I know, I know. I'm sorry. I have been horrible at updating the blog. It's already been two weeks! Let me see what I can do to give you a taste of how life has changed in the Burick household.
To be honest, I am overwhelmed. Good overwhelmed and bad overwhelmed.
There are times when I am so relieved that Vlad is home with us and I love being a mom of two boys -- those moments where Vlad seems to be showing off because he is adjusting so well. Like when he went to the nursery on Easter Sunday with Syrus and it didn't phase him at all. Or the times he dances with Syrus when American Idol is on TV. Or when he helps me clean up after a meal by pushing in the chairs and lining up the sippy cups on the table. The moments when he snuggles with me for about an hour in the morning when he wakes up. Or when he points to me when I ask, "where is mama?" These are the moments of good overwhelmed.
Then there are days like today when I can't seem to figure out how to get him to stop crying. I take his temperature, I hold him, I change him, I get him a drink, I feed him, I try to play with him, and nothing works. There are the times when Syrus starts to cry, and pushes Vlad off of me in an effort to still be important and Vlad slides down at my feet and begins to whimper, while I try to see him over my huge belly. Or the moments when I am standing, nine months pregnant, with nothing on but a towel, and Vlad is screaming and Syrus is crying, and all I can do is cry too because I'm not sure how I'm going to get dressed and get them lunch and down for a nap before I have to be at work in an hour. Or the moments I've convinced myself I must be going into labor because why else would this be so difficult. These are the moments of bad overwhelmed.
And I wrestle with a million questions about this little boy who I don't know as well as I know Syrus. See, with Syrus, I know all the different cries -- which ones mean I am afraid or injured and which ones mean I am two years old and want my own way. I don't know those with Vlad yet. So, when Vlad cries, the questions come. Is he afraid I am going to leave him? Is he testing me to see if I'll really always be there? Has he somehow contracted an awful fatal disease in the last few minutes? Is he just being a toddler boy and trying to figure out what he can get away with? Does he hate me because I turned his life upside down? Am I just horrible at being a mom to more than one child? Did my water just break?
Ugh. I hate the questions. I want the answers. I want the key to unlock this little boy so I know why he cries when he cries. I want to know why one night he slept in his crib in the room he shares with Syrus and now he panics if I try to put him in there. I want to understand why I can leave for work with no tears from him but if I leave the room and he can still see me, he slides down the wall, sucks his thumb and whimpers. I want to know how he can possibly learn how to use sign language so quickly -- really it is amazing how fast he picks up on everything! I want to know why yesterday at the doctor, Syrus measured two inches taller than Vlad and Vlad is a year and a half older than Syrus. And the list goes on and on. So many questions. I just want the answers.
And as I sit and write this, partly feeling guilty for being honest about how there has been BOTH beauty and stress since Vlad came home, I am as usual reminded that the essence of my stress comes from my desire to know the answers to questions that I'm sure God often has about me.
Me. The one who God must constantly shake his head at and wonder why is she crying about that?
Me. The one who makes one decision one day and turns around and does the opposite thing the next day.
Me. The one who trusts God in this big moment but freaks out in that little one.
Me. Unpredictable, stressful, crying, questioning, messy me.
Hmmmm..... Maybe I know Vlad better than I think. :)