Not yet ~ May 19, 2014

I've got hazel eyes like my Papa but he says they're brown, just like his.
You be the judge.

I read a heap of books about pregnancy and delivery when I was pregnant with Nora. None of which did me any good or served any purpose. (Note to pregnant women everywhere: If you're going to read something make sure it's funny, about postpartum, parenting or all preferably!)

While pregnant with Owen I read books to Nora about babies and being a sister. One of her favorites being "Are you Ready for Baby?" which had the refrain "No, not yet!" in response to the many questions the book posed about what a baby could do.

So far our resident baby can:  grab and pull (clothing, hair, skin), clasp his hands or feet like Mr. Burns, hold his head up, aim and touch (my cheek, Nora, stuffed animals), roll onto his stomach from his back (then grouses and looks like a stranded flipped Kafka-esque turtle), occasionally say "hi" and/or waves, coos up a storm, laughs, and kicks quite strongly (sometimes ill timed). Yet his biggest fete of strength so far is charming his sister. A hard won challenge at times but who can resist a smiling baby staring up at you adoringly? A three year old in the midst of a power struggle for attention.

Her love for him can only be rivaled by the wrath of her temper tantrums. The rare moments away from our kids are spent discussing them and Nora's temper is the popular topic as of late. I stay up late, nursing Owen in bed, researching different approaches and theories. None of which are helpful in the moment of a sanity skewering tempest of a meltdown when your child is shrieking at full volume, crying, screaming, kicking, flailing and you're trying to help her, remain calm, help her calm herself in the midst of prying, judging, and questioning from others. All the while feeling angry that she scared her brother, helpless to understand her or be understood, unappreciated,...exhausted, just exhausted. At the end of it, when she's speaking clearly and when my patience returns, I hug her and remind her I love her. Silently I wish that was the last of the temper tantrums and wonder how many hours until Jamie is home.

I know she's testing us and wanting reassurance from us and I see her sadness at missing my full attention in the moments she has it once again. She fights going to bed now but seems to resist less if it's me putting her to bed. As I was the other night when I read her favorite bedtime book, and mine, On The Night You Were Born. We reached the end, I wished her good night, kissed and hugged her, and as I went to turn out her lamp, "No, not yet!" I reminded her it was time to sleep, that she could only leave her room for the potty, and shut the door to her screaming. 

Sometimes the hardest moments in parenting for me are not making the decisions but living with them once they're made. I write this as I sit and listen to her scream in her room, refusing to nap but clearly exhausted, and wish there was an easier way. But, like I was guilty of saying in the past (much to the horror and shock of a fellow mother), "If I wanted it easy I would have had stupid children."