Charlie is Three Months Old

**This post is for our family journal and will be interesting to no one else.  Feel free to skip!**

Yes, we are still having a lot of fun with Charlie, and yes, I have been taking too many pictures.  I think I am falling more and more in love with the baby stage as time goes on.  I can't help myself.  I have whittled down hundreds (yes, hundreds) of pictures I've taken of Charlie in the last month to these fifteen.  That's as few as I can stand to post.  

Yes, I probably have a problem, and no, I'm not seeking treatment.

But I am not the only one who is awed and amazed by the newest member of our family.  

Charlie gets plenty, and I mean plenty of attention.

He loves being squished and patted and messed around with.

Charlie giggled even when William was pulling at his mouth like this.  Charlie hates being left in a quiet room; he is much happier when he can see and hear the kids running around like crazyheads.

This was three weeks ago.  He still had most of his hair at that point.

This was a few days ago.  He's lost most of his hair except for some stringy pieces on the top.  He has really light fuzz coming in underneath.  He may go blond for a little while like Everett did.  

He is still our happy guy!  He loves smiling at everyone, and he has started laughing which is amazingly fun.  We all make enormous fools of ourselves trying to urge another giggle out of him.  The beginning laughs are few and far between, so it is a real treat when we finally hear one.  We will enjoy hearing more and more laughter out of this little guy as time goes on.

But he makes us laugh a lot with his facial expressions.

And he coos and jabbers even when no one is there to talk to.  He rarely lays quietly or even very still.  He loves to move and make tons of noise.

Everyone in our house thinks they are Charlie's favorite.

I just smile because I know he likes me way better than the rest of these fools.  No, I'm not competitive at all, why do you ask?

Even though they love to cuddle him, the kids are all disgusted by his spit-up and drool, of which he has plenty.

Even William knows that right after feeding is a bad time to hold a baby.  "I'm not going to hold him right now, Mommy.  Charlie will probably spit out milk on me."

And then we all go back to cooing at the things his little face does.  Babies have it so easy.  No one would think it was charming if I went around looking like that.

But how can we help being charmed when Charlie loves winning us over with his grins?

Why is he so happy all the time?  Someone needs to bottle this up.  

Every time I smell this child, I feel a rush of endorphins and my heart seems to blossom right through my rib cage.

I don't know how I can help it, when I get to kiss these cheeks every day.

  

Spring

I think it's safe to say that spring is officially here in Iowa!  It has been a long winter.  Even long-time residents of Iowa were bemoaning the frigid temperatures.  We had school cancelled one day due to windchill, and we had quite a few late starts.  

Still, we weren't as bad off as some parts of the country who are not used to snow but were mercilessly dumped on repeatedly.

The kids did not enjoy walking home from school.  Yes, my guilt was always a little pricked as I watched them plod and wade through the snow up our street.

Usually Ashley's teacher had her wear her snow pants and boots home (both are required in snowy conditions if the kids want to enjoy recess off the school blacktop).  This meant the entire class was delayed getting out the door each afternoon because they were all waiting on Ashley to get her gear together.  When Ashley's teacher (kindly) mentioned this had been an issue, I laughed.  If there is one thing Ashley does not know how to do, it is hurry, especially when getting ready to go somewhere.

Everett and Ashley would finally arrive, pink-cheeked and requesting hot chocolate in their most pitiful voices.  The walk is, at maximum, two blocks.  It would take me longer to get everyone in the car, wait in the too-long line, and get back home than for Everett and Ashley to forge their way on their own.  

I think Ashley's teacher thought I was a little unreasonable to expect a 5 and 7 year old to walk home from school.  She made a few well-placed comments to that effect.  But the one day I felt sorry enough for my kids to actually pick them up in the car (the windchill was about 15 below), Ashley spent the next hour playing outside in the back yard.  

So I didn't feel too bad when Everett and Ashley had to walk home on cold days, especially because it meant I did not have to wake up my little napping boys (often all of them at that time of day).

Besides, they usually came home with interesting finds (or litter, that they'd disapprovingly throw away) like this.  Ashley especially loved picking up a big piece of ice or snow to snack on during her walk home.

But now it is scooter weather!  Everett and Ashley both got scooters for Christmas.  I made a deal with them that if they could collapse and open their scooters with no problems three times in a row, they could ride them to school.  Both kids passed with flying colors.  So I took a hacksaw, etched an identifying mark in each, and sent them on their way.  It has been a great experience.  They used to be the last ones up the street, but now they are one of the first.  Everett is thrilled that the Number One Rule I gave them ("Always stay together") no longer means he has to hang back at Ashley's plodding walking pace.  They zip to school and zip home and are happy to do it each time. 

We take lots of after school trips to the playground at the end of our street.  It has two ponds and walking trails, so it is perfect for all of us.

(yes, that is little James at the tail end, there.  I can't believe how big he is looking these days.)

Everett loves the spring weather.  His wish is to wear shorts year-round, but I keep telling him that is just not practical in Iowa.  As long as the morning temps aren't below forty, I let him.

Everett has a friend who has taught him such gems as "that's cold, man!" and the moves to match.

Sigh. But I think I will always see him as my sweet little boy.

Spring rains are always fun.  I love it when the kids have the opportunity to get messy and have fun outside.

Pure bliss!

And it was even warm enough one day to pull out the sprinklers and water the children.

Spring, we are glad you are here!

Charlie is Two Months Old

I took this picture of Charlie at his one month mark:

Already quite the happy guy!

And here he is at two months:

He has changed quite a bit.  He is chubbier and his eyes keep lightening up.  I am pretty sure he will end up being our first blue-eyed baby.

And he is still his same old happy self!  (With a very kissable double chin.)

Charlie smiles whenever anyone talks to him.

And when he is awake, he loves to be able to look around everywhere.

That might have something to do with the fact that our house is rarely quiet, and he wants to know where all the noises are coming from.  Maybe the noises the kids make are comforting to him in a way.

The other morning, Charlie found his thumb.  It kept him happy for quite some time, even though he was very hungry.

But then he lost it and became quite upset when he couldn't figure out why.  He did find it again, but I took mercy on him and snatched him up from my bed so I could feed him.  He looked so cozy, I hated to disturb him.

Everett still loves to dote on Charlie.

Charlie really gets a lot of attention around here.

Sometimes he gets a little TOO much attention, but Charlie is pretty good at rolling with it.

And the kids are so glad he is just as interested in them as they are in him.

I always tease Ashley that she has baby magic because she can soothe Charlie very easily.  He usually calms right down when he is with her.

And she loves to help him get cozy.  Everything is better with stuffed animals, right?  It will be nice when Charlie is more mobile; then we won't have to be quite so paranoid about what could be too close to his face and obstruct his breathing.  How do we ever survive having older siblings?

It's been a good two months, and I think we are all looking forward to many good years to come!

The Black Dog

Winston Churchill, political innovator and legend, is known to have had a drinking problem, spurred by his association with what he termed "the black dog."  Historians acknowledge that he was referring to the beast of depression.  Since several people have asked me lately what depression is like, I thought it was time I write a little about my own experience with it.

I would say that Postpartum depression strikes me at around two months after having a baby, but it doesn't strike.  It creeps up on me, like a shadowy stink.  I bar the doors and batten the windows to no avail--it slithers through the cracks of my conscience and roots itself deep somewhere in my mind.

I am writing this blog post because depression is something everyone loves to talk about these days, when it has to do with someone else.  Maybe that is because it is difficult to express what depression is like at a personal level.

My experience with it has been unique to me, but I am sharing it because it may help some of you who are either struggling with this yourself, or know someone who is.

For me, postpartum depression coincides with the start of my post-childbirth-hair-falling-out-fun.

I first began noticing my recent bout with depression was returning a couple of weeks ago.  The gloom of it started trickling into my heart, leadening it, shaping it into something I don't recognize.  I sat on the couch in my sun-filled family room, watching my children dance lightly to childish songs, and I felt the silhouette of my emotional self slipping.  I was being pulled away from the rest of my being, down a dark slope into a thorny place I don't feel safe in.  I dug my fingers into the murky walls, I stalled my feet; nothing I did could stop my descent.

I desperately willed myself to remain fully with my children, to remain fully with my own self.  Helplessly I cried out soundlessly in the recesses of my soul, tears filling my eyes.  I smiled more brightly than I had even a minute before in order to force my consciousness to ignore my inner slipping.  "Great dancing, kids!" I mustered, the enthusiasm in my voice exhausting me, my effort to remain fully engaged with the events around me depleting my energy.  But I no longer felt completely part of that world.

And now, I am plagued by pricking heaviness.  It drags behind me like an anchor, the bungling chain clasped around my heart. I fight during my day to keep the miserable feelings at bay--I prefer to be happy, sunny, warm.  Despite monumental effort on my part, the Black Dog of depression robs me of my agency to choose how I am feeling.  It chooses for me weightiness, disapproval of myself, and the desire to isolate myself from those around me.  I cannot choose to push those feelings away.  I can only choose how I look and sound to others.  I can only choose to look how I wish I was feeling.

I don't choose to pretend my way through a happy and satisfying day because I want to fool everyone.  I choose to act like the person I know I really am because I am trying to fool myself.  I don't want to have this problem.  I don't want to feel the shadow on my back.  I don't want my positive thoughts to be pricked by gloomy claws, leaking the great, gleaming drops of sunshine from my mind that I work so hard to restore on a daily basis.

For the most part, those glistening drops never fully leave me.  I wish to believe I am too optimistic a person and fighting too fiercely for happiness to ever let that happen.  But I don't know if that is true.

Depression whispers vilely in my mind.  The shadow tells me things that reflect my deepest fears.  "Your children deserve a better mother than you,"  "Your husband couldn't possibly love you as much as you need him to,"  "You are not living up to the person you should be."  I know these are untruths, and I choose to ignore them--to give them any credence whatsoever only serves to grow the depression into something I can't control.  But those barbed needles don't fully unstick themselves from my conscience, and I trip over them when I think too hard.

The only thing I can do at an emotional level that helps in any remarkable measure is to stop focusing on how I am feeling.  The depression is real, and the feelings it creates in me are real, but they are also false.  The more I pay attention to my false feelings, the more I get stuck in a wallowing, tarry pit.  The real feelings I love to have are still there, but they are smaller, and they are flat.  The nuances are gone, the depth has dissipated, the flavors are hollow.  They feel frustratingly forced.

As cheesy as it sounds, looking at and smelling my little babies gives me the best rush of true happiness I know of.

Small acts of kindness are gifts I can give to others, which in turn give me the gift of heightened happiness, if only for a short time.  But infrequent, large acts are not as helpful--the rush of joy still leaves quickly; remaining focused on the needs of others is the balm that lasts.  It is also helpful when I stay busy.  Even though my weighted body is physically fatigued and cries out for a nap or any other means of disconnecting my mind from the world, the adrenaline of activity keeps me powered.  The rush of endorphins from completing a difficult task gives me strength to do more.  When I stop moving, stop doing, stop creating, the dark shadow invades me further.

Even though I know my postpartum depression will abate before my baby turns a year old, that one day I will wake up and my heart will feel lighter, fluffier, more energized, and it will keep improving from there, I still fight feelings of bitterness and fear that I am being robbed of enjoyment of these tender years.  "Kids grow so fast," people say, "Hold tight, before you know it, these years will be gone."  I smile, and nod, and agree.  And inwardly, I cringe.  The worst part of depression is that you can never go back and re-experience those moments lost--you can never feel them in the lighthearted way you know you normally would.  And so you have to manufacture your memories, building them around the way you know you would have wanted to feel.

I am taking advantage of various available treatments as a bridge until the postpartum depression resolves itself, and I am grateful for the ever-increasing amount of knowledge we have about it.  I have learned over the years what helps me cope and what doesn't, and so far this recent bout has been very manageable.

You may think I am writing a tragedy.  I am not.  One of the most beautiful parts of this life is learning to appreciate the joys.  I think I am learning to do that.  And the story of my Black Dog is not my only story--nor is it my biggest one.  I have spent much more of my life without its companionship than with it.  I am a wife to a wonderful, loving man.  I am a mother to five children I will always view as extraordinary.  Even more, I am a reader, a writer, a dreamer, a baker, a scholar of humanity.

I am a person with depression.  And that is okay.

William is FOUR!

I can't believe it.  Isn't William still my little 8 pound bundle?  No?  Where have the last four years gone?  I am going to be saying this again in a few years when he moves out of the house.  

Our entire family has been blessed by this little boy's presence.  He is sweet and sensitive and kind.

I love his goofy grins.  His front teeth are chipped and a little bucked from sucking his thumb, so he still has a little bit of a lisp.  I love the lisp.  I should record him speaking so I never forget what he sounds like.

Joel and I recently decided to take the leap and help William quit his thumb sucking.  He was constantly sucking his thumb, so Joel would remind him on occasion to take his thumb out of his mouth.  As a result, William refused to sit by Joel during Sacrament meeting in church so he could lean against me and suck his thumb.  

One day when Joel left to take Everett and Ashley to school, William asked, "Is Papa coming home after this or is he going to work?"

"He is going to work," I said.

"Good," replied William.  "That means I can suck my thumb."  And into his mouth his thumb went, as his other thumb went right to his belly button. 

He didn't seem to be bothered by the idea of quitting, so we went ahead with the gross-tasting thumb stuff.  It worked really well and William is no longer a thumb-sucker.  I'm a little sad about it, but orthodontia costs will be better if we can get him to stop now.

Every time I ask William to do something, he grins and holds four fingers up like this to signal that he can do whatever it is easily because he is four.  He is very proud that he is four.

We had a nice birthday celebration, I think.  It was simple--just cake and presents.  But the great thing about being a child is that simple is still magical.  

We did fill his room with balloons before he woke up that morning.  Can't stop with that tradition now! 

Do you notice William's scabs?  He face-planted on the sidewalk the night before his birthday.  Joel and I had to laugh--William has some kind of bruise or scab on his face in every picture from every memorable event in his life.  Why stop now that he is four?

I made chocolate cake with salted caramel frosting.  No, William didn't care what kind he had, as long as it was tall and round.  But I love a good cake, so the flavor was a selfish move on my part.  But I did make a frosting road and let the kids pick what to put on top.  Two race cars and a cheetah were the official toppers.  

We used trick candles.  Those things sure put out a lot of smoke, but the kids are delighted each time we use them!

(Ashley made sure to dress up, complete with fancy shoes, just for William's birthday celebration.  Pretty funny.)

William was so patient to wait all day long for his presents.  He never complained, not even once.  We gave him what he asked for--dinosaur t-shirts.  He also got a few other things from us and his grandparents.  He has been having fun with all of it.

After the celebrating was over (and because it was spring break), I let the kids sleep up on the top bunk together with a movie.  They chose Bolt. 

William is in a huge dinosaur phase right now.  I constantly find them in different setups all over the house.  He knows exactly how he likes them for each scenario.

Sometimes he combines them with cars.

But William's favorite thing to do (with James) is bring groups of them into the bathroom and swim them around in the sink.  I constantly have to let water out of my sinks, but it is a small price to pay for happy boys.  

My grandparents sent William his very own handmade-by-them special train.  To say he was thrilled is an understatement!

William also recently learned how to write his name.  He has had zero interest in coloring or writing or doing anything crafty.  I have had to ease him into it so he doesn't go into kindergarten not even knowing how to hold a pencil.  This particular day, about a month ago, was the first day he wrote his name without help.  I thought the pudding would be more of a hit, but William was just annoyed that it kept getting on his fingers.  He was a good sport and wrote his name anyway.  Since that day, William has graduated to pencil and paper and is doing great with his name (by "great" I mean "reasonably legible", which I'm pretty happy with).

William and I are getting to be pretty good buddies.  We play games and read Magic Tree House books after the little boys are asleep.  And William always asks me for two oranges, which he peels himself, for a snack.  This boy loves fruit and would eat only that and cereal if I let him.  He is not a big fan of milk.  When the pediatrician mentions the recommended serving of milk for a boy his age, I just smile and nod.  I don't like milk either, so William and I will just settle for cheese and yogurt.

William is so funny and snuggly all at once.  I never get tired of being with him.  He often comes up to me and asks me questions about something he has been quietly contemplating.  Much of the time, it has to do with animals or the workings of a type of vehicle.  William loves vehicles of any kind.  He knows how to identify most construction vehicles (is it a bulldozer or a power shovel or a front-loader? I can never remember, but William knows the difference).  William also recently corrected his Aunt Amanda when she called a helicopter rotor a "propeller."  And he will correct anyone who mis-identifies a jet as an airplane.

We've been learning a lot about dinosaurs.  He knows the names of all the main ones, including random ones like dilophosaurus, and he knows how to tell the difference between long-necked dinosaurs like apatosaurus, brachiosaurus, and diplodocus.  He also knows how to identify theropods and sauropods, and carnivores and herbivores. William never gets tired of hearing about dinosaurs.  In fact, he has taken to watching any dinosaur documentary he can find on Netflix ("Al the Allosuarus" is a favorite).

William laughs more easily than anyone I have ever met.  It is charming.  I can make him laugh just by giving him a funny look.  

He loves to be silly with Joel and me and with his brothers and sisters.  He is learning to hold his own when wrestling Everett, and he is beginning to learn how to ignore Everett's brotherly attempts to bug him.

William loves and adores his older siblings, but he also takes great pride in being a big brother.  He loves taking care of Charlie and will always be the first one to run and soothe his baby cries with soft stroking or an expertly-placed pacifier.  Charlie gives William more smiles than anyone else.  Charlie is fascinated by his big brother and loves looking at him.  William often asks if he can snuggle with Charlie.  He prefers it when I put Charlie's head right up by his nose so he can smell the sweet baby-ness and nuzzle Charlie with his cheek.  

William also takes great care of James.  Whenever James is upset (which is often), William runs to grab James's special moose.  They are good buddies, and they sure love to play together.  They often concoct elaborate games with cars, dinosaurs, and transformers.  James is pretty feisty, though, and often yells at William, as dictated by the "terrible two's" stage he is in.  William defends himself but more often than not, he is the one who leaves with the hurt feelings.  "James yelled at me," William will say, tears making his eyes glisten and chin tremble.  Melt my heart, I hope he never loses his sweet tenderness.  

I have to include a picture of William's treasured Pups.  Once in a while, we have had to tuck William in bed when Pups was lost, and even though he was sad, William bravely (if regretfully) went to sleep anyway.  What a good sport.  Fortunately for William, we usually know right where the special little dog is.

(William with two of his favorites:  Charlie and dinosaurs)

I think I can speak for all of us when I say how grateful I am for William's presence in our family.  We all love him dearly!