I survived my first week home alone with the kids. Our days went something like this:

Pajamas all day, a bag of chips and a blankie in sight. And what you don't see is the television on in the background.  All of this together equals survival.

Silas has started getting used to me being tied up with a baby.  He is still pretty oblivious of her, or else he has just come to terms with this creature living with us and doesn't care to give her any extra attention.  He will kiss her or rub her head gently if we instigate it, but he doesn't give her any attention on his own other than saying "Baby" when he sees her in the morning. And, naturally, when I am feeding her or hooked up to a pump he usually finds something hazardous to put in his mouth or he manages to get a hold of a pen and mark his territory on everything in sight.  I have to remind myself daily that a) this is just a season of my life (that will  probably pass by all too fast and I will miss one day...) and b)  a few weeks of excessive amounts of television will not permanently damage my child. Even though I remind myself of these things regularly it seems that at 5pm most nights I am in tears because my child is being damaged by the TV and this sleepless season of my life will never end. (thank you, hormones!)

And let me clarify; when I say I was home alone with the kids all week I just mean Joe went back to work.  I have had a village of helpers drop in with a meal or a helping hand and for that I am so grateful!