The New Girl

The New Girl Has:

* About 5 minutes to write this [so-called] post.

* Two loaves of Chocolate Chip Banana Bread cooling on a wire rack in the kitchen.

* Never made bread of any kind before.

* Exactly 5 pair of underwear that fit well. All maternity. (I know that you're doing the math and curious to know what happens on days 6 & 7, right?)

* The CAMERA BACK!

* Yet to take a Christmas photo or photos of the recent age milestones (3 months and 2.5 years.)

* Yet to take a picture on anything other than 'Full Auto.'

* Sore, sore, back and shoulders. Always.

* Creaky knees and a weakened spirit.

* A gym membership that has gone unused for approximately 4 months.

* Two pairs of jeans that are comfortable. Both maternity.

* A couple pairs of regular jeans that fit SIZE-wise but no longer seem to fit SHAPE-wise.

* An unfortunate situation around the mid-section.

* A shorter fuse than usual. Like I ever imagined THAT shit was possible.

* Good Days and Bad Days.

* Never dared to tally and compare Good Days : Bad Days.

* A strange Dexter addiction.

* A long wait for DVDs to come out (no spoilers, fuckers!)

* Been drinking two cups of tea a day.

* Been taking Zantac on the reg.

* Gone back to work, since the last post.

* Been stir crazy as all fuck.

* A new blog crush on Jive Turkey. She is wicked funny and reminds me of the sense of humor I once had.

* Not corrected her kid from mispronouncing M&Ms as NEMINEMS because it's so effing CUTE.

* Just realized that TOMORROW is New Year's Eve.

* Made it through the 5th holiday season without A Mother.

* Barely made it through the 1st holiday season as A Mother of Two.

* Yet to send out holiday gifts.

* De-friended someone on Facebook for the first time ever.

* Decided that life is too short to put up with Jackassery that I can control my own damn self.

* Lots of ideas for posts in the middle of the night.

* No ability to recall these ideas in the morning. (OBVIOUSLY.)

* Nothing but love and admiration for you, if you've made it this far.

xoxo

Meet Squeaky McSqueakerton

His cry has been like this since he was born.

No shit.

I could hear them wheeling his wailing, squeaky self down the hall and the nurses made fun of his *little cry.*

It's only 31 seconds.

Because any longer than that and you might start to [lose your will to live, like me] laugh at a crying baby. And that shit just ain't right.

The Apocolypse Is Nigh. Or, Maybe I'll Just Say Fuck It And Go To The Library.

The past week or so has been, how shall I put it?

Um.

TOTALLY FUCKED.

How's that?

My panic(ish) feelings about taking an infant out into flu season had curtailed my activities already, when both kids came down with colds, leaving me [to defend myself against The Crazies] inside, alone, with two [albeit small but still ferocious monsters] uncomfortable kinders.  Combine that with bad weather and mix in a few post-partum hormones and you have a perfect cocktail for [a one-way ticket to the loony bin] some serious Life Dissatisfaction.

And yesterday, was as close to a Parenting Nuclear Holocaust as I hope to get.  As in, I almost did a 3 Mile Island and Melted The FUCK Down. I ended up smacking myself on the forehead (no vases, just my open palm) and gripping-slash-shaking the towel rack on the back of the bathroom door, mainly to keep myself from throwing something heavy against something breakable. 

(Here's where we separate the 'normal' wheat from the 'slightly overwhelmed chaff.'  Hey! Why are you backing away from me??)

It has been intense, mainly because of the perfect storm of events that have converged to totally screw the life (and behavior) of my poor toddler.  Shall I list?

I shall.

She's 2 and a half (which, by the way, can suck it.)

She's cutting 3 molars.

She has a cold.

She is developing even MORE speech (which I didn't think was possible.)

She can climb out of her bed now.

And, there's this:

She is just figuring out, I think, that The Boy isn't going anywhere.

Here's what most people don't tell you about the whole 'Adjusting to a New Sibling Crazy.' Sometimes, there's a delayed onset.  Everyone asks the question, 'How's the big sister doing with the baby?' But they ask it right after the new baby arrives, when the first born is still [in fucking SHOCK] impressed with the newness and littleness of the [latest toy] baby.  And in the time it takes for the big sister to realize that the little [bother] brother is here to stay, the sleep deprived parents have put a big, fat 'check' next to 'Adjusting Well.'

Whoops.

So, we have Weepy, Uncontrollable Crying Jags over Nothing. We have Hysterical Outbursts over previously and consistently experienced and understood limits. We have The Sassy, The Fresh, The Mean and The Whining. (THE WHINING.)  Some Potty Accidents. And oh, guess what? The Hitting is back! 

And there is something new: Difficulty going to and staying in bed. *sigh*

She's a good sleeper.  She has always had minor sleep regressions with every major cognitive jump.  A week of crying at bed time or early awakening.  But this has been the mother of all of those. Up screaming (for more! lip balm!) before she falls asleep.  Climbing out of bed. Up super early.  Last night, she asked if she could sleep in my bed. Never, ever before has she asked that.  Never has she ever slept there.  *sigh* It's exhausting.

Yesterday, I had the all-day cranky, wouldn't-sleep-any-other-way baby in the sling, when TLNG wanted to be held.  She was weeping about something else and wanted me to hold her.  I tried an awkward sitting on the couch, cuddling her while trying not to dump my son out of the sling, and she finally said it, 'Take this sling off, Mommy. Take it off and hold me.'

So I did.  I put the boy in the swing (risking the rise-and-scream that he'd been doing all day) and I picked up my big girl, who is not really all that big.  I swayed with her, burying my face in her neck, while she was draped across me, whimpering head on my shoulder.  I rubbed her back and murmured that I know it's hard to have a little brother who gets so much attention.  That I know it's hard to share mommy and daddy and that she's doing a good job.

And she is.

It's hard out here for a Mommy.  And for a Big Sister, too.

Two Months.

Here he is at two months, my boy.

I find myself studying pictures of my girl from the same age, to compare the two of them.  I'm not sure why, exactly.  I'm looking for a resemblance, I suppose.  Looking for the traits that link them together and to me. 

It's a hungry feeling, poring over the pictures of my girl. My first baby. I organized them by month, you know.  Each month, the changes are recorded there.  Looking at the curve of her cheeks, the toothless grins, it's almost like I wasn't there with her, like I never saw her at those ages.  I imagine that mothers of adopted children might feel the same way when seeing pictures of their babies before they had them in arms.  But as she grows and changes, hair half-way down her back, lengthened limbs and thinned out face replacing all the bald, chubby, round cheekiness, what I'm left with is my Swiss Cheese Memory.  And those pictures.

And now I have another one.  I'm doing it all again but unlike the first time, I have a built in appreciation for how fast it goes and how easy it is to forget things like drooly chins, neck cheese, tiny fists full of fuzz and shirts covered in spit up.

So, I look at the pictures of The Boy to see how alike (or different) he is from the only other experience of mothering that I know.  To see, feature by feature, what makes this little stranger part of our pack.

 

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The biggest difference with two kids is this: I can no longer organize the pictures by months.  Because the pictures (just like this post) feature BOTH kids. The curse of The Second-Born. So, the filing system no longer works (without a degree of fussiness to which I could only aspire--if I aspired to such things.)  Which, turns out, is a pain in my ass, seeing as I won't be able to go back to find pictures of my boy at two months without doing [a Google search for this post] fucking math.

The Double-Cute eases the pain, though.

In almost every case.

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(Isn't this picture just BEGGING for a caption?)