Surviving

I am very tired. I guess I forgot how tired you get taking care of a newborn. I mean, it really does defy logic. They tell you that newborns sleep 21 hours a day. 21 hours. Which leaves three for being awake. The problem is that they sleep for 21 hours a day, but only in ten minute spurts. They can also sleep while pooping, while nursing, and while screaming their little floppy heads off.

Andrew is actually a very mellow baby - so far. He sleeps for over three hours at a time, sometimes even at night. He hardly ever cries - but when he does he sounds as though he's being tortured, and the other night he caused even Steve to wake up in a cold sweat because obviously the screaming indicated that someone's eyeballs had fallen out of their sockets and the zombies were coming.

The things is, it's a constant non-stop of changing diapers, feeding, burping, changing diapers again, putting down to sleep, quickly jamming laundry in the washer (how does a small person create so much extra laundry?), and then trying to pay as much attention to the other boys before Andrew realizes I'm not holding him and asks to be fed by whimpering and moving his head around while opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, as though a magical breast will suddenly appear in front of him.

The other day I took Nathan and Andrew to Target to buy lightbulbs, soap, and other necessities we had lived without for what seemed like forever. The trip went fine. Both boys were perfect. But on the way home, I didn't even realize I had passed our exit until I was well past it. I mean, miles past it.

I keep telling myself that this part will go by more quickly than I can imagine. I look at my other boys and how big they are and remind myself that they were this little once, too. I tell myself it will only be a matter of time before Andrew can hold his own bottle, can roll over and crawl, will sleep for six hours at a stretch and have regular naps. It's encouraging and sad at the same time.