And then.

And then today was a good day. It seems that when I get on here and explode with frustration about the way things are going with Elias, we suddenly have good days. And today--well, this morning--was good.

Playing outside in the cooler weather, time in the garden, time in the kitchen. A welcome break from what seems like our everyday chaos.

And at the heart of the issue-----

My baby boy Elias is not my baby anymore. He is turning into a Kid, with scuffed up knees and an opinion about everything. Skinny legs curled up on his booster, reaching an equally skinny arm out to my plate for more roasted zucchini or watermelon, noodles plastered on his bare chest from an unsteady fork. A daydreamer who puts a bucket full of rocks over his shoulder, waves, and says "bye-bye", like Daddy with his lunch box every morning. Boisterous at home, oppositional, and then polite-- sweet, even shy in front of others sometimes. A quivering lower lip when he's dropped off at the church childcare. I see my baby the most then, in that lip. In the teary blue eyes that are so like mine. In his wanting to be held, either to see more clearly, but mostly to be close, to feel safe. He's so long now that I can't quite hold him as carelessly.

Our babies are not our babies for long. This is a truth I know with my head but not my heart.

a monday morning haiku

gray skies, falling rain

the early morning sunrise

obliterated

Sooner or later.

I guess it was bound to happen, sooner or later. If you were outside my house right now, you'd hear two boys screaming in their beds. If you were here ten minutes ago, you would have heard me screeching "Don't you ever bite me again!"

Sigh.

I really don't know what to do with Elias lately. Most of the time, any activities or play that we try to do together ends in tears and meltdowns. It feels like he's totally out of control, an inward mass of chaos that manifests in freak-outs and sadness and naughtiness. To say he's "oppositional," as one book advises, is an understatement.

It really does bring me to tears, because I feel so helpless, so much a failure. As much as I know that I have little ability to change his behavior (or the emotions that cause it), it makes my home feel like a war ground, a place of unrest. And if you know me, you'll know that this is the one thing that I can't really handle or even understand in my home. I've prayed for peace for our home more than anything, before Elias was even born. Before we even moved here. I've always wanted my house to be a place of peace and rest, for us and others than come into it. And right now, it isn't. At all. And it makes me sick to my stomach.

More than anything, though, I want to penetrate deep inside Elias, and target whatever it is that is making him so upset. I want to help coax that unrest out of him, so that he can be my happy boy again.

I know part of it is that we have Josiah now. Mommy isn't all his anymore. I know that this is a good thing, for both of us. But how does one interact with a child whose world is upside down? This is a common saying, but think about it. He doesn't understand what is going on around him.

Growing up is chaotic. I know this, and so do you. We've all gone through it. But most of us don't remember this early part of maturing. It reminds me of my high school years. What a chaotic, messy time. Life seemed so dark, so unknowable. So painful. And although E doesn't have the words to express that, is that how he feels? Nothing is how it should be. He cannot do the things he wants to do, and he can't express his ideas in a constructive way, that would help him change his world. What verse is it in the Bible....perhaps in Galations...something like, when we were young we were as slaves, we were carried where we did not want to go. All day long Elias's wants are not matched up with his "allowed-to-do's". And his emotional capacity is lacking in the means to handle that fact.

This post is meandering now. Both boys are asleep now, but there is not much hope in me for a different boy waking up than he who just now went to sleep. So I will just get the bread started. Finish the laundry. And pray for my boy, for peace in our home.

past summers

I miss California more in the summertime, I think because the feeling of the sun on my skin brings back memories of all those days I lived under the hot California sun. As hot as it is here, the feeling of sun on the skin is something I don't get tired of. It brings back the most vivid memories: the sound of the ocean in the background, the lumpy sand under my towel, the muffled voices of nearby bathers. It's almost like muscle memory... images, sounds, smells so vivid it feels like I'm there.

The discrepancy between the memories and my current reality is almost laughable. Then: a long-haired beach bum, driving to Newport with a best friend, windows down, radio up. A whole day spent in the sunshine, in the waves. A drive home during rush hour (we never managed to leave at the right time...), wet hair dried quickly in the heat, skin tightened by the saltwater and sun.

And now: mommy. Stuck inside because it's too hot for me and my babes. A house to clean, mouths to feed, diapers to change. Elmo. Bath-time. Little to no time by myself.

Please don't misunderstand-- I would not trade this one for the other. My time now is more full of loved ones, more dedicated to others. I would not give this time up for anything. It is a precious, full time. I think it's okay to miss the other time too, though. I miss quiet, by-myself time. The freedom of driving alone, buffeted by the wind and the sound from my radio. The wide expanse of nothing-to-do.

I've been dealing with these things a lot more since Josiah was born. I have been surprised by the pull of responsibility that I have now. It's a lot to take in. A re-dying to self.

Josiah's birth

Jeremy was with me the whole time. It was a long day.

Mom and Lauren took good care of us.

Jeremy, waiting. Praying.

This was the worst of it. I can almost hear Lauren now, "Get it, girl!"

It helps the pain if you tell jokes to your husband.

In between pushes.

Baby Josiah.

Checking out our prize.

Getting weighed. 9 lb 4 oz.

How epic is this?

Baby feet.

Calm, now.

Resting.

Holding daddy's hand.

Getting to know each other.

Our amazing friend, and doula.

Our sweet, sweet friend Joyce, who took these amazing photos.

Around 4 am, and getting ready to rest.

Our sweet, sleepy boy.

"sleep"

I write this from my desk chair, watching a fuzzy headed baby boy fight sleep in his cradle swing. He's swaddled, rocked, and has a fan by his head for white noise. And yet, I can't keep him asleep for more than a few minutes unless he's in my arms. And even then... So much gas. So many burps. An infant's digestion has more emphasis on his sleep and waking habits than anything else. And by anything else, I mean a harried mama, hushing a toddler or creating a perfect sleep environment.

In other news:

6 weeks.

He's sweet, and kissable, and so chunky. We're falling in love with him more and more, probably because he's screaming less and less.

(Uh, oh. He got his left hand out of the swaddle.)

He looks so much like his brother, but with all that brown hair, he's his own little person too. He's starting to smile at us, and coo, and it's the sweetest little sound.

(That left hand is trying its best to wake the little guy up.)

He has a chronic stuffy nose and grunts and snorts all night long. Mama doesn't get much sleep.

(Asleep, awake, asleep, awake. It's stressing me out. And now, a little cry.)

Just more settling in. Getting used to this and this and this. A new schedule-- or a lack of one. A baby next to us at night. A slightly jealous (and who would blame him!?) toddler. A dada with a sprained ankle. And on and on. It's not everyone's version of chaos around here, but it sure is mine. Just trying to settle into it; embrace it until I can change it.

(He's awake for good, I think. Insert sad face here. That dang left hand. Gonna go wrap him back up and try again.)

life, presently.

Oh, goodness. Where do I even start?

Maybe I won't begin at the beginning, which was last Monday, when Jeremy went back to work. 

Maybe I won't even begin with this morning, which was a late one for us, although we were all up before seven.

Maybe I won't begin even now, where one boy is asleep in the motorized cradle about 15 feet to my left, head turned awkwardly, which happened when I placed him in the swing. He was-- is-- in too deep a sleep to notice. The other one is upstairs and (I presume) still refusing to take a nap.

I don't even think I'll start at tonight, when Jeremy comes home and takes up the slack where Elias is concerned, providing some daddy horseplay while I hold the baby and warm up the meal someone-- a very wonderful someone-- just dropped off for us.

Maybe I'll start a few months from now, when the brutal heat has abated, and the frantic newborn stage is finished. When the toddler and the baby have become more friendly, and my body is more my own again. When we will be getting ready for a second birthday party and reminiscing about the last year...

No. Let's not do that either. Lets go back to today: the present. When my little boys are as little as can be. Fighting sleep. Both wanting "up". Diapers that need to be changed, and little mouths that need to be filled. Elmo on the television, and a nursing pillow on my lap. All of us waiting impatiently for Jeremy to come home in one hour and 54 minutes. A noisy fan in the background and a brown yard just outside the window, which I can see from my chair from where I type this. Laundry that needs to be folded, and a house that desperately needs a top-to-bottom cleaning. A toddler, still upstairs in his crib, still refusing to sleep, squealing loudly for mommy.

It's good and it's hard and it breaks my heart. It is a very full time.