And so Charlie has been with us for nine weeks. And somewhere along the way, it seems, the entire family has slipped into the rhythm of having a baby in the house. This would not be possible, of course, if Charlie himself had not slipped into his own rhythm. Since I am only home from about 5:30 p.m. to 8:30 a.m., perhaps I am not the most qualified person to pontificate on the rhythm of the house, but to me our life cycle revolves around getting everyone fed, bathed and tucked into bed at a reasonable hour — no easy task for any family of five, and especially so since as a family of four we had quite a bedtime regimen worked out that allowed us to divide, conquer and return downstairs to watch TV until one of us could no longer remain awake.
Now we do everything in shifts. Sometimes I administer the baths. Sometimes Charlie is sleeping on me and Kristie will do the baths simply because she’s thrilled to not be holding Charlie. Sometimes I cook dinner while Kristie feeds Charlie. Sometimes Kristie cooks while I entertain him. Sometimes neither one of us is free to cook and we eat whatever fits in the microwave. No matter what, one of us is always physically touching the baby — either feeding, changing, bouncing, burping, whatever verb it is that keeps him from crying at that given moment. It’s not as bad as it sounds, most days, although there are times something scares Charlie and he screams a special kind of scream that only his mother can soothe and I generally feel useless.
I’m not the kind of dad to feel left out since I am not involved in feeding. I fed the first two children plenty and I’m confident Charlie and I will bond over something else eventually. Furthermore, I realize what a commitment is for a nursing mother to provide every ounce of food the natural way — especially to a pig of a boy who eats almost hourly as long as the sun is up — so far be it from me to pout about being on the outside looking in. On the outside is where you can eat the foods you want when you want, and I rather like it there. On the outside is where the only thing you have to do at 2 a.m. is change a diaper and then go back to sleep without moving the bed too much. On the outside is where you can have three lovely children and still bear a strong physical resemblance to the person who graduated college almost 10 years ago.
I can tell already the difference between the first baby and the third. I no loner religiously look at the baby development book to see what the child will do and when. I gauge the baby’s weight simply in comparison to the older two at present, for I can no longer remember what it felt like to carry either one at this age. This is to say Charlie does not weigh as much as Jack does today, or as much as Max, who is gaining fast on Jack. If you see Charlie and tell me he looks big for his age, I will agree. If you say he looks small for his age, I will agree. If you ask me his age, I will need to count on my fingers, which I can only do until next Sunday.
Now that Charlie is starting to smile (though generally not without prompting and usually with little regard to who is doing the prompting) and coo on occasion, I pretty much regard him as a baby who can’t crawl. Since I’m pretty sure it will be another six months or so before he is mobile on that level, the only real stage between now and then is the willingness to grab and use a toy. Sure, there are lots of other little things, but (sorry, Charlie) they’re just not on my radar. I love the little guy and it’s a pleasure to interact with him (and to carry him around church just to hear everyone tell me how adorable he is), but as much as he affects every daily life decision, he also is not alone at the center of our universe. In a good way.
The boys seem to have adjusted well to being big brothers. Especially interesting to me is how they all seem to be fine in the presence and absence of each other. I took Jack and Max to Jack’s soccer practice last week and it was just like old times (those old times being when Mom was pregnant and didn’t want to leave the house). We took just Max and Charlie to the zoo Sunday, and though Max noticed we didn’t have Jack, it didn’t seem to distress him. Sometimes just Jack and I do something. Sometimes it’s just me and the Doodle. Sometimes it is all five of us. When it comes time to pee in public, it is me and the Doodle… at Home Depot, the bowling alley or the zoo — let’s just say I’ve learned a lot in the last few days. Somehow I seem to not recall similar experiences with Jack, though he did ask to go to the bathroom at Target all by himself Wednesday night, even though it was just the two of us at the store. This is seemingly less significant than putting him on a bus each morning to spend seven or so hours at school, yet I found myself pausing to reflect on his evolution. At least until it was time to go back to the cereal aisle.
That generally is what my life has become — a never-ending series of outwardly mundane tasks and events that, when aggregated, reveal a rich life of parenting above all else, the type of life I longed to lead and now, in the thick of it, feel rewarded to experience. As often as there are moments when I’d like to push the fast-forward button (last week in church I again drew the chart that showed the parents’ ages as each child hit educational milestones), there are countless more when I’d prefer to hit pause.
Maybe that comes from fear of the unknown. First-grade parenting has its challenges, but I am a long, long way from sex ed, driving permits and college application essays, to say nothing of the smaller hills to climb between here and there. Maybe it is because I know I, too, will age as my children do. An extremely aggravating back/shoulder pain over the weekend was an unpleasant reminder I’m not as sturdy as I’d like to think. Maybe it is because we all generally are happy, healthy and close-knit, and I can’t guarantee that will last. I read too many newspaper articles about lives altered at a moment’s notice, or torn apart over time, to take anything for granted.
This rhythm of life we’ve developed will change soon enough — probably too soon, I’m sure. There’s about nine weeks of school left before summer vacation, which at first will be a welcome adjustment before it becomes its own burden before it becomes something else gone before its time. And so it goes, over and again. We get to a place we find comfortable only to have it change as we seek comfort again. Some day we’ll realize the true comfort is navigating the seas of change together. In many ways, we already have. Another reason to feel truly blessed.
Continue reading "7 years in and still learning."
