The days I stay home are a little crazy. It takes a special dance to maneuver between a toddler and a two month old baby. Everything will be going perfectly fine, until Paul wants to eat lunch, Charlie wants to eat boob, the dog needs out, the doorbell rings, and I need to use the bathroom. All at the exact same time.
Usually, I put Charlie in his swing at 1:00 pm and take Paul up for his nap. He needs books and cuddles, and several "I loves yous" before he is satisfied to close his eyes. Then I get downstairs and clean up the million cars and puzzle pieces and toy animals that are scattered throughout the house. I wipe down the counters, maybe vacuum and restart the dryer for the 4th time. Then I try to have one hour for myself. To watch a Real Housewives, or read a book, or take a little cat nap.
But his weekend, after I got Paul down and rushed through my chores, I cautiously (and stupidly) took Charlie out of his swing and walked him upstairs. I carefully laid him on our big bed and snuggled up next to him. I smelled his sweet newborn head and listened to his breathing. I covered us both with a blanket and let my eyes close. I know alone time is important to regroup, recharge, and get ready for the next part of the day. And I really try to follow that rule . But I am never going to get a little baby who wants to snuggle again. Before I know it, he will be jumping off furniture, running around my house screaming, demanding suckers and muffins for breakfast. And as beautiful as those moments are, there is something so peaceful, so calming about a tiny baby that literally curls up in your nook and finds comfort laying his head on your chest. These are the moments to remember. To cherish. When I let myself break my own rules, I find a little more love.