Last year, I had one word for my New Year’s resolution: Survive. I was can't-tie-shoes pregnant with Remy. By February, I was on bedrest. With a toddler. Both my husband and I run our own businesses, so we had those to attend to. Ruby was in for a big shock—that baby we’d been talking so much about? He didn’t go “back to his home” in March, when he arrived Earthside. He stayed.
When I think about life a year ago, it’s like an alternate reality.
Now I look around and I have a nearly three-year-old who can recite the words in her library books after the second or third reading. She is looking less and less like a baby every day, stretching out, exploding with skills. I have a nine-month-old who went from being a blinky, cuddly little blob to a long-and-lean mover and shaker—from rolling over to sitting up to pulling himself to standing in what was perhaps a week’s time. He loves his sister, biting my face, and trying new food, as evidenced by his purposeful use of the sign “more.”
Last year kicked my butt. Going from one to two is…exponential, not double. Delicious, but also all-consuming.
There are glimmers that some of the life I had cobbled together before Remy’s birth are re-emerging. The day after Christmas—and that was SOME input for my noise-averse son—he woke at his usual time, then fell back asleep in my arms. My husband tiptoed out of bed, retrieved Ruby, made espresso downstairs, and tiptoed back up, leaving a steaming coffee on my nightstand. Talk about love. It was the first thing I saw when Rem and I re-woke, at 10:30. The kids played together on the living room floor while I drank it and listened to my new Johnny Cash record.
Don’t get me wrong. There’s basically nothing I love more than tiny babies. But there was something so incredible about those minutes, watching my two babies build their friendship, worshipful Remy at his sweet sister’s feet, game for anything she’d allow him to participate in, while I enjoyed my country and caffeination on the couch.
It made me think: What’s this year’s resolution? I’m still not quite sure I’ve nailed it. But I do know that whatever it is, I want to be present every day. Mindful. Grounded. (A little organization wouldn’t hurt, either.) I want to write more, because memories get hazy, or completely discarded so quickly—baby brain is real and it’s even worse the second time around, people—and I don’t want to forget anything.
I want to lead this merry band of babies into a year of love, patience, and peace. Make sure this home is a sane, safe, sweet corner of the planet.