I Loves You Louder

Last night Bub was laying in bed with me when he grabbed the pillow I use when nursing Scooter. He buried his face in it and took a big sniff. His head shot up with a bright smile and he proudly exclaimed to me "Mommy! This pillow smells just like Scooter does!" And he buried his face for another deep breath of baby scent. I don't know if he just thinks Scooter smells like spoiled milk all the time, but the scent in the pillow made him so happy. And I have to agree, when I throw on an oversized t-shirt to go to bed there is a warm happiness when I have to peel it off to throw it in the laundry because a wafting hint of milk lightly crusted on the shirt tickles my nose. It is the lightest of scents, and should be repulsive, but is so, so soothing.

Both boys have started calling Scooter "Whemie." The only explanation I can get from them is that his cries sounds like a "whem." Tom and I have always felt strongly about our little pet names we give the kids, but I felt even stronger about them when Bub and Teebs came up with this pet name of their own. I don't think there is a more profound way to tell someone "you are mine and I love you" than to give them a special nickname. Bub and Teebs love their Whemie.

When Bub was smaller I used to write down these quips of genius that Bub said in his little two year old voice. Taken out of context and broken down into small poetic lines, to me, added this misty layer of childhood beauty. Now that there is so much conversation between Bub and Teebs with Scooter's patient listening ears, I've started jotting down their words again. Like last night when Teebs curled around Scooter on the floor and loudly narrated their interaction to me.

He loves me! 

Why he touch his head on my neck?

He touch my nose too! He hitted me!

Is he happy?

He was so excited he almost screamed it to me. The level of loudness directly correlates to their level of pride. 

Or this morning when I soothed Scooter's cries with a cooeing "I'm here, I'm here, mamas here" and Teebs didn't miss a beat but robustly nuzzled into his ear and mimicked  me:

I'm here too, I'm here too, 

I'm here too!

The subtle intricacy of their words makes me wonder about the little boy whispers that happen in the dark of bedrooms at night time that I don't get to hear. Sometimes I stand outside Bub and Teebs' door just to listen in on their babbles. And as adorable as they are I almost feel like an intruder, like those little boy giggles in the dark and storytelling aren't meant for me. Because they are sacred, the building of brotherly bonding.

Scooter is 6 weeks old tomorrow. How that is possible, I don't know. But in 6 weeks the brothers have bonded, all three of them, and I think that's important to say. They haven't merely tolerated or coexisted, they have bonded. It's what I've wanted since our ultrasound showed us another little boy.

A few days ago Teebs caught me off guard when I told him I loved him and he confidently replied "I loves you louder!" In a way I have no idea what he means. But in a way, I know exactly what he means. I understand every word, because the boys, Bub Teebs and their little Whemie, they love each other louder.

Savoring the Craziness

Scooter had his one month check-up today, with a glowing report. He's grown so much the doctor asked if I was hiding his piggy tail. And sometimes I think I should check for one. Scooter is a pig; grunts, oinks, appetite and all. I'm still in that surreal sleepy newborn state where I'm wondering how the days and nights are passing so quickly and how this tiny life that was just lifted out of my stomach turned into a basking one month old with the sweetest beginnings of fat rolls.

Slowly we are creeping into a routine. A flexible, destructible, completely re-writable routine. But a routine just the same. There are days when I feel like I'm hitting my stride and the transition between satisfying Bub's, Teeb's, and Scooter's needs feels like a seamless dance. But really our version of a seamless dance is a little eclectic, a little messy, a little flying by the seat of our pants. But we're happy.

We've been spending a lot of time outside. Planting flowers, playing with water guns, or just sitting in the dirt with a shovel.

I like our little world where shutting the door to the laundry room and heading outside feels just as good as getting the laundry done. Everything always gets done, but now there is a big emphasis on eventually.

Some days bubbles just seem more important.

Tonight Bub graduates from preschool and in a few short weeks he'll turn five. Soon he'll be a kindergartner, but to me even a kindergartner feels like a tiny life that was just lifted out of my stomach.

It goes by so quickly.

A few nights ago after falling into bed and curling up into an exhausted lump of sleepy whines, I tried to illustrate to Tom just how challenging it was to meet the manic nursing demands of Scooter while trailing after the boys destruction, while making sure everyone was fed, clean, happy, attended to, played with...but Tom interrupted and calmly reminded me that this, this chaos and craziness and exhaustion, it is only temporary. Scooter will sleep through the night, he will grow bigger and independent, he will eat less often, he will even start desiring my constant closeness less and less. 

This is not forever. For the sake of my sanity, it's a blessing that this newborn stage isn't permanent, but even though it's still here for now...I miss it already.  I miss this craziness already. I'll ignore the exhaustion...as best as I can, and try to savor all of this craziness before we move onto a new kind of craziness with bigger babies and different needs. But for now we're happy with what we have.

The Art of Raising Three Boys

When Bub turned three we had his birthday party at his favorite park by our house and he showed us just how big a three year old was by climbing the ladder on the playground all by himself. And now...just look at him now:

Tomorrow he has kindergarten round-up to prepare him for starting school in the Fall. I'm so, so excited for him, but seriously, where does the time go? And then there is Teebs who can't even wait until he's three to climb the ladder by himself:

These pictures are from Tuesday, because today there is snow on the ground and nobody is climbing the ladders at the park. Tuesday it was warm enough for park trips and ladder climbing and scraping knees:

I remember as a kid defining the transition from winter to warm by my first scraped knee. Scabbed knees always meant summer. We aren't there yet, but I have one last drop of optimism in me that says if we can make it through this weekend then warmer weather will make more than its recent lackluster entrance. Spring will come...just a few more days.

Our park trips, and any trips, have been like learning a new language with three boys in tow. Even staying home with three boys is an art form all of its own. But in these first three weeks I've learned that managing this loveable chaos is all about managing expectations. Knowing which bars to raise, which to lower, which to forget ever existed. I struggle to keep the house clean, so I settle for organized instead. I look around at the tidy, uncluttered rooms and breath a sigh of relief and ignore handprints on the wall or a sticky spot on the floor. Monday we started our week with no laundry or chores and a clean house. And that's ok. Tuesday we ignored all household duties and played in the park and bought new hot wheels cars. And that's ok too. Somedays I'm showered, in makeup, and my hair is done. Somedays I wear earrings that match my cardigan. And somedays I'm lucky just to make it out of the yoga pants I slept in. And thankfully by my third baby I've accepted that losing the baby weight while breastfeeding means wearing Spanx and hoping for the best.

The bar is always moving, always adjusting, always accommodating. It's an art, a wave, a balancing act, a chaotic fluid motion of always rolling with the punches that is also in a really achy way...soothing.

Raising three boys is soothing in an achy way.

In the frustrating moments when my expectations are hard to manage and I set the bar too high or too low and someone is crying or fighting or making a mess, I remind myself what else could I be doing right now. And the answer is always nothing. Nothing, because there is nothing better I could be doing than raising these boys. So wherever the bar is set, the only thing thing that really matters is that all of my boys are happy. Nothing else matters. All of the boys must be happy. That is truly the only bar I care about.

It's only Thursday but we're ready for the weekend. I didn't take any pictures of the snow because we are so over snow. But we'll be back next week with pictures of warm happy boys playing in the bright sun, I'm sure of it.

Our First Week With Three Babies

A lot of horrible things have happened in the world this week. I was thankful to be tucked away in our little newborn world, safe and warm and busy. We hugged really tightly this week, and loved really hard. More than once I started emptying a sink full of dishes or picking up a living room littered with toys, but stopped because my children needed to be enjoyed. It was nice to have that sort of comfort. The comfort that anything will wait except for babies.

We've survived our first week with three babies. But really they've made it incredibly easy on us. We've had a lot of help, and Scooter is the calmest baby with the proudest big brothers who are begging to love and help. I can't count how many times Teebs has cooed "I love him, I love him," and Bub wants to hold hands and give soft pats to his smooth newborn head. It's really, really wonderful.

The postpartum hormones have reared their ugly head a few times, with a few emotional moments, a few tears, but truly I can't complain. Even in the worst of moments, I have all of my babies, and this week some people can't say that. This week we are thankful.

Bub and Teebs are struggling with sniffles and coughs, and I am going crazy waiting for them to clear up. My camera is absolutely itching for brother photos. Absolutely itching. But until then, hear are some favorite moments from our first week. I know there are going to be really, really tough moments, but I hope the following weeks continue to be this sweet.

I am a Mother of Three

I have three babies.

Already it feels like he's always been here, always been a part of us. Already it feels like we've always been this blessed.

I've thought a lot about what it will be like to manage three ornery boys. More specifically how to sanely manage three ornery boys. So far I've had four days to figure it out...and I haven't. I don't know how I'm going to manage the schedules of three little boys, juggle the needs, control the laundry, plan the meals. I'm not sure how anyone does it really. But in four sleep deprived, exhausting days I've decided I'm not going to worry about it. But what I am going to do instead is something I do very, very well--- love them.

I do know how to love a baby. I know how to snuggle in all of their newborn goodness, inhaling it at 3am when I could lay them down and sleep but the top of their head is so tantalizingly begging to be smelled. I know how to smooth out their face with my fingers and memorize the soft way their cheeks plump and settle into their newborn pudge. I know how to nibble their teeny baby toes and tickle the tiniest of tummies before these first few weeks are over and they aren't newborns anymore.

And the big babies, I know how to love them too. Their questions and curiosity, their big boy hearts. Bub and Teebs have taken to their baby brother so well it makes my heart ache. Every day at least once they came to the hospital to love on him and poke his cheeks and watch him eat. I'm positive there will be plenty of time for jealousy and many years of bickering, but right now there is just a bunch of bumbling boys loving each other.

I'm still on the newborn high, and I'm just goofy enough from all the sleepless nights to really believe that being a mother of three really can't be that hard. Well, it can be that hard, but only if I focus on the wrong things. But for now I'm accepting this challenge of raising three boys and thinking (relatively) calmly "I got this."

Oh, and this is Scottie, newly dubbed our little "Scooter," and he is very, very loved.

Bowties and Cowboy Boots

Bub was overflowing with philosophical questions this evening. It was just him and I in the living room and he wanted to know everything about how I love him. Would I love him if he was naughty, when would I ever stop loving him, if he was a robber would I still love him? He playfully rolled around on the floor with another question already streaming out while I was still answering. He wanted to know if God loved robbers and if God loved all naughty people. And while I assured him that both God and I never stop loving, he wasn't shocked by my answers, just casually comforted. Then a brief pause and in his biggest boy voice one last question: "mommy, do I have big delicious feet?"

Followed by rounds, and round of giggles. It is almost shocking how big he is getting. The bigger he gets, the bigger his questions are, and they always end with the absolute biggest giggles.

For Easter I dressed the boys in matching white button downs with adorable boy ties, and for a second I did have to wonder how long I can get away with matching outfits before they start groaning and complaining. But for now not even Bub is quite that big.

It was the perfect day. I bribed the boys out into some chilly windy weather for photos, and with the promise of ring pops hanging over their heads they were very patient little men.

 

Later we had plenty of food, candy, and searching for Easter eggs, and by bedtime there were two exhausted, elated, boys snuggled warmly in bed.

On the pregnancy front, this baby seems just as happy as Bub and Teebs. Happily growing, stretching, rolling, and waiting. While catching a few bedtime snuggles with Teebs tonight he poked a chubby finger into my belly and said "this your belly, I like it." And I do too, I love it, but I have a feeling we will all love this baby even more.

These Last Few Weeks of Stillness

Everything is slowing down and it feels amazing. It is, for the record, still very much winter. but after the next couple of days there is hope that it is actually over this time. I'm huge, exhausted, most of the time very winded, but all things considered I can't really complain. And I'm loving the slowness. In a very literal sense, I'm moving slowly, and everything around me seems to follow suit. In a tired and miserable way all I want is for this baby to come out, but then he strokes the underside of my ribcage with his foot and I'm comforted that he's still in there.

Even my photographs lately have taken on a slow stillness. A slow stillness that demands to be colorless.

I've moved on from the frantic and antsy nesting phase to a more shrug of the shoulders, if it happens it happens, phase. I still have little things I think have to be done before baby's arrival, like re-potting a few plants or organizing my closet, but if it happens...it happens. And if I just take long naps and lounge around with the boys instead, that's ok too.

Mostly I'm excited for the chance to start over with another little boy. I get to love all of those teeny tiny little boy things all over again, like babies that sleep in a sweet sweat on your chest and curled fingers that look so breakable but are so strong wrapped around yours.

This is the part of pregnancy that I'll never remember. Or when I do vaguely think about it, it will seem like only a mild inconvenience. This is the part when I complain most of the time and groan just to go from sitting to standing and generally just stop sleeping. But I have these last few weeks of stillness to enjoy with my boys...who are so adorably excited for new baby.