Theoretically Speaking

Many have asked whether Marryn “gets it”. Does she understand that a baby is coming? The short answer is yes – she does. She knows her baby brother will be on the outside of Mommy’s tummy soon. She’s begun to ask when. “When will baby brother be here? When can I play with him?” And more specific questions too; “What will baby brother eat? Where will he sleep?” She’s very curious about him. We pray for him every night and she pats my stomach. She’s even squeezed me around the middle a few times to give him a hug. As it stands now, Marryn likes her hypothetical baby brother.

What my sweet girl doesn’t know is how much her life is about to change because of him. We are going to try our best to keep her world and routine as constant as possible. She loves her routine, as do we, because it keeps us all happy and feeling secure. However, we also realize that adding another human being into our family is bound to cause a ripple or two…hundred.

My first memory is of the night my brother was born, when I was two and a half years old. I remember it being really dark in the house when my parents left for the hospital, and my grandmother came to stay with me. I remember going to the hospital the next day to meet him, and looking into the nursery. What’s funny is that I don’t remember how I felt at the time. However, when my parents reminisce about the same events, they recall the process being emotionally difficult for me. There was a lot of crying, whining, and one well placed spanking. I’m not sure if they worried about my mental well being in light of my new sibling, but they shouldn’t have. For my part, all I recollect is the basic information – a new baby brother came into my life, and I have no memories without him.

 

Marryn may like her baby brother alright now, but he also may be the cause of the biggest disturbance in her life to date. Try as we might, Ben and I can’t fully prepare Marryn (or ourselves, really) for his arrival. All we know for sure is that we will love him, as we love one another, and that’s the best we can do…in theory.

 

"I'm getting a what?"

Lauren's daughter speaks in third person

Lauren and her husband have taught their daughter how to wash her hands, brush her teeth, and feed herself. They have taught her how to run, jump, and play hide and seek. Lauren and her husband have also taught their daughter how to say her name, which she does repeat, continually. Only, mostly their daughter refers to herself in third person.

Marryn doesn’t want to. 

Where’s Marryn’s drink?

Marryn is being silly.

I think I’m partly to blame. I regularly say things like, “Mommy needs to rest.” “That is Mommy’s dinner.” “Mommy will be right back.” Lord, Mommy is annoying herself with this manner of speaking! Why did I start doing this? I think it began as an effort to simplify my language in order to teach my baby who was who.

Now, surely Marryn is a more sophisticated linguist, but because I’m the person she hears the most often, and I have adopted this inane speech pattern, she has copied me. Bless Lauren’s daughter’s heart. She didn’t have a chance.  

I said I was partly to blame. The other part I blame on him.

Bastard.

What I have to remind myself is that even though Marryn speaks in third person, it’s most likely a phase. Like most idiosyncrasies from childhood - it’s cute as hell, and Lauren will be sad when her daughter stops.

Too much?

We’re expecting a baby boy in about ten weeks. We are all really excited about him, and now that we are moved into the new house, we have finally gotten busy with preparing for his arrival. Since he is the second child, we already have the vast majority of baby gear – strollers, car seats, play pen, burp cloths, sheets, etc. Luckily, we registered for gender neutral colored gear the first time around.

However, one thing we are missing this time around is baby boy clothes. I was under the impression that Marryn wore way more yellow and green clothes than she actually did. When I physically went through her old clothes, 98% of them screamed I’m a lovely, dainty female in pink and purple polka dots. I think she had maybe one shirt with a duck on it, and a couple of green sleepers.

I hate waste, and I love to recycle, so I have to ask myself…how much pink is too much pink…for a boy…that lives in Texas…in a rural area…who has a very masculine father…and grandfathers…before it makes an impact?

I don’t intend to dress him in his sister’s old skirts in public, but if he runs around the house in some pastel numbers that’s not going to affect his psyche, right? Will he really know if his pajamas say Night Night Princess? Will he care if he hangs out in a Jenny Jump Up versus a Johnny Jump Up? Won’t his pink pacifier do the same job as a blue one? Truly, I think this all matters not. Want to know why?

This is my brother during the 2,765^th time I dressed him up. We are 2.5 years apart, the same distance my children will be. There was a period in his life when his favorite color was pink and he wanted to be a Solid Gold dancer when he grew up, all because those were my preferences at the time. He was subjected to countless dress up sessions (see above), make up applications, pretend mommy/baby play times, and sometimes called his underwear “panties”.

Today he is one of the most well-adjusted and compassionate men I’ve ever met. He once told Mom and I that he would make a good husband because “knew about periods and stuff”. I’m not sure if his wife would agree, but from the outside looking in, this has proven to be true. I think that he benefitted from being raised with a big sister, and maybe, just maybe, from literally walking in her shoes a time or two.

As a side note, a few friends with older boys have been amazing about lending us their son’s hand-me-downs. Between those and his sister’s leftovers, our son will be well outfitted in many shades of style.

It's the most frightening time of the year

It's the most frightening time of the year
There'll be toddler fit throwing
And shaking head “no” ing
When Santa comes near
It's the most frightening time of the year

There'll be cocktail party invitations for declining
Crying and whining
And complaining because there’s no snow
There'll be scary Elf on the Shelf stories
And tales of the glories of
Drunken Christmases long, long ago (before we all had children)

It's the scare-scariest season of all
With some tushy beatings and clenched-teeth meetings
And tantrums at the mall
It's the scare-scariest season of all

 

PS - Don't feel too badly for M. She dried those tears up approximately 2.3 seconds after we got off Santa's lap. No severe emotional damage done.

Dog Vigilance

When we first brought Marryn home from the hospital, we were nervous to say the very least. We worried about her eating, sleeping, eliminating, her safety, her comfort, the list went on and on. We also worried about how our dogs would react to her. We were hyper vigilant when they interacted with her, only allowing them to sniff her head and blankets when we were holding her. We never EVER left them alone together, even for a few seconds. Our dogs are sweet and lovable, and we didn’t think they’d ever intentionally harm her. But they are animals, after all, and large ones at that.

That was then. Fast forward two years to the present. A visitor to our home can regularly see Marryn riding Boz like a horse, laying in ADS’s bed, kissing the dogs in the face, crawling underneath them, and hiding under blankets together. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve walked into our bedroom and seen both dogs in our bed with Marryn lying on top of them. Boz and AD join Marryn for bath time (as observers, not participants), play time, story time, and (most especially) meal time. They are buds.

When baby boy arrives in March we will need to get back some of that vigilance. Boz & AD have been exposed to one child, but I’m sure they have forgotten how tiny and helpless their baby girl once was. I’m sure they’ve also forgotten how loud and smelly she used to be, and how she frequently disturbed their intensive nap schedule. There will be another period where we’ll need to keep them separated from the new baby until everyone becomes accustomed to each other.

I know that dogs are colorblind – seeing the world in limited shades. However, I also know there is no limit to their unconditional love, and they are loyal as hell. I’m not as worried this time. Saddle up pups. A new cowboy is coming.

 

This video was made a year ago, but the activity repeats today.

One week

Last week, we moved into a new house. It's located thirty miles west of our previous home, and outside of city limits. We are in a neighborhood, but, relatively speaking, we live in the country. It's been a fun process that's still ongoing. I took some time today to reflect on the last week.

Some things I've learned from one week in the new house:

1. Stairs are a child's best friend. They are instant boredom beater.

2. Thirty minutes in a car goes by really quickly.

3. You can’t underestimate the utility of an indoor utility room. And yes, I know calling it a utility room sounds like 1954.

4. You can't be embarassed to use directions like, "Take a left at the dead oak tree." They are succinct and save time. That’s why they are called “directions”.

5. Dogs will chase after deer even if they have no hope of catching them.

6. The same dogs will forget they didn’t catch the deer the day prior, and will continue to chase said deer.

7. A toddler imitating a coyote howling is the funniest sound ever.

8. It's dark outside city limits. Like really. Really. Dark.

9. It's also quiet outside city limits. Like really. Really. Quiet.

10. In both of the above statements, dark & quiet = awesome.

11. You must master the one finger recognition wave while driving. It's the polite thing to do.

12. Get used to seeing a lot of stray animals. Some are actually homeless, and deserve pity. Others are perfectly well taken care of - just out on an adventure - and deserve to be envied.

13. I prefer my husband with scruff on his face and longer hair. It just seems to suit him better here.

14. Home is where the heart is. For me, my heart happens to be in the form of a loving husband, a precious child, and two sweet hound dogs. Home is wherever I’m with them.

The Toddler Addendum to the Open Door Policy

Ever since I’ve had some awareness about me, I’ve been a relatively modest person. I didn’t walk around in the locker room in my cheerleading sports bra any longer than just to change clothes. I didn’t live in the “naked hall” in the Tri Delta house. I didn’t change in front of my female roommates post college. I’ve given birth in front of Ben, and I still shut the door to the bathroom.

However, nothing breaks the modesty rules like having a child. For me it began at the eight week OB appointment. You know the one I mean – the appointment with the apparatus. I saw that thing and figured that my body was no longer my own. How right I was.

It makes sense really. First, your child lives in your body. Then if you breastfeed, they practically live on it. Then they live attached to it – by your leg, your arm, your waist, your brain, your heart. The adage, one hand, one heart is actually way more applicable to the mother child relationship than the husband wife one.

So now, the girl who was never really all that comfortable with being naked has become a mother who doesn’t think twice about it. I can’t recall the last time I went to the restroom alone or didn’t have company in the shower, and honestly, it’s ok. We’ll have plenty of time to address the complexity of body image. The longer we can put that off, the better. For now, let’s throw modesty out the window. I just hope no one’s peeking into that window.

My newfound laissez faire attitude regarding modesty doesn’t extend to the internet, so I don’t have an appropriate picture of either of us that relates well to this post. I’ll just post a funny naked picture of someone else’s baby instead.