Tomorrow marks three weeks since I gave birth to my second son, most commonly referred to as “Barnacle” since he wants nothing to do with his bouncy seat or his crib or his swing, or even the Hotsling for that matter. He only wants to be held, in an upright position, and for the most part by me only.

Meanwhile my 16-month-old demonstrates his dissatisfaction with this arrangement by playing with electrical outlets, slapping the Christmas tree on each lap around the house, and melting down to historic proportions on the playground knowing that I cannot pick him (c-section recovery) to haul his screeching, flailing self to the car.

And sadly, the precious days of staying in bed and having meals delivered to me on pretty, cloth-covered trays are over. My mom left for Florida today and probably won’t be back until March, when I will have no excuse for staying in bed all day and having meals delivered to me on pretty, cloth-covered trays.

So now it’s me on maternity leave with two babies (one of whom, by the grace of god, is in daycare). Two more months of trying to figure this mothering business out before I return to the job I’m really good at–

The one where I get paid good money to sit comfortably and quietly in front of a computer all day.

The one where people don’t kick and scream when it’s time to go home.

The one where results can be measured and packaged up with a bow.

But the one that, ultimately, doesn’t offer sweet smelling infants in blanket sleepers to snuggle with at night. Or toddlers who, after throwing fits at the park, click their tongues to the sound of the car blinker on the way home, perhaps as their little way of saying they are sorry.

That’s what family is for. And that’s what this is all about.