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.
When my parents first pulled out of our driveway with all 3 boys in tow for a 5 night venture, I’ll admit I was a little overwhelmed. What should we do first? Didn’t I have a list of books I wanted to read? A list of projects I couldn’t find enough daytime hours to tackle normally? A list of people with whom I was overdue for a good catch-up? A list of lists that I’d been meaning to make??
Now, 6 days and 5 nights later, here’s where we netted out:
- Dining out.
We had 1 lunch and 3 dinners out. The food scene in one of the major cities nearby is phenomenal, so we indulged in everything except portion control: appetizers, desserts, tapas, cocktails, even overpriced mocktails for me. In these outings, we also had a startling realization that we haven’t managed a “quick” departure in over 6 years now. We’ve grown accustomed to baking in time wrangling and packing up kids’ diaper bags, helping put on shoes, refilling water bottles, checking for items left behind, buckling and arranging in various 5-point harnesses. We were so quick to get in the car for our first luncheon, in fact, that I delayed our outing by 30 seconds because I was simply convinced we couldn’t be ready to go that quickly and must be forgetting something. - Staying clean.
With the exception of the tumbleweeds of dog fur that accumulate from our shepherd, things have been remarkably (literally: I felt the need to remark on this at least twice every day) clean. We only had to do a load of our own laundry once during this time. We ran the dishwasher about a third as often as we normally do – and that included cleaning baby supplies. We last vacuumed on Friday, shortly after the boys left. It is now Wednesday, and there are still vacuum tracks on parts of the carpet. There was such low urgency to need to clean, in fact, that we even optimized when we ran our machines to reduce power usage during surge times amid a bit of a heat wave. I would congratulate myself for being so eco-conscious if not for, you know, that ship having long since sailed given the number of offspring we’ve created. - Quality 1:1 time.
Dave & I went on walks every day, had several bonfires by ourselves, and he cooked me a fantastic dinner on our last evening alone. As a rule, our most substantive conversations happen when the boys are securely strapped into car seats and we can mentally relax enough to focus more exclusively on talking to each other, or when the bedtime rush is over and I’m only partially coherent anymore. I probably spent about 90% of our waking hours chatting endlessly, and then only last night wondered if I should bust out my personal favorite (& otherwise regarded as totally cringey) “Table Topics” game. - Having a social life.
Years ago, one of my dear friends told me that when I talk to someone, I make them feel like the most important person in the room — & I consider that a high compliment. But having kids is a constant exercise in multi-tasking (something I’m not good at in the first place) and as a result, I haven’t felt on my social game in years because I can’t really focus on the person with whom I’m speaking while my kids are around and devising yet another method to inject danger into otherwise banal situations. With our free time these past few days, we therefore had a bonfire with neighbors, a decadent dinner + dessert progressive evening out with two of our best friends, and a sunny lake day with family including great bonding with our 2 year old niece. - PANIC NESTING.
(Kind of) joking about it being done in a panic, but I got a ton of concentrated nesting done. Baby’s laundry is washed and stocked, diaper stations are set up upstairs and down, bottles/pumps/pacifiers have been cleaned, dried, and organized to minimize a need to scramble amid my impending newborn mental haze. I also took the liberty of conducting a massive toy purge, which is both very satisfying for me and also leads to my bi-annual conviction that we should all focus more on gifting kids experiences rather than things, which leads to me figuratively standing on my soap box and preaching to Dave for 30 minutes about this, which leads to him reminding me that he’s always agreed with this but I can keep repeating myself it if helps.
All in all, it was a wonderful, recharging, productive time. And, of course, an honorable mention to the 6th thematic trend of how I spent the days: simultaneously very much looking forward to having my favorite little monsters back at home with me.
Dinner at one of my favorite swanky spots – not a kids’ menu in sight. 
Enjoying s’mores and more time to converse with our neighbors than is afforded by our usual wait for the school bus. 
Queso and charcuterie. My favorites. 
D & our niece palling around before dinner and fireworks. 
Amazing homemade meal & mocktail by D, cartoon car place mat because we’re still us.
We were supposed to be on a getaway to a driving-distance destination this week with the boys and my parents. My doctor, however, suggested (as diplomatically as she could, I’m sure) that this was a boneheaded idea given the likelihood that I have a fast delivery and go early (again) with Baby #4. As a result, Dave and I ended up in this Twilight Zone scenario where all of our children are away with my parents and we are home alone for five (!) consecutive nights. Once the shock of solitude wore off, we went right to work planning things that we can’t easily do with the boys in tow — but more on that later.
One such thing on my list is more involved meal prep, inclusive of ingredients that may not be to the taste of my sons who are content to call five pieces of pepperoni stacked between two slices of bread a solid lunch menu.
Enter: this delicious stone fruit and burrata salad:
Recipe here courtesy of “What’s Gaby Cooking.”
I brought this to a lakeside dinner with family and made another lunch of it for myself as more of the fruit ripened. It’s light, hydrating on a hot day, and bursting with flavor between the fruit and the champagne vinaigrette. 10/10 will make again… albeit probably not for awhile unless I find that O – by far my most adventurous eater – also enjoys it.
June 30th is just a date on a calendar, but it’s also our anniversary. We’ve spent this date traveling to new cities, to foreign countries, to some of the most beautiful local spots… having extravagant dinners, al fresco picnics, or Subway sandwiches… alone, or among friends, or with our growing number of children. Last night, we celebrated 10 years of marriage with a substantially different version of our original vision for the milestone (the Amalfi coast!): consuming a takeout charcuterie board, watching our backyard bonfire, doused in bug spray. We talked about our early dating days, some of our favorite anniversary trips, & how nice the patio looked since being power washed. We looked up at the back of our home and recalled one night shortly after we first moved into this 4 bedroom house with our 2 month old son who still slept in a bassinet next to our bed. We stood at the top of our stairs looking into the big, empty space feeling like impostors pretending to be adults… and now that we’ve slowly replaced things like our former condo’s modern furniture with toddler-friendly ottomans, “big boy” bunks, and over-sized reading chairs, that a massive portion of our life happens just behind the windows between the living room and kitchen, and that the bedrooms are filled with the small, sleeping bodies of our favorite people in the world.
Another June 30th, and another set of happy memories made not because of what we were doing, but because we were together.
“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.
This past weekend, we celebrated A’s 2nd birthday. This involved a playground picnic, a trip to the zoo, and his favorite songs playing on repeat as we drove around town (did you know that the word “lollipop” is said 46x in the song “Lollipop” by the Chordettes? Because I did).
This also involved him accepting pretzel bribes in exchange for sedentary patience at his brothers’ overlapping soccer games, two Slurpees in one day (apologies to pediatric dentists everywhere), and opening gifts while standing atop the kitchen table… because what is childhood as a third-born if not spent in part benefiting from the lowered standards of your more veteran parents?
At 2 years old, A is my “sunshine” baby, owner of the world’s most bashful smile, and the fiercest bro of them all. In a span of 10 minutes, he will have a sympathetic melt-down upon witnessing one of his older brothers get hurt, and then snatch a toy straight out of their hands, proclaim “mine,” and push them around just to drive home the point. He is the great household explorer, locating every danger we could have sworn we’d baby-proofed long ago. He is part of whatever action is happening, evinced by his most recent verbal addition of the phrase “wat[ch] me, Mom!” as he mimics whatever risky behavior his brothers — who have substantial advantages in size, mobility, and (evidently) depth perception — are engaging in. His happy place is swaying on a swing, his favorite book is “Where’s Spot?” and he gives – without question – the greatest running hugs upon daycare pickup. He may live in a wardrobe exclusively comprised of hand-me-downs, but he is definitely one-of-a-kind.
Happy birthday, Scooch.
