Sebastian is three months old. He is trying desperately to sit up on his own, to stand, to walk, to run after his older siblings and get in on their wrestling matches. If I happen to catch his eye, he'll probably smile, and when tickled he nearly always laughs. (There is nothing like a baby laugh.) He loves to be cuddled, and he prefers to be rocked to sleep. He is a generous sleeper, and there are nights that he doesn't wake up at all until after his big brother starts yelling that it's morning. He's generally pretty relaxed and happy, but he hates to feel ignored or forgotten. He is completely, one hundred per cent, a lovable, wonderful, incredible little person.
There is an experience I never had the chance to record, and I feel it's an important one, something I don't want to forget. Labor and delivery for Sebastian was nothing out of the ordinary; there were no complications or extra risk factors. Nevertheless, giving birth is absolutely the hardest, most horrible thing I have ever done, and I hope to never be faced with anything more difficult. Sebastian is baby number three for me, but I found myself facing the same (though less intense) fear as with previous births. Right near the end I always find myself wondering if I am going to die. I know that sounds overly dramatic, but that's really what giving birth is like for me. Anyway, just as I came to that part of things, suddenly Sebastian was there. All purple, and gooey, and yelling, and squished looking. As the nurses thrust this mad little lump of a person at me, I had this incredible feeling. That's it? That's all I have to go through to get this tiny, perfect person? A few months of morning sickness and the pain of childbirth were nothing compared to this. Ten fingers, ten toes, and wide, unfocused eyes all cuddled up to my heart.I've never gotten a better deal in my life.
1 year ago