Summer Will Return; He Will Not.

These summer days have been long, slow. I am blessed to be at home. Every morning I get to drink my tea as slow as I want, refilling my cup two, three, four times. I have time to read and pray and write, and I am not having to get up at some awful hour to do it.
Ethan is getting up early because of the light, but he goes in his room and plays with his trains. He goes potty on his own, gets his yogurt out of the fridge on his own, his spoon. He is becoming quite self sufficient. These little acts make my life a bizzilion trillion million times easier.
Noah will come at the end of these long summer days. Craziness, sleep deprive-ness, round-the-clock care wrapped in a thin blanket. And I can't wait.
Second babies are so different than firsts. If not a complete idiot, I was at least naive to the way Ethan would change everything, knock me on my back like a backhoe loader ramming me at full force, completely leveling my universe (he'd appreciate the metaphor).
But I know Noah is going to do this. And I am already preparing to lay down so it won't hurt as bad.
With this baby I am going to go slow. I am going to hold him as much as I want, thank you very much any book that tells me otherwise. I am not going to resent the time I spend in the back bedrooms of friend's houses nursing while everyone else continues to socialize at dinners and holidays. I am going to hold him as much as I want. I am going to revel in the cuteness of putting him in the tiniest little man clothes. I am going to have his picture taken, by a professional. I am going to take him out, show him off. And I am going to hold him as much as I want.
The long summer days will be gone for a season, but I will have a little, teeny baby, for just a little, teeny while.