Comfort Zone

It's been a difficult few weeks here. In what I'm sure was a fit of sibling generosity, Esmé kindly shared her cold with Theo– hers ultimately manifested itself in an ear infection, his a nasty cough. Toss in copious amounts of spit-up, a random puke event for Esmé (in the car, no less) and general crankiness and sleep deprivation all around and you can start to get the picture of what it's been like lately. I lost count of how many times we've visited the pediatrician's office. I do know that we're all finally on a first-name basis. But fortunately the antibiotics won over the "penguins" in Esmé's ear and Theo's ragged, rattly cough eventually abated (thank God, it was such a sad, sad sight!) This sharing of germs, swapping of sickness and general household unhealthiness is something I guess we'll have to get used to. Fun.

And it's been tough, in general, too. We have a nearly three-year-old in the house now who's most definitely testing her boundaries and who is, to be fair, also struggling with this massive disruption to life as she knew it. (We like to call him Theo.) And if I had a penny for every time I say "Gentle!" and "No, not his head!" I'd have enough money to make all of this matter a heck of a lot less.

Seriously, though, it's tough watching this little person you love more than anything grapple with issues that really are beyond her. And it's tough parenting her through it because a toddler who's testing you at every turn is not the most lovable of creatures. And did I mention the sleep deprivation? Mustering up the required patience is sometimes the most challenging part of my day, I kid you not.

But we are surviving. And I'm seeing progress. Small glimmers of hope. Esmé has been a lot more herself lately. And I'm getting some more sleep here and there. And Theo is coming into himself as well. And pretty soon we'll be grappling with a new set of challenges, of that I'm sure. My new parenting motto these days... don't get too comfortable.

Two's Company

I really should be napping. Both children are sleeping, which I've already learned involves a lot of luck and certain stars to align. And I'm pretty sure that if I gave it a go, I too could easily be out like a light. But I know that before giving into sleep, I'd be tossing restlessly, plagued by guilt for shirking my Little Grey House duties. There's much to write about these days, if only I had the time, energy, wherewithal, a massage, a decent meal, a hot cup of coffee...

As it turns out, Theo at six weeks...


Is Esmé at six weeks.


I've gone and given birth to the same child. Only 2 lbs heavier and with different plumbing and a tad more hair. It is striking how much they look alike. In those early, hazy days I'd look down at my boy during some late-night feeding and say, "Oh Esmé, sweetie, you must be hungry!" I guess this is only the beginning of those sort of mix ups. By the time they're teens, I'm sure I'll be doing it all the time. I can only hope that they'll be sleeping through the night by then.

And Esmé is doing so well and has decided that being a Big Sister is serious stuff and by assuming said role she is obligated to face all her fears and dispense with them one by one. Sheep? No longer scary she tells me. Of course, I'm not exactly clear on what made them scary to begin with, but at last they've made the cut. Hair washing? No problem, Mommy, Daddy, I'll just close my eyes. And she does, and this chore is worlds easier than it was, but that's not to imply that it still isn't fraught with a certain degree of drama. Suffice to say, though, she's trying and I give her props for that. On her own, without any encouragement from me, she's gone potty by herself, meaning without even telling me she had to go she took herself upstairs, pulled the stool up, her pants down and did what she needed to where she was supposed to do it. "Are you so proud of me, Mommy?" she asked me after informing me of this milestone. Sure I am, but aren't you supposed to be regressing, not progressing?

And we have had our moments, trust me. Not so much of regression. Just a heightened sensitivity that leads to over reactions at times. A little more drama. She's stepped up the requests for band-aids. That sort of thing. But I am soooo proud of her. She is handling this transition so well and in doing so making my transition into mother of two so much sweeter.



And Theo is doing his part as well. He's a sweet little baby. Not a big crier. Has his own way of letting you know what he needs. He burps easily. Doesn't spit up much. And nothing induces sleep quite like his warm little body nestled on your chest. Speaking of sleep, Theo is a noisy little sleeper. Our nights, when not spent tending to him, are filled with his grunts and growls, spurts and sputters. I know this is normal and recall Esmé doing the same. Theo, however, has raised the bar on this newborn particularity. He is noisy beyond compare and I pity his future college roommate wherever (and in whatever crib) he may be now.

And with that, I should go rest. Only Theo is squawking now and Esmé is riffing on Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star. Oh well.

Remembering Rosie

Last week we lost our sweet little Rosie. She was part of our lives for almost 14 years. She was a mellow soul, happy to curl up in any available patch of sunlight whether that sunlight was in Paris, Manhattan, Brooklyn or suburban NJ. She endured our travels, a bossy alpha cat and the expansion of our family without complaint. We'll remember her squeaky meow, her rumbling purr, her affinity for the color red (she always gravitated toward red, fuzzy toys) and how she hated to be held but loved to be stroked. The Little Grey House won't ever be quite the same without our little grey cat.

Theo!

The Little Grey House is pleased to present its newest occupant, Theo Jon. Arriving March 9th, Theo weighed an impressive 7 lbs. 2 oz. and measured 19 1/2 inches long. He's super sweet, very cuddly and oh so fond of keeping us up at night.

Theo never ceases to surprise us. And I'm starting to think, never will. After being shocked to learn we were pregnant to begin with, we settled in to what turned out to be a very different nine months from the first go round. And finally, despite everyone's predictions that the birth would be early and quick, Theo decided to take his sweet time– arriving four days later than his due date and drawing out the labor to a slow, 36-hour affair.

And I must admit I'm also surprised to see how seamlessly Theo has slipped into our lives. For nine months I couldn't begin to imagine what life with this little boy would be like. And now, I can't imagine life any other way.

Good Night, Chickadees

For a little over a month now, Esmé has been sleeping in a "big girl bed." In this case, a toddler bed that's perfectly sized so she can climb in and out with ease. Also, the potty training seems to be paying off, finally. For the last four days she's been in underwear (excepting naps and bedtime) and virtually accident free. I've been looking into preschools. She's been insisting she's a "big girl" and so over her high chair. I'm expecting eye rolls any day now.

What a long strange trip it's been. From a newborn who needed everything from me, to this emerging little person who grows more independent by the day-- we're so lucky to have a child who has always handled transition well. In fact, the only sign that Esmé was feeling a little nostalgic for the good 'ole days of sleeping in her crib was that she wanted us to resume an old bedtime ritual she had previously abandoned. Since we had been putting her to bed in her own room we've always said "good night" to the bird pictures decorating the walls: ten in all, from robins to chickadees. By the time she was talking she was joining in with us. So we were a bit saddened the night, a few months ago, when she announced that she didn't want to say "good night to the birds" anymore. And we were equally pleased (and a little touched) the night she asked to do it again. That was her first night in her big girl bed. And we've been saying "good night" again to our feathered friends ever since.

Being on the cusp of what will likely be Esmé's biggest transition has me wondering, and worrying a little, about exactly how she's going to handle everything. I've no doubt it will all, in the end, be fine. But I do hope, as with the birds, she's able to show us when she needs the reassurance of the tried and true and familiar. I'll be more than happy to oblige, even with another on the way, I'm not ready to let go of my baby just yet either.

There must have been some magic...

The first snowman of the season, built with Sofia

Esmé loves snowmen. This passion of hers dates back to last Christmas. So it should not have come as any surprise that she should take a liking to Frosty, perhaps the most famous snowman of all. I don't want to even admit how many times she watched the old corn-cob-pipe-toting, singing and dancing snowball. Enough that she has the song down pat, which is something to hear.

She's also quite adept at singing "Jingle Bells," "Rudolph," and "Let it Snow" even. When asked she'll tell you "I Saw Three Ships" is her favorite Christmas carol (an excellent choice, IMHO) and did not hesitate to ask me to sing "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" over and over and over and over again as we drove from here to there, visiting family on Christmas Eve. Suffice to say, she fully embraced the Christmas season and all it had to offer.


Christmas Eve finery


From nightly readings of "Twas the Night Before Christmas," at her request. To a tête-à-tête with a mall Santa where she asked for books. Books! When told that Christmas is also the birthday of Jesus, her reply: "I love cheese, I want some cheddar cheese, please." It's been a fun-filled month.


Esmé thoroughly enjoyed her new dollhouse Christmas morning-- so much so, it was hard to get her back on-task and opening her other presents. Plus she was equally delighted by the outfit Nana gave her and stripped on the spot so she could put it on.


Esmé was likewise a happy giver this season. Together we picked out a toy and book to donate to Toys for Tots-- both were train themed at her request.





About a month from now we welcome the year of Tiger. And just another month or so after that, our own little tiger makes his début!

Here's to a Happy 2010/Prosperous Year of the Tiger for one and all!

This Little Piggy...

For those who know her, it shouldn't come as any surprise that Esmé chose a pig as her Halloween costume. For my part, my reaction was mostly one of relief, I knew I could manage that with a little felt, glue, trial and error. It was difficult to get her to wear the nose, though she was willing to hold it up for some photo-ops. We attended the town parade the day before. And then hit the sidewalks for what proved to be a rather drizzly first trick-or-treating experience. We stuck to neighborhood homes, and Esmé was mainly perplexed by why we weren't actually going into the homes themselves. These were our friends after all. Couldn't we just have an impromptu playdate? She did, however, totally get the candy thing. That required no explanation on my part, oddly enough considering she's never really had any. She just got it. Candy? Oh yeah.












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