Twelve Weeks, 2.0

Somehow we are surviving in this house despite being overrun by young boys. Kyle is thriving – more verbal than ever, and become braver physically as well. He learned how to “swim” last week in the lake, with the assistance of a floaty vest and swim wings. He kicked his legs and paddled his arms and shouted “I swimming, Mommy!” He speaks in complete sentences more often than not (usually to declare “This is MINE!”) and is much less prone to whining or screaming to get his way. I’m not saying that doesn’t happen; it’s just not as often as it once was.

Kyle has accepted Brady into his life (he doesn’t know about Jesus yet), and he has established ownership of him. Recently at a kid’s birthday party, a little girl was admiring Brady in the stroller. Kyle rushed over and scolded her: “NO TOUCHING!” He likes to stick his face right in Brady’s and make little baby-talk sounds, mimicking his parents. But Kyle doesn’t know his own strength or weight, and he tries to lean on Brady while he coos to him, thus crushing him in the effort.

Brady doesn’t seem to mind, actually. He is quite entertained by Big Brother. In fact, he seems entertained by people in general. He likes to have company, and he will smile a big drooly grin when one of us goes to get him from his crib in the morning. Sometimes he is okay sitting in his bouncy seat, alone, but that wears off quickly and he will yap for attention. As soon as you go to him and say “Hello Brady!” he will erupt in big silly smiles again, kicking his fat little legs like mad.

We’ve had a lot of playdates for Kyle and Mommy over the last several weeks. It’s my favorite way of passing the time until Stewart gets home to help me with the kids. Kyle is usually well-behaved if there’s another child here, and the other parents make me feel like a human, even if I haven’t managed to change out of my spit-up stained shelf-bra cami and boxer shorts yet. Brady usually manages to keep a low profile during these sessions but last week he got caught in the crossfire and got a bucket of cold water dumped on him, which he handled with typical infant poise.

We are preparing to embark on a 3-week visit to the family and friends in CT. I am in dread terror of the flights and must conduct daily tactical planning sessions with Stewart (he reads the paper while I conjecture endlessly about what stroller/carseat/carryon combination will be the best for us) to get myself ready for the feat. This morning, after another such session, he declared “No more kids! And no more kid luggage!”

(If only we could ship them via FedEx.)

The truth about that is, I don’t want more kids. Not right now. I’ve had enough nervous breakdowns in the past twelve weeks to last me a lifetime. More kids would surely send me over the edge. But I’m not ready to close the door on my reproductive life, so I can’t say “No more kids, period.” I can’t entertain the idea of having procedures done to end our fertile years. Plus, there might be a little girl out there waiting to be conceived by us. Who knows how I’ll feel about this issue in five years? But that’s the point. A final decision right now would surely be premature.

Maybe in five years we’ll also get another dog. Frida is going to live with her new family tomorrow. It’s a trial period of a weekend that, if everything goes well, will extend into forever. I’ll try to sneak a few pictures of their land – they have a big backyard, a golden retriever and a cat, and they let the dogs sleep in their bed and they make homemade dog food every night. Frida already met them and their animals, and she was delighted. The cat is going to live with the new family, too, so Frida will have her lifelong pal. The family said we are welcome to come visit the animals whenever we want to, so it’s sort of an open adoption.

I hope they will be happy there. Every time I watch Kyle playing with them I am gripped by remorse and dread at the prospect of him missing them. I know he will get over it but I can just imagine what will happen when we return from CT and they are not here. To that end, we are bringing him with us when we drop the dog off tomorrow night and we are going to explain to him what is happening. Even if he doesn’t quite understand, I think it would be cruel to trick him or to not address the issue. Stay tuned for the story of how we made our son cry for three days because his dog “went to live on a farm.”

At least Kyle has a little brother to play with now. As Mom Underground said, they’re “good for petting!” Brady will turn out to be a good playmate. He’s very vocal already, and has a sparkle in his eye that seems to be common to second born children. A sparkle of mischief, as if to say “whatever havoc you have already wreaked, my older sibling, is about to be surpassed in great measure, for I and my second-child brazen rascalness have arrived.”