Casa del YaYa

There are only so many things one can do to "prepare" for the birth of a baby, and we knew that going into pregnancy number three. I wanted to know, though, how it works when the number of children in the household is greater than the number of adults, and what the transition to a family of five could conceivably look like. So I gathered stories. It seemed that the respondents were split: some had the most difficult transition from no kids to one, some from one child to two, and some had the hardest time going from two kids to three. (Any I spoke to with more than three kids said that, after three, any added chaos is just not noticeable.) Asking friends to share these experiences was about the extent to which I "prepared" for what shifts might occur in our family after the baby was born. (I was, after all, doing lots of reading in preparation for what I hoped would be a natural childbirth. But more on that next time.)

After the past two months of cabin fever and tantrums and colds and sleeping issues and working to maintain my sanity at least in FRONT OF the two small children, it's safe to say I was expecting chaos of apocalyptic proportions when this babe was born... and that's on top of the possibility of hormones completely out of control and any complications with my physical recovery. And sleep deprivation! Of COURSE the sleep deprivation! Poor Selah's arrival was anticipated much like a tsunami, I'd imagine.

But then...then it was easy.

Selah's labor was quick, her birth relatively uncomplicated, my recovery the best yet. We were able to come home in a timely manner, Derek had time off work, and the baby was healthy and content, a good eater and a good sleeper. Two or three days in, Derek and I were looking at each other asking when the world was supposed to collapse. Maybe we were through it! We must have been one of those families that had a harder time with the SECOND baby! Score!


Then people started puking.


In four years of parenting, we'd never had the pleasure of dealing with vomit (apart from a fluke involving playground equipment and a drive to Grandville in the back of a Jeep.) I'll spare you the gory gastrointestinal details, but it started with Judah, made its way to Derek (who served as Judah's nurse) and then, despite my surrounding her in a cloud of Lysol and Purell, Eden woke up at 2AM and started throwing up. I felt defeated, anxious, and paranoid that I or my teeny tiny little infant would contract this nastiness, so I did the only thing I could do. I fled the sick place in the middle of the night. With the blessing of my now-recovered husband, I packed up clothes and diapers and electronic devices and drove to my parents' place in Zeeland.

There was guilt. My family was sick and I wasn't taking care of them. But there wasn't a better solution, so I settled into the couch with my baby and proceeded with the 5am feeding. Shortly after I arrived, my mom and dad left for the airport, where dad was catching a flight to Sacramento for business. Selah and I went back to sleep.

The other side of having a fantastic physical recovery after childbirth is doing too much too soon without realizing it, and I was right there. It was inevitable, wasn't it? Feeling great, three kids needing and wanting mama bear, household needs NOT going away, and WANTING to practice normalcy in my home with my family.

In a condominium in Zeeland, I didn't have a choice, and the 36 hours I spent at my parents' place can only be described as a blessing.

The guilt was still there, but it wasn't so much because I wasn't helping with the kids, but because I was having such a nice time keeping the baby away from contagions while my sweet husband was taking care of two sweet but demanding children, one of whom was recovering from a stomach bug. My mom and I don't often get to hang out for extended periods of time, let alone have conversations uninterrupted by aforementioned sweet but demanding children. (And allow me to say it: newborn care after having multi-tasked it with the care of older children is, on its own, A SNAP.) My mom and I passed the baby back and forth, kissing on and cooing over her and conjecturing about her little spirit and who she might be. We watched the Olympics and marathons of fantastic trashy "good cable" in the form of Real Housewives of Orange County while I nursed and napped and nibbled and kissed the baby some more.

Derek and I kept in touch via text messages and phone calls, checking in on one another and the children we had charge over. It was honest longing I expressed when I told him how much I hoped I didn't catch the bug, how I looked forward to a regular, normal day and night at home with my family, ALL of them. But I didn't have the heart to tell him just how things were at YaYa's house. Once again, I am thankful for a selfless, caring husband who loves his kids, loves his wife, and thinks my self-induced guilt trips are trivial.

Late Saturday morning, things seemed safe, or as safe as they were going to be. Daddy and the big kids had been symptom-free for over 24 hours, and Selah and I had successfully maintained our intestinal fortitude. I closed the laptop, unplugged the chargers, packed up the leftover diapers and nursing pads, strapped the baby into the car seat, and hugged my mama. I thanked her for the couch, the breakfasts, the baby-burping, and the good tv. I thanked her for not resenting my pirating her coveted quiet time, something I know she looks forward to and plans for when she has the opportunity.

I thanked her, and I thanked God for the way the first week went.