The last few nights, Emmeline has been going down earlier in the evening. She'll rub her eyes, fuss, and I put her in the swing. Sometimes she's down for the night, sometimes just for a few hours before she eats again, but it does give me an hour or more before Oliver's bedtime to be with him. And on nights when Wes is working a shift, that's something extra special. We play with Oliver's toys or he helps me with the dishes, and when it's time for bed, I can let him play in the bath for awhile and we read books before I tuck him in. The first night I got to do this it reminded me of what life was like before Emmeline came, before I was pregnant even, trying to shield my abdomen from his exuberance and fighting nausea and exhaustion. I love having Emmeline. I wouldn't wish her away for a single second. And there is nothing more special about my first child than my second. But in those moments, when I'm blowing bubbles for him in the bathtub or letting him read me Blue Hat, Green Hat, it feels like old times.
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