Three Little Words...

WARNING: This post is not going to go how you expect it.

Jack hates dinner. We don't know why. He hates not getting to choose his food, and usually puts up quite the drawn-out drama when confronted with a plate full of SOMEONE ELSE'S CHOICES. Last night he excused himself to go to the bathroom (which usually happens mid-meal) and was gone for quite awhile. I didn't notice how long he'd been gone because I was busy gobbling down my food before "that baby" could wake up and ruin my meal. Dan frowningly marched into the bathroom (amazingly, the door wasn't locked--sometimes that happens, to my amusement and Dan's fury) and I heard the three little words that no one wants to hear uttered in the bathroom...

"WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!?!?" Dan asked loudly. Then, silence. I cringed, waiting for the inevitably gory details.

Apparently he had walked in on a semi-nude Jack, on his hands and knees, cleaning the toilet bowl with one of the hand towels. We still don't know what events led to this situation, but eventually everyone made it back to the table, and dinners were finally consumed. Some under duress.

Like mother...

Last night at dinner, while Dan walked around with Porky-Pants, Jack and I ate tacos. He paused mid-bite to ask me, "Hey Mom? Can you give me a favor?"

Immediately curious, and amused by his grown-up parlance, I agreed instantly.

"Could you please shut that cabinet?" he asked, gesturing to the partially open kitchen cabinet that houses our dishes. I shut the cabinet for him, wondering if he was worried (like I was) that Dan would not see it and whack his head on it, or if he is just super-anal and it bothered him that everything wasn't JUST SO. It occurred to me that when everything is JUST SO, there are a lot fewer injuries in our house--a good excuse to give Dan when he groans about cleaning up the house. Thank you Jack, you little Type A.

How Can I Keep From Working?

The date is looming...the go-back-to-work-date. The re-engage-your-brain-date. Ugh. x500. It's not that I don't like my job, I really do love it, but when you have a tiny young infant, you feel like keeping that needy being alive is your job. Mostly because it consumes 140% of your waking (and sleeping) life. So the thought of trying to cram anything else into my constant vigil against this child being hungry/wet/poopy-loop, just seems impossible. And exhausting.

Meanwhile my success story (Jack) actually asked me if he could do chores last night. It's that time of the year again--when his school collects cans of food to donate to the local food bank. His class this year devised various ways that the kids can help out in order to earn money or the rejects from your cupboard. We try to do a little of each: de-canning (sorry chick peas!) and shopping (hello chili!). In order to help out last night Jack fed the dogs. It's his favorite chore (probably because it's the only one that gives him an audience). Now this sounds very simple, but he has managed to turn it into a multi-step process that includes him conveying the kibble into the two dishes in a rather convoluted manner and usually picking up a great deal of dropped kibble and plunking that, piece by piece, into the respective dishes. Luckily the dogs are not impressed with MERE DRY FOOD so they just watch this process instead of knocking him down and eating their dinner like most other dogs in the Universe would. (Silver lining people, silver lining.)

StarDate: Sometime in late 2009

OK so I am slow with the updates. Mostly because the time that my butt has been allowed to touch any sit-able surface these days is pretty much down to less than an hour per day. I knew that prematurely hopeful post a few weeks ago would karmic-ally ruin any possibility that this child, PLEASE LORD THIS ONE, would be nice! Yeah, that all went straight down the pooper. She has her evening fussies, just like Jack, from about 8pm to midnight. This girl likes to party.

On the bright side, Life (yes, capital "L") is starting to resemble some sort of pattern, which always makes you feel better when things are super-chaotic. That is the worst part about infants...you can't rely on them to do anything but poop and eat and cry. None of those things are useful. Unless you're in a big fight with a neighbor. Then you can spray-paint their house yellow.

Sydney is growing increasingly heavy and hungry...girlfriend can eat! During the day she eats every 1-2 hours and can go up to 3 hours at night. She is finally settling herself to sleep (ish) in her co-sleeper which means that Dan and I are sleeping somewhat better. The problem is that this child makes the most ridiculous noises when she sleeps and dreams. It is like listening to a goat have sex with a pig. I don't know if you've ever attempted to sleep in a cross-species-breeding shed, but I can imagine how it would sound. Plus trying to relax and fall asleep during goat-pig relations is really hard. It is LOUD, and it makes you feel kind of dirty. Oink-naaay.

Jack is still hilarious as ever (thank God). He told me that if I kept making him eat all of his dinner that he would grow so big that he wouldn't fit through the door. I told him, no worries, we'll just move your bed into the garage. That shut him right up.

OVERHEARD

Jack, leaning in to smooch his sister, gets a baby-fist to the ear. "OW!" he shouts. "She just honked my horn!!!" (Pronounced "Hor-in" because extra syllables are fun.)

*******

Dan and Jack are showering together: a time for men.

Dan: Now which bottle do we use to wash our hair?
Jack (triumphantly): This one!
Dan: And which one do we use on our bodies?
Jack: I use this one. But you use that one (gesturing to shampoo). You're hairy.

Allow me to introduce myself...

Dan and I struggled with the name of our daughter. There were many names that we liked, but none that we loved; none that seemed worthy of the kind of person that this child was going to have to be to survive in this nuthouse. So as I lay in the delivery room, slowly feeling the effects of the most valuable potion in the world seep into my spine to relieve the pain of my contractions, I thought of Sydney. It seemed like a strong name, but still pretty; a name that would sound good on the cover of a book, on the badge of a journalist, on the door of a district attorney's office. It was just ambiguous enough to let her give unmet people no impression of gender, but rather a blank slate to unexpectedly fill with all of the charm and intelligence that she is sure to have as this child HAS ALREADY ROLLED OVER. I realize that every mother brims with pride over her children and their wonderful abilities, but this "baby" is insanely strong.

So now that she has been introduced, let me share some of her budding personality with you in the form of a list!

THINGS I LIKE:

• EATING!
• Making goat noises
• PUNCHING!
• KICKING!
• Ceiling fans
  
• EATING!

Things that I do NOT like:

• baths
• having my clothes changed
• baths
• waiting to eat
• being hungry
• not eating
  

There are no words.

Finally. There is a word...a word that definitely has new meaning in my life. I have so much to say about my new daughter that I can barely settle on any one thread to explain myself adequately, much less as extensively as I want.

So I will start with this: Sydney Michelle Tarkenton burst into this world at 6:52am on September 30th. She made a swift grand entrance (thankfully!) and it was as easy as I could have hoped for, especially given her stats: 9 lb, 1 oz, 22". I was only in labor for 5 hours and change, and only pushed for 10 minutes! God, you have my sincerest thanks.

She is thus far a magnificent creature who rarely cries, and when she does it is so sheep-like and sweet that it doesn't send me cringing to a heap on the floor like baby Jack's cries did. Instead I can smile and reassure her and she JUST STOPS. I didn't know that they made babies like this. During my entire pregnancy I fervently prayed and hoped that I would be blessed to have a non-colicky child this time; to have a baby that I could coo over and enjoy as opposed to someone who made me flinch and cower with his loud and angry tirades that often lasted over three hours at a time.

Although baby Jack is often maligned in this family, CHILD Jack is so amazing and smart and funny and heartbreakingly cute that he has more than atoned for the mental and emotional reign of terror that he mounted for the first 6 months of his life. He deserves a break after the way that he came into the world--5 days in the NICU, reflux disease, medication, eye-problems, and two new idiot parents. He has earned his stripes.

But this new one...this little, tiny woman-child who grunts like a pig to be fed and sweetly sighs in her sleep as if she's singing her own ongoing lullabye; this tiny bundle of the sweetest smelling fuzz and tender skin who SLEEPS for HOURS at a time; this little extraordinary being is improving my life with her every breath and noise. Her sweet, sweet presence is like a healing balm that rapidly oozes into every crack and fissure that has ever threatened to break my heart. I wonder if there are enough cheesy and sentimental words to explain how I feel about her, how serene and amazing and PLEASANT she is. I feel more than blessed. There are no words.

(PS. I will be sure to come back and read this when she is 13 and surly.)