Caleb ate cereal today in his highchair. But about twenty minutes later he decided that he wanted to eat a waffle at the kitchen table with Denver. So, I popped an Eggo in the toaster and handed it over to Caleb and he joined Denver for breakfast. I can’t say that I’ve ever seen Caleb more thrilled. I guess as determined as he is to stay little, he also can’t wait to grow up and be like his big brothers. Just look how happy he is in the bottom (very blurry) picture.
Anyway, while we were outside playing I thought, “God sure knows how to make a good toy.” And the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced. Cause first of all–you never out-grow God’s toys. Playing in the snow, swimming in the ocean, digging in the sand, climbing and swinging in the trees and jumping in the leaves anyone can do whether they’re one or one hundred and it is always fun. Plus you never get bored with them because they are only temporary, always changing with the seasons. And yet, you know they’ll always come back so you don’t worry about saying goodbye to them. And just when you’re thinking you are ready for something new to play with, the weather changes and so do the toys. And the best part is, the mess is always outside so you rarely have to worry about cleaning up or tripping over them or having them clutter up your house. And of course, they aren’t just fun to play with but they are good for you too. Think of all the exercise and fresh air you get while playing with a toy God made. And even better than that–there’s more than enough for everyone so sharing is hardly ever a problem. Gosh! Who knew God was such a great toy designer? Makes me want to throw away all the toys my kids are sick of and send them out to play in God’s playroom a little more often. Afterall, today was the best time we’ve had in weeks!
Jericho just completed his first bottle–all four ounces of it. Justus did the same late last night. Part of me is disappointed. I wanted them to protest a little longer–you know, put up a fight, demand only breastmilk, insist that only I feed them. But they didn’t. It’s a good thing really. What would I do if they did fight? That would just make quitting even harder. But still. . . as ridiculous as it may sound, I’ll never nurse a baby again and I’m terribly sad about it. I’ve always loved nursing my babies and the closeness and the little sounds they make. . . it will always be one of the little things in life that make it all worth living. At least for me. I’m sure going to miss nursing my babies. On the other hand, it will be nice to have my body back once and for all. After making and feeding three human beings in less than two years, my body needs some time to recover and I’m excited to get “me” back.
I also gave away my first bag of baby clothes this weekend. You’d think I’d be glad to start getting rid of the baby stuff and I am. But again there’s a twinge of sadness mixed in with the relief. And as I sorted through the baby gowns and booties I had to stop myself from pulling it all out of the bag and saving it. . . just for memory’s sake. I hung onto one thing–a pair of fuzzy blue pajamas that Hunter broke in and the rest of them wore out. I can hardly believe my babies are too big for 0-3 months anymore. When did it happen and where did the time go?
I guess I just wasn’t prepared for all of these mixed emotions. I’m glad to be moving on and to be done having babies. But it’s a bitter-sweet ending for me and the finality of it all stings the heart just a bit. There are so many things I’ll miss. The thrill of feeling a baby kick for the first time. The relief of hearing a healthy heartbeat. The anticipation of that first ultrasound. The excitement of labor and knowing you’ve made it to the end. Seeing the baby for the first time. Holding their tiny feet and fingers in my hand. Nursing. The warmth of a newborn sleeping all curled up on my chest. The sweet smell of their necks and mouths. The joy that comes with each smile and giggle. I know babies aren’t the only sweetness that life has to offer us. I’m just going to miss it and I really wish it didn’t happen so fast. I wish there was some way to capture this moment in my life and keep it forever, just for those days when I need to cuddle a baby for a minute or two. That would be heavenly.
I should have never complained. I should have counted my blessings instead. Because in just a few short hours after my pity party, I was stricken with the worst case of Mastitis I’ve ever had and Jericho started barfing. I thought things were bad but really. . . things can always get worse. Always. So I’m on an antibiotic and Mark’s working from home and in just a few days I’ll be weaning the twins and starting them on bottles, which at this point, they hate with a passion. And I really hope my breasts don’t explode in the process. That would definitely be worse than a few sleepless nights and a little barfing. Definitely worse.
. . . and make me a man. I want always to be a little boy and to have fun.”
We’ve recovered from the chunk-spewing epidemic that recently plagued our humble abode and have moved on nicely to the stuffy-nose-sore-throat-achey-ear-and-coughing-fit disease. Denver filled several buckets with barf Saturday night and by Monday Caleb was prescribed an antibiotic for an ear infection. Hunter is so congested he can no longer speak normally and the poor twins are up all night struggling to eat and breathe all at the same time–not that they were sleeping before but at least they were sleeping some.
We tried to go sledding this weekend. But unlike the rest of you that got snow, we got a giant sheet of ice and sledding was a very risky endeavor if I say so myself. I should have figured as much when I slipped and fell several times trying to make it up to the school but I guess I was too busy laughing at the boys trying to stay on their own two feet that I missed the red warning flags with “Do not attempt to sled on ice” written all over them. I have no idea how fast we went shooting down the icy knoll but it was frightening and thrilling all in the same breath. Every time I sent one of the boys down the hill solo the movie Ethan Frome went flashing through my head and all I could do was pray that they wouldn’t meet the same fate as Ethan did at the end of the movie. Fortunately we all survived although poor Denver did ram his head into a tree and refused to sled again after that.
The weather took a turn towards spring today and I immediately shoved the boys outside into the fresh air. It was a balmy fifty degrees and the sky was clear and bright. Beautiful. Unfortunately there was nothing but a gigantic, half melted sheet of ice to play on and several muddy puddles. Caleb kept slipping and falling into the mess and all of the boys were begging for dry clothes so they could go back outside and play again. I really hate that they do winter break out here. What am I supposed to do with six boys in the dead of winter for a week? Especially when everyone is sick? We can’t go sledding. It’s too soggy to go to the park. We can’t afford a vacation. The museums and arcades are all crammed to capacity (we’ve waited in line for the Children’s Museum before–that’s how crowded things get.) It really is dreadful. I feel horrible but I finally hit Blockbuster and rented several movies, hit the grocery store for discounted Valentine’s candy and the boys have basically spent the days in front of the television playing Nintendo and watching movies. We’re reading The Hobbit which stimulates their brains a bit and they managed to get a bike ride today. But seriously, that’s it.
The “babymoon” has ended around here and I’m terribly bummed. I lost all my twin weight and have started putting it back on again. I’m growing out of all my clothes at a most alarming rate but can’t seem to find the time to exercise. I can blog and nurse at the same time. And I can clean and cook and eat with a baby strapped to my chest but I can’t exercise with the babies in tow. I’ve thought about getting up earlier but after being up all night, getting up at the crack of dawn just isn’t going to happen. And I could load up the babies in the stroller and strap one to my chest and chase Denver down the street on his bike but just the thought of such an excursion exhausts me. And the only way I ever lose weight is if I exercise and I’m feeling totally incapable. And my hair has started falling out and it finally got so thin and limp that I chopped it all off and while it looks really healthy I feel like a mother and not a sexy young thing and while being a mother is all good and noble, I miss feeling young and healthy and pretty.
The twins are trying to turn their sleep schedules around but the problem is, instead of sleeping more at night and being awake more during the day, they are just being awake all the time. And I’m exhausted and of course, I can’t get anything done with three babies attatched to my hips. And Caleb has started noticing that my time is more scattered and as a result has started ramming himself into various pieces of furniture with terrible force and hitting himself and shouting “no” in his best angry voice. And it’s become clear that Caleb is finally feeling the affects of no longer being the baby and I am doing a rotten job of meeting his needs for love and attention. And the sad thing is, the two things I said I never wanted to have happen (twins and have so many kids I couldn’t meet all of their needs) has happened. And as much as I want to believe that their is a God and that all of this is part of His plan for me and my happiness, the truth of the matter is–reality is giving my faith a good kick in the pants right now and I’m feeling quite unhappy at the moment.
I was sitting in church last Sunday when I noticed that Noah still had breakfast on his face: a nice milk moustache, maybe cream of wheat, but only on one side. For a split-second, I actually thought about giving him a spit bath, and then remembered a dinner-time conversation I had several years ago in the George Q. Cannon Center. I am not sure, but I think it was quite possibly the same day Wilson Phillips sang about Turning the Truck Around. It was probably one of those excludingly offensive “inside jokes.”
The conversation went something* like this:
Boss: Remember those spit baths we used to get?
Peanut: Eww Yeah. Did you ever get those?
Taffy: I hated those.
Boss: When I have kids, I am not going to do that, no matter how dirty they are.
(Boss takes a drink of chocolate milk)
Taffy: Me neither.
Peanut: I will try to remember to take wipes with me.
Mark: (Casually) If my kids get dirty, I’m going to spank ‘em.
Boss tries desparately to contain both her laughter and her milk.
(*Details of this conversation may have been modified or ignored for legitimate storytelling purposes, or maybe thery have just been forgotten.)
I guess Noah was really lucky last Sunday, because Shana had wipes with her. (I was also really lucky cause I used the wipes to clean my clothes after holding one of the twins.) Actually, I have yet to spank any of the boys for being dirty, but it sure is fun to say: If my kids get dirty, I’m going to spank ‘em.
What are some of your family gems? Share your short stories of family folklore and oral tradition. (Feel free to tale it here in the comments, or link from here to your own post.)
At present, Hunter, myself and wee Justus have the stomach bug. I thought I was better but I’m back in bed feeling like. . . well, you know. And Caleb is still not himself and I don’t know how to help him. And Mark is still stuck in Cancun because of Jetblue and someone threw eggs on our Bessy during the night and they are frozen on hard. So you know. . . now what?
Everyone thinks babies are beautiful. Their skin is so soft and flawless and wonderful. Unfortunately, not everyone thinks old is beautiful. But I do. I remember thinking “I can’t wait ’til my eyes are wrinkly and twinkly and I have smile wrinkles around my mouth.” I’ve always thought wrinkles show character. And wrinkled skin was just as beautiful as perfect baby skin. That is until I started getting my own. Now I’m not so sure I look good in wrinkles. But, I think my dear friend Cleo is stunning in them. It’s hard getting old nowadays with so many airbrushes and editing tools around. Now everyone looks beautiful and perfect, even when they aren’t. And it’s hard always having perfect, perky twenty year old girls in your face. But getting old is inevitable and since I’m already headed that way, I hope I do it as gracefully as Cleo and look just as beautiful too.
When Mark goes out of town, there’s one thing I miss. Him. Not his help, just him. There’s something magical about him walking through the door at night that makes everything (no matter how terrible it might be at that very minute) better. My heart skips a beat and my muscles relax and I melt in his arms and I have the strength to go on for one more day. He doesn’t have to do anything except walk through that door. That’s it. And for Caleb it’s the same. When Daddy comes home, Caleb is okay. And when Caleb is feeling sick, Daddy is the medicine that makes it all better. There is no one else that can heal my heart the way Mark does. He is the love of my life. And I know, Mark, I’ve been a bear lately and you feel like nothing you do makes me happy, but I want you to know. . . I love you. And when you walk through that door each night, even though sometimes I give you the look of death, really. . . I couldn’t be happier. And there’s no thought scarier to me than the thought of losing you because what would I do, if I didn’t have you coming home to me each night? What would I do without you? Happy Valentine’s Day and. . . come home quick.
