These Boys Of Mine

My husband gave me a gift today. He reminded me of a blank book that we used to write in once, he and I, in an attempt to communicate when life got the better of us and talking didn't seem to be effective anymore. Some days, it is easier to be honest on paper.

I spent some quiet time this afternoon looking through the pages of this book and reading of places we once were, watching the journey to Now. I found a letter that I wrote to Cole, years and years ago, when he was a baby and it was only Us Three. I want to share this letter, because reading it today reminded me suddenly and painfully of the joy this is all supposed to be about. That joy gets stifled sometimes, certainly, under the weight of daily tasks....but it is still there. This was the reminder I needed today.

Oh, how I love these boys of mine!

Cole.

Today a woman stopped me in the post office and told me how beautiful you are. This is not uncommon. What is it about old ladies and little girls---that notice all new life and are compelled to reach out a hand? It makes me understand that the circle of life is not that vast; there is a curiosity that exists between the span of ages. I am continually amazed.

She--the post office woman--said also that you "greatly resemble" me. How is it that such a simple statement gives me so much joy? I look at my own silly baby photographs--ugly, even--embarrassing childhood pictures, awkward teenage moments--and find only a handful I can be proud of. I wonder at times what others could see in me. And yet, when someone, anyone, recognizes your innate beauty as stemming from my own being, I am overwhelmed with pure emotion. You are mine! You belong to me, you came from me---there is no question. I feel at once swelled with pride over my own power and accomplishments.

There is something wonderfully heroic about giving birth. I understand now why women tell their life-giving stories over and over again, are obsessed with the details, the triumphs, the pain. It becomes legend in its own rite--the moment of superseding what is physically possible and letting spirit propel one forward. Breath becomes existence. And where there was one, there is two.

I could tell our story, yours and mine, for all eternity. I'm not sure others care to hear it. That's okay--they have their own hero story. But I have tasted what legends are made of--mystery and fear, joy and pain, thrill and sorrow. You and I made history--if just for a moment. I see the waterfalls and forests, knights fighting dragons for fairy princesses. My love for you delivered you, and in turn, delivered me.

Good vs. Evil

In our house, illness is commonly referred to as a fight between The Good Guys and The Bad Guys. This allows for general ease of parenting (ie: "Go right to sleep, so the good guys can do their fighting") as well as ease of receiving health reports---a report from the battlefront ("the good guys are winning") is easier to decode than a cryptic "fine" when one asks how the invalid is feeling.

Reese has been fighting off a mild bug the last couple of days. At any given moment, his battle reports can turn on a dime....and of course, being Reese, they are filled with extra doses of creativity, making them difficult to decipher after all. Here's what I've gotten from him so far today.

First thing in the morning, after a good night's sleep: "It's all good guys, everywhere!"

After lunch, heading towards a much-needed nap: "In my body is the Heart Man, two circle guys, three square guys, and 6 bad guys."

Post-nap: "There used to be 6 bad guys, but the Heart Man is so, so special that he killed all of them, and now there are only four."

Climbing into bed, doped up on Tylenol and wrapped in Mommy's special blanket: "I feel just like I'm giving you a flower!"

Week 5

This is my new favorite photo of Sean.



Don't you just love when they do this? He's totally vertical, and it doesn't phase him in the least!



Love it.



We are entering week 5; Sean will be 1 month old on Saturday. I am in complete denial, and am frantically racking my memory for where the past four weeks have gone. How can he possibly be a month old already?



Everyone likes to talk about the First Six Weeks. Any good pregnancy/postpartum book will have an entire section on this, and veteran moms make a point of stopping first-time moms in the grocery store to encourage them to just get through the First Six Weeks. It's that magical time when you're expected to sit around in fat clothes, doing nothing---weepy, pudgy, sore, and sleep-deprived.



Four babies later, I have come to LOVE the First Six Weeks. I see myself getting grouchier the closer I'm getting to its inevitable end. The First Six Weeks represents the grace that I fail to give myself all of the other weeks of my childrens' lives. Grace to be a little manic, to ask for help, to embrace my expanded waistline. Grace to spend all afternoon snuggling my baby, even if it means that dinner is late to the table---or that we eat take-out, because there is no dinner at all.



The other night, I was up late nursing the baby and decided to sit at the computer with him afterwards, until he nodded off. So there I was, linking my way through blogs at 1:00 am, when I stumbled upon a blog detailing the labor and birth of a baby girl--a baby girl who was born on Reuben's 2nd birthday, in late November, and who died of congestive heart failure two days before Sean was born, mid-December. I was hysterical. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I sat in my dark living room in front of this glowing screen for over an hour, reading every account of her short little life, crying so hard I could hardly see the words.



After all that, I couldn't bring myself to go back to bed, so I sat up in the dark a while longer and cried some more. I absolutely couldn't bear the thought of wasting a single moment away from my new son, even for some much-needed sleep. I kept thinking: how are any of us immune from such grief? What if it happens to me, too?



Our First Six Weeks are almost over. I'm trying to make a game plan for the weeks to follow---a plan that includes remembering that baby girl and remembering to appreciate all of the little moments, even the ones that don't seem so fun at the time. Appreciating blurry-eyed midnight feedings and changing dirty diapers--realizing they are all part of the blessing, and that there are parents elsewhere who would give anything to change their baby's diaper, or be up all night with a crying newborn. The good and the bad are a packaged deal. I'm starting to get that now.

Matt and Nicole: We are overwhelmed with grief for you, and we are praying for peace to find you.

Maternity Leave

Hello to all, we are back after a brief maternity leave! Here is a photo of Baby Sean for your viewing enjoyment. Isn't he wonderful?!

What an amazing two weeks this has been! Sean's birth on December 12th signified the official beginning to our holiday. We still had a bit of shopping and planning to do, and certainly plenty of wrapping--but part of welcoming our new son meant giving ourselves plenty of grace in the details. A big, big thanks to the many families that made sacrifices of their own by bringing in meals for us so that we could concentrate fully on resting, healing, and loving our baby without getting bogged down by our basic needs. We have been so touched by your generosity.

Hope you all experienced much blessing this Christmas! I feel grateful this year to be given a better understanding: The celebration of Christmas has always been about the birth of a son. Sitting here in my warm house, nursing this sweet baby in the dark hours of the night....I feel like I finally get a glimpse of what Christmas really means. I hope your holiday was just as wonderful, and we look forward to seeing you in the new year!

New Things

Today I taught myself a new blog trick--crossing out words. Allow me to demonstrate:

"This afternoon I am busy making pumpkin bread to bring to the hospital and stuff my face with eat daintily during the midnight nursing sessions, when there is no food available but my body is screaming for calories. It will also provide a handy snack every hour on the hour, when the nurse barges in peeks in quietly with the purpose of cramming on my stomach interrupting our scattered sleep making sure we are all doing okay."

Pretty cool, huh? And who says an old dog can't learn new tricks?

Waiting For Baby

I sent the boys downstairs to play earlier so that I could make their lunch "sans chaos". When I finally called them back up and we were sitting at the table eating our sandwiches, I asked them what they had been playing downstairs.

"Until Reuben comes down," says Cole.

I think for a minute and realize he must have misunderstood what I was asking. "No, what were you playing down there?"

"Until Reuben Comes Down," says Cole.

It's dawning on me at this point that this is the name of the game.
Dare I ask? "What's that?" I say.

"Oh, you know," he shrugs. "We just play whatever we're playing.... Until Reuben Comes Down. Then we run and hide."

Oh, I think, poor Reuben. And this from the same boys that dubbed their littlest brother The Evil Pirate and created a game where they play happily in my room until he goes to search for the source of the fun---whereas they shout, "THE EVIL PIRATE! THE EVIL PIRATE!" and slam the door in his face.

The thing is, it's not that they dislike him. (That's not true. I think Reese actually dislikes him.) It's just that they more love the idea of having someone to play the villain--you know, the whole Cops and Robbers mentality. Because really, what fun is all the warring if you don't have a fall guy? Isn't that what little brothers are for?

It is December. We are in our last 12 days now before Baby is due. I keep hoping that God, in his greater wisdom, is giving us this new brother to even the playing field a bit. I'm suspecting that will be the case. Somehow just the idea of two sets of bunks side by side is a more calming thought than the two big boys plotting in their room downstairs, and Reuben alone and helpless against their ploys in his crib upstairs....

Forces of Nature

So I'm just wondering: Is the gravitational pull that doesn't allow children to leave you alone for two minutes when you're in the bathroom the same force that repels them from you in the middle of Costco, causing them to tear around the store like banshees?

Quote of the Day:

"I know four things that are bad for you: Chemicals, bad stuff, McDonalds, and a squid with a toothpick in his stomach and chocolate on his head." --Reese, age 3

Ah, the pride I feel raising boys that are health-conscious! Does parenting get any better than this?