the second born, you know, the one with the penis?

Oh Christopher...Chris...Pooh Bear...I'm not quite sure what you're going to want people to call you, when you're fourteen years old. But today you are four and you prefer to be called Pooh Bear. How can it be possible that FOUR years have flown by. Already?? Wasn't it just yesterday, that your sister had just turned two and you were still inside my tummy, all cozy warm? Wasn't it just yesterday, that I awoke early in the morning, of the fifteenth of September, to some slight cramping and spotting? Turning out to be this mucusy thing and when I phoned the doctor's office, was told not to worry. It could still be days or even a week and that I would make it to my scheduled c-section. But when asked if  I were feeling any other discomfort, I answered "no, not really." then causally adding, "my back is a little sore."

I guess that was a sign to be concerned. The nurse asked me to come in as soon as I could.  No sooner had I hung up the phone, I could feel some trickling going down my leg and wondered, "am I pee'ing??"
I quickly phoned daddy, to let him know where your big sister and I would be, oh and by the way, I think my water just broke. He rushed home so he could accompany us, just in case this was the day we were to meet our little "me too".

When Doctor Moore entered the room I was placed in, I let him know, that I thought my water broke. No,o, there was no gushing but I know that I was not peeing, yet I was. He quickly stated that he doubted that was the case but would test the "pee" to be certain. "Well, I guess your having a baby, today" he stated, upon his return. I was not ready. It was at least two weeks before I was scheduled to have a c-section. Two weeks before Papi and Tita would be here to watch and care for Ellie, while I stayed in the hospital. Two weeks before the house could be spotless and ready for you. The dishwasher had not been unloaded, there was still a pile of laundry to get to. You weren't suppose to be here until the end of the month, not the middle. So.I.Freaked.Out. Poor daddy. He rushed home, phoned Grandma Karen to let her know what had happened and if she could come up. Then he proceeded to empty out the dishwasher, quickly throw the laundry into the washer, grab my hospital bag, take Ellie to McDonalds for a Happy Meal and explained what the next couple of hours/days would be like. As soon as Grandma walked thru the door, he was off to the hospital, to be by my side, where I had already been prepped and (im)patiently awaited his return.

I knew you were a boy but daddy did not. Like with your big sister, he wanted your announcement to be a surprise. And it was! When Doctor Moore announced you were a boy, daddy was shocked! He had thought that Ellie would be getting a sister instead of a brother. He cried. I cried. You cried. We all cried.  He was so happy. We both were. We were complete. A boy for him, to do boy stuff with. A boy for me to love and nurture. A brother for Ellie, her first best friend and playmate for life. She would always have a piece of us, long after we are gone. She would never be alone in this world, as long as she has you.

And as the first year flew by, it was obvious, how much your big sister loved you. She always had to touch you. Even though, she was a little rough with her touches and squeezes, that would occasionally make you cry. Kinda like how you are with your little sister, Evie, now. You had a full head of gorgeous locks, making any bald daddy  man jealous. And you were just a big snuggler. You still are. Daddy would rush home, just so he could give you your bedtime bottle. He would make up these songs for you and sing you to sleep. Ask me to show you some footage!

The second year, again, I was just as shocked by how fast it had gone. You could walk, talk, would answer to Pooh Bear. Your word for Daddy was Lalo. This was also the age that I took away your bottle. You were starting to get into trains and I had gotten you this train cup that had a lid and a hole for a straw. I thought for sure I could easily convert you to a cup drinker instead of bottle drinker. "Pooh? Do you want some milk?" you quickly got up from playing, rushed into the kitchen, all excited. "Here. See? It's a TRAIN cup." You gave me this whatthehellisthisshit? look. Then added, "no baba, no choochoo!" as you waved your chubby little hands, making the no movement. That was the last time you would even attempt to drink milk. And I have tried many times. I now give you calcium gummies.

The third year? Just as surprised another year is now in the books. You are a very active, rather rambunctious little guy. You love Toy Story, Thomas, and Bob the Builder. You're a little clown with a sense of humor that loves to make all around you laugh. And you are a little flirt. We noticed that when we went to Disney. It only took you two weeks to be fully potty trained. You often state that Daddy is your best friend but that you want to marry Mama or Ellie. You love dogs. You are a big time stuffed animal lover. All in all, you are a wonderful little boy.

And this year? Number four? I suppose I will always be surprised by how fast each year flies by. Your Auntie threw you a little dinosaur party. You received a ton of new favorite toys (that no doubt will be, all over the house).  You played with your older cousins. I look at Emily (who was 6 months when I met her) and I see this beautiful, intelligent thirteen year old soon to be fourteen year old. I look at Alex (who was two when I met him) and here he is, senior year. Last year at home before heading off to college. Independent of what had always been. Anxiously awaiting to start a life of unknown. But his own. And I am well aware of what their mother must be feeling when she looks their way. Wasn't it just yesterday that I held you? Held your hand? Kissed your owies? We played pretend? They have grown up to be wonderful young people. I can't find it in myself to say "young adults" because they are not. At least not yet. They'll always be 6 months and two.

And then I look at my own children. The oldest is six, the youngest is almost six months. And my middle? He's four. You are so much like your father, I am told. Still very rambunctious, still a little clown, you still love "stuffies", Daddy is still your best friend. You want to marry Evie. You love super heroes. You still like to hold my hand and give me sloppy kisses. You and Ellie are best friends, you love each other and occasionally fight but at the end of the day, you need one another. I pray to God that that need never, ever changes. 
You are a wonderful little human being. For one so small, it is clear how much love and compassion lives inside you. And you are extremely smart!! You started pre k this month and you absolutely love it!
You are such a little helper at home. Although, no offense, not so much when it comes to cleaning your room. That takes a little pushing.

As for the title? Growing up, Grandma Karen would mean to call daddy "Chris" but instead say Auntie Laura's name. So daddy (being a stinker) would say, "ah, I'm Chris, the second born. You know, the one with the penis." from how often this story is told, I have a feeling I'll be hearing the same words from you.

I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you. I tell the three of you, often, how much I love you. But you will never quite understand the depth my love goes for you (three). How could you possibly understand? You're still so little. I suppose you will, once you get married and have children of your own. Until then, please, don't be in such a rush to grow up. Stay little and enjoy playing with your dinosaurs, your Legos, and your super heroes. Sometimes mamas like to watch their babies, when their babies don't know their mamas are watching. And if I give you an unexpected hug and I squeeze just a little too tightly, it's because I just "saw" you getting ready to go off into the world, independently of me.

flashback Frday

Lately, I've been recalling this female coworker that I had, oh…about seven years ago. We weren't friends or even good acquaintances. In all honesty, I couldn't stand the gal but I'll save that for another post. No, what I recall is this: Chris and I had been trying and trying and trying for a baby. I then miscarried. Depression, sadness and every other negative emotion all rolled up into my 4'11 body. Anyway, finally, I  am pregnant with Ellie. Every day was a exciting day for me. Making plans, thinking of our future. What we'll be like as a family. Back to this lady, Cheryl. She had two girls, beautiful girls. One was in the process of graduating that year and getting ready to head off to college the next. What stands out in my mind, about Cheryl is this: she would CONSTANTLY make references on how she could not wait for her oldest to move out of the house. One down, one to go. She and her husband could finally have some alone time. You get where I'm going. I remember thinking, wow. Here, my husband and I were trying so hard and ready to go through whatever means to have a baby. And here she is, wanting hers out of the house. I was counting down the days to have mine enter my life and she was counting down the days for hers to leave. With respect to Cheryl, I really do not know what happened…I ended up going on maternity leave and never went back. Did she cry the first night, when her oldest was finally absent from her home? Did she want to take back all that she said? Was it just for show and maybe she was really having a tough time (that, I hardly doubt folks, being honest here. She really didn't have a heart. Think vampire.)

I have been having an extremely hard time. Watching my little ones grow up. Right before my eyes. Like over night. One minute I'm holding our first, making vows to her and what a wonderful life we'll have. The next, I'm holding our third, making vows to her and what a wonderful life we'll have, while the first one holds her sister's tiny hand, smiling up at me.

I look at Ellie and I remember how I couldn't leave her behind in somebody else's care without her crying and wanting me. It didn't matter who she was left with: daddy, grandma, or my parents. She wanted only me. When we'd be home, she would be fine if I were in another room but periodically make sure I was still where she left me. If I would snuggle with her in the night, I could feel a tiny little hand reach and touch my face, reassured that I was still there, I would hear a deep sigh then nothing. Off to dreamland she would go.

Chris and I have been recalling what words she would mispronounce, making them her own. Even Chris would find it difficult in understanding what she was saying. But I spoke her language. I knew what she was saying. Here are a few examples from a huge list:

Idawa (at first she would just raise her little arm up into the air then she would combine the two)= I do want

no-ok?(one word)= I would ask if she wanted something like…do you want an apple? No? Okay.

Pooh= Christopher (that one stuck)

Austin (from the Backyardigans)= mommy

JackChristmas= one time, Chris was watching both kids and Ellie kept insisting on watch JackChristmas. He gives me a call, "What the heck is JackChristmas??" The Nightmare before Christmas. Duh.

Mamarail= monorail

pillow= pill.

She'll always be my first. My little sidekick. My mini-me. She has always been a part of me. Even before she existed, I knew her. No matter how old she gets. No matter whose roof she sleeps under. No matter how many miles are between us. But not for a long, long, long time. Although, I am happy that she and all of my babies are growing up, that they're healthy-in mind, body, and spirit. I am in no hurry for the day that they leave our home. I know that they will come back to visit but I dread the day that I will not hear their tiny voices on a daily basis. The "one more book, mama." or holding my hand when we walk. That they won't need me to take them shopping for clothes, treats for school, or park play dates. I dread that they will go off into the world and forget that I'm here. Waiting. So, no. I'm not ready.

BUT- this is really happening. She is growing up. I am so proud of who she is, who she'll become. But if God could just pretty please, whisper in her ear from time to time and remind her that she holds a piece of my heart, which is equally divided between the ones that live under my roof.

catching up...

What you've missed…or what I lacked in posting as the events occurred.

Lookie what I made! Alll by mahself!!! Chalkboard frames!
I'm all proud.

Sugar, it's like crack to a Pooh Bear.

Took the kids to Bay Beach the last week of August.
The day BEFORE Pooh was to start preschool. We
live on the edge. You would think they would have
headed towards the rides. Nope. She wanted Dipin' Dots,
that's all she talked about the WHOLE way there.
Half way thru the day, they were treated to snow cones-
NOT simultaneously. What, do you think we're nuts??

I'm always the one that takes the pictures. Honestly, I
don't think it ever occurs to Chris to pick up the camera, any
camera and take a picture of me with the kids. So, when
Ellie asked if I would go on the big swing ride, I said, "go
with daddy. I'll take your picture." Then I kicked myself
thru out the whole ride as I snapped away. Why did I say
that?? Here is my little girl WANTING to go on a ride with
me. I felt horrible. So when she asked again, if I would go
on the big swing ride with her, I jumped at the chance and
handed the camera over to Chris. I need to remember
to live in the moment, rely on memories instead
of looking at the pictures that I am not in because
I was the one taking the pictures.

*Have you ever been on the big swing ride? It's actually quite fun. I fastened Ellie in and sat in the swing behind her. She was so excited that I was finally going with her. As we lifted high into the air, her swing tilted back, my first instinct was to reach for her as I yelled for her to hold on tightly. Then it hit me. I will be saying this the rest of her young life. "Ellie baby, hold on tight! Don't let go!! Hold on tight!" with my instinct being to catch her if and when she falls. And someday, she'll be all grown up and won't need me to tell her to hold on tight or need me to catch her. She's starting kindergarten this year and I have been an emotional wreck. Thinking how quickly our time with her is flying by. I'll post about that in another blog. I'm going to get a tissue. <sniffsniff>

I just love the expression on their little faces.

Pooh: hey mama? What dat you habin'?
Mama: I am having a chocolate malt.
Pooh: a cha-co-wate mawt???
Mama: would you like to try it?
Pooh: yes, pwease.

And that's the last I had of my chocolate malt. Little swiper.

He says he's a big boy but he's still little to me.
See my chalkboard? I made it! Alll by mahself!!!

This girl loves her footwear.
We're in trouble.

FINALLY took our boat out. Yay!!

Just the five of us. 

And mama had a shorty.

S'mores!! are fun to make!!!

This thing gives me the creeps. I mean, who would think
this is adorable? And who in the heck would even BUY it???
Not me. 

Can I just pause her at this age for a little bit
longer??? 

Pre k + park + library= sheer exhaustion.

Just the two of us.

flashback Friday

Ellie  May '07

This is the photo we used, to announce our move into our
new home, in 2007.    

Such a pretty girl, even when she's a little serious.

She absolutely HATED being put in there.

First time being outside in the rain. It was the last day
of May, so it was rather warm. She just loved it!

I just adore this series of photos. The surprise, the wonder
on her face, reaching up towards the sky, as the drops fell 
from Heaven above.

Rain, something I never gave a second thought to before,
other than try to escape from it and not get drenched.
 But to see the complete and utter joy that my precious
baby girl expressed, as she felt for the first time in
her short little life, the warm drops fall from the sky 
and land on her face.

My heart melted from her innocence on that beautiful Spring day.

Dry and cozy, after playing in the rain.

last days of summer are upon us…...

Poohisms

don't be fooled by his peaceful slumber

His name is Christopher but he is lovingly referred as Pooh or Pooh Bear. He is cuddly
just like the stuffed bear but he has Tiger's personality with the same zest for 
living. Chris says that he is his "mini me" but only half of what Chris was like as a 
child. God bless you, Grandma Karen, it's no wonder you would need 
the occasional Valium. I totally get it-NOW!! 

Poohisms:

     Pooh has a love for the stuffed animals. "Dis one name is Doggie, dis one is Bunny,

 dis one is Donkey (you get the gist) and dis one is..." Chris interrupting: "Giraffe?" 

 Pooh: "Nooo, Oscar" As he gives Chris this look for not knowing
the obvious. Silly daddy.

Chris was shopping with Pooh at Walmart. "Pooh, come on. Stop farting around, let's go"

 Pooh, turning the corner, comes waddling up to Chris. "daddy, am I a good penguin?"

At Trigs, he sees a little boy about his age. "hey wady, what his name?" he asked
the boy's (I'm thinking) grandma,"his name is Bug" (pet name?) Pooh, looking at 
me bewildered "what kind ah name is Bug?" Me: "I don't know, POOH"

For some odd reason, ANYTIME I dare to wear a skirt/dress, he has to come up from
 behind and lift the back of it. Usually it's done in public places, like McDonalds or
(today) Walmart, while we stood in line to check out. Lovely.

He had been trying to tell me a story or something, I got a little impatient, we
moms do that from time to time, "come on, Pooh. Just spit it out." He spit 
on the car floor.

One time, a friend was cuddling a tired Pooh, while the other kids swam. He 
snuggled rightinto her and then (as he caught his second wind) "I can see you boobies" 
I could have died.

It never, EVER fails, when we leave the house I always ask "do you have to 
go potty?" "NO!!" what does he have to do when I'm almost ready to check 
out? Potty and "it ah-merg-cincee"

If I don't have him in a shopping cart, he runs around the store like a hyped
 up banshee on sugar. Thank God he hasn't figured out how to get 
out of his car seat.

Tonight. He has a stuffed Puss in Boots from Shrek. One of his favorite stuffies. 
Puss had been "lost" (not really) because Pooh looks for things like how a grown 
man looks for things, kinda glimpses over the room(s) instead of how we woman 
look for things. Know what I mean? We pick things up and look beneath them 
and we find them. Anyway, tonight he found Puss. And he starts throwing him thru 
the air, at things, and shoving him in tight spaces. He shoved him in this toy golf 
catty thing and Puss gets jammed. In trying to retrieve him, Pooh gets his little arm 
stuck. He cries and I get him unstuck. But then cries. Because Puss is stuck.
 I save the day by getting Puss unstuck. To which Pooh shouts, "yay! Pussy!!" which 
Chris laughs and gives me this look. You know the look? Like he's so proud. 
Pig.

These are but a few Poohisms, there are MANY, MANY more. Honestly, 
the boy cracks us up. He's like this little wind up toy on steroids and the things 
that come out of his mouth!

But he's very lovable, has the biggest, kindest heart that is very easily crushed.
 He's just vivacious and charismatic. Totally a Tiger but mixed with a little 
Pooh Bear. Ellie would be like an Eeyore and Evie would be a Roo 
to my Kanga.

Anyway, I know that this will NOT be my last post of Poohisms. For his story has just

begun.

I about died

Sunday. Around 2:30 in the morning, a sleeping Pooh Bear in my bed woke us up because he was coughing. Our little party of five were all in the master bedroom because we had company so, their bedrooms were occupied. Anyway, I reach over to where Pooh is and can feel…some…wet chunks, to put it bluntly. Yup. Vomit. It's either puke or pee. Going on, Chris and I quickly leap into action: remove sick kid, remove the other kids, strip the bed as Chris showers Pooh, who is crying his little head off.  Finally get everybody settled back into bed and to sleep when around 4 in the morning…uh oh….I run to the bathroom and puke into the bucket I had set aside for Pooh. And as I'm hurling my little heart out ( TMI? Sorry. ) I'm thinking: but I only had a couple glasses of wine! Then I think…wait, when did I last have my…??? oh no…but no, I'm no Tori Spelling <wink, wink>.  Or perhaps FOOD POISONING! We had all eaten Pizza Haven but as far as I could tell, it was just me and Pooh to have lost our cookies eh, I mean pizza. He seemed fine upon waking up but I was near death Sunday, in a coma all day Monday, barely living on Tuesday and 95% better by Wednesday and Thursday. I feel great today, like 101% better! Not sure what it was but it was TERRIBLE. What made it more terrible? Knowing that my two older kids were basically taking care of themselves. Eating nothing but junk and watching nothing but junk as I laid barely alive in the next room. They were living it up. No one to tell them no…to anything. Then I had to will myself up to take care of the baby and honest to God, I hate to admit this but even that is a blur. Honestly, if child services had knocked on the door…know what I mean? Death, people…I was dying. As I puked up air, into a bucket of stale air. Air. And the whole time I'm thinking. No more babies. I'm done. The thought of getting sick like that EVER EVER EVER again. Done. Until I'm not done. Because I love having babies and I feel way better…now…and the kids keep asking when their other brother will be coming down from Heaven. Isn't that the cutest thing? Because we had no clue if Evie was going to be a boy or girl, we had a name picked out for both sexes and so, now they keep asking about the boy name. 

My point that I'm trying to make as I ramble is this: being sick sucks ass. It sucks big ass when you have little kids that scream "mama!?!" when you have your head in a bucket while you sit on the toilet. 

So, moving on:

this is what you get when you ask my three year old (aka Iron Man)
to pick up his room. He tried pulling the ol'  "Iron Man
don't cween"  card. Ha! Wanna make a bet, Iron Man?

even Iron Man gets a boo boo.

 This kid loves to leap off of furniture. He jumped from a chair, aiming for the deck swing, while it was swinging, causing him to miss the cushion but got full force of the metal bar. Right between the eyes. Think he'd stop? Don't you know?? NOTHING stops Iron Man!

she had her 6 year check up today


She was soooo afraid that she would be getting a shot that when ever anybody in a scrub would approach her, she
would say, "no shots please". She didn't receive any…this year.  She weighs 53 pounds and is almost 4 feet tall.
Now, I'm 4'11. Do you know how much it's going to suck having to look up to her when I ground her or lecture her
on anything in the near future?? Chris gets a good chuckle over this. Short sucks people.

Afterwards, we went to a local coffee shop where she tried on some stylish hats, ate a chocolate muffin and we had this sweet little conversation about ponies, mermaids, school and anything and everything that mattered to her today. The whole time I'm eating it up and thinking: I'm having a little outing with both of my girls. It was short and sweet because before we knew it, it was time to pick up Iron Man from his last day of  summer school. Which, by the way, he just loved. We came home, did some puzzles and just relaxed as I changed diaper after diaper…yup…thinking little Evie is coming down with whatever Pooh and I had.

 Followed by daddy coming home. We climbed into the trampoline and played a little game of Horse, Chris came up with this idea. Kids loved it. Ellie, not graceful ( poor girl, she is so much more like me every day) was the first to get Horse. Pooh, he has flexibility and can jump. I sat in the trampoline but on the side, holding Evie. Come next year, most likely, she'll be right in there bouncing and jumping with her older siblings. Afterwards, we all laid down and just looked up at the sky. And I'm thinking: Wow, I was ready to just die last week. Because people, it was like the death flu, not exaggerating. But today and tonight, I'm so thankful and grateful to be alive and have the awesome little family that I have.