Andrew at 10.5 Months
There's nothing quite like a third kid.
Last year at this time, the comments were really rolling in, and they were all some version of: "Are you ready for three? You know you'll be outnumbered..." Not in a mean way, mind you - often in a kind but very knowing way. And I thought I was so clever because my automatic response, every time, was, "We were outnumbered when the first one was born! [big grin/crazy look]" Everyone would laugh and then we'd go on our merry ways.
I was wrong. We are now, truly, outnumbered.
It wasn't so bad at first [read: when Andrew's days were composed of sleeping and nursing and being carried around like a beautiful sack of flour]. But then he started moving. And he didn't get the memo that he was not the same age as his brother and sister, so he started trying everything they were doing. And they didn't get the memo that he was just a defenseless baby still, so they started wrestling with him and poking at him and teasing him as if he were quite able to stand up for himself (and just wait till he can!). And then I finally received the memo: You are outnumbered.
So here I am, fully aware of my precarious situation, ever astounded at the amount of time and energy it takes to feed, clothe, and nurture three whole humans (or four... or five). The projects I've had on hold wait patiently, and my writing stands still. P and I survive on prayer and the dream of an anniversary trip we are planning for this fall.
And yet...
I have a little boy who gives the best snuggles and lets his mommy kiss him indefinitely.
Who already knows exactly how to "vroom" toy cars.
Who eats (almost) everything with vim and vigor.
Who chuckles with abandon when I give him raspberries, or balance him with his stomach on my head, or pretend to bite his fingers off. (Boys! sigh...)
Who gazes adoringly at this older siblings, no matter what they do to him.
Who loves being outside, climbing high, and throwing balls in that funny, immediately-grounded way that babies do.
Who hates diaper changes and uses every ounce of his significant baby strength to roll free, especially when I'm changing him on the end of my bed. (When he is victorious, he celebrates by racing to the pillows at the head of my bed and flopping back on them with a satisfied grin.)
Who baby talks and sings (I swear) on key.
Who is up for adventure and ready to load up in his carseat at just about any moment.
Who loves the water and coasts around in his baby float like its his own little chariot.
Who loves to play peek-a-boo and whose eyebrows-raised, eyes-wide, mouth-circled expression should be illegal for its power of cuteness.
Who, with his brother and sister, we are so glad to be outnumbered by.
Last year at this time, the comments were really rolling in, and they were all some version of: "Are you ready for three? You know you'll be outnumbered..." Not in a mean way, mind you - often in a kind but very knowing way. And I thought I was so clever because my automatic response, every time, was, "We were outnumbered when the first one was born! [big grin/crazy look]" Everyone would laugh and then we'd go on our merry ways.
I was wrong. We are now, truly, outnumbered.
It wasn't so bad at first [read: when Andrew's days were composed of sleeping and nursing and being carried around like a beautiful sack of flour]. But then he started moving. And he didn't get the memo that he was not the same age as his brother and sister, so he started trying everything they were doing. And they didn't get the memo that he was just a defenseless baby still, so they started wrestling with him and poking at him and teasing him as if he were quite able to stand up for himself (and just wait till he can!). And then I finally received the memo: You are outnumbered.
So here I am, fully aware of my precarious situation, ever astounded at the amount of time and energy it takes to feed, clothe, and nurture three whole humans (or four... or five). The projects I've had on hold wait patiently, and my writing stands still. P and I survive on prayer and the dream of an anniversary trip we are planning for this fall.
And yet...
I have a little boy who gives the best snuggles and lets his mommy kiss him indefinitely.
Who already knows exactly how to "vroom" toy cars.
Who eats (almost) everything with vim and vigor.
Who chuckles with abandon when I give him raspberries, or balance him with his stomach on my head, or pretend to bite his fingers off. (Boys! sigh...)
Who gazes adoringly at this older siblings, no matter what they do to him.
Who loves being outside, climbing high, and throwing balls in that funny, immediately-grounded way that babies do.
Who hates diaper changes and uses every ounce of his significant baby strength to roll free, especially when I'm changing him on the end of my bed. (When he is victorious, he celebrates by racing to the pillows at the head of my bed and flopping back on them with a satisfied grin.)
 |
| Since even a photo-crazy mom like myself doesn't have the camera handy during such battles, let's enjoy this other photo of him totally asleep on my bed instead. |
Who baby talks and sings (I swear) on key.
Who is up for adventure and ready to load up in his carseat at just about any moment.
Who loves the water and coasts around in his baby float like its his own little chariot.
 |
| Andrew is not looking because he's readying himself to dive into the water. The photography skills are lacking because I was readying myself to do emergency CPR. |
Who loves to play peek-a-boo and whose eyebrows-raised, eyes-wide, mouth-circled expression should be illegal for its power of cuteness.
Who, with his brother and sister, we are so glad to be outnumbered by.
Comments
Post a Comment
Thanks for leaving a comment!