Beware.
There is nothing like a beloved baby sister to make a two-year old reach new heights. 
It was/is confusing to know how to address the situation when obviously her good was his intention and he did not, after all, step on her or crush her in the process. (Though walking in on the scene was heart-stopping)
In short, no one’s spine was broken. And he really does love her. That it the important part.
When we first started discussing children in our marriage--me pleading, Jonathan prevaricating about the practicalities--Jonathan agreed to becoming pregnant on one condition, that I would promise not to cut my hair short after having a baby, as he had seen our other friends do.
I stuck by that promise with Charlie. But I think I have fudged a little with Wendy. There really is something appealing about a fresh new haircut when you are spending your days and nights nursing in a fog of spit-up and two-year old power struggles. It says “there may not be much else I can control in life, but if I want, my hair at least can be the way I want it!” (Or maybe It is just a subconscious attempt to draw everyone’s eyes UP from the postpartum belly!)
So, without further ado, I present what I have done in my post-partum madness….
(Sorry, the pictures are grainy because I took them in the mirror and my post-partum madness has not carried me far enough to wash the mirror every time Charlie splashes it with water.)
I think I like it!
Every once in a while I see myself grow up. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does it is so very encouraging.
So Wendy has reflux just like Charlie did. And her case is worse than Charlie’s. For her this means endless grunting and writhing at night, combined with regurgitation that sometimes comes out her nose, a constant whistling wheeze when sleeping and episodes of apnea. She is uncomfortable, doesn’t like nursing and fusses (there is a reason reflux is often confused with colic) during the day.
Enter the things that effect our life: less sleep and a grumpy baby. Jonathan and I spend at least a portion of every night ‘sleeping’ in our rocking chair holding her upright against our chests, listening to her breath wheeze, laboring in and out, then stop altogether and after a long hanging moment (where I have to remind myself not to hold my breath too) start up again with a long nerve-wracking squeak. With Charlie the diagnosis just gave me a word to define my misery to other people. I hated the intrusion on my sleep, and I resented him for being inconsolable. With Wendy, I have been surprised to feel my self swamped with compassion for her discomfort.
As she has writhed and grunted her way through her heartburn at night, I’ve seen that she is trying SO hard to stay asleep. It is what she really wants, but just can’t achieve. That understanding has made it easier to sit up, holding her on my chest for the long hours of the night, rocking and patting when something from the last feeding comes up her throat. As the night glides by, it shocks me that I don’t resent her intrusion on my sleep. Don’t get me wrong, I do fantasize about lying down with a baby born with a coordinated gastrointestinal tract and dozing off while she sleep/nurses—my tired, tired body aches for it. But if Wendy is sleepy, vertical is the place where she is the most comfortable and this time around, I just want to be there for her.
Delightfully, as this very difficult newborn phase has turned our lives upside down, I have found myself being thankful for the whole meals I get to eat with my family or for having my hands free for 10 minutes to blow bubbles with Charlie. Thankful rather than resentful. Surrendered even? And that, my dear friends, is pretty much a miracle given the reality of our lives and my inability to stay emotionally stable without at least six hours of sleep at night!
So, I’m calling it evidence of “God-here-with-us”—his gentle gift of encouragement—a blessing over Wendy’s addition to our family—grace. And I am so thankful !
I am loving the imagination that Charlie is developing these days. His imaginative play developed just in time for him to amuse himself while I’m busy with baby sister.
(This morning he ‘brought’ me my coffee (Jonathan helped him carry the mug very slowly to my semi-comatose carcass on the couch) and told me it had spider juice and bug crumbs in it. Just the pick-me-up I needed!)
A couple days ago I came in on this scene:
This week has been full. It really picked up pace when I broke my pinkie toe and couldn’t walk for a couple days. I’m hobbling now and its making me think that taking care of two kids is easy…when your foot isn’t broken. As it is, Jonathan has been doing most of the caring and I’ve been doing a lot more sitting and icing.
Wendy and I still managed to go to our friend Emily’s baby shower. There were lots of pregnant women there and we got a fun picture of us all lined up in order of gestation.
6wk baby, 41wks, 32wks, 30wks, 26 wks
Wendy enjoyed herself immensely, as did her Mama!
Alternative tittle #1: how to entertain your toddler AND your baby for the price of one balloon, some duct tape and an embroidery hoop.
Alternative tittle #2: The desperate creativity inspired by needing to nurse an infant every two hours while keeping a toddler out of trouble. (look for more on this theme coming soon)
