The Fourth Trimester

It's been kind of a trying week with my little man. They say the first three months of a baby's life are like the fourth trimester, and I know so many moms who say their lives suddenly got so much easier at that magical three-month mark. I actually love the first three months, and I have very little to complain about; Isaac has mostly been a delightful, mellow baby, but this week it really does seem like he's hugely irritated at having to be outside me in the cruel, cruel world when he'd much rather just snuggle in close and take a nap. And eat. And not go to the library or on a walk or on a hike or to his big sister's art class.

We took the kids hiking yesterday. We've had some absolutely gorgeous days here, apologies to everyone who's buried underneath piles of snow, and we decided that it was time to introduce Isaac to Discovery Park. So after Matt mowed the lawn (because it's time to start mowing the lawn again), we headed to the park for the first time in several months. Suzannah rode in the big red backpack on Matt's back and I popped Isaac in the mei tai, and we hit the trail to the bluffs overlooking Puget Sound. It was such a perfect day for a walk -- the late-afternoon sun filtered through the trees and lit the open, dry patches of meadow and the ground smelled wet and alive. Joggers panted past us, dogs chased frisbees, and someone far off was playing a trumpet, a little softly mournful jazz lilting on the cool air. Hiking through the park and catching a view of the Olympics across the water made me happy just to breathe, to feel my heart beating against the baby on my chest and the slight burn in my legs.

It would have been nicer if Isaac could have taken a break from all the yelling he was doing.

By the time we returned to the car I told Matt that I really wasn't up for our original plan to go out for Thai food and wrangle a cranky baby in a quiet little booth, so we opted for take-out instead. Isaac had worn himself out with all his complaining, so once we made it home he seemed totally content to chill and watch me lean against the kitchen counter and wearily spoon my food directly from the take-out container to my mouth.

And then he slept for over seven hours in a row. (A few of those hours were before I went to bed, but still.) I woke up early this morning, swollen and dripping (yes, I'm talking about boobs, here, because in his nearly ten weeks of life Isaac has NEVER gone that long without demanding them and what can I say? They are an important part of our day) and actually thought, I'm not ready for him to sleep this long. As silly as it might sound, I think what I really meant was, I'm not ready for him to not need me for this long.