The Bees Knees

I’m pretty stoked today. Elijah has been in a good mood and has breastfed for 20 minutes at every feeding that I’ve been here for – yay! Brian and I were discussing that we are in dire need of a vacation. We need to scoop our THREE boys up and go somewhere to veg for a bit. Just waiting for Elijah to hatch his escape plan.
There is definitely something lovable about my days; there is plenty to keep me busy. During the majority of it, I have the pleasure of snuggling my little guy in my arms. I can think of nothing better! Otherwise, I’m pacing the cafeteria lines, deciding if it’s a mooshy veggie or fried cheese stick day. On the front door of the hospital, there is a warning sign saying there is secret audio and/or video surveillance. Maybe there is a bored security guard keeping tally of how many times I snub the green beans. Sometimes, I wave at random cracks in the ceiling tiles, just in case someone behind a monitor is feeling lonely.
I miss my bigger boys. Even if they were allowed in here, they’d probably be miserable after the first 15 minutes of trying to drive the IV pole around. They’re better off at home with Grandma, where Ian is striking up conversations between his cars, and Isaac is learning to say “contaminated pants”. They build tents, walk to the park and have all sorts of fun. Brian’s mom says the boys even crawl into a bed or tent and fall asleep without protest for their naps. I think I need video proof of that.
I don’t know what I’m going to do when they get bigger. I keep popping out babies, but they won’t stay put. I’m not sure whether to keep at it or resign myself to the fact that they are just going to grow. I love their innocence. The perfect image of that is my memory of Ian when he was just settling into toddlerhood. One of his favorite “jobs” was to bobble to the mailbox with me to get the mail. One day, as we were approaching the mailbox, scruffily decorated with annuals, Ian reached out with one little finger and petted a big, fuzzy bumblebee. The bee didn’t know, didn’t care or didn’t think him a threat, but I was immediately tensed, ready to scoop and run. Something about that transaction burned it into my memory, and I admired my son all the more.
He’s a little more “wise” now. I can’t say if he’d try to get friendly with any other stinger-laden insects, but he thinks he knows a thing or two.  Brian was reading him a Dr. Seuss book last night and Ian noticed one of the female characters looked mad. Brian asked him what she was mad about. Ian replied, “She’s mad about mans”. Sometimes I have to wonder just what exactly he picks up on and what is coincidence, but I’m starting to think kids are pretty adept psychologists.
I’m nagged by motherly guilt regarding Isaac, the poor victim of Second Child Syndrome. He is just as hilarious as Ian, but usually in such an indescribable, nuanced way that words wouldn’t do it justice. He’s making leaps in his verbal skills, but isn’t in position to blurt out the quotables yet, like his older brother. Still, it  seems he ought to get some space on the page, too. I have nary a record of most of his milestones. I couldn’t tell you when his top-left molar came in. Apparently, I had way too much time on my hands when I had only one child. But, for the record and my conscience, Isaac rocks!   :o)

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