I love new babies.

I love my old and dear friends and their having a beautiful baby boy. Yay!

Visitors and overtime and miracles happening

This is where we are: swinging wildly on the pendulum of visitors (yay, visitors) and overtime (boo, overtime).

Friends of ours who are expecting their first baby had her water break at 8 weeks to go. They've been able to stabilize her, get steroids into the bambino, and are hoping to keep her stabilized for another week or so to give the kid as much in-oven time as possible.

She just posted about it on Facebook, and I was shocked by the tone of the responses. I don't know why. They were mostly in the "praying for you, much love, thoughts are with you," category. It's not like I was expecting nasty comments, but there was something about the tone that reminded me of people dealing with bad stuff, like they'd announced a cancer diagnosis or something truly awful.

Now, yes, preemies have issues and I get that. But it didn't occur to me--and this might be because they are at a relatively-safe 32 weeks and not a scary pre-28-weeks--to be anything but excited for them. When my sister was born, she had problems, serious, life-threatening problems, and people kept saying to my mother, "I'm so sorry."

And she got indignant, and said, "Nobody died; someone was born." That's how I feel when I read all those well-intentioned and laden-with-love comments. Someone's being born. Someone's being born to two people who should really be parents. They should have six or eight kids and raise them all to be hell-raisers and world-beaters because these are the kind of people they are. The world needs more people like them.

But again: Someone's being born. That's an amazing thing.

Blog? What blog?

Hi. I'm Kim. I'm sure we've met.

It's been a humdinger of a month or two here. We got a new house. We love it. The garage is stacked to the ceiling with boxes, yet we seem to be living comfortably. This means we have too much stuff (and also, I apparently can live just fine wearing the same three skirts over and over again). But the boxes loom on my mental horizon like a boogieman. Someday, I'm going to have to vanquish the box boogieman.

A's fourth (fourth!) birthday was last month. It's the first one he's ever anticipated. Grandma and Grandpa came out to visit; we got a bounce house in the backyard and everything went smoothly. Now he's bemoaning the fact that he's got a long time until he's five and can have another birthday.

It's been a rough patch here. C is working late, late, late, including the weekend, for a thirteen-day stretch, and I think it's fair to say that we are all feeling the strain. If he had not taken last weekend (you know, the one that ended yesterday) off, I'm not sure how any of us would have done. Sometimes it sucks to be all grown-up and independent.

Watching kids full-time, without a break, is really hard manual labor. Babies need fed; preschoolers need direction. And they don't take breaks, not easily. They notice as well as I do when Daddy's not around. I'm building a support structure so I can have some breaks, but it's summer and people have vacations, bike trips, and broken hips. I feel intensely time-crunched and constantly needed.

But. I try to grab breaks and focus on the good. A has started making up jokes. L has three teeth now and three more making a break for it. He's decided he loves cereal and sweet potatoes. We have breakfast and dinner on the patio in the backyard. Two mornings ago, some wild parakeets flew into our neighbor's tree during breakfast. Two nights ago, as we were eating at dusk, an owl swooped into our tree, sat for a while, circled our yard, then swooped onto another tree.

"That owl is cool," A said. "I'm going to tell Miss Rita about that owl." And I'm telling you.

A boy after my own heart

I was baking A's birthday cake this afternoon. He'd collapsed into a nap on the couch after a long, happy day of play with his friend H at the Fleet; I had L in the baby bouncer in the kitchen with me as I baked.

L was not too keen on being trapped while I baked, but I handed him some scraps of parchment paper to teethe on and he seemed okay with that--until I started pouring out cake batter. If I was still eating cake batter, this is the cake batter I would eat: thick, rich, chocolately-buttery-delicious. Then L started to tantrum madly. It looked to the casual eye like he was happy with parchment until he realized there was cake batter in play.

If my life were a sitcom, this is where I would have handed him a spoon of batter, salmonella and allergy-introduction be damned, and I would have an adorable photo of a batter-smeared baby to show you. But my life is my life, so L screamed at me until I put the cake pans in the oven. Then I changed his diaper.

New house

We moved. It was the Worst. Move. Ever. The movers were high, possibly gangsters, and very, very incompetent.

But I love the house. I love that my ILs showed up and painted it in lovely colors; I love that our friends showed up and finished painting and moved furniture around (and set up our internet tubes, bonus).

But I love the house, and I love having the house. I love the big dead backyard with its one huge shade tree over the big patio; I love that Henry the mailman brings mail to our front step. I love the sound of the fountain out front; I love the lizard without a tail in our backyard that I've named Stumpy. I love the light inside. I love the view of the canyon. I love the neighbors who brought me a bouquet of their own home-grown roses.

When we're unpacked and it's not overflowing with boxes, I'll love it more. But for now, I love this house.

It's good to be the mommy

I decamped everyone today upstairs to our bedroom to pack, but then discovered the truly monstrous pile of laundry that would need to be done before I could start in earnest. (Does anyone else feel like all of an item category, whether it's socks, canning jars, or baby blankets, must be clean before you commence packing them?)

Anyway, the three-year-old assisted me on sorting, right up his alley. I went to put the first load in and when I came back, both boys were giggling madly. A had parked himself under one of the piles and would leap out of it toward L, saying, "I'm digging, I'm digging!" And then they'd both laugh and laugh and laugh.

Mr. L is on the move. I am now officially barricading the top of the stairs if he's anywhere up here because he is skerry-fast.

Mean mommy

Today, I told A, "After you have a nap, we can make some cookies. But if you don't take a nap, then we won't make cookies. No nap, no cookies."

Well, he wasn't taking a nap. He was playing quietly in his room (which is the accepted alternative to naptime) but wasn't napping.

About the time his nap should have been done, he came in to me and said, "Mommy, I'm done not taking a nap. Can I go downstairs and not make chocolate chip cookies now? I don't get any cookies since I didn't take a nap."

I know consistency is the name of the game, but I almost want to give him cookies for his demonstration of logic.

Niles loves L Part 2

L had a hard time getting to sleep tonight. He was cranky and beside himself; I think he's got teething pain and I know he's got ear infection pain. Normally he goes to the crib, goes to sleep, voila.

Tonight, even when I got him asleep in my arms, he would wake when put in the crib. Sleep, transfer, cry. Sleep, transfer, cry. Sleep, transfer, cry, scream.

At this point, Niles jumped into the crib, and I was too preoccupied by the screaming (ear-splitting, shrieking) baby to do my normal scoot-scoot-scoot noise at him.

Sleep, transfer. Niles leaps out just as I am putting L down--because he is stretched out exactly where L sleeps. Exactly. And L stays asleep.

I don't want to sound like the crazy cat lady, but I think Niles was warming up the crib for L.

Recovery

We're getting better, slowly slowly. I didn't realize how much I missed my easy-going baby until his smiles started coming back and he did not needed to be held and comforted non-stop. Having said that, yesterday was a trip to the needy farm and I accomplished nothing more than a one-item trip to Costco, so let's hope everyone continues to recover here.

As I write this, I can look over at my bed and see one sleeping husband, one awake and smiling baby, and one mostly-awake preschooler who is gently patting the baby on his belly, saying, "Baby drum, baby drum, baby drum." And now he's touching his feet to L's.

It's funny how tuned in the boys are to each other, even at this age. They communicate on some level C and I are excluded from. L has huge smiles that he bestows on A and sometimes just wants to stare at A until A looks back at him. A has been super-sweet to L and spends his time trying to get L to laugh at him. Yesterday I asked A if he was going to help teach L how to crawl. He said, "Not until I'm four, Mommy; he's too little."

No pneumonia

Whew. Now if everyone takes a nap today, I'll be happy.

When are we not sick?

So I recovered (mostly) from pneumonia, only to watch little L get a head cold that then added a goopy eye thing, then a cough, then a low-grade fever, then laryngitis. Poor guy's been getting worse and worse in tiny increments; he's probably still not considered fussy by most people but he is by us.

After numerous phone calls and two doctor's visits, L's been diagnosed with an ear infection and aggravated respiratory system or something like that. It's asthma-lite. So he's on antibiotics (both oral and topical) and albuterol, plus steroids on hand just in case his breathing needs a little help.

And I had to take him for chest X-rays, because maybe he has pneumonia too. Argh. We'll hopefully find out that's a no later today. Baby X-rays are odd. Do not take your baby in a shirt with snaps at the shoulder for an X-ray because they will make your baby put on a hospital johnny that is not a baby size. I think it would have swamped my three-year-old, so it was essentially wrapping the baby in a Snuggie. A polyester, string-tied, Loony Tunes-printed Snuggie.

They have tiny little lead vests to drape over the baby's lap, and they put the mom (that's me) into position, holding the baby's hands above his head and feet so he's stretched out on the bed, then drape me in lead vests. Then they run like hell out of the room to try and do the X-ray as fast as possible.

L could tolerate the one on his back but could not stand the one on his side. Happily, they did them both in one shot each and we were out of there. The X-ray place was in the same place as a radiation treatment facility, so it was interesting waiting with people who needed to see a cute little baby.

Don't talk during a dental cleaning

I had a cleaning, I got water down my throat, and poof, pneumonia hit me like a Mack truck. I'm getting better, but I'm on heavy meds, which make the nursling cranky, which makes the rest of us cranky.

So the only update is that L no longer stays put. You put him down, bam, thirty seconds later he's across the room. Not crawling, just rolling and wriggling. And this sucker is fast. Good grief.

This has got to be a children's book

[scene: downtown San Diego. In car, driving.]

A: Look, Mommy, pigeons.

me: Uh-huh, pigeons in the street.

A: Mommy, I want you to hit a pigeon because then I can take it home and take care of it.

me: Uhhhhhhh, no. I don't think I want to hit a pigeon. We can get you something to take care of without hitting something. Would you like to help take care of the cats?

A: No. I want to take care of a pigeon. No, a lot of pigeons.

me: Uh-hmmmm.

A: But maybe we should have three cats.

Action-packed weekends

Sometimes, we just have them, the weekends that seem to have everything in the world to do. First up, a reading on Friday night. Saturday, bridal shower. Sunday, plumeria society meeting. Monday, board meeting.

Now bridal showers are not typically my thing, because I think anyone who's gone to Bryn Mawr has spent enough women-only chatty-chat time to last the rest of her natural life. But this bridal shower was fabulous: friends from out of town, happy baby in tow, and just the most charming bride-to-be you've ever seen. I don't think I'm remiss in saying there are some weddings I go to with some misgivings, as in how long will this marriage last, when will the groom stop me from hanging out with the bride, when will the bride crush the groom's joie de vivre. As I get older, I realize I'm not going to know both parties as well, so maybe I love the groom and just assume the bride/other groom is super. But there's very few weddings that I go to where I know enough about both participants to say, "Wow, I love these people and they are perfect for each other and I'm so eager to see them have happy long lives together." And that's how I feel about this wedding, and from the party, so did everyone else. So that was fabulous.

And then Mother's Day. Again, most of the day for me was spent in a meeting with my littlest guy, but what a great Mother's Day. My almost-four-year-old is amazingly charming ("Mommy, you look like a princess,") and my five-month-old is deliciously sweet.

Last night was not such a good night. For the shower, I went off the dairy-free reservation, which meant that I wasn't in a mind to pass up the glorious Louisiana chicken (oh my) or French silk pie (heavenly, heavenly) that I've been passing up in my dairy-free quest. And yesterday morning, C said to me, "Gosh, L hasn't had any bad side effects at all; I wonder if you can go back on dairy again."

Then enter last night. Our normally fuss-free, easy-going babe was replaced by someone who cried even when he was being held and fed and couldn't sleep for more than a few hours at a time from intestinal distress. Poor baby. I know it takes ten days for the dairy to completely leave my system, but I hope he gets over it soon because he was so unhappy.

Rollie pollie

L is now rolling over and putting his head up in the classic baby pose. Last night at 2am, he was fussing and I woke up to see what was wrong with him. He had his legs completely sticking out of the crib; his butt up against the slats.

I moved him so he was completely in the crib again and then went to the bathroom. And as I was sitting there, half awake, I realized that the bottoms of his feet had been up and not the front of his knees. I had put the baby back into the crib on his stomach.

This freaked me out since I've been indoctrinated by the back-to-sleep movement, and I couldn't get out of the bathroom fast enough to roll L onto his back. Only later when I was more awake did I realize that I probably didn't need to freak out and that a baby who can roll over and lift his head is probably not the baby who will smother to death when left on his tummy.

Changing Identity

A has many names now. We have to ask to figure out who we're talking to. Over the weekend, he's been Ponyo, Sparky the dog, a dragon, a pirate dragon, and a baby dolphin.

We took the baby dolphin to a local seafood place for fish, since he was a dolphin at the time. I grabbed a table with A and L while C waited for our food. When C came out with our food, I was nursing L. C picked up the ketchup to put some in a paper cup for A and ended up squirting ketchup all over L's sock-clad feet and my skirt. He completely missed himself, however.

Songs from a commode

A also likes to sing in the bathroom. (The acoustics, darling.)

Here's a list of what he's been caught singing:

• Baby Beluga, Raffi
• Alligators All Around, Carole King (based on the Maurice Sendak book)
  
• Yellow Submarine, the Beatles
• Everybody Needs Somebody to Love, the Blues Brothers
• You Can't Always Get What You Want, the Rolling Stones
• Hit the Road Jack, Ray Charles
  

When we hit the Stones, that's when I realized it was blog-worthy.

Underpants revisited

"Mommy, my underwear aren't wearing."

"What?"

"My underwear." [Enter bathroom, discover boy trying to pull up not only pants and underpants, but pants and two pairs of underwear.]

"Why do you have two pairs of underwear on? Did you have an accident at school?"

"No. I wanted stripes and Mr. Incredible."

Hovering

Ever hover on the edge of your decision-making process? We've got major decision-making processes all hovering right now. Are we going to have to move? Think so, but don't know so. Will we be able to afford a house we like? Don't know. Where would this house be specifically? Don't know.

Maybe baby L will be pointing the way for us. For months he's been tantalizing us with his own hovering. He got most of the way to rolling over and then--nothing. He hung out on his side, then rolled over onto his back. I honestly thought he's going to be too contented and happy to make developmental milestone progress. He's so easy-going.

Until this weekend. Then boom, he rolled over, all the way. Head up, looking around, checking everything out from a new perspective. Now he's all about rolling over. When I've strapped him into the neglect-o-matic (like when I got my rotary cutter out to do some sharp cutting), he's protested. He's decided. It's time.

Doctor visit: four months

L had his four-month checkup this week. Another round of shots (three! again!). He's 15 pounds, 8 ounces, and 25 and a half inches long. Everyone says he's a big kid, but he's actually average for weight but tall. I think it's just that he's a chub-meister.

A showed great interest in L's band-aids and wanted to pull them off for him. No thanks, sweetie.