Humbled. And sore.

I am awed by my capacity for love. And adoration. And exhaustion.

I have had my soul destroyed by falling in love with a tiny new fragile little person. I feel protective over him, in a much different way than I ever did with L. (And ironically, he is NOT a tiny baby, weighing in at just under 9 pounds).

I have also had my heart ripped out from an awesome weight of guilt on my shoulders, seeing L's reaction to the new person. She's confused, concerned, protective of me, of him, of her father... she paces the room, not knowing what to do when the baby cries, because she's not old enough yet to know that she can't just run up to him and hug him. She pats him and then hangs back, waiting for someone to put him to the side so she can focus on playing with us. It devastates me.

I hold him as he sleeps, and she'll sit next to me, with her own bottle of milk that she's requested, and I feel that she's half with me, and half trying to be independent (maybe forced to be?) and distant so she can show me that she's a big girl now.

But she's still my baby. They'll all be like that until they're 18, I'm sure. All my babies. All my beautiful unique little creatures.

I'm sure I'm reading into it, and months down the line our new perfect will have emerged. But the sleepless nights at the moment, my sore body, my heart that is spilling over with love and fear and joy... all of this is a hard test of transition and balance for us.

But at the moment, I do not take for granted how I'm blessed. And the tears running down my cheeks are unmistakeably filled with love (though the exhaustion seems much more apparent).