Baby #1 Vs Baby #3
Baby #1: The pregnancy test comes back positive and your emotional reaction is overwhelming. There are tears and squeals of joy. Phone calls are instantly made around the world announcing the glorious news.
Baby #3: The pregnancy test comes back positive and you exclaim in the privacy of your bathroom; “NO WAY!”
Baby #1: You instantly purchase every book on pregnancy, have calendars always within arms reach and can tell anybody at a moments notice how far along you are down to the minute, and where your baby is developmentally
Baby #3: You no longer keep track of time and assume that when the baby is done it will arrive. No reason to really think too much about it now.
Baby #1: You have the nursery decor selected, colors chosen, and themes identified before the end of the first trimester
Baby #3: If necessary the baby can sleep in a drawer. It is not like it will remember.
Baby #1: You practically throw a party on the day you realize you can no longer fit into your pants and MUST buy maternity clothes
Baby #3: You never really stopped wearing your maternity clothes from the first two pregnancies.
Baby #1: Every pregnancy symptom is greeted with excitement and confirmation of the growing miracle in your stomach
Baby #3: You find yourself cursing your husband and yourself for thinking another pregnancy was a good idea every time you wretch, or experience a leg cramp
Baby #1: Friends, family and doctors are so excited for you and share in the joy that is the innocence of not fully understanding the bomb that is about to explode in your life.
Baby #3: Friends, family and doctors look at you and ask “was this an accident or on purpose?”
Baby #1: Names are selected and properly engraved on every blanket, shirt, bottle and item in the nursery all before the end of the second trimester
Baby #3: A name? The baby needs a name?
Baby #1: Thinking about the new person joining your family makes you want to cry
Baby #3: Knowing that the new person joining your family will change you forever makes you want to cry
Gratitude
Sometimes an argument over a toy can lead me to say ugly words, causing my bottomless patience to vanish in a flash
Sometimes the simple sound of Max’s heavy breathing at night can awake worry and concern
Sometimes the smell of Lucy’s hair as it is nestled tightly under my nose can be comforting
Sometimes the non-stop prattle of school day stories from the back seat can disappear into the air with little acknowledgment from me.
Car pool, packing lunches, homework, breakfast, lunch, dinner, play time, clean up, stories and the days bleed together.
And then you hear it, read it, see it
Big eyes, small hands, sometimes with a look of fear, a look of resignation. Each story tells of loss, heart break and a child yearning for the love and comfort of a home like mine. And then the feeling starts to spread. You suddenly are reawakened to the subtle noise of craft projects, sibling squabbles, and the noise of your own children. The sounds of love, security and comfort. Sounds that these lost children, the children with no family or parents or future can only dream about.
I don’t worry about whether or not my children will eat.
I don’t worry about how safe it is for them to go to school.
I don’t worry if my children will be kidnapped or if bombs will destroy our house.
I’m grateful that my children won’t ever have to face the fear of an unknown future, go to bed hungry or worry about being cold at night. That gratitude, that sigh of relief we all release when watching the latest news story, is fleeting. We breath it, we mean it, but it is always short-lived. Perhaps this Thanksgiving I’ll try to be grateful for feeling more gratitude.
Once again, I am inspired by Scribbit’s Write Away Contest.
Max the Sinister
Let me introduce you to the most stubborn child in the world. I’ve learned over the last four years to not try to fight the power that is my stubborn son. He is a Callaway – which means once his mind is made up there is no persuading him. However, David, my sweet tender husband still believes that somehow he is in charge and that he can force his will upon the natural force of his son. Let me present this example.
Max has been fighting a cold. Nothing serious but it has resulted in a deep, wet cough that requires the intake of regular cough medicine. Although Max has normally been willing to take his medicine this time around every dose has been an argument. Since most over-the-counter medications only marginally help I don’t fight him. If he doesn’t want to take it – don’t take it. However, he is not sleeping well at night and it has started to become imperative that he take it prior to bed time. This evening as I presented him with his tiny 1 tsp dose he instantly cranked up the tears and tantrum. I shouted to David for suggestions on how to force a 3 year old to swallow something he doesn’t want to swallow. David bolted into the bathroom prepared to show me how a man would take charge of this tiny tot’s tantrum. I silently giggled.
Attempt #1
David threatens Max with instant bed time and no more video games if he doesn’t swallow his medicine. Max presses the plastic cup to his mouth, squishing his nose and squirting tears at an alarming rate. He opens his mouth and as he pours the syrup into his mouth he turns his head sideways so all the medicine pours directly out and into the sink.
Attempt #2
David cranks up the threats with spanks and the inability to play xBox if he doesn’t swallow his medicine. Max refuses. He will neither hold the cup nor attempt to swallow it. Tears are flowing freely and Max is trying to hide his face. David forcefully tilts his head back and pours the medicine into his mouth. Max holds the medicine in his mouth and then tilts his head forward and lets it all spill into the sink. (Did I mention that this medicine costs $10 a bottle?)
Attempt #3
David is exasperated but feeling as stubborn as Max. I, on the other hand, am laughing. I am so amazingly impressed with my son’s strong will and my husband’s inability to see that he is losing this battle on all fronts. David grabs Max’s head, tilts it backwards, pours the medicine in his mouth and starts shouting at him to SWALLOW! Max eventually surrenders and swallows the medicine although tears are everywhere and snot is pouring down his nose. David leaves the bathroom triumphantly and Max is left crying to his sister, “Daddy made me take medicine.”
And people wonder why I’m hesitant to have his tonsils removed. You know why? Because if there is one kid in this world who will refuse to take in liquids regardless of how thirsty or how yummy the drink offered is it will be my son. The good news is that I can’t imagine trying to peer pressure him into doing ANYTHING.
