A year ago this week, at 6am on a Monday morning, the Husband and I walked the three blocks to the hospital and checked in to Labor and Delivery. It was my due date, and given that I had to be at work five days later, I thought it best to induce rather than wait it out. Six hours later, we had a new little one in our lives.
That little baby is now one. She has spent about half her life in quarantine, but she doesn’t know that. Her life, her world, is encompassed by all that is around her. And in that, she finds plenty to explore.
Her belly button alone is proving to be a great source of fascination to her. A few weeks ago, we were sitting on her bed, she was just in a diaper, and somehow she managed to poke herself in the belly button, her little finger tip going into the little divot. And then, kind of like sunshine, this look of awareness came over her face, and she giggled. And did it again. Since then, whenever she is hanging out without a shirt on, she will give her belly button a little poke, as if to say, “Yep, still there!”
She is a determined child, curious and up for any challenges. Her love for pulling the dirt out of the Husband’s potted plants, and for emptying all the kitchen drawers that she can reach certainly leaves a trail of debris in her wake.
She loves to be held, observing the world from up high, with this slightly judgy pucker to her lips and brow, or craning her neck to get a better view of whatever else is going on around her. Usually it is some antic that her siblings are pulling. They make her laugh, her sister and brother. Sometimes by accident, often intentionally. “Make the baby laugh” is a much enjoyed pastime around here.
People often ask me, “What is it like with three kids?” And, to be honest, one year in, I don’t think it is much different than having two. Not because my kids are magically easy, by any means. Rather it is because most days I feel like I only have the bandwidth to keep track of two children at any given moment. In the early days of three, it was usually the two year old and either the baby or the eight year old, depending on who was hungry and who was asleep.
That balance has somewhat shifted these days. Usually it is the mobile, dare-devil, no sense of fear baby that requires the most attention, and either the self sufficient now three year old or the independent eight year old that float in and out of my attention span. Either way, I only have a finite number of hours in my day and three children fill the day just as full as two children. There are moments (days, weeks, months, lifetimes, I’m sure) when I feel as if no one is getting what they need, least of all the Husband or myself. But then I realize that someone will always be needing something. Need is infinite. But you know what, so is love.