Porter at 2 months

Porter, today you are two months old. You started smiling like crazy a few weeks ago, just after I uncertainly reported to the pediatrician that of course you were smiling and interacting with us. You waited a week before really confirming that you were capable of that. Now we talk to each other every day, though you still show almost equal interest in the people in the paintings over my bed. Never fear, I know that in no time at all you will be b-slapping us on that same bed right alongside your brothers. Below are photos from your first month. Look how much you have changed!


You have been our easiest baby so far. Everyone remarks upon what a quiet and content little baby you are. When you do cry, you do it properly, with tears and loud yellings. I pointed out to Daddy that you are our earliest tear-producer and he pointed out that you are probably our longest left ignored while crying. Don't worry; that does not mean that you are not my current favorite because you totally are. You are growing really well, too, so that counts for a lot right off the bat. You weighed 12.4 lbs this morning with your diaper and onesie on. Andrew also grew well but you have him beat in that you do not require that we hold you all night to keep you asleep. It is true that you don't really enjoy driving, but other than that, you put up with your brothers getting right up in your face and exclaiming at top volume things like, "AWWW! HE'S SUCH A CUTIE!" (Will) or
"BOO!" (Andrew); you will tolerate your baby chair in the kitchen long enough for me to generally get breakfast moving; you even enjoy taking showers. (I hope that the way Andrew is blocking your face from view in this photo does not come to represent how you feel about your place in the family! Just remember, it builds character!)

It is hard to believe that two months ago today at this moment the least confident anasthesiologist on the planet, face contorted in a mask of fear and bewilderment, was placing my epidural for the second time and you were just a few hours away from arrival. Porter, you are adorable and perfect and from the moment I held you, I knew I would never trade you for any daughter in the world. I knew when I was first pregnant with you that you specifically were supposed to be in our family. We are so blessed that you are. Please don't b-slap me later, but even if you do, I won't forget that feeling.

Love,
Mom
ps, we will take some higher quality shots of you today and better capture that cute half smile that you've got that melts my heart. Love you forever.

Gifts

"If ye being evil know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Father in Heaven give good things to them that ask him?"

Someone mentioned this scripture in a lovely talk in church today and I have been thinking of it ever since, though in a slightly different context. We have recently had some set-backs with Will and our hopes for his eating. We removed the ng tube in an effort to get him to develop normal biorythms with regard to food and to learn appropriate self-feeding techniques, two things he has been deprived of since tube placement at 14 months of age. For about a month, he did really well and I thought we had proved all the doctors wrong about Will. He was able to take in more calories by mouth than he had tolerated with the tube (he would vomit up the tube feeding sometimes as much as two or three times a day and always at least once a week) and some days he would even exceed his caloric intake requirements. But in the last few weeks his eating broke down, he began vomiting again, we were told that he is allergic to a broad spectrum of basic foods and his weight simply plateaued where it had been when we began our experiment. I realized, when I found myself fighting my poor little two year old every day (I reminded myself of Jillian Michaels at mealtimes, which, incidentally, lasted easily 90 minutes), that our experiment needed to end for all our emotional and physical health. Will needed help to gain enough weight/inches to catch up and at least be at the bottom of the charts.

Will's health has been a long-standing source of stress and anxiety for our family and I have often envied those around me who seemed have it so much easier than I do. (I know, of course, that so many people have far worse health concerns with their children and I must sound like such a complainer to go on the way that I do.)Once another mother commented on the fact that her 14 month old was the same height as my 2 and four month old and I felt a resentment against her for weeks thereafter. Who, after all, makes that kind of comment about a little child whose ng tube taped to his face makes obvious that there is a health issue present? I suppose I am still irritated about it.

It has only been recently that I have realized that Will's health problems will most likely be long-standing and that they will require a lot of effort and money to even just ameliorate, and that our family needs to adjust accordingly. This trial that we had convinced ourselves, after we were told it was not Cystic Fibrosis, would be grown out of soon enough, is going to be much longer and more difficult than expected.

Often when we talk about trials, we take comfort in believing that they are blessings in disguise, sent to us from a loving Heavenly Father and perfectly taylored by him to help us in whatever way He sees we stand in need. I am not sure that is true, and fairly sure that it is not always true, but I think the best arbiter of whether a given trial was sent from God is the person bearing the burden.

What I do know is true is that with every hardship that befall us, He is there to bless us and help us through, and that these trials really always are opportunities for us to grow as people. That growth can take many forms, but I suspect that it always includes an expanded charitable instinct. After all, what He offers us in these dark times is his perfect love. It seems natural that, when properly endured, our trials help us to develop some love of our own.

It does not matter to me whether God plagued us with Will's health issues in order to bless us and I tend to believe that He did not. But I have seen how it all has created some positive attributes in our home. Andrew is a more protective older brother, Will is the bravest, toughest kid I have ever seen, Brigham and I feel closer as a couple as we struggle to find answers and solutions, our attitudes about eating and exercise have changed and I have experienced a new sense of responsibility and accountability as a mother and a determination to take charge of all things and get them done correctly rather than let the details slip through and fall where they may. I have been learning to prioritize the most important things and let go of those little concerns that eat away so much of our time and energy but that really don't matter at all. My prayers have taken on a new fervor and all of this increased looking towards God has awakened me to the other aspects of our home life that have been neglected (FHE, for example). Brigham has eaten dinner with us during the week only twice since we have lived here and all of this exhaustion that has come with Will's needs has made us realize that we cannot maintain this lifestyle. Our lifestyle, which is best characterized by "single mother with a government-level income in a really expensive area," is far from ideal. Brigham is missing out on these early years with our kids, and I am, too, to a degree because I allow the stress of it all to interfere with my appreciation for its beauty. We would probably continue on in this way indefinitely, as this is how most people out here live, but for Will's health and our dawning realization that a lot of things need to change to help get him better.

Will's health has been a hardship of origin unknown, but it has been surrounded by gifts that I can feel are from God.

Hello, I love you won't you tell me your name

Most of the events in my life that I expected to feel surreal--stepping off the plane as a missionary, stepping off again as a returned missionary, getting married etc--never really did. Having a baby, on the other hand, did feel surreal, every single time.

I woke up in the middle of the night on Sunday (it was actually 4:00 am or so) when my water broke. It was a slow but unmistakable leak. I can't remember seeing Brigham so nervous. He was tearing around the house rather incoherantly while I sat and waited for my mom to arrive to stay with the boys. The timing was a little bit bad since the kids were leaving Monday with my parents, sisters and kids for Florida and this would mean that I would not be able to spend the morning with them, but I was also glad to not have to be induced later in the week.

I usually describe having a baby as simply going to the hospital and watching tv while eating popsicles for a few hours. Not so this time. Despite getting an epidural in fairly short order, I continued to experience a lot of pain. Even the epidural placement did not go smoothly and easily as in the past. The woman possessed none of that confidence bordering on supreme indifference that I find so attractive in a doctor. She had to try a couple of times before it was all in place, and even then I had to keep rolling from side to side to evenly distribute the feeling of numb paralysis. The paralysis affect was even more pronounced, too, than I had remembered. I truly could not move my legs and my irrational fears of permanent paralysis only intensified when the nurses and doctors informed me with furrowed brows that they supposed it was not utterly unheard of to be so numb.

My contractions slowed in frequency, though not in intensity, and Brigham thought he had a now or never moment to grab something to eat. In the 15 minutes he was gone, the nurses gave me pitocin and I began experiencing contractions so unrelentinga nd painful that I cried. Suddenly a few nurses came rushing into my room and starting adjusting things while one of them plunged a syringe into my thigh. The doctor called out, in a back-fired attempt to reassure me: "Don't worry, the baby has recovered!" Recovered from what, lady? The doctor checked to see how far I had progressed and remarked in surprise, "Wow, he has a lot of hair!" Apparently, I went from 4 cm to ready to push a baby that was already visible in about 15 minutes. The nurses paged Brigham and two pushes later, I was holding my newest little boy.

He looked so much like Will and Andrew that it was startling. He even sounded like them. He has long eyelashes just like Andrew did. He has a loud, strong cry. I felt so worried when they first handed him to me because he was wheezing and purple, but he quickly pinkened up and began really yelling. He is so sweet and cuddly and I feel already that he belongs with us forever. Now we just need to figure out what to call him.

the one where i review the baltimore aquarium

and give it a B. It is cool, but for the $$$, I did expect a bit more. Caveat: I am rather demanding.
The jellyfish were one of the best things at the aquarium, in Brigham's and my opinion. They are a not a permanent exhibit, though, so if you do want to go, I suggest you do it while your dollar buys the jellyfish, too.
If I were to ever again trust myself with caring for living things besides kids, I would want an aquarium of jellyfish that we kept in a darkly lit room. It was that cool.
We also saw the Dolphin Show, which was an extra $15 or so for the three oldest of us, and while it left something to be desired, I do feel that it is a necessary part of the Aquarium package considering the price of the GA ticket.
The "Australia Room" exhibit reminded me a lot of the National Zoo's Amazonia house, but it was still fun.

I think that the next time we visit Baltimore, we will do it when the weather is warmer and we can ride on the water taxis and take tours of the submarine and ship we saw (and which you can see in some of the photos of us in the cafeteria) docked outside.

I would like to remember that Brigham and I laughed all the way home listening to Jim Gaffigan on our ipod. The boys watched Scooby in the back. We even got home in time to attend a friend's turkey mole party and let the boys run crazy in their house.

It was a great first day to the new year.

Ringing in 2010

I read that the way you spend your New Year's Eve is the way you will spend your year. So I suppose I can look foward to eating in unnaturally and unbearably freezing cold restaurants (that is Brigham's coat wrapped around Will, not a napkin) where waiters throw food at our faces. And Andrew will deal with quite a bit of frustration at not catching it.
On the other, less literal, hand, perhaps it means that we will go to a bit of expense and trouble
to try to get out of the house
and do memorable things
which we will not capture well with our camera.

I am hoping that my self-help books will have some influence this year, too.

Broken dish, broken heart

When I was showing Andrew these photos of Christmas Eve the other day, his little eye immediately fixated upon that small Christmas-themed candy dish on the coffee table. And he got really really sad.

One night shortly after Christmas, before we had put any of the accoutrements away, Andrew (who takes after me in the crazy gene) became so enraged about something (I wish I could remember what) that he picked up that dish and slammed it back down on the table, breaking it. I like to handle such things by massaging their guilt muscle a bit. A child's guilty conscience is a mother's best asset. So I acted really sad. I quietly picked up the pieces and spoke softly about how special that candy dish had been. (This was actually sort of true. After all, how often do you find a really cute Crate & Barrel dish for $1 at a second-hand store? Even if you don't live the sort of life in which the dish would ever contain something besides tiny plastic star wars guns.)

Andrew wanted to see if we could glue it back together, but I honestly replied that we could not. He suggested that we could just buy a new one, and I honestly told him that it had been made several years ago and we would probably never see the same one for sale at a thrift store again. That was when he totally fell apart. He sobbed as if something living and beloved had just died. I decided he had faced the consequence of his actions enough, and now was time for a little measured perspective. But despite all my reassurances that it was only a dish, Andrew would not be comforted. "I loved that candy dish so much! It was my favorite! I am so so so sorry, Mom! So sorry!" More sobbing.

He seemed to calm down a bit after I got him in the tub and I thought the whole thing was behind us. Our nightly ritual is to put the boys in my bed in their little towels where they, after feeling sufficiently warmed up, jump around naked while I get their pjs and books ready. Then the boys get dressed and we settle in and read for a while. I left Andrew in my room while I went back to get Will out of the tub. I heard a sudden cry from my bedroom followed by loud sobbing. I rushed back in, sure that Andrew had suffered some sort of physical injury. But, of course, he was crying again because he had remembered that candy dish and was mourning it. His tiny heart was broken and he apologized continually. I think it might be the biggest regret of Andrew's little life.

And it makes me think of a quote I associate with General Conference:
"For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"

Andrew, may all your regrets be as unreasonable and exaggerated as the one you still suffer for that broken candy dish.

Christmas Day

christmas morning

Buying for Christmas was easy this year and was brought to us courtesy of local thrift stores and Walmart. The theme: violence. The Star Wars enthusiasm generated by multiple viewings of the original three on our long Thanksgiving Trek had not abated and basically dominated our gifts this year.
Andrew got his highly-demanded booster seat. (Isn't his excitement palpable? I really captured the moment!) He needed it anyway and he has loved it every single time we get in the car. He loves it so much that I don't regret the little reading lights, though they are slightly annoying and slow Will's departure to sleep when driving home at night. They also sometimes trick me into thinking I am being pulled over.
I just love photos of kids gathered around a parent to assist them in opening presents.
Walmart guns. Still not forgotten.
Will, opening Andrew's gift to him (R2D2) with joy. Andrew was even more excited.
Spontaneous hug of thanks restaged so I could photograph it.The only thing Will asked for when seated upon Santa's lap (he was the most realisitic-looking Father Christmas I had ever seen, but when I asked him what Will had asked for he looked at me with utter surprise and said that he had no idea. But he knew his business; he had Will repositioned so as to minimize the appearance of his tube in the photo we paid a thousand dollars for.)
So, though they were the most expensive gifts and not easy to find in this warped age of obsession with Anakin and the Clone Wars, those movies had to get under our tree.
It is all they want to watch on our family movie nights.

I was nervous about Christmas morning this year because I 1) really wanted the kids to be happy and 2) didn't want to have to confront any issues with my own mothering if I were to see displays of ingratitude and spoiled-kid syndrome. I think about Harry Potter way too much to not have images of Dudley on his birthday prick my heart. But there was none of that, and the kids were genuinely joyful and excited. I wanted it to be magical and it was, for all of us.

Christmas Eve 2009

In reverse chronological order, because that is how they uploaded. This is how we set up the presents for the boys. Each one had his own little seat; Will's was a chair we already had, while Andrew's was his new booster seat. He needed one anyway, but I had countered his pleas by telling him he was not big enough yet. And I bought the slightly more expensive one that featured little reading lights. I made them those little capes, which is an incident worthy of its own blog post someday. The kids wear them just about every day, to my immense gratification.
This is how the room looked when we went to bed that night at 1 am or so, after wrapping presents and sewing capes (Brigham rethreading the machine I can barely operate) and watching Its A Wonderful Life. I realized that Brigham and I differed with regard to the importance of Santa. It did not even occur to me to try to provide evidence of the man or give him any credit for the gifts we had selected. But Brigham saw that there was magic in Santa for the boys and he worried about whether the boys would be troubled or alerted to suspicion by Santa using the same wrapping paper we did. He resolved it by telling the kids that we left out paper for Santa to use.
Will had fallen asleep in the car and the way home from our DC adventures, so he was unable to open a Christmas Eve present. I chose a transformer for Andrew to open. He was happy with it at first.
I probably should have just taken a photo to document the huge tantrum he threw when the toy proved impossible even for Brigham to transform without heavy reliance upon the directions.

Christmas Eve Festivities 2009

We held our 3rd annual Christmas in Washington on Dec 24th instead of the Saturday before Christmas because of the blizzard. First up: Botanical Gardens train and tree display.
My Dad and Andrew.
There was a tunnel with little windows looking into tiny rooms all decked out in miniature Christmas scenes. Will loved it. He also insisted on wearing pjs that day instead of clothing because he had received so many compliments while wearing it to a nighttime Christmas party.

The pond in front of the Gardens was totally frozen, so the first thing we did when we parked was go sliding around. The kids loved it.
We maintained the Christas Eve tradition of going out to eat ethnic food (tends to be less busy), but broke with the Indian place that gave a few of us food poisoning last year. Kazan was ok, but I think I will find another restaurant for next year. Will insisted on sitting on Nana's lap for the duration of the meal, so we failed to get a family photo.
After the Botanical Gardens, we headed to the National Gallery because I mistakenly thought there was a Christmas card display there. It was at the portrait museum. So we just saw the Virgin and Child paintings that are always there. The place was beautifully decorated, too. And this was actually a spontaneous hug.

Will goes to the hospital for a little scan

This is Will right after being tightly wrapped in what Fx Hspt styles a "papoose" to prevent body movement during his stomach scan (last November). He wasn't too happy about it. The tech was even more unhappy when I unwrapped him after Will agreed to remain still on his own. The tech told me it would never work and the whole 3 hours would be a waste of time. But he was wrong.
Despite being bitterly disappointed by an empty Scooby Doo dvd box and having to watch Sponge Bob instead, he took it like a man would take such a blow and went to sleep.
He looked so cute on that table, wearing my old shirt and his new Scooby sticker. He even got an extra one to give to Andrew.

This little episode demonstrates so much about Will right now. He stands up for himself (refusing to be constricted), but is reasonable and negotiable (agreeing to lie still on the table), will adjust to what is required (will fall asleep instead of tantruming, which is what I wanted to do after the many many fumblings on the part of the hospital (not knowing how to perform the procedure, delaying it by over an hour; having me bolus Will bc they didn't feel comfortable (??); promising him a movie they did not have (yes, I rank that right up there with having to call the dr to figure out details that should have been known by the time we arrived).
But it all worked out and I read Real Simple Magazine while he slept and got scanned. He lay still, even when awake, and the scan was perfect.