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A collection of images | Summer, 2020
Click to see more.
A collection of images | Summer, 2020
It was the day your brothers came home with new bikes; the kind with gear stops that they hadn’t quite figured out yet. Van ran you over, you tibia broke, and in a cast you went. Four weeks with one true shower. By the day you got your cast off we could poke your heel through a small hole you burned into it; a byproduct of scooting on your butt to and fro. You played with the hose the night before it’s removal, evidenced by the soggy swamp foot that revealed itself the next morning. We’re a few days out and you’re not quite walking on it but you’ll get there. Remind Van later in life, if he’s not already too traumatized from being stuck in the middle and then carrying the guilt of being the responsible party, that he owes you one.
Dear Hooper, Van, & Sonny,
You lost one of your Great Grandmothers, Norma Jean (aka Nanny), on the 14th. We drove out to Arizona two days later to attend the funeral. Hooper, my sweet firstborn, you cried; water welled up behind those innocent eyes. You couldn’t stand seeing anyone hurt and saying goodbye made you sad. Van, you stayed close to me for most of the ceremony and, picking up on the emotion in the room, whispered that you loved me. And Sonny, you sat still for about 20 minutes (which truthfully is 20 minutes longer than I anticipated) until you could wave no more to the people behind you and had to be removed; the back of the church, your playground. You crawled wildly, filled with an energy only sugar could fuel. Though you had none.
We drove home through a storm, the rain falling harder than I’d venture to say you guys have seen before; a testament not solely to your limited life experience but more so to the weight of the water falling. Visibility bad enough to necessitate driving with our hazard lights on only to give way to a break in the storm. A part in the clouds. A sliver of blue skies. And a rainbow, fully visible, end to end.
May you hold tight onto memories. Of loved ones, of laughter, of storms, and, of rainbows.
I love you boys,
Mom
I intentionally have not googled anything in regards to any ‘middle child syndrome’ for fear of some self-fulfilling prophecy.
When I was pregnant with Sonny, I fooled myself into thinking there’d be no chance of such a thing trickling into our lives based on the fact Hooper and Van are so close in age; only 19 months separating them. I assumed Sonny would be a lone duck, which initiated my half-jokingly campaign for a fourth. I envisioned the boys being, well, bros and Sonny, who is 3.5 years younger than Van, being more-or-less on his own.
I’m still not sure what the ‘middle child syndrome’ is about, but I’m starting to gain some insight through my own observations (check me out, Google… didn’t need ya after all). Van has been the most challenging over the past few months and I can’t help but think that hindsight will draw a closer connection between his behavior and the arrival of Sonny and his new found position as the ‘middle child’.
Hooper is older and has lived to welcome a younger brother in Van, and now again, with Sonny. The transition has not only been easy for him, but it’s been filled with genuine brotherly love. The connection between Hooper and Sonny is strong and if I need help, Hooper is oftentimes the first I call on. And he seems to enjoy offering a helping hand. Even his teacher mentioned that he’s taken a liking to the responsibility of cleaning up the tables after centers, which I think coincides with the pride and fulfillment he feels when helping me with Sonny and household duties.
So while I want to take a needle and continuously poke at the center of my eyeballs when dealing with Van, I’m quite happy watching the innate connection between Hooper and Sonny. And I have a sneaking suspicion all of this has everything to do with this new-to-me middle child syndrome, that I really was hoping was not a thing but certainly is proving to be a thing. Unless it’s a age-related, because dem’ fucking fours (that’s what we call them) are just around the corner and we all know – or at least our experience has shown – nothing makes you want to take a needle to your eye more than the lows of a four-year-old.
In any event, let’s just concentrate on the beautiful connection between first and third born and then try your hand at convincing me this middle child thing will pass. Okay, thanks.
Hooper, you’re becoming the master manipulator, like when you knew you weren’t allowed to watch TV so you had Van bring the remote control to Papa and had him ask instead. When questioned about it you replied, “I have Van do my jobs for me”.
Me: “If you don’t want Hooper to pull your hair, we can cut it”
Van: “Nooooo, I want to keep my hair on”
“Let me help him get on that booby”, said by you, Hooper, when Sonny was pecking like a wood pecker looking for my nipple. You also asked if we could call Sonny ‘drinker’ because he ‘drinks’ a lot.
“We better get out of here, Mom’s got serious face” – Van
We were at the beach when Hooper, you came running up to me while I was nursing Sonny, tears streaming down your face as you said, “My brother! My brother! He’s hurt”. Turns out that Van, you had stepped on a cactus, it’s thorn stuck a solid inch into your foot. You two may fight like cats and dogs, but you’re very protective of one another as well.
Van, whenever you have a friend over to play, you protect Hooper’s toys saying, “Don’t play with that, it’s my brothers”.
While cleaning out under the sofa:
Me: “Why is there so much garbage under the sofa?”
Van: “Well, sometimes we forget where the garbage is” (master of excuses)
Van to Hooper: “Hahahaha, look at Mom’s butt up in the air” (said as I’m crouched down like the bitch that I am picking up their trash)
Hooper & Van, I caught you both upstairs with your baseball gloves on using one of Sonny’s rolled up poop filled diapers as a ball.
I found you both in the downstairs bathroom with the door shut. Van, you were taking a dump and Hooper, you were dispensing candy that you had stashed away and hidden under the bathroom sink. I didn’t stop it nor confiscate the candy because it seemed as if hiding from your mom in the bathroom, taking a dump together, and eating stolen candy is like a right of passage.
“Let’s chase her and put peanuts in her butt” – Van to Hooper in regards to Hooper’s on-again-off-again girlfriend at school.
Hooper: “Mama, how come Sonny’s balls are bigger than mine?” (said while watching me change Sonny’s diaper while simultaneously pulling his underwear down to compare)
Me: “Because when you’re cold your balls get smaller”
Van: “Ya, his are bigger than mine too!!” (also pulls down his underwear to compare)
Hooper: (pointing at Van’s penis) “Look Van, your peep is big!”
Van: (proceeds to flex his “peep”, making it go up and down)
“Mama, he’s copying my words” – said by either of you depending on who’s being the copycat asshole in the present moment.
Then there was the sword fight in the bathroom that ended in a real fight and resulted on a fair amount of urine on the wall. At least you guys didn’t make fun of my butt while I cleaned it up.
Hooper: “Mama, I know why Sonny is crying”
Me: “Why?”
Hooper: “I pinched him because he pulled my hair”
“Motherhood is about raising and celebrating the child you have, not the child you thought you’d have. It’s about understanding he is exactly the person he’s supposed to be. And, if you’re lucky, he might be the teacher who turns you into the person you’re supposed to be.” -The Water Giver
Hooper came home from school with his belly button painted purple and red looking like a makeup artist got ahold of him and gave his belly button a good bruising. When questioned about it, he said he wanted his belly button to look like Sonny’s.
As Sonny laid curled up into me in the hospital bed, I couldn’t help but think how the kicks from him while inside me were so reminiscent of the kicks I felt with him lying next to me.
One of the nurses commented as I ate my meal over a breastfeeding Sonny that I must not be a first time mom. It sure is a lot easier the third time around.
I’ve always said that the newborn phase isn’t really for Willy and I, that we’d rather jump right into the toddler phase. But I guess with each child you gain a better sense of just how fleeting and unforgiving time is and for whatever reason, I’m really enjoying this newborn phase. Willy too.
Questions asked by the boys: Why doesn’t he open his eyes? Can we watch him suck your booby? Mama, when are you going to fill your belly up again? When will he be able to tell jokes?
Hooper broke out into full crocodile tears when he had to go home from the hospital without Sonny and I. Through choked up words and flowing tears, he said, “I want mama and Sonny to come home too”. Broke. My. Heart. He also cried heavily after Jimmie accidentally scratched Sonny.
Highlights from the hospital: lavender towels delivered by the sweetest of volunteers and home made chocolate chip cookies.
My first day home I watched Van pick a very large sized booger and was actually relieved when he put it in his mouth, allowing me to stay sitting on my injured lady parts.
Van, being to boob man that he is, shared the following observation: “Wow, mama, that is the biggest I have ever seen your booby”. Followed by, “Can I squeeze it?”.
Speaking of boobs, Hooper made one out of his legos. He used a long stick looking lego for the nipple and it resembled the fembots from Austin Powers.
Jimmie spent the first week of Sonny’s life rather out of sorts. He welcomed him home by peeing all over the hallway floor, the stairs, and the landing area.
I’ve rediscovered sleeping on my back, which never felt like something to write home about before but is nothing short of a privilege now.
My doctor’s response when I told him we’d like to save the placenta, “Um, okay. Gross”.
The following conversation took place:
Van: “How come your tummy is still big?”
Me: “Cuz there’s still gunk in there”.
Van: “But gunk only comes out of your ears”.
Willy, on having another boy: “It’s nice not having to wipe poop out of a vagina”…
My vagina itched in the worst way possible following the delivery. It’s one thing to be awoken by your newborn baby, but it’s an entirely different thing to be awoken by my own labia. In any event, desitin worked magically. Take notes.
I had made a list of things to do once I felt labor coming on on the back of a tear away calendar. When I came home from the hospital, I turned the list over only to discover that I had written it on March 17. Here I am visiting the magic eight ball’s website trying to figure out when this baby would come when all I had to do was look on the back of my pre-labor to-do list.
Van peed in his bed one night, followed by throwing up in his bed the night after that. Willy has been in charge of household duties so Van spent the next two nights sleeping on semi-barf sheets.
I texted my mom “shit just got real” the morning Van woke up with said throw up. I thought that day would be the day that would do me in but it was the next day, when Van was back to being healthy, that the first I-don’t-know-if-I-can-do-this tears started flowing. Luckily, they came and went.
I’m eating my placenta, which sounds better than the truth which is I had it encapsulated. I’ve never had post partum depression but as soon as I heard that it could* help with post partum hair loos, you better believe I was in.
Sonny’s belly button stump smells like an ape’s armpit. We ended up using alcohol on it to speed up the falling-off-process and I’m happy to report that the problem has been resolved.
Willy caught a video of me giving birth and I’ve only been able to watch it once or twice. In fact, every time Sonny cries that high-pitched newborn cry I am reminded of that video and equally troubled as the first time I saw it.
Sonny’s balls are the size of the rock of Gibraltar.
Van refers to the suction/bottle part of my breast pump as “water blasters” and has taken to carrying them around the house, one in each hand, shooting them like you would a gun.
Hooper asked if he could carry Sonny down the stairs, pointing out the fact he’s 5 and therefore totally trustworthy.
I overheard you guys up in your room laughing and saying “Let’s go show mom our poo butts”. Moments later you both came running into my room, naked, and started sticking your little bums in my face.
You self sufficiently made yourselves your own breakfast the other morning. It consisted of leftover stale Cheetos. Which you shared. So there is that.
I had to break up a fight that involved one of you with your peep out threatening to pee on the other.
You’re both in a stick-your-tongue-out and spit phase. That’s fun.
You fight over cars that we pass by. It goes a little something like this, “Wow, Hoo-par, check out that coo car”, to-which-Hooper, you say, “I want it!”. This is always followed by an additional “No! I want it!”. And a full on fight breaks out over a car that doesn’t belong to any of us.
Along the same lines you recently saw a car tugging a boat and fought over who would be the captain.
You both like to take all your clothes off and tackle on the sofa. Not sure why you have to be naked for this to happen, but it’s definitely become a thing.
Every once in a blue moon you’re embrace each other with arms wide open and almost sarcastically say “it’s so nice to see you” as you embrace. I’m pretty sure you’re mocking me, but whatever.
We’ve caught you trying to kiss one another’s buttholes. It’s gotten to the point that your Papa and I have decided that the next time we see it happen we’re washing both of your mouths out with soap and water.
Hooper, you always want to wake Van up while he’s napping. Just. Can’t. Wait. To. Play. And then fight.
We put you to bed the other night but then found both of you, completely naked, standing in your bathroom pointing and laughing at the pee Van made on the floor. We re-dressed you and put you back in bed because doing it twice is so much more fun. As is cleaning up pee.
I’m realizing a lot of these tidbits have to do with poo, pee, butts and private parts, spit, or nudity. Welcome to our life at the moment.
regardless, it’s been so nice to be feeling better and getting out a little bit more. I feel as though I’ve been hiding under a rock for the last few months and I much prefer skipping rocks into the creek instead.