This picture, taken by my mom, encompasses the general feelings that I wanted to talk about in this post. She took this picture at the hospital, when her and my stepdad came with Brayden for the first time, to visit us when Carter was born. When I look at the picture and study Brayden’s face, I see a little boy who seems to know exactly how different his life is about to become. Truth be told, I don’t think he really had any idea what was in his immediate future, but there is something about his expression, his face filled with a look of loneliness and solitude, that makes me think deep down that he did.

Many of my days lately have been filled with a whole lot of the woe is me mentality. I’m sure you’ve been getting this same vibe if you’ve been reading my posts. I think writing about it helps. Talking to God about it helps more. I often forget about that option though. It would probably be in my best interest to remember it much more often. Many times a day. In the past few nights, I’ve remembered this. When I wake to feed Carter in the wee hours of the night, now that we have moved him to his own room instead of beside our own bed, I am without the company of James’ sleep-laden breathing. I have a lot of time to think, to digest the events of the day, to try to sort out the good from the bad. I remember now that God is awake at all times, even if it’s 3:30 in the morning. Praying doesn’t have to be before breakfast. Before lunch. Before dinner. Before bed. It can be done before every breath, if you want.

I think the hardest transition for me, with the addition of child number two, is dealing with child number one. For the most part, Brayden is a pretty well behaved boy. He’s never really gotten into things he shouldn’t. He doesn’t cause too much trouble. He’s rarely mischievous. He just requires an abundant amount of attention. He has never been one to play by himself, and even amongst a bunch of kids, which he plays with very well, he would still prefer an adult to play with him. That’s just always how he’s been.

So, because of this, lately I have had four thousand excuses for Brayden when I hear the same questions over and over again. can you play with me now? and what can we do next? If you missed the post about that, you can check it out here. I can’t, love . . . I’m sorry. I’m feeding your brother. I can in a little bit . . . right now I’m trying to get your brother to sleep. I’m changing your brother’s diaper. I have to play with your brother for a little bit, since he’s happy and cooing right now. . . don’t want to miss any of those delectable first smiles. I have to change your brother’s outfit, he just spit up for the tenth time. Your brother, your brother, your brother. Every time I say a phrase like that to Brayden, I feel an excessive amount of guilt. I truly do feel badly that his days are so different now. That he has to sometimes attempt to play by himself. That he sometimes has to watch a little more on PBS than I would like for him to. That between 7:30 a.m. and 4:00 p.m. when his daddy walks in the door, he only gets a measly amount of mama’s sole attention compared to what he used to get.

And then there’s no wonder why, when I look through the images I have captured of our day, that I come across ones sometimes that look like this.

I mean, I know that he’s only two. But don’t those eyes and that face scream to you . . . mommy, come back to me. Please mommy.

His life has turned from this:

To putting up with this:

After a long lamenting email to James yesterday, he wrote back and gently reminded me of this whole thing that I’m writing about. That I’m not the only one that is trying to adjust. I am not the only one who goes to bed at the end of the day with thoughts of- is this truly going to be how my days go? My life is not the only one turned topsy-turvy. At the end of the day, a little two year old boy goes to bed thinking the same thing. Instead of thinking woe is me when I have a little wee one screaming in my arms while trying for the life of him to get all the gas out of his tummy, while I simultaneously try to prepare a lunch for my toddler that includes random things that somewhat resemble something in each of the food groups, I should remember that I am not the only one in the house with feelings. Today, I’m going to make a conscious effort to remember that life is different for all of us now. Things will go back to normal at some point. A new normal. Brayden will adjust. He will adapt. As will I. But right now, in this moment, things are different for not just me, but for him too. Very, very different. Enough woe is me for today. I need to focus on what is important.