Getting in the Groove

So, my house is clean and the children aren't trying to eat each other... thus? I shall blog!

OK, so now, since writing that first sentence, it's two hours later.  Why?

I have four kids.

That should answer everything, but in case you're really morbidly curious?

Lex brings in a blank notebook and wants me to help her write a song.  This involves spelling out the words she wants to use.

"Y-O-U"

Sayer and Caly get into a screaming match.  Lex screams to be heard over them, "HOW DO YOU SPELL YOU!?"

Sayer bonks Caly on the head.  More shouting commences. I try anyway,

"Y-O-U!"

Lex glares at her sister.  "MOMMY!  I CAN'T HEAR YOU! HOW DO YOU SPELL YOOOOOOU!?"

I break up the fighting duo and send them to different corners.

Baby starts fussing.  I sneak in his room to replace the pacifier. My sneaking was for naught... I have three little people in my wake, all seemingly uncomprehending the furtive "SHHHHHHHHHH's" that I'm doing.  Baby's awake.

I bounce the baby a bit to get gas bubble out.  He's cranky. Cries. Caly taunts Sayer with a book and then holds it over her head and says, "YOU CAN'T HAVE IT!" Sayer lunges towards her.  She shrieks and runs. He's faster, catches her, and when he can't reach the book, wacks her in the head again.

Once I sort out that mess, I turn back towards the computer.  I can type one handed, right?

I turn to ask Lexi a question in time to see Sayer lean on his bowl of cereal that he insisted he wasn't finished and send it careening onto the floor.  Being that it's dry cereal, it skitters all across the kitchen.

I change two poopy diapers.

The baby spits up on my otherwise clean shirt.

The 3 big kids and I take turns making the baby smile. Caly totally wins at this.

There's a brief scuffle over the rocking chair.  You know, the one that no one wants to use until someone else uses it.

(Why doesn't that work for eating veggies?)

We have an impromptu dance party.

I sneak away and eat a brownie.

When I turn around, Lex is in the doorway with her hands on her hips, "Mooooooooommmmy?  What are you doing?"  Caly appears and cuts to the chase, "Gimme a brownie."  I raise my eyebrows.

"Please."  She grins.

I share.

The kids hug my legs, inhale the brownies, and are off to some magical  land of imagination involving Bobo the dog, a cheese farm, dance class and a baby gym.

And here I am again.  Hiding in the bathtub with the door locked.

Kidding!

(Maybe)

Personal Space

Those of you with small children are quietly asking, "Um, personal space? What's that?"

Exactly.

The mind has a funny way of forgetting just how intensely close and touchy a newborn baby is.  (And really, if you have to be clung to by any variety of human, isn't the tiniest and most snuggly the best choice?)

Before he was born, my personal space violations often had to do with not being able to pee in peace or having boogers wiped on my shoulder.  Not too bad.  But now?  Things are a bit different.  Now, I've got a frequently nursing snuggly little new baby on my person more often than not. Which is manageable, until the rest follow suit.

Because, you see, they LOVE their brother.  And that LOVE is trumped by no other, including love of their mom or dad.  They want to be where he is.  Right where he is. In fact, it seems that the closer they can get, the happier they are.

Which is why I often find myself nursing the baby with a toddler "hugging" him, (or rather, it's laying on him and saying, "awwwwwww."  It's like double-decker boys). Meanwhile, Caly parks herself on my shoulders and Lex wiggles her way under one of my arms.

This wouldn't be that bad if they would JUST stay STILL. But instead, I'm a Mom trapped beneath a squirming, squealing, poking, bouncing mass of children.

I know it won't last forever.  And there's something special about having all of my little ones snuggled up to me at the same time.

But someone might need to remind me of that while I'm fending off small toes from my poking into my ears and dodging flying limbs to the head. And if that person can arrange for me to pee without tiny "helpers?"  Bonus!

Mom Secrets

So, my friend Amy at Flexible Dreams and another awesome blogger, Bella from Bella Before and After, are starting a movement to bring those little secrets of motherhood out from under the rug, (or from in the non-working microwave, or from that room in your house where you cram everything you can't find a place for).

So, in honor of the Real Moms, Real Laughs party, here's my list:

1.  I told my child today that if she asked me again for a band aid, I was going to find and eat the entire box. And leave none for her. Or the tiny cut on her foot.

2.  I managed to keep my children from doing anything ridiculously germy at the doc's office yesterday. That is, until I caught my second born licking the exam table from one end to the other. Goodbye health, hello plagues.

3.  I don't shower every day. Granted, my skin gets totally dry and gross if I do, but I have found on more than one occasion that I couldn't remember when my last shower actually was.  On one occasion, my oldest told me that I was a bit... smelly. I try to go for every other day. I try. In the winter, my kids bathe less than I do. Sorry if you meet us in person. We're the smelly kids.

4.  I have mastered the art of sleeping with children climbing all over me. I am not ashamed of this. In fact, I'm quite proud of the fact that I can completely keep tabs on all of my kids and catch a nap at the same time.

There you have it. My first list. I say first, because I'm positive there are others. But I need to go shower and prepare for the onslaught of germs that are going to befall our house due to wayward toddler licks.

Ew.

A Human Baby Would Be Fine, Thanks

I'm the mother of girls.  Two rosy, beautiful, hilarious girls.  And I love every ounce of it.

When I started sharing that I was pregnant with my third, the exchange usually went something like this,

"I'm having another baby!"

"Oh!  Congratulations!  Hoping for a boy?"

"We'd be excited with either," I'd say flatly.

When we found out that our third was, in fact, a boy, the chorus of "You're getting your boy!  Congratulations!" and "I bet you're so excited you're getting a boy this time!" only grew louder.

It happened every time we told someone.  It still happens when we tell someone for the first time.  And it's driving me insane. 

I read an interesting article this week by Amy Wilson. Her situation was in reverse of mine.  The mother of two boys, she becomes pregnant again and is suddenly confronted with everyone from family to strangers making comments such as the ones I received. 

She remarks on why the comments bothered her as much as they did, 

I know these people are just making conversation. But this constant assumption leaves me a little offended. What's wrong with boys? Why wouldn't I want another one? It bothers me that people assume I feel incomplete without a daughter, let alone that it's my motivation for being pregnant with a third child in the first place.

Indeed.  What's wrong with girls?  Why is it assumed that our family is not whole without the addition of a boy?

I'm comfortable as a mom of girls.  I know how to style hair.  I can effectively work pink into any outfit my pink-obsessed daughter wants to wear.  I cherish watching her love on her baby dolls.  And while I know that a boy can be or do anything a girl can and vice-versa, there's something inherently girl about well, girls. 

It's not that I don't want a boy.  I'm excited to head off into that uncharted territory.  But had the sonogram revealed that this baby was going to be a girl, I would have been bouncing off the walls in excitement just as much as I was when we heard the boy news. 

Admittedly, when I found out baby #3 was a boy, I was awash with a considerable dose of apprehension.  I was the mother of girls.  Not boys.  I have two girls with girl clothes and girl hair and girl parts.  I got that.  I mastered that.  (Heck, I was a girl once, too).  Boys?  Not so much. 

They're rough and tumble.  They're constantly on the go.  They are always into mischief.  They pee on EVERYTHING.   They have boundless energy.  They have boy bits.  They're just so... boy.

But as time goes on, I'm more and more excited about the adventure the little guy is sure to bring.  And I'm sure he'll complete our family in his own special way.  But it's not on the merit of his boy-ness. 

Wilson's closing says it best,

I've started telling strangers and basking in their excitement. Yesterday, a security guard asked if I knew what I was having. "I have two boys at home," I said. "This one's a girl."

She inhaled sharply, then smiled, ruefully: "I just had my third. All three boys. You are so lucky." "Thank you," I said, though I still don't really get it. I'm counting on all these people being right: that when I meet this daughter and look in her eyes, I will understand why everyone else so wanted this for me.

And maybe in the same way, when they place my boy on my chest minutes after he's born and I look at his chubby little face, maybe I'll understand too.  

The Gerbil Wheel of Why

Sometimes I feel like talking to a toddler is a bit like running on one of those gerbil wheels.  A lot of work and not a whole lot of getting anywhere. 

"Bean, go get your shoes on."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to the park and you need your shoes."

"Why?"

"Because you don't want your feet to get hurt."

"Why?" 

"Because-- ACK!  Just go get your shoes on!"

"Ok!"

And she'll happily trot off to get her shoes on.  It's not defiance.  I've heard her ask "why" out of defiance and generally, that sounds far more like,

"Whhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeee?"

Just a smidge of a whine to it, wouldn't you say?

The normal "why" happens all day long...

"Bean, you worked really hard to color that house, nice job!"

"Why?"

"Um, because you wanted it to look pretty?"

"Why?"

"Uh...  because you like pretty things?"

"Why?"

"I don't know kiddo, why do you like pretty things?"

"Because they're pretty!" 

Well, ok then.

Before I had kids, I was the world's most patient future mother.  I'd answer the "why" questions of neices, nephews, siblings, any kid with a sense of amusement and a genuine intention to teach.

Now?

I try.  I really do. 

But I have to admit, the phrases, "Because I said so!" and "Because I'm the MOMMY, that's why!" come out of my mouth sometimes too.  Granted, it's mostly when she's being whiny and stalling about things. 

It's fun to realize how something so seemingly benign is so productive to her development.  Her vocabulary is increasing.  Her reasoning skills are improving.  She's beginning to understand more about cause and effect. 

I love it, but man, it can be exhausting. 

My own mental gerbil wheel.  We often don't get very far in conversation, but it sure is good exercise for both of us. 

Now, I need to go be productive. 

Why?

Because I said so! 

A Moment in the Midst of Madness

We've had a tough couple of days around here.  Someone traded my easygoing sweet baby for a cranky, needy, sleepless 4 month old.  Every so often, I get flashes of her usually sunny self, but for some reason, the poor kid is going through a rough patch.

And it's totally wearing me out. 

There are times when I totally feel like I'm a brand new parent with no idea what to do.

After trying just about everything with C yesterday to get her to go down for the night, I finally decided that perhaps she should just lie down and put herself to sleep.

Not. Happening. 

A few minutes later, I picked her up and tried to rock her.  She kept crying.   I tried to nurse her.  Still crying.  I tried the swing.  And the crying continued.

After about 20 minutes, it was both of us in tears. 

She was SO exhausted.  But would. NOT. sleep.

In my head, I knew that this wouldn't last forever.  That she's going through a stage and eventually she'll sleep and eat and play like she used to.  In my head it all made sense. 

In my heart, I was wrecked.  My baby was crying and I couldn't fix it.  I'm the Mom... I'm supposed to fix it.  If I can't, who can? 

Two hours of off and on crying, and I finally held a calm baby in my arms.  She wasn't sleeping.  But she had her trusty two fingers in her mouth and she lay there, staring at me. 

Slowly, her face crinkled into a smile behind her fingers and she reached one hand up to touch my face.

She trusts me, she wants me, she loves me.  

No matter what. 

And that?  That's balm for a weary mother's soul.  Every time.