Comma Dot Comma

When the babies were little our pediatrician gave us the requisite baby safety lecture. He mentioned that it would be doubly hard to keep the boys safe since they would work together on their hi-jinks, like “the velociraptors from Jurassic Park.” We have a sort of whimsical pediatrician. But anyway, the boys are already WAAAAYYYY beyond any level of mischief that Abi has gotten up to in her entire life.

Callum escaped from the house to the outdoors by three different routes in one week. No more airing out the house in the mornings. Once Ronan followed him; the other two times Ro-Ro was still busy deciding when I caught wind of their shenanigans. I caught wind of them by the sudden lack of clacking and crashing sounds that accompany my boys everywhere. Ronan loves to throw things and has got a pretty serious arm. The other day in the van he threw a toy backwards so hard that it flew over his seat and over the driver’s seat and hit the steering wheel. Callum is in a phase of dragging large toys over to places where he might be able to use them to climb. Both boys love to bang and shake and drop things. It’s a most percussive environment. Both like to travel from door to door in the house testing to see if any will open. Ronan uses the push method; Callum tries to turn doorknobs. They have about a 20% success rate on the interior doors, which don’t latch super well, especially if they were most recently shut by a 3-year-old. At those times it is a race to see if I can a) notice the sudden silence and b) race down the hall and c) secure both babies before anyone gets his hand in the toilet or knocks down Daddy’s guitar.

Abi is under a frequent state of baby invasion. I’m sad that preschool is over since that gave her a good break from them. The boys are spending more time in their baby jail and Abi is spending more time in her room, but in general they find her and all her doings fabulously interesting every second of the day. This morning I got them out of their high chairs after breakfast and they immediately swarmed Abi’s chair, trying to reach high enough to swipe the sandwich from her hands as she was eating it. I guess they thought her food looked better than theirs. She loves blocks and big legos right now and the sound of two legos clicking together is like a homing beacon for the boys, Ronan especially. We must rescue elaborate towers and guns and houses and other creations by running through the house with them held above baby level to a safer room, carefully laying them down and slamming the door before a baby can squeeze in. Baby level just keeps getting higher and higher. For one thing Callum can walk now. Since he is mostly upright it is even more obvious that he is ludicrously tall for his age. For another, he’s got quite the wingspan for a little guy and he’s not afraid to use it. Callum knocks things off counters and tables and Ronan is right behind him with lighting quick reflexes to scoop up any tiny little forbidden objects and jam them in his mouth. Callum is also helping Ronan get better at walking by helping him push furniture around the house.

Abi is getting more time outs lately as she experiments with her own baby-like behavior. She doesn’t quite get why the babies are allowed to throw their cups on the floor but she is not; why they can make giant messes without repercussion but she cannot. Alas, she is discovering that being older doesn’t just mean later bed times and more junk food, but more expectations. As an oldest child myself, I feel her pain. As a parent, I only sometimes manage to keep the exasperation out of my voice when I ask WHY DID SHE FEEL THE NEED TO THROW HANDFULS OF ALREADY SPILLED RICE ACROSS THE FLOOR, etc etc.

Life around here is a lot of happy noise punctuated by sudden bouts of tears or emergency rushes to prevent calamities. Every day much the same, and every day totally different. I’m tired. I wonder if they make those hamster exercise balls for kids?

Someday I will serve everyone in the family the same food. I will not have to omit some things and substitute others and deconstruct the rest and cut everything into tiny pieces, size depending on age.

Someday all my children will experience fabulous success at getting all their bites of food into their mouths, every single time.

Someday my children will drink out of regular cups without nipples, spouts, straws, valves, lids, or handles. The liquid will only follow one path: cup, to mouth, to stomach. No detours.

Someday I will not spend fifteen minutes on each end of a trip getting all the children buckled and unbuckled in car seats, carriers, strollers, and shopping carts. They will all sit on the actual factory-issued seats and buckle themselves in. Then they will walk to wherever we are going.

Someday all my children will blow their own noses instead of licking the snot off their lips as it runs down.

Someday all my children will be able to stand up indefinitely without falling over.

Someday high-pitched screeches will not seem 100% fun, all the time, to any of my children.

Someday everyone in the family will be able to use the bathroom, wipe, flush, and wash hands. No one will remove his diaper and leave puddles of urine around the house or get stuck in the bathroom, unable to open the door with wet hands. I will wipe no bottoms other than my own.

Someday all my children will regularly sleep through the night.

Someday I will almost never have a chance to take a sleepless child out to look at the moon.

Someday that perfect little child skin will have moles and scars and rough spots.

Someday a close hug from me will not be enough to alleviate a problem.

Someday I will no longer be able to lift any of my children up to rock them or cuddle them or toss them around.

Someday the grocery bills will be continual and stunning.

Someday my children will have secrets from me.

Someday my children will rather not be with me, at least some of the time.

Someday I will look around and notice that the day that couldn’t come soon enough has arrived at last. Will I be glad, or will it have come too soon?

When Abi was almost two, we went to my sister’s to help her care for her colicky newborn. Every time I would hold the baby, Abi would scream and sob to shake the rafters. Nothing consoled her: being held by her dad, leaving the room, leaving the house, being offered a toy or some food. Nothing. The screams persisted until SHE was the one in my arms.

Now she is almost four and I think that somewhere inside her she is screaming like that still. Having siblings has turned out to be a real crisis of faith for her. For three fourths of her life, there were two foundational principles she could count on: Her parents loved her more than any other child in the world, and they would always be there for her. Enter babies. The latter principle fell into dust first. It took her about six months to work through that one.

Then the boys started getting real personalities. Her parents now play with, cuddle and console the boys just as they do her. They recount stories of their cuteness to friends and one another, just as they do with her. Abi knows she is deeply loved, but she also now knows she is not loved The Most. She is back to wearing her chew necklace (a repurposed teething toy to use when she is stressed). She talks often about “our old family” and fantasizes about eating the babies or getting rid of them. She has made it her mission to impede the activities of parents and babies doing things together by grabbing someone, blocking a path, or covering eyes.

She still loves the boys very much and shares her toys, invents new games, calls them her “sweet babes” and performs impromptu marriage ceremonies between herself and Callum. It’s quite a war inside that intense little girl. I sympathize and pray for her and do what I can to reassure of her place in my heart; but I must ultimately stand on the outside and let her work through it on her own. Meanwhile the boys are causing one ruckus after another.

Ronan is a lightning fast crawler now. He loves to open and shut the drawers in the bathroom. The bathroom is verboten. So when he hears Abi announce she has to go pee and sees her race down the hall, he drops whatever he is doing and is off like a shot after her, knowing she will open the door. He can usually get most of the drawers open before she is even on the toilet. He’s also adorable beyond words, so pleased with himself and the world when he’s not sick. Tonight at dinner I gave him a chunk of my bagel to gnaw on. He sat up straighter in the chair, beaming and squealing, reaching out with the bagel to show each family member in turn his awesome score. And he cracks me up with his frequent mistaken crises. Like once his foot went under the couch and he couldn’t see it anymore. He was SURE it was stuck and started sobbing in panic, though there was plenty of clearance. That’s Ronan.

Callum has a much shorter attention span than Ronan does, which I guess is why Ronan spends the most time picking at the knotted string tying the cupboard doors of the entertainment center together. But Callum is full of joy and constantly exploring and even taking a few wobbly steps now and again. He doesn’t crawl unless he has to, preferring the challenge of cruising from one piece of furniture to another, and pushing smaller furniture around with an almost pompous look of “I’m doing important work here” as he strains to maneuver a dining room chair or end table. Whenever he is bored he heads over to the piano to play a little tune and sing along. He is such an easy baby when he is not sick. Before Callum I didn’t quite believe this kind of baby existed, though friends claimed to have them– one who sleeps often and well, who eats happily and well, who doesn’t cry much and laughs and smiles often.

Parenting them is challenging in new and different ways. The sheer amount of time I spend cleaning babies, high chairs, and floors after meals is borderline overwhelming, even with cheats like bibs that are actually rubber buckets (thanks for the recommendation, mom’s group!). And now that they are bored with the usual rooms and toys and routes and routines, I am mostly on the run, grabbing a baby on the cusp of danger or destruction. One sees the other doing something and tries it too (pulling off outlet covers and eating them, dragging the floor lamp around, etc). I’m glad to have Abi around. One of her chores is to act as baby anchor. She will sit down and lock her arms around the waist of a baby about to get into trouble and hang on for dear life until I get there. She was really put to the test at the library recently, stopping Callum from pulling books off the shelves while I retrieved Ronan from under a rocking chair and put him back in the stroller. “Mom… I … can’t… do… it… much longer! This job… is getting… TOO HARD …. for me!” she said. Indeed.

The boys make a break for it

“Watch me give Ronan a thrill,” said Dr. G. this evening. He held Ronan like a dance partner and slowly and steadily whirled him around, making a zoom sound. Ronan’s eyes got big and he gasped and smiled. They went a little faster and Ronan got concerned. That was about as wild as Ronan wanted to get. I laughed because just a few minutes earlier Dr. G. had given Callum a thrill by swinging him upside down and around his head and tossing him in the air, eliciting squeals and giggles. Each boy is really settling into his own personality now, and I love how each is happy and sweet in a different way.

Callum is Mr. Exuberant. He loves to laugh and finds reasons to do it all day long. Dr. Seuss rhymes. Abi in pigtails. Tickles. Happy music. A hat. Mommy talking in a deep voice. Daddy pretending to be asleep and then waking up. Shaking a toy as hard as he can with Ronan. Crawling out of the room, only to crawl back in in a few seconds later with a triumphant guffaw. The most frequent comment I hear about him in public is, “Wow, he’s a smiler, isn’t he?” He can get pretty dramatic with his tears, too, clutching my knee and looking deep into my eyes while his whole body shakes with sobs as he waits for his turn for a bottle. Ronan is sometimes very concerned about Callum’s distress and sometimes he just gets annoyed and tries to kick him in the face.

Ronan, though a quieter spirit, is still cheerful and friendly. He is always the first one to crawl over to a new baby and say hi, the first to pat the face of a sad sibling, the first to offer a toy to his brother or sister. He loves to play peek-a-boo and will do it with any object he can find, even a baby spoon or a clear plastic lid. It’s harder to get a giggle out of him but when you do, it feels like a real prize. He does like to assert his will, though. For a few weeks he was regularly saying mama, dada, and no. Now it’s just no. Mostly he says it for fun, like a little song, nononononNOnonoNO. But when he wants to use it to communicate, it’s unmistakable. Today Abi tried to hug him when he didn’t feel like it and he said, “NO!” and pushed her arm away. Abi cried. “I want to spend some time with that baby but he doesn’t want to spend time with me!” He really enjoys crawling after her up and down the hall, while she says, “Here puppy! Here puppy! Time to go for a walk!”

Callum has pretty much eclipsed Ronan developmentally, though Ronan is in no way slow. Callum is practicing his free stands and cruising along from one piece of furniture to the next to the next to the next. Most of his food makes it in his mouth now and he is the Lead Baby Explorer on their expeditions. He is also much larger than his brother: a couple inches, a pound and a half, and a shoe size bigger, to be exact. I especially rejoice in his growth and accomplishments this month, as we just received the all-clear from a neurosurgeon and a craniofacial specialist: his skull was not growing quite right, and if it were deemed serious, the only treatment would be major reconstructive surgery. We spent a few weeks letting the internet scare the pants off us before we were assured from every quarter that his case is quite mild. Apparently it is more common in twins for one of the skull areas to fuse early, due to the extra crowding and pressure on the skull. I can confirm that near the end of pregnancy the piercing pain against my rib cage– or alternately, my pelvis, when he flipped back head down– never ended. Must have felt about the same to him, poor boy!

Abi’s motherly ways have convinced my subconscious that she is a suitable caregiver. I will be standing there trying to decide if I should put the babies in the baby jail (what we call their fenced in area) while I run to the bathroom or the washer, and think for a moment, “Oh, Abi’s here, they’ll be fine.” Then the responsible part of my brain yells, “SHE IS ONLY THREE YEARS OLD!” But she is so assiduous in steering them away from forbidden areas, confiscating questionable items, yelling no when they go for a cord, limiting the number of cups they take from a cupboard, checking on and reporting back their whereabouts every few seconds, bringing them some of her favorite toys when they are bored, singing and reading to and hugging them when they are sad, and so on– surely you can forgive this tired mom for accidentally thinking that she’s got it covered sometimes.

Abi spends much of her thought life in the future these days– planning out every phase of her life in great detail, including the afterlife (she will live in her regular house but every morning we will rush out first thing to hug Jesus). I can’t help but laugh at her permutations upon permutations of plans. Lately she told me that she would have to go to college to learn how to make movies so she can make her film about living on the moon. She has planned out the menus for all my visits to her when I am a grandmother and she is an adult. She is sad that she cannot marry one of her brothers. “Is that God’s rule, or your rule?” she asked me when I told her that marriage is meant for starting a new family and so cannot include current family members.

Apart from the various illnesses we are in a pretty good rhythm. I’ve got to constantly avoid the temptation to treat caring for the children like an assembly line: diaper, diaper, bottle, bottle, meds, meds, meds, dressed, dressed, dressed, meal, meal, meal, nap, nap, teeth brushed…. There is always a sense of urgency to finish one kid up quickly because the next one needs me. I like it when another adult is there, or one of the kids is gone, so I can allow my son to dawdle at his bottle and play with me between gulps or see how silly my daughter and I can make our morning outfits. But the ratio of work to play is still very high, as it always is with small children. At least I burn a lot of calories in the process, and can appreciate the joy that the kids bring even if I am managing it more than creating it.

It doesn’t happen every day, but most evenings, there is a lull in the rushing and all five of us end up on the floor together, just hanging out. Callum will be trying to pull himself up on my knee while Abi tickles her dad and Ronan giggles against my other leg, holding out a toy for me to admire. Somebody tells a story about his or her day and somebody else pretends to fall asleep so Abi can “wake” them with a song. In those brief minutes with my family, I feel the gossamer threads of peace and affection and loyalty and fun that connect us together. I feel almost perfectly happy. And that happiness tells me that motherhood was meant for me, and me for motherhood. I love my blue-eyed crew.

And now the boys are in bed and Abi and Dr. G. are not yet returned from a trip to the snow. The three of us stayed home because I was still pretty sick and the boys had no snow clothes and would not appreciate it anyway. The day turned out to be a gift– it felt almost leisurely, giving my attention to only two children. I got to know my sons a little better. I learned that Callum likes to explore like mad for five minutes then crawl over to me for a wiggly one minute cuddle. I learned that Ronan loves to share his toys with Callum all of a sudden. He holds one out to his brother and says, “Uh! Uh! Uh!” until Callum comes over and takes a lick of it or shakes it. He will even follow Callum, scooting along with the toy in front of him, until full appreciation of the object has occurred. I learned the hard way that the boys have reached such a size that I should never skip one of their meals, no matter how big their bottles were and how exhausted they seem and how late we got back from Target. I learned that I want to start making time for them as individuals, just as I do for their sister, lest I miss out on any of their quirks and sweetnesses.

This morning I was helping Abi get ready for preschool (Pajama Day! Hooray!) when I heard the boys vocalizing very loudly and cheerfully in the playroom. “Hmm… I said to Abi. I hope those boys are not getting into trouble.” They were unsupervised– everywhere they can go is childproofed, but nonetheless they can always find things to destroy or that can destroy them, and I can only leave them for about a minute. I shouldn’t even do that. Callum is a single-minded shoe chewer; Ronan can sniff out any piece of paper that is within one foot of the ground and start eating it. But the baby corral is still in the garage a month after I snagged it off Craigslist, one third cleaned. As the bigger car seats I snagged off Craigslist three weeks ago are likewise crammed in a closet, zero thirds cleaned.

Anyway. Dr. G did a supervisory sweep by the playroom as he was packing for work and told me, laughing, “Don’t worry. They’re in their fort.” They had crawled under their bouncy thing (Bouncer? Jumperoo?). They both like to take a favorite toy under there individually, but this morning they were propped on their elbows face to face inside the circle of the base, chatting away about interesting baby stuff. A new social milestone. They do “play” together, which means that of the two dozen toys in reach, the only interesting one to either boy is the one his brother has. They follow each other around, grabbing for toys. There are tussles. There are tears. There are steamrolls upon steamrolls, instigated by Callum.

They both use sign language pretty well now. Ronan thinks the sign for “more” means “want.” He does it all the time, being a baby who wants a lot of things. Infuriatingly, he only wants to feed himself, despite having no pincer grasp and pretty spotty hand eye coordination. So he will sit in his high chair furiously signing more-more-more and crying as I shovel spoonful after spoonful into his mouth. He wants to hold the spoon HIMSELF. Giving him a different spoon to hold no longer tricks him. His attempts to get a full spoon of food into his mouth generally result in a row of splats across his eyebrows. Callum loves little fruit flavored rice puffs and is quickly getting a pincer grasp worked out so he might, just might, be able to get one in his mouth by himself. For now, getting his hands a little wet so they stick to them works okay.

Abi likes hearing about when she was their age. The other day I told her how I used to hold her and play with her and read to her all the time, because she wanted so much attention. I added that sometimes I feel sad that I can’t do the same with the boys. “Don’t worry, mom. The babies LOVE me! And I give them attention!” Ah, yes, true. Every word. She “reads” to them (I had NO IDEA how many books she had memorized), she sings to them, she pulls her chair up next to the bouncer and plays with their toys with them, she teaches them (“grass is little prickly things that are ticklish when you pet them”) and introduces new foods and is generally wonderful. She has at last accepted their presence in her life, a landmark noted by the fact that she finally, FINALLY calls each baby by his own name.

It’s been nice to have some family harmony in the midst of one sickness after another, after another, after another. We keep gearing up to get the boys trained to sleep through the night instead of waking twice each, and then another fever or cough or rash or whatever strikes. Sigh. Someday. Last night (morning?) at 5 am all three kids were awake and had been for anywhere from 2.5 hrs (Abi) to 1 hr (Callum). Oy. Glum, glum, glum. But whatyagonnado. I yearn for more contact with friends and other adults and for quarantines to be over. And to be well, and well-rested, myself. I am ready for more in my life than all babies, all the time. Though they are pretty entertaining.

I keeled over around 9 pm tonight. Dr. G and I were watching a little TV together after the kids were in bed, and I had strategically placed myself at his feet in hopes of a massage. Which I always do, and he always obliges, that kind, kind man. I was enjoying the show but my eyes felt ever so weary. I rested them for just a second. Next thing I knew, the show was over and Dr. G. was shaking me awake where I was sprawled on the carpet. This is not as rare an occurrence as you might think.

Some friends asked me the other day how I’m doing, REALLY. I said that each night as I fall into bed I offer up my profound gratitude for the privilege of caring for three wonderful little people. I adore them and enjoy them and worry about them and am completely exasperated by them. What was I anxious about before kids (BK)? The state of the world, I guess. Now it’s Callum’s plague of mysterious bug bites and Ronan’s painful reflux and Abi’s slightly turned in foot. I used to rage about politics. Now it’s how expensive twin baby gear is, even when acquired second-hand or at cut-rate internet prices because it is a weird color (Cranberry/noche stroller, anyone?). So I offer up my grateful joy to God and my whirl of crazy anxious thoughts, and then in 10 seconds I am dead asleep. This is my beautiful, exhausting life.

At church last week, the pastor advised the congregation to put the big events of 2012 behind them, whether good or bad, and look ahead to the future. I had to wryly grin to myself. Who has time for closure? Young children change so fast that parenting sometimes becomes a scramble to keep ahead.

Life around our house is definitely getting more fun. I’ve got three little gigglers up for a good time. One of the surprising pleasures of having multiple kids is seeing them enjoy each others’ company. Of course, Ronan and Callum’s method of showing affection is to clamber on top of the closest sibling and try to suck his or her head. This strategy doesn’t go over well with Abigail. “Get that baby off me!” is her constant refrain. “Don’t point that baby at me! He has spit!” She is still not totally sure who is whom.

Callum in particular adores Abigail. If she is in the room while I am trying to soothe him for a nap, he breaks into gasps of delight every time he gets a glimpse of her and kicks his legs wildly. Now she lies down stealthily between the cribs so she can still be near me and not distract the baby. She is most solicitous of both boys’ moods and needs, bringing them toys and songs and kisses all day long.

The boys are determined to find ways to locomote. They are up on their hands and knees rocking, and practicing various combinations of kicking, rolling, and stretching to get where they want to go. I lecture them daily about being content with where they are in life, for at least a few more months. They see right through my advice to the hidden terror I have about two mobile babies and a young preschooler. They scoff at it, doing their best to wiggle as much of their bodies as possible under the couch when I’m not looking.

They, and I, have gone through several really big transitions in the past few months. They have been learning to put themselves to sleep instead of always relying on me to do it for them; they started solid foods; and, just two weeks ago, they switched from breastfeeding to formula. The slow, easy process described in my nursing book, in which bottles are gradually substituted in for different feedings, failed to work for about a month. We had to go cold turkey. I was making well over a gallon of milk a day by that point. Yowch. Or should I say, YOOOWWWWCCCHHH.

While I’m absolutely sure it was the best choice for them and indeed the whole family, there is a grieving process for both me and the boys in giving up that exclusive part of our relationship. Poor Callum seemed to take it especially hard. Even after he began to forget nursing, he knew there was SOMETHING he wanted. The other night, he was convinced that if he could just get his whole head under my hair and against my neck, he’d find what he was looking for. It was so Flowers for Algernon I had to cry a bit. But every day they are happier and more eager for their bottles.

The boys weighed in at about 19 lbs each at their check-up this week, the last weigh-in that I can take (nearly) full credit for. It still surprises me that my body could make enough food to pack 25 new pounds of body weight on those boys in six months. It’s freaking awesome. I rejoice in how strong they are– I can barely keep them pinned long enough to change a diaper– and how they already try to assert their tiny little baby willpower in a myriad of ways. I rejoice, and I quake in my boots.

When I was a kid, I remember taking my family situation at face value for many, many years. It never occurred to me to question why my parents were my parents or my siblings my siblings or my religion my religion. I didn’t realize that there were actual CHOICES involved in any of it. We were just us. Not so with three-year-old Abigail, who has been trying to get to the heart of these matters lately.

A question to Dr. G and I at dinner recently: “Why did you want to be a mommy and a daddy when you were adults?”

We told her how wonderful it is to be part of a big family. I explained how interesting and full of love and fun it is to take a tiny baby home from the hospital– someone you do not know at all– and help him or her grow into a fascinating person with thoughts and feelings all his or her own. Even though it is a lot of hard work it is worth it. She nodded sagely, and said she wanted to be a mommy too, and name her twins Erin and Gary.

Today in the car she asked me why Daddy and I decided to get married. Wha??? Seriously? That’s what’s on her mind?

I told her how much we really, really liked and loved each other. So much so that we didn’t want to be apart again, but wanted to make our own family and share everything. “Once you love someone really special, you try to find a way to keep them near you always,” I concluded.

“What was special about Gary back then?” Abigail asked. Yes, she called him Gary.

So I told her some of the things I really loved about him then and now– his kindness, his good humor, his curiosity and intelligence, his love of Jesus.

We talked a bit about loving Jesus.

“Why is Jesus a spirit that we can’t see? Why does God not want us to see Jesus? I want to see Jesus.” she said.

“I don’t know, and I do, too,” I said.

“Well, I REALLY want to,” she said.

One more example: At bedtime, Abigail pointed out how her cupcake-print pajamas make her look like a sweet treat. Then she said, “Do you really, really like me?” Oh yes, so very much, I assured her. “Well what are the things you like about me?” she asked, not satisfied with generalities. So I began to list a few as she squirmed in delight:

I like how you find special leaves and rocks outside and give them to us because they look like clouds or snowflakes or pieces of pizza.

I like how you ask so many interesting questions. I know a conversation with you will never be boring! (“Well, that’s because I’m a scientist!” said she.)

I like how kind you are to your brothers, cheering them up when they are sad and bringing them toys and holding their hands.

I like your hugs. I think you might have the most loving hugs in the world! If I ever feel sad or tired or mad, I know a hug from you will make me feel better (Abi almost wiggles off the bed at that one).

“What else?”

Let’s save some for another night.

A few weeks ago I wrote about some of the difficulties of giving Abigail attention. I should add that she usually acts like whatever I give her is not enough, and fights for as much attention as she can possibly squeeze out of me, whether positive or negative. Sometimes I regret making time for her at all because it turns into a war afterward.

But today I was resting for a few minutes, awake but eyes closed, and she quietly came in and rested her arms and head on me. She started whispering: “Lord, bless Mommy for all the hugs and kisses she gives me. Thanks for so much love. Help her to be good.”

Then she caught me smiling. “Oh, you woke up! That’s so funny that I woke you up. I was just starting to pray for you.”

I wonder what else she would have said.