My year at home (15 months, actually) with the boys is winding down. School is out and I have a regular teacher’s summer break to go. Sebastian is enrolled in a small variety of summer camps and classes, and Henry is still attached to me like a baby koala almost constantly and makes sad noises and desolate reaching motions if I put him down. That transition to daycare is going to be super-duper fun.
This year has been so wonderful, and yet, so bizarrely unsatisfying. I was so starry-eyed when I started this, and now those stars are burned-out, dead black holes. Staying home with little kids is HARD. Staying home with a kid like Sebastian is EXTRA-SPECIAL HARD. I am chagrined and disappointed to find that I don’t have the infinite well of patience and magnanimity I assumed I did for my young friends.
At the same time, it has been an experience I will remember fondly forever (and perhaps even more fondly with the help of the misty veil of time). It has been undeniably good for Sebastian. He has made up years — literal years — of social and communication development in the last 12 months. He is amazing. And getting to hold a baby all you want while he grows in your arms from a newborn to a toddler is pure primordial joy.
Nonetheless, I will be very glad to go back to the job I love in August, and I will be very sad to put my baby in daycare, and I will be stabbed in the heart — in a good/bad way — to see my sweet firstborn boy start kindergarten. (Via phone pix, unfortunately — his first day of school is also my first day of school. DAGNABBIT.)
So anyway, there we are. I haven’t felt like writing here much because I’ve gotten really squirrelly about the boys’ privacy, and my privacy. (Plus: Brain leaking from ears from year at home with boys.) Steve’s privacy I don’t respect at all, but unfortunately he is .06 percent funnier than I am so he should tell his own stories.