Nora is trying to channel Princess Elsa from Frozen. She's mastered singing "Let It Go". Unfortunately, the only lyrics she has memorized are those exact words, "Let it go." The irony of course is that she WON'T let it go. She dances waltzing circles in her room, repeating those three words, to the tune of the song. It's like we're being serenaded by the ghost of a hippie therapist.
Meanwhile our three month old must be sneaking protein shakes because he's in 6 month size clothes and has three chins. His size 1 cloth diapers are cutting in to his Michelin man legs and his Kung Fu mullet hair sinks in to his shoulder roll. I think he ate another baby. If I change my clothes in front of him he drewls and clucks his tongue at me while toothlessly smiling. There's finally a bigger fan of my boobs than Jamie in the house.
He's sucking the life out of me via those boobs and I don't mind because I'm so in love with his toothless smile and crazy cooing. (Ok, the back ache and hormonal roller-coaster is not pleasant but at least I know it ends and that someday I'll recover, I hope.) Nora refers to it as his "Oahu-ing" and he sounds a bit like a deranged owl when he "talks to sissy" so it makes his nickname of O-wee even more fitting. He loves to stare in to our eyes and talk, it's mesmerizing. He waves, pats and strokes when cuddling, grabs with his monkey toes, and reaches out to hold my arms when I change or bathe him while he smiles up at me. Baths are heaven to him and I love cradling him in the water against me. He doesn't even mind his hair being washed. Which turns out to be a very good thing because his scalp is mangy!
We kept joking about what a stinky boy he was until I noticed his cradle cap. Once I scrubbed his head thoroughly enough it unleashed a natural mohawk. He looks like a miniature UFC fighter now that I was able to loosen the thick layer of oil off his head. It took quite a bit of massage with coconut oil, and he fell asleep drewling and grinning during the process, but he's all scrubbed up and smelling much better. Funky but good.
His sister loves him, protects him, wants to hold him, demands to nap with him but gets sick of sharing attention with him. She doesn't scream "no" any longer, instead she chants, "Wait, wait, wait, WAAAAAAIT!"
Screaming tantrums erupt over trivial misunderstandings and inexplicable reasons. Before she would announce her displeasure exclaiming "I never!" and flounce in to her room with the slam of her door. Now she runs in to her room, wedges herself under her bed, and screams as if we're trying to force her to listen to country music. If that doesn't get her the attention she wants she then escalates to potty protests. Meaning, she stands in the middle of a room and pees herself to get attention.
My life right now consists of wiping butts, diapering butts, sniffing butts, and bouncing them. When I'm not dealing with that end I'm working on the other. Groceries, cooking, cajoling people in to eating, breastfeeding, pumping, bottling, burping, wrestling creatures in to carseats, possibly talking to another adult and then wrangling the child that can run who does so if I talk to a fellow adult.
My joints pop and/or grind when I sit down because my body hasn't seen more than four consecutive hours of sleep in over four years. I've used my bare hands as an emergency tissue for someone else's snot, to catch and kill vermin, to hold half eaten food, to fight off a fountain of vomit, to block urine from one child soaking the other in the face, to steady unsteady steps, to magically sooth someone to sleep, and to wipe tears away. I never really loved myself until I became a mother and like the person I am now more than before.
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