I feel slightly depressed about not being able to go to my baby brother’s wedding. I’m rehashing the decision over and over with both my husband and my mom. It’s like I refuse to really accept that we have to stay home. The trip was all planned and everything, the direct flight to Stockholm seconds from being booked. But we really don’t have any choice in the matter, I can’t go without my daughter and she can’t go so… her health and wellbeing is all that really matters. My sore nipples and baby M’s bad latch do nothing to lift my spirits. My mom and sister were also counting on me. I am missing out here! I talk to my brother’s wife-to-be about recording a speech they will play at the weeding (it’s the least I can do, hopefully it makes everyone feel like a little part of me is really there). It’s such a huge life event to miss, I hope my brother isn’t too disappointed (although, I think I’m more upset than he is).
My husband is working more than ever, coming home after our son is asleep most nights- in our bed of course, so my husband actually has to carry him into the mattress on the floor of our son’s room and sleep in there with him; poor guy (the grown one, the other one loves this arrangement) but I really can’t have two kids (one an infant, one a kicking/moving/sweating/snoring soon to be three year old, come to think of it that description also fits his father-perfectly) and a man share the bed with me, Miss “eating every hour” (and by that I mean attacking me, often missing the target, latching on wrong and biting me, even through my t-shirt) is quite enough?
I keep busy with three projects this week, planning the best big sister wedding speech ever made (it just has to end up fantastic to make up for me not being there), finding a great lactation specialist (it’s time) and organizing an amazing birthday party for my son (turning three is a big deal after all!). Sounds a little crazy hectic? That’s how I roll! We go to the planned one year old’s birthday party (the sweetest little boy; the son to a friend I’ve known for a long time) since it’s outside on the beach. It feels so great to get out, even if it’s not exactly convenient. Our little boy is a wild one and he loves the ocean, the waves and the sand (not the best combo, I’m glad I dressed him so nice). As he is running around I ask hubby to put him in a grey tank top (because what’s the point), he is happy as can be, meeting up with his little friends! I am carrying our baby in my Baby Bjorn, I know there are fancier and more ergonomic carriers out there today but I actually love going Swedish when the babies are this small. The Bjorn is just perfect for infants! Since I worry about the sand and the wind and the sun (and pretty much everything else), a friend’s husband (also known them both for ages and it’s great to socialize a little even if it comes with a pinch of mom guilt) helps wrap a blanket around us both (only the top of her head, cheeks and tiny nose is peaking out), he also gets my some snacks. I munch on some cheese and crackers (what else?) and some fruit as I watch my husband play with our son in the gentle breeze, gazing out over the ocean (absolutely beautiful).
It’s not long before the break is over; boy getting way too loud and wild (dangerous mix) and a liability (in more ways than one) and baby girl wakes up wailing mad (get me food NOW!)
The next day it’s time for our boy’s birthday, it’s not as elaborate as I might have wanted it but I have learned lately that there are things you have to let go. That it’s a car theme AGAIN this year for instance. My husband goes to get the balloons an hour before everyone is due to arrive (he promised to go early in the morning but then he picked up the cakes-one of them being an ice cream one, currently melting slowly in our fridge without my knowledge). When he calls in a panic before returning with the car balloons I know something is wrong, after a second of freaking out I’m happy to get the information that our son “just” threw up in the car (nothing more serious), until I see the car. I’m NOT so happy anymore.
The man I married refuses to clean it up telling me he is very bad at that “sort of thing” offering very graciously to take the baby. I start with the kid, stripping off his clothes that go in the wash (on sanitize of course) then I put him under the shower, I let him sit naked in his room with a towel, well aware of all that needs to get done. I am forced to call my mother in law, trying to explain that “no he is not sick, he just choked on a bagel”. They are nice enough to leave right away! Here’s to hoping all the other guest will be late-very late.
I almost gag myself as I’m trying to come up with a game plan for the car. The smell is repulsive and the vomit is EVERYWHERE! I use a whole bunch of baby wipes (love those things; I don’t know how I ever managed without them pre-kids). Then I do a temporary once over with water and soap (people are supposed to be her right now and the stink in our driveway…). Next is the car seat that I literally hose down and put in our garage. I’m so glad the bagel of choice was freaking POPPY SEED!
As guest arrive our daughter cries like she is a demon child possessed (or is it a child possessed by a demon… not sure) welcoming all! My in laws do a great job of helping as I’m forced to relinquish some responsibility, and my husband and his brother set up the bouncy house (it might not be in the right corner of the yard but who cares…not moi!). My other pet peeve is the empty chips/cookie/candy/popcorn bags and wrappers littering my kitchen. Juggling the possessed baby with one hand I try to stuff them in the pantry with my other one. I’m incredibly thankful for the help of my husband’s family now though, I really am! Auntie is taking pictures and filming while mother in law (let’s just say nothing would have been ready without them) is making punch and setting everything up…and then I’m checking on the cakes, where one has his name misspelled and then I find the other one… or what is left of it…
Our son’s biggest gift is from his uncle; a way too extravagant gift for a three year old (not to mention his poor mother). The big real motorized vehicle is hidden in the garage (yep, right next to the disgusting car seat). As the party goers all transition into the garage to admire the gift I don’t know whether to laugh or cry! All’s well that ends well though, I think everyone had fun and I know the birthday boy sure did (on his merry way of getting spoiled rotten) and a few party mishaps are certainly not that big a deal in the grand scheme of things. Party, check! written a speech, check!, lactation specialist booked, check!
She arrives on Tuesday and you will not believe what she has to say…