The first six months of Miles' life seemed to last, at the very least, a year and a half. He was a phenomenally cranky baby, didn't want to go to sleep, allergic to milk and, therefore, rashy and itchy until we figured it out. It was probably the most stressful time of my life. I loved my baby, but I had no idea what I was doing and it was so overwhelming. So why have another one? Because the second one is so much easier. I want to clarify that my desire to have a second child was not based on any false modesty on my part in thinking that I know what I am doing with this whole parenting thing. I don't, I make it up as I go along. However, it does feel gratifying knowing that my oldest child has made it to the age of 10 without any major trauma along the way. None of us has run away from home (as tempting as it seems sometimes) and we all still like each other, most of the time.
So I tempted the fates and went through hell and back to have my second baby. And...it's true. He is the best baby ever. It kind of makes me feel bad about how crabby I was with Miles, but he seems to have turned out okay, so I can't stress about it too much. And now Owen is 9 months old. I honestly have no idea where the time has gone. I feel like time is flying so fast I am afraid I am going to miss something important. He is already crawling and standing. He has teeth. He eats semi-solid foods. He will be in high school by next week, I know it. As I am typing this he is upstairs in his crib calling to me. When I go in his room he will be standing up waiting to greet me. Yay.
