January 11, 2013

We’ve stumbled through these past two months. Slowly we’ve  plodded along.



Just a mere two months ago you appeared into this world with a BANG. I remember visiting you each day in the NICU, you looked so ridiculous in that isolette. You looked too big for it. Too healthy, too good. I remember it infuriated and mocked me. A plastic box kept you apart from me.

It kept you warm, not me.

It held you, not me.

Tubes fed you, not me.

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Your beginning was rough, mainly for me. I don’t think I’ll ever stop talking about your birth because it shook me. It picked me up and vigorously shook me around, and dropped me back on the ground, and we both tried to figure out what the hell just happened.

You were content. You thrived, and your movements were strong and your cry was loud. It was me who was the mess, I was sad, and weepy, and hated that we weren’t together. Then finally you were able to come home with me. And I haven’t let you go since then.

You are so content in my arms. I wear you in a sling most of the time so that you are always near me. We float throughout our day together, in harmony. Because I have to make up for lost time.

Lately I’ve had this fear that you might have something wrong with you, because of how you were born. Maybe neurologically something is not connecting, I don’t know, I’m not a doctor. Not because of anything I see, but because as a mom, I’m always afraid of something. I just want you to be normal, and have a normal life.


I’d settle for normal, but you’re so much more than that, you are perfect. To me it doesn’t make sense. How can I be this blessed? How can God be this good to me? A catastrophic birth that you narrowly survived, and now you are here in my arms, and you are perfect? But it’s true. You smile, and talk to me all day long and you are fascinated by your sister and brother, but who can blame you, I’m fascinated by them too. Your tiny personality is gently emerging, and it’s already outstanding.

You keep gaining weight like a boss.  You’re a cannonball. And it feels good to know that even thought we had a rough start, I did that. At first they wouldn’t let me breastfeed you until you were 3 days old, which seemed like an eternity at the time, but now, two months later we’re at a professional level, and we got this…even in the middle of Christmas shopping at Target, we got this.


Everyone asks me, how’s three?

“Three is more,” I respond.

It’s more work, more poop, it takes more time to get places, it requires me to bring more stuff when I leave the house, it costs more money, there are more conversations about discipline, and sharing, it requires me to ask for more help, there’s more laundry, more arguments, and more waking up in the middle of the night.


But it’s also more love.

And that is enough to cover up all that other stuff.


So happy two months Silas, you have blessed our life with more.



Loved this post. So happy everything ended up MORE than alright. ;) And so happy you have more. The life should be, right?

by RealMommyChron on January 11, 2013

So good! All of it.

by Dena Lucas on January 11, 2013

Beautiful. He is a handsome little man.

by Kelly on January 12, 2013

I love this.

by Lindsey on January 12, 2013

Great post. Adorable baby. Wonderful use of bad Target furniture.

by Libby on January 14, 2013

so sweet!!

by allie on January 15, 2013

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