Revisiting some of my blog posts (made elsewhere) lately, this one made me laugh. In honor of the birthday girl, turning three this weekend – but 7 months old at the time of this post… Originally Published 4/14/09.
My Dearest Ruby,
Yes, you've slept much better these last three nights. But pooping on my sheets twice in one week isn't exactly fair payback. Check the rules. If they must bend, aim for your own sheets. They're smaller.
Love,
Momma
Due in four weeks, I’m feverishly cleaning the house. Planning a homebirth puts a whole new spin on nesting. Pretty sure it’s more panic cleaning than nesting – but either way, my house is benefitting. Baby now has a dresser, a bed, and it shouldn’t sneeze the moment it enters the world for the dust that formally resided in our bedroom.
I pulled out a handful of tiny outfits and pj’s in both gender’s colors out of the shed and washed them so I have some clean clothes for the baby without having to haul them out right away after baby’s born. They were strung across the clothesline in my traditional excited pre-baby washing when the clothesline broke. I can remember hanging up the freshly washed baby clothes of each of my children save Eden – hers hit the dryer since it was January – but the vision of tiny cloths hanging to dry is one of my favorites. It was short lived though. My clothesline broke. My string of teeny clothes was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. Talk of a new clothesline rope had been in the works for weeks, but I’m pretty sure the vision of baby clothes, pinned to a clothesline and strung across the yard on the ground is not going to escape memory anytime soon. I’m sure it’ll be funny -next week.
None of my kids have walked early. Ruby was on time when she took her first steps on her first birthday, but she set a new record in doing so.
My latest walker walked at 19 months. Another walked at 17 months, another at 14 months.
Charlotte is 11 months old today. She wants to move. But she hasn’t figured a reliable method of movement yet. She can scoot a little bit on her belly or behind – but she doesn’t get anywhere purposeful this way. She can hold onto something (for dear life) and stand there, but she doesn’t trust herself to move her feet.
She hates to fall. Hates to bump her head. Not the “Ow, that hurt” kind of hates, but the “I am never, ever, ever doing that again, because that scared the living daylights out of me and I learned my lesson,” kind of cry. She’s kind of like her brother. The 19-month old walker.
Sterling and Ruby are 15 months apart. I carried them both for four months until Sterling found his feet and decided to trust them. Now Charlotte, with another baby following close behind, is following in big brother’s oh-so-carefully-placed footsteps.
Usually, I try to switch which arm I choose the carry the baby car seat with so that I don’t end up with one arm stronger than the other. Strange, but true. This time around, I’ll be switching arms so I don’t end up with one arm stronger than the other. But in the opposite way. 20lb baby… 10 pound car seat + 9 pound baby. Never mind. They’ll even themselves out.
I’ll be the one with Brawny’s muscle man’s arms. I’ll be so cute.
Tried something new last night.* I went grocery shopping at night. With only Eden.
It was amazing.
7pm on a Tuesday = a great time to be at Aldi. Only one kid = a great time to be at Aldi.
We were in and out in less than an hour with the better part of two week’s worth of food, spent more than I usually do with 5 kids with me – still trying to figure that one out. I think prices are just climbing. A lot.
Not one time did I have to tell anyone to stop touching or that no, we cannot buy that or to get out of someone else’s path. It was pretty incredible. And groceries fit in my not-the Grand-version caravan a whole lot easier with four less kids in it.
The best part = Blaine was home to help me carry in the groceries.
I’ve always taken all the kids with me. Adamantly. They need to experience what it takes, in what we do, how to compare prices, and what’s beyond the confines of our 5 acres, after all. But lately, with school and pregnancy and trying to keep up with the house, errands take far too long and something falls behind. Usually it’s the house. Nothing fell behind this way. I didn’t spend two hours at the grocery store. I wasn’t crabby and tired when we got home.
Amazing. Going to have to try that one more often.
*I’m laughing at the irony of this post following this post. But sometimes, that’s just how life goes. And not once did I get the hands full comment. In fact, people ignored me. It was like I was normal. Or something.
I never realized having (a lot of) kids (in a short period of time) required a thick skin.
Turns out, a thick skin – and the ability to bite your tongue - is quite useful.
We get lots of comments. Always. There is no such thing as anonymity anymore. But when people act disgusted - then what do you do? And why do people care how many kids anyone else has?
At my ripe old age, they assume I’m hard of hearing. I haven’t broke the news that I’m not to anyone yet. But today, when I heard (and certainly not for the first time),
“Did you see all those kids? And she’s pregnant! Oh. My. Gosh! That’s insane! She must be crazy! Doesn’t she know what causes that?" I was sorely tempted to speak up.
I didn’t. But the comebacks? They are still coming to me, hours later.
I could have joined in and pretended I’d seen someone else who had fit their description. That might have been fun.
I could have jumped in and asked them if they knew what was causing it. Because maybe, just maybe, that would have embarrassed them.
But I doubt it.
The first thing that comes to me is “You do know I can hear you, right?” but I never go there.
I have looked people in the eye though. That always invokes an interesting response. They usually look away.
The thing is, about 90% of the time, my kids are not the ones melting down in the checkout line.
That’s usually the kids of the commentators.
But the little old ladies – the 85+ year old ladies – they reminisce about their own 6-10 kids and tell me I’ll never regret this when I’m old. I love them. And the one who said she’d had 6 kids that I met the other day – she was so proud to have beat me out in how fast she’d managed it.
She’d had 6 kids in 5 years.
Now those comments had to have been even more interesting than the ones I get.
If you ever, ever hear me tell any mother of any number of kids that her hands are full, feel free to slap me. No one actually needs to be told that they are busy. It’s usually pretty obvious to them. The reminder that this is a lot of work isn’t necessary.
I got 10 hugs at bedtime. (Because two hugs allows for procrastination, you know.) And that makes it all worthwhile.
“Ow, I don’t like this house. I keep tripping on things!”
Said by Sterling – as he he tripped over toys. His toys.
Poor boy.
Five weeks to due date. Yesterday, I wasn’t sure I was going to live that long. You know that “Never felt so good as when you’re feeling better after feeling bad” feeling? Yeah, I have that today. So thankful to have that – because yesterday, I don’t know what it was, but I could barely walk. Sciatic nerve, ligaments – I don’t know. I spent most of the day sitting with a heat pack in 95 degree weather. But today, stiff and sore that I am, I feel wonderful. I could dance. Except I cannot see my feet. Probably shouldn’t dance. Singing probably isn’t a good option either. I’ll just waddle along, and be glad I can do so with limited pain.
