My maternity leave is over today. I'm back on the job, but my clients have increased by 50%.
Today is my first day flying solo with two three year olds and a not quite three week old. Since C gave me some sleep last night and I'm finally seeing some progress in the stomach-shrinkage issue, I'm feeling ok. Not 100%, though. I think it will be a long time before I can say that. I'm functioning in survival mode, and fairly well since the four of us were fed and dressed by nine am. Never mind N woke me at 5:45 (darn sunrise), C at 6:30, N again at 7:00, and M at 7:45.
A friend recently posted on Facebook that giving birth the second time is easier. I respectfully disagree. Apart from knowing what lies ahead, which does count for something, my incision hurt just as much, my feet were just as swollen, my breasts just as sore, and my body just as tired. Add to that two kids misbehaving and their toilet training regression, one very hungry baby, and no more grandmas or aunties to help out, and you get a pretty good picture of what's happening here: sheer exhaustion.
We keep telling ourselves it's just a season, that "this too shall pass," because we know that's the truth. But knowing the truth doesn't make it easier- it just gives you hope for the future. Like now. C is in my lap, watching his brothers "play cars" on their car rug. This has been going on for about 20 minutes while I've been pecking out this post on my iPhone. I take comfort in that M and N have each other to play with while I care for C. I'm determined to enjoy his infancy because one doesn't enjoy twin infancy; one survives it. And because C is our caboose.