too tired to think up a title

Cupcakes are in the oven, glass of pinot next to me.

Have mercy, having a baby is exhausting.

This is a different kind of tired than newborn exhaustion.

That was how-hungry-can-one-baby-be tired.

This is how-much-does-he-need-to-eat

picking-up-soggy-puffs

pulling-him-down-from-trying-to-climb-up-into-the-stroller

rescuing-before-he-crawls-out-the-door

how-many-times-will-he-throw-the-spoon-on-the-ground

another-load-of-laundry

peek-a-boo!

bang-the-wooden-spoon-on-the-bowl

swimming-playdate

tired.

And there's only one of him.

Jewels in your crown, mamas of many babies.

In other news, Cruz's doctor thinks I am a far better (cooler?) mama than I actually am.

At our appointment today, she mentioned things like,

"Keep up the signing"

"Lentils are best when you soak them overnight"

and 

"Do you feed him kale? He'll love that."

But I heart her with all of my pediatrician loving heart.

She squealed over his knee chub,

gave him the best shot of his life (not even a blink from him!),

and pronounced him a blessing and perfect gift from God.

Which he is.