Sunday, March 28, 2010

"Owen is me and Gavin is you"

Those were the words spoken by Mark on Sunday night. And they pretty much sum up my thoughts too. Why do I feel the need to pick apart my children's traits and put them in a category of "yours" and "mine"? Is that natural? Because I find myself doing it all the time.

Gavin has my hair texture because it is so fine. Owen's hair is more thick and coarse like Mark's.

Owen is a heavy sleeper (like Mark). He can pretty much sleep through anything. Gavin, on the other hand, is a light sleeper (like me) who wakes at the drop of a hat.

Gavin seems to have my temperament as a child--calm and easy-going. Whereas Owen seems to have Mark's childhood disposition--emotional and strong-willed.

And really, how could you NOT compare their looks?

At one month:

At four months:

At eight months:

I could go on but I know that our children cannot be labeled in every category. They each have their very own personality with unique traits that neither Mark nor I possess. And as they grow up they'll become more and less like us. But for the time being, I'm sticking with Mark--Gavin is me and Owen is he.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

One of Those Nights

Both boys were in bed. I did the dishes, tidied up the last of the toys, folded two loads of laundry, and read a couple chapters in my book.

Tucked myself in and went to sleep.

Just before midnight
Mark returned from a business trip. I noticed him, then promptly dozed off.

Just after midnight
Gavin awoke with a mild cry. We listened to see if he would go back to sleep. No luck. Since he'd been teething I knew what he wanted, so I decided to nurse him and put him back to bed.

Sometime between 1am and 3am
Owen showed up by my side and announced that he wet his bed. I followed him back to his room where we changed his pjs and his sheets.

Woke up to Owen yelling "Mooooommmmmy". Stumbled to his room to find him covered in puke. He was shivering and soiled and required a bath.

Filled the tub and soaped the kid up. Threw his soiled clothes and sheets in the growing pile of laundry to do in the morning. Put him back in bed.

Gavin awoke with a tiny wimper. I decided to let him cry it out.

Still crying it out. Then came another cry from Owen's room. He had puked again, this time in the kitchen pot I had provided after the last incident. We cleaned up his face and mouth in the bathroom and rinsed out the pot. Meanwhile Gavin was still crying in his room.

Mark finally awoke for the first time since his midnight arrival. He tried to coaxe Gavin back to sleep while I tucked Owen back in. Gavin wasn't having it. Mark, in an effort to help, decided to prepare a small bottle of stored milk from the fridge so I could get some sleep.

Mark brings Gavin to me and reports that he spilled the milk while warming it and there would be no bottle. I proceeded to nurse Gavin back to sleep.

Finally back in my bed to sleep for the night.

Owen puked for the third time and decided to be up for the day. I turn on some morning cartoons for him and headed back to bed.

Gavin woke up for the day.

Mark showered and left town on another business trip.

I don't know who to feel more sorry for....Owen (who has now thrown up about 8 times), myself (exhausted and sleep-deprived), or Mark (who spent 8 hours at home between travels enjoying a night of "pure bliss".)

See what you're missing out on when you're gone, honey?

Friday, March 05, 2010

The Runaway

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Most days Owen gives me a run for my money. Which is fine. But when he gives other adults this same's no good. For instance, he has been known to run out of the nursery at church when he doesn't want to stay. He is very sly. He waits until the moment when he doesn't think anyone is watching, and he darts for a slight opening in the door. This first happened almost a year ago and caused quite a stir with the adults who were helping out in nursery. He was halfway across the church building before they could catch up to him and "help him find his mommy". I was a little surprised at his craftiness and very embarrassed.

It happened during the first few days of preschool. I dropped him off. There was hesitation, but I knew it wouldn't help for me to linger. So I squeezed him goodbye and said I'd pick him up in a couple hours. I made it all the way to my car and began backing out. Sure enough, Owen showed up just as I was leaving. His preschool teacher was distraught at seeing one of her students dash out the door to make a getaway. I felt so bad.

In January he moved from the nursery to a primary class. A new environment? An unsuspecting teacher? Of course he was off and running in no time. A flustered primary teacher and one other parent chased him through the building until he found me and suctioned himself to my leg. They were very apologetic, explaining that he took off without warning and they were sure he was headed out the door and into the street. I was not surprised a bit. But I was embarrassed.

And just last week it happened again. He was being picked up by a friend for a playdate. He insisted that I stand outside and wave goodbye to him as he rode to his friend's house. It was stormy that day and I was eager to head back inside to get out of the rain. I failed to wave to him long enough. He wasn't satisfied. So unbeknownst to me, he waited until the car got out of the driveway and to the end of our culdesac. Then he unbuckled his seatbelt, opened his door, and took off running toward home. WHILE THE CAR WAS MOVING! The mother of his little friend just about had a heart attack as she put the car in park and leaped out her door to chase him down. He reached our house first. But she was not far behind, rattling off a frantic explanation of what had just happened.

So...any bets on when he'll try to run away from home? I'm just waiting.