9pm, 12am, 3am, and 6am. Those are the hours that Macks woke me up last night so that I would come and feed him. He’s perfectly capable of sleeping through the night, as I’ve been reminded by his pediatrician on several occasions. He’s even proven it to me by sleeping nearly 11 hours a couple of times. It’s not consistent, but I know he can do it.
Macks is by far my most challenging child. Especially these past few weeks. He loves to be held, doesn’t love to sleep, and insists on being entertained nearly all the time. He’s tested my patience and challenged my capabilities far more than I ever thought they could reach.
There are some days when I don’t mind his constant desire for me to hold him so he can pull at my hair and gnaw on my fingers. But then there are those days when I feel like I am being pulled in a million different directions and all I want is one minute to myself to try to gain some of my sanity back.
During those bad days, I tell myself that it won’t be like this next year. Next year he’ll be running around, climbing on furniture, and showing me just how crazy little boys can be. And that’s when I stop.
Macks is most likely our last child. These past seven months with him have flown by. Much faster than they did with the girls. As much as I love watching him grow and become my little boy, my heart aches at the thought of it. I love this stage. I love it more than I ever thought that I would.
Because Macks is our third child, I know what comes next. I know that those nights when all he wants to do is nurse and grasp onto my finger are numbered. The number of times that I’ll be able to comfortably carry him on my hip are slowly dwindling down. The days when all he wants to do is have me lay down on the floor with him rolling around and entertaining him by the simple nod of my head are decreasing.
That’s when I realize that I could have a thousand challenging moments for just one moment like that.
