Knights Becoming and a Lady in Waiting

Happy Birthday, Princess Moo

One year ago yesterday, I spent a few moments hoping that I didn't have the baby today.  It's hard enough having two birthdays on the same day (in our immediate family; we actually have four in our extended family).  Three seemed like it would be pushing it.  Still, I refused to let it stop me.  We were busy most of the day and, although we had done the birthday party for Prince Berryboy two weeks early "just in case," I didn't feel the slightest stirring.

We were convinced, of course, that this was probably Boy #4.  We never found out with any of the kids and we weren't going to start now.  There were a few things that seemed different.  My legs weren't as hairy (don't laugh!).  I was carrying differently, too.  The boys had all been your classic basketball.  This one was more like taking an inner tube and stretching it across my waist.  I figured that was just less muscle tone and didn't worry about it too much one way or the other.

On September 25th, I wasn't feeling too terribly hungry at dinner, but I ate anyway.  We read to the boys and got them down to bed, then I had this uncontrollable urge to clean the floor.  Down on my hands and knees, I looked up at DH and said, "I think we're going to have a baby."

I started pacing and we called our friend who was going to watch the kids.  Uh oh.  She wasn't home.  Okay, we called another friend of mine.  She said she'd be glad to come over.  She even brought clothing so she could stay the night if she needed to, although she had to leave in the morning.

I paced a little more, rocking on occasion, then breathlessly told my husband, "I think we need to go."  I had to stop once on the way to the car, then I just closed my eyes and tried to count.

I had to stop twice on the way from the car to the check-in, but it was better than sitting in a wheel chair (which they made me do as soon as I checked in).  Fortunately, once I was in a room, I was able to walk freely, which I did.

One hour after I was admitted, I said, "It's time."  My midwife, who had delivered #3, hadn't been doing any checks until that point.  She did a quick look and nodded. 

It was so-- well, easy isn't the word, but it had a rhythm to it that I'd never managed with the other deliveries.  I counted through the contractions until I could push... then I pushed.  It took four pushes, squatting, but I was the first person to see my baby girl.  At 8 lbs, 4 oz, she was the same size as her previous brother, but there was a delicateness to her that persists to this day.  She is all girl, even if she will skip the "baba" (baby) for the "cah" (car ) anyday. :)

Happy First Birthday, sweet Princess Moo.

Arranged Marriages

I prayed for boys before I had children.  I prayed hard... and God listened.

See, I understand boys (to an extent).  Although I come from a family of four girls and no boys, I always hung out with the boys in school.  My best friends were male.  Hey, I married a male.  (Okay, with a quick sidetrack, go contact your senator on preserving the sanctity of marriage.  See WaitingontheLord here).

With boys you go camping, hiking, running, biking, boating, fishing, and skiing.  With boys, you get up and decide to play outside all day, with brief breaks for water or peeing in the bushes.  With boys, you don't stress over the fact that you didn't brush their hair that morning (that week) or that they missed a bath once.  They're boys.  It's okay.

Girls need hair things.  They should be dressed neatly.  You should teach them things like cooking (I got a C in high school), sewing (I flunked), and the art of gentle persuasion (as opposed to my rather energetic style of argumentation).  Did I mention hair things?  This is from a mommy who might be able to manage a ponytail.

God blessed me with three boys in a row.  I was ecstatic.  Okay, I hadn't expected the mud, the love of roughhousing, or one's desire to pick his nose no matter what incentive I used, but I was still thrilled.  We spent hours outdoors.  We picked up worms and let them curl up in our hands.  We have trains, cars, and dinosaurs scattered throughout the house.

But boys grow up to get married... and leave you.  They don't call unless the wife makes them (I can prove this based on the males in my immediate extended family, although there are a few exceptions.)  The Bible says in Genesis 2:24 "For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh."  Admittedly, my mom still lost two of her daughters to the roaming bug, but one lives in the same house as she does and a second one lives less than five miles away.  This is a strength of daughters.

God blessed me with a daughter.  I'm still a bit uncertain about how to do the whole "ribbons and curls" bit, but I am so grateful that I have this little being who will forever be attached to me and, I pray, will one day consider me her best friend the way I consider my mom mine.

But she might want to get married someday.

Her husband might move her away from me.

So, here's the deal.  If you have a boy, roughly age five or less, who would be willing to live in Illinois (or wherever I am at the time) for the rest of his life, is loving, knows God, and has never ever been exposed to a mother-in-law joke, I'd like to talk to you about an arranged marriage.  Photos aren't entirely necessary, but we can exchange them at some point if you want.  The best part of the deal is that I'm raising my daughter already to keep her male counterparts in touch with extended family, so you can expect your son to stay in contact, whether he particularly wants to or not.

Just leave a comment below and I'll start taking applications.  No rush.  You have at least 30 years or so.   If you don't think Princess Moo is a fit for your boy, go to JenIg's site.  She's thinking about starting a Homeschoolers Courting site.

You'll find my boys there.

Time Travels Faster Than Light

I'm not sure how it happened, but the Princess turns six months tomorrow.  Six months!  Half a year this precious little girl has been enriching my life with smiles, hair-grabs, cuddles, explosive diapers, and nursing. 

What was my life like before I had the color pink overflowing my home?  Have I revelled enough in the joy of this last baby, this only daughter, to last me for the next 60 or so years?  Am I entering a stage where there will no longer be nighttime nursing, carrying a baby carrier (or wearing a sling), and carrying the world's largest diaper bag?  No more double-stroller?

Ack.  Before I muse my way right into melancholy, I'd better backtrack.  Yes, I am leaving all that, but I'm approaching introducing cereal (and maybe sleeping six hours straight, just once?).  I'm going into the new world of "dada, mama" and finding grass impossibly riveting.  There'll be skinned knees, tickle-fests, and singing "The A B C Song" over and over (and over and over).  I'll get to reintroduce the fun of Sandra Boyton books and the beauty of Margaret Wise Brown poetry.

Six months.  Have I made every minute count?  Have I made any of them count?  We got Slow and Steady, Get Me Ready, but I haven't done very many of the activities.  The kids have plenty of toys, but how many times have I been down on the floor playing with them?  Was it really necessary to always be doing something else at the same time as I nursed?

Six months.  How amazingly awesome that six months could work such a change in the structure of my family, my life, and my heart.

Six months.  Happy half-birthday, sweet Princess.