Wednesday, March 25, 2009

4 Years Old Already?

So we're now the parents of a 4 year old. Kind of hard to believe since it seems like just yesterday that we were getting used to having a little baby around. Actually, we were doing that yesterday but that was the newest one so it doesn't really make my point. All I know is our little girls seem to grow up so quickly. The cool thing is the 2 year age difference between each means we've got our own little developmental chart. If we get them standing in a single file row it looks like the evolution of man. The problem with evolution is they get smarter.

In the past week or so that's become quite apparent. There was the day I was telling the story of the time our dog peed on another dog. A friend of ours was visiting with her dog, who is ten times better behaved than our dog. Her dog was sitting ever so obediently in the kitchen when Mojo decided to take the opportunity to mark his territory. Apparently in his mind he considered this new dog part of his territory because he let loose right on her. To her credit she didn't' budge which is more than I can say for myself the time he peed on me. So after the story there were lots of questions including if it was a boy dog or girl dog. When I said it was a girl dog there was one more question. "How did you know? Did you check and see it's, kind of, vagina?" On the one hand I was happy to see she understands physical characteristics that differentiate genders and the proper terms for those parts. On the other hand, I was a little concerned that she thinks I would get down on all fours and check out a dog's bits and bites in order to find out if it's a girl or boy dog.

"No sweetie, my friend told me it was a girl and I just assumed she was right." That's what I said after I stopped laughing my ass off. Of course the laughter only encourages her.

She's becoming very aware of how cute she can be and how to use that. Last Monday after the kids had been put to bed my wife and I were in our room watching The Big Bang Theory, easily one of the top 5 shows on TV. With all the laughing we didn't notice someone had snuck into the room and was sitting on the floor. Once we saw her she looked at us with a big smile and said "this is a good movie, can I watch too?" The combination of cuteness and good taste left us with no other option than to say yes. It sets a dangerous precedent but what could we do?

I don't always give in though. The night before her birthday last week I was tucking her in and we were talking about the fun we'd have tomorrow. Apparently, it was very important that she "look pretty" so she had big plans for her outfit. Then she told me all about what I was supposed to wear. She told me I had to wear white pants, a white sweater as well as a bow tie and hat. If she'd given me more than 9 hours notice I might have been able to pull it off. As it stands I'll have to file that outfit away in the memory banks so I can dust it off for a special occasion. I figure birthdays 12 through 18 would be just special enough. That should give me enough time to find just the right bow tie as well as learning how to do the Carlton dance from Fresh Prince. The girls' teen years will be a truly magical time for them.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Bad Influence

Ok, our youngest is definitely in trouble. I don't just mean the trouble caused by having me as a parent. I'm not always the best influence. For instance, last week I got a timeout for horsing around on the stairs. Honestly though, if you're not supposed to jump down the stair then why are the turning points called landings? It's a good thing there aren't any real spacious landings in our house. When I was a kid we had a nice big landing so I set up some couch cushions and then jumped from the half wall overlooking the staircase. My occasional poor judgement aside, the issue here is the youngest is going to be in trouble when she's older because of her sisters.

A couple days ago the oldest went to use the potty with her little sister following behind. No real problems there. A few minutes later little miss potty trained came back into the room with some news for me. "Daddy, I told Cameron to clean the toilet and there was, uhh kind of, pee in it." As soon as the words were out of her mouth her little sister comes bouncing into the room with a wet face cloth in her hand.

"Oh crap. You know you're not supposed to clean toilets like that. We have a toilet brush to clean the toilet with."

"She couldn't use the brush because I was using it. So I gave her the towel."

On the one hand I can't fault her logic but at the same time I cringe for what the future will hold for our little baby once she's old enough to take orders. At least we can look forward to having toilets that are absolutely spotless.

Monday, March 16, 2009

A Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

You would think that having three kids in under four years we would remember how it goes. Either my memory is crap or the lack of sleep has ruined my, umm what's the word, head thinking thingy. I want to say skull penis but that doesn't sound right. Whatever it's called, mine is not exactly working at optimum capacity.

It's been a week and half now and it's been a bit of an adjustment. I'd forgotten how much babies like to wake up at night. How often they need to be fed and how many times they poop in a given day. I think that last one is more a suppressed memory than anything else. I've changed plenty of diapers in the past 4 years but this kid can still drop a load that brings me close to the brink. Hats off to the little stinkpants.

Anyways, back to my mental deficiencies. With three kids that like to wake up at varied intervals throughout the night it can cause some confusion. My wife is in charge of actually feeding the baby 9 times out of 10, either by bottle or breast, so that leaves making bottles as my job. The problem is we've got 3 girls that all require different bottles or sippie cups as the case may be. So the other night I get woken ever so pleasantly by a crying baby, my wife's voice, and eventually a well placed shot to the ribs. She asks me to get a bottle for the middle child (who's down to spending only half the night with us). I get up and head to the bathroom to turn on the hot water, thinking I'm supposed to get a bottle for the baby which of course needs to be warmed first. Back in the bed, number 2 and mom are left totally confused. She's sitting there shaking her sippie bottle at the bathroom with a perplexed look on her face before turning to her mom and giving an "I have no idea what he's doing" shoulder shrug. Apparently, I need to start listening to exactly who I'm supposed to be getting things for before springing into action.

If I did, I wouldn't be bringing sippie cups of milk to our newborn, or scooping powdered formula into my wife's water glass. Another helpful tip is if you're going to pour formula into one of those bottles with liners, make sure there's a liner in it first. In hindsight, putting the one with a liner on the counter beside one that was empty wasn't my best idea. Not surprising though since we're being sleep starved into stupidity. With that said I should get to bed so I can get up at 2, 4, and 6 to make bottles, get milk, water, and diapers for people and of course, try to operate the microwave with my TV remote.

Monday, March 9, 2009

And Then There Were Three

So our newest little girl entered the world last Thursday. Everything went pretty well. We had to wait around a few hours. Not sure why you have to get there so early, it's not like we're taking an international flight and have to go through security or something. On the other hand, we can bring as many pairs of scissors or bottles of lotion with us as we want so it's pretty much a wash.

Anyways, having that time to wait was actually a nice little break. No one asking me to fill their sippy cup or jumping on my back when I'm not looking. Apparently, our middle child has recently made the decision that the only viable form of transportation when it comes to stairs is riding on my back. I'm like Luke Skywalker in Empire Strikes Back with my own little Yoda on my back as I traverse a swampy obstacle course. Ok, the house is actually pretty clean at the moment but you get the picture. The main differences being I don't have the power of the force and the only pearls of wisdom coming from my "Yoda" is "where my bottle be?"

Got a little distracted there. Like I was saying, we got to just relax and watch a movie while. Pineapple Express is pretty funny but if you ask my wife she'll probably say the uneasiness brought on by impending major abdominal surgery took away from the humour. I didn't get that but we don't always agree on movies. Not that we had much time to discuss it because she was taken to the O.R. soon after. The surgery went well. The doctor seemed to put a whole lot of muscle into it when needed (my wife figures he was taking out his frustrations on her) which got the job done. Before I knew it I was holding our little girl while all the king's men went about putting my wife back together again. (Debated about using the actual nursery rhyme quote there but saying Humpty Dumpty would have caused me more trouble than it was worth.) That was followed by a four hour wait in recovery caused by a combination of a body temperature issue, a shift change, and the fact that apparently only one dude in the entire place has a license to push a bed. Seriously, it was easier to find four nurses, three doctors, and an anaesthetist than it was to find someone with the rarified skill set necessary to push a bed that's on wheels. The kids are ticking away like time bombs in the waiting room anxious to meet their new sister but let's play Where's Waldo with the gurney guy.

Eventually, a couple of the nurses moved us over to a ward room where mom and baby spent a couple days. The girls got to see the baby which thrilled them to no end before they went home to crash and I got to stay over at the hospital and got the best sleep I've had in months. After a couple days both mother and child came home which is pretty badassed in my opinion. If someone cut open my stomach and took out something that weighed 7 and a half pounds, I'd be in bed for quite some time. Just point me at the tv and don't count on me for anything. Guess it's a good thing it wasn't me then.