Arrival, by Water

He arrived in the early morning the day after my due date, just as the other two had. I was in a tub in the birthing center at the hospital, leaning back against D’s arm, and the midwife put him on my chest after he came out underwater. He was still attached to the cord inside me, and the two of us floated, wet and naked, him wailing, me in a state of extreme relief that the last twenty minutes of pushing was over. The three hours of contractions beforehand had been less painful than I remembered, but the pushing was worse by far, partly because the midwife talked me through doing it slowly to avoid tearing—which was more than worth it afterwards, though I wasn’t thinking that at the time.

He pretty much looks like how our other two looked when just born. In fact, I did a line-up of their newborn photos and D scored less than fifty percent correct.

Life since his arrival has been a long, meditative walk through a hazy landscape marked by three-hour feeds, chronic sleep deprivation, and physical soreness. There is an element of refreshing simplicity, where I just exist and enjoy remembering the things I had forgotten about newborns: their involuntary facial grimaces. The way their lips open and twist diagonally when rooting. The way their hands float around, disconnected from their bodies; the lint that gathers between their fingers. The fine coating of hair over their bodies; the boniness of their butts.

But then it’s easy to feel lonely and down. The constant head-achy lack of sleep can make anything look dismal and irritating, and it’s easy to complain about the constant throbbing discomfort of engorgement, the soreness that makes me wonder if my pelvic floor will ever return to normal, the strange waterbed-like quality of my deflated stomach. And it’s a bit scary to wrap my mind around taking care of all three by myself eventually.

The baby has been surprisingly easy to take care of: he falls asleep on his own without a fuss, already gives me four hours between feeds at night, rarely cries during the day. The other two have been much harder. They have both gotten sick with fevers during the past week. It’s been harder to meet E’s particular demands and answer her million questions when I’m tired. E.e. is clearly going through adjustment issues, crying when I can’t hold him due to my chest hurting or having to nurse, acting up with whomever else is taking care of him.

It’s a day-by-day thing at this point. I try to be thankful—that I have milk, that the soreness has been better than in the past, that the older two have been nothing but affectionate and loving to the baby despite their lives being upturned. That I have plenty of support from parents and D. I take showers, which as my surgical resident once said, really does equate to an hour of sleep. And I remember, for better or worse, that this stage will pass soon enough.

Birthday Letter

Dear dee-dee,

You turn two years old tomorrow. I’m not sure you know much about it, though your older sister has done a good job educating you at consistent intervals (“dee-dee, you are turning TWO!”). Your grandparents bought you a train set (“choo-choo tain”), we are surprising you with model airplanes, and your sister spent a long time convincing me that chocolate was also your favorite flavor, so you are getting chocolate cupcakes.

You are so adorable! Everyone thinks so. You are the charmer of the family. You smile all the time, in a quiet shy way that brings out the dimple in your left lower cheek and makes everyone think you are flirting with them. Everyone stops to talk with you when we go outside and tells me how cute you look. Whenever I take out the camera you stop and say “cheeese!” and break into a huge grin.

You are quiet, and thoughtful, and careful. You back down the stairs very cautiously on your tummy and take curbs seriously. We never have to worry that you will jump off the edge of the sofa or run into anything. You are remarkably quiet, unlike your more loquacious sister; when she is at school you can go through a whole morning stacking Legos without a sound except to say “poo-poo, have poo-poo” when you need a change.

You do, however, know what you want, and when you make up your mind, it is hard to change it. You decided you didn’t want to sleep through the night for what seems like most of your first year of life, and no amount of letting you cry it out would work. You don’t have tantrums anymore, but when you used to, it was nearly impossible to prevent them or break you out of them until you were ready. You are the silent, persistent one in the back, who may not say much, but in the end sneaks over to get the toy you wanted when your sister gets distracted or is talking too much to notice.

You are really becoming your own person these days: you pick your own outfits, take off your own socks and sneakers, sit at the big table and spoon your own cereal and soup. You can string two or three phrases together, but even if you don’t it is fairly obvious what you want. You can count to ten in English and Chinese, and sometimes you skip around to twenty. You hold your crayon like a grown-up when you scribble. You can sing every other word to all the verses of the songs we sing at night, usually very loudly. Your dad thinks you have a great sense of humor, which may have to do with how you like to do silly things and walk around laughing at yourself.

Here are the things you like: airplanes and trains. Any kind of stir-fried vegetable or bread. Drinking fruit shakes. Walks. Frogs and toads. Farm animals. Feeding the fish. Rolling around on the ground with your daddy. Running around with just your diaper on. Telling people to “zwao-sit.” Hugging Seren. Opening the mail with your daddy. Killing bugs for your sister. Eating popsicles while taking baths. Reading books and pointing out boots. Sweeping the floor. Copying your sister. Your many security blankets that are actually all pieces of white cloth.

We are going to miss you at this stage. Your baby brother could come any day now, but you will always be the first little dee-dee in my heart. I will miss your softness and the way your hair sticks up after you sleep and your tummy sticks out after a big meal. I will miss your dimpled knuckles and how you lay your head on my shoulder. You add so much laughter and depth to our family and we all love you very much.

Love,

Mommy

Journal Excerpt

Something really sweet happened tonight. I was rocking them both in the chair, her on my left thigh and him on my right. They were both naked, fresh and soft after their baths, with their diapers on. We told the story of Ellie and Eric Bunny and the Tale of the Shots since she had gotten four vaccines at the doctor’s today. We sang our way through “Tis So Sweet” and “Twinkle Twinkle” and were on the last song, “Jesus Loves Me.” They both sang out loud with me and when we got to the end, we repeated the chorus with their names as usual, except before we finished she jumped in and sang, “yes, Jesus loves xiao dee-dee” (which is what we call the baby in utero), and he joined in, and while we sang they both leaned down and kissed my belly and stroked it.