Harry

We’re not there yet.  Not quite.  I’m sure no one expects us to be, either.  After all, Kile is still on leave, helping me out here at home.  And we won’t have anything approaching normal until he goes back to work (please don’t think that means that I at all WANT him to go back to work because I DO NOT).  But with Kile’s mom gone back to Elko and normal life going on all around us, it’s easy to think that “this is how it will be.”  Of course, it won’t.  Evie is still asleep in her newborn coma.  I’m trying not to read too much into that (she’s still jaundiced, after all, so I worry she’s sleepy because of that).  Plus, you know, newborns are relatively easy to take care of.  They eat, they sleep and they poop.  And that’s about it.

Liam seems “adjusted”.  Of course, I’m aware that this could all change at a moment’s notice.  But he seems genuinely okay with having the little bundle around all the time.  He loves to look at her when we’re in the car, since he has a good view of her from his carseat.  If she fusses, he “talks” to her.  It’s rather adorable, actually.  He’s got a good heart, that one.

Harry has proclaimed Evie to be the cutest baby ever.  He really is taken with her and it charms me how differently he has reacted towards her than he did towards Liam.  Not that he didn’t love Liam, but it’s different.  No, his relationship with Liam is much different.  They were playing last night, rough housing in the living room, chasing each other, giggling and laughing and wrestling.  It made my heart swell to watch them, it did.

Kile actually went in to the office this morning.  He’s just helping out with something for a couple hours.  Thankfully, he took Liam with him.  Not only will this ensure his timely return, but I frankly can’t handle Liam here alone yet.  I can’t pick him up, for starters, and in order to do just about anything for him, I need to be able to pick him up.  Plus, the ladies in his office just adore Liam so I’m sure his being there won’t be an issue.

So that leaves me here at home, alone, with Evie.  I think I’ll take advantage of her snoozing to go hop in the shower real quick.  I’ll utilize the whole “bouncy seat outside the shower” technique so I can keep a good eye on her.  Of course, knowing that damned Murphy and his dang law, she’ll wake up and want to eat just about the time I’m sudsing up my hair.  Anyone care to lay a wager on that?

^{That wrinkly turtle neck of hers just slays me.}

^{Liam saw me take Evie’s picture and wanted one of him.  I love when he cocks his head to the side like this.}

^{These two played together all evening.  It was adorable.}  

^{I don’t think she has him charmed one bit, do you?}

All this time, I think we’ve been rather deluded.  It has appeared that Harry was a daddy’s boy when in all actuality, I think he’s bipartisan.  Shoot, even if you ask him point blank which parent he prefers he will insist with his dying breath that he loves us both the same.  My son, it would appear, is nothing if not diplomatic.  He loves to help his father out with projects, with making dinner, playing video games together.  He loves to snuggle with me, watch movies, and so forth.  Kile noted to me last night that when Harry needs comfort, he always comes to me.  I said that it was probably because often it was because Kile was busting his chops for something or another (kidding!).  Kile said that when he sticks up for Harry when I get after him, that Harry doesn’t come to him for comfort.  I guess I should feel honored, huh?  And I am, I’m glad that he has something that he relates to with me.

Liam, on the other hand, has redefined the term “daddy’s boy”.  And I don’t doubt for a minute that Liam loves me.  I know he does.  I’ve been here virtually every day since the day he was born, taking care of him and kissing his owies (of which there are many these days, it would seem).  But when it comes to Kile?  Well, that’s a different animal altogether.

I caught Liam gazing up into Kile’s face the other night.  He was sitting on Kile’s lap drinking a sippy cup full of milk and Kile was watching something on the television.  And the look in Liam’s eyes, the absolute adoration, took my breath away.   And when Kile comes home from work in the evening, it’s hard to say who beats a quicker path towards him, Liam or the dogs (who really make shameful hussies out of themselves).  And Liam will not be happy until Kile has scooped him up and greeted him properly.  Also, to this day, there is no one that Liam will sit quietly with for hours at a time other than Kile.  He will quite contentedly sit on Kile’s lap, sippy cup in hand, covered with a blanket and watch a full two hour movie with him.  I’ve seen him do it countless times.  Me?  He’ll sit on my lap for 5, maybe 10 minutes at the most.  Then he’s off to explore his next greatest adventure.  Kile puts him to bed at night, as that is what Liam prefers.  I will sometimes join them, but Liam could literally care less if I am there or not.  He loves for Kile to read him his stories, give him his fluoride drops, tuck him in with his favorite Piglet stuffed animal.  Kile also gives him his baths.  I serve as “support staff” for these baths, catch a wet baby in a warm, hooded towel, re-diapering and clothing in clean jammies.  But it’s Kile who has to do the actual bathing.  It’s Kile’s hands he trusts to pour the water over his head and soap up all his parts.

I’m not jealous, at least, not much.  Moreso, I’m tickled at the bond between them.  I can’t wait to watch it flourish over the years to come.  And, I can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Evie will be a mama’s girl.

I’m pretty sure, however, that Fridays make just about everyone happy. It’s the last day of the work week, the gateway to the weekend.  It’s pizza night, movie night and stay-up-late night.  Even the day itself seems so much better than the other weekdays.  Probably because I know that it’s the last weekday.  I can make it through the last weekday if I know a reprieve is in sight.

Friday is also Friday Eye Candy day, and I loves mahself some FEC. If that isn’t a good way to start off the weekend right, I don’t know what is.

There is a blight on this Friday, however.  It is Harry’s last day of school for a whole MONTH.  And on top of that?  It’s a half day.  Which means he’ll be home about 1pm.  GAH.  (Of course, I plan to be three sheets to the wind and napping at 1pm.  He knows how to let himself in and turn on the Xbox, I wager.)  (Don’t call CPS on me.)  This means I’ll have an 8 year old boy I need to figure out how to entertain for the next four weeks.  And while the Xbox, his computer and the television are great at keeping him happy, I don’t want him to do any of those things ALL DAY LONG.  I’m thinking that besides coming up with other more fun activities for him to do, that I want to come up with a “chore list” for the break.  A list of things that I want him to have completed by the end of his break.  That’s not unreasonable, right?  I’m thinking things like putting away all his laundry (he’s got quite a backlog), throwing out old toys he wants to sell at our garage sale this spring/summer, cleaning his room, picking up his play area in the loft, etc.  I’m also wanting to discuss with him some restrictions on things like the Xbox, his computer and cartoons.  If he knows from the start how much can do each thing each week, then hopefully that’ll mean less arguments.  Right?

I’m also less than excited about Harry’s school break because this means I’ll have ANOTHER child to drag with me to doctor appointments.  FUN.  I have two next week.  Well, one of them is the perinatologist appointment and they don’t allow children in the office.  That should be… fun.  And I’m sure Harry would rather do just about anything (yes, even put away his laundry) than go with me to these appointments.  But I’m getting down to the wire here and these appointments are coming fast and furious.  I count my lucky stars that he goes back to school when I start my 34th week, which means I won’t have to drag him to my non-stress tests.

Anyhow.  What was I talking about?

Oh yeah!  Fridays!

We’re meeting some friends for pizza tonight, which should be a lot of fun.  I’m looking forward to the weekend, in general.  We don’t have anything really exciting planned.  But if it means I get to sleep in an extra half hour in the morning, I’ll take it.

A mere week after my darling son decided he was ready to ride the bus, he hit me with this little gem on Monday evening:

“Tomorrow, can I walk down to the bus stop by myself?  And then, after school when the bus drops me off, can I walk home by myself too?”

gulp

“Sure, sweety.  If you feel ready.”

Inside?  I panicked.  Sure, I’d just told him days before that if he ever felt ready to go to the bus without me, to let me know and that would be all cool.  But faced with the reality of a child that would be walking down to the bottom of the cul-de-sac and around the corner WITHOUT ME, I started to fret.  I suggested that I could watch him walk down to the corner from the front of the house and he agreed to that.  But once down to the corner, I wouldn’t be able to see the bus stop or watch him get on the bus or ANYTHING.  He would be standing down there with the other kids for a good 5 to 10 minutes without adult supervision!  And then, the bus would drop him off in the afternoon and he’d just walk home.  ALONE.  Again, no supervision.

gulp

Of course, I presented nothing but a positive front to him and Tuesday morning he walked out the door and didn’t look back. I watched until I couldn’t spot the top of his head any longer.  Then, there was nothing left to do but go back inside and get Liam his breakfast.  And fret.  At 3:30 that afternoon, when school gets out, I made sure the front door was unlocked and proceeded to keep an eye on the clock for the next 15-20 minutes until Harry came through the front door.  Just like that.  All by himself.

I’m pretty danged proud of him, but also freaked the heck out.  HOW did I get to the point where I have a son who is old enough to do these things without me?  The independence is important, I know that, but it’s a hard adjustment.  And it doesn’t help that it feel like it was two minutes ago that he was a helpless little toddler.  I spent the last 8 years taking care of this kid, making sure he’s safe and well-cared for.  And all of the sudden I’m just supposed to let go?  And be ok with that?  Time is not kind to us mothers.  It keeps marching on when we’d most like to take a minute to catch our breaths.

And, darnit all, I feel old.