Crawling Toward Toddlerhood

I know toddlers. Really, I do. They get into everything, they're crazy curious, they have no sense of boundaries. I KNOW toddlers.

But Weston is not a toddler. For one thing, he doesn't toddle. For another, he's still a sweet baby. Or so I thought.

On Saturday, McMoose was working in the yard and Luke was asleep, so I decided to do some sewing. Weston was crawling around, examining various toys and tasting every speck and dust bunny on the floor. In other words: it was a typical Saturday afternoon.

Of course, I got caught up in my sewing and after a few minutes, realized that Weston was being very...quiet. And playing very independently. And not chasing any cats or pulling on any wires or trying to get to the DVDs. In other words, he was acting quite unlike himself. So I walked over behind the ottoman that he was sitting beside and found, to my great dismay, that in the less-than-five minutes that he had been sitting there, he had pulled up the grate on the heating vent and was busily stuffing toys down the vent. Awesome.

We pulled up several trucks, balls, and a feather, and then couldn't reach any farther. I'm pretty sure we got everything and I'm hoping really hard for that to be true.

I guess it was around this time that Luke started doing things like unrolling the toilet paper and pulling door stoppers off the wall, so really, I shouldn't be surprised, but really? Are we here already? Ah, infancy, your stay was so fleeting.

Thrilling Threes!

My oldest child turned three on Monday--an age I always associated with being a "kid" instead of a baby or a toddler. Can it be that I have a kid now instead of a baby and a toddler?

 I went back and read my posts on this blog from last May and I remember those days so clearly; it's nearly impossible to believe that an entire year has gone by. And yet, in the space of that year, Luke has had such very important transitions in his life--from being the only child to a big brother, from living in an apartment to a house, from having his best friend with him all day, every day to seeing him for a few hours a couple of times a week. And yet, with all the changes over the past year, he has continued to be such a sweet and joyful soul.

Now, I'm not going to lie and say that the past year was all sunshine and roses. For so long, Luke was so easy that when he reached his first boundary testing stage about six months ago, it threw me for a huge loop. There were tears--his and mine. There was bad behavior on both our parts. There were days, weeks, when I watched him have multiple tantrums a day and wondered who this unfamiliar person was and why he looked so much like--and yet, acted completely different from--the child I had known for two-and-a-half years.

But then, the miracle of three happened. I know we're only a couple of days into it, but really, for the past month or so, he has been slowly transitioning to three-ness. He has had fewer tantrums, and the ones he does have are usually traceable to hunger, tiredness, or a lack of exercise. He's better able to verbalize his plans--first I'll do this, then you do this, then I want to do this--and more willing to accept reasonable explanations about why parts of those plans might not work. Of course, we still get a whole lot of, "But I waaaaaannnnt to," when we tell him he can't do something, but most of the time, a reminder to speak nicely and an acknowledgement that yes, it's hard to be patient suffices to mollify him.

He has taken so well to being a big brother this past year. Even though I sometimes feel bad about the decrease in parental time, energy, and attention, I think that he sees his baby brother as the very best thing ever. At least once a day--and often, more frequently--he says to me, "I like this baby. We should keep this baby." A couple of weeks ago, when I told him that I loved him, he replied, "When I were a baby, I loved you, but now, I love my baby brother the most."

He's a pretty physical kid, in that he likes to run and wrestle and run some more. The best tactic to keep him calm is to make sure we're getting plenty of outside time, so we frequent parks and playgrounds, take walks and bike rides around the neighborhood, pull the cushions off the couch and jump on them. When we forget to do these things, even for a day or two, the result is that he tackles his friends and sits on his brother and chases the cats, who then complain loudly about the inhumane (infeline?) treatment.

Even as I look back and wonder about how quickly his infancy and toddlerhood have passed, I am excited about the big kid he's turning into--the kid who loves to explore and who looks forward to every outing with his friends; the kid who is learning to be more independent, even as he still asks to be carried or to sit on our laps while reading. He is such a combination of baby and big kid, all rolled up in a ball of energy and I am very much looking forward to watching him be Three.

What We've Been Doing

There's always a rhythm to the year--some months are predictably slow and others go racing past. April was one of those racing-past ones. It started off with spring break--and yes, I know it's strange that I would mark time by referencing spring break, considering the fact that I am no one in our family is either a student or a teacher in the school system. However, it was spring break for Other Mama, which meant that it was "spring break" for us--I tried not to plan very much during that week so that we could just roll with the plans as they unfolded. So for us, spring break was marked by some living room camping, a picnic, lots of dinners with friends, naps at Other Boy's house, yummy lunches, and just a few lovely, long-awaited days of being unscheduled.

And then, of course, the car accident happened and my car (aka: the ONLY vehicle that can accommodate our entire family) was out of commission for a week and a half, so we had a rental car. I don't know about you, but my car feels like an extension of myself and other cars just feel so very...foreign. I have to think extra hard about how wide to swing into a parking spot and whether I have room to do a u-turn and whether I'm fully within my lane and, and, and...suffice it to say that I was very glad to get my car back at the end of those 10 days. (However. The rental car was much newer and now, my car seems kind of...old...and rattley. Boo.)

During that week, my dad visited, and so we had another slow, unscheduled week during which we frequented Indian restaurants and parks and I got to actually run a series of errands in one trip because each errand did not require me to drag both kids in and out of the car. Between spring break and having my dad around, what I realized is this: life is so much easier when there is another adult available during the day. Someone who can hold a baby, or get a drink for a toddler, or just someone to talk to during the lulls of the day.

Then, we were home for a few days, which we spent cleaning and doing laundry and packing, and then, the kids and I went to my mom's house for a week. My mom and step-dad recently bought a new house and as soon as I saw this house, I knew I needed to go stay for a while because it is right by a walking trail. By which I mean that you can walk out of their backyard and onto a lovely, paved trail. It was amazing. I spent the whole week not driving anywhere because (a) I didn't need to (hello, TRAIL!); (b) they live in a suburb of Washington, DC and that is one of my least favorite places to drive; and (c) I was still nervous about driving after the accident. So it turned out to be the perfect vacation destination. Except, of course, it was the very opposite of a vacation because there were no breaks to be had for a week. Normally, there are things McMoose does with the kids in the evenings: plays with Luke, holds Weston, shows Luke how to cook, bathes whoever needs a bath, puts Luke to bed. Except that McMoose wasn't there, so all of those tasks fell to me and holy cow, I did not realize how very helpful it is to have McMoose around until he wasn't around for a week. However. It was balanced out by the fact that we played in a dog-free (and therefore, poop-free) backyard, walked on the trail, saw some deer on the trail, found a great park and community center at the end of the trail, went to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, and got to eat all the Indian food we wanted. And didn't have to clean or cook or do laundry. Yes, that was nice.

We got home last weekend and have spent the past week getting ready for Luke's birthday party--and how can it be that it's already time for another birthday party? So the past week has been filled with discussions about the menu and decorations and the guest list and the games. Last night, in particular, involved a great deal of cooking and cleaning and baking and cake decorating and this morning, a gaggle of preschoolers and their parents came over to play and eat and celebrate with us. And oh, what fun it was. I'm pretty sure the size of our house changes according to our needs. It seems cozy and just right when it's just the four of us here, but at the same time, it can accommodate eleven kids and their parents and siblings without seeming over-crowded...or at least, not to me. We had a great time and now, the party is over, the cupcakes have been devoured, and two happy children are resting.

Here's hoping that the rest of this month might go slightly slower than the last.

Processing

Over the past month, Luke and I have been talking a lot about carseats, seat belts, driving carefully, following the rules of the road, etc. We talk about this stuff anyway because he is so interested in all things related to vehicles, but it has certainly come up a lot more in the weeks since the crash. And I have to say, if only the world worked the way it does in his imagination, life would be ever so much easier.

Right after the accident, we had to get new car seats for the kids. Luke sat rear-facing until a couple of weeks before Weston was born and the new seats can accomodate much larger rear-facing kids, so I asked Luke, somewhat jokingly whether he'd like to turn back again.
Luke: No, I don't want to.
Me: But if you did, you might be safer. See how Weston didn't get hurt at all in the crash?
Luke: Yes...but next time, just don't crash into another car, Mama.

Every time we get to a stop sign, he says, "Stop, stop, STOP, STOP, STOOOPP!!!! There's a stop sign!" Of course, he starts yelling this as soon as he spies a stop sign and he has good eyes when it comes to this stuff, so I usually have to listen to it all the way down the road as I approach the stop sign. It's made slightly better by the fact that afterwards, he says, "Thank you for stopping at that stop sign, Mama. That was very nice."

When we see ambulances or fire trucks on the road, it has always been terribly exciting for him, but now, he has a back story for the experience. The other day, a firetruck flew by us with lights flashing and sirens screaming and Luke narrated the following story: "That firetruck is going to a car accident. Two cars went crashing in together and the Mama in the car said, 'Oh, my, our car is broken. Let's call the firetruck.' And then, the firetruck will make it rain from the hose."
Me: The firetruck makes it rain, you say?
Luke: Yes. If there's no fire, firetrucks can make it rain instead.
Me: Why do they do that?
Luke: ...because they're firetrucks...they have to do something with all that water, don't they?

Lucky

April 4th

I invite some friends over for dinner. We already have the ingredients we need, and since we have eaten at Other Baby's house for the past several nights, we figure it is time to return the favor. And then, McMoose emails me to let me know that he has to go to a business dinner. All righty, then. So I call Other Mama (because...what else would Other Baby's mom be called? And also, I'm going to have to rename him seeing as he would probably be quite offended to hear me calling him a baby. Fine. Henceforth, he shall be named Other Boy. Doesn't quite have the same ring to it, does it?) and tell her that I am in no way prepared to clean the house, cook dinner, and run herd on the kids by myself. Of course, I do still have the ingredients for dinner, so we decide to move the venue to her house, instead. Easy-peasy, right?

But then, I pull the meat out of the fridge and by the time I load it and the kids into the car, there is a decidedly unpleasant stench coming from the bag. Sitting in the driveway, I call Other Mama again. The meat stinks, I tell her, and we decide to order pizza instead. We'll be there soon, I say, and then realize that the call has been dropped. Oh, well...they're just a couple of miles down the road, no point in calling back. It has started raining, so I put in a CD so that I won't be tempted to fool with the radio while driving in rush hour in the rain. The kids are happy. The meat still smells bad, but we can put it in the dumpster when we get to Other Boy's house. And off we go.

We are halfway there, driving a route I've driven probably a hundred times over. I know this route. And that was probably my downfall. I know it and because I do, maybe I'm not watching as closely as I should be. The rain has gotten harder and I look away for a second while I fiddle with the windshield wipers. And when I look back, my undoing: a long line of brake lights.

There's a moment of silent clarity that stretches out forever, a moment during which you think of everything in the world and nothing at all. I'm going too fast to stop in time, I think as I step on the brakes as hard as I can. Oh, my God, the kids are in the car, as I feel it slow, but not enough. I can't switch lanes, as I see the cars in the next lane over going impossibly fast. What do I do, what do I do, as I feel the wheels start to slip. And then, the final realization: It's raining. I'm hydroplaning. I can't stop. I can't stop.

Crash.

And the moment is gone. The sound of metal hitting metal jolts everyone. The kids are screaming. It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant, half to myself and half to Luke. I turn to look at Luke and say, Are you okay? Are you ouchy? It's okay, it's okay...that was a car accident...just a car accident. It's okay, it's okay. I turn on the hazard lights. I unbuckle my seat belt and start to open the door, then remember reading about how two-car accidents frequently turn into three- or four- or five-car accidents in fast-moving traffic because oncoming cars don't see the stopped cars in time. I close the door. I re-buckle my seat belt. But I have to do something, I think. I can't just sit here. I unbuckle my seat belt again. Who calls the cops? Am I supposed to do it? What number do I call? Does this count as an emergency? 

Then, another doubt. The person in the car I hit isn't getting out. Why isn't she getting out? Is she okay? After what seems like forever, I see her door open and I open mine. I'm shaking and I worry I'll drop my phone. Who do I call, I ask her. Do you know who I call? Can I call 911? 

I don't hear what she says because there are so many cars going so very fast beside us. She walks over to me and says, Calm down. Stop shaking. Stop shaking. I call 911 and tell the operator that I hit a car. I tell them (Him? Her? I have no idea) where we are. I have two babies in the car, I say. I don't think they're hurt, but I need someone to come look at them. I remember reading something about how you're not supposed to take kids out of their car seat after an accident until an EMT checks them out and rules out spinal injury. Weston is still screaming and I can barely hear the 911 dispatcher. I hang up, thinking the conversation is finished. They call right back and tell me to stay on the line because they have more questions. Oh. Ok, then. The questions seem ludicrous--was anyone thrown from the car? Is anyone unconscious? Bleeding profusely? No, no, and no. Didn't I already say that I don't think anyone was seriously hurt? By this point, the other woman has gotten back in her car to get out of the rain.

The dispatcher finishes his/her round of questions and tells me that I can hang up now. I call McMoose and get his voicemail. I leave a message saying that we're not hurt, but we were in an accident. He calls me back before I even finish leaving the message. Usually, he never has cell phone coverage at work, but it just so happened that he was walking past a window when I called him. I tell him that we were in an accident and the kids seem okay, but the paramedics are on their way, just to make sure. As I'm telling him this, we see firetrucks and an ambulance go down the opposite side of the highway and then do a u-turn to come back for us. Firetrucks, exclaims Luke happily. Yes, I tell him. This time, those firetrucks are coming for us.

 The firetrucks get there first, cordon off the lane. One of them comes to check on us, opens the back door and talks to Luke, who is now complaining that his belly hurts. The firefighter tells me I can get Weston out, so I do. I sit in the front and nurse him to calm him down. He does, but every time he sees the firefighters in their hats and coats, he starts screaming again. We go into the ambulance so the paramedics can check us out of the rain. When I walk around the car, I see that there's my hood is all bent up and I can see inside.

I'm still shaking and start to feel like I might pass out. Don't drop the baby, don't drop the baby. A firefighter carries Luke to the ambulance. I am asked an endless stream of questions and it takes me a minute to remember the simplest answers--our address, our phone number, my birth date.

The EMT asks which hospital we'd like to go to. Hospital? Is that necessary? The EMT says that if we refuse transport, we'll have to sign papers stating that we're going against medical advice. I'm no stranger to AMA forms, but in the past, I've only signed them for myself--never for my kids. And Luke is still complaining of stomach pain and is getting more lethargic. I call McMoose and tell him not to go home because we're headed to the hospital. I text Other Mama and tell her that we're okay, but were in an accident and are headed to the hospital. The woman from the other car is strapped to a stretcher and taken to another hospital.

We arrive at the hospital and the EMTs help me get the kids and carseat into the Children's Emergency Department. I sign an AMA form for myself so that I can stay with the kids. McMoose arrives. We talk to the woman at the check-in desk. We wait. I call the insurance company. Wait. We talk to a nurse. We wait. We talk to a resident. We wait. Two respiratory therapists come in to give Luke a breathing treatment. A breathing treatment? Why does he need a breathing treatment? They reply that since he was complaining of trouble breathing, he might be experiencing some respiratory distress. Um...what? He wasn't complaining of trouble breathing. We were in a car accident. They look confused and one of them leaves the room, talks to a doctor. Turns out there is another Lucas in the room next to us and he was having trouble breathing. My confidence in doctors and hospitals is in no way bolstered by this.

Other Family comes bearing pizza and an extra car seat to keep us company and, eventually, give us a ride home. We sit around and wait for them to clear Luke, who by now is complaining of being terribly thirsty. The resident promised him a popsicle and has yet to deliver. McMoose goes to find him and is told that the attending physician said Luke couldn't have anything yet. The resident comes back in and says that an x-ray is in order, just in case. We wait some more. McMoose and Luke go to have the x-ray done. The attending physician picks that moment to come in and then promptly leaves to go find them in Radiology. After the x-ray, someone brings us some ice water for Luke. He and Other Boy take turns eating the ice. And then, finally, finally, we are told that Luke is fine and we can go home. We sit in the waiting room, eating pizza and applesauce. I'm exhausted, I'm anxious about dealing with the insurance, but mostly, I'm thankful because we were lucky. We are lucky.

Nine!

Wow, I've had a long hiatus from blogging. And I'm sure I'll write all about the perfect storm of events that led to this hiatus over the next few days, but today? Today is all about Weston, who has now been a part of our lives for 18 months--9 on the inside and 9 on the outside.

This month, he has mastered the fine art of...climbing. And I am so not excited about this. First, he climbed a little stool at a friend's house to reach something that was out of his reach. Then, he began climbing onto Luke's bed, using the trampoline as a step. Then, he began to climb stairs. And the other day, he climbed up onto the first rung of a ladder at the playground. So. Not. Excited.

He has also been experimenting with the look-no-hands phenomenon of standing without holding onto anything. His balance is getting pretty good and he can stand for a good 10-15 seconds on his own. And when he's done, instead of toppling clumsily over, he very expertly squats back down to the ground and takes of crawling toward his next big adventure. For a baby who is so mobile and who so enjoys standing, he doesn't much care for cruising--you know, the holding onto furniture and walking around it? He far prefers crawling as his mode of Getting From One Place To Another. Standing, like climbing, is done solely for the purpose of allowing him to reach things that he otherwise could not. He did, however, take a single, unassisted step about a week ago. I am quite pleased that he doesn't seem inclined to experiment further with that form of locomotion because quite honestly, we do not need an early walker around here. He moves fast enough and gets into enough while using all of his limbs to propel himself forward--we are certainly not ready for him to have his hands free and available to open cabinets and unplug appliances WHILE he is moving forward.

He and Luke have been playing together lately and I love watching the two of them. The first time they ever really played together, they stood together and rolled trucks down the sloped roof of a playhouse. Now, Weston frequently follows his brother around and copies him. Luke, for his part, takes great pleasure in making Weston laugh and they come up with all manner of weird "games," such as "bang on the table," "crawl in circles," and "roar at each other and laugh hysterically." Of course, we also frequently hear from Luke the phrase, "Move the baby, move the baby, MOVE THE BABY," when Weston takes too much of an interest in one of Luke's "projects."

Weston continues to enjoy eating everything in sight. We spent the past week visiting my mom and because he didn't have a high chair there, he crawled around on the floor during mealtimes, alternately eating whatever I handed him and begging Luke for more interesting morsels. Luke, in turn, enjoyed peeling lima beans and smushing berries to feed to Weston.

Weston's favorite phrase is still, "Mamamamamama," but he is also beginning to say, "Dadadada" with some regularity. I'm waiting (im)patiently to see what nickname he comes up with for Luke. He also growls and whispers and groans and does this weird, staccato pretend-laugh, this "eh-eh-eh-eh," noise. He does it mostly when we (McMoose and Luke and I) are going out of our way to amuse him, but fail miserably, and so instead of just rolling his eyes at us, he politely says, "Eh-eh-eh-eh," as if to make us feel better about our failed attempts. Of course, then, we crack up and repeat that noise back to him and he grins and says it back to us and it ends up in this vicious feedback loop of goofiness.  He very much recognizes his name and whenever we call it, he turns to look at us with a huge smile.

I can hardly believe how quickly the past nine months have gone, how quickly Weston has grown from a (not so) tiny newborn to this laughing, climbing, playing baby filled with personality.

The Greater Plan

Every time I start thinking that since I'm on my second kid, things should be more predictable, I'm proven wrong. I fully expected that my two would be similar in temperament, milestones, etc. They're not, of course. I will be eternally grateful that Luke came first and that Weston came second because doing it the opposite way would have been so stressful for all involved.

Luke was so colicky early on that taking care of him took everything I had and then some. I still remember very clearly the feeling of complete hopelessness that came over me when he was about 6 weeks old, as I stood there, holding and bouncing and singing and patting my child who was screaming so persistently that his face was turning blue. I remember thinking, Oh, my God, what have we done to our lives? I remember thinking that at some point in the future, I'd look back on that day and reminisce about how small my baby had been and how short a phase that had truly been in our lives, but at the same time, that particular moment seemed to last forever.

The phase did eventually end, obviously, but...what if Luke hadn't been my first? What if I'd had an older one to care for and entertain? How would I ever have gotten through those early months on endless crying? Thank goodness Luke was my first.

And then, there's this: before Luke was born, I had a fairly good idea of how I wanted to parent...but having never done it before, I was also insecure in those choices. I wanted to breastfeed, I wanted to be very available to him at night, I wanted to be as gentle as possible, but I worried that those decisions might spoil him somehow. People warned me that if I held him all the time, he'd become overly dependent. That if I rocked or nursed him to sleep, he'd wake constantly and never self-soothe. That if we invited him into our room or our bed, we'd never get him out. Nevertheless, I held him constantly. And as soon as he could crawl, he happily played and explored on his own. I nursed and rocked and patted him to sleep. And at every stage, he let us know very clearly when he was ready to move on to the next stage of sleep independence. We let him sleep in our bed. And now, he joyfully sleeps in his bunk bed with very few bedtime protests. In fact, when I recently asked if he'd like to come sleep with me, he tried it for all of five minutes and then decided he missed his room.

But. Weston is not nearly as independent. Not yet. He plays independently, yes, he does...but not for as long as his older brother did. Once Luke was crawling, he had very little patience for being held, whereas Weston still loves a good snuggle. By this age, not only was Luke in his crib, he was also in his own room. Weston, by contrast, sleeps as close to me as he can get. Given a choice, I think he would like to be back inside me while he sleeps. He wakes up...um...a lot. I'm not entirely sure just how often, but certainly more than Luke did at this age...or at any age, for that matter. And for all of this, I'm thankful.

I can be thankful because I've done this before. I know how fast this goes. I know that in the blink of an eye, he will be telling me that he wants to play by himself, so could I please stay upstairs. Before I know it, he will be saying that he'd like to get his own snack, his own drink, his own clothes. He'll be asking for privacy, he'll want to giggle in the dark with his brother instead of snuggling with his Mama. And because I know that he will be ready for these things far sooner than I will, I'm thankful for every baby snuggle I get now. But what if Weston had been my first? What if I hadn't had that perspective to draw upon? What if I had been navigating new motherhood and carrying the burden that the way I was parenting him was making Weston need so much of me? Thank goodness Weston is my second.

More and more, I'm starting to believe that things are meant to be.