I'm always a little amazed when we reach four weeks of life with our children. I've begun coming out of the "birth fog" and things seem a little more clear. We did it -- kept our child alive -- for one whole month. And by we, I mean me. Yes, my husband helped keep our other kids fed, helped me with diaper changes and burping and kept me from losing my mind from lack of sleep, but I sustained a life for a month, doing nothing more than what my body was designed to do. Incredible.
Our little Bugg is such an amazing addition to our family. I marvel at him. I stare at him. I memorize every inch of him. This is our last one. The last one I'll carry in my womb and the last one that will have the Braisted/Goodwin genes. I don't want to forget these moments, I want to cherish them and hide them in my heart and pull them out whenever the going gets tough. Those little hooded eyelids and pointed lips, they will only be four weeks old once, and I don't want to forget them.
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