8-week-delightWell,  to say the least, it’s been a while since I’ve darkened the door of this hallowed hall.  I suppose the fact that it has taken me four months to blog is an unwritten blog in itself.  There’s the busyness, but there’s also the fact that I just haven’t made a habit of it yet.  My husband is so good to post one every Wednesday…maybe some day the habit will sneak up on me.  Yeah right.

So I have this sweet little boy named Jackson Whitefield that I spend most of my time with these days.  He was born on Sept. 10th, at 2:04 am, after 10 hours of normal Heidi-ish labor, the day before my 38th birthday.  He has medium brown hair ( to say he has hair is a stretch ), and dark blue eyes that will most likely turn brown, just like all my other kids.  Man, I was really pulling for one Frank Sinatra in this bunch, but it’s looking like I’m 0 for 6.  Oh well.  No biggie…he is perfect as perfect can be, and that is yet another reason to praise my God.  6 healthy kids.  I am one rich woman.

They say the first three months are the toughest when you have a baby…survival mode, hang on for dear life.  I’m almost outta the woods, as he will be 3 months on Dec. 10th, and I’m currently still alive.  I think the hardest thing for me is the messy house, and the constant wrestling within me about when and when not to ask for help.  The kids have such full schedules with homeschooling, gymnastics, chores, instrument practice, play times with siblings, etc, that I don’t want to bother them during their (what should be) focused time.  And then if they actually worked hard and got it all done, do I want to hand them a baby the second they put down the pencil?  Yeah, see?  Not the easiest answer. So anyway, Jack and I, we hang out a lot, and frankly, I can almost feel his security growing…his confidence that Mama will always hear his cry.  Maybe I’m delusional, but some have commented on how confident our older girls are, and something inside of me wonders if it all started when they couldn’t understand.  I’ve never been one to hurry up and make them sleep through the night, so I more often than not, go nurse them when they cry.  When I do let my babies cry out of necessity (dinner does have to be made), I’m more comfortable doing it with them near to me, so they can still see that I am there.   I’ve been called a softy, and other things, but I don’t care.  I’m just doing the best I can to raise my kids to be secure people.  And who knows, maybe I’m onto something.  If not,  and they are playing me like fiddles, then oh well.  I got to spend lots of time with my babies.

I jogged throughout most of my pregnancy, and started up again as soon as I could after Jack was born.  I had grand delusions that it would be easier physically to get back into it due to the pregnancy running, but alas, it’s been a hard road.  I continue to press on a couple miles at a time, even though my pelvis complains.  The baby weight hasn’t really budged either, which is a first for me.  It usually whittles away little by little due to nursing, but not this time.  But that’s ok.  I am determined to jog it off eventually, even if it takes longer in my old age.  Wish me luck this Saturday…I foolishly signed up for the Jingle Bell 5k Run for the Arthritis Foundation in Brighton.  Races do get me out there when the weather or my laziness would keep me inside.  It should be fun, in a twisted sort of way.  My goal?  Keep going until it’s over.  I’m not sure if I will even look at the time sheet for my time.

My hubby just appeared from his office…time to eat ice cream and connect for a bit.  (Ahh you say, now I see why the baby weight isn’t going anywhere…)  Chao, amigos.