Today I went for a walk with Jack. During the witching hour, you know, that time when we are just limping across the finish line until Daddy comes home, dinner is served, and all that jazz. I stuck him in the front of the baby bjorn; and my darling, colicky Prince Jack, Lord of the Realm, was as happy as a clam. Imagine that! This is the child who has instilled fear in me, fear to my very bones. I, who fearlessly took Emma and Laura at six weeks of age to Boston all by myself because that was just how I roll(ed), will not take Jack to the grocery store, much less out of city limits. He has been the colicky-est of all colicky babies, worse even than Emma (isn't there some sort of rule that you can't have two colicky babies? I mean really, where is the justice?). But now that he has hit his four-month-mark, he is actually turning into a...well, a human being. And I adore him. Two months ago I was really thinking about floating him down the river on a raft with a note that said, "do not return until sleeping through the night," but now I just cannot get enough of his drooly, fuzzy-headed, big blue-eyed perfection. Thanks be to God above for getting me through these dark past few months. I was thinking three kids broke me.
Anyway (yes, I am a tangent queen), all is well and Jack loved the carrier. I toted him around the neighborhood in a onesie and socks (because you can do that in Florida in February), and reveled in the fact that his little fuzzy head rested just below my chin, giving me the perfect opportunity to do nothing but walk and kiss the little fuzzy hurricane at the top of it.
We won't mention the rest of the day (how long it took to be able to shower...the lack of naps...the lack of motivation...the snapping at the kids....sigh). But this was one perfect moment that turned a rough day into a good day. And really, I think it's these type of moments that make all the difference.
Pictures to come.