Time stands still

Our new Little Man is 3 days old now, and this afternoon for the first time he and I ventured downstairs to rejoin the rest of the world.

For three days he and I sat up in the master bedroom and got to know one another. I got to gaze at his sweet face and memorize those perfect little features. I was able to familiarize myself with his little wimpers and squeaks. I stroked his dark hair and dreamed over his future and thought over the memories of this pregnancy and cried over the beauty of it all more times than I can count. Waves of hormone induced tears came at random moments through our beautiful little three day retreat together. We were far from lonely - the rest of the family came in and out of our room as they pleased - to visit with me, to snuggle with him, just to check in and stay close. But for the most part life went on as usual downstairs without us. Chores were done, school was accomplished, owies were kissed, tantrums were thrown and wet pants were changed. And Little Man and I just sat apart in our own separate little world through it all.

And I admit there were moments through the tears (am I the only woman who cries for no reason whatsoever in the days following birth?) when I felt sad that this new cocooning time would soon be ending and that real life would start again for Little Man and me. I was afraid to make that trek downstairs, knowing I would not go down again as the pregnant woman I was the last time I trekked up those same stairs. Life had changed, and could I handle this new life once it really started in earnest?

So this afternoon I came down when it looked like Girly Pie was too disagreeable to join Daddy and the boys for a trip to the park. But by the time I was ready to take over the care of one little girl and one baby boy, she had got her ducks in a row and was ready to hit the road with the gang. So Little Man and I were left alone downstairs for a while.

And you know what? Time indeed did not stand still while we had been upstairs. There were dishes in the sink and laundry in the hamper. The toys had been played with and only partly cleaned up. Sippy cups on the counters and crumbs on the floor.

But here's the crazy thing. Instead of feeling overwhelmed as I looked around the house, I actually felt better. As I stood there with my sweet Little Man in my arms - bright eyed and quiet as he gazed around his home for the first time - I realized suddenly how much I had missed all of it. I missed the dishes and the noise and the laundry rotation. I missed the morning sweeping of the floor and the setting of the dinner table.

Yes, my honeymoon with Little Man was wonderful. The rest was wonderful and I'm sure it will be a blessing to us all in the weeks to come that I was able to rest so much at first and will hopefully be blessed with more energy to do all that I am called to do now. I am so blessed to have a husband who is so willing to work extra hard to give me that time to recover both physically and emotionally.

But to come back downstairs and to look all around me at the pieces of life that remind me of all that goes on in my life in a day was a beautiful thing. And as I stood there with Little Man in my arms, instead of feeling strange and new, instead of wondering if I'd miss the joy of pregnancy, not knowing if I'd ever get to experience it again (always a struggle for me after I have a baby), I was so glad to get to share it all with him. Suddenly, the person who was missing from our family felt like he was really there to fill the hole I hadn't realized was empty. As I walked around downstairs with that Little Man, I felt like we were home.

And it feels so very good to be home. ;o)