Make sure you pack the raisins, toy dinosaur, and diaper cream!
I knew a lot more about having kids before Josiah was born. I think this happens in most families. Your friends have a baby and turn into zombies. Why can’t they just let her cry? The little boy on the next pew cannot sit still during the service, but they could take him out. I could go on.
Then Josiah came along. We were not expecting him, and were more than 15 weeks along when we found out he was coming. We were delighted, and surprised, and elated, and … surprised. And intimidated. And excited. Did I mention surprised?
Then he was born. Married couples tell you when you get engaged that you have no idea how selfish you are before you get hitched and start living with that other person. Well let me tell you, that’s not the half of it. You don’t find out for real until a baby comes along. But I’m going to stop there and plead the fifth.
Life with Josiah was really hard at first. He screamed. You’re thinking “Of course, he was a baby.” There were probably moments when I thought something more like “demon from hell.” (And if you don’t have kids and read that, I know what you’re thinking. Just wait.) Josiah would scream. Maybe he’s hungry? Josiah would eat, and scream. Maybe he’s sleepy? Rock the baby—the baby who is screaming. Maybe he’s hurt? Maybe he wants a song? Maybe…
I think he was probably eight months old when we thought he swallowed a bobby pin, so just to be sure he was OK they did an X ray. There was no bobby pin. But he did have a ball of gas in his tummy the size of a softball!!!
Trust me, it isn’t like we had never burped him or given him has medicine. But our doctor (who was awesome, and we wish she had moved to Canada with us) let us know he couldn’t really OD on gas medicine… Josiah definitely screamed after that, but a lot less!
So when Charity came along, we thought we were broken in. Sweet little Charity. So different than Josiah. Lungs at least as powerful as her big brother. We will never forget the first time she showed her temper. I think it was when Mommy told her no. Her face turned the color of the Sooners’ endzone, her clenched fists white like snow, and the look in her eye and the sound of her war cry communicated one thing: “KILL!!!”
But usually she’s the sweetest little girl you can possibly imagine, wearing pink dresses and singing and playing with dolls and hunting bad guys with a sword and a NERF gun with her brothers.
Amos. Amos is different. Each of our children is unique, and wonderful. But Amos has two older siblings to look out for him, to cover for him, or to blame if he gets caught. And we almost lost him. He quit breathing about an hour after birth and spent the next week or so in NICU. So he gets away with a lot, and milks it for all it’s worth. It helps that he is perhaps the most affectionate and compassionate. He will come across the room and kiss your foot if he sees you stub your toe!
There is so much I could say about each of our children, and even more to say about how they interact with one another and with us to form our wonderful family. I love them all! And I look forward to meeting their newest sibling in February and getting to know another awesome person.
Having kids is an adventure. It means lots of sleepless nights, runny noses, dirty diapers, disgusting public washrooms, legos on the floor in the dark, buying stock in Bandaids, crayons in the dryer, inkpens in the washer, torn books, and mysterious stains. It means laughs and hugs and kisses and crying and worries and fights. It means bursting pride and shameful embarrassment, lots of Eric Carle books, and the most annoying and distracting car “music” ever concocted.
But I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Buckle up, babe. And won’t it be nice when this one is potty-trained??