Evelyn

I don’t want to talk about the topic that is currently buzzing around my head because it’s full of venom and I could potentially get myself into deep blog-trouble here.  Not too deep, because I know you guys (my peeps!) would pull me back out, but I would hover very dangerously close to being an unkind blog and I don’t really want to go that way. Not right now at least.  Maybe tomorrow.

I also don’t want to talk about how even though I appreciate every one of your comments on last night’s post, I STILL have not called a doctor (I have to find a new one, which is providing to be a lion’s share of the problem here) and made an appointment and now it’s too late in the day and MEH, I almost even don’t care anymore which means, of course THE THYROID IS WINNING.

Ahem.

So instead, I will talk about my husband’s latest post about Evie sleeping in her own crib.  Now, I fully recognize that he’s trying to engage me with his inflammatory language about me making excuses and wah wah wah (I don’t do that, do I?).   But I want the Internets to know that I did have some good excuses for why we didn’t start putting Evie in her crib over the weekend.  Kile’s parents were visiting and were staying in that room so it would have been a little CROWDED and I’m sure they wouldn’t have cared for me stomping in there at 3am to fetch a crying baby, right?  That’s also my reason for not putting her in there last week after we got home from my parents’ house and before his parents came.  I figured why start something we can’t continue with consistency, right?

You’re on my side, RIGHT?

ANYHOW.  The point of this whole vignette is that Kile put Evie in her crib last night shortly after 9:30 and she stayed there until after 2:30 this morning.  Even then, I’m not sure she wouldn’t have just gone back to sleep but I just wanted to go in and get her anyhow.  Because as nice as it was not to have her toes stabbing into my stretch marks and being squeezed out to the edge of our enormous bed, I wasn’t sleeping all that great without her there.  I think I was listening for her on the monitor.  Plainly put?  I missed her.

I put her up there for her afternoon nap but she didn’t stay in there.  I put her down about 12:30 and she would sleep and then wake up and cry a little and fall right back to sleep like a minute later.  At about ten after 2, she seemed to be awake and crying more so I went in and got her.  I nursed her in my bed and she fell back asleep (yanking me in after her, like she often will do).  She slept up in our bed until about 4:30.  WOW.  Girl got her nap ON today!

We’ll see what happens tonight.  I think I’ll let Kile lay her down again, since that seemed to work well.  I won’t deny that it freaked me out having her up there in her crib all alone.  Where I couldn’t see her.  Even now, I’m gazing at her in her bouncer seat (where’s avidly playing with her own fingers) and I just want to snatch her up and cover her in kisses.

So yeah.  That’s what I’m talking about instead of the other things on my mind.  Anyone else have any good stories of moving their babies to their cribs that can bolster my fragile mommy ego?

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.

It’s days like this that make a person realize why stay at home parents aren’t paid for what they do.

“And why is that?” you ask.

And I answer: Because, there isn’t enough money IN THE WORLD to make up for all the shit we have to put up with.

It really hasn’t been a bad day in the classical sense of the term.  But, it’s been a DAY.  The sort that you rather hope ends with an alcoholic beverage and perhaps a neckrub sometime before your head hits the pillow and you are able to embrace blessed, blessed oblivion.

Liam had his 2 year old well-check appointment with the pediatrician this morning.  And, amazingly enough, I was able to get myself and the two wee ones out the door with little difficulty.  Huzzah!  Of course, I noticed a shimmy as I drove down the road (we have a slow leak on one of our tires and it needs to be aired up from time to time), plus the van needed gas.  I tend to see 1/4 of a tank as being empty and it was 1/4 of a tank.  But… no time to fill it.

Bah.

The appointment went well enough.  Liam is still our puny runt.  We got a sheet of paper with suggestions for feeding picky eaters.  The doctor approved our giving him pedia-sure and suggested that on the days we didn’t give him that, that he had some sort of multi-vitamin.  And to keep trying to get him to eat fruits and vegetables.  Especially vegetables.

The big thing was his speech.  No big surprise to us, he has a delay.  Harry did too, at the same age, and it hasn’t hurt him much.  Still, we don’t see any reason to turn down speech therapy because it couldn’t possibly hurt and could only help.  However, it would mean more driving around for me (figures we don’t have anyone around here that comes to the home, right?).  I’ll do what I have to do.

I don’t believe that this means he’ll be behind all his life or anything.  I really have no other reason to be concerned.  I know he’s a clever boy.  He just isn’t where his peers are verbally yet.  And hopefully, this will help him get there.  No pressure.  I’m not worried.

After the appointment, we were all starved for lunch.  We headed to the university to eat there, as is the custom.  Lunch was good and I had food that was decidedly unhealthy for me.  It was delicious.  But then it was time to go home.

So many things went wrong from there.  Liam fell asleep in the van, which as you mothers of toddlers know, that just completely fux’s with the whole nap schedule.  Evie screamed in the van at first, before settling down.  She commenced screaming again as soon as we got home.  I carried Liam in, still sleeping, and put him up in his crib.  Back downstairs, I let the dogs out and noticed that Beetoe (I could call her something really, really bad right here and not have a lick of guilt) had torn through a bag of garbage and strewn it everywhere.

I then fetched Evie out of her seat and set her on the changing table.  She had just had a monstrous poop and the clean up was about as much fun as you’d expect.  Meanwhile, I can hear Beetoe losing her shit out on the back step because, “OMG, I’m OUTSIDE.  And it’s above 70 degrees!!!  I’M DYING!!!”  Evie doesn’t settle down as I clean her up, and instead ramps up her displeasure.  My blood pressure starts to do scary things.

I set her in the bouncer seat so I can clean up the mess Beetoe made.  Of course, Evie is still going thermonuclear and Beetoe is now flinging herself uselessly at the sliding door.  Everything gets cleaned up, the dogs get let in and I pick up Evie.  Seems all is right with the world, right?

I settle her down and we go upstairs to lay down.  Which, you know, sorta works for a while.  But Evie starts to get restless and as we STILL have no monitor, I’m reluctant to leave her upstairs unmonitored so I bring her downstairs.  She falls asleep in her bouncer.  I had opened Liam’s bedroom door in the hopes that some of the cool air coming from the a/c unit in our bedroom would waft into his room which gets really hot in the afternoon.

This worked against me because he woke up.  I then made the collossal mistake of handing him his sippy cup.  This only made him mad because he recognized I was putting him off.  I came downstairs and sorted through the clean cloth diapers that came out of the dryer that morning, listening to Liam cry.  I start to think that the door being opened is making him upset.  So what do I do?  I go up and close it.  Which pissed him off again, but then he was already pissed.

Now, he has been crying and sleeping in 5 minute intervals.  It occurs to me that perhaps his leg is bothering him where they gave him his shot.  Perhaps I should have given him some Motrin before laying him down.  Which, you know, I WOULD HAVE, had he not fallen asleep in the van on the way home.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So there you have it.  That’s my day so far.

Hate is such a strong word, isn’t it?  Still, in certain situations, little else seems to fit the bill.  Or, say, if one has had a rough night, then the word “hate” is rather appropriate.  So here is what I find myself hating at this particular moment in time:

• that if we don’t close the bathroom door when we leave the dogs (Beetoe in particular) unsupervised, then they’ll get into the diaper trash (Liam still wears disposables at least half the time) and make a huge, disgusting mess.
• that the diaper covers I bought online for Evie that say they’re mediums and good to six months just came yesterday and they barely fit her.  Now i need to sell them and look for other, bigger diaper covers.
• that Evie is having such a hard time sleeping with us right now.  With me, in particular.  The same thing happened with Harry so I wonder if it’s related to nursing.  She has a hard time settling down in the night and will squirm and kick and thrash unless she has a boob in her mouth at all times.  It translates to crappy sleep for her (right now she’s passed out in her bouncy seat, poor thing) and crappy sleep for me (nursing a headache and a huge cup of coffee).
• that this means it might be time to try moving her into her own room.
• that we don’t have a dual room baby monitor and I need to have something like that in place to even consider moving her into her room.
• that if she does move into her room, I’d be signing up for trudging into her room at least once a night for the next year or so.
• getting up in the middle of the night. ‘Nuff said.
• the pain I’m feeling across my shoulders that is increasing every day.  I swear, last night, I couldn’t even swivel at my torso without wincing in pain.  I suspect this has to do with the heavy lifting I’ve been doing around here.
• that I’m still having to do all the lifting around here.  It really sorta sucks.
• that I feel so resentful of all the lifting and stuff I have to do around here.
• that it’s Sunday and that means the weekend is almost over.
• that Harry starts the third grade tomorrow.  Even though I’m excited for him, I’ll actually sorta miss having him around during the day.  Plus, you know, he’s growing up TOO DAMN FAST.

Bleh.  I need another cup of coffee.