Monday, February 2, 2015

The Past Few

The kid is 8 days old. We are working on a semblance of a pattern. Some might call it a schedule, but  I am smarter than to say such. Just when I think I have it down (eating every three hours, for instance)- I get a curve ball.

"He's hungry."
"I just fed him."
"Tell that to the fingers he is trying to get milk from."
"Dangit." Only, I'm not saying dangit. And the parable of getting honey from the rock is coming to mind.

No milk in the fingers.
No honey in the rock.

There is, however, nourishment found at the bottom of a ready-made Enfamil bottle.

It's the one place where you will find my sensitivity very, very vulnerable. "He's hungry" sometimes makes me want to cry.

It's for a good reason Husband worries about his intake. He lost weight after he was born. A lot. More than anyone was really pleased with. Born at six pounds 13 ounces- he came home at six pounds on the dot and weighed 5 lb. 14 oz at his one week check-up. Leenie was born at 6.5 pounds and came home at 5 pounds 15 ounces and the doctors were concerned.

Six pounds can be a handful.

He got his first bath...



He wasn't a raging fan.

After the bath, with all that hair puffed up- we discovered that those 7 wisps are, in fact, red. Or strawberry blonde. Or anything that has to do with Husband's genes instead of mine.


We weighed him today... on a kitchen scale (first time for everything) and he has put on a little over 100 grams. I pulled out the scale and Husband asked what I was doing.

"Weighing him."
"On that?"
"Yeah."
"What's the bowl for?"
"To put him in."
"Perhaps we should use a plate?"

As if the plate were going to improve his lot in life from a bowl. Either way- he was getting weighed on the same scale with which I measure my hamburger meat.

We have been to the doctor twice- once for a regular check-up and once for a weight check. In typical boy fashion, he Baptized the nurse, her computer, and the scale. Marking his territory has to start early when as he has two older sisters.

As we tread very lightly into the parenting of three business, I have graciously volunteered to sleep with Fuzzy (you like that, don't you?) in the playroom -- across the world from where the family sleeps -- so that the kids and Husband can get a good night's rest and only one of us has to get up in the middle of the night. This is secretly for my benefit as I would much rather wake in the middle of the night than rise early in the morning.

I still can't drive, which is fine- because I still can't lift him in his carrier. Six pounds is not a lot, but tack on the weight of the carseat and it is too much for me yet.

Speaking of too much, I have had an amazing allergic reaction... to my stere-strips. It's incredibly uncomfortable. I would use the word "horrible" but when you throw "horrible" in with an incision, Frankenstein comes to mind. And I would also use the term "Hurts like hell" ... but, again, that + incision and Werewolf is thought to have made the cut. As I continue to coat my belly with a plethora of medicinal creams, cursing ethyliendiamine, Bennie looks at me, pulls her shirt up and sticks her hand out for her own dose of medicine. She rubs in her pretend dose on her belly, pats her stomach and says, "Mo better, Mah-Mah" before running off to find another tube of something and bring it back to me for a repeat.


Bennie has been neat to watch with Fuzzy. She is quick to jump on the couch, pat her lap and say, "Baby Fuzzy!" on repeat until someone puts him in her lap. She pats his head, kisses his forehead, has a huge smile on her face and says, "Baby Fuzzy! HI!" She might closed-fist punch anyone else around her, but with her baby brother- she is gentle. At least, for the moment.

Leenie is an old hand at being a big sister and sees her advantages- knowing that she can get away with more. Fuzzy interests her, but not as much as whatever naughty thing she has thought up when she knows we are not looking. She is also quick to express her independence- pouring her own milk, for instance. This is fascinating to me, watching her fetch the cup, the milk from the fridge, and then balancing the carton while pouring it into the cup, before recapping and returning it to the top shelf. I had to stop buying gallons and start buying cartons for this fact.

Her first night back home, my first night in the playroom, I awoke in the middle of the night to a little five year old running into "my room."

"Honey, what are you doing?"
"I just wanted to check on Fuzzy."
"Ok- he's fine. Go back to bed."
"Mommy? It's okay I sleep with you?"

Part of me wanted to take that five year old and envelope her in a big hug on the couch. The smarter part of me knew better and kindly sent her back to her room. Some time later- could have been an hour, could have been five minutes- that same five year old returned.

She creaked open the door, poked her nose in to see that I was still there, and ran to me. Wrapping her little arms around my waist, she says, "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, Sweet Potato."
"Take care of Fuzzy!"

And off she goes again, back to her room where she stayed until the morning. It made my heart swell with love for her. So easily I could have sent her marching before she even got in the room, but I didn't, thank goodness.

I have even improved my ability at diaper changing. Boy diapers are very different from girl diapers. There are things that need to be moved around and pulled back- even ointments applied. Ointments... what a word. These are not things I am accustomed to and am constantly asking Husband to look over my shoulder to make sure I am doing it right or that I didn't miss anything. Typically, there are improvements needed in both categories.

Today I even got an anatomy lesson.
I have a lot to learn.

While I have not personally been baptized by Fuzzy, Husband has. The changing station has. A number of perfectly clean diapers and clothes either clean or waiting to be washed have as well. This baptism business is serious stuff. What's the deal with that?

Fuzzy stirs. At this moment, Husband catches a catnap, and Leenie settles down to a 7D- her new favorite TV show. Bennie long sense has been asleep in her crib. I sit and type. This day has been good and it is a day made for smiles and extra kisses. I am lucky- eternally, I know that I am lucky. While I might take these days for granted, I do so very much love them. The complications that come along with adjusting to three.

This afternoon, I poured a glass of wine for myself and a drink for Husband. The music in the kitchen was on for the first time in a long time at a level louder than quiet and the girls ate a homemade supper made by a friend. The weather outside was crisp with a hint of warmth and I felt a warmth in my heart from these people that I am lucky enough to call family.

These past few days have been wonderful. Confusing and all things crazy- but still, a lovely kind of wonderful.

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