Simian Farmer

Up for grabs

Just so's you know:

If he'd been a girl, Tavish woulda been named Tessa Erin.

We are, like, sooo done being all fecund and stuff, so, we've no opportunity to use it.

I really like the name Tessa.

15 seconds: Kiss and a yawn

Declan is, thankfully, rather enamoured of his little brother so far.  He rather enjoys walking up to Tavish, patting his head, identifying him as a "Baby!", and then announcing his next intention:

"Kiss..."

At which point he will do just that.

Tavish, unfortunately, seems less than impressed at his big brother's affections.  Hopefully this new cynosure will learn to appreciate his sibling's affections before they devolve to something more odious; as is prone to happen between brothers.

The birthin' blues trifecta

They say disasters come in threes.

I have no idea who 'they' are or whether there's any merit to the claim, but I'm currently waiting for the third axe to fall.

(We want to go down to Fire Station Number 2 and personally thank the paramedics that delivered our son at home... but not until we can have a hot shower.)

Unexpected realisation

Granny and Bumpa brought our firstborn son to visit his new little brother in the hospital Saturday morning for an hour or so before heading back to their place, lunch and a nap.

Upon greeting my son, not having seen him for a day and a half, and having spent the intervening time with an eight pound infant, I marvelled at how thick, strong and sturdy he was.  And heavy!  I could fit almost four infants into my nearly two year old son.

This Sunday evening, as he was finishing the last of the corn off his cob, I grabbed a wipe to clean his face and, in the midst of swiping the kernels from the corners of his mouth, casually told him that I was no longer going to be able to call him my baby boy; that he would never be quite so small to me any more.

I stopped dead for a very brief moment.  He is so very many things to me: all marvellous, miraculous things. 

But never more that.

I, for one, welcome our new Domestic Overlord

My wife can now claim to have fulfilled her lifelong fantasy of being manhandled on her bed by a large, strapping man in uniform.

Unfortunately, it was not her husband, there were actually six of them, and not a one had taken the time to wipe the snow off their boots on the way in.

Some fantasies don't coalesce quite the way originally envisioned.

All systems GO for...Operation: S.P.A.W.N. (Small Person Approaches Wondrous Nascency)

We're a go for birthin'. 

My wife's nethers have started telling her that the watermelon wants out the lemon-sized door.

She's at the hospital right now and I'm home with the boy and the dogs.

I will update the chronological timeline below as often as I am able.
Check back often!!

Prelude IV

My wife has injury-envy. 

She's obviously strung out and at the end of her rope.  I hope she pops soon.

*****

"Hey Si, I got a call from Michelle today."

(Michelle, and her husband Shaun, we met in our prenatal class last time around.  Their son was born just a month or so after Declan and, coincidentally, Michelle is again due about a month after Amy with HER second child.  Uncanny.  Synchronous sexual cycles or something similar.)

"Oh did you?" I replied.  "How's she doing?"

"She cracked a rib yesterday."

"What?  How?"

"Coughing."

"Coughing?!"

"Yeah.  Lucky girl."

"Um, explain that to me Amy?"

"She gets to take codeine AND muscle relaxants!  Do you realise how smoothly I could sail through the rest of this pregnancy if I were able to take codeine AND muscle relaxants?  I'd be flying!  My ribs ache, Si.  All.  The.  Time.  I'm out of room inside.  And the pressure's too much, dahling, too much!"

[That last bit in the accent of Edna Mode since, you know, we live on The Incredibles around here.  Pretty much everything devolves to an animated movie quote before any conversation goes too long.]

She continued: "And we have some Tylenol 1 in the bathroom, you know.  I think I may just cheat a bit and take some if the pain gets to be too much in the next day or so."

"Okay."  [Standard response #4.]

*****

With Dex, Amy started going into labour very early the morning before her due date.  She gave birth late that same night, almost 24 hours later.  Today's Friday, and her due date's tomorrow.

Everybody root with me: 

D - I - L - A - T - E

What's that spell?

"Dilate!!"

Prelude III

My wife, to get ready for the baby currently making footprints on her inside abdominal wall, has called in all the infant clothes that she loaned out after Declan outgrew them.

She had, like, three girlfriends give birth to boys within a six month span of our own.  Sleepers went thither, diaper shirts went yon, and a myriad of miscellany was seemingly dispersed at random unto the winds.

It has now all come back to us; the inhale retrieved what the exhale dispersed.  I'm amazed.  And it's come back washed and folded.  And Amy has to wash and refold it.  A LOT of it.  Because, she asserts, it wasn't washed in the BABY detergent; and it's so much softer that way, Si.

I bought new hangers for the freshly re-laundered clothes to hang in the nursery.  Upon seeing these, Amy descried them to be a perfect colour match for Declan's room and thus swapped everything out and re-hanged them.

I said nothing.  (Something I'm doing more frequently these last weeks.)

Mine is not to question why; mine is but to do.

Declan, showcasing his altruistic nature, insisted on helping his mom fold some of the laundry.  Unfortunately for her, this meant little more than trying to put on old clothes that looked mysteriously familiar yet seemed to have shrunk.  Still, the effort was made.

We've been talking a lot lately, Amy and I, about what sort of big brother Dex will turn into.  Some folks have said that the first child is always the good one and the second is the hell-raiser.  (My own past can attest to that, being the older of two boys.)  Others don't buy into that theory quite as much.  (My wife was the younger of two sisters and, well, they were both slightly less than angelic in their youth, but it might be safe to say that dear, sweet Amy was the lesser of weevils, as it were.)

Dex seems, on the surface, like he has an awareness of what's coming.  He regularly points at his mom's belly and announces, "Baby!"

When he and Amy are flipping through the Bible together (What to Expect When You're Expecting), he will readily point out various pictures of babies as well as the associated "mom" with each.  His preternatural image association is reassuring both for the mere ability to do so as well as the anticipatory tone of voice that always accompanies his announcements.  If he were instead pointing accusingly at his mothers midriff, baring his teeth, slavering and emitting a barely audible guttural noise more reminiscent of quadruped ancestors than the Sapien species of which he strongly evinces some of the more laudable traits, we would be more concerned than we are.

He's associated well with all the other young 'uns he's had the opportunity to meet.  That bodes well.

I'm already planning to take him on outings, away from the house, during the two weeks I'll be home just after Amy gives birth.  Some dad and son time so he knows that although there's somebody else monopolising Mom and Dad's time, it's not ALL the time.  Heck, even now he enjoys coming grocery shopping with me in the evenings or to rent a movie on the weekends.

Amy and I are also strongly aware that since we've heaped so much praise and sickly viscous accolades on our first-born son, pretty much from day one, an unflagging effort at equal treatment must be in the offing.  Pari passu praise, to assuage my occasional need for alliteration.

It's hard to imagine now, caring so unconditionally for another little thing so very much as we do our boy.  A very common fear among parents expecting their second, I know.  And against which we've been reassured numerous times.

Oh hell, what are we worrying for anyway??

We'll be fantastic parents, Dex will be a super-duper big brother, and the little one certainly won't succumb to the stereotype of embittered second child, not with the love his big brother will show him.

What could possibly go wrong?!

15 seconds: Closing ceremonies

The end of the 2006 Olympics were marked on Sunday by the closing ceremonies, which I watched from start to finish.

I made Declan watch most of them with me.

Jango paid homage to his favourite event of the previous 16 days:

Short track speed skating.