Party of Five

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And then there were five of us. 

It's still so strange to me, because for many minutes of almost every day, I still feel like I am my twelve year old self... Just with a job and a few wrinkles and car keys and a mortgage... And THREE kids. THREE.

In the months leading up to Erez's birth, I was told by many friends, acquaintances and strangers that the third child CHANGES EVERYTHING. I was told that my husband and I would henceforth be outnumbered and powerless in our own household, that we would instantly age by about ten years, and that the only way to get through parenting more than two children is to not care about anything. I always half believed these folks and half thought "meh, it can't be THAT bad!"

And it's not. THAT. BAD. But in the month since Erez was born, I have come to nickname our home "Casa de Chaos" as a term of endearment. Our bundle of joy came with a bundle of adjustments for everyone in our family, and we are all still acclimating, slowly but surely.

Erez himself is adorable. He is tiny, cuddly, sounds like a pug dog, and has eyes that seem to fill up his entire face. For the first week of his life, Erez was such a super calm baby that I almost thought something might be wrong with him. Then I brought him home from the hospital.

I honestly feel bad for the kid. He went from the cushy warmth and serenity of my womb to the quiet sterile tranquility of the hospital to the absolute madness of our home. His siblings love to get right up in his face and squeal at him or shake things at him, try to dance with his tiny body, and seem to have screaming contests whenever he is trying to nap. 

And then there are the digestive issues. His first formula made him gassy and fussy. The second formula made him constipated and fussy. He went from being a happy baby to a very very sad and cranky baby right around week three, I believe mostly because his system just wasn't dealing with the nourishment he was taking in. The third formula seems to have made him a much happier, calmer baby again. Fingers crossed. 

Generally, Erez seems like my "old soul" baby. I can't quite describe why I feel this way, and maybe my perception will change as he grows, but his little face seems wise, serious, concerned. He smiled at me this morning and I was so thrown for a loop, because I have gotten so used to his furrowed brow and pensive expressions.

As for the rest of us, well, Oren probably had the worst of it. He went from being my baby boy to needing to compete for lap time and hugs. Shortly after Erez came home, Oren started waking frequently at night, having more nightmares, throwing more tantrums, getting more boo boos, and just generally being super sensitive. He seems to have settled in to the new normal a bit and the anxiety seems to be waning, but my heart definitely broke a little bit for him. If I could somehow add hours to the day, I would add an hour where I could just hug Oren and make sure he knows that he is (and will always be) my beautiful little boy.

Ember has been awesome. She has taken on the role of older older sister like a champion. She wants to hug the baby, feed the baby, carry the baby, and I think she thinks she could do a better job than me raising Erez. She has acclimated and compromised without much fuss, just the occasional need for lots of attention. Her ability to adapt to a pretty enormous change has really impressed me.

Chris is doing well, other than continuing his ongoing battle to get adequate sleep. He has been an amazing partner, doing all the stuff I have no time to do anymore, kissing my forehead and hugging me when I seem overwhelmed, and keeping this parenting gig light and fun and silly, even in the stressful moments. It goes without saying that I wouldbe nowhere without him. Actually, scratch that. I would totally be in an asylum without him.

And me? After getting over the initial shock of what it is like to care for three kids, I am doing really well. I'm finding my groove. Yes, I still spend a great deal of my time feeling guilty over my inability to breastfeed the baby, over my upcoming return to work and Erez's daycare attendance at such a super young age, over my lack of availability to Ember and Oren, over my talent for eating a crap ton of chocolate even as I finally attempt to reclaim my body after five years of pregnancies and surgeries. The list of things I feel guilty about is truly endless. But I have always been rather good at beating myself up over things I both can and can't control. The good news is I am also getting better at recognizing my own limitations, patting myself on the back for staying sane and positive (most of the time), and appreciating all that I have, which is SO VERY much, especially now that we are a party of five.

A Scar is Born

So I was at an event this weekend – one where I knew just a handful of people, but tried my very best to be sociable and meet new folks and make small talk. Generally speaking, I find it easy to talk with other mommies, as there is obvious common ground, experiences to compare, and advice to be shared.

At this event, my daughter quickly made friends with a three year old girl, so it seemed appropriate that I talk with the little girl’s mom. The mommy was very warm, and sweet, and even went so far as to share her daughter’s snacks with Emmy.

After a bit of talking, the mommy and I started to share birth stories. She shared that her daughter had been born prematurely, but she was able to avoid a c-section and birth her baby naturally. I then shared with her that although I had hoped to birth my children naturally, I ended up having a c-section both times.

The mommy said she thought I was lucky for avoiding natural birth, and for some reason said that having a c-section probably helped my stomach look better than someone who had given birth naturally. I laughed and told her my stomach was hardly a thing of beauty, especially given the c-section scar that lives right below my beloved “pooch”.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, “but you can just get that fixed. I think that’s what everyone is doing these days, you know? Having a few babies and then just getting the surgery to get it all fixed so you look even better than your friends who don’t have kids.”

I think I responded by saying, “oh, ” and kind of laughing.

Is that what EVERYONE is doing these days? Popping out a few babies and then getting cosmetic surgery to erase any evidence that their body gave birth?

Granted, the crowd at this event was definitely a different and much wealthier crowd than the one I generally hang with, and this mommy's idea of "everyone," is probably very different from mine. It was a crowd of beautiful mamas with designer clothes and super-expensive bags and even pricier shoes. It was a crowd of families that have gigantic homes or beautiful New York City apartments and nannies and lots of all the best things in life. And maybe it was also a crowd of folks who REALLY don’t want to look like they’ve ever given birth.

I am not here to cast stones, or to judge the affluent crowd. Everyone I met seemed very kind and very smart, and I think they work really hard to support their lifestyles. I am totally envious of their beautiful wardrobes, their homes, and their cars. But I tell you, I am NOT envious of the pressure that comes with the sense of needing to keep up with what “everyone is doing.”

When I got home from the event, and took a shower that evening, I looked in the mirror, and saw the smiley face scar situated below my belly. I won’t lie and tell you I think my belly is beautiful. It’s NOT beautiful. But it is a daily reminder of the two most important moments in my life. I am so proud of what this body has been through, and I can certainly live with my “battle wounds.”

Emmy points to my “boo boo” all the time and asks if it is getting better. I always tell her it’s ok, my “mommy smile” doesn’t hurt me, but it will probably really never go away completely.

And honestly, I really hope it won’t.