July 30, 2012
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I remember When
I remember when my belly was large with my third child. I lay on the couch, miserably, violently ill. Only moving from the sofa to run to the bathroom and puke. The boys running wild and destroying the house in front of my helpless eyes. I remember then, rubbing my belly and sighing. “This one is a girl. A nice, gentle, quiet girl.” The thought comforted me. It helped me make it through nine months and four days of miserable sickness. Even the thought of that pregnancy makes me naseaus.
And now that my darling girl is here, I know it was worth it all. But when people ask if we are ready for another, my eyes grow wide and I know that I CANNOT be pregnant again. I could not endure it. At least not yet. And that sweet and gentle, quiet little girl? Well, God has a sense of humor I suppose. I can’t help but grin, even laughing at the idea. She is now fifteen months old and her personality is clearly evident. Quiet? What a laugh; she is the loudest child of the three! Her happy screeches are piercing. And her screams? Can be heard for miles. She has a bit of a temper. Mostly happy, until you do something she doesn’t like.
While visiting my in-laws this month, I struggled to get her to sleep every night. Even though it was nearly midnight, she was still bouncy and energetic (extrovert) and had resisted multiple attempts to put her down for the night. Finally, exasperated, I laid her down and decided she would have to scream it out. And scream she did. I knew by the fact that she was drawing in a long, deep breath, it was going to be a big one. I raced to the door and shut it and ran down the hall about 20 feet to shut the hall door too. I didn’t make it in time. The blood curdling scream caught me with my hand still on the hall door. All heads whipped around, eyes wide. My Mother in law ran out from the room where she was getting ready for bed. He face was full of alarm. I guess she thought we had dropped the baby or something. I started giggling, all these people so shocked by her screams. It is comical how dramatic she can be. Her deliberate tantrums, feet kicking on the ground, thrashing about, is very reminiscent of Caleb. But the screams are much louder.
Even in the church nursery they always remark…every Sunday…how this one is so different from the other children her age. She is strong and active. She climbs the slides, the bookcases, and on the tops of tables. Though she is my third, I am still taken aback by what she does. She is the only one that I have allowed to go up and down the stairs at this age. She does it so quickly (especially going down…she always beats me downstairs) It scares me to death, but I am done arguing with her over it. As soon as they started crawling, I trained all three of them not to go up (or down) the stairs. This only worked for a few months with Miriam. Then it was clear that I better train her how to safely travel the stairs, for she was going to do it one way or another.
I remember when, laying on that sofa pregnant, I thought of how she and I would snuggle as I sang her to sleep every night. She did give me a few months of snuggles. That’s more than Caleb ever did. But at about 8 months, the cuddles stopped completley. Only one night in twenty will she let me hold her. Most times, she struggles out of my grasp and points to the bed. It makes my heart break. How I would love to rock her and cuddle her. But she wants none of it. So much love I have to give! I suppose I have to find another way to show it. How I ache to hold her cheek against mine as I used to do. The only thing I can count on is brushing her hair. This soothes her, for some reason. She is still. (and she is never still) She lets me brush it, stroke after stroke. Her breathing slows and she seems at peace. I am lucky if I can sneak in a quick snuggle, before the spell is broken and she is all wiggles again. Why won’t she let me hold her?
The car rides with Miriam are beginning to remind me of Caleb too. Caleb was 2 years and 9 months old before we were able to take the 3 hour drive to my in laws without him screaming the.entire.way. He would get so worked up, his face would turn purple and run with sweat. He would work himself into a panic and then, he would vomit. After a few dozen times of this, it started to infuriate me. Having to completely disassemble the carseat and cover and wash it down took hours. “If you vomit all over your carseat” I would scream above the noise “I’m going to be so angry!” It didn’t work…he still vomited. “Fine! Fine!!! You can just sit in it until we get home!” I fumed. Poor Miriam. She finds herself likewise trapped in the tortorous carseat. She too works herself into hyperventilation and gags and pukes on her carseat. It doesn’t make me as angry though. I bought a cute carseat cover that goes over top of the other one, which makes it much easier to slip off and wash (which I must do at least once a week…or anytime we take a drive longer than 9 1/2 minutes)
To make matters worse, we still can’t turn her carseat forward. The law states they must be one year and twenty pounds. But the AAP states they must be as close to age two as possible. At a year, Miriam was only 16 pounds. At 15 months, she is a long way from age two…and a long way from 20 pounds! I don’t think we will make it to two years before we turn that silly seat around and buy a few moments of peace for ourselves and our child.
So, she is not the quiet, mild girl I thought she would be. But she is so exactly like my personality, that I cannot help but grin. She is at a hard age. Messes, trouble. I remember this age with the others. Last night, I was bathing her with Jackson. I took her out first and dried her off and sat her on the rug beside me. She was off and crawling, out the door and down the hall in the 30 seconds it took me to dry off Jackson. I came out of the bathroom to check on her. She was crawling as fast as she could…and pooping the whole way!! HORRORS! On my carpet!! I was immobilized at the sight. She suddenly realized what she was doing and turned to play with the stuff. Before I could reach her, she had grabbed a huge chunk of poo and began to mousse her hair with it. THIRTY SECONDS. That’s all it takes for her to make an enormous mess. It’s actually funny…now. I love that girl; her spirit and spunk. Her belly laughs. So what if she is not a mild little girl? I wouldn’t know what to do with one of those. I love my darling girl.