While they're part of why I haven't blogged as much lately, they're the two biggest reasons why I am determined to get some key posts up - from an update on what Elle's been up to lately to a roundup of what we did at Christmas this year (I never said the posts were timely!), I have always used this space as a diary/scrapbook of sorts. And I hate that there are already gaps in the short history of my little family.
I wanted to capture a pivotal moment from last weekend before it escaped me. But first, some background:
I am one of four siblings. Tim is one of two. I always felt that I wanted to have more than one kid, but I was quick to mentally reign in my "Oh yes, three or four, for sure" to "Two would be good" after logically considering factors like finances, Tim's age, my sanity, etc. If Wesley had been a girl, there was a good chance we might have gone for No. 3 to see if we could add some male offspring to our brood.
And while this might be kind of illogical based on my previous statement, I resent the fact that people (both those who know us and complete strangers) assume we're done with two because we have "a perfect set." As if not having a boy and a girl somehow makes things less perfect. I've internally bristled at the "perfect pair" comments, because while it definitely contributed to our decision to stop at two, we weren't going to continue trying to have kids until we achieved a certain gender or number of "sets." Three is a lot more fathomable than five, six or "however many it takes to get a boy." It's true that we're done-zo on the procreation front, but my prevailing thought on stopping now is that we have two beautiful, healthy children. We can provide for them and enjoy life as a family of four. Our life feels complete now, and while I am in awe of the whole experience of creating, carrying and delivering these tiny beings, I've been fortunate enough to do it twice without any huge issue or complication. I'm thankful for that and always will be.
All that aside, having two kids is much, much harder than I ever expected. I know I've mentioned it, but those first few months had me wondering what we'd gotten ourselves in to. I'm sure having two small children is tough enough, but we're also 1,000 miles away from family and working opposite schedules, so adjusting and juggling things have been HARD. Emotionally and physically, I've been exhausted. For so long, I felt like I was constantly attending to a demanding newborn and therefore neglecting the needs of my oldest child. The guilt of that was heavy, even though I knew it was necessary and Elle wasn't going to grow up damaged just because I couldn't respond to her every request immediately for the first few months of her brother's life.
As Wesley has gotten older and slightly more independent, things have gotten easier to balance. I can actually make dinner while he sits nearby, happily playing, instead of trying to throw together a meal one-handed while he screamed. He's got a more predictable nap schedule, so we're not dealing with as many missed naps or car snoozes to get him shakily through another day. In general, he's a much happier, steady baby than he was 5-6 months ago.
On the downside, though, because he's nearly crawling and in to absolutely everything, Elle is constantly threatened by the stealthy baby swiping her stuff. When she swipes it back, Wesley seems utterly confused as to why his previously perfect little universe has been rocked. (Welcome to the rest of your life, kids.) We know she loves him, though - she recently told us we couldn't get rid of him "because I yove him!"
I'm sure if we were to have more kids, we would adjust to life as "a family of ..." and soon feel like things had never been different. As it stands now, it's hard to remember life before Elle, and before Wesley. (Not impossible, as I often daydream of quiet mornings and solo shopping trips, but those are tradeoffs I happily accept in exchange for cuddles, giggles and priceless memories.) I'm told, and can easily understand, that adding a third or fourth kid is much easier than going from one to two. I'm still not super interested in doing it myself, but I can see the logic.
One of the ways things have gotten easier as Wesley has gotten older and gained basic skills (like sitting) is that I no longer have to juggle two baths. For the first few times of their dual bath, Wesley spent his entire bath grinning like an idiot, looking at me like "This is the best. thing. ever." The kid idolizes his big sister (although his adoration for our cats has recently taken priority over anyone and anything else). Elle kept asking me "Can the baby get out now?" Even though she spent the entire bathtime glaring at him (and me) as she repeatedly gathered up and cornered off all of the bath toys, Wesley was in absolute heaven. It gave me a glimpse of what life will be like for these two, almost exactly three years apart, as they grow up.
Although the initially awestruck reaction has waned, Wesley has still always enjoyed dual baths more than Elle, who has begrudgingly accepted that she has to share tub real estate every night. The bath ritual has become a sigh of relief for me, allowing them to entertain themselves for a while before we start preparing for bed. I try to keep the splashing to a minimum, play life guard to Wesley's unsteadiness and referee the bath toy hoarding by Elle, but it's a much more pleasant experience for all of us these days. Wesley's worst moods have always been cured by the bath, and as we've delved in to solid food, the need for a bath immediately after dinner has become vital.
Last weekend, we had a definite sibling turning point, as bath time was all giggles and splashing. As much as I hate getting covered in water, I just laughed as they copied each other, feeding off each other's squeals and claps over and over, and I permitted more splashing than my OCD-self can normally handle (water on the bathroom floor drives me a tad nutso). And then:
"Can he stay? I'm having fun with him!"
The rest of the evening was spent on Elle's bed, the three of us gathered around books. Wesley rolled around, laughing if we nudged him one way or the other, happy to be not only part of the game, but the actual physical vehicle of the fun. There was interactivity. There was a lot of laughter. There was enjoyment.
This bath time revelation came at a time when I kept wondering when the "magic moment" would occur, when the phrase of the week was "Don't push your brother over!" (to which Elle repeatedly responded "But I wanted him to lay down!").
I'm sure as they grow older, they'll rally together about how mean Mom was or reminisce about how Dad was always the fun one - I am lucky enough to know firsthand that the experiences, the bond, the friendships that siblings share are precious and lasting. These two share more than DNA. They'll grow up sharing toys, parties, indignation, successes and, most importantly, memories. They're good for us, but far more than that - they're good for each other. They will be each other's biggest enemies and biggest protectors. Their relationship will evolve constantly for at least the next two decades, and while they might not always be the best of friends, they've got a lifetime connection.
Yes, this bath tub camaraderie signaled a turning point for my kiddos, when Elle-worshiping Wesley went from adorable, loveable nuisance to accepted, pint-sized sibling playmate. And that makes this mama heart very happy.
