Quickly

(Although my computer does hardly anything quickly these days, as it's slow as molasses in the dead of winter. And that's pretty slow. . .)

As expected, Laura is as tiny as can be at 11 lbs, 6 oz (not even in the 5th percentile) and 24 and a half inches long (again, not even in the 5th percentile). Her doctor isn't concerned, though, since she's steadily gained weight and has met all of her milestones. It should come as no huge surprise that I produce small babies, I suppose. She got lots and lots of shots, which she HATED.

(Sidenote: Will was oddly calm about his shots as a baby. It actually made me question whether or not he felt pain. [Which goes to show you that I worried about anything and everything with him.] He also outweighed Laura by all of SEVEN  AND A HALF POUNDS at this point in his life. This means that he gained all seven and a half of those lbs between five and six months. I know. It sounds unbelievable but it's true.)

My teeny weeny baby, though, has been a little under the weather and it wasn't helped by those awful pokes. She was up at 3:30 this morning to eat but she had a fever and was so out of sorts that she couldn't calm down enough to eat. She kept doing this strange startle-type thing, almost like hiccuping (which I now realize was her trying to catch her breath through her already stuffy nose made worse from all the crying). This was, as you might imagine, pretty worrisome. I had to restrain myself from going downstairs after I'd taken her to bed with us and Google away. She was finally calm enough to eat at around five but she was still not her normal self.

In fact, she spent most of today sleeping, a lot of it in my arms, which hasn't happened in a few months and I caught myself watching her like a hawk, waiting for any tiny sign that something was amiss. This afternoon, her fever was gone and she was finally able to smile some and even give me a few squeals of delight. Everything seems to be fine but we're still more than a little unsettled by those stressful few hours last night.  I hate shots, despite their necessity.

In a related vein, Will has brought home some type of preschool plague and pestilence and it has been methodically infecting each of us, starting with our children and most likely ending with us. So far I've escaped with merely a sore throat, so I'll count myself lucky for now. Will is home from school today to rest and recuperate some before going back next week. (We're really falling apart here!) He had school pictures yesterday and I'm sure the runny nose was a nice touch. He appears to be on the mend, though, since he's spent the last ten minutes riding his too-small toddler tricycle around the living room and into his bedroom at warp speed.

And in an unrelated vein, Will is starting swimming lessons next week. These are hardcore rescue swimming lessons where they are taught what to do in the water in case of an emergency. So no fun splashing and singing. I'm kind of nervous to watch this unfold but I know that the benefits far outweigh any negatives. I'll keep you posted . . .

I hope everyone is well and thank you for those of you who've written me nice little notes and emails about the ol' blog and/or about parenting in general. I enjoy writing about my babies and I'm glad they have all of you to read and care about them, regardless of how close--or far away--you may be.

And a happy belated 1st birthday to George, my good friend Lucy's youngest! I hope there was much cake and various other forms of fun to be had . . .

I guess this didn't actually turn out to be so quick after all. I'm kind of wordy. It's the English major in me, I guess.

Balance

Since things around here have kind of been The Will Show lately, I thought you may like to see my baby.  If you don't think that this is just about the cutest sight you've ever seen, you need to go to the phone and make an appointment with your optometrist. Immediately.

She's been chomping on her hands with serious gusto and I think I've spied the very, very beginnings of where her little bottom teeth are going to be poking through sometime in the fairly near future. On a happier subject, though, she's been sleeping better, going to bed between 6:30 and 7:00 and waking up once around 3:00 or 3:30 and going back to sleep until sometime between 6:00 and 7:00. (Looking at that last sentence is kind of like looking at a bus schedule.) This is most certainly a more doable waking routine. In fact, I almost feel rested these days. But as any parent will tell you, now that I've given voice to Laura's new sleep prowess, she will begin to wake hourly effective immediately.

(Speaking of sleeping, Will is actually sleeping in his room right now instead of spending his "rest time" looking out his window or "reading" books. I can hardly believe it.)

I've been getting out the kids' warmer clothes the past few days and have experienced an unexpected wave of nostalgia while doing so. All of Laura's warmer clothes were bought last winter while I was still pregnant and I swear I can almost feel her moving around inside of me when I look at them. It seems funny that I had no idea who she would be when I bought all of that stuff for her. I just knew that buying girl clothes was an entirely different operation than buying boy clothes. (All the accessories! Tights! Many more matching shoe options! Patterns! Color! Ruffles!) And now I know that I should've bought some 3-6 month selections instead of only 6-9 months, as the Wiggle Worm is STILL wearing 0-3 months in pretty much everything she wears. She is beyond tiny, which I'm suspecting will be evident when she's not even on the growth chart at her six month checkup Tuesday. Oh well. I like tiny babies. Not that I have any other option.

So this is why she's wearing a hat in her swing in these pictures. I was seeing if it was going to be way too big for her, which it surprisingly wasn't. I look forward to cooler temperatures so she can debut this look in public (minus the sleeper).

****

My mother-in-law told me while I was pregnant that I would probably feel like I wouldn't (or couldn't) feel the same way about the new baby as I do about Will. And she was right, as that was exactly what I was feeling in the months leading up to Laura's birth. She also told me that I would be surprised by what I would feel after she was born, that I would still love Will, of course, but that he would also probably get on my last nerve. That I would feel so protective of the baby. And I did. I still do. Will has weaseled his way back into my good graces for the most part (despite myself, I still find him utterly charming) but this little girl has been so incredibly easy to love from the first breath she breathed.

Someday when she's a teenager, sulking in her room over not being allowed to do something or biting my head off because I have the audacity to have a different opinion on something, I will remember her like this.

I will remember her face as I get her out of bed every morning, as she looks at me like I am quite possibly the only person she will ever need. I will remember her squeals of delight as I kiss her tummy and pretend to munch on her cheek. I will remember how she sleeps with her little fingers curled into fists. I will remember how her bottom lip puckers when she's crying.

Every day of my life, I will try to be aware of how lucky I am to have this, to have so much to remember.

Today

Part of me can't believe it's only Thursday and the other part is still hung up on the somewhat weird fact of Will going to actual school, like the little model citizen he seems to be while he's there. So the small part of me that is left to go on about the business of our regular nice little life, like writing this, is kind of in some sort of strange, distracted state that involves lots of lists and starting one thing only to realize that x, y, and z have to be finished before p, q, and r can even be begun. That probably makes no sense whatsoever but this is an accurate representation of my current mental faculties.

For instance, I spent all of Will's time at school yesterday morning turning every storage space in our entire house upside down and inside out on a quest to locate Will's big boy bedding. I found the rug downstairs in the storage space under the stairs but couldn't find the quilts and sheets and duvet covers and shams and so forth and onward and upward gee whiz (Dr. Seuss comes in handy in a surprising number of settings and situations). To make a long, basically pointless story short, it's all in storage containers in my parents' attic. Two hours of frantic searching all for naught. Two hours that would've otherwise been spent organizing kitchen cabinets and drawers . . . although now that I think of it, cleaning out the kitchen drawers and making a mess of our closets and storage areas are about dead even in the race of least desirable chore on the long list of things to do.

(Speaking of lists, I'm not sure how many Frog and Toad fans there are out there, but there is one story that I think is hilarious. Toad gets up, makes a long list of things [starting with "wake up" which he immediately crosses off] that he's going to do that day, and goes over to Frog's to share with him the activities he has  planned. The next item after "go to Frog's" is "go for walk with Frog." While on the walk, the list is blown away by a gust of wind and when Frog urges Toad to run after it with him, he says that he can't because it isn't on his list of things to do. Instead, he sits down and lets Frog chase after it. The list is lost and Frog and Toad sit together doing nothing all day, Toad paralyzed by the resulting inertia of losing his list. Finally, when it is getting dark, Frog suggests they go to sleep. Toad remembers joyfully that this was in fact the final item on his list and writes "go to sleep" in the dirt with a stick. He crosses it off and they go to sleep. I completely identify with Toad.)

( I bet no one saw a long-winded recap of a children's story coming, did they? I like to keep you guessing . . . In any case, Will and I enthusiastically recommend any stories in the Frog and Toad series.)

****

Yes, I have become that person who uses asterisks to delineate my convoluted train of thought.

****

Will and I went to the doctor this morning for me to receive my Tdap shot (whooping cough, no thanks) and when it was time to leave he laid down in the waiting room floor shouting "I want to play!" for everyone in a five mile radius to hear. Then he spent the five minutes we were at Kroger ramming my bare heels with his kid-sized buggy while we got the two items we were there for.

We came home to discover Laura asleep with Daddy in our bed, but Laura's blissful little nap came to an end when she was placed in her crib to complete it as Daddy had to go to work. She spent the next forty five minutes screaming.

Daddy left the bathroom door open (a BIG no-no around here) when he left. I found Will in the bathroom brushing his teeth with approximately half a tube of toothpaste five minutes later. (If it's not already obvious to you, women are the sole carriers of the Common Sense gene.)

Will then decided to toss my phone forcefully across the living room. I lost my patience and scolded him. Loudly.

"Don't yell, Mommy," Will said mournfully. "Baby Sister is sleeping."

****

Fast forward five minutes to Will tossing my phone on the couch directly at my face (I alternate between thinking he's a smart kid with thinking he's mentally impaired, and then sometimes I remember his lack of Common Sense gene). When I try to reprimand him, he attempts to run away. I grab his arm and try to get up from the couch to deal with him. He falls on his prized "newspaper" (a free circular I picked up for him at the store) opened to a map of the area. Maps are his current obsession. His fall on top of his newspaper results in a small tear on one page of the map.

He looks at me with with the saddest face imaginable, big shiny tears in his eyes and says, "Look what you did to my map."

I feel like I am two inches tall.

****

I spend a lot of time worrying about the kind of kid I'm raising Will to be. Maybe I should spend more of that time worrying about the kind of parent I am.

***

We agree to start our day over. The morning doesn't exist as far as we're concerned.

Will goes to the front porch and brings the mail back to the deck where I'm typing this.

"Scoos me," he says. "Can I sit next to you?"

We look at a toy catalog together.

All is forgiven. So forth and onward and upward, gee whiz.

This and That

This:  Will is still enamored with preschool, just as we thought he'd be. He doesn't really discuss his time there, though, other than what he did on the playground. His very first watercolor was waiting in his cubby on Wednesday when I picked him up which led to the realization that I need to devise some sort of art/keepsake storage well in advance of it getting out of hand, as these things are likely to do. I'm still processing the fact that I have a preschooler. . . I've tried to write something about it but have failed to accurately say what it is that I'm thinking. Tomorrow maybe?

And that:  Laura slept ALL NIGHT (7 pm-7 am) last night for whatever reason. I woke up at her regular waking times around midnight and four and kept waiting for her to stir. Early this morning, I woke up in my own personal milk bath, which hasn't happened in a few months. Needless to say I was really ready for her to eat first thing this morning, right after I woke her up (!) at seven. I have no idea where the sudden long stretch of sleeping came from but I'm not going to get used to the idea since it'll probably not happen again for a long while. (Will was sleeping from 6:30 pm until almost 8 am at this point in his life but I'm trying not to think of that now.)

Laura also had oatmeal for the very first time yesterday morning and I'm happy to report that she did much better than I had imagined. I've had visions of her being the only three year old ever to be exclusively breastfed but it appears that my visions may have been inaccurate. And while I'm certainly glad that the Worm liked her oatmeal, I have to admit that it made me feel a bit sad. Where did my newborn go?

And since my newborn-no-longer has been asleep for over two hours now, I should probably go to bed. I'll try to write something tomorrow sometime depending on how productive my two and a half hours of alone time is . . .

Schooled

How is this possible?

He loves school.

The house is quiet while he's there . . . maybe a little too quiet.

His Happy Place

Will spent all of yesterday morning watching the action at a house down the street (where the truck is parked). You can't see it in the picture but there is a Bobcat on the move. When I said something to Will about the Bobcat, he quickly corrected me. It is, after all, a skid steer loader. Okay.

T minus four days and counting until Will is a full-fledged preschooler. More on that later.

Perchance to Dream

Isn't she sweet?

This is a rare event, as Laura has been getting up at six. This morning, though, I had to wake her up a little after seven so we can stay on our nice little schedule.

I was just thinking that I don't have many pictures of her sleeping. Now I have three more!

Labor Daying

We enjoyed our holiday weekend and used it to accomplish various things. Jamison did some sorely-needed yard work. I painted the porch (a surprisingly long enterprise that still isn't completely finished). And Will and Laura were busy too.

(You don't scare me crazy dragon-thing!)

Laura spent some time in her exersaucer (what in the world does "exersaucer" actually mean? what is it derived from?) and loved it. We're entering those glory days of babyhood that involve longer stretches of contentedness and the lack of mobility. (Although the lack of mobility, I fear, will not last quite as long for the Wiggle Worm as it did for Will, who didn't crawl until he was 10 months old.) And I know I say it all the time, but she really is the sweetest baby in the world, despite the fact that she's in the process of developing an impressive repertoire of screams and shrieks.




This is Will smiling after I told him to smile normally instead of his usual "cheese" face. It's a start, I guess.




Take two.



Cheese face 4-ever.

This was after I told him to smile like he was laughing instead of scrunching up his eyes and nose and doing the usual. I don't know about him.

Our biggest news from the weekend is that our newest baby cousin arrived (he's the third of three new babies in five months in our fam)! My cousin Jordan had baby Mac on Labor Day and Will and Laura can't wait to meet him! From his pictures, he looks like a keeper.  (Laura gave him her enthusiastic approval by spitting up all over the keyboard while she looked at his pictures . . .)

I'll leave you with this: Will asleep in the car on the way to Columbus to watch the Marshall-OSU game with Annabeth and Benjamin (and Thomas, too!). Pooped out, which is how I feel most of the time.

It Has to Be Said

I'm sorry but I do believe that the world's cutest baby lives right here. In my very own home. I may be a bit biased, but here's the evidence. (Sorry for the gratuitous pictures. I can't help it.)

Food for Thought

"[W]hat I want my children to grasp: . . . every time you point to another person and think, “That,” you might imagine a filament casting off the rod of your finger to catch that person and reel them in close; you might consider pointing back at yourself, and thinking, “Me, too.” -- Catherine Newman


This is one of the things I want most in the world for both Will and Laura, that they realize that everyone, regardless of race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, socioeconomic status, level of education (or lack thereof), political leaning, religious views (or lack thereof), everyone is more alike than different. If they really get this, I will have succeeded in at least one area of parenting.


The other nine million areas of parenting, not so much.


And Catherine Newman says it so well. So much better than I could ever even get close to articulating, with such grace and simplicity but such depth.


If you're interested in reading the article that this follows (which I highly recommend), here's the link:


http://brainchildmag.com/essays/fall2009_newman.asp


PS. I typed "eductation" instead of "education" the first time I wrote it. My eductation is obviously failing me.