Where's The Baby?

It was a lovely afternoon today. A little cooler out than what it has been, but nice enough that I'd kicked the kids outside with their father and started putting dinner together. I heard muffled complaining and some banging, but that's not unusual around here.

About five minutes later, I plopped down on a patio chair next to my neighbor and husband to watch the kids play.

"Where's The Baby?" Jim asked.

"I don't know," I replied. Yep, we just lost track of our youngest child.

"Last I knew, he was in the house," he said.

Utto. It just dawned on me. Before kicking them out, I gave Girlface a package of toilet paper and told her to put it in the hall closet. 

"Um, check the closet. Girlface just put away the toilet paper."

"Where you at boy?" Jim said as he strolled into the house.

I turned my attention to Girlface.

"Girlface, did you lock your brother in the closet?"

And I get those wide eyes from her as she ponders this question for a few seconds.

"No, I didn't," she said, nodding her head innocently.

Right. She had to think about it. She totally locked him in the closet.

Meanwhile, Jim released The Baby from the hall closet (which has a motion-detecting light and lots of snacks, so don't be too concerned, people. he was just fine).   

"In there," The Baby blithely said to Jim as he was released. "Outside," he pointed as he trotted to freedom.

This poor kid. Good thing he has a sunny disposition.

Diary of an Omniturnal Mom

Please just stay the F#$% asleep!

Apparently, the baby enjoys being around Omniturnal Mom. He hasn't slept consistently well in quite some time. The following has, unfortunately, been a typical day around here lately.

Midnight Sunday

The baby is up for the second time in an hour. She nurses him and puts him back down, sighing heavily and cursing internally.  She rolls up a towel and shoves it up against the door so she can't hear him hem and haw in his crib.  

Mommy drifts back off to sleep.

1 a.m.

Mommy is jarred awake by the sounds of muffled crying. She feels a bit guilty for a split second that she shoved a towel under the door. It's not like she's ever been comfortable completely ignoring a crying child in the middle of the night. Why the heck does she even go through this charade, pretending that this will be the night she lets him scream his little head off? She knows deep down that she won't. And she kind of hates herself for that.

She's now doing something she hasn't done in about two months. She's cursing. Out loud and trying to pretend she's not cursing at the baby. You know, just cursing. At the ceiling, where God lives. Yeah, that's it.

On the inside, she's thinking: Why won't this mother fuck stay asleep? What a little asshole.  Did I inadvertently give him Diet Coke or something? Seems possible given how exhausted mommy is these days.

She changes his diaper. Tells him that he must MUST go back to sleep. Dear God in heaven, just stay the fuck asleep, she whimpers. Mommy doesn't seem to have trouble putting babies to bed, just getting them to stay that way is a major problem. She doesn't really need the "Go the Fuck to Sleep" book. She needs to write the "Stay the Fuck Asleep" book.

A dose of, um, medication at 1 a.m. and he's back in his crib.

3:45 a.m. Girlface cries. "My bed is wet."

She is refusing to wear pull ups but has wet the bed two nights in a row. Mommy is out of fresh sheets for her bed, so she just sets up the child's sleeping bag on the floor.

5:45 a.m. The baby is wide awake. After sleeping almost five hours. WTF? Mommy thinks. Apparently, Benadryl isn't working these days. She tries to soothe him back to sleep. He goes down for another hour.

6:45 a.m. Mommy is in the kitchen. She hates being in the kitchen before 7 a.m. It just feels cold and weird.

8:00 a.m. The older two have trickled downstairs, dressed, ready to play, eat and fight. They have a new toy to fight over today, too. A new-to-us train table picked up for free from a neighbor. Big Brother is already squawking at the younger two.   

8:15 a.m.  Mommy is ready to get them out of the house. She's plotting a Sam's Club run.

10:30 a.m. Home from Sam's Club. Now what? Play dough, fighting over trains, sweeping the floors incessantly. Too hot to go outside.

Hm? she thinks. Is it too early to start lunch?

The last first hair cut

First haircuts are often more traumatic for the mom than the baby. We have a video of Big Brother's first haircut with me standing off to the side wincing as my baby boy's wisps of hair fell to the floor. Jim was but a novice with the clippers at the time and the child looked like a cancer patient recovering from chemo. I was not pleased. 

My husband has been itching to give the baby a haircut. Every other day, he's said, "You need a haircut,  boy."

And, each time, I've cried, "Nooooooo. Not yet." You see, he's still my baby. He'll likely be my last one.

Thursday, we took a road trip to see my sister and her family. They'd never met my baby. He was born while they were living in Japan.

After watching him trot around for a few hours, Jax said to me, "You know that he has a mullet, don't you?"

"Yeah," I said. "But I just wanted you to see him for the first time unspoiled."

When I got home from our trip, I informed my husband that he could cut the baby's hair.

He was a little too happy about it. Today turned out to be the day, though.

You're gonna do what to my hair?

Get off!

The Baby ... meet the clippers.

By this point, mommy was wincing in the background.

Punk.

 I'm going to have to wean him soon. I don't think I can nurse a child with a mohawk.

The one about The Baby

The Baby is six and a half months old. And he doesn't like sleeping. I asked a good friend to please remind me of this when I start thinking that I want another baby.

All the old wives' tales are just that: old tales. My kids never slept better when they started eating or when they hit 13 pounds or when they had lavender baths or went to bed earlier or later or didn't nap or did nap or even were dosed with Benadryl (which I would never do, of course).
My children simply don't sleep for the first nine months of their life. Coincidentally, that is when my children experience the most rapid physical and mental development. I'm convinced that they're just too busy and eager to learn to sleep with any regularity. They have all been great nappers but crappy night-time sleepers. (And since I don't sleep too well when I'm pregnant, it's been about two and a half years since I've had a good night's sleep.)

Lately, The Baby has been bucking the bedtime routine. One night this week he was up until 9:30. We had tried several times to get him to sleep, but he kept popping back up, wide eyed and laughing. He spent at least two hours playing quietly on the floor and then finally fell asleep in the chair with Jim.

The next night, after two failed attempts at bedtime, he began clapping his hands for the first time in his life and then tried and almost succeeded in pulling up on the baker's rack. Clearly, I have steroids in my breastmilk if my six month old can do that.

Other than that, we like him pretty well. He's growing and learning and laughing at his brother and sister. At his six month appointment last week, The Baby weighed in at 18 lbs 14 oz. and is 29 inches tall. He's happy most of the time, even when he's up at night. When he wakes, he usually wants to nurse but doesn't want to go back to sleep. The only reason he cries at night is because we won't play with him. (I know, we're so mean. Who wouldn't want to play with a baby at 3 a.m., right?)

The skinny on Baby O

The Baby is now four months old. He's 17 pounds of chunky, happy, drooly baby. His cradle cap is finally easing up and his hair is coming back in so he looks more like those babies in the Pampers ads and less like a crusty, splotchy newborn or as, Jim once called him, Sloth from the Goonies. He's pretty similar to Big Brother as a baby but a lot bigger and not as fussy. He's also a lot like Girlface—strong and observant.

I was beginning to worry, though, that our youngest wouldn't start distinguishing himself from the herd. Most of the time, he's just happily along for the ride. Most of the time, too, his mommy is too tired to notice much of anything. But, lo and behold, he has found his niche, that one thing that we will always remember about baby The Baby. With Big Brother, it was the projectile vomiting. With Girlface, it was her freakish strength.

Our little The Baby is capable of going from calm and happy to totally pissed off with little to no warning. The first few times it happened we thought that something (or someone, ahem, Girlface) had pinched or poked him. It was that sudden. Sometimes this outburst precedes a rather large, um, diaper download. But we're starting to realize that, most of the time, it's just that he's done. With whatever he's doing. Please come pick him up, like, NOW.

Other things that I've managed to notice? He has better manual dexterity than the other two did at this age. The kid can actually put his own pacifier in and take it out. My other two never did that this early.  Looks like he'll have that fine motor control I never had. Also, sometimes all it takes to calm him down is to stand him on your lap facing you. He just wants to see my face and talk to me, usually while I'm eating (which makes it almost impossible to eat). Somehow I've not lost that much weight. 

He also is not all that interested in food, nor does he seem overly hungry. He's had three "meals" in the past week—bananas twice and some butternut squash today. I'm not in much of a hurry this time around, mostly because I'm just not looking forward to preparing food for yet one more kid who may or may not eat. Frankly, I could feed a small army with the food that ends up on my kitchen floor and my kids' clothes. And, honestly, with this three ring circus I'm running here, he's more likely to be fed routinely if the feeding apparatus is attached to my body. He's also pretty well settled into morning, afternoon and early evening naps. At night, he sleeps a few hours in his crib and usually comes into bed with us later. I'm barely awake when he nurses the rest of the night and thus am actually lying down "asleep" for about seven hours or so. Somehow this does not make me any less exhausted. 


He is less afraid of and more amused by Girlface. She loves to pat his back and kiss his head, though sometimes it's hard to tell if she's about to bite or kiss him. She's kind of sneaky like that. He watches Big Brother with little brother adoration and Big Brother's new job is to go chat with The Baby while I put Girlface down for a nap.

He is, though, a four month old in the body of a much older baby. In fact, Big Brother was a year old and 18 pounds when he began walking. Lately, it's been hard to make him bend at the waist. All he wants to do is stand up on our laps.

Um, let's see. What else is he up to? He rolls over, which makes diaper changing a battle. He can almost sit up. He can get up on his hands and lift his chest off the ground. He also gets up on his knees but, thankfully, not at the same time as he's on his hands. I figure we have about six weeks before he takes off crawling. At this point, I'm writing all this down so my poor third child will have some record of his early months.

And this past weekend, he was baptized along with his sister. I never realized before but during the baptism ceremony, the priest says a prayer of exorcism. We now fully expect the sudden screaming fits to subside.

Are you done yet?

I believe that we're done having children. That is the official answer when someone asks if we're done. I mean, we've had three kids in four years. My once fertility-challenged uterus has proven its point, don't you think? There's always that doubt, though, and the knowledge that, in the big picture, my husband and I aren't really in charge of such things. Nor should we be—I approach the issue with too much emotion and my husband would be way too practical about it. God's grace just seems more reasonable in these matters.

Something does happen to a mom, though, when she really believes that the baby she's holding will be her last. She holds him a little longer and a little closer. She worries that maybe she didn't enjoy her other children, especially the middle child, as much as she enjoys this one. She smells his head and nuzzles his neck more and tries to remember how the heads and necks of her other children smelled. She kisses and talks and smiles more than she remembers doing with the others. She struggles to recall how the other two looked at her when they were babies. Were their gazes as adoring? Did her heart skip a beat when they looked at her, too? Did the other babies take deep breaths and stare and smile and coo and wriggle as much as this baby? She tries to remember whether her other children's voices sounded as melodic and sweet in their infancy because, nowadays, their voices are full of whines and shrieks and an exhausting willfulness. And she knows without a doubt that she doesn't want to forgot these things ever and wishes there were a way to bottle that smell (minus the spit up and poop) and preserve forever the sweet sounds and loving gazes. She hopes these tender feelings make up for the fact that this child may not have as big a scrapbook as the others—the first child and the first girl.

Did I say "she"? I meant "I." And I should mention that all these thoughts occur within the same five minute as any one of the following:

1. Ew. Ew. EWWW. Stop drooling on me already. (The Baby is the lone dribblepuss of the family.) 
2. You won't die if I put you down for five seconds, you needy little monster.
3. What the f---? You've only been asleep for a half hour. I haven't had time to miss you or even pee. (By the way, I'm not the only mom who utters four-letter words with their baby or child in mind or even at their babies. I know a lovely woman from my church who was sure her son's first word would start with F and end with K and another woman with a colicky baby who was affectionately referred to as that ... ahem, you get the idea.)

I should also mention that I routinely bark at my husband "We are NOT having any more damn kids" when that cherished baby won't go back to sleep at 2 a.m. Given the emotional extremes of motherhood, it's hard to rationally decide whether The Baby's rightful place in the family will be "the baby" or the other middle child.


Maybe one day I will hold another baby—a new niece or nephew, a friend's baby, a grandbaby. Or maybe one of my own. I've always said that I don't want to have a 2 year old when I'm 40. To which my God, with his quirky sense of humor, will likely say, "Okay then. How about a newborn at 40?"

A cry or a cry-sis?

A friend of mine is fond of saying that babies (and kids) just figure themselves out eventually. This smart woman realized this after just one child. I, on the other hand, am a little bit denser or, perhaps, just more stubborn. I had to have three kids to learn the difference between your average, run of the mill fussing to communicate or self-soothe and full-on, do-something-dammit crying. It's taken the experience of three babies to garner the patience to let a child fuss himself gently to sleep, to not step in too soon to soothe a growling infant (yes, my son growls and so did Big Brother), to realize that sometimes baby noises are just that: noises.

The neediness of newborns and the constant physical contact required by my firstborn was such a complete culture shock that I just assumed I was not a baby person. Of course, three years later, I'm saying to myself, "You know, I'm just not a toddler person." So, while I was excited about having this baby, I was not looking forward to the newborn stage. But the reality is that there are challenges with every stage and experience and attitude are key to coping with the slightest modicum of dignity and grace.

My need to fix things or keep the peace got the better of me with my first two: they'd bust out of a swaddle; I gave up on swaddling. Big Brother would fuss in his bassinet; I automatically put him in bed with us. Girlface wouldn't sleep anywhere but her car seat; I obliged until it was too dangerous to continue (then paid for it dearly for the next sleepless six months).

This afternoon, I swaddled The Baby tight (gotta get those arms down by their sides for it to be effective, I just learned), laid him down for a nap in the bassinet and waited while he murmured and growled and eventually fell fast asleep. I gave him a chance to fall asleep in the bassinet and he did. It's really hard to wait it out like that when the window for sleep between feedings is so short. I just want to go to sleep, not lie in bed wondering if I should just give in, put him in our bed and let him nibble on the buffet or wait a few more minutes. Of course, my husband warned me to not be lulled by these early days. He's just waiting for The Baby to bust out into the kind of Baby Big Brother-style crying for no apparent reason from which we are still recovering. I guess what he's learned after three kids is that the other shoe does drop eventually.

So far, though, The Baby doesn't cry much, unless he has a good reason like diaper changing (he hates it), waiting for food, and wanting to be swaddled when he's overtired. Oh, and when his monster of a sister pats him a wee bit too hard on the head or pinches his foot.

This time around I feel like I have more patience than I did with the other two. I have the patience to let him figure himself out when he can and the discernment to know when to hold him which is, admittedly, a lot lately since I do have trouble putting him down (after all, he was inside me for 42 weeks and 2 days). The other night, I read a book in bed, hands free, while he dozed on my chest. It was so sweet and relaxing that I had the craziest thought ever ... I actually do kind of like babies ... maybe this won't be my last one. (just kidding dear husband!)

Worth the wait

The Baby Patrick finally arrived, 16 days overdue, on May 2 at 5:55 a.m. He weighed in at 9 lbs 7 oz and was 22.75 inches long. He's perfect and beautiful and looks a lot like his big brother did as a baby, only The Baby is a whole 3 pounds heavier than Big Brother was. I'm not sure where I hid that much baby (and I'm not taking suggestions as to where, just in case there are any smart alacks out there).

Big Brother's reaction to his new baby brother was priceless. And I was really looking forward to hearing his impressions since he's so verbal now. He walked in, eyes wide, and said, excitedly, "Baby The Baby came out. Now he not make you tired." For months, he's heard me say, "Mommy's tired, she has a baby in her belly." Apparently, he doesn't know how this works just yet. The baby is going to be making us tired for quite some time, I'm sure.

Girlface, on the other hand, is going to be a challenge. She is 15 months old, has no impulse control and is a very strong-willed child. She walked right up, pointed at him and said, "Baby." Then proceeded to not-so-gently pat him. She did seem rather concerned when he started crying this morning and can say his name. It's adorable, let me tell you. Videos soon, I promise!

And for those who like birth stories, here's an abbreviated one:

On Saturday night, we left our children with Nana and PopPop and came home. Well, first we stopped off for some candy (licorice) because we had planned to watch a movie. Licorice, my midwife tells me, can induce contractions. And we bought the good quality licorice. Whether it was just his time or whether it was the licorice, I may never know (it's safe to say, though, that it was probably just his time since he was 16 days late!). I went to bed at 11, slept until about 12:30 and woke up feeling crampy but didn't think it was contractions because, well, they just didn't start and stop. I walked around for a bit, got back in bed and rested with a warm rice sock and waited. Then the contractions started, first at 5 minutes apart for about an hour.

I woke Jim up to tell him that it was starting and he told me I needed to get some rest, which, based on Girlface's and Big Brother's labor, was the right answer. However, The Baby had other ideas and apparently, the dog knew about it. Bob just stood by Jim's side of the bed and looked at him like, "Well, aren't you going to do something?" And there was a lot to do ... blow up the pool, turn up the temperature on the water heater so there would be enough hot water, get out the birth supplies, make sure I had Smart Water and snacks and probably a lot of other things that my husband could tell you about.

Rather quickly the contractions became 3 minutes apart and by 3:30 or so they were 2 minutes apart and double-peaking. By 3:30 a.m. I was almost fully dilated. By 5 a.m. The Baby was making beginning to make his descent as I labored in the birth pool in our bedroom. I pushed for about 9 minutes and he was out. The cord was wrapped loosely around his neck twice but his heart rate never dipped during labor. I felt around in the warm water to check the gender, which was a surprise to us, before our midwife brought him up.

Start to finish, this labor lasted five and a half hours. This kid broke all kinds of records ... heaviest baby, longest baby, longest overdue, shortest labor. Yesterday was pretty rough for me. I began to vomit when I was in labor and got myself into a low-blood sugar spiral where I couldn't keep anything down, not even water, for the first 12 hours after the birth. I was too nauseous to even sleep. By late afternoon, I was so depleted that my leg muscles were cramping. What finally worked was my midwife's suggestion that I take a bite of food every fifteen minutes when I was awake, then take a Tylenol PM and get some sleep. It worked. I slept and The Baby slept 5 hours last night (that is actually the longest stretch of sleep I've had in months!). I had to rouse him for a feeding this morning.


Much of what went on yesterday is unknown to me, as I was puking most of the day. But Jim says the kids had a blast in the backyard at The Baby's very first "birthday party." Even The Baby spent a little time outside. The night before Jim had set up a little water park in the backyard with the slip and slide and the pool around the swing set area. Then he grilled turkey burgers for dinner.

Right now, they're all sleeping and I've eaten something other than the BRAT diet and ice chips today. Needless to say, I'm feeling a lot better and getting to know our new little guy who is sitting in his bouncy seat  all snuggled up in my new favorite piece of baby gear - a swaddling blanket. It's like a straight-jacket for babies. Genius!

Here are a few photos of our precious baby boy. Also, here are some photos that my dad took.