As I type this (one-handed) Paul and Aedan are upstairs napping; Colm is asleep in my lap, and I am left with some quiet time to reflect, to gather my thoughts. It feels a bit like that scene in the movie "Twister", where Helen Hunt and Bill Pulman belt themselves to a water pipe rising out of the ground, to anchor themselves as the tornado roars around them.
I am holding on for dear life.
Two is intense. I don't think anyone could have prepared me for it. In fact, I don't recall trying to prepare myself for it. I suppose, deep down, I knew that was an impossible task.
Aedan is generally being wonderful. I try my very best to give him as much attention as I can spare, while taking fleeting glimpses of the new babe, taking deep breathes of his new-baby scent before diving back in to an ever-changing sea of toddler needs.
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| Aedan loves to share his toys with his brother. |
I am so grateful that Colm is, so far, an easy baby. He nurses a whole lot, and sleeps a whole lot more. My love for him has been slow to grow, but my heart is pretty much bursting with it now. I try to savour every little bit of him, every little newborn moment, because he'll likely be my last. I fear for him like I never did for Aedan, not until the diabetes diagnosis, that is. I think it's because of that that I harbour so many secret worries. But Colm seems healthy and content. I tested his blood sugar while the midwife was here, and it was within a normal range. I smell his breath often for keytones, and wonder if he pees too much. I tell myself, as often as possible, "He's fine."
It's not just two to entertain, two to lull to sleep, two bums to wipe, two to love. It's two to nurse, too. I had planned all along to continue nursing Aedan alongside Colm, and I think it's part of the reason that Aedan is adjusting so well, but wow. It is hard. My feelings about my nursing relationship with Aedan change from session to session, oscillating from gratitude to exasperation. He's not ready to wean, though, and I want to keep going. I just need to find some mom-support, another tandem nurser to talk to.
And what about the two of us, the two adults in all of this? We cling to one another when we can. We try to help one another. I feel like I'm taking so much right now, but that's because I'm giving so much, elsewhere.
Two is beautiful and frightening and overwhelming in every way.
