I am alive and blogging, albeit now with a wee lad sitting in his papasan chair next to me, sleeping like a little lamb (when not screaming). I am feeling light as a feather and keep forgetting that just because I no longer have a huge boy in my belly does not mean that I can lift boxes over my head. Slightly less jolly after kicking the narcotic painkillers, but it's for the best.
We had perfect weather today for my first day of a two-month gig as a temporary stay at home mom of two. Gabi and I took our respective babies and strollers out for a walk. It felt really good and there was sunshine and Ray didn't poop his drawers or anything. Tonight I'm making my debut back into society, attending a book club meeting.
I cried for an entire weekend months back when I found out Ray was a boy. I guess it just defied my sick daydream of two daughters with matching bob haircuts, wearing seersucker dresses and the four of us strolling around the Hamptons with me in a straw hat or something like that. People comforted me with things such as Boys are so much easier and But it will be so nice for your husband, neither of which made me feel any better. But I'm realizing it just might be different--and okay--and maybe even better--with a boy kiddo this time around. And I'm not just saying that because he looks just like me.
Speaking of fellas, here are a couple of pictures in honor of Father's Day
Frank proudly holding his son (it must be so nice for him, eh?)
My dad with Gabi and Ray