It’s been a week since I gave birth. It was a week of insanity, very busy, but with father figure around to help. This week there has been no father figure and even more insanity. As people told me I looked great, I kept saying that I felt great and I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. The other shoe has dropped.

I’m not sure if it’s X-Man’s decision to yell everything that occurs to him, or if it’s Mac’s belief that the odder he acts—Moose horns for the entire trip home, really?—the more awesome or if it was Baby’s vomiting all over the pharmacy that sealed the deal for me. Maybe it was the extra hour and a half spent wandering around Costco waiting for them to get to my tires. Which is exactly what every gal wants to spend her Costco rebates on. X-Man kept me on my toes with not one, but two, poopy diapers.  Gestated Cinco kept up with him, and why not? Why not fully celebrate having two children in diapers?

Over all, the adaptation had gone smoothly. I was most concerned about X-Man’s response to the usurpation of his role of baby. He’s plowing along as if little has changed. He didn’t even seem to notice Gestated Cinco’s existence, nor did he seem to wonder why he was visiting me in the hospital. Clearly we had brought him to a room where there were 357 different drawers and doors to open. Why wouldn’t we do that for our little guy? As he was slamming away, Gestated Cinco expressed her opinion about life ex-utero, he paused, removed the binky from his mouth and said “Baby” and headed back to slamming.  He enjoys snuggling, perhaps a bit more than normal, but he’s a cuddly guy to begin with.

Mac is highly aware of how much everyone else has held Gestated Cinco compare to him. The numbers never work in his favor and he’s not reticent to share this knowledge. Baby and Baba just think that it’s odd that I am not in favor of them carrying her up and down the stairs or outside. It’s because I’m mean, I own that. Just as I enforced early bedtimes tonight in light of state required school testing tomorrow. It’s because I relish their tears of outrage.

Gestated Cinco is certainly keeping up her end of the whole team player aspect. She’s eating well and sleeping well. Which is exhausting. Because everyone thinks that they should check in on her always. And are certain that they heard her cry and will pick her up just in case. One squawk and she’s up. Lifted out of the bed. There’s no hope of her falling back to sleep, because well….someone wants to hold her. For two minutes. I’ve never locked a child in their room, but I’m close to locking children out of their sibling’s room. 

Now, if I can just keep up with their enthusiasm for waking their sister up and holding her and not doing chores or anything else around the house.