As certified parents of two kids, Matt and I are officially switching from man-to-man to zone defense.
I am exclusively breastfeeding, which means Theo gets most of my time and attention, while Matt either hangs out with Dexter or Dex plays independently and Matt gets stuff done around the house. I’m finding moments to give Dex hugs and kisses, or play with him for a few minutes, but we’re not really getting any quality time.
I see him all day, every day, but I miss him so much. I guess I miss Us.
Dexter’s and my favorite playgroup meets Monday mornings, so I decided I wanted to take Dex, just the two of us. Last night, a post appeared on the group’s Facebook page:
He is tiny. Theo was just under 7 pounds at birth – Dexter, a week earlier, was around 7 and a half – and has a completely different build than Dex, with skinny legs and a bony little bum and fingers like birthday candles. Not only is it a completely different experience, holding a baby this wee, but Dex was under NICU staff care for the first few days of his life, so all of the first-few-days baby stuff was brand new to us, too.
“I’ve helped a lot of women through labor,” I heard our doula whisper to Matt, maybe a little nervously. “But I can honestly say that’s the first time I’ve seen anyone bite her husband.”
Dexter Ian, then known as Biscuit, was born April 10, 2015.
I had a Strand burger for lunch and was at my office April 9 when I started to feel strange. I was 37 weeks and 6 days pregnant and that morning, I had “graduated” from my high risk doctor, which means he shook my hand and we bid farewell to my every-other-morning appointments where I’d sit on an armchair with elastic bands around my belly, clicking a button every time I felt a kick. No diploma or tassels. As the strange feeling intensified, my instincts screamed “THIS IS IT,” so I called Matt and told him to come home.
Look, Matt and I would never claim to be parenting experts, or even people who should be giving advice. Nearly two years in, we still make mistakes on a daily basis and I don’t see that changing any time in the future. I’m not sure ANYONE is qualified to give parenting advice. The whole racket is complex and ever-changing and impossible to master.
However, Dexter is a pretty great kid, so far, and although I’m convinced it’s about 90% luck, I’d like to think we had a little something to do with the other 10%.
New parents get a flood of parenting advice, and thousands of conflicting opinions can be yours with just a quick Google search, so we did (and still do) put some effort into deciding how we wanted to try to do things and what kind of parents we’d like to be.
It’s been a few months since my original “Toddlers Are Weird” post, but never fear, everyone: Dexter is still really weird.
First of all, on a scale of one to face transplant, how concerned should I be that last week, when we spotted a fox at least twice Dexter’s size in a parking lot, my child’s immediate reaction was to run after the wild animal and attempt to tickle it?
Does Dexter have a British accent yet?
He does not, but Dex does say exactly ONE word with an accent. We go to organized activities for 1-2 hours, 2-3 times a week but he’s still primarily immersed, language-wise, with Matt and me and our boring ol’ American accents. He probably won’t pick anything up until we send him to nursery or school.
But like I said, he does say one word with an accent: “Locks.” That’s because we frequently ride the “Locksbottom” bus line and the nice automated announcer woman repeats, “Locksbottom,” over and over and it has stuck, but three syllables are a bit much for him so he stops at “Locks.”
Another interesting tidbit is while we were at a friend’s the other day, she noted that the other kids listen carefully to him, because she thinks they realize he sounds a little different. I had not picked up on that.
This is it, gang. As long as everything continues to truck along normally, tonight was our final ultrasound. And it’s a good thing Matt thought to snap a quick cell phone photo of the screen because we just now realized we cannot find the single printed photo they gave us. That’s right. Through this entire pregnancy, we have received precisely two printed ultrasound photos and we lost one of them. The best we can figure out is that Matt handed me my discharge paperwork with the photo inside, I didn’t realize the photo was there, and it slid out.
I’M SORRY, CRICKET. When you ask me why there are 4,345 ultrasound photos of your brother and one of you, I’m totally blaming the NHS. (Sorry, England.)
My scan was set for 1700 so we decided to make a night of it. Matt left work a little early, we woke Dexter from his nap together and all bundled up to brave the cold. A bus and a train trip later, we were tucked in a dark room, watching Cricket squirm on a big screen.
Well, Matt and I were. Dexter was busy eating an apple, climbing on all the furniture, and playing with an rubber glove inflated to create a chubby hand balloon.