Nine Years

Animals
by Frank O’Hara

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn’t need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn’t want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

New video featuring Sam "crawling." I use that term very, very loosely.

Sam Can Crawl!

Because my area of interest is nineteenth-century literature, I sometimes find myself reading texts that can only be described as romantic, sentimental, or even maudlin in their emotional intensity. One thing many nineteenth-century texts have in common is an idealized vision of childhood. While this isn't true across the board (the nineteenth century gave us many memorable, fleshed-out children's characters as well), it's hard not to get bogged down in the sappy sentimentality of the angelic child in the pages of these Victorian novels.

***

"O, Topsy, poor child, I love you!" said Eva, with a sudden burst of feeling, and laying her little thin, white hand on Topsy's shoulder; "I love you, because you haven't had any father, or mother, or friends;--because you've been a poor, abused child! I love you, and I want you to be good. I am very unwell, Topsy, and I think I shan't live a great while; and it really grieves me, to have you be so naughty. I wish you would try to be good, for my sake;--it's only a little while I shall be with you." --Uncle Tom's Cabin, Harriet Beecher Stowe

***

My daughter is, I think, I pretty good kid. She's bright and fun and interested in life. But I don't fool myself into thinking that Charlotte's a special, angelic princess, unsullied by life and sinful impulse. Like all other three-year-olds, Charlotte lacks empathy for others, and that is reflected in her self-centeredness. Again, I emphasize that this is normal three-year-old behavior, and I know that it is. The altruistic angel child of Victorian lit is simply a myth, a projection of idealized innocence.

Charlotte's selfish side comes out on occasion, such as when Jeff goes into her room in the morning instead of the preferred parent (me), and Charlotte responds by whining, saying "NO!" and holding up her hands to block out the very sight of him. Or when I'm trying to get her out the door and I need her to put on her shoes, and she moves across the room at the slowest possible speed at which she could be moving and still be considered in motion, like the glass in the windows of ancient cathedrals, seeping slowly downward molecule by molecule. And then when I ask her to please hurry up, she responds, "What!? I'm coming, see?"

***

"Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books; we read some, and mean to every day," they cried, in chorus.
"Merry Christmas, little daughters! I'm glad you began at once, and hope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down. Not far away from here lies a poor woman with a little new-born baby. Six children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they have no fire. There is nothing to eat over there; and the oldest boy came to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you give them your breakfast as a Christmas present?"
They were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a minute no one spoke; only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously,
"I'm so glad you came before we began!"
"May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?" asked Beth, eagerly.
--Little Women, Louisa May Alcott

***

Today, we were all sitting around in the living room. Sam was sitting on his blanket on the floor, happily playing and babbling, surrounded by a ring of drool-bedecked toys. Jeff was reading on the couch, and I was making a grocery list on the chair nearby. Charlotte ran back and forth, singing, cavorting, and keeping up her usual running commentary. Then she paused in front of Sam, reached out, and shoved him over.

Sam, to his credit, was unaffected by his sudden move from semi-vertical to horizontal, as it's something that happens rather regularly on his own. On the other hand, I was horrified. Charlotte has never been an aggressive kid. She never bit, and I can count on one hand the number of times she's lashed out by hitting or kicking. But this was a deliberately malicious move. And she knew it.

"Charlotte!" I exclaimed. "What did you do?" Something about my tone, the cocktail of shock, shame, and urgency, drew Jeff's attention to the incident. He caught Charlotte as she was sprinting for the kitchen. (As an aside, that's something she does to avoid me when she's in trouble for some reason--runs for another room. Another thing she does is close her eyes. While staying put. As though if she can't see me, my anger doesn't exist.) Jeff carried Charlotte back over by me as I repeated the question.

Charlotte, standing in front of me, refused to answer or look me in the eye. Instead, gazing off into the middle distance, she asked, "What are you going to do?"

Now, if she had tacked on "about it" to the end of that inquiry, I would have been concerned. As it was, this question just demonstrated the three-year-old's natural selfish concerns--what's going to happen to me? How will I be dealt with?

I told Charlotte that we don't hit, push or hurt each other, and that if she did it again, ever, to anyone, not just Sam, she would be punished. And I told her how disappointing this was to me, that she would do something on purpose that could hurt someone. One thing I didn't do, though, was ask her to apologize. One of those hippie kiddie-psychologist articles Jeff or I read claimed that forcing kids to apologize actually postpones altruistic tendencies, so we don't ask Charlotte to, although we do try to model apologizing ourselves.

***

"Isn't it splendid to think of all the things there are to find out about? It just makes me feel glad to be alive--it's such an interesting world. It wouldn't be half so interesting if we know all about everything, would it? There'd be no scope for imagination then, would there?"--Anne of Green Gables, Lucy Maud Montgomery

***

Things went back to normal. I righted Sam again and placed him amid his drool-toys. Jeff sat back down, and Charlotte continued playing. As she ran past Sam, on occasion she'd make a point of patting him gently on the head, like a beloved pet, while making eye contact with me, as if to say "See, Mom? I'm a good big sister!"

After a few more minutes, I saw Charlotte stop in front of Sam again. She squatted down and looked him in the eyes and said something, quietly. Then she smiled at him, got up, and skipped away. Not once did she look at me.

What she said was "Sorry, Sam."

It's not empathy, but it's a start.

So, this happened:

Yep, preschool. This picture was actually taken today. The thing on Monday was just a brief, hour-long meet-and-greet, visit the room and teachers sort of thing. We got all dressed up and donned the brand new Hello Kitty backpack anyway. But today was the real thing, so I took my friend Kristen's advice, printed up a sign, and started a tradition.

Charlotte takes after her mother in many ways, and her interest in school is just one of them. When we casually mentioned the idea of going to preschool almost a year ago, Charlotte heard and latched onto the notion. She never seemed to express hesitation about leaving her parents and home for several uninterrupted hours, something she's rarely done since we've never done daycare. To her, the appeal of a place full of other kids and organized activities and playing with other toys and reading other books sounded pretty much like heaven.

For the last few months Charlotte has been requesting we "do some school" at home, by which she means work in some of the various workbooks we bought to feed her insatiable brain. She's blown through these books at an incredible speed, demonstrating a hunger for learning that was pretty dang exciting. I mean, I don't have to tell you that I'm a real geek for education. I love the idea that my daughter wants to be challenged to learn, too.

Of course, preschool is really more about the kinds of things she actually needs to learn--things like socialization, sharing, listening and following instructions. I'm so excited to hear about the kinds of things she's learning and doing and experiencing over the next several months.

I have more I want to write, but I'm just coming off a terribly difficult week full of looming deadlines and dueling responsibilities and little sleep. I'm off now to study for my German quiz, but I promise I have more coming soon.

Tomorrow, this tiny little person starts preschool.

More to follow, obviously.

PS HOW DID THIS HAPPEN!?

Multiple Choice:

1. Jana is exhausted. Is this because:
a. School just started
b. She's still working on her papers for her summer course
c. Sam's stopped napping well
d. All of the above

2. Charlotte started ballet today. How did she look in her leotard?
a. Adorable
b. Beautiful
c. Charming
d. All of the above

3. Sam's begun boycotting naps on a daily basis. Could it be that:
a. He's teething
b. He's about to start crawling
c. He's possessed
d. He's screwing with us

4. Instead of writing this blog entry, Jana should be:
a. Planning for teaching tomorrow
b. Fretting about the H1N1 flu outbreak on campus
c. Editing her essay for the book collection
d. Writing her summer course papers

5. It's 9:02 p.m. Should Jana:
a. Hit the hay early?
b. Open that giant pack of M&Ms in the freezer and settle in for some work?
c. Check facebook one more time?
d. Publish this post and stop dragging out the pathetic quiz that she's hoping will pass for an entry for at least a few more days?

Catching Up

New video of Charlotte and Sam here. Sorry it's so long...we had a lot of ground to cover!

To the person who found this website by searching for "fat plumper":

Welcome! His given name is Sam!

We went on vacation! To Michigan! And to say I was terrified that going on vacation would disrupt the perfect schedule we'd managed to carve out with our kids would be an understatement. I think I've emphasized in this blog how much I like my sleep, my sweet, sweet uninterrupted sleep. I'm one of those people who needs something more in the neighborhood of nine hours a night to feel refreshed and sprightly. Any less, and I'm a baggy eyed, droopy faced gollum. So the fact that a mere seven months after Sam's birth found us with two children who went to bed by 7 p.m. and slept at least eleven solid hours, leaving me free to while away the evening on facebook and turn in for the night without fear of being awoken...well, it was wonderful.

Every parent knows that vacations ruin everything. You'd think we were talking about some kind of horrid forced exodus or something when parents talk, in gloomy, foreboding tones, about how they're preparing for their upcoming family trip. "Well," we'll say, "we're going to pack the white noise machine, and the rotary fan, you know, just in case, and the security blanket and stuffed bear. And we thought we'd bring the sheets from his bed at home, and probably an extra pair of curtains for the window in her room." *anguished sigh* "We just hope it won't disrupt things too much."

"But...are you looking forward to your trip to Barbados?"

*crickets chirp*

The thought of enjoying a vacation doesn't really occur to parents of small children. The hope is for the least impact, the most minimal damage to the tentative balance parents have managed to eke out. And, perhaps, a few tropical drinks beachside.

But the thing is, we actually did enjoy our vacation! I mean, yes, it was stressful at times. Flying with two children under the age of four is not fun and relaxing. But they were troopers. In fact, they were troopers the whole trip. They shared a room for the first time in their short lives, and it went...okay. They woke each other up a couple of times, and both got up way too early, but we managed. Plus, the one thing I forget about vacationing with family/at the home of family members is that your family is there. That means people will be waiting, like a fleet of benchwarmers, to be called into the game, handed a baby or toddler and sent out into left field. I think that metaphor got confusing. What I mean is, I barely saw my daughter all week. She was a tow-headed blur running down the hall, chasing the family dog, followed closely by a grandparent or aunt or uncle. And my son spent a lot of time getting his ample thighs massaged by various family members, who were also only too eager to help support the further growth of those thighs by plying him with pureed Gerber goodness while I relaxed in the hammock. I had the use of both of my arms this past week for most of the time. I've gotten so used to doing things one-handed, to picking up dropped items with my toes and opening jars with my knees (not really) that I hardly knew what to do with my spare hand. Mostly I used it to hold a beer.

As you can probably tell from the many pictures I posted to flickr, we were kept busy with activities, more busy than my poor home-bound children are used to. Charlotte has been quite let down since we've gotten back. "What will be in the morning?" she asks plaintively every night. And instead of promises of the beach or a boat ride or a trip to the orchard I have to say "You get to help mama sort laundry!" It's a hard sell.

So we're back, and I'm in GTA (graduate teaching assistant) training this week, and then next week classes start. And I can hardly believe it, but I'm really excited. And at the end of the month, Charlotte starts preschool. And then before we know it, Sam will be coming home with his first paycheck or something.

Yes, Michigan!

We're in GR for the next few days. I'll be posting lots of pictures to flickr (link at right), so be sure to check them out. Here's just a sampling:

Jeff and Sam on the hammock

Charlotte takes a tractor ride with Papa T.

The kids, enjoying the sunshine.

You know, we say we're done, that we're happy with two, especially these two. But, as my mother-in-law said, "you guys make such cute kids...don't you ever wonder?"

Well, no. But she has a point.

I mean, look at them.

Sam at seven months. What can I say? He's a dream baby, the baby I always hoped I would get after Charlotte, to help balance out the things that made her babyhood stressful. In a word: sleep.

Sam sleeps well. And I cannot tell you what a huge difference that has made. I look back on some of the things I wrote when Charlotte was this age, and remember what it was like--the nightly stress of not knowing when she'd finally fall asleep, and then for how long. In addition to that stresser was the fact that Charlotte had to be fully, complete conked out asleep before we could lay her down in her crib and tiptoe ever-so-quietly out of her room. The bedtime routine for Charlotte was so long and involved that frequently it would take well over an hour to get her to sleep. And that routine would have to be repeated if she woke up, of course.

I now realize that the difficulty we had with Charlotte was likely only partially her own tendency to sleep poorly, and was probably compounded by the fact that we really didn't know what we were doing. We did things very differently with Sam, and it's helped--coupled with the fact that I think he's just, by nature, a better sleeper.

Sam naps twice a day, usually at least an hour-and-a-half each time. On occasion he's take a nap of less than an hour, but then the second nap of the day will be a long one, more like two or three hours. Sam sleeps through the night, and has been doing so for the last couple of weeks. We've had a night or two when he's woken up (once after he got his shots) and needed nursing to get back to sleep, but that's been the exception.

But the big HUGE thing is that Sam can be put down in his crib WIDE AWAKE and will go to sleep ALL BY HIMSELF. He'll usually make a little noise for some time (more than once it's taken him a half-hour to settle down) but that noise is generally not unpleasant...never full-out crying. This noise, however, will invariably stress me out, so that I typically have to go outside and check on my garden or something while he works himself to sleep. We put Sam to sleep usually between 6:30 and 7 p.m., and he sleeps until 5:30 or 6 a.m. (oh, what I wouldn't give for another half-hour on that morning end...but I'm not complaining!).

It's wonderful. I am a different woman than I was when Charlotte was this age. I am more relaxed, less high-strung, better rested. I can enjoy my time with the kids during the day, and get genuine work done in the evenings, because I know I can rely on my kids' schedules.

When Sam's not sleeping, he's so much fun to be around. He's started sitting unsupported for longer stretches of time, and only occasionally pitches forward onto his face, which I consider major progress. This weekend he really started rolling from back to front, to the point where if I put him down on his back, if he's not distracted by his delectable toes, he'll immediately flip onto his stomach. He's been rolling from front to back for a few weeks now, but hasn't really figured out yet that he could string the two motions together to get someplace.

Speaking of mobility, I noticed from Charlotte's baby book that she was crawling at this age--only backwards, but still. Sam hasn't yet made that move. He seems uninterested in getting onto his knees when he's in the stomach-down position. I know that frequently kids skip crawling altogether, and I wouldn't be surprised if Sam's one of those. Because he seems more interested in standing--he spends a lot of time in his exersaucer, kicking his fat little legs, and often likes to be held in a standing-up position.

He likes to make noise, particularly certain noises: high-pitched shrieks, coos, raspberries, "ah-boo" and "ah-mah" sounds. He has a throaty, gutteral laugh that is contagious, and he's ticklish under his arms, so it's easy to call the laugh forth.

He's taken to solid food like an absolute champ. He eats three times a day, and hasn't diminished his milk intake by much, so I'm sure his thighs and cheeks will hang around for a while. We've tried: sweet potatoes, winter squash, green beans, pears, applesauce, blueberry/apple, apricot/raspberry, banana, oatmeal, rice, and prunes, all with success. I'll be trying carrots and peas this week. It's fun to feed him, because he's almost always (unless he's overly tired) really excited to eat. He leans forward, opening his mouth eagerly like a little bird, lunging at the spoon.

I don't have updated height/weight info as we don't have an official doctor's appointment until he's nine months, but he's almost too big for most of the twelve months size clothing we have for him. In the above picture, he's wearing an eighteen-month t-shirt (one I bought thinking he'd wear it next spring and summer). I'm trying not to worry about all the twelve-to-eighteen month size clothing I bought him to wear in the fall and winter.

I will risk sounding cheesy and say that I am so happy to have this family. I love my kids, my husband, I love the dynamic we have when we're all together. I love that Charlotte draws pictures of us and has stories about our family already. I can't wait to do all sorts of fantastic things with these cool people.

You guys had some good suggestions, and I'll probably glean from them over the coming weeks. My summer class started today, which means my summer essentially ended. I'm on campus every afternoon for the next two weeks (well, M-F), and then we're off to Michigan for a week, and then my TA training starts, and then the maelstrom that will be my fall semester begins churning and spinning, with me inside. I feel like I'm in that first car of the roller coaster, chugging jerkily up the first big incline, getting ready for that teetering moment on the apex of the hill where you can see just how distant the ground has become, before momentum takes over and down we plunge. This next academic year is going to be one heck of a ride, but there's a reason I got in line for this coaster--I love the thrill. Have I stretched the metaphor too far? Maybe. But I do love what I do, and find academic work and teaching to be: stressful, insane-making, challenging, but yes, thrilling.

In other "news," I'm trying to become more fashionable. I usually find myself standing in front of my closet, surveying the contents with dismay and confusion. I mean, I don't understand where my good clothes go! I shop on occasion, I buy things that I think will look good, and then (inevitably) I get home and they have morphed into something unbecoming, frumpy, ill-fitting.

I have friends who always seem so stylish and put-together, professional and appropriate for every occasion. I have tried to study what they do that looks good, to potentially emulate in my own wardrobe. I've also started checking out a couple fashion blogs: Cardigan Empire and You Look Fab. These blogs each have advice based on your body type/shape. Typically this involves comparing yourself to fruit. Am I a pear? An apple? A banana? A (god forbid!) pineapple? Okay, I made that last one up. Anyway, I don't know what item of produce best describes me because I'm too chicken to pick up the measuring tape and find out. That's what having children does to you.

One thing I can do without measuring myself is learn to accessorize. I'm not good at this. I wear my wedding and engagement rings every day. Before cell phones took over the world, I used to wear a watch. At one time I wore little earrings, the same pair every day. In fact, I didn't take them out. Now I rarely wear earrings...if there's a wedding or special event I might play a fun game I like to call "Have my piercings grown over?" Sometimes there's blood! Woo!

But most of the time I haven't a clue how to accessorize. Purses? Bracelets? BELTS?! Nope.

So this weekend, Jeff and I and the kids headed out to The Legends near Kansas City to meet up with my aunt and uncle, cousin Amy and her husband John and their kids. I didn't really know what The Legends was (were?). Turns out, it's a big posh outdoor outlet mall place. It's very fancy, well-landscaped and lovely. After we had lunch, we all strolled around, admiring the fountains and hitting a few stores. I got a couple things for the kids, but I also bought something for myself, something that wasn't a college t-shirt or a plain colored tank top! I bought necklaces! Two of them!

Today I wore one to class*. When I came downstairs wearing it, Jeff started laughing at me. "Nice bling," he said, laughing and laughing. This, as you can imagine, didn't do much to help my confidence. In his defense, it is gold, and I never wear gold. I wore a gold necklace. Ugh, even typing that sounds gross. It wasn't like a gold CHAIN or anything. It's a longish necklace with little gold...uh, leafy things? Dangly bits? At intervals around the chain? I don't know. I'm bad at this. Anyway, I wore it, and I felt weird and awkward and conspicuous.

See, in reality, I would buy this necklace. That's the kind of stuff I gravitate toward: snarky, faux-hipstery geek stuff, like t-shirts with messages about grammar on them. Worn with the same two pairs of boring old blue jeans. Yawn.

But now I'm in my thirties, and I'm teaching students who pull off the whole hipster-college-student wardrobe thing much better than I do. I feel like I need to look professional, and polished, and not so much like my entire wardrobe consists of t-shirts and jeans, and that I'm secretly glad that I have to do laundry all the time due to Sam's cloth diapers because not only do I only wear t-shirts and jeans, I also only ever wear the same two or three t-shirts.

Wow, this post is long! And potentially boring! I promise to return soon with stories about Charlotte's crush on the keyboard player at our church, Sam's voracious eating habits, and Jeff's gigantic hair (I keep clipping coupons for local barber shops, but to no avail!).

*In addition to my clothing. I did not JUST wear the necklace. Even I know better than that.

I've lost it. And by "it," I mean, of course, any semblence of an interesting idea, one about which I might post on my blog.

So, I'm asking you: What do you want me to write about? Leave suggestions in the comments.

I've been longing to travel quite a bit lately. I've always loved traveling. Some of my fondest memories are the annual summer vacations my family would take when I was younger. We rarely went anywhere too far from Iowa, so our destinations were typically Midwestern cities like St. Louis, Kansas City, Minneapolis, or spots like the Badlands and Black Hills of South Dakota, the Lake of the Ozarks region in Missouri, or the northern Minnesota shoreline of Lake Superior. We would always drive, and I would read in the back seat and inevitably begin to feel carsick. I remember staying in roadside motels, falling asleep to the dulcet tones of my parents' tandem snoring, trying to stay out of the radius of my brother's thrashing limbs (until we were old enough and my parents got a roll-away bed for Scott, hallelujah). In the cities, we'd go to a major league baseball game if possible, visit an amusement park, walk through the downtown. Some of the memorable highlights were originally experienced as lowlights (passion play, anyone?) but always, always the vacation seemed magical, a time out of time and routine.

My more adventurous travels began when I was in college--mission trips to Honduras and the Philippines, a semester overseas in Oxford, a brief tour of Northwestern Europe following. Lots of road trips (particularly back and forth between Grand Rapids, Chicago, and Iowa). Our big prize trip to the West Coast (I won a photo contest; the prize was a flying/driving trip complete with airfare, car rental, hotel and spending cash). Jeff and I managed to get back to Ireland and visit NYC before I started grad school, despite not having much money saved up or a lot of vacation time. I now wish we had done more.

Having young kids makes travel inconvenient, to say the least. Charlotte was always such an atrocious sleeper that any kind of disruption to her "routine" would throw off any progress we had made. So I was reluctant to do much traveling when she was a baby, plus, of course, the limitations imposed by a graduate student budget dictated that our trips were few and far between, and typically just to visit family. We did make it to western Massachusetts and Athens, Georgia in our last six months in Ohio, to visit universities.

Now, with Sam, we're even more hesitant to hit the road. He's not as apt to sleep peacefully in his car seat as Charlotte was, so any road trip longer than a few hours can quickly devolve into a horrible nightmare of squalling baby, whining toddler, white-knuckled driver and stressed-out spouse. Not the relaxing vacation I'm dreaming of, that's for sure.

So I spend a lot of time making lists--lists of places I want to visit with the kids when they're older and we have more disposable income. Places to go just with Jeff after depositing the kids at the grandparents house (right guys?). Places to hit up with my friends. Places to go with the whole extended family.

Where would you go right now if money and time were no object? Why? And what's your favorite vacation memory, and why? Leave the details in the comments.

For me, if I could go anywhere at all, I think I'd go to South America (Buenos Aires, perhaps), Spain, or New Zealand, for at least two weeks. I've never been to any of those places, and they are each suitably "exotic" enough to feel like a real leave-taking.

It's hard to narrow down my very favorite vacation memory, but I think my week-long trip with Jeff to Ireland in 2003, hot on the tail of my unexpected firing from my first job, was pretty amazing. And our road trip from Seattle to San Francisco was really memorable--we stayed at some fantastic places that we would never have been able to afford if it weren't for the contest.

Happy fourth of July, everyone!

Some recent Charlotte-isms:

Jeff: How'd you know that, Charlotte?
Charlotte: I just learned it up! Learned it up.

Charlotte explaining how the seashells came to us: They flew up out of the water and glugged onto the sand and then Nana got them and gave them to us.

I'm changing Sam's diaper, and Charlotte is watching.
Charlotte: whispers something
Jana: What's that, honey?
Charlotte: I said, such precious buns.

Charlotte and I are dining outdoors at a local restaurant, and a man nearby steps out with a cigarette and begins to smoke.
Charlotte: What's that man doing, mama?
Jana: Oh, he's having a smoke.
Charlotte: What's a smoke?
Jana: It's a cigarette. It's something some grown-up people do sometimes.
Charlotte: Oh. When I get grown-up, I'm gonna blow a smoke.
(Don't worry, a brief lecture about health followed.)

Six Months

I just went back and read what I wrote here when Charlotte was six months old (see here). I know it's odious to compare your children, but I couldn't help think how different, and yet how similar, parenting is this time around. Sam is a few pounds heavier than Charlotte was at six months, and about an inch and a half taller. He has one tooth, whereas Charlotte had two (although that second one of Sam's is about to bust through). He has a pretty respectable head of auburn-blonde hair, while six-month-old Charlotte was bald as a cue ball, save that one, three-inch-long curly strand at the crown of her head. Sam has rolled over a few more times than Charlotte, and has rolled over back to front in addition to front to back. Sam has sat unsupported for a few seconds at a time, which is well ahead of Charlotte (in all fairness, she probably could have done it. It just wouldn't have occurred to me to, you know, set the baby down every once in a while).

Other things are different, too. We're short one great-grandparent after losing my Grandpa Deur in April 2007. We're plus two aunts, both conveniently named Katy/ie (thanks, ladies!). But the most significant difference is in Jeff and me. I think we're both substantially more laid-back as parents this time around, more confident. We can't give Sam the undivided attention we gave Charlotte--and he's none the worse for wear. And, of course, Charlotte's a sibling in this new family equation, and that has changed so much, too.

Sam at six months is a delight. Most of the time he sleeps wonderfully--typically two naps lasting from 1.5-3 hours each, a 7 p.m. bedtime and a 6 a.m. rise-and-shine with (usually) one feeding wake-up between the hours of 10 and midnight. I would make some minor tweaks (always waking up at 10 p.m. for his night feeding, for example, and a slightly later wake-up time), but for the most part I am much MUCH more well-rested than I was when Charlotte was this age.

And he wakes up happy almost every single time, cooing and sucking his fingers in his crib. I can hear an untranscribable sound over the monitor when Sam's awake, a kind of scootch-scootch-scootch sound that heralds the fact that Sam's doing his horizontal Riverdance move, kicking his legs rhythmically while his arms and torso stay stationary. When I go in to get him from his crib, he smiles with his entire chubby little person, arching his back and wrinkling his forehead and chortling with pure glee.

He eats some baby food now, and tonight partook of prunes with a gusto I didn't know anyone could have for prunes, lunging at the spoon with enthusiasm. He chews constantly on his fingers, his bib, his shirt, my shirt, my fingers, his sister's fingers ("Sam's eatin' on me!" she shrieks), anything within reach. If you catch him in a big smile, you can see that little glimmer of white, that faint razor-sharp pearl of a first tooth, and the slight swelling next door indicates number two is on its way.

He's suffering from the classic second-child troubles: I haven't updated his baby book in quite a while, and haven't even started his birthday photo album. There are probably about a third as many pictures of Sam (which is completely unfair, because he is just as photogenic as his sister) and those I do take are often shot from the hip instead of carefully composed.

But he's not short on attention, on love, on doting sisters and parents. He's got that in spades.

Charlotte's birthday weekend was loads of fun. It featured vast quantities of buttercream, balloons, and spontaneous renditions of a song Charlotte calls "The Tractor and the Mower." The temps were soaring and the humidity was high, but we all sweated through the outdoor birthday party happily. The buttercream also sweated, unfortunately. (Still delicious). The night before Charlotte's party, our water heater broke. We all (and that includes my visiting parents) enjoyed "pioneer baths" Sunday morning, involving trips from the stove to the tub with pots of boiling water. After the party we took cold showers. Invigorating! Fortunately, the problem was fixed Monday and we could all return to our indulgent, Western ways.

We had Charlotte's birthday party on Sunday, but her actual birthday was, of course, Tuesday, and I wanted to do something special to commemorate her actual day. Now that she's three, she knows the difference between just a boring, regular day and a celebration, and I didn't want her to feel short-changed. So we went to Chuck E. Cheese's.

When I mentioned this fact in my status update on Facebook, many people applauded me for my bravery or expressed surprise at my (I assume) stupidity. I think people must have either different impressions of Chuck E. Cheese's (henceforth CEC) than I do, or bad memories there. Because it was rad! Some of my favorite birthday memories are my brother's and my golden birthday parties (the seventh and the eighth, respectively) which we celebrated at what was the equivalent of CEC at the time, Show Biz Pizza.

Charlotte was understandably overwhelmed by all the flashing lights and bells and whistles, but after we ate our pizza in the presence of a giant animatronic rat, she was ready to participate. But to be honest, I think my parents, Jeff and I had as much fun as she did. Skee-ball, people! Did you know you can still rack up 32000 points on skee-ball when you have a six-month-old strapped to you in a baby bjorn? It's true! I let Sam deploy the button on one particular game, and he won 34 tickets! Jackpot!

At one point, as my mom and I stood in front of a machine, feeding tokens in hypnotically, she turned to me and said, "I don't think we should ever go to Vegas." Heh.

Three years ago, right about now, I was informed that I was still only dilated to about 5 cm after several hours laboring both at home and the hospital. I was momentarily disappointed but Jeff hauled me out of bed and I alternated walking laps around the room and bouncing dementedly on the giant inflatable labor ball.

That helped, because two hours later I was fully dilated. Of course, Charlotte wouldn't emerge for another three hours after that, because what's more fun than making your new mom push for three hours!? Nothing, that's what.

I remember with absolute clarity the moment Charlotte was born. With this pregnancy, we had elected not to find out the baby's sex ahead of time. I had written in my birth preferences that I wanted Jeff to announce the sex of the baby after he/she was born, but Jeff balked (he later admitted that the umbilical cord blocked his view) and I was the first of us to see as they flipped her up onto my stomach. "It's a girl!" I said. "Hi, Charlotte! I knew it was you." And I did, the whole time. She stopped her quiet squalling and searched around when she heard my voice. Her eyes found my face and time froze.

Oh my word, look at that chubby newborn face!

I should probably have lots of lovely poignant things to say on the occasion of my daughter's third birthday, but all I can keep thinking is "I can't believe it! I can't believe she's three!" and it's true. I really can't. I mean, wasn't she just like this:

and this:

and this:

a second ago?

(I swear, she was awake sometimes. Like this,

see?)

How did she get like this

so soon?

Happy birthday, baby girl. You changed everything. I'm so glad you're here.