We are all adjusting around here. It feels like Sly should only be a week old and yet it feels like he is three months old and then it feels like he has been ours forever. I suppose he has, even when we did not know it.
This second baby has been a whole different ball game than number one. They are not complete opposites, but almost. Kevin is our sunshine baby. She was born at high noon and has always been afraid of the dark. Sly, on the other hand, was born in the middle of night and likes to sleep in a quiet, dark room. Kevin was a good two months behind developmentally, and Sly--well, it seems he keeps hitting milestones a lot quicker than I want him to. I have always tried to tell myself not to wish for them to stop growing up so fast or even to grow slower or stay a baby forever because growing up is such a good thing for them to do--who am I to wish that blessing away? But, I will be the first to admit, when Sly seemed to grow out of his 3 month clothes overnight and I put a pair of jeans on my daughter this morning that made her seem more like a preschooler than a toddler....I do wish there was a way to freeze these moments in time so that someday I can revisit these days and appreciate my children for who they are now, today, instead of wanting them to somehow stop growing and grow up faster at the same time (can we just skip potty training altogether, please?).
Last night I prayed for charity. When days are long (because I work all day and there is always something undone) and nights are short (because I never get enough sleep), it is so easy to lose patience and be too quick to reprimand or be unkind to that toddler who is just done with trying to make naps happen. So last night I asked Heavenly Father to show me how he views my daughter and to help me to be quicker to recognize her divine nature and slower to nag her or hurry her up. Lately, I have not been the mother to her that I would like to be. Requests to play in her room or color or play that annoying matching game or read the same book or repeat any of these activities over and over when all I want to do is fold laundry or clean counters or put on clean underwear takes more endurance than I have at the moment. So I simply asked Heavenly Father to show me. And he did.
Today, I appreciate her smiles, her help that is not always helpful, her giggles and how she always gets into trouble without meaning to. I appreciate the time she lets me hold the baby without complaining and the reminders that sometimes I need to put him down and play with her instead.
I suppose that we are both learning to share.
She is learning to share her home, her parents, her grandparents, her toys, her blankets, and her time.
And I am having to learn to share my baby.
Last night, while Scott was hanging out with the young men, I put Sly on his tummy to give him some tummy time (and hopefully wear him out faster so he would go to sleep before 11 pm). I sat there by him, cheering him on, as Kevin enjoyed a bedtime snack at the kitchen table. Her snack was quickly forgotten as she joined us in the living room, cheering her brother on. "C'mon, c'mon! You can do it!" We spent the next several moments totally enthralled in watching him try to remember how to roll over (because somehow the extra poundage he's put on has made this trick much harder). "Mommy, help him!" she would plead with me when he got especially upset. "Not yet, sweetheart," I would tell her. "I think he can do it on his own. Let's watch and see how he does." Within a minute, he had flipped from his tummy to his back and Kevin and I were giving each other high fives.
That was the moment when I realized that as I go about my days, I am not just raising a toddler and caring for a baby.
I am teaching her how to be a mother.
Case in point: two days ago she went to hand me her baby to hold (apparently she knows what Grandmas do) but then retracted her baby and said, "Mommy, wash your hands!" while pointing to the magic soap (the Kindergarten term for Germ-x). Once I had rubbed it all into my hands, she happily handed me the baby I had not asked for and went about her business.
"At least she is starting to catch on," I thought.
And oh boy is she catching on. I often hear her repeating my words to her brother. "It's okay, it's okay!" "Big burp, buddy, big burp!" "Does that scare you?" And when she isn't talking to him in her newly-acquired, high-pitched motherese voice, she is trying to kiss his cheeks and hold his hand and stuff a binky in his mouth. I often find her reading to him, shushing him, and trying to stuff toys in his hands and face (he did not so much appreciate the Little People Cinderella she shared with him the other day). And though my first response is to scream, "Be careful!" when she gets too close, I often realize that she is just trying to do the things she sees me doing (because, you know, his cheeks are just so kissable).
I tell her daily she is my best helper. And though it offends her father, it really is true (although there is MUCH to be said for a husband who willingly gets up with the baby night after night!). She is always quick to help take care of her brother.
And me.
So we take turns holding him. She provides the burp cloths and I do the burping. She reminds me to eat when I get so busy that I would probably forget the importance of "break-sas." She lets me know when he is "hun-gy!" and when he needs to "wiggle" and makes sure he has a buddy nearby when he gets lonely laying on a blanket on the floor. We both beg him for smiles and get excited when he does new things.
And when I think of everything that she is, all the talents and skills that define her, I now add two words.
Little mother.
And, while I am taking a selfish moment to blog, here she is making sure he has a binky and entertainment and wiping up his spit-up. "Dere you go! You're okay! Don't cry!"
For the rest of his life, I may be his champion, but she will be his cheerleader.
How lucky is he?
