You haven’t lived until you’ve changed a diaper while being swarmed by bees.
I regularly get comments about how the boys are “clones” of Dave. It’s not that I’m against that notion; after all, I like Dave well enough to marry him, so the idea that my sons take after him is definitely not a bad thing.
That said, I do feel as though I am grasping at straws sometimes to identify ways they are also like me. So far the list includes: O has my more adventurous dining palate, the 3 older boys have my blue eyes, and all 4 of us behave like small children with poor executive function when we’re frustrated by something inconsequential and inanimate.
However! We can add one more to the list today:
Around 6:15, J appeared next to my bed, and his proximity to my face woke me up in a quasi-startling fashion. Mind you: I have not slept a night through in many weeks now, so the idea of having my sleep interrupted by anyone other than the infant relying on me for sustenance is… pretty offensive. Fortunately for J, in my sleepy stupor, I was too tired to react other than to mutter some question about what he was doing.
J (softly): Mom, I just saw the most beautiful sunrise.
Me (shameless sucker for a sunrise): you did?
J: yeah, it was orange and yellow. It was so beautiful, Mom.
Normally this would be the moment where I’d jump out of bed and head outside to view it myself. But I repeat: it has been weeks of interrupted sleep. I did a quick mental calculation: I know the saying that “tomorrow is never promised” and therefore I should “seize the day” and behold the beauty of the sunrise. But if for some reason the apocalypse happens and there is, in fact, no sunrise tomorrow, the extra sleep in the wee hours of this morning will surely serve me better than a memorable vista.
Instead, I unlocked my phone and mumbled a request for J to take a picture for me.
He came back shortly afterwards with 2 shots of the sunrise: one “through the shades” and one “through the window.”
He may walk like his dad, talk like his dad, and certainly have a penchant for mental math like his dad, but that uncontainable excitement and appreciation for a sunrise hours before it’s polite to rouse anyone else in the house?? That is all me.
Today is my due date. Back in late February, I announced my pregnancy to my team at work. I emailed one of my reports who was on paternity leave himself, stating the following:
“Based on my last 3, here’s what we’re expecting: Baby is due Aug 10, so it’ll arrive July 23. And we will wait to find out the sex, so he’ll be a boy.”
Fast forward to my uterus’ standard time of evicting its resident: 37 weeks & 2 days — July 22.
I went into the hospital to be monitored as I had some tenderness around my previous c-section incision. While on-site, I went into “spontaneous labor” anyway & managed a successful VBAC. Our son, C, was born shortly after midnight — July 23rd. 37 weeks & 3 days, splitting the difference between J & O (37w2d) & A (37w4d).
We have therefore had 2.5 weeks of “bonus time” with C and are so enjoying it. C is a fantastic eater, solid sleeper, and apparently impervious to the cacophony of his older brothers (a critical feature to family harmony — well done, evolution).
With a little bit of time to reflect, here are my observations on things that are the same, and things that are different with this, our 4th go-round:
THINGS THAT ARE THE SAME
- How massive a toddler looks next to a newborn. Diapering 2 year old A in size 6 after outfitting C in size N constantly has me thinking things like, “jeez, Scooch, shouldn’t you be out getting a job or something already?”
- I can’t imagine a more vigilant driver than that of a mom with an infant in her back seat. At any given moment while driving with him, I am on high alert and have mentally played out an absurd number of scenarios in which I might need to summon superhuman reaction times or strength to protect him (mind you: I have no doubt I would, in fact, summon these without issue if C was actually in danger). In no particular order of likelihood, I am ready for: a deer to race across the road, another car to run the upcoming 4-way stop sign, a need to retrieve our window hammer from the glove box and break out of our vehicle, a tornado to appear on an otherwise sunny day and force us to find cover, or a meteorite to crash into the highway just in front of our vehicle.
- Even when it’s the middle of the night and I’ve had grossly inadequate stretches of sleep for the past many days, to hear those little noises he makes, to hold him close as he squirms his weight against my chest, to share in the excitement and enthusiasm and support of a community of family and friends that welcomes a tiny life into our world… truly, this is a sweet time in life.
THINGS THAT ARE DIFFERENT
- I am always humbled and thankful for the new baby gifts sent our way (especially as many people have now celebrated generously 4x with us!), but this time our friends & family showed a definite bias towards food-related gifts. I have to commend the instincts here as A) we have no shortage of clothes and gear for baby boys in-house already, clearly, and B) the amount of dinners and desserts provided have saved us approximately 12 hours in the past 2.5 weeks alone and, in case it’s not obvious, time back is truly the most valuable gift of all. (Ideas for anyone looking: DoorDash or Uber Eats gift cards, Spoonful of Comfort dinners, a neighborhood Meal Train, Mrs. Prindables sweets, Milk Bar cookies gifted to the older boys from their neighborhood buddies, and more — yum).
- People seem to assume I know what I’m doing now. The hospital stay was by far the most zen we’ve had — despite this being our only delivery during a pandemic. The nurses’ advice on our departure was perfunctory, couched by “you know this even better than us at this point, but let’s go through the paperwork anyway.” Even C’s pediatrician check-ups were incredibly easy — just a touch of jaundice (per our usual) but otherwise the doctor let us forgo his 2 week check because his weight re-gain was going so well that he had far exceeded birth weight by the 1 week mark already. “Just give us a call if anything appears off — you know what to look for” they told me as we departed.
- And they appear to be correct (?!). I am torn between wanting to take credit after many years learning hard lessons, and not wanting to come anywhere near suggesting I’m somehow responsible for this healthy, easy baby making a pretty seamless transition into our world. Instead, I’ll just say this: through some combination of good luck, years of practice, and pretty fantastic teamwork between me and C, we have cashed in on a successful first few weeks by heading up north to enjoy time at the lake all together as a family — something we thought we might not be able to do at all this summer depending on the delivery and transition time.
Finally, special shout outs to:
— My mom, who has been phenomenally helpful these past several weeks, spending nights, mornings, and many days on-site with us as the only person who keeps track of small but evidently important details like whether *I* have also eaten.
— Dave, who has invested in many ways to occupy and entertain all 3 older brothers at once now, including a bike trailer + seat combo that both delights the boys and makes his bike work outs at least 3x as challenging.
— The big brothers, who not only really, really love “Baby C,” but seem unfazed by my divided attention… O, in fact, assuring me just this morning that I am “the best mom in the uterus.”
If Baby arrives in the same 2-day gestational window as its brothers, then our family will be back to even numbers between Thursday and Saturday of this week.
The boys seem mostly aware of the impending change. When prompted, they confirm that they are excited. They understand that if they wake up in the morning and GiGi (my mom) is here, it’s because Mom and Dad went to see the doctor during the night because the baby is coming. And, when it came up just yesterday that A is the “littlest bro,” J corrected Dave: “no, the new baby is the littlest bro now.”
“Well, technically the baby may be a girl; we still don’t know,” Dave said.
J, without missing a beat: “girls can be ‘bros’ too, Dad.”
(In our house, “bro” is indeed an abbreviation for “brother,” but clearly more often is used as a compliment – someone who is a good friend, shares their toys readily, takes care of another bro in need. Really, we should all aspire to the status of ‘bro.’)
We spent the weekend ensuring we were caught up on laundry, hair cuts, and my mom even took me out for a manicure to carry me through the end of the pregnancy and first week or two of Baby’s life (so even if I’ve not showered in days, I’ll look kempt… at least from the cuticles down). We stocked up on convenience foods like Lunchables, hot dogs, and pre-cut fruit. I took O to a park for the rare 1:1 play date with a friend from daycare – an event in & of itself for him to be the sole child in the car, to say nothing of the focused attention and lack of competition required to dictate the terms of a given activity compared to when his brothers are around. We played at the pool, ate meals on the patio, made crafts, played games, and kept the big boys up past bedtime for a bonfire and s’mores in our backyard (their first but definitely not their last this season as they thoroughly enjoyed that the treat itself is the objective).
As for me nearing “go-time,” I did some working out, took some naps, got to bed early, and was only occasionally self-conscious about the number of involuntary noises I make while doing things around the house like picking up objects from the floor, leaning over to buckle the boys’ sandals, or, you know, rolling over during the night. Most importantly, I am still feeling great and had my latest check-up today with Baby looking good and in the proper exit position.
With my first 3, I went into labor during the wee hours of the night, so I admit it’s a bit anxiety-inducing to fall asleep the past week+ lest I wake up shortly thereafter in active labor… but then again, each morning I’m finding the predominant feeling is a little less relief of a full night’s sleep and a little more disappointment that the baby’s not already in my arms. Soon enough…
I was leaving my OB check-up yesterday and a middle-aged man working in some medical capacity at the center joined me in the elevator. He eyed my belly, smiled, and asked,
“First baby?”
“No, this is my fourth,” I smiled back.
“Oh, really? Same husband?”
So… there’s that.
Yesterday I took all 3 boys with me to the grocery and, walking around pretty aggressively pregnant, I received the following question from strangers no less than five times during this single outing:
“You going for your girl now??”
Now, we don’t actually know what we’re having with this pregnancy, but obviously we’re having a boy. I answer this harmless query pretty good-naturedly live, but here, for the record, is why I think that question should be eradicated from the public’s stock pregnancy conversational repertoire:
- I can’t help but wonder if the person asking knows that — barring pretty extensive medical intervention — a person does not, in fact, get to choose their baby’s sex. I flash back to 7th grade Sex Ed, when I found out what was involved in conception and chromosomal combinations that determine a baby’s sex, but then remember that the very topic of Sex Ed itself is contentious nationally today. I seriously contemplate sending them a number of informative YouTube videos that might be genuinely illuminating. 4 full seconds later they’re still smiling waiting on my answer and I am adrift in concern for the well-being of America’s sexually active and potentially equally ignorant youth.
- Assuming they do, in fact, know the first point, they also should know that there are ~50/50 odds of either sex, so “going for” one or the other is a dangerous game to play if you have strong feelings about the outcome because it’s not even remotely in your control. In fact, the statistical probability of having the opposite sex actually decreases after having 2 of the same sex and trends down with each successive pregnancy (“sperm natural selection” as it’s referred to between paternal and maternal environmental survivability factors means it’s not a coin flip for baby #3 & onward once you’ve had the same sex).
- In my case, clearly I only make one kind of baby. I happen to think it’s a damn good model. I am so convinced of that, in fact, that I am willing to procreate again. (This is usually the answer I say out loud.)
One of my friends met a pregnant mother at a preschool orientation recently who reminded her of me. The woman introduced herself to the class with a preemptive strike: “Hi, I’m so-&-so. Names/ages of 3 girls, & I’m having a 4th girl in August. No, we weren’t going for a boy. Yes, my husband is happy. No, we aren’t having more.” I think she’s onto something with this approach — though I admit that at least with sons, I don’t get questions about my husband’s satisfaction with our family (yeeeeeesh).
Don’t get me wrong: I’m confident that little girls are wonderful as well. And I suspect there’s not even much of a difference between the two sexes for the first many months other than I don’t think you’d get peed on quite as frequently as you do with infant boys during middle-of-the-night diaper changes. But you better believe there’s a part of me that bristles at the idea that I would be anything other than thrilled to have another wonderful boy like the 3 we have already.
Whether this baby is a boy or girl, I know this for sure: they will be raised with an abundance of vehicle-related toys because there’s not much space left in our play room for representation of new interests, so we will be exploiting the joy of the grocery car cart for many years to come.
“party in the rain”
(from the same kids who starred in
“pandemic school year”)
Not all children’s books are created equal. But the more titles we accumulate on our library cards, the more hilarious I find some of the adult commentary on children’s books. A few favorites:
- An Open Letter to the Female Hat-Wearing Dog From “Go Dog, Go”
- Topher Fixed It – Parody Alternate Endings to Beloved but Problematic Children’s Literature
- All of my Issues With the “Goodnight Moon” Bedroom
And of course, the movie equivalents as well.
