I don’t mean to brag but my kid is better than your kid. Kidding! But yes, yes I do mean to brag (even though I know that your kid is more awesomer than any baby on the block and probably way advanced for his or her age). I kind of feel like you won’t mind if I wax poetic about ol’ Hank because I was such a negative pregnant woman that my positivity should be a refreshing change of pace.
Thing is, this little Henry boy is unbelievable. I know! What the hell? I said that about Violet too. It can’t be fair to have two good babies, can it? Maybe. Maybe if one has two terrible, awful, no good, very bad pregnancies it can be fair?
I’ve been accused of being a bad mom because I complain so much during pregnancy. Women have emailed me to say I scare them about having kids. No, no! You’re taking it wrong, I tell them. I hate, hate, hate being pregnant. I really do. But the baby is so worth it. Do I even need to say that? Because I’ll say it again: THE BABY IS SO WORTH IT.
This little Henry guy is a peach. You should know I’m knocking on wood and throwing salt over my shoulder and every other thing I should do so as not to tempt fate to mess with me. But for all you ladies who say I scare them about having kids: this is the part you need to know about.
Pure bliss, I tell you. Pure bliss. The little dude is smiling and cooing and just generally transforming from a little slug-type thing into a real person. He’s getting up twice at night, that’s it. I put him down at eight-ish and he sleeps until one-ish. I feed him and he goes right back to sleep until five-ish. He’s still a little fussy in the morning, what with that pesky Witching Hour, but I bring him in for a cuddle on our bed and he goes right back to sleep. He cries when he’s hungry or when he’s pushing out a particularly hellish poop, which is really not so different from his father.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s hard. So hard. Sometimes you need to give yourself a time-out, sit in a corner and remind yourself that it all goes so fast. This freak out you’re having is one moment out of one day. Remember to see the big picture. They’re only young like this for a few years and then they’ll grow up and hate you and tell you they hate you and tell you how totally lame you are. So enjoy this time, the time when they need you and love you and feel no shame in crying for mama and holding out their chubby little arms for hugs and loves.
However (you knew that was coming, didn’t you), these past five days has been a nightmare. Wait, not a nightmare. You have to sleep to have a nightmare. I’ve been awake forEVER. Violet had croup, which led to 102 degree fever. Sickest she’s ever been, I daresay. So I’ve been with her 24/7. She’s slept in our bed and I’ve done nothing but migrate from bed to couch with my little ones. And ol’ Hank is just along for the ride, no problem. Hanging out like a champion hanger outer.
This is a long way of introducing video of my babies. Ever since she was about six months old I’ve played this music video for Violet by a band called Grizzly Bear. It blows her mind. She LOVES it. Sometimes, when we’re at a store and she’s upset, I pull the video up on my cell and she’ll happily watch it eight billion times. Recently she’s started singing along. It kills me, she’s so effing cute.
This week, when she was at her worst, not able to breathe, very nearly hacking up a lung, I turned on the video and she perked right up and sang along as best she could. Oh my God. My sweetheart, sick as hell, warbling her little heart out kills me. Years from now I won’t remember the nightmare of her being sick, but her singing along to her jam. So here we are on our life raft (the bed) during what I’ll now refer to as The Sick Period, watching Grizzly Bear’s video on YouTube for Two Weeks:
(And yes, before you ask, we fix her hair to look like Phil Spector on trial for murder on purpose.)