He’s six months old and somehow I’ve failed to formally introduce him to the world. His birth announcements never made it beyond immediate family and friends. The rest are still stacked on my bedroom dresser. Maybe I’ve been too busy enjoying every second with my final baby? That’s certainly part of it. But life is hectic with four kids ranging in age from 0-6. Adjusting to school and pre-school schedules, plus the antics of a toddler, and the unpredictability of sleep and blow-outs with an infant make life interesting to say the least.
And then there’s the sleep deprivation. It doesn’t faze me the way it did with my first. I’m used to sleeping in short intervals and calling a total of four hours with my eyes shut well-rested. Still, some days it’s like I’m in a constant fog. But I love this phase. And I hate knowing he’ll be all grown up on me in no time.
Anyhow, without further ado, here he is: Baby #4, our newest world traveler. Or, as he’s called when I point him out when strangers inquire about the ages of my brood of kids: “Six, Four, Two, and Done.” He’s obviously an infant. The real question they’re asking (and I’m kind enough to answer) is if he’s my last.
My “done” baby entered the world with relatively little drama. He waited for his grandma to arrive so we’d have someone to watch all his siblings. And then he managed to come quick enough for his sister to get to visit him in the hospital before heading off to her first day of school. Yep, I arrived at the hospital with relatively minor contractions a little before 3AM and not much more dilated than I’d been at my appointment the previous week. I’m not sure the nurses were convinced I was in real labor until the contractions suddenly escalated in the triage room and I was vomiting all over the place. My husband was kind enough to snap multiple photos of my half-exposed self in a hospital gown leaning forward on my birthing ball while I vomited into a bed pan. He was determined I remember every gory, not-so-pleasant detail of the birth experience. But even with those photos it’s amazing how a few months later my memory is a vague ‘it wasn’t that bad’ blur that ended in joy as another beautiful baby boy entered our lives. Oh, and my water literally (and quite unexpectedly) exploded all over the delivery bed. I wish I could say it managed to spray the nurses and my husband, but miraculously they were far enough away that only their shoes got splattered.
I may have failed to properly announce him to the world outside of my personal Facebook page, but I did manage to snag an awesome photographer, Carly Moon Images, to capture some photos of my not-so-tiny newborn before he grew up on me. He’s only 9 days old in these photos, but he looks gigantic. And he was a solid 9 pounds at birth, so it shouldn’t be surprising.
At the ripe old age of six months, he’s already well-traveled. He received his passport before he was a month old and has already explored two continents (Europe & North America). I’m even tempted to call it three continents since while Madeira is technically part of Portugal, it’s off the coast of Africa.
So far, like all my babies, he has proven to be an excellent air traveler. He finds the low hum of engines to be perfect white noise and the steady vibrations of airplanes lull him to sleep. In fact, if it wasn’t for his penchant for pooping through multiple diapers and outfits each flight, he’d be a perfect little travel companion.