My baby is now twenty weeks old, though I've stopped counting weeks and moved on to a vague approximation of months. I actually had to go to the calender to count the weeks out. I'd blame my nonchalant generalizing of age on him being a fifth child, but I think I always did this. Mostly because I was too tired to keep better track.
Other than the age generalization, there aren't too many things that feel the same about being a mother again. Most things feel completely different. Where I once had total cabin fever in the first months with a newborn, I am now praying for snow days so I don't have to leave the house for the older kids' activities. I no longer feel the need to prove that I can do it all, and am content to use my new baby as an excuse to get out of a multitude of things so I can have my leisurely mornings in bed with him. And I feel absolutely no rush for rolling, starting solids, or clothes that make him look like anything other than a baby.
I do seem to embrace a certain amount of organization after each child, I can only guess out of necessity as I am at heart a total scatterbrain. I can't manage to focus, though, wishing to do a bazillion photo projects (a 365? a p52? by himself? with siblings? with me? in the same place once a month?) and shaking my head sadly when I realize our tiny baby time is already gone and I'm just going to have to grab what I can....because as precious as this has been, I don't plan to do it again.
Linking with Jodi