Our first major illness

We have been so blessed to have three beautiful, amazing, healthy children. Yes, we battled ear infections with Ella and eventually did tubes, but it was nothing major. Aside from the surgery, the longest 12 minutes of my life, I believe. Anyway, chalk it up to his winter birth or the fact that our luck was due to run out, but Cole has RSV. And let me tell you, those three little letters are pretty darn scary. For a baby as tiny as ours (in age, not stature), they can mean big trouble. After weeks of congestion and several days of serious coughing, I finally took him in to see our doctor. I truthfully thought they'd send me away with the suggestion of the inclined bed and a humidifier. Instead, three--yes, THREE-- different medical professionals listened to his little lungs. And each spent a long amount of time doing so, I must say. So finally, the doctor says, "Cole definitely has bronchialitis, most likely caused by RSV. I don't think hospitalization is necessary yet, but I want to watch him closely." Well, let me tell you, it was all I could do not to break don't crying right there in the office. You don't want to hospitalize my tiny, brand-new baby YET? It was the last thing I was expecting. Instead, they sent us home with THE MASK. A little bit Top Gun, a little bit Hannibal Lecter, a lot sad. Sad sad sad when you're littlest is wearing it.

So we've followed doctor's orders. Mask every four hours for a fifteen-minute treatment, inclined bed, humidifier, lots of rest, and lots of love. I don't know what's more sad--when he hated the mask and fought it the whole treatment, or now that he's given up and just sits there for the whole treatment, a very resigned look on his little face. So he wears the mask, we cuddle him all we can, and in the meantime, the house has fallen apart.

But alas, our little man is starting to get better slowly. Apparently, we can expect this to last a total of 3-4 weeks. Yikes! And as for the big sister and biggest brother? They're surviving. Big sister likes to take advantage of the treatments to wreak havoc, but that's to be expected, I suppose. I have to remember she's not yet two. And in between times, they're hanging out together, no worse for the wear.

So I hope to be posting in just 2-3 weeks that all is well. I hope. Until then.

Ahh the third

I've said this to all of my girlfriends recently--those that don't already have children. I also make sure to say it to any pregnant woman that I meet. (Yes, I am now the woman I hated when I was first pregnant. The dreaded unsought-advice-giver. And yea, that's a legit term. Look it up.) Anyway, I feel this "advice" is valuable enough that I want to share it with anyone I can. So here it is: I've been saying so frequently since my little Cole was born that I wish everyone could have their second child first (Hear me out...) because then they could truly appreciate how easy the first child is. Am I right? Mamas of more than one, can I get an amen? Allow me to elaborate. With my first, I was rather anxious. What if I didn't do everything right? Was he getting enough milk? Oh my God! He's not tracking objects with his eyes yet. Ok, he's six weeks today. Why hasn't he smiled at me yet? Shouldn't he be rolling over by now? The list goes on. Furthermore, I thought it was SO HARD. I could hardly get anything done for holding the baby all the time. How could I possibly get the laundry done or make the beds while holding a fussy or sleepy baby? (See my last post.) And I was tired! I mean, I had a BABY. And he didn't sleep all night. And why didn't they teach that in sex ed? (Sidebar: I think a really effective method of encouraging abstinence would be to rent out newborns to families with teens and let them wake up every 2-3 hours to change diapers, warm bottles, soothe the colic, etc. And after 3 or 4 nights of this followed by school or work the next morning, THEN you'd give them the tantruming two-year-old and the backtalking four-year-old. Ha! Seriously, I may market this.) And then there was the worst of it: I was lonely. And, if I was honest with myself, a little bored. I spent all day taking care of a little human that just cried and pooped and wanted to be on the breast. He hardly acknowledged me, didn't smile, and certainly offered nothing in the way of intelligent conversation. I remember waiting eagerly by the door at my husband's ETA on our doorstep. Tell me everything! What happened at work today? What'd you eat? What's it like outside? And hold the baby so I can pee! Ah yes, I look back now at my cute little 24-year-old self, and I think, You idiot, you didn't know how good you had it. Because that's the life, isn't it? One baby. ONE baby. One BABY. All they do is cry, poop, and want to be on the breast! Their needs are so easy to determine and so easy to meet! They don't harass you for new toys, they don't want to watch TV when it's dinnertime, and they don't require creativity to entertain. You hold em in the crook of your arm while you surf the net, paint your toenails, vacuum, read a book, whatEVER. They don't care. You prop them up here or place them in the swing there, and they are more or less content to watch the world go by. I remember placing Owen in his bouncy seat atop the dining room table, and we could enjoy a leisurely, hour-long dinner, sip wine and talk about our days, and he was cool. Now? With a 4-year-old and a 21-month-old? I can't remember the last time we had conversation over dinner that didn't involve Abby Cadabby or diapers. And an hour? Puh-lease. Dinner is roughly a 15-minute affair during which time we eat very little while trying to convince Owen that he does, in fact, like macaroni and cheese (can you imagine??) and placing back into her seat at least a half dozen times. But Cole? He's cool. You guys still eating? Cool. I'll just look at the light fixture. Holla when you're finished. He hangs out between us on the bed while we watch movies or TV shows that aren't appropriate for the younger audience. But see, he's not going to repeat those cuss words or mention to his Sunday school teacher that he saw a show about vampires. Nope. Uncensored TV watching and conversation with him around. And as for that complaint that I was tired with one? Ha! Nuh uh, girlfriend. This is simple: you sleep when he sleeps. Nevermind that you were going to fold some laundry or take a shower. Let. It. Go. Lay down and take a little nap while he does. Because once that second baby comes along and keeps you up all night, you can forget about napping when she does. Because your precious first born will be insisting on being entertained in those rare moments that he can get your undivided attention. And by the third? You'll be running #1 to soccer practice or some such during naptime, and sleeping behind the wheel of the minivan is not recommended. And as for being lonely or bored? Nope. Nipped that in the bud. Found a few playgroups (all free of course!) where the baby is stimulated while I can interact with other parents. Or not. Sometimes some good people watching and the comfort of knowing that other humans are out there is all you need. And I don't know whether it's because he's my third or because I'm a little older and a little wiser (I hope), but I have learned to soak up that "nothing time." Time when I can just sit and hold him and look into his little face. Because guess what? Tomorrow you'll wake up and that little face will be writing his name, reading words on TV, singing Miley Cyrus's latest hit, talking back to everydamnthing you say, and about to go off to kindergarten. And that, my friends, is what we call life flying by. I can't believe how old my "baby" is. So do I just sit on my arse and look at Cole and soak up this time with him? Yes. When I can. With two others, there's not a whole lot of that down time. But I take what I can get. So there we go. All the reasons that I wish everyone could have their second child first. On account of that is impossible, I hope that people will read this and take to heart what others tell them about your first. Yes, it can be scary and intimidating. But follow your gut, don't be afraid to call your mom or the pediatrician (that's why they get paid the big bucks!), and enjoy every little minute of it. I know I am. Even the bad ones. Lovin it.

Oh, the things I can do

As I typed that title just now, I thought I'd take some inspiration from the half dozen Dr. Seuss stories I read for bedtime tonight and make this post rhyme. Now that I think twice, I decide I'm too tired for all that creativity. But I did want to comment on the amazing things we mamas can do. Especially while holding a baby. With my first, I remember just sitting and holding him, not doing much else unless he was asleep or securely in his bouncy seat. But with two others underfoot, I have both more experience in holding the babies and less time to get things done. So, naturally, I find myself doing a whole lot with a little one nestled in the crook of my left arm. For more involved tasks, I'll put him in my Baby K'tan carrier, which is awesome, by the way. Without further ado, just some of the many things I can do while holding a baby:
-read a book
-blow bubbles
-wipe bottoms
-wipe noses
-take cookies out of the oven
-push a stroller
-give Owen a shove to get him started on his bike
-fold laundry (yep, with one hand!)
-type emails, FB statuses, blog entries, etc
-pay bills
-push kids on swings
-load dishwasher
-unload dryer
-reload dryer
-lift toddler and hold her while singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star"
And that's just today! And certainly there are things I'm forgetting. Mamas are amazing, that's all I'm saying. What did you multitask today?

Bodily Fluids Wednesday

Not as catchy as other monikers for Hump Day, but it pretty accurately describes my day. I woke up to Owen, pantless, entering my room. I knew before the words were out of his mouth. "Mommy, I peed in my bed." Ok, no big deal. Strip the bed, give the kid a quick from-the-waist-down bath, throw in a load of laundry, and go on with my day. Fast forward twenty minutes or so. Owen, Ella, and I are enjoying oatmeal while the littlest, Cole, enjoys his breastmilk breakfast. Ella begins to whine and grab her bottom, saying "Poopoo, Mommy, poopoo." I calmly tell her that I'll change her in just a minute when Cole is done nursing. Instead, she walks over to me, and as she does, poop--made quite stinky and very runny by the antibiotics-- is running down and out her pant leg. Yum. So I de-jammie another little one, soak her soiled britches in the sink, and proceed to give her a from-the-waist-down bath. Another load of laundry also awaits. Finally, freshly bathed and dressed, my children are off to school. It's just the littlest and me, but we're volunteering at the book fair at school today, so at lunch time, off we go. At the end of my shift, I'm talking to a good friend while her daughter picks out a few books. Just then, her daughter begins to cough, says "I don't feel good" and proceeds to throw up her Lunchable and CapriSun right. in. front. of. me. Awesome. As luck would have it, I didn't have to clean that one up. Thank God. I do NOT do well with vomit. The rest of my afternoon was fairly quiet. Until, that is, I was changing Cole's diaper, and he peed right over his head and right onto the moon lamp nightlight. And that, my friends, was my bodily fluid Wednesday.

It starts early

I love my husband. (Let me just start with that.) But there are days that he drives me crazy. You know, the little things that he can't seem to do for himself--we all know what I'm talking about. I often curse his mom (silently, of course) for babying him too much. Turns out it may not be her fault after all. It just may be an innate behavior, letting the ladies take on the lion's share of the work.

Allow me to illustrate. As we are leaving school the other day, I have all three in tow. I am carrying the newest in the infant seat. I pick up the oldest, who has a lunchbox, backpack, coat and an assortment of papers and art projects for me to peruse at my leisure (ha!). Ditto for the little girl. So I am holding my son's papers, the keys, my pick-up pass and the infant seat. He begins to insist that I take something for him: the lunchbox, the backpack, the coat, "anything," to use his word. I calmly explain that my hands are too full to accommodate any more of his crap, so he'll have to be a big boy and carry it all himself. I continue the trek to the van, happy that he is complying. I reach the van without any children at my side, and as I turn around, I see why. Owen is encouraging Ella, saying "Good job, sissy!" as she is carrying her lunchbox over one arm (much like a large purse), his lunchbox in that hand, his coat and hers slung over the other arm, and in that hand, his backpack, so large that it is dragging on the ground. If you're keeping track, that leaves Owen with NOTHING in his arms. And Ella complains not, just continues to trip along on her way to the car, happy to be helping her brother. And so it begins...

Mama of Three!

I should have posted sooner, but I am currently cuddling my very cute excuse for not doing so. My third and FINAL (God, are you reading this?) child entered the world on December 28, 2009. He arrived weighing 8 pounds, 7 ounces and 21 1/4 inches long. And I did say HE! With the exception of two people, this was a surprise to all. I, of course, have been saying all along that I felt it was a boy, so I found myself feeling not too surprised and very smug when the midwife announced "It's a boy!" My husband, on the other hand, was apparently caught quite off guard. According to my doula/birth photographer (amazing, by the way, and yes, I'll share her info if anyone is in need of a great person to coach and photograph their child's birth), the look on his face was one of complete shock. Wish we'd caught that on film. But anyhow, Cole Thomas is here, and I am now the very proud mommy of three. I'm currently still lucky enough to have my mom and dad on hand to help out, but I'm sure I will very shortly be on the verge of insanity. Stay tuned for my many misadventures in mothering three!

The VAN

So months ago now, I blogged about the vehicle decision. Crossover, SUV, or minivan: what to do? If I remember correctly, I boldly stated that I feel I am too cool to drive a minivan. Somehow, making the decision to drive the ultimate vehicle of convenience cemented my place as a MOM. You know, as if the birthing of two children, changing of thousands of diapers, and 23 total months of breastfeeding didn't already make me a mom. But you know what I'm saying. You see a Honda Odyssey at the traffic light, and you know immediately that a mom is driving, there is likely a Disney movie playing in the DVD player, and there are at least two kids' meal toys hiding somewhere under all of those seats. All of these are the reasons that I was hesitant. In my heart, I am still young and cool: I listen to popular music, wear fairly low-rise jeans, and am quite up-to-date on my celebrity gossip. (That, by the way, is the formula for cool.) Anyway, all that said, here is my confession: we bought a minivan. A 2007 Nimbus gray Honda Odyssey, to be more specific. And here's the whopper confession: I LOVE it! Not just "I love that it's convenient and all of my kids fit in it." No, I love it and I want to drive it all the time. I look for excuses to drive it, and if we're headed to the same place, watch out because I will very likely insist on driving. But hey, you can also watch a movie while you hang out back there! So my message, in short, is this: when it comes time, don't fight it. Buy the minivan!