I’ve talked about this topic before.  At least once.  So I’m worried about sounding repetitive.  But I have to write about my daughter and the miracle that she is to me.

My relationship with her is obviously still evolving, but I’m happy to report that so far, I feel so close to her.  She makes it imposisble NOT to feel close to her.  Of course, she is still in the “all mama, all the time” phase what with the nursing and everything.  Kile will pick her up and she will automatically crane her neck to locate me.  She loves her papa, of course, but knowing I’m paying attention too helps quite a bit.

I’m constantly amazed at the difference in disposition between her and my boys.  Harry always was a pretty mellow kid, but even more than him, Evie is willing to sit on my lap and just… be.  Her attention to detail with her toys has been amazing us since she was barely old enough to smile.  Her sensitivity to loud noises, loud voices and sudden movements is also something we’re not quite accustomed to.  She really responds to a soft, cooing voice and soft, gentle touches.  On more than one occasion, Kile has caused her to cry, simply by laughing loudly at the television.

But I don’t want you to think she’s not a happy child.  Because, oh my stars, she is.  She smiles is virtually anyone who smiles at her, flashing her adorable dimples and twinkling her still-changing eyes.  She has a tinkling little laugh.  I wouldn’t call it a “belly laugh”, she doesn’t just crack up like some babies do.  But when she’s amused, the sound of her little giggle is enough to make you giggle too.  I’m going to have to try to get some video of it so you can see what I mean.

There are times, often when I’m nursing her before a nap or snuggling with her in the afternoon, that I think about how she shouldn’t even be here.  If our hearts hadn’t been shattered 4 1/2 years ago when Jackson was born still, we wouldn’t have Evie.  Three children is our number.  We didn’t arrive at this number just by accident.  We’ve long known that we would stop at three.  And had Jackson lived, Liam would have been our third child.  My tubes would have been tied and Evie would never have existed.

Then there’s the whole miracle conception deal too.  I never expected to get pregnant without Clomid.  I had written myself off as being infertile.  End of story.  But, against the odds, we got Evie.  I couldn’t explain to you how or why.  I just know that this morning, she’s bouncing around in the exersaucer at my feet, babbling at the toys and examining how they work.  She keeps flashing me a dazzling smile, trying to convince me to scoop her up and give her some cuddles.

You know what?  I think I will.

I’ve been thinking, the last couple of days, about the last five years. It has been a wild and crazy ride.

Five years ago was October of 2003. I was knee-deep in my pregnancy with Jackson. It had taken a lot of work to get pregnant and I was soaking up every moment of it. I had enjoyed being pregnant so much with Harrison and was very glad to have the chance to experience it again. In fact, I can remember quite a bit from that time. Harry was dressing up as a pirate for Halloween and we had found the cutest costume at Target. That actually started our love affair with Target Halloween costumes. My parents were in town over Halloween and I remember sitting and chatting with my mom while handing out candy. My dad and Kile had taken Harry out trick-or-treating and it was cold, cold, cold! It had snowed that morning, in fact. It was also around this time that I had found out that my older sister was expecting her second child and I was so excited to be pregnant at the same time as her. It seemed like everything was on it’s way up.

Four years ago, we were still getting used to living in our new house and I was nursing a very tender wound on my soul from losing Jackson. That fall was a rough one and I actually don’t remember a lot of it. I do remember that we weren’t at home for many holidays and that hurt more than I expected it would. It was our first year in our new house and we weren’t here for Halloween or Christmas. Looking back, I’m not sure if we were here for Thanksgiving or not. Like I said, there are a lot of holes from 2004. I do especially remember Halloween though. We were in Elko, taking a portrait of the grandkids on that side of the family for Kile’s parents for Christmas. All the kids dressed in white t-shirts and jeans. The picture turned out so cute, but that visit was a hard one. The election was within days of that trip and Elko is mighty red. We were startled and frustrated by the number of advertisements and robo calls from the Bush campaign. And there was no talking politics with any of his family as their political views were so different than ours. We felt like the odd ones out, to be sure. Harry dressed up as Spider-man (complete with quilted “muscles”) and it was another cold night. In fact, it snowed that evening and the sidewalks were slick. Kile drove around in the van with the side door open so Harry and his cousins could hop out and run up to the doors and then hurry back to the van to get warm. All in all, I look back on that time through gray-tinted glasses. It was not a happy time.

Three years ago was a different story. We were recovering from our miscarriage, but I didn’t feel near the level of depression that I had felt the year before. We had done a bunch of tests to rule out issues and I was on my first month of Clomid. In fact, unbeknownst to us, I would get pregnant the week following Halloween that year. We were in our house that year for Halloween and Harry dressed up as Darth Vader (complete with super-awesome voice-changing mask). I stayed home, as is often my duty, to pass out candy (and blog) while Kile set out with Harry and our neighbors to do a little trick or treating. He brought back a ton of candy which we ate for weeks and weeks afterward. I don’t remember a whole lot from this time, but mostly for good reasons this time. Because it was essentially a good time for us. Our lives were changing and for the better. At long last.

Two years ago, we had a baby in our house once more. Liam had us all charmed and wrapped around his tiny little finger. 2006 had been very good to us and I just plain felt GOOD. That year after Liam was born was pretty danged good, to be honest. I felt good and was taking care of myself and getting exercise and I had friends… what more could I ask for? Harry dressed up as “the boogeyman” from “Scream” that year and we had the cutest velour vampire bunting for Liam to wear. We all hit the streets that year, along with our neighbors, to get the goods. I remember we foolishly did the trick-or-treating before having dinner so that by the time we finished, we were starving. We headed to McDonald’s for a quick fix, Liam still wearing his super-cute costume (come to think of it, I’m not sure how I got him in the carseat in that getup, but I’m sure I figured it out).

One year ago, I was pregnant. I wasn’t expecting to be pregnant, but pregnant I was. Despite issues with hormones, I still felt like things were going great. Even though, unfortunately, my friendships had taken a large hit. It was one year ago that there was a mixup with a Halloween party that we were supposed to be invited to but no one remembered to tell us when it was and so we didn’t go and Harry was BITTERLY disappointed. And I felt awful about it. That incident tainted the holiday, as far as I was concerned. Luckily, Harry rebounded quickly as kids often do and went trick-or-treating dressed as Black Spider-man. Liam even got in on the gig in his plush skunk costume (he was SO FREAKING ADORABLE in that thing). Liam came back home after a trip around the cul-de-sac while Harry and Kile set out to conquer the rest of the neighborhood. We did very well and had more candy afterward than is probably healthy. But, like I said, I was pregnant and happy for the sugar.

And that brings us to today. Three kids. Two costumes (still don’t have one for Evie, nor do I think we will have one. She can probably get away with the skunk getup). Harry as a bloody-skull-faced grim reaper and Liam as a monkey. I imagine we’ll all cruise the cul-de-sac before I come back home with the little ones and hand out candy. Any big life changes on the horizon this year? I doubt it. It’s another election year this year, but the difference between now and 2004 is so stark that it’s almost laughable. Some people might feel differently, but the tone of this election is so much better than it was four years ago. Four years ago I felt so DESPERATE. This year, I feel more confident and less like I’m sitting on the razor’s edge. Which is actually kind of ironic considering the state our nation is in right now. Perhaps I (wrongly) feel insulated from it.

I can’t help but wonder what next year will bring. What costumes will we be seeing on our kids? Liam will be a lot more aware of the holiday. Evie will be old enough to at least cruise the cul-de-sac (and get her own costume, for pity’s sake!). We’ll have a different president. Will we be thinking of moving to a new house? Harry will be in the fourth grade and going on TEN YEARS OLD.

*shudder*

Yeah, I don’t want to play this game anymore.

I’m going to delve into some scary territory here, something I don’t usually discuss on this here blog:  The toilet.  More specifically, how men use the toilet.  I know.  I should have warned you, huh?  If you were eating breakfast or lunch or dinner… I apologize.  But this is a subject that causes me great amounts of wonder and disgust (ha, that was too easy!).

See, it wasn’t until I met and married Kile that I really noticed how guys like to go sit in the bathroom for ages on end.  WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?  I just plainly don’t get it.  Even on my stalling-est day, I can’t be in there more than 15 minutes without my legs going numb or just plain wanting to claw the walls (I guess it doesn’t help that we have a little claustrophobic closet for our toilet in our master bathroom).  But Kile?  Give him a magazine (doesn’t even have to be a NEW one) and he can spend a half hour, 45 minutes or MORE.

He once told me that it’s the only place he can go to be by himself.  SERIOUSLY?  Can I just take a few minutes to poke some monster-sized holes in this one?  THANKS.  I owe you one.

• First off, do I even have to mention that I get like zero time to myself?  If I do manage to get in the bathroom without Liam on my heels, then I have him literally throwing himself at the door until I’m back out.  And most times, I just quick use the bathroom while I’m in there changing Evie (our changing table is in the half bath).
• ANYHOW, if I were to take some blessed time for myself, it would NOT (I repeat, NOT) be in the bathroom.  EEE GADS.  I mean, we’re pretty awful housekeepers but even if our bathrooms were consistently sparkling, I still wouldn’t want to spend quality time in there.  It’s a BATHROOM.
• I gotta wonder why needs needs so much alone time since he gets to go to work.  Yes, I said “gets to”.  Not that work is fun, I realize that.  But shoot, even the drive into work is alone time.  No one but himself to worry about.  And at work, I’m sure there’s a time or two he can close his office door and try for a semblance of peace.  I imagine he even gets to eat his lunch most times without someone hollering at him.  MUST BE NICE.
• Lately, he’s also taken up running three times a week.  He gets up at 5:30 or so on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and goes for a run.  By himself.  He doesn’t even take a dog or anything.  Just him and his iPod.  When he gets back, he often sits downstairs checking email on his laptop or watching tv or sipping water for a while before coming up to shower and get ready for work.  If that isn’t time to himself then I obviously don’t understand the meaning of the phrase because all I can think is MUST BE NICE.
• (If you’re all wondering why I don’t get up early and go for runs or whatever it is because I’m generally EXHAUSTED by the end of the night.  There is no such thing as uninterrupted sleep when there’s a baby in the house.)

Who me, bitter?  NOPE, surely you’re talking about someone else.

The fact of the matter is that there is no such thing as time to myself anymore.  Even my showers are hurried as more often than not I hear Evie start to fuss as soon as I get the shampoo on my head.  During the day, there is MAYBE a one hour chunk of time that no one needs me.  And let me tell you, that is the best hour of my day.  Harry is still at school, Evie is napping, Liam is napping… I can actually watch what I want to watch on TV for a change (most often it’s a DVR’d episode of “Touched by an Angel”).  It doesn’t happen every day (yesterday I fell asleep with Evie because I was seriously pooped), but when it does, I cherish it.  I never know, from day to day, if Evie will sleep without my presence or Liam will get up early from his nap.  And then there are the Fridays where Harry has a half day at school (like this week, I believe?) and there is no time alone.

Lest you think I’m too much of a complainer, I realize this is par for the course in the early childhood years.  You sign up to have kids, you pretty much forfeit time for yourself.  But that’s just it, isn’t it?  Is it only the MOM who gives up her privacy (and sanity) and Dad doesn’t have to?  How is that fair?

(And I can just hear my mom’s voice in my head, saying that because he works and is the primary and only wage earner in the house, that he DESERVES this time to himself because his job is HARD and supporting a family is HARD.  I do get that.  But I also get that staying at home with kids all day can quickly drain your sanity when there is no break and no outside influences.)

So yeah.  This is why guys sitting on the toilet for more than about 10-15 minutes at a time really chaps my hide.  I’d say I’m jealous but DUDE, it’s a BATHROOM.  Eww!  _{(I am jealous about the alone time though.)}

It was a year ago, give or take a couple days, that I found out I was pregnant.  By total surprise.  After I had written myself off as an infertile mess.  Huh.  Then, just before New Years, I was surprised yet again to find out I was going to be having a girl.

I’d gotten rather used to having boys.  I sort of just expected that I would have boys.  That was the “default answer” and I was pretty okay with that.  There’s something so sweet about boys.  I’ve always said (and still do) that if I had to have children of only one gender, that I would rather have all boys than all girls.  I think, honestly, that it would be easier.  Girls, particularly more than one girl at a time, freak me out.  There’s a sort of “pack” thing that goes on with girls and I would fear for my sanity especially during the teenage years.

Not that boys aren’t a challenge.  But I’ve always felt that I could probably handle boys a lot easier than I could girls.  And at least I wouldn’t have to explain what a “period” is to a boy, right?

All of this said, I am really enjoying having a daughter.  I am truly amazed that it is a little different.  For me, at least.  She seems to have a different sort of temperment than either of the boys ever had.  Which isn’t to say she is a perfect angel.  Because she can be a needy, clingy, sharp (OMG the fingernails) little creature.  But, oh my stars, I just love her to death.  And I spend a lot of time looking into her eyes and trying to imagine the girl and woman she will become.  I’m truly humbled by her.

Taken with my cellphone after a nursing session in the van, she was interested in anything other than eating.

She has learned about the joy that is the ’saucer this last week.

Liam tries to show Evie how to play with his old ’saucer.

Evie tries to grab the camera from me.

The lace on this dress just KILLS me.  I love it so much.

Taking a wee snooze on the boppy.

OMG, that’s it.  I want to eat her.

I want to hold onto these days forever.

Seriously, you could probably write a book about how much stuff they never tell you before having kids.  Or about how they tried to tell all this stuff before you had kids, but you never listened.  Or you listened but you didn’t believe them because you were going to be different!  You’re SPECIAL, damnit.  Ahem.  Something like that.

Anyhow, my point here is that I was never told just how different a mom that I would be to each of my children.  Oh sure, I heard all the talk about how “each child is different”.  And I beleived it because I grew up in a family of five children.  But I guess I never stopped to realize that you are a different mom to each child.  Or is that just me?  Becuase I SWEAR, I never expected to feel so differently each and every time.

There are basics in place, of course.  I’m a pretty laid back mom (NO WAY, you’re KIDDING… ) and generally don’t get too worked up over things.  My kids, more often than not, might have a smear or two on their faces.  My house tends to look a little “rough around the edges” by the end of the day.  I encourage all of them to be able to play on their own without me, though at Liam’s age, I do join in from time to time.  I also don’t put up with much nonsense and demand respectful behavior and adherence to the rules and regulations (be they what they are) around the house.

But as for how I relate to each child?  It has literally amazed me at how differently I interact with each one.  With Harry, he was my first.  We had a very close relationship for the first six years of his life.  As a baby and toddler, though, I think I spent more time worrying about things and focusing on the little things that just aren’t really worth worrying about.  I don’t think I enjoyed the small moments with him as much as I could have.  I was too busy thinking about what I should be doing and what milestones he should be achieving.  I’m pretty sure all first time moms do this.

With Liam, he was our Golden Child.  The miracle baby at the end of a long line of infertility and loss.  I was older than when I’d had Harry.  And with Liam, I have been more patient, and perhaps more indulgent.  Those early days and months were almost literally spent staring into his eyes and just basking in the glow.  The milestones came and went and I noticed but didn’t really care, you know what I mean?  Liam is my monkey boy and as he grows and more of his personality shows, I’m just charmed by him.  To him, I’m a soft lap to cuddle in.  And can I help it if I find it adorable that he calls everyone “mama”?  Even Harry is “mama”.  Kile will try to prompt him to call him “papa” and Liam will actually argue, “No… mama!”

And it’s different with Evie too.  I honestly never thought I’d get to have a little girl.  I figured I would have all boys and that would be that.  So she’s a surprise to me, every day.  And with her, I have yet another special kind of relationship.  We’ll often escape the cacophony of the boys playing to go change a diaper and while I’m cleaning her up, we’ll smile at each other in a way that says, “I’m on your side, sister.”  She doesn’t like loud noises or being handled roughly.  She loves to be sung to and told she’s a multitude of wonderful things (such as being smart, being a big girl, being pretty, etc and so forth).  She loves to study pictures and faces and does so with a sober, serious look on her face.  She is very tactile and tends to “paw” a lot with her hands, generally at my chest or my hands or a blanket (whatever is handy).  I take a delicate hand with her that I never had to have with her brothers.  She is vastly more talkative at this age and I find myself responding to her coos with delight.  It remains to be seen if she’ll be interested in the boy’s toys and playing in the dirt, but for now she’s my girly girl.  And I will admit to treating her as such.

Leave it to these tiny terrors to put our world on it’s ear, huh?  Being a mom at home (or at work, for that matter) isn’t easy and it’s a lot of work to deal with this rigamarole day in and day out.  But stopping to notice the differences and embrace them?  Well that’s just awesome.

And when Harry gets home?  I’m totally going to cheer him on while he plays a rousing round or two of Mario Kart.  Because he is plain awesome at Mario Kart.