Seconds Have Firsts, Too

After my recent post about firsts for Junius, one of my readers wisely observed that the real challenge is to capture the same moments with Pippi. As a first-born myself, I'm sensitive about the tendency to over-do things for the first baby and under-do them for the second -- maybe it's lingering guilt over having my parents all to myself for the first four years.

Being second doesn't appear to be all bad. One advantage -- in addition to having more relaxed parents and a really entertaining older brother -- is that Pippi gets to tag along and join in experiences earlier than we did with Junius. Several of his firsts have also been firsts for Pippi, like the football games.

Here's Pippi loving her first stadium hot dog (like mother, like daughter) at her first college football game at N.C. State...

Here's Pippi trying to pick up as many pom-poms as she can possibly hold in her chubby little hands at her first UNC game...

This past Saturday was her first real time trick-or-treating. We took her along last year, but she couldn't walk yet, so I don't think it counts. Here she is, very nervous, at her first door...

After the first house, she quickly figured out the routine. The main thing that kept slowing her down was her intense desire to stop after each house and eat the candy right there in the driveway. Girlfriend comes by her sweet tooth honestly.

And then last night, tugging on my husband's pants leg and smiling up at her daddy, she said her first unprompted, unscripted, more-or-less complete sentence: "Ca cor peese."

Translation: "Candy corn, please."

Her father, so impressed by her politeness and her new-found ability to communicate, happily obliged her request. Don't think for a minute that she doesn't know exactly what she's up to.

The Perfect Storm

In the weeks leading up to our beach trip, I was increasingly nervous that our annual vacation would be ruined by a hurricane. The summer's weather had been strangely quiet despite predictions of a rough season, so I feared Mother Nature was storing up for a disastrous storm.

As it turned out, the weather was mostly beautiful while we were at the beach. But I was right to be worried -- although it may not have made the news where you are, there was a big coastal tempest by the name of Hurricane Pippi:

Hurricane Pippi brought sunny skies and nice breezes, but also 5 a.m. wake-up calls, nap strikes and perpetual motion accompanied by serious teething. When she wasn't chasing the sea gulls or running into the ocean, she was attempting to remove her swimsuit, rolling in the sand, stealing our friends' snacks, yelling at the top of her lungs and tasting shells.

And as if that weren't enough, there was the Friday evening adventure to urgent care to check her wrist that may or may not have been sprained by her mother (who was holding Pippi's hand and jerked on her arm to keep her from sticking the other hand in a bag of poopy diaper -- you know the move because you've done it a million times before). She was fine by bedtime, but her anguished sobs and complete refusal to use her left hand had us scared for a few hours.

All in all, it was a wonderful vacation with family and friends. But now I need a week to recover from Hurricane Pip. Thank goodness preschool starts on Wednesday!

Definitely Not the Duggars

Four summers ago, we met the T and H families here at the beach. They had come down together from Charlotte, but it was a happy coincidence for us that we were staying next-door to families who each had a one-year-old like us. We bonded over early morning playtime on the beach (why can't these little ones understand the joy of sleeping in on vacation?!) and had so much fun that we made plans to return to the same place same week every year.

Since that first summer, our group has grown from three babies across three families to nine kids and four families (two with three kids each). For my children, it's all the fun of having seven extra cousins without any of the work. For me, it's a joy to have interesting people to talk with and share life with, outside the busy context of our "regular" worlds back home.

One of the topics of conversation this summer has started with the lead-in, "So are you guys done?"

Over the past year, my husband and I seriously considered joining the three-is-the-new-two approach to family planning (I mean really, I have SO many friends with three kids now). In fact, it was a tougher decision than I expected. After growing up in a family of four, I always assumed I would have two kids as well -- but it's such an amazing thing to create a tiny person out of nothing and then watch him or her grow, it's almost addictive. Our children are beautiful, healthy, funny, smart and interesting (if we do say so ourselves), so why wouldn't we want more? Plus, maybe if we had another one, I'd get one who looked even remotely like me (although probably not).

But my response to the question this week has been, "Yep. We're done." Followed immediately by a long-winded explanation of why we made that choice, including a host of reasons like...

• our age (I was already "advanced maternal age" when Pippi was born, which is still several years younger than my husband)
• our cars (which are paid for, but can't hold more than two car seats)
• our energy levels (severely depleted after not sleeping through most nights for the past four years)
• our marriage (which doesn't get nearly the attention it deserves while we try to manage everything else)
• our concerns about a third c-section (which means a longer, more painful postpartum)
• our finances (which are holding on for the moment, but would get thin with more family members requiring food, clothes and college funds)
  

I'm not sure why I can't just answer, "Yes -- our family is complete," and leave it at that. Maybe it's because, ultimately, I'm afraid I can't handle a third -- just not organized enough or patient enough or creative enough to manage any more than the chaos I already have. My tenuous hold on sanity and good parenting might not survive two more little hands pulling me in every direction, accompanying me on every trip to the toilet, making demands on my every waking (and sometimes sleeping) minute. If I'm honest, I think we're done because I'm done.

But then I hold a sweet new baby, sniff that fresh baby head, cuddle those tiny rolls and creases. In that moment, I think maybe just maybe we rushed into the decision to stop, maybe there's another baby in my heart, maybe we really could manage three.

And then that sweet new baby starts to cry or spit up or fuss and I remember how hard and exhausting and lonely those new babies can make me feel. And I'm over it.

Thankfully, our beach friends aren't done yet, so maybe there will be more sweet babies to hold and snuggle and sniff next year -- and then (thank goodness) quietly hand them back to their parents.

Note: If you don't get the title of the post (or if you have suggestions for a 19th "J" name), go here. And if you haven't commented on my post for the contest at Triangle TRACKS yet, Friday is your last chance.

You Might Be Cute, But Your Sh*t Still Stinks

When Junius was about 10 weeks old, we took him to my cousin's wedding. Because he was prone to spitting up in quantities that defied his tiny body, I didn't dress him in his fancy clothes until we were in the church parking lot -- didn't want to ruin the look. It was one of those beautiful white, pintuck oufits that requires ironing and has impossibly tiny buttons up the back -- one that my husband had worn when he was a baby and his mother saved for us. Completely impractical, but Junius looked so sweet.

So sweet, that is, until his enormous pooplosion leaked out all over the fancy clothes (did I mention it was white?) and onto my husband's suit. Thankfully, we had a change of clothes in the car so that Junius didn't stink at the reception (see photo of him dancing with Nanna) -- and that turned out to be the worst of Juni's poop messes, even counting potty-training last year.

Pippi, however, is another story.

Today, when she woke up from her afternoon nap and started crying for me to come get her, I was on the phone with her Daddy. Apparently, in the few minutes it took for me to get upstairs, she had despaired of ever being rescued and decided to stage a protest... by removing her diaper, squatting on her blanket for a poop, and then smearing it all over everything in her crib. Seriously -- her diaper was clean, but her sheets, blankets, lovey, books and stuffed animals were covered in shit (pardon my French).

After scrubbing her down in the tub, putting on a dry diaper and taking her downstairs to play with her brother, I headed back upstairs to deal with everything in the crib (did I mention it was even on the books? and the pashmina blanket that we got as a gift for Junius and I never let him touch it but thought it was so sweet and girlie for her to have her own baby pashmina?).

I'll spare you the details from here (and be grateful I didn't stop in the midst of all the crap to take a photo -- you don't want to know). But I'm hoping against hope that this is Pippi's one poop disaster. Is it a bad sign that I'm already afraid about potty training with her?

Now it's your turn to share a poop disaster story so that I can feel better (or at least not alone) about my parenting. And feel free to make your own puns about hitting the fan.

If Only They Would Listen to My Wisdom

Following the wild success of my open letter to a tree (and a big thanks to my friends who commented on 30Threads, defending me against "Lance"), I was considering going to an all-open-letter blog format. Then I realized that had already been done -- and I'm not going to try to compete with Sarah Vowell and John Hodgman. But so many little annoying things happened while I was running errands on Monday that I feel compelled to employ the device a few more times, so here goes.

* * *

Dear Woman in the Parking Lot at Bed, Bath & Beyond,

I will try not to judge you and your passenger for parking in a handicapped space, then walking easily into the Party City store. It's entirely possible that, although you are both ambulatory, one or both of you has a less visible illness that makes walking difficult over certain distances. Your passenger's very short hair suggested she may be recovering from treatment, so it's easy to give you the benefit of the doubt.

However, it's harder for me to be sympathetic when you're smoking a cigarette while wearing a cancer survivor t-shirt from Relay for Life. Perhaps you've missed the whole surgeon general thing for the past 40 years, but it seems like now would be a good time to quit with the cancer sticks.

Best wishes for continued health,
C

* * *

Dear Mom of One at Harris Teeter,

Congratulations on having such a well-behaved toddler at the grocery store. And congrats for your new one on the way -- what an exciting time for you!

One of the things you'll learn after you have two children on the outside of you is the critical nature of the double-seated grocery cart. It is difficult to corral two children in the grocery store unless you can buckle them in and keep them entertained (thus protecting all those products on bottom shelves cleverly covered in Pixar characters). That's precisely the beauty of those rocket-ship-race-car carts -- both kids fit and each one gets a steering wheel.

So given that Harris Teeter has a VERY limited number of these carts (like, two) and given that you still only have one child who can actually access said cart, please be considerate and leave them for people with two children. We desperately need them.

Thanks,
C (the mom who was giving you the stink eye while her son pushed one of those customer-in-training carts running into shelves and customers all over the store)

* * *

Dear Woman in the Parking Lot at Harris Teeter,

I'm so glad you were driving slow enough and watching closely enough to see the elderly man backing his land yacht out in front of you. That's a tricky parking lot, so I commend your attention to safety.

I also think you were right to toot your horn to alert him that you were coming, in hopes that he would stop and let you pass before continuing his slow and steady move into traffic.

However, continuously holding your hand on the horn for the duration of his very slow and steady move into traffic when he clearly was not intimidated by (or perhaps could not hear) your honking and when he was posing no great threat to your vehicle or other drivers and when my small children were stuck beside your bleating car waiting for me to unload my groceries into the trunk was truly excessive. Please go home and take a nap (or a valium).

Kindest regards,
C

* * *

Phew. Don't know about you, but I feel so much better now. And I promise to leave the open letter mechanism alone for awhile.

Why Yes, Thank You, My Hair IS Adorable

"J-Fest 2009: Turning Four" update coming soon, but in the meantime I'll give you a little story about the Pip:

Although we waited until his birth to see if Junius would be a boy or a girl, we decided to find out in advance with Pippi. When the ultrasound tech said, "It's a girl," we were stunned into silence. Somehow, we'd both convinced ourselves it was another boy -- and we were excited about having a matched pair. We didn't tell anyone for at least a week, it was that much of a shock.

I was immediately terrified by visions of a moody, dramatic, teen-aged daughter whining and complaining and hating me for no good reason. I knew from experience that even daughters who really love their moms are sometimes unreasonably snotty to their mothers without cause (Mom -- I am so sorry!), and I just didn't want to deal with that.

Thankfully, my mama-friends with daughters talked me down off the ledge, so that by the time Pippi arrived I was delighted to have a baby girl. She's already a moody drama queen at age 16 months, so I'm sure the teen years will bring plenty of challenges (ahem, I mean growth opportunities?) -- but she's silly and sweet and sassy and snuggly in ways that are different from her brother, which is fun to watch.

She also brings with her all the fun, girly stuff. I mean, let's be honest -- girl clothes are soooo much cuter than boy clothes.

And then, this past week, our first experiment with pigtails...
Sadly I don't have a picture of her admiring her hair-do in the mirror, but I think the laughing photo gives you an idea of just how impressed she is with herself. Looks like we'll be waiting a little longer for that first haircut this time around.

Friday's Five: Baby Things

When I was pregnant with Junius, I made the obligatory trip to Babies 'R Us to set up a gift registry. I walked in, scanned the store from the doorway, turned around and walked back to my car. Totally overwhelmed. A few weeks later I went back with my neighbor (and mom of two, at the time), who kindly held my hand and showed me what I really needed and what to ignore.

And believe me, there's a LOT of stuff to ignore. But here are five things I wish I'd had when Juni was a baby -- some of them I discovered with Pippi, others I never got, and the list is probably different for every mommy.

1. Ergo carrier: I used the Baby Bjorn with both of mine, which was great, but they got too big too quickly. This carrier (which I borrowed from a friend to use with Pip) is awesome. Goes on the front or back and holds up to 40 lbs (not that you'd want to be wearing anyone that heavy for very long). For several months, it was the only way I could get Pippi to take a nap, but it worked like a charm.
   
   
2. Mally bibs: Invented by a mom (of course), these bibs are made of the same soft leather as Robeez-style shoes. You wipe it off, so no need for laundry -- and the clip is a magnet, so you just stick it on the fridge to dry. Genius and cute (see photo).
   
   
3. Bumbo seat: I always saw these in stores and wondered about them, but never had one. Then my mom got one to use at her house and I was so sorry I hadn't bought one earlier. It's a great way to help a baby sit up when she can hold up her own head, but doesn't yet have the balance to sit on her own. Particularly nice to have for a second baby.
   
   
4. Snap-in stroller frame: The "travel system" with the big stroller and infant car seat seemed like such a good idea, and I certainly got a lot of use out of mine. But in retrospect, I wish I'd gotten the lightweight stroller frame to use with the infant seat instead. Then, when your baby outgrows the infant seat, just get a nice umbrella-style stroller (I like this one) that is easier to use and takes up less space in the trunk.
   
   
5. Pacie clips: I cannot count the number of times we lost Juni's pacifier. If only I had thought to get something to clip to his shirt. Thank goodness a friend sent an adorable pacie clip for Pippi when she was born. We used it so much it literally fell apart, so I ordered some new ones off Etsy -- whatever your style, someone makes a clip to match.

Note: As usual, no incentives were sent to entice me to write about these products. Apparently, despite the fact that *you* are reading my blog, the mommy-marketers haven't found me yet.

Bye-bye baby

My baby girl turns one this weekend. She is beautiful and amazing and I love to watch her proud smile as she walks around, trying desperately to keep up with her big brother.

But I am not yet ready to let her charge head-long into toddlerhood. Not that I really have any say in the matter.

With my first baby, it was not this way. The transition to motherhood overwhelmed me in unexpected ways -- I was much more afraid of life with a newborn than I thought I would be. When his first birthday finally arrived, I was so happy. After a year of insane sleeplessness, it seemed like a milestone that might finally mean we were past some of the exhaustion. Each new stage with him was like some kind of miracle -- as if he were the first baby to tackle the world -- and I couldn't wait to see what magical thing he would do next.

I was reminded of this feeling reading a friend's blog last month as her son approached his first birthday. She was right when she wrote, "Babies are hard. And often not fun. They are needy and demanding. They are exhausting." They are all of those things and then some -- and watching them grow up is such a thrill.

The second time around, I was just as tired, but also much more relaxed, less afraid, more able to enjoy her newness. I thought maybe it would last longer, that I'd remember it better this time. Instead, time seems to pass even faster, and I'm so busy trying to keep up with her that I take fewer pictures, post fewer moments online, write less often in her baby book.

Now, with every new step, Pippi is literally and metaphorically moving away from me. She doesn't want to be carried, pushes away when I pick her up. She wants to walk everywhere now, all the time.

And so I will cheer for her as she grows, while also cherishing every little baby moment that I have left... the bedtime nursing, the mostly toothless grins, the wobbly toes-out walk, and yes even the 4 a.m. cuddles. She's my baby and I'm holding onto her as long as she'll let me.