baby," I whisper. "Come. Quietly. Abigail just went back to sleep."
Arms and legs curl up beside me and I listen to stories about crazy dreams or Star Wars or how she can't wait to have her own baby one day, depending on which of the oldest 3 kids is beside me. I drift in and out of sleep until, finally, a two year old shouts her impatience with her crib at me through the monitor.
Our home springs to life as the sounds of laughter, toilets and squeals echo through the hallways.
I remind myself that this is the phase known of as SURVIVAL. In these early days of sleeplessness, frequent feedings and numerous diaper changes, our goal is to survive. Teaching our children that we value family, each other and the freshness of new life is most important.
If they learn some spelling, math, reading and history along the way, then so be it.
Survival.
Nothing more, nothing less. We simply exists to love one another and enjoy the expansion of our family. Some days are better than others. Somedays, all of our schooling gets done and our home is a disaster zone. Other days, the house is tidy and the kids are dirty from a full day of playing outside. Life consists of give and take right now. It's a life that is lived minute by minute, hour by hour and often no further.
As I write this, Abigail is snoozing soundly in her bouncy seat, Ella and Olivia are finishing up naps, Ashlee and Lucas are enjoying an afternoon at their grandmothers' houses and Elizabeth and Aaron are busy dancing under a tree as it blooms in the spring sun.
Life is busy, chaotic, loud, eventful, peaceful, cozy, dramatic, new and all in all, a complicated dance of learning what our new normal looks like.
After all, what is normal anyway? We abandoned that term long ago. Seven kids ages 7 and under isn't normal. It's survival. A beautiful, complicated, peaceful survival.
Which is exactly what we are doing.
I kick the bouncy seat, hold back a scream and realize - all in in the same 3 seconds - that I left her bouncy seat on vibrate. I feel my way through the darkness and click the switch over to the off position. Then, step over the bouncy seat. She's not in there either.
I lean over, turn off the baby swing and reach down to grab my, now crying, baby girl. I snuggle her close, smell her head and kiss her cheek, just like I did the hour before.
Together we perform an acrobatic dance as I climb, with her in one arm, back onto my side of the bed, smacking my other big toe against the foot of the pack 'n play.
"I really should move that pack 'n play," I think, "she's not slept in it in nearly a week."
We settle in, I wrap the boppy around my waist and she begins to nurse. Sleepily, I lay my head back against the hard metal headboard. I doze on and off for the next 30 minutes, until I wake up with a stiff neck and a milk-drunk newborn who is snoozing softly in my arms.
All the books say you should never sleep with your baby. All the books say that you should never let your baby sleep in a swing, or a bouncy seat or propped up on the boppy. All the books say you should only let your baby sleep in her own bed and move her to her crib as soon as possible.
All the books say to sleep when your baby sleeps and to rest as much as possible during her first few weeks of life.
I'm betting none of those books are authored by mothers with lots of small children, most of which do not nap during the day. I'm also willing to bet that those books are written for those days when everything seems to go smoothly, your baby nods off to sleep quietly on your chest and those nursing mommas drink their 64 ounces of water a day.
64 ounces. As if. I'd never leave the bathroom. Or maybe I'd just have to buy disposable underwear. That might work better actually.
I lay my sweet, swaddled blessing beside me in the bed, careful to move the covers far way from her tiny body. She stirs, snorts and grunts in disapproval of me laying her down. I offer for her to nurse again and we both drift off to sleep.
An hour or so later we repeat this same process, because somewhere in the last 30 minutes I've gotten tired of sleeping on my side and I have returned my little babe to the swing or bouncy seat or, just maybe, her pack 'n play.
Finally, I hear the click of the door and a sleepy child's body steps through the door way. "Hey baby," I whisper. "Come. Quietly. Abigail just went back to sleep."
Arms and legs curl up beside me and I listen to stories about crazy dreams or Star Wars or how she can't wait to have her own baby one day, depending on which of the oldest 3 kids is beside me. I drift in and out of sleep until, finally, a two year old shouts her impatience with her crib at me through the monitor.
Our home springs to life as the sounds of laughter, toilets and squeals echo through the hallways.
I remind myself that this is the phase known of as SURVIVAL. In these early days of sleeplessness, frequent feedings and numerous diaper changes, our goal is to survive. Teaching our children that we value family, each other and the freshness of new life is most important.
If they learn some spelling, math, reading and history along the way, then so be it.
Survival.
Nothing more, nothing less. We simply exists to love one another and enjoy the expansion of our family. Some days are better than others. Somedays, all of our schooling gets done and our home is a disaster zone. Other days, the house is tidy and the kids are dirty from a full day of playing outside. Life consists of give and take right now. It's a life that is lived minute by minute, hour by hour and often no further.
As I write this, Abigail is snoozing soundly in her bouncy seat, Ella and Olivia are finishing up naps, Ashlee and Lucas are enjoying an afternoon at their grandmothers' houses and Elizabeth and Aaron are busy dancing under a tree as it blooms in the spring sun.
Life is busy, chaotic, loud, eventful, peaceful, cozy, dramatic, new and all in all, a complicated dance of learning what our new normal looks like.
After all, what is normal anyway? We abandoned that term long ago. Seven kids ages 7 and under isn't normal. It's survival. A beautiful, complicated, peaceful survival.
Which is exactly what we are doing.
