The Bet

Once upon a time just before J and I got married, I ran a children's shelter program.  Working at shelter one night, a sweet little girl came over to me with a trembling lip, and arms outstretched.  She was about two, maybe three.  Poor thing, she had little tears in the corners of her eyes.  Poor little angel.
I knelt down and opened my arms up wide, to scoop her into a hug.  She came over to me.  She wrapped her skinny little arms around my neck.  And then.
BWIRLARF!  She puked. ALL. OVER. ME.  Aaaallll down my front.
Poor kid.  Well when I got home that night, J was beyond disgusted.  To say he was grossed out would be like saying Hitler wasn't the most polite guy ever.  He was horrified.  How, he asked me, how could you let that happen?  Why would you do this to yourself?
I totally laughed at him.  Let it happen? Let me tell you, I said.  This stuff just happens.  There's not a thing you can do about it, it just does.  This is just kids.  It's what happens with kids.
He did not believe me.  Seriously!  He didn't.  He was convinced that yuckiness like that was unnecessary; certainly avoidable.  Nothing like that would ever happen to him, he said. 
I was laughing again.  Let me tell you, hun.  Let me tell you, I said, it could, it can, and it will.
He was all, what?! Nuh uh! Will not!
And I was all, oh yes.  When you have kids, let me tell you, you will get puked on.  You will get puked on, peed on, pooped on. Bled on, snotted on, teared on, sweat on.  You name the bodily fluid, it will get on you, and you will just deal with it.  Because you can't avoid it.  It happens.  Let me tell you, it just happens.
He was now at a level of disgusted horror that honestly, Peanuts, should be saved for a field trip to the slaughterhouse or something.  How could I say such things?  Peed on? Him? Uh uh.  He rejected the notion.
We went back and forth- no it won't! Yes it will.  NO it won't! Yes. Yes it will.  Not to me! Let me tell you!
Finally, to close the matter, one of us came up with The Bet.
I'm not a betting person.  I have gambled once at a casino, when I turned 18.  I lost my whole 5 dollars, and never tried it again.  But I know four aces when I see one. 
The Bet was that when J had kids, all of those things I mentioned- peed on, puked on, etc,- would happen.  TO HIM.  Maybe not all at once, but at some point during his parenting career, every one of those things would happen to him. The stakes were that if all those things actually happened and he lost the bet, he would owe me a trip. To Hawaii.
Well.  Little One took care of most of those within the first year.  But J.  He is a sneaky little ace-up-his-sleeve.  He claimed a technicality that I apparently forgot to preclude in the fine print of the Bet contract.  It was that the wording of The Bet said "on".  Peed on, puked on.  Most of these things, as I said, happened fast.  Let me tell you, Peanuts, they happen! And they did.  But there was one.
One last hold out, due to the technicality. It was poop.
The thing is, even though he did get poop on him, while washing out a diaper or changing clothes after an accident, he did not actually get pooped on.  He had to have a direct hit in order for the Bet to apply, he argued.
I thought that was silly.  A hail-mary for a man that knew he was going down, and wanted to go fighting.  Splitting hairs, to be sure, in my opinion.  But. I also knew that it didn't matter.  Because all I needed was time.  The inevitable, well.  It's inevitable! Let me TELL you!
Enter Little Miss.  Little Miss of the 15 poopy diapers per day.  It's like the child was born just to get me onto a beach with a mai tai.  Bwa ha ha!   The man was doomed.
And a couple of weeks ago, he came to me, head hanging. Defeated.  As much as he held on to that technicality and weaseled his way out of it for a good long time, it's a testament to J's honest character that, although I was (very unfortunately) not there to witness it, he did 'fess up to a full-on frontal hit.

And so The Bet has finally come to a close.  And what can I say?  I told him. 

Bunny Alarm System

I've got plenty to ramble on about on here. A few days ago, for example, Little Miss turned a whole month old.  And spring has sprung, and so we've been out about collecting pictures to plaster up here. And also, of course, tomorrow is Easter! We have a pretty full day, so it might be awhile before I post about it.  So before I get belated, Happy Easter!  I hope the Big Bunny comes and fills your baskets with goodies.  (but that he saves all the cadbury eggs for ME). 
Little One is has got everything figured out.  She's going to catch that loaded rodent!  She slyly informed me tonight that She will know when he comes.  Because, of course, the dogs will bark.  What will She do, when they alert Her and She catches him?  "Oooh momma! I'm gonna pat him."

Crazy Hair Strikes Again

I hear Little One calling me in the morning.  I have not slept. All night.
I drag myself down the hall, paste on a happy good morning smile, brace myself for the day. And open the door.
C: "Good morning Little One!"
Little One: "Good morni- oh". 
Looking at me from Her covers, She holds Her palm out to like She's about to tell me to stop in the name of love.  But instead, She says,
"Whoa, mommy.  Oh, no. No come in here, like that. You go back in your room, first, fix this cray-zee hair! Then can come back and tell good mornin' Little One. I wait here."

Bringing Dad Out of Retirement

After one day of triage, I was so ready for my dad to get here.
I even volunteered to pick him up in Baltimore.  I figured it would give Little One a chance to take a good long nap in the car. Of course, Little Miss decided as we were walking out the door that She was starving.  After feeding Her and hitting two-accident, construction-lane-closing traffic on the way, we ended up getting there a bit later than planned.  A bit too close to the time Little One's fever medicine would start wearing off.
As we pulled up the the curb, Little One croaked from the back seat, "M-mommy! POtty!"
So my dad was greeted by me jumping out of the car and- hi, nice to see ya- "where is the nearest bathroom? I see it! I see it! I have to go in, can you just...you know.  I'll be back."
I grabbed Little One and left him with the baby (starting to wake up, getting hungry) curbside by baggage claim.  I wrapped Her toasty little body around me and hauled it.  We got there in time, but by then She was crying.  She was HOT.  She was red all over, Her tears were hot.  The lymph nodes in Her neck were swollen so that She looked like a crazy body-builder, with no neck at all. Just chin connected to clavicle. She couldn't turn Her head.  "ouchie ouchie Momma! Ou-cheeeee!" She cried.
I ran Her back out and buckled Her in while showering promises of home and medicine soon.  She tried to perk up for Grandpa, but She felt too bad.  "I'm jus', jus' hur-ten a wittle bit guys" She whimpered.
By the time we got on the freeway, Little Miss was wide awake and ringing Her dinner bell with all Her might.  We were in the thick of rush hour.  We were 40 minutes from home.   Triage.
I decided that we really, really needed to get home to where the medicine was, so I kept driving and hoping they would both fall back to sleep.
No dice.
Finally, with one girl crying Her heart out and one screaming Her head off, I pulled over.  Just as I was slowing into a parking spot, I heard a funny noise.  One of those noises that, even though I had no idea what it was, sent the message "oh, crap" zinging through my brain.
My dad heard it too. He turned around.  He said, "Oh! Uh oh. UH OH!!" and lunged for the back seat.
I parked just in time to see him yank a blanket off a car seat and use it like a giant catchers mitt. To *try* to contain the extremely copious amount of (gross alert) projectile vomit spewing from Little One like an open fire hydrant. 
For a moment, I just sat there.
Miss is still screaming like crazy.  There is now puke ev.er.y.where. EVERYwhere.  Little One is gagging on it.  Triage?
I'm sorry this was dad's welcome to his visit with us.  But I am also, selfishly, extremely glad that he was there. The man had a career in EMS; "disaster management" is actually part of his job title.  He went into chief mode, and I followed along. 
Little One was soaked literally head to toe in puke.  It was now cold, windy, and starting to rain.  The poor thing, shaking with chills already, had to stand naked in the icy wind and be rubbed down with wet wipes.  She was not having fun.  NOT.
Dad put her in one of his T-Shirts while I fed Little Miss and then bailed the vomit out of Little One's car seat like a sinking canoe.  I did my best to clean it up, but I can tell you the aroma was just delightful to ride home with.
At last we did make it.  I spent most of the rest of the day cleaning the car. And our clothes. And the children.  I had to get a screwdriver and actually take apart Little One's car seat to get at all the places the nastiness had trickled into.  You know.  I think that this parenting job should require hazmat training as a prerequisite.  And they should send you home with one of these:

 

Or at least a box of latex gloves.  Children are not for the faint of heart.  Or stomach.  

But more on that next time...

If Only I Could Trade Pie For Vacuuming

I'm still figuring things out. 
I feel like I haven't been getting nearly as much as usual done around here, even though I feel pretty busy.  My to do list stretches out longer than the tail of a zong (gotta be up on your mommy literature to understand that reference), and the first two items (play with the babies, and keep everyone from being killed/injured/maimed/poisoned/starved, not always in that order, but sometimes) take up 90% of my day.
So I've decided to enlist help with one of my most necessary-for-sanity yet hated tasks. 
Bathing the dogs.
I've offloaded this chore onto the neighborhood kids.  The whole crew pitches in!  Little One helps too, by rubbing in soap, and by periodically exclaiming, "great job, guys!" to keep up morale. 
Of course, nothing in life is free. These kids don't work for peanuts, Peanuts!
Fortunately, they do work for cupcakes. 

Triage

Apparently, Grandmothers leaving us makes Little One sick. 
When my mom left, She woke up covered in vomit.
Yesterday, when my Mother In Law left, She decided to spike one of Her fevers.
Yikes.  Why Little One? WHY.  Why wait until I am home with you and a newborn and no help?  And this time, we have the added bonus of having J on night shift. 
So when he got home, I had been up ALL night with one or the other of the girls. I was exhausted. He let me take a shower, and then I was on my way out the door for both girls' check-ups, while he tried to get some sleep, because he had been up all night at work and was exhausted. When I got home and Little One was at 103.6 (on Tylenol and Motrin), he was on his way out the door. And we were both exhausted.
And I learned all about the toughest thing about having two kids vs one.  It's having to triage.
What do you do when your toddler is wracked with chills in the bathtub, tired and cold and crying because She wants out, at the same time your newborn (who can't understand "wait a minute" any more than I can comprehend a sanskrit treatise on quantum theory) is also screaming and crying because She is hungry and needs to be changed?
Who do you pick up?
Who do you leave, red-faced with streaming tears, feeling abandoned?
I played this game all afternoon, all evening.  One would cry because She needed me to comfort or help Her RIGHT NOW, and Her crying would remind the other one that, hey, She needed comfort/help RIGHT NOW.  So I would attempt to tend both Littles at once.  Nursing Miss while holding Little One on my lap and feeding Her with a spoon.  Changing Miss with my left hand, my right arm wrapped around Little One's shoulders holding the story I was reading.  Draping the baby over my shoulder while I measured the motrin.
But sometimes, like in the bathtub situation, I had to decide who needed me the most at that moment, and the other one had to wait. This was the most guilt-inducing day of my entire parenting career so far. In the end, I put Little Miss in Her cradle while I got Little One dry, jammied and medicated.  Miss screamed for about two horrible minutes, and fell asleep.  Thank goodness.  So I could read stories and snuggle Little One, get Her all comfy and loved on and tucked into bed.
Both girls finally slept, and I was left to look around at the aftermath. What to do first? There was clean laundry piled on the couch, dishes in the sink, toys here and there, towels on the bathroom floor.  I was exhausted. My dad was (thankfully!) coming the next day to rescue me and I needed to get sheets on the bed.  The floors needed cleaning.  In the end, I fed the dogs and went to bed.  Because I after assessing the situation, I determined that the thing in the worst shape was Me.  And sometimes, in this job, you have to triage. 

A Productive Morning

On a day we had absolutely no plans to speak of:

C: "Good morning, Little One!  What do you want to do today?"

Little One: "Hmmm...."

C: "What do you think? We can do anything you want!"

Little One: "Mommy I know! Want go in Mommy's bed, snuggle baby SISTER!  Ok Mommy?  Lets go just, just snuggle Her a long time. Sound 'dea?!" 

So we did. 

Mommyrella

Some days, as the sun stretches its hazy morning rays through my window and the birds begin to sing, I hear the voices of my children and it feels like I'm living a fairy tale.
Cinderella.
"Waaaaahhhhh!" Screams Little Miss.  Fetch me things! Feed me! NOW!
"MommymommymommyMOMMY!" Screams Little One.  Fetch me things! Feed me NOW!
I've barely slept, I look haggard.  Sun.  WHAT are you doing creeping in my room, it is horrifically early. I have to get up and attend to the every minor need and whim of The Sisters.  Except where the H are my singing mice to help me out?!  All I have are these two dogs over here.  
"Whine Whine Whine! Play fetch with me! FEED ME NOW!"  
I spend the day creating and distributing meals of various sorts, cleaning up from the meals, cleaning up all kinds of things, frequently actually on the floor scrubbing.  I scamper about responding to orders.
"whine whine! Let me out! Let me in!"
"Waah whaah! I'm wet, help me change for the 34th time this morning!" 
"Whine Whine! Bring me tea! Sing a song! Tell a story!!! Dance, monkey, dance!"
I stir the soup pot while scrubbing the breakfast pan, ironing uniforms, feeding the baby, and belting out twinkle-little-star for the 53rd time this morning.  Mommyrella.  Fix the breakfast, do the mopping.  They always keep her hopping.
Where are my singing mice?!
MIA.  But at least I have this lady.

The fairygod-mother-in-law
Last Friday night, She waved a magic gift certificate and said "bibbity-bobbity-boo!" And just like that!
I had on a nice dress!  I had fancy shoes! I was all polished up, unmarred by cinders or anyone's bodily fluids! I got into a coach, and went out for an evening with prince charming.  Not at a castle, exactly, but at an incredible french restaurant in Virginia. Tomato, tomahto.
We had an impossibly amazing SIX course meal, in a beautiful historic building with a candle on the table.  That no one tried to throw, eat, or pour milk on.  We had actual entire conversations, about whatever we wanted! We didn't waltz.  But we did get to hold hands, which were miraculously empty of other things for the evening.  It was lovely.
After midnight when we got home and I was taking off my earrings and washing away the mascara, I felt a little like Cinderella when everything turned back into pumpkins.  I wished it could have lasted longer, even if both of us were practically falling asleep by the time the soup came.
Unlike Cinder-girl, Mommyrella has to go back to balancing piles of laundry on her head and scrubbing floors, indefinitely.  I don't get to keep any glass slippers, I never do get those singing mice.
But I do have a little matchbook that J slipped into my purse to remember our date by.  I do get to keep my Prince Charming.  And anyways, isn't it the ending that counts?  Happily Ever After? 
I get some of that, too.

From Heaven

My Mother-in-Law is here, helping out and giving me time to rest.
Of course, instead of resting, I have been cleaning and doing various projects.  Because I'm addled, Peanuts, that's why.
The other day while MIL took Little One to Her gymnastics class, I decided to print off a picture I've been meaning to fill a frame with.  It's one from the trip J and I took to Budapest last spring.
I was clicking through the album, searching for the right one, when I came across these:

These are at St. Stephen's Basilica.  It's a really big, fancy-pants Catholic church. 

It was a spectacular place. 

The pictures can't begin to show how incredible it was.  

We climbed to the top and could see the whole city.  

On the inside, the art was just amazing. The sense of reverence in the atmosphere was like a thick blanket.  It was beautiful.  

But this is the picture that caught my eye.  The one I'm stopping to write about.  

This is me, lighting a prayer candle.  

In a place so holy, with a steeple so high it must have a shorter route to heaven, I hoped that these prayers would travel fast.  I lit this candle and I sent a wish up with the smoke. 

It was a big wish.  

A wish for J and Little One and I, a wish from deep deep in my heart, heavy with hope. 

It flickered with light, then wafted up through the still air. Past the frecoes and through the skylights, charging along the steeple into the sky.  

 

Someday I will show Little Miss this picture, and tell Her about the candle I burned 

way on the other side of the world. 

I'll tell Her how my prayer made it all the way up to Heaven. 

I will show it to Her as proof.  

That prayers can be answered.   

 

That wishes come true. 

By Any Other Name

After coming to re-tuck Little One in for a second time after the original tuck in, I let Little One know She was not going to get re-tucked all night.

C: "Ok, there you go.  Now that's it, Little One.  I am not coming back in here until the morning, you understand?"

Little One: smiles mischieviously. 


C: "Ok. So no more calling 'mommy mommy mommy' from bed.  Time to sleep. Ok?"

Little One: "Ok.  No more call mommy."


C: "Ok, good. I love you, Little One.  Good night."

LO: "No call you 'mommy mommy'.  I call you C.  Good night, C."    

Couple of Contenders

On April 4th, two momentous things happened.
One, we went in for Little Miss's 2 week check up.  Where we learned that She will likely outgrow Her sister in about 429 minutes.  Ok I made the number up.  But seriously, Miss gained two and a half pounds and nearly 2 inches in two weeks. 
Because babies lose a few ounces in their first few days, the pediatrician said they just look for newborns to be back up to their birth weight by the two-week check up. Look at my little over-achiever!
I knew She had gotten bigger.  Her cheeks- both sets- have chunked out, and when I tried to put Her in Her going-home from the hospital outfit I couldn't fasten the back anymore.  I keep putting Her in outfits and thinking, "I'm pretty sure Little One was like 3 months old when She got big enough to wear this..."
J, his mom, and I had placed bets on who would guess closest to how much She would weigh in at.  I guessed close to seven pounds, while they staked their bets on around 6lb 4oz, and 6lb 9oz.   I'm a winner!
I decided to ride this good luck streak out, and put it to the test. The other big event that day was that I went on my first outing with both girls- by myself.
I took them to the mall to go to two specific stores, both of which had apparently closed and been replaced with a nail salon, and a shoe store for sizes ten and up (there's that big a market for large feet? Wow.)  Which shows you how often I go to shopping malls.
So instead, Little One got some soy milk in a Starbucks cup, and ran around the grubby play area for awhile.  This was definitely an improvement in the game plan, as far as She was concerned.
Then we drove out to the grocery store for dinner supplies, and I wrangled an armful of baby, a cart-full of toddler, a doll, a purse, and the bags of groceries all by myself thank you very much, and yes.  Yes I am proud of it.

Just Keep Swimming Just Keep Swimming

Last Monday, my mom left.  Leaving me alone with two Littles.
As she hugged me goodbye at the door, Little One started calling, "MAMMA MAMMA MAMMA MOMMEEEEEEE"  and Little Miss started wailing that I was starving Her to death.
So they say that to learn to swim, you have to jump in the water.
As my mom drove away, that's just what it felt like, diving into a cold, very very deep pool of water, and trying to orient myself.  Which way is up? So that I could start trying to make my way for the surface.  Life with two Littles...here we go!
And how was it, you ask?  Well.  Here are some fine little snippets of our swimming lesson:

1)  Talk about jumping right in.  Little One woke up that morning covered in puke and running a fever.

2) Little Miss did not run a fever, thankfully, but She did manage to puke.  In my EAR. 

3) Also (brace for grossness) just to be sure She wasn't running a fever, I checked, in you know, the usual way you check temperature in babies.  And just as I stuck the thermometer where, you know, it goes, poo came shooting out. The velocity of which doused me right up to my elbow.

4) Little One has had a few "accidents" since Miss came home.  I am not concerned; I was completely prepared for and expecting that.  But it was a little annoying that we had to have two accidents that day, and that each one came within 5 minutes of my happily slamming the dryer door shut and thinking, "finally, the last load is done!"

5) At one point, I noticed that Little One was avoiding me.  In fact, She seemed rather scared of me.  She kept making little yipping noises and running off when I approached.  I decided to investigate.
C: "Little One? Come Here."
Little One comes very unwillingly, refuses to look at me.
C: "Little One? Is something wrong?"
Little One stares at my head, cringes, hides Her eyes, and looks like She might cry.  "Oh Mommy! No!"
C: "Little One what on earth is the matter?"
Without looking, She points at my head, groaning, "Oh mommy Noooo! No like THIS thing."
This THING? What?!  Is there a spider on my head? Have I developed an oozing lesion? OMG, I have leprosy?! What is it?!
C: "What is it you don't like, Little One? Use your words, please".
She is looking at me from the corner of Her eye.  She is completely repulsed.  She literally has tears running down Her face, it is so horrible to have to look at this Thing on my head that She doesn't like.
Little One: "Oh! Mommy! Oooohhhhh.  Oh no.  No like this, cray-ZEE HAIR!"
Wait what.  Seriously? 
Since the day began early, with the puke, I never made it very far in terms of getting gussied up for the day.  But apparently, I was looking worse even than I thought. My hair was so bad it has made my daughter cry.

6) The Hair of Terror was still in effect when my husband came home to see it on me, in my sweats, wearing yellow rubber gloves.  By the time he changes clothes and comes back downstairs, he is in time to witness me vacuuming the floor, and nursing, at the same time.  Se-xy.

7) Someone, curse them, at Little Miss's party taught, described, demonstrated, or otherwise got the idea into Little One's head that it is much cooler to use the step-stool to precariously vault and perch upon the toilet rather than use Her ladder/potty seat that has been working for us so well.  Repeated admonitions have not quelled Her desire to use this fancy new method.  And then.  Just as Little Miss was starting to nurse (the poor thing is starving half the time) I hear violent, panicked screams from the powder room.  I race in, baby still attached, to find toddler, who has fallen into the toilet, booty-first, and is up to Her belly button in nasty-water, and wedged in tight.  


8) Little One tried to put me in time-out for not listening.

9) I put Little One in Her chair for dinner, just after cleaning the floor.  You see where this is going, of course.  I turned around, took 3 steps, and heard "Crash! Splash. "uh oh!""  Full glass of milk.  That stuff hit three different walls.

10) My favorite pair of earrings fell apart.  I tried to fix them, and super-glued my finger to my finger.

11) For dinner, I made leftovers.  Not true.  I made nothing, but I did mention that leftovers existed somewhere in the refrigerator.  And for dinner I personally had leftover chocolate cake.


Now on the other hand, I did manage to give the entire house a thorough cleaning, get fresh sheets on all four beds, wash, fold, and put away SEVEN loads of laundry, take all the trash and the recycling out, make some appointments, get in some good reading and snuggling time with both girlies, and keep everyone alive and fed. 

And so there you have it.
It may have been sort of a flailing, struggling, dog-paddle kind of a swim.  But I think we managed to keep all heads above water.  Hopefully my technique will improve with practice.  

Sip And See

For most baby showers, the emphasis is on the shower, not the baby. It's about the stuff!  Babies require (ok not require, but it sure helps to have) a lot of stuff.   All the baby stuff you're supposed to have is just overwhelming! Seriously, you need all your closest friends and family and some cake just to deal with the reality that your life is about to be completely over-run by strange objects with cutesy names, most of which require batteries and are as annoying as heck.
My friends and family are rather spread across the globe, so Little One had three showers.

J got into the spirit with a pink glass and pinkies up

 But the thing about being the second baby, is that you don't really need any more stuff.  Especially when you're the second girl.  We needed practically no stuff at all.  What we really need to register for is less stuff.  We have to hack through pink onesies with machetes just to get to our breakfast cereal in the morning.
A nice spring shower is lovely, unless you are in the midst of a flood, and then it threatens to drown you.  So we did not have a shower for Little Miss.  But showers aren't all about stuff.  They are also about celebrating the baby, about welcoming it into the world.  Even if Little Miss does not need another bib, every baby needs a celebration.  So when my mom and sister were here, they threw Her a "sip and see".  If you are not from a place where the word "y'all" is a vocab staple, let me explain.  A sip and see is a party where people come sip (tea, lemonade, scotch on the rocks, whatever) and see the new baby.   Fortunately the guest of honor showed up just in time.  
My sister took care of the sipping with her fantastic white sangria, my mom made her world-famous deviled eggs and decorated my house till it was festive, and we filled the place with our favorite locals and had a blast.  Even though at one point we had eight toddlers in the living room, people sort of filtered in throughout the day so we never got too crowded, and Little Miss got to be passed around equally between well-wishers.
Little Miss did get some really sweet gifts which we loved,  and which will enable us to tell Her that, nuh-uh, not all of Her things are hand-me-downs, and it was great to have a party that was more about baby than shower. If you couldn't make it because you live far away, go grab yourself a drink, and peek at these pictures.  You can sip and see too! 

Sister, Sister

TWO carseats back there!

For Little Miss's first outing, I took Her and Little One to the grocery store.  Ooohh.  Exciting! 
Ok so it wasn't the Guggenheim. But it seemed like a big step getting them both out and about for the first time.  The multiple car seats are tricky people! And the one cries like an injured jaguar at the drop of a hat, and the other one scampers about, and there is plenty of potential for things to get crazy! CRAZY Peanuts! 
Well I'm happy to report that the jaguar and the scamp caused no trouble at all.  The list got checked off, and no one was mangled by the double car-seat extraction.  But there was PLENTY of crazy. 
We found it at check out. 
It was waiting for is in the form of a bespectacled middle-aged man. He was our friendly clerk.  I said hi.  I started placing items on the belt.  I had no idea what I'd gotten us into. 
Crazy took one look at the two Littles, and launched into a ranting rampage that was so vehement that it actually had his neck veins popping out a little.  He kept pausing in scanning the groceries to scowl at me and gesticulate wildly, my bag of oranges swinging from his hand.  He was mad at me.  Incensed, really, that I had allowed Little Miss to exist.
Most of his tirade was directed at Little One.  He wanted Her to know that Her life was ruined. 
That She had been replaced and cast aside, and that Her parents would never really love Her again.
He felt so badly for her, having been replaced by "that thing", that he gave Her a free bag of cookies as he spewed all the reasons that Little Miss had wrecked Her life.  He had 4 siblings himself, he wanted us to know, and each was worse than the last, and every time one came along his world got worse and worse, scarring him for life.  Little One would be, too, he assured us.
He finished up by telling me that he also had two children, and that I should enjoy mine now, because by the time they are five I will want "nothing more than to kill them both".  And he actually said that, "to kill them both". 
What I really wanted to do was to grab those oranges and whack him upside the head with them.  But that might not have improved the examples being set.  So I tried to brush off his comments, saying how She loved being a big sister and was a great one, and that no matter how many babies came along She would always be my little princess. But Oh no, he informed Her.  She would never be my little princess again. Whatever I said, he twisted like that, so I ultimately tried to ignore him. He kept at it, though, even as we were walking away.
Little One heard it all.  She avoided eye contact, crunching cookies in the molded plastic shopping-cart car and staring at the steering wheel.  But She was listening.
I was horrified.
So far, Little One has had a few moments of attention-seeking behavior.  But really no overt jealousy, and definitely no animosity whatsoever towards Her sister.  She has wanted nothing but to help take care of Little Miss, to kiss and hug and love on Her all the time.  She has willingly shared my lap even for bed-time stories. When Little Miss fusses, Little One runs over and sings to Her, "rain rain go away, come a-mo-ther daaay!" She pats Her tummy softly, and says in Her sweetest, most concerned voice, "Oh! Hu-nny! What matter? It's ok hun-ny. Don' worry.  I'm here!"  She kisses Her baby sister on the forehead, petting Her hair and whispering, "Oh Baby Miss. I wuf you, so much."
I know that this will not last for forever and always.  I know that there will be jealousy and competing for attention.  I know that there will be arguments and fights and driving each other crazy.  I know because I remember.  I did all that with my sister.  Sometimes we still do.
But.  I also know that while there is nothing like a sister to push all your "annoy" buttons, there is nothing like a sister to have fun with, to understand you. And to cheer you up, give you a kick in the pants, or both when you need it.  Nothing like a sister to be there for you when it counts.
Only my sister, for example, would fly across the country only to send me off for a nap while she scrubbed the heck out of my house- including the sofa upholstery and the walls- and did all my laundry.  Only my sister would bully me into doing my hair, knowing it will make me feel better, and know all the right questions to ask to make sure that I'm ok.  But no, really ok.
My sister and I are polar opposites in many ways.  We have our differences.  And I'm sure I got more attention and more stuff before she came along.  But I can't imagine having gone through life without her; I can absolutely say that my life and I are both better off for having had her around.  And different as we can be, she is one of my very very favorite people, and I know how lucky I am to have her stuck with me for life.
I hope my girls feel the same about each other.
It's true that resources- including parental attentions and lap space- will have to be divided now, that they will less of everything for having to share it.  But. They will also GET more.  More love, because we have plenty of that to go around, and now they get it from each other, too.  More fun, because sisters are much better at playing than moms and dads are.  More of lots of things that J and I simply can't provide on our own.  Like someone who has been through life with them and can commiserate on having had us for parents.  I hope Little One realizes all that, or will, despite what some crazy grocery checker bleats out while man-handling the soy milk.  I'm confident She will. 
Other than Crazy, my first outing with my girls went really well.  Of course it did.  Because I didn't have to do it alone.  I had someone there to help me through it and make it fun. Like so many other times. Like in life in general since I was two and a half, it was ok. Because my sister was there.

Brought to You By the Letter S! Or F. Whatever.

Little One is a talker.
The girl has a huge vocabulary, and She uses it to its full extent.  ALL the time.
So She's well practiced, and Her pronunciation is pretty great for a two-year-old.  She still has some of the cute "w" sound for "l", which I actually hear Her practicing sometimes.  Yesterday, for example, I watched Her holding a flashcard of a capital L and repeating, "Eh-w. Eh-wa. Ehwl.  This so hard!"
But She does have the "R"s now, and most of the rest.  Except.
She has a little habit of exchanging "S" for "F", just sometimes.  We go down the "Fide" at the playground. When we take a nap, we "feep".  She doesn't do it all the time, just for certain words.
Which is why it took me a moment to realize today that She was giving me a compliment, and not an insult, when She called me a "farty-pants". 

At Least There Are Benefits

I'm glad Little Miss came in time to meet Her Nana.  It would have been a shame if my mom came all this way and didn't get to snuggle any baby.  Though she did do her fair share of snuggling me and Little One, and that counts for something, surely.
But I'm glad we got to throw in some baby love too, because it's really the best currency to pay her for her work.  And I mean work.  Before Little Miss showed up, mom helped me get ready for Her arrival.  She helped me finally set up the girls' room properly, curtains and all.

She did some shopping with me, cooked her famous lasagna, and unloaded my dishwasher about 500 times.  But more than anything, she played with Little One.  She took Her took fun places, tea partied, crafted, and cuddled.  After Little Miss came home, this became the most important job.  It was such a huge weight off my shoulders to know that Little One was not only safe and cared for while I was in the hospital and freshly home from it, but also getting lots of good playtime and individual attention.

Little One L-O-V-E-D all this Nana time and we have both sorely missed her since she left.  Especially in the morning.  We had a little tradition going of Little One getting up with Nana while I snuggled and dozed with Little Miss, taking our time about getting up at at 'em.  This has been a rough transition.  But it was great while it lasted!

Thanks for making us ALL feel loved and taken care of, Nana!  And for reminding me of a mothering Truth.  One that seems reassuring on some days and daunting on others.  Which is that even though our babies grow way too fast, they never stop needing us.  Being a Mommy is one job that comes with no retirement whatsoever.

Gathering Favorites for Me

Little One eyes the wallpaper in the powder room and makes an odd pincer-finger motion in the air.  She cups Her hands into Her chest and peeks into them.  Then She hold them up to me and calls out:

LO: "Mamma!  Here go! I picked some fowers for you!"

C: "Oh! Thank you, Little One. You picked some of the flowers from the wallpaper for me? That's very sweet."

LO: "Yah! I picked these FOR you! (Makes the pincer motion again) And! And some gu-uuuum!"

The girl knows me so well. 

Homecoming

Like I said, I stayed in the Hospital Resort for as long as I could.
The evening of my last day, J came to pick us up.  We finally filled out the name on the birth certificate, put Her in Her photo-op coming-home outfit (actually a doll dress), and buckled Her into the car seat.
It's a crazy thing taking a little person out for their first breath of fresh air.  The first rays of sun on Her skin, the first whispers of breeze in Her ears.  The first smell of parking garage in Her tiny nose.  Welcome to the world, Little Miss.

Just Before Checking Out

Taking a newborn on Her first car trip is scary. "Don't go too fast! Don't turn too fast! Her little head is flopping around! Watch out for that truck! Is it too cold in here?  The news is too violent for her! Change the station!" 
Engulfed in this gigantic car seat, She seems so tiny and so very fragile.  The big world is so dangerous, all these DC drivers are so inconsiderate.  Don't they know there's a new baby in this car?!  They should all be more careful!
But with J The King of Good Driving at helm, we did make it safely home. When we rounded the curve to our street, all the neighborhood kids were gathered in a bunch on the corner.  The were tracing shapes in the mud and picking at their zippers, as if they'd been there a long time.  I started to wonder what they were up to, when they spotted our car.  They'd been waiting for us. They all got up, jumping and waving and cheering.  A welcoming committee! 
Welcome to the neighborhood, Little Miss.  We've been expecting you.
They swarmed the car like little paparazzi, everyone trying to get the first look at the new baby.  We answered some of the zillion questions flying at us from all sides - Is it still a girl? What's her name is it my name? Why is she sleeping? Why are her eyebrows so tiny? Can she crawl yet?- and made our way through the crowd to our front door, decked in pink by my mom and Little One.
Little One came running, giddy, "baby sister baby sis-" and suddenly stopped, overwhelmed by the crowd.  She was the next victim of the well-wishers.  The swallowed Her up, passed Her around, hugging and asking Her about Her baby sister.
Finally we sent them off with promises to meet on the playground soon, and the pet-paparazzi came in for their turn.  After the dogs had sniffed Her and the Nana had hugged Her, Little One held Her and made sure all Her parts were still present.  Eyes, ears, toes, check.  She showed Her some of the good toys, She grabbed Her microphone and gave Her a song and dance.  

Welcome to your home, Little Miss.  You are very popular here.
When the excitement died down a little, we all cozied up on the couch and just hung out.  Together.  Labor, delivery, hospital, homecoming.  What a rush, like reeling a bit too fast around the curve of a highway on-ramp.
But then, there we were.  A brand new road opened up before us, stretching out as far as we can see.  Who knows what we'll find along the way?  But it's wonderful to be all together, going the same way.  A new adventure.
I basked in the newness, the sweetness of it.  I took some pictures of my children, looking all angelic.  I got some butterflies in my stomach over the "ren" at the end of "children".  I got all warm and fuzzy about it, and about being Home, with a capital H.  And then I went downstairs and, with the hospital bracelet still on my wrist, scrubbed dog poo off the basement tile. 
Welcome home, C.  Two kids. Two dogs.  Three baskets for laundry.  One big Life Highway, no speed limit.  And here we go.

Early Memories

My very first memory, ever, is of going to see my mom and new sister in the hospital when she was born.  I don't actually recall either of them, frankly. But I remember carrying the flowers, which seemed as big as me.  I remember the long, linoleum hallways and the hospital smell.  I remember that the corridor seemed huge and wide and endless.  I remember my dad's hand holding mine; my left hand.  His hand seemed very big too.  I remember him talking to me; I can remember the tones of his voice though not what he said.  I remember being excited.  And unsure what to expect. 
Little One is exactly the same age I was then.  I wonder if She will remember walking long, hospital-smelling hallways, or the tones of my mother's voice explaining where they were going, or carrying the white and lavender flowers, almost as big as She is. 
She carried/dragged them over to me, climbed up for a big hug.  And then wanted only Baby.  She exclaimed over all the details- "Look mommy! Has NOSE! Has, eyes.  Has one, two ears, see! Have some hair.  Look! These fingers tiny!" She kissed, cuddled, and generally just adored the heck out of Her sister.  She totally got that THIS was the Baby Sister that had been in my tummy all this time.  "Look mommy! Your baby come OUT! See? Right here! Here is BABY SISTER!"   
This introduction couldn't have gone better if I'd dreamed it. 
I don't know how much of it, if anything, Little One will be able to remember.  I wish so much that Little Miss could. What a wonderful welcome to the family!  But I do know for sure that those are moments I will never forget.

Admitted

After Little Miss was born and we were both all check-upped and declared in as good a shape as can be expected, considering, the medical people did a funny thing.
They said, "All right! Since this is your second baby, you can go home tomorrow if you want! Would you like that!?" 
HA ha.  Hahahahaaaa.  I laughed at this little joke, and explained, "Oh.  No, no.  I have a toddler".  
The medical people looked at me all blankly.  They must not have small children. 
So I elaborated, "Which is to say, no thank you.  I'd like to stay the full amount of time, if you don't mind".  By which, of course, I meant: "I am not vacating these premises until you drag me screaming and biting by my ankles, having broken through all ten of the fingernails I will have firmly embedded in the hospital mattress.  And I've been taking prenatal vitamins; those suckers are strong." 
Because telling the mother of a 2 year old to "go home and take it easy" is like telling a pig to go into a butcher shop and have a nice day.  And because from the point of view of mother to one such 2 year old, the hospital is a four-star resort. 
I had my own room.  AND bathroom.  Do you know what that means!? I could shower practically whenever I wanted, for practically as LONG as I wanted.  I got to shut the door, every time I peed. 
No one snored and I didn't have to share the covers.  Whenever the Baby was sleeping- even in the day time! Even in the night time! At snack! At dinner! ANY time She was asleep- I got to sleep.  Seriously! I napped! Sure, I woke up from people screaming occasionally. But I got to just nestle happily back into my pillow, all cozy with the knowledge that it was being handled by Someone Else.  This is luxury, Peanuts.
Sure, the hospital food was nasty to the point of being mostly unedible and my order was wrong every single time, but it was brought right to me, on a tray.  And the preparing and cleaning up from these meals was also handled by the mystical, magical Someone Else.  This is gourmet dining, Peanuts. 
A guy brought me water, too, anytime I wanted! It even had those fun crushed up ice cubes.  And a straw!  All my used towels went into the Someone Else bin and I didn't have to vacuum AT ALL. 
It was quiet in there.  I didn't have to do anything except cuddle and stare adoringly at my new baby.  Who was much too small and helpless to climb up my pant-leg begging for an animal cracker, or to dump out the contents of my purse.  Plus, since I delivered at J's hospital and he got to visit between patients, I actually got to see more of my spouse during my stay.  And I had free childcare (thanks mom!). In my line of work, this is what we call a vacation. 
Besides which, I thought it was the considerate thing to do, to give Little Miss a couple of days to recover from being suddenly expelled from a warm, quiet existence into the bright, noisy world before shocking Her system with the exponentially noisier, more chaotic world of toddler, two dogs, and constantly running appliances. 
I did not watch TV, I did not bring my laptop.  I did not read a book, or even a magazine.  I slept, and I chatted with visitors, and I adored my baby, and that is it.  I soaked up all those precious moments with Her, where it was just us two, string-free, getting to know each other.  Of course, I did miss my Little One, and the vortex of energy She travels with.  By the end of my stay, I was ready to go home, show Little Miss around, and start into our new family life. 
I'll miss those crazy medical folks a bit, though.  They are so funny.  Always joking around!
When we left, do you know what they said to me?  They said: "Make sure you sleep whenever She does, and take care not to lift anything heavier than the baby".   HA HA!  Those sillies!