Weeks

I’ve realized that I don’t know the weeks.

You know when you’re pregnant with your first child and someone asks you how far along you are? You answer, all giddy with the knowledge that you’re growing your baby: 24 weeks and 3 days.

You know. You know exactly to the day how far along you are.

The knowledge of the weeks continues once the baby is born. Any innocent inquiry to the baby’s age is met with: 16 weeks. 22 weeks. 34 weeks.

You just know. You keep track. The poor stranger that asked you the question is left to the math to try to figure out how old your child is, and you feel confident that you’ve given the most accurate response to the question.

With the second child, you still know the weeks of gestation, after all, you’re carrying that kid around and he’s bouncing on your pelvis and making you wonder what the H you were thinking about carrying another baby around for 40 weeks.

When people ask after baby #2 is born, how old he is, half the time you know to the week, the other half of the time you just round to the nearest half-month. Let’s face it, people don’t need that accurate information.

The third child? I was supremely happy to discover that I was finally pregnant. I counted down the days to my first OB appointment so that I could see that the being inside me was doing well and growing fine. After that first appointment? No, really after the thirteenth week, I lost track. People would ask how many weeks I was pregnant (obviously other pregnant moms or recently pregnant moms) and I would falter. I didn’t know. Often I’d just blurt out a number then go home and look at my calendar and discover I was further along than I had said I was.

Since she was born it’s no less a wonderful thing. It’s no less a joy to have an infant around our house. In fact, in some ways, it is the best time that I’ve had an infant around the house. She smiles, she giggles, she is easy to please.

If you ask me how old she is, however, I will round to the nearest half-month. Every time. Sometimes that might mean that I round up to the half-month before it’s actually warranted. To tell the truth, I have no idea whatsoever how many weeks old my third child is at any given time.

I can tell you that it doesn’t mean that I love her any less than I love her siblings. Love does, indeed, multiply with each child. However, the concept of time seems to fade with each birth.
One moment they’re babies, the next they’re going away to college.