We’ve come a long way in the last couple of years. The Girl swims; the Boy is; and I’m still expanding.
the boy
Early Summer
We have a new child in the house, and I'm barely updating. I could make excuses.
We're too busy taking walks:
Backyard twirling sessions have taken up all of our time:
Testing new snorkeling equipment has eaten into our time:
We've been busy jumping into the water:
We've been learning to drive a stick:
Lots of excuses; none of them convincing.
Waking
The Boy can be amusing as he wakes.
Double Duty
There’s high maintenance and low maintenance. The Girl has always been the former. From birth, with her digestion problems and sleeping difficulties, she drew a constant flow of energy from anyone caring for her. Being an only child for so long only prolonged this.
Enter: the Boy. Decidedly low maintenance.
Recital 2012
The Girl feels she’s been playing second fiddle for the last two weeks. She never says it, but it’s clear. Add to it the frustration she must feel to hear “No, not now” to her constant requests to hold the Boy and it’s fairly clear that we needed a night like tonight.
Recital night — the evening L has been talking about constantly for a week or more now. “Wednesday is my rehearsal,” she began saying last week, “and Thursday is my recital.” She told friends; she told teachers; she told strangers in the checkout line.
“We’ve got to make her feel truly special,” K said, and so we bought two bouquets and a box of her favorite chocolates — just what every ballerina needs.
And she got the added bonus of staying up well past her bedtime, a fact which impressed and pleased her enough that she repeated it several times on the way back to the car. Of course the evening photo session made everything a touch later, too.
Spring Babies
The Girl was born in December: to go outside was a major project requiring actual planning and considerable logistics in the form of layers of protection. The Boy, on the other hand, is a spring baby.
This means that he and the berries are ripening together.
Holding
It’s probably a good thing that newborns need to be held constantly, because if they hoped to do anything else, those dreams would soon shatter.
Who can resist the fresh scent and bobbing head of a newborn? Who can see a gurgling newborn and not hold his arms out? They are out there, but I’ve never understood them.
We are reminded of what true innocence is, of what it means to be totally trusted, of what softness and sweetness really are.
Note: The photo of me under the deck with the Boy is the work of the Girl. It appears this is a post in which she’s absent, but she’s moving to the other side of the shutter.
Relationships
The Girl has been the center of a small cluster of orbiting adults for her entire life. Mama, Tata, Nana, Papa, Babcia, Dziadek — all circle around her in their own cycles and epicycles, drifting into apogee, out of perigee, but always circling.
It’s been all about her dance rehearsal, her play dates, her mini photography sessions, her wants and needs.
As she has spun, so we have rotated around her.
But now there’s competition. “The boy” has become a newly frequent tag for posts here, and the Girl is likely beginning to wonder just how many pictures of a baby sleeping we can possibly take. And she’s beginning to wonder just how much one little caterpillar can cry.
It’s a learning experience in countless ways. The Girl is learning she’s no longer the center; we’re learning now to make her realize that it’s now simply an elliptical orbit, with two foci.
A wise web visitor — as well as others — once pointed out that we’ll need to work on the sibling relationship as well. It’s a little trickier, because making the Girl realize she’s not suddenly an outsider is something within my control: I can take positive steps to affect that, like spending the afternoon with her riding bikes as we did today. The sibling relationship seems at first blush more like a “lead a horse to water” situation
Yet there is an initiative from the Girl herself. Irritation about crying has been transformed into self-appointed pacifier duty: “When he spits it out, I’ll get it!” she proclaims.
And of course she’s just dying to hold him.
Sleep
It's not that we don't remember the sleepless nights and days that blur one into another, the perpetual exhaustion to the point of aches and pains, the little prayers one mutters when the baby begins stirring, the half-awake-half-asleep state of being that can linger for hours, the thought that just an hour of solid sleep would be worth a four-figure sum. We don't forget it. We just forget what it feels like.
The correlative of this is the desperation one feels to make sure that the child sleeps any chance and place possible.
Note: at least one photo staged...
The New Chair
Sometimes it’s best for the Boy to sit up a bit as he sleeps — much like the Girl was.
