Four Months!

Four months ago today, I had just had a baby and was curled up with him on our couch. I think our doula called at least a couple of times and gently reminded me to get some rest, but I was on such a high that all I wanted to do was call every single person I knew and chatter my head off and order food and then call more people. And then eat some more. And smell my perfect newborn babe, and stare at him, and say ten million times, "Isn't he amazing??"

(My friend Kyanne just pointed out that I did not mention her visit that afternoon, which was a grievous error. She came over after a full day of teaching to hold my baby while I probably talked my face off about how awesome everything in the universe was. And! My sister-in-law was there that morning, having come over in the middle of the night to stay with Suzannah while I gave birth, and my brother stopped by that night, and it was just generally a very awesome day, even if everyone thought I was a little bit insane. The NEXT day, still totally high, I had the brilliant plan to organize Suzannah's bedroom with the baby strapped to my chest. I actually would not recommend such an undertaking immediately after giving birth and definitely did not feel quite as awesome afterwards. But ah, the nostalgia of remembering this long-ago day!)

So anyway, Isaac is four months old today. Four! months! And I have to tell you, it's really kind of surreal -- he's so big, so happy and alert and cuddly and interactive and wonderful, and just so much fun these days. He's really such a happy-go-lucky little guy most of the time. My little butterball. This would be an appropriate time for pictures, and I did take some today, but they will have to wait because they are still on the camera and this is one of those days in which neither of my children think naps are a good use of their time, so I'm writing this entry in pieces here and there, in between nursing and changing and entertaining and cajoling and helping Matt prepare dinner, except I added that last part just to make myself look good because the truth is that I am not helping with dinner at all. But if you substitute "sipping wine" for "helping with dinner" it totally works. Anyway.

I've been looking at my birth photos, as I do every now and then, and I just can't get over it -- how that tiny baby fit so perfectly into our arms. Actually, I was just remembering how, after we'd snuggled with him for awhile but before we weighed him, our midwife said, "Oh, he's a big boy!" But he was still so tiny! NOW he is a big boy! Big! He has, like, six yummy chins! He has wrist chub! He has the fattest, most delicious thighs! (Matt finds it so, so creepy when I describe our son as "yummy" and "delicious.") He still fits perfectly in our arms, but there's a whole lot more to hold. Back in his early days when he was just a young guy, I wore him all day long in the Moby wrap, his little head just peeking out -- just close enough for me to kiss, snuggled under my chin. Now I have to wear him in the mei tai; if I try to hold him in my arms alone for very long they go numb. I wasn't smart enough to bring the mei tai to church on Easter, and Isaac still needs to be held and rocked during church so I did that for over an hour and when I finally laid him down to change him after the service, I found that I couldn't unbend my arms. I could barely reach for my coffee during brunch. (A shout-out to my Babyhawk mei tai -- I can comfortably wear my chunky monkey in that thing forever.)

Isaac got to celebrate his four-month birthday by watching his sister ride her tricycle for a long time this morning. He seemed pretty okay with that. We were all in such desperate need of a little vitamin D therapy, so when I realized that this day was actually going to be sunny I immediately herded the kids outside. Suzannah pedaled her tricycle and ran like crazy around the yard for awhile, and Isaac just sort of chilled, and I took some time to just -- breathe. Very, very deeply. This is spring in the Pacific Northwest: sunshine, and crisp, cool air. Cherry blossoms. The scent of freshly-cut grass. Airplanes dragging their cloudy white streaks across the blue, blue sky. We had a picnic in the backyard, and Suzannah ran around some more, and then I coaxed her into the house by promising that we'd walk to Starbucks after naptime.

Now, Suzannah has always sort of considered sleep a colossal waste of time and prefers to skip it whenever possible, but she does have "quiet time" every afternoon in her room. After lunch we always cuddle and read a few stories in her bed, and then we go through this complicated routine of finding the right stuffed animal and having a sip of water and then I have to kiss her and then she has to say thank you and then I have to say you're welcome and then she has to say you're welcome too and then I have to say good-night and then she has to say good-night and then I have to maybe kiss her again and then, inexplicably, she has to tell me that I'm the "Cut it out, thank you" (don't even ask, that will take a MUCH longer paragraph to explain) and I have to nod and say yes, I'm the "Cut it out, thank you" and THEN and ONLY THEN am I allowed to close her door, and if I have done any part of this routine less than perfectly we have to start all over.

But then I do get to close her door, and she might fall asleep. She might not, but you know, that's okay; she'll stay in her room for a decent chunk of time before calling "Mommy. Mommy." And then I open the door, and she smiles very sweetly and says, "Can I get up?"

Today I think she cut her quiet time a little short because she was so excited to walk to Starbucks. She wanted to go immediately, but, party pooper that I am, I said we'd go as soon as Isaac woke up from his nap. The one he had only just begun, because apparently some time during the last week my children held a secret meeting in which they promised that their naps would never again overlap because Mama was obviously slacking and taking too much advantage of her afternoon free time. (Uninterrupted laundry? What?) Suzannah obviously did not inherit my saintly patience (did you all just hear my mother snort?) so her response was to run into the living room where Isaac was dozing in his swing and turn the swing off.

"Mommy, Isaac wants to get up. He's done takin' a nap," she said. "Can we go to Starbucks now?"

Sigh. I wanted to be annoyed, but Isaac just beamed because he adores his sister and he can roll with just about anything.

I can't really complain, though. Isaac generally sleeps so well; I'm getting far more sleep now than I did when I was pregnant. And yes, he still sleeps with me, and no, I'm not about to give that up unless he makes it clear that he needs more space. But right now, he snuggles in so contentedly, and usually I don't even get up to feed him anymore; I just doze while he nurses and drifts back to sleep with a milky sigh. I don't think either one of us wakes up fully and it's absolute bliss. I'll tell you right now that I'm glad he sleeps best with me, because the time is flying so quickly that I BLINK and suddenly he's not my tiny newborn, he's this raspberry-blowing, squealing chub, and I want to ask all of these people who think I should start teaching him how to sleep "better" (i.e. in his own crib? or in his own room?) if they think I'll regret holding my baby too much when I'm at the end of my life, thinking about all the things I wish I would have done differently. I mean, I have a LONG LIST (permed bangs in seventh grade is right there at the top), but holding my baby too much isn't on there. I mean, good grief, I'm going to blink and he'll be starting first grade or driver's ed and I won't be able to kiss his chubby little feet; I'll be complaining about how he needs to stop leaving his socks all over the house. (Just like his father. AHEM.)

Speaking of sleep, today when no one was having any part of that I thought about all the things that actually prevent my children from taking a nap.

Isaac cannot nap if:

--he is wet.
--he is poopy.
--he is hungry.
--he needs a bit more cuddling.
--his big sister is screaming in or near his ear.

Suzannah cannot nap if:

--she doesn't have the right stuffed animal. (This is subject to change every forty-five seconds for up to thirty minutes.)
--she hasn't had a drink of water. (From the correct cup or water bottle, sometimes both. In the correct order. We do not know what the correct order is, because the correct order is subject to change.)
--her stuffed animals are not in their proper positions on top of her toy chest. These positions are subject to change.
--she does not have the right blanket to snuggle with. (The "right" blanket is subject to change.)
--the other blankets are not folded and stacked precisely.
--we have not read a minimum of two stories.
--we try to skip any words or pages in the required minimum of two stories.
--we do not correctly participate in the daily Naptime Dialogue (see above).
--she suspects that Isaac is not napping.
--she suspects that Mommy will not be napping (in other words, Doing Interesting Things Without Her).
--any of the other doors in the hallway are open.
--it is too dark.
--it is not dark enough.
--Mommy desperately needs twenty (or thirty! or sixty!) peaceful minutes.

As you can see, I really can't win.

Except, reading over this entry, and listening to the happy babbling baby sounds in the next room, and hugging the little blonde girl who just ran in here to rest her head in my lap for a moment, I think I actually do.