Re-introductions

It has been four years since you've seen my kids and you would NOT EVEN BELIEVE how big and old and grown up they are. Let me re-introduce you! Have a seat friends, the flood gate of kid stories is opening.

Colin, who was once The Turnip.

Colin is now 6, almost 7, and in the first grade. He reads and writes, loves to be outside, and makes friends easily. Already he is an impressively loyal and trustworthy kid and his friends love him. Even older kids want to be with him because he is genuinely happy, positive, creative, and fun.

The kid is one of the most sensitive people I have ever known. When he started kindergarten, he was so upset by being separated from Caroline that he asked his teacher to call the day care several times a day to check on her. It was almost debilitating, so we switched Caroline to the preschool at Colin's school. Since then, he has flourished and it's incredible to watch.

He rides a gigantic bike, he begs for bike rides daily, and can ride circles around the rest of us. It is somewhat embarrassing, actually.

If I had to predict his future, I would guess a social worker. He likes to take care of people and make sure everyone's okay. Constantly checking on people and bringing them stuff to make them comfortable. When he's not absolutely losing his marbles because of how sensitive he is, the kid is an absolute joy of a human being.

Caroline, who was once The Secret Child.

Now 4, Caroline is, by all accounts of anyone who meets her, awesome. Truly, in the same way that masses adore celebrities even when they're poorly behaved and make incredibly bad decisions. Caroline has this way of attracting a crowd, wooing them into her graces, and then terrifically abusing her power.

She is smarter than I know what to do with and more clever than is fair. Once, when she asked about where the rain came from, I told her about evaporation and precipitation, getting all science geeky about it. She took it all in, paused to consider it, and then told me, "Mommy, I don't think you know what you're talking about."

I remember worrying about how I would teach a baby girl to respect herself, to stand up for herself in this world, but it turns out I didn't need to worry about it. The girl could teach a course on self-respect and self-defense. I would pay to go. Recently she was sent home from school with a report of getting into a fight. Apparently she and a little friend (a boy) got into an argument. The boy got angry and started yelling at Caroline, getting right up in her face. According to the teacher, Caroline got a terrifying look on her face, said "You are not being respectful to me and I don't appreciate it."

If that were it, I would throw her a party. However, she then grabbed a Mason jar full of water and clocked him.

If I had to predict her future, I am going to guess either President of the United States or assassin. Not sure which yet, and not sure which is worse, but either way, we are in trouble with this one.

We are different than the last time you saw us, but I can't wait for you to get to know us again!

Awakening

It has been a long, long time since I've been here.

I read through my last few posts and it was like reading someone else's writing, glimpsing into a different family, reading a blog written by an acquaintance. When I last visited here, I was a new doctor, still learning how to work the computers and OR instruments. My kids were babies and, while I can feel the fatigue in the words written, the world was still sparkly and new.

And don't worry, the world is still wondrous and beautiful, but the sparkle has changed.

I finished residency a few months ago. Shortly following graduation I took the first part of the OB/GYN Board Exam, which gives the coveted "board certified" title. The push to the end of residency was on a road made of textbooks, study guides, and highlighters for this exam, which I took on a rainy Monday at the end of June.

And then it was all over and I had six weeks of vacation, during which time I relearned how to sleep and read books and hang out with friends and family like a normal person. While Patrick still worked quite a bit, the kids and I were inseparable, making messes and memories in a way we had never, ever done before. Weeks stretched on and we lounged in the luxury of time and love. It was not until the last few weeks that I finally felt awake again.

The last four years were incredibly difficult. There is no way to describe the level of exhaustion following residency. Profound, pervasive, endless exhaustion, which seeped into every aspect of my life. There is no denying that I gave my best at work and mostly left it there. What little was left was earmarked for the children to allay my fears of incompetence as a parent and that left nothing for myself or for Patrick. While I neglected friends and ignored my family along this journey, it was my marriage that suffered most. It is nothing short of a miracle that we are still married. It may be because we were too busy to bother separating.

As I recovered, my sisters said, "It's like we haven't seen you in years" and my kids remarked more than once "Mommy, you've never been this fun before", which is at once exhilarating to be BACK but also heartbreaking that I subjected everyone to this, including myself.

I have never once regretted my decision to go into medicine, but I often questioned my motives. Was it for equal respect as my husband and father? Am I trying to prove my competence, intelligence, worth? If so, to whom? With physicians in my family, I knew how hard this would be, and yet it was so much harder than I could have imagined.

Not to say that the last few years were miserable, not at all. I love my work and it makes me truly happy, which carries over into my mood at home. The joy I feel with my kids (despite tantrums and fights and the usual family drama) is relatively unaffected by my exhaustion and occasionally helped to refill my draining emotional reservoir. For this, I am eternally grateful. People often said, "I don't know how you do it, being a doctor and a mom!" but I don't think I could have made it without them.

Last week the kids started school. Colin is now 6 and in the first grade. Caroline is 4 and in preschool at the same school, one that we love. After getting them settled, my grown up job started this week. I am a licensed, credentialed, actual physician, my friends. I have my own office, an administrative assistant, and OR pick sheets. People are interested in my opinion and want my involvement in their projects.

Somehow, when I wasn't looking, I grew up.

After my summer vacation, I am ready to be who I really am again. I am obligated to be the best I can be, not just to myself but mostly to those who put up with me through this journey, who believed I could do it, who waited for me to come out the other side.

This blog has been a source of joy, confidence, and opportunity for me. Residency was too overwhelming to write about, but I am ready again. I promise ridiculous stories and lighthearted jabs and too many photos of my kids in the near future, but I needed to tell this story first to break the silence.

Gratitude: Fodder for Stories

Halloween is arguably the most kid-centric holiday in existence (Christmas is fun for everyone, New Years is for adults, Easter is... not really that "fun" in the classic sense.) and I tragically had to miss Trick or Treating. Owing to my current nights rotation, I left for work just as the kids were getting home from school and thinking about getting dressed up. I love Halloween and was feeling pretty sorry for myself that I had to miss it, both for myself and for the kids.

But let me back up and tell this story properly.

For months, Colin has not wavered in his desires and plans to be a Digger for Halloween, specifically, a Giant Excavator. I tried to sell him on the idea of being a construction worker but he was unswayed.

"THE DIGGER, Mommy. I'm going to be THE DIGGER."

Who am I do deny someone so determined their very dearest wish?

And so, planning commenced for an elaborate, functional Digger costume. A sure to be classic, it was constructed from several cardboard boxes which were spray painted yellow and assembled over the course of a few weeks. It did indeed have a working Digger arm, at least in theory.

"MOMMY! THE DIGGER ARM IS BENDING AND MY DIGGER IS SCOOPING THE WRONG WAY!"

Drama is inherent in the creation of any good Halloween costume, and Colin is at the age where everything is spoken in CAPITAL LETTERS and WITH GREAT URGENCY, but the arm did bend a bit so I employed some resourcefulness and duct taped the hell out of that arm. Eventually I taped some chopsticks to the inner aspect of the arm, which stabilized it enough for Colin's satisfaction.

Caroline is a baby, for all intents and purposes, and so does not know what Halloween is, nor is she permitted to eat any of the candy. She does not care for costumes or any of that silliness, as she is a very serious child, prone to introspection and reading books alone. If it were up to her, she probably would have stayed home with her book pile and Beloved Purple Hippo. But it wasn't up to her, so she was dressed up as a Construction Barrel to accompany her brother.

Her costume was much simpler: dressed in all orange, including an orange tutu provided by Aunt Jenny, she was wrapped in white duct tape (This Halloween brought to you by duct tape!) and given a small toy construction barrel to hold up as an example whenever anyone asked her what she was. Her hair was styled such that she had a pony tail sticking straight out of her head. It was, truly, adorable. She was several times mistaken for Nemo, to which I replied that obviously she wasn't Nemo, since I hadn't duct taped on of her arms down to give her a lucky fin. An obvious and clear difference between a construction barrel and a cartoon fish.

We went to a Trunk or Treat on Sunday in these costumes and they went over very well. Initially Colin had some difficulty walking in his Digger costume, but then a very cute little princess with long blonde hair said, "Look at that awesome costume! He's a construction machine! Cool!" and Colin suddenly had no difficulty in walking. He stood up a little straighter and suddenly loved his costume. (I was pleased to hear this comment as well, in all honesty.) Everyone loved the Digger and sidekick Barrel/Nemo. They made a killing in candy.

Then came Wednesday, Halloween. School had a parade in which all of the kids wore their costumes and visited each other's rooms in exchange for candy. Parents were invited and since I'm working at night and only doing something useless like sleeping during the day, I was not going to miss it. I darted home after work in the morning and collected the kids and their costumes. Caroline wasn't going to be with Colin, so her costume was converted from the Barrel/Nemo to Colin's old Candy Corn.

Colin, however, could not be dissuaded from wearing the Digger to school. I tried various tactics to get him to wear some dress up clothes that would let him run around like normal (eg: train conductor, chef, santa's helper, or any of the other dozens of dress up clothes that we have on hand) but he would have none of it.

"NO, I'M A DIGGER, MOMMY. I've never wanted to be anything so much in my LIFE."

I couldn't argue with that logic, could you? 

(There is a side story here in which I discover that I am stranded at home without car seats for the kids because my neighbor, who was not at home, had them to pick the kids up after school. I ended up borrowing a friends car who has similarly aged kids to even get to school. Then I started taking pictures with my camera, only to discover that it had neither a battery nor a memory card. This day was something else, I tell you.)

I dragged that thing into school and all the teachers and other parents looked at me with odd looks. I really wanted to believe it was envy: look at that awesome costume! And she's in scrubs too, wow, how does she do it? Instead, however, I'm pretty sure it was more: pitiful woman. That costume is ridiculous and she looks like she hasn't showered or slept. It's so sad when people live vicariously through their kids. And scrubs? What a dumb costume. 

Once the parade started, Caroline would have no part of the Candy Corn or any other costume. Which is fine, whatever. Right? Not according to Colin, who kept was watching for Caroline and kept running out of his room to attack Caroline from behind.

"NO, CAROLINE! You have to wear your COSTUME! It's the only way to get CANDY!"

And he would shove it back over her head, covering her face. She would flail her arms and scream in protest, and suddenly her costume and character became Haunted Zombie Candy Corn.

Colin's turn to parade around brought a new struggle. Kids everywhere were having meltdowns in the middle of the hallway, with other kids just stepping over them. A screaming Dinosaur here, a crying Elephant there, here is a Cupcake with tears the size of cherries on top. I looked over at one point to see Spiderman lying spread eagle on the floor sobbing and the teacher standing over him. He was completely unmoved by her pleas of "Spidermans don't cry!"

The halls at school are not exactly huge, and when filled with a bunch of small children in itchy, poorly sized, uncomfortable clothes, it can be hazardous for even the most careful Digger. Every time Colin turned around, he would take out some poor one year old Monkey child with his Digger arm. He would back away from the stunned kid only to run over a little Captain America. The more flustered he got, the more dangerous he became.

About ten minutes in, he looked up at me and said, "Mommy, I am SO DONE with this costume." I reminded him that he'd just told Caroline that it was the only way to get candy and he shrugged it off, marching ahead and collecting candy anyway. I trailed behind with the sad, forsaken Digger.

 After school, he sat at the counter as I readied for work and tried to talk up Trick or Treating.

"It's so fun!" I promised, "everyone's dressed up and you get to meet new people and get candy!"

He looked tired, perhaps worn out from his vast destructive Digger path at school. "Mommy, I don't want to wear my Digger. I don't like it anymore. I just want to be Normal Colin."

I should have anticipated this. I looked at the clock. 5:25pm. My shift starts at 6pm. Nothing like a deadline!

"How about a chef?" I said, waggling the dress up clothes at him. Nope.

"Fireman? Doctor? Leprechaun?"

His eyes lit up. I froze. God, what had I done? I held in my hands a green top hat with four-leaf clovers around it left over from St. Patrick's day of the days when that was a really fun night at a bar. Where had my brain come up with Leprechaun? Regardless, that's what it was going to be, by God.

"MOMMY. I have never wanted to be ANYTHING so much as a lepa... lep... what is it again?"

So, in the five remaining minutes before leaving for work, we threw together a Leprechaun outfit and he was thrilled, Best Thing Ever. Caroline went as the Candy Corn but quickly transformed into the Sleeping Orange and Yellow Rock on her daddy's shoulder. They had a blast, going out with friends. Colin made friends with two more little girls dressed as princesses, who were quite enamored with him. Caroline slept well. Patrick ate a ton of candy.

I wish I had more photographic bragging rights for this phase of Halloween than this picture of Patrick (who was costumed only in an orange fleece), but Patrick reported to me later that night as we spoke on the phone, "Sorry, we were just having too much fun to take any pictures."

And with that, I lay Halloween 2012 to rest in a dirty, dusty grave. We'll try again next year.

Moving on Up

Shortly after I wrote my last post, I started on my nights rotation, a six week block of time during which I worked 14 hour shifts five days a week overnight. It was an incredible experience; since I did this rotation last of the year, I was the most prepared, the most confident I could have been. I knew what I was doing a lot of the time, which is not a feeling an intern experiences all that often. I felt comfortable with my hands and knowledge, familiar with the patients, and I became friends with and earned the trust of the nurses. It was lovely and I felt like I rocked it. During this block alone, I performed 76 vaginal deliveries, more than doubling my total for the year.

Simultaneously, I didn't check my email for approximately six weeks, nor did I see the sun, brush my hair, or speak to my mother (sorry, mom! I'm alive!). I saw my children for minutes at a time, and only then when I was either waking from a too-short sleep during the day or just before they hurried off to school and I collapsed into bed. Also during this time frame was my seven year wedding anniversary, father's day, and Patrick's birthday. I am ashamed thinking about how little attention I paid to these, and to the man who cared for me and my children during this block.

Caroline had a birthday too, can you believe that? She turned one. ONE, fortheloveofpete. She's huge, she's almost walking (three steps at a time!), she's signing her preferences, and she love love loves her brother. She's beautiful and wonderful and while I was on nights I missed her so much it hurt.







Colin is ENORMOUS. He has these new shoes that he says make him jump better but I think he is just using that as an excuse to show off how coordinated and grown up he is. He has a new bike with training wheels that he rides up and down the street with the big kids, no problem at all keeping up.  During the time I was working overnight, Patrick took them to visit his parents and he took Colin to a car show. They participated in a pinewood derby and Colin won a (participant) trophy which he loves passionately and sleeps with every night.








Patrick started his fellowship in renal (kidneys, blech but yay for him!), I moved up in the academic world and am now a second year, and we are all feeling a little beat up. But happy, which, in the end, is the goal. It's just so hard when you get to happy by slogging through such exhaustion and guilt and pain and loneliness. It's hard work to be happy, did you know?

I hope you're happy. I've missed writing here and hearing from you. Let me know how you are.

Morning Drama

I had to go in to work this morning to round and, while I was glad to have the rest of the day off, it is still unhappy to wake up before dawn, pry yourself out of your warm bed, and go bother people who also don't want to be awake. This particular morning was even harder to walk out the door, as the kids woke up just as I was getting ready to leave, making my departure even more annoying and traumatic for everyone. So I rushed to work, rounded as fast as possible, and jet out of the hospital. I will admit to being less than my usual Joy of Work self, and I probably didn't give people the emotional connection the deserve. Regardless, people were cared for and I was heading out.

I rounded a turn in the hall near the main entrance and was thinking about something completely mundane, like how I wish I'd grabbed a thicker coat or planning what to have for breakfast, when I found myself walking directly between two people in a heated conversation. A man and a woman, each of them crying, talking to each other 25 feet apart.

MAN

We can still make it work! It's never too late!

WOMAN

It is too late! I can't go back to the way it was! I just can't! But I still love you so much!

MAN 

Then what is the problem? I can't understand what's going on with us! Please, come back to me!

WOMAN

Oh, you know it can't be! (sob sob) It just can't!

I discovered that I had stopped, right in the middle of them, and was watching the exchange like a tennis match. And I wasn't the only one - several other people, employees, patients, random strangers - all entranced by this Hospital Soap Opera scene playing for us, the couple themselves completely oblivious to the audience. Finally, the two lovers separated, never coming any closer to each other than they had been at the start, and the crowd looked at each other. I wanted to applaud, another woman dabbed a tissue at her eye. Everyone was a little amused and touched and bewildered by the whole thing.

I personally don't think a hospital hallway is the place to break up, but I have also been in relationships and situations where that ugly, messy, raw emotional stuff just spills out and there isn't any way to stop it. Once, I had a horrible fight with my sister over the phone while I was Christmas shopping in a fancy mall. I was crying and cursing and it was completely inappropriate for public viewing and I vaguely remember people staring at me but, again, that's where it happened and there was no stopping it once it got going.

 I felt guilty for blowing off my patients this morning. Stopping to watch the personal drama of two people reminded me of my own patients upstairs, having just added to or started their families, and of their stories unfolding in front of me. I was too distracted to try to connect with them this morning, sit with them and admire their babies, listen to their concerns, allay their fears. Sure, they were fine, and I heard the "important" things, like that they hadn't developed a fever or bleeding or anything bad. But I didn't listen to how their nights went, how their babies are today, how they're adjusting to this new family.

I know that I can't be everything for everyone, and that no one blames me for trying to get home to my family on my day off. But that's part of being a doctor: expecting yourself to always be a doctor to your patients, whatever that means to you. Today, I didn't do so well. I'll do better tomorrow. And try to be even better the next day.

Dear Colin

Dear Colin,

Your life has been completely turned upside down the last six months and while I'm not going to apologize for it, I do want to applaud you and tell you that you are a peach. You handled all the turmoil and stress of a new baby as if you were expecting this all along, just waiting for her to show up. You continue to deal with your parents both working all hours of the day and night, and you and your sister floating back and forth between various friends and family members, like you scheduled this whole thing yourself. With the exception of brushing your teeth before bed, you conduct your life with such grace and poise and exuberant joy that I find myself envious. Where did you learn to be this put together? I doubt it was from me, and I know for a fact it wasn't from your father.

The reason I'm not going to apologize for doing this to you and your sister is complicated. You and I talk a lot about how important words are, and how to choose the right ones, so I'm going to try to do that now.

You and Caroline are the highlight of my day, the brightest, happiest parts of my life. Your dad feels the same way. The littlest details of your lives are of the utmost interest and importance to us, and we clamor to hear them when we convene over dinner. But even though you and Caroline are the most important things to us, your daddy and I both need other things in our lives, too. We need to work, which is a concept you are starting to play with. You often tell me, "Mommy, I'm going to work now! I'm going to have a great day at work today!" and I hope you say that because that is the impression that your daddy and I give you about our work. We work to make ourselves better, to make other people better, to make each other better. And, hopefully, to make you and Caroline better too. We work so that we can buy food and clothes and toy cars, of course, but we also love our work. We love the people at work and what we do at work and we love to be at work. That is true, but I don't want you or Caroline to ever think that because we love to be at work means that we don't love to be with you. We LOVE to be with you, too, and it's okay to love both.

Most days, you are excited to go to school. Your friends are there and you know your way around the games and the books. You have a routine that makes you comfortable and a chair with your name on the back. "C O L I N," you tell me proudly and you point out the letters. You have learned so much there, and you feel like you belong. I hope you can always find a place that pushes you to grow, to learn, to become more than what you were when you got there. A place where you feel you belong. I want you to have that away from our home and family, and then to leave that place, come home and embrace your family, eager to share what you've learned and to love each other in your home.

It isn't always easy, and sometimes things fall apart a little bit. The last few weeks have been really busy for our family. While I've tried to keep things as relaxed and joyful at home as usual, I don't think it was successful, and you started having accidents at school. I took this as a personal, secret message that I needed to pay attention, to step it up, to make sure you and Caroline knew how much you are adored around here. I don't know if that is really what's going on, but thanks for the reminder anyway. It won't be that last time you'll have to set me straight in all likelihood, but know that I'll be listening when you do.

Today I dropped you off at school and reminded you to use the potty. You wrapped your not-so-little arms around my neck and said, "I will, Mommy. I'm going to make you so happy!" Having no words, I buried my face in your hair and squeezed you until you complained and wriggled away from me to build a tower out of blocks and change the world.

You make my heart sing, little man.

With love,
Mommy

New Year

Happy New Year! Guess what one of my resolutions is this year?

Residency is trucking along relentlessly and so does everything else. The kids are getting older by the second, holidays have come and gone, and I am living and breathing work. I can't believe how different I feel in just a few months, though I don't know if my confidence is premature and based only on blind hope that I am doing the right thing (likely). Tomorrow starts my first off-service rotation (emergency room medicine), which means that it's unlikely I'll see a pregnant patient again for more than a month. I am thrilled at how sad this makes me. I worried that I would tire of obstetrics, but I just find it more and more fascinating and challenging as I get deeper into it.

That being said, ER should be fun. If nothing else, there are shifts that are 7am-4pm. SEVEN TO FOUR. I've usually seen ten patients by 7am, and leaving at 4pm seems like a crime, no matter what time you start the day. It's going to be great.

I was so lucky to have a few days off for the holidays, and even more lucky that those days included Christmas. We did a good bit of local traveling, but saw family and friends that, during a busy month in residency, might as well live on the moon. We are still paying for how hard we pushed the kids - poor things, we tried to convince them to nap in the car everyday, since we were constantly running from one place to another. They made up for it in the tremendous love they encountered at every turn (not to mention loot, spoiled rotten children).

COLIN

Have I told you? HE POOPS IN THE POTTY. Thank the stars, he just up and decided to do it one day and has never looked back. Not an accident, sleeping in Big Kid Underwear, the whole deal, can you believe it? It's the best Christmas gift ever. He did it first at school, a day I happened to pick him up. Normally, when I ask how his day was, he tosses a "Fine" over his shoulder and I have to tackle him to the ground to get anything out of him. This day, however, he says, still nonchalantly, "I pooped in the potty today." In fact I thought I had misheard, that my wildest hope had manifested as hearing things. But then he sent up to me the proudest, most quietly excited look, his eyes squinty with the breadth of his smile. I made a complete scene, I'll have you know. The whole building knew what had happened that day.



Interestingly, all the bribes I offered in my desperation were not at all lost on him, and he reminded me of his promised winnings as we walked to the car that night. "I get my MaiMai back, and a giant truck, and a cupcake, and a pack of stickers..." It was a good lesson about bribery (for both of us, unfortunately).



Colin was thoroughly confused by Santa this year. He was completely into the idea of getting presents, but many of the details were lost on him. At one point, I was informed that Santa rides flying dogs to people's houses, as well as that Santa would come every day until Colin's birthday came around again. This confusion was likely not aided by Patrick, who was equally puzzled. One day, in front of our children as well as our two nephews, said, "Wait, who does the stockings? Us or Santa?" He's lucky to be alive, I think. The Baby Mama is a fierce defender of Santa. Anyway, I don't know what I'll do with the two of them.







Luckily, Santa did visit our house, and left all kinds of goodies for everyone. Colin cleaned up the most, but he was most helpful in opening everyone else's presents as well. Caroline especially, given that she is mostly unable to coordinate tearing the paper off the package. The natural disaster left behind Christmas  morning reminded me of so many Christmas mornings growing up, when my sisters and I raced down the steps and dove into a pile of presents. Colin barely stopped to look at his gifts, there were so many to get to. There were a few that stopped him in his tracks, though. 





After Christmas at our house, we traveled south to a cabin on a farm to celebrate with my mother, sisters, and our nephews. Food, games, snuggles, and love. Exploring in the chilly weather and back in for hot chocolate and a nap. What else could you ask for, really.







However the real scene stealer was Angry Birds. All the  kids are obsessed with it and play at every opportunity. In fact, Colin insisted on getting an Angry Birds dog toy set for the pups for Christmas, which, incidentally, look a lot like the set that we gave to our nephew. Hm.



CAROLINE

Caroline is beautiful and sweet and serious, very observant and curious. She cracks up at anything her brother does to get her attention, but anyone else has to work for a smile. She has this incredible intensity about her, still playful but with a more reserved sense than Colin ever did. I love the closeness she demands, though it does get a little claustrophobic at 3am.



Christmas for Caroline was mostly about the wrapping paper. She did flips over it, reaching and scooting and screaming for wrapping, mostly unconcerned with the actual gift. Typical 6 month old, am I right? The paper was the gift for her, which makes her a really cheap date on Christmas.









v







It was a very Merry Christmas indeed. I hope you can say the same.

Growing

How has it been a MONTH since I wrote to you last? You will not believe what has happened in that time: Caroline has turned into a little person. She is awake and smiling at us for long parts of the day, which make the parts of the night when she's awake and alternating between smiling and screaming much more tolerable. She still isn't sleeping much and since she is still, for this moment at least, nursing exclusively, that means I'm not sleeping much either. It was bad for a bit, but now I operate in this interesting haze, one which I am not sure I'll remember at all after this all passes.

That, in itself, is interesting. The fact that I'm already thinking about all this as if it has passed. I know I pushed Colin when he was a baby - I probably still do. I always looked forward to the next thing, always thinking, "when he starts eating solids... when he learns to crawl... when he starts day care..." things would be easier or more fun. I tried to appreciate the moment with him, but the newness only gave way to more newness, making me constantly think of the future. With Caroline, though, I am incredibly focused on the present. Instead of looking ahead, I am looking at her. Staring, really. Gaping at her beauty and charm and sweetness, already so apparent. I spend all day snuggling with her, only to miss her when I put her down at night. (Luckily she doesn't stay down long, so that time is brief.)

Colin is turning out to be the world's most wonderful big brother, with the exception of the times he accidentally smooshes her with his enthusiasm. He loves her. Looooooooooves her. He can't walk by her without sneaking a kiss. He holds her hand when we're driving and sings to her softly when she cries. Instead of acting jealous of the attention bestowed on her, he demands it, drawing us over to her and pointing out her various adorable features.

It is incredible to me how it feels like she has always been here with us. It has not felt like an adjustment having her here because she has always been here. Maybe it's the lack of sleep talking, but she is the exact size to fit into the hole that we had in our family, a perfect match for us.

On the other hand, everything has changed. Every single routine is altered a little because we have an extra factor in the equation. Every day is different than it would have been. We all feel it, but none of us more than Colin. He, being a toddler, is incredibly dependent on routine to feel safe and in control of his life. Given that his routine has been permanently derailed and has yet to settle into a new one has thrown him, shall we say, off-kilter. That is an ol' timey and polite way of saying that he is being a complete bugger in every way except for the treatment of his sister, which is lucky for him since that may be the only reason he survives this stage of the game. I try - desperately - to remember how hard this is for him and how he is still only two, but dear god it is difficult to do so when you are being kicked in the (lactating - ow) chest for trying to change his pungent diaper.

We went on vacation last week with my family to the beach. They do it every year as a family reunion, but we can never go. (July in academic medicine is not conducive to such frivolity.) Happily, I had a baby and maternity leave this year, while Patrick was on a light month and could take time off. The trip was fun, the kids did reasonably well in the days-long car ride, and Patrick seems to be the only one with peeling skin. Colin had a wonderful time on the beach the very last day we were there, which was, coincidentally, the same day I discovered that the ocean was teeming with jellyfish, the stuff of nightmares. Still, he mastered the (very low and calm) waves and decided to make a racetrack instead of the more traditional sandcastle.







Caroline slept through the beach, as it provided no food and did not even coo at her. She woke up, however, for kisses and snuggles from Colin, who is the only one of us who can reliable elicit a smile.





Colin temporarily redeemed himself for his behavior with this exchange:

CAROLINE

(screaming bloody murder)

COLIN

Mommy, she's mad. She needs a MaiMai. 

(gently places MaiMai over CAROLINE)

KATIE!

Oh, Colin, that is so sweet! You gave her your MaiMai!

COLIN

I like my MaiMai. 

KATIE!

I like you, Colin. 

COLIN

(staring at CAROLINE)

I like Caroline. 

KATIE!

(melts into puddle)

These kids, I swear.