The girls immediately loved their new sibling. They each kissed him goodnight before they went up to bed yesterday.
But only after attempting to mount a compelling argument that older kids stay up longer than younger kids; that it couldn't possibly be their bedtimes, therefore, since Baby Brother was still downstairs.
This morning their daddy drove the two girls to school and I drove the boy to his checkup with the pediatrician. He checked out fine in the eyes of the doctor but I was taken to task by the clucky-grandma receptionist. Did I lift that carseat onto the stroller frame by myself? And where is the lovely husband? I didn't drive myself here, did I? (Um, why yes I did.) I really should be taking it easy.
Yes. Is that one of the rules? That I shouldn't be driving yet? I remember that rule from baby #1, the c-section baby, but I don't remember it from baby #2. Now that I'm on baby #3 nobody even warned me of any rules when I was discharged from the hospital. Maybe because any would-be advisor must know that a third-time mom probably won't bother to abide by them, anyway.
But lest the worriers commence their hand-wringing, let me state that I came homefrom my harrowing driving and baby-lifting excursion and felt just fine. Besides, I only had one other commitment on my calendar, to hold this:
This new normal? It's not bad at all.