Nine months in, nine months out

I have the equivalent of a whole book to read tonight, plus an assignment to update and a lesson to plan, but screw it--I'm blogging.  It seems like every day I think about the things that are flying by with this baby, and how little I've been able to stop and record it as compared to what I did for the girls, especially Allison Clare because she was the first one and I had so much more time then.  I console myself that he has more people to love him, even if it means that certain ones of those people take a lot of his mommy's time and attention.  He does seem to adore his sisters, rolling over and smiling and squawking when he first sees them every morning, and this morning, when Gillian came into our room and saw him and then started to wander out, he did his best to call her back, crawling over me on the bed to push up on his arms and squawk expectantly at the door until she returned.  He's such a big boy.

As of yesterday, he has dwelt outside the womb for as long as he lived inside it--actually even a little longer, since he arrived a few weeks early.  The last couple of months have been eventful for all of us, but especially for him.  He had his first Thanksgiving, which we spent here at home.  My parents, who usually celebrate it with us, were down in the Outer Banks visiting my aunt and uncle, and Sam was going to pick up his dad and bring him over for a few days but was prevented from doing so by ice storms.  So, it was just the five of us, and Sam and I were commenting that oddly enough, whereas just the four of us would have felt a little forlorn, somehow five feels like enough to be festive.  Party of five.  It was a really nice, relaxing holiday--I spent the day before and a good part of Thanksgiving cooking, but it was slow and relaxed instead of hectic, and we just kind of did everything at its own pace.  The oven in this house is so much better than the one at our old house, even though that was a newer appliance, so the turkey and baked stuff turns out so much better.  The little guy tried some mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving and liked them.  He's come around on solids.  After his initial surprise and displeasure (disgusted face, though he'd keep swallowing), we backed off, but he was waking up a lot at night and I thought he probably needed more solid food, so he's gotten onto more of a regular schedule since fall classes ended.  

As soon as classes were over, we had the biggest event of the last few months, which was our trip to Chez JJSS for the birth of Mr. S the younger.  We'd gone down there basically because of a big screw-up where the family members who were going to come to stay with Mr. S the elder had decided not to, and my classes were finished and I had only one exam to give, which I figured I could just this once give online. I'd said I could come if anything didn't work out and when J was really ticked off at the family members in question, she called and said, "Look, can you just come?" So, it felt like kind of a cobbled-together plan cooked up by J and me as a stopgap measure, a last resort, that might not even happen, but once we were there, it began to appear that perhaps some greater Wisdom than ours had been at work--because it was just one of the sweetest and happiest weeks of my life.  It was such an honor and a joy to be there, to take care of Mr. S the elder--I felt that I got to know him even better--and to see dear Mr. S the younger when he was only one day old.  

The kids had a fantastic time.  The girls and big S tore through the house for several days straight, playing with poker chips and stomp rockets and inflatable mallets and Avengers Legos.  I became a student of the ways of Chez J in the making of the snack and the expected components of the lunchbox.  At one point, Mr. S asked me, "Are you trying to be my mom?"  I said, "Yes, how am I doing?"  He thought for a while, and then said, "Good."  It is almost embarrassing to admit how proud I was to be pulling it off to the exacting standards of Mr. S.

Little Guy had a great time too.  He really got going in his walker, partly because it had been collapsed in the car and when I set it back up, I found a setting that lowered it just slightly and put his feet down flat on the floor.  He got so that he could dash around like a speed-skater.  He started eating regular solid meals.  He liked the baby, and we got a cute picture of the two of them together in which my baby looks like a giant next to a baby mouse.

When we got back, it was suddenly about to be Christmas.  Sam had thrown out his back, very badly, and had been bedridden alone in the house for a couple of days (our dear buddy AMH came by every day and basically kept him alive).  Prin came home, and we all made our annual trip to visit Books & Muffins and go see Santa, where Gillian in an effort to make her biggest smile, raised her eyebrows as high as she could and bared her teeth (Prin: "She looks deranged") for each picture.  They turned out funny and I think I'll love them even more than a nicely staged picture.  A flurry of gift wrapping, and my parents arrived.  They practically are Santa--they arrived with an SUV loaded to the gills with beautiful, thoughtful presents for the kids.  The girls were excited about Santa; he left them a note as he did last year.  This one told them that the elves had made them a new clubhouse in the playroom, and they were very impressed by this intelligence and it's become part of what they believe about how the world works (e.g., AC: Is there a Despicable Me 3?  Gillian: It depends if the elves made it).  

We got to spend a lot of time with Prin and her mom, running around to Ikea for bookcases to lay sideways and put under the extra crib mattress for a little reading nook.  And imposing on their goodheartedness by having them babysit.  I have a February 4 deadline on an article and have been working pretty much every single minute the baby naps and in the evenings, but it's coming together, thankfully.  I'm hoping to wrap it up this week although I also know that might be optimistic.  Still, the pace is killing me and the house has been a wreck until I took a break this week to get it cleaned up.  So, when it's finished, I'll be pretty elated.  

Allison Clare started at the local public school after the holiday break, and she seems to really love it. Of course, it was effortless for her--I don't think she even realized that it might be an occasion where one would feel shy.  When I met her teacher at the pickup time, the teacher commented that AC had "done great!" and at first I thought "at what?" and then realized that she had meant the adjustment; I had basically forgotten to even feign concern.  Gillian seems to have a new appreciation for school; she missed it and has been all smiles every day she has school.  It's a real breakthrough for her.

Little guy is making a lot of breakthroughs on his own.  He's been rolling some and pulling himself a little since around Christmas, but he wasn't moving fast enough to really enjoy it and would go a little but get frustrated.  But just in the last two weeks, he has nailed the Army crawl and hustles around on his belly.  His walker, once his happiest place, has been left behind.  He'd rather be carried (his favorite) or crawl around on his own recognizance.  He loves the beautiful set of blocks he got for Christmas, and he likes piles of toys to play with.  He had a bad cold and some teeth coming in over a few weeks and got into a bad state where sleep was concerned (it was poor timing as he'd literally just started sleeping through the night two nights beforehand) but he's much better now, and I've restarted our sleep-training program, which basically consists of my trying not to feed him between 10 and 5.  Last time, it worked like a charm and he started sleeping all night until 7:30; we'll see how it goes this time. 

He's such a happy little guy, so easygoing, solemn sometimes but then breaking out in the happiest, sweetest big smiles.  He loves being tickled, getting kisses on the jaw.  He adores Sam and leans out of my arms to see him when he comes home from work.  He remembered Brittany, his fall MWF babysitter, even though he hadn't seen her for a few weeks--she walked in and he stared at her for a long moment and then grinned and kicked his legs in excitement.  He doesn't like having his diaper changed, but when I pretend to sneeze while doing it, he breaks out in chortles (our joke--which he totally gets I'm sure--is that I'm allergic to his diapers . . . of which he has the most and the worst of any of our children--it's madness).  When he is tired, he leans his head back and tries to bite my chin; I think it's his way of asking to nurse.  He at first ate homemade baby food peas, but now I think he doesn't like the texture and seems to have given them up.   He's had a few puffs now and then and some Cheerios yesterday and today, but he wasn't 100% sure they were food--I put them in his mouth and he chuckles like it's a big joke.  He picks them up himself in his fist and can't figure out how to open his hand to let go, so he bites them out of his fist or just drops or throws them.  Today I was making granola and he got a sight of the bowl of plain oats, and he just had to feel them.  I let him put his little dumpling hand in, and he grabbed a handful.  He thought the sensation was so fascinating that then he had to get two hands in there, and I was trying to keep him from upending the bowl. I tried putting him in his highchair while thinking of how to let him play with them without making a complete and total mess, but he cried the saddest cry, thinking I was taking them away.  I tried a Ziploc bag full for him to feel  and play with, but he tossed it aside, so I dumped a small amount onto his tray and he loved it and I'm sure we will be finding oats all over the kitchen and the rest of the house until the day we move out (I already found some in his diaper).  But it was fun.