“And how old is she now?” Manchild asks every once in a while. Seven hours. Twelve hours. Thirty-six. Three days and four hours. We’re counting every second she’s been with us, every minute she grows. I love it. I love being reminded of how small she is, how fresh. I love being reminded of how fast she is growing so that I can savor this tiny little girl as much as I can.
This morning we had our first family outing as a family of five. The baby had a doctor’s appointment, and as we walked to the office – Manchild on foot, Squish in the stroller, the baby in the sling – I was nearly overcome by good it felt, how right it felt. Our family. All five of us. I’m excited for us to grow together.
Micah has taken the boys out a couple of times this week. They had a great time. Saw a movie. Went to IKEA. Got pizza and ice cream. It wasn’t very long ago that or family was too young for such things. We had bedtimes and naptimes that couldn’t be ignored, attention spans that didn’t sit still, stomachs that wouldn’t handle real food. But we’re there now. We’re growing up, hitting the town, and we’re old enough to be able to appreciate the finer things in life. Like pizza and ice cream.
And now I’m sitting on the couch, nursing my baby, watching the Olympics – just as I’d planned to do months ago.
It’s been a magical week.