Pistachio Turned Two

A few weeks late my dearest little.
You turned two.  TWO!
And cried when we sang to you.
And passed on the cake, too.
Because now it’s time to do things your way.
Because you’re two.

Our puzzle doer, our book reader, who loves to show us and tell us that you get it, that you’ve got things figured out. You ask for what you want. Your demands are most often reasonable, a banana, a book, a binkie, a blanket, and bed.

Our blonde, dimple-cheeked boy, with the adorable almost-buck-toothed grin and throaty giggle.  I worry about that mischievous glint in your eye, but I don’t worry much.

Our curious boy, who tries to stump us, by suggesting random animals and items during our nightly singing of “Old MacDonald.”  I never knew that Old MacDonald’s farm contained a bear, an ear and a blanket.  And I do not know what sound an ear makes.

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THS unfiltered. I'll eat you up I love you so.

A post shared by Cate Simms (@sarkytartlet) on

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Celebrating his Scandinavian heritage.

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Our cuddly guy, the one most likely to climb into my lap, and cuddle into my side. Always willing to snuggle in the low light before bed.  Longer legs dangle now, but your head still fits perfectly between my ear and my shoulder.

I love how you love your siblings, and how they love you.  The three of you are so joyful in the mornings, when you greet each other in your room, tickled that you’re all together another day, making that laughing, glorious noise that can only be created by gaggles of small delighted children. You are gifts to one another.  You are gifts to us.

I love you so much my dear littlest one. Happy birthday to you.

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Pistachio, this is your life.

Pistachio, my dearest third, has been a lovely child since birth. He is easy-going, interested, happy to be held, happy to be put down, and he slept through the night earlier than my first two (FTW!).

He has also been kind of… well, funny since early on (can babies be funny? Because he is.) He likes to play the straight man in our family farce. He is the character in the play that mugs to the audience. I recognized it when he was only a few months old. I’d be snapping photos of the chaos, and there he would be, looking at the camera with a face that says, “Is this really my life?”

He inherited my expressive eyebrows.

He inherited my expressive eyebrows.

I went looking through my Shutterfly folders for examples of the glances he throws at the camera, at his siblings and at me. I found far too many to post here, but here are a few of my favorites. I especially like that he is still and questioning in the photos with his blurry siblings, as if to say, “What in the world have you gotten me into?”

“Mom, the kid just turned 4, do you really think this is safe?”

 

“This is neither entertaining, nor fun.”

 

“This one just kicked me under the covers!”

 

“Why are we doing this again?”

 

“Half of my DNA is this guy’s?!”

Pistachio, yes, sorry, this is your life.  Love you little buddy. Thanks for making me laugh. And the sleeping thing – thanks for that, too.

(Don’t) Mind the Gap.

You know how sometimes an old friend will cross your mind and you’ll think “I’ll write! I’ll call! I miss them!” and then life runs its normal course, and time slips away, and it is months (or – gasp! – years) later and you start to think, “Gee, it might be awkward if I called now,” or “It is probably too late to respond to that e-mail, anyway”?

And you know this is silly, because whenever an old friend calls or writes to YOU, out of the blue, you are more than thrilled to hear from them?

Yeah.  That.

It starts to feel like it is somehow too late to get back in touch – or in this case – getting back to blogging.

But I’m getting back in touch.

Hi.

How have you been?

It’s hard to avoid the use of the word “busy” here. I’m tempted to say that my life has been busy, that I’ve been busy having and raising babies, working, living life.  But I don’t really like that word.  It seems rushed, harried, un-fun.  My life has been full. And mostly fun.

Pistachio arrived in late-January.  My dearest third. My baby boy. He is a delicious – a scrumptious! – little human.

Handy

Life with three children under the age of four?  It is… well, GOOD.  (What, were you expecting me to say “busy”?)  Three small, loud, needy, hysterical (in both senses of the word) people do require much time, love and attention.  But that lovely third child has made my days feel more like a dance than a tennis match.  I struggle to keep the beat sometimes. But three means it is no longer either/or, him/her, you/me.  Three means us.  I am, surprisingly, less stressed than I was with two.  Perhaps this is due to the new balance, but perhaps it is me letting go of things, too.  Whatever the reason, three is good.  So good.

So here I am.  Back on track.  Back at it.  A return to my Sarky self.

I hope you are well.  I’ll be in touch.  No really, I will.

Mama’s Minivan

So we did this…

Yes, this is a minivan.

Yes, this is a minivan.

A year ago – maybe more – I took the champagne flutes out of the cabinet and a slew of sippy cups took their place.  Now, I own a minivan.  Transformation complete.

And the reason for the minivan?  We also did this…

Baby 3 - aka Pistachio

Baby 3 – aka Pistachio

The tiebreaker Tartlet is scheduled to arrive in January.

So far I’ve heard all of the regular responses:
  • You only have 2 hands!
  • You’re going to need a minivan! (Check!)
  • You’re going from a man-to-man defense to zone defense!
  • You DO realize there is birth control, right?
I’ve also heard:
  • Don’t stop at 3, have more!  (Interestingly I heard this from two good friends, both men, both with 3.)
So yeah.
I guess my husband and I have always felt like three was our number.  So we’re going for it.  I’m not going to lie.  We recently crunched the numbers and it seems crazy.  I had two grumpy/sick children last night and slept 4 hours last night, it seems crazy.  We will have 3 children under 4, which seems crazy.  (Aside: I DID just meet a woman who had her first and then 10 months [!] later had twins, so she had 3 under the age of 1!  She survived.  That makes me feel a bit better. Kind of.)  So yes, it does feel a bit crazy.
And we’ve used up both our names.  So Baby 3 is currently being referred to as “Commodore”.  Here’s hoping we come up with something before January.  A friend suggested that I refer to Baby 3 as “Pistachio” here on Sarky T.  I like it.  We’ll have a Pickle, a Plum and a Pistachio.  Works for me.
I’m trying to enjoy this pregnancy (thankfully, I have few complaints) as it is (very very very) likely my last. I’m trying to set into memory the butterfly kicks, and changes my body is going through. Everything happens earlier this time around – the good stuff – like feeling the kicks, and the not-as-great stuff like the waddle, round ligament pain, and heartburn.  The midwife calls it 3rd baby syndrome.  I trust her – she has 4.
An adventure, for sure.

Two or three?

Mr. Pickle is confused.  Or just silly.  Or maybe both.

He turned 2 in May.  But he insists, though I’m sure he doesn’t quite understand the concept of numbers and counting, that he is three (“fee!”) and not two.

On second thought, perhaps he does understand the concept of counting, since he is consistently asking for “fee” and not two gummy vitamins (aka treats, aka “peets”).  And yesterday, he distinctly asked for “ten” – a number I had not yet heard him use.

Anywho, I digress.

Mama Lesson # 48: Don’t let Mama watch the videos of her labor, and post-birth. She gets all clucky. 

Like Mr. Pickle, I’m confused about 2 and 3, too.

The conversation has started.  Do we have the time and energy – not to mention the money! – for Bebe #3?  Yes, Miss Plum just turned four months old, but I’m getting older, and we’d probably get down to business and try to have a third sooner rather than later.  But can we, should we, could we?

I’m trying to quiet my brain on this one…

… two healthy babies, no guarantees on the third!

… three in part-time daycare would be more than our mortgage!

… we’d forever have to get TWO hotel rooms! (Why this is important to me, I don’t know.  I can’t recall the last time I stayed in a hotel.)

… my parents were at every extra-curricular I had.  With three this would be impossible!

… MINIVAN?! Blech!

… I’m already exhausted!

… our house is too small!

There are one-million-three-hundred-thousand-twenty-four reasons to stop at two.  The reasons to try for number three are more vague, less concrete, more emotional than practical.  I guess some part of me feels like our family may not be complete yet.  I feel like the fact we’re even pondering another little one, means that we should give it a go. I feel like our hearts have plenty of space to love and nurture another small little being.  I love being pregnant.  I love my two little doodlebugs.  I love watching my husband lovingly, and patiently parent.

So while my head says “Three is crazy talk!” my heart says “Go for it!”  I’m guessing that my heart will win out.