I have a week left of maternity leave.
I get all teary when I think about it. I snuggle him and think, oh, our time is running out!
Yes, I realize it's melodramatic. It's not like I'm never going to see him again.
But these nigh on 16 weeks have flown.
In the beginning, time couldn't pass fast enough. I felt stuckstuckstuck. With the breastfeeding, which was so hard. With the diaper changing. With the responding to mystery cries. With the endless getting up at night.
It felt like torture. I just couldn't see a way out except leaving. And I couldn't imagine it getting better.
And then I got my PPD treated, and things got so much brighter. And I learned that we could actually leave our bedroom, and even the house, and nothing more calamitous than an enormous poo would happen.
I even got to the point with breastfeeding where I could do it pretty much anywhere. That Target couch? Don't think I haven't been back, and don't think Big J wasn't hungry.
And I'm thankful I stuck it out. I love the closeness, the amazing connection.
Which is not to say that I won't enjoy having my little boobs back when this is done.
And now, now we have such a good time. We go on walks on nice days. We chat. We play. We cuddle. We laugh.
Let me be frank: it's not that it's never dull. There's only so much tummy time encouragement and playing with Miss Ellie the blue elephant who makes pretty tinkling sounds when you shake her that an adult can do. But it is pretty gratifying to see how excited the boy gets.
And when the weather sucks, and we are aching for entertainment (read: mama needs some fun) we take pictures of ourselves.