Dear Bubs,

It's been quite the year, hasn't it?  I've been quite nostalgic the last couple of days, remembering what I was doing this time last year.  The days and weeks leading up to your birth were crazy and hectic, so much so, that when you were ready to come, I was in denial that I was actually in labor.  But there was no stopping you.  And then you were born.  For two glorious days in the hospital, there were no boxes to unpack.  No kids to feed.  Just you.  I spent those days holding you and enjoying every minute.

Three days after you were born, you started spitting up.  A lot.  Projectile, with blood in it.  I was terrified.  You started getting fussy (who could blame you? you couldn't keep anything down!), and at your 5 day check up, the doctor said it was too early to mention the C word, but that it kind of sounded like that's what it was.  Colic? No, he's not colicky. That would be my worst nightmare.  Colicky babies are terrible!  *I* was a colicky baby, so I know!  But it just got worse over the next couple of weeks.  At one point, even Grandma Ostler was in tears because there was nothing we could do to help you feel better.  You weren't gaining weight like your sisters did, and you just seemed like you were in pain.  It was really hard.

I cut dairy out of my diet, then soy.  We gave you infant probiotics.  We put you on Zantac.  I wore you on my chest upright in a carrier.  All these things helped a little, but there were still days of holding you upright while you slept, evening walks outside, anything we could do to help you be happy.  You weren't miserable all the time--when we held you just right, you would sleep so peacefully.  Every time I get sad about you growing up, I remember how much time Daddy spent holding you and watching the Tour de France, and how much time I rocked you while watching Scrubs reruns or HGTV or just staring at you.  The last year has gone by way too fast, but we enjoyed every minute.

By three months, you were doing a lot better.  By 3.5-4 months, you were a new baby.  But not.  It was like you were that sweet newborn I fell in love with, only bigger and more alert, just not miserably uncomfortable.  Your pediatrician said that some doctors think colic is a physiological issue, while others think it's just the personality of the baby. ("So you're saying my baby is just a jerk?")  I don't know if it was acid reflux, a dairy intolerance, gastrointestinal issues, or all of the above, but once it passed, you went back to being you: sweet, easy-going, and mellow.  We met up with Grandma, Grandpa, Aunt Nancy, and Aunt Laura in Florida for a hectic long weekend of fun.  Fun for adults, but enough schedule disruption to mess with a baby. But not you.  Everyone would comment on how easygoing you were, but that's you.  As long as I'm not trying to get you to sleep.

"Ladies, please, there's plenty of me to go around!"

We had sleep issues, and it took a long time to get that sorted out, but after you're doing much better there, too.  I'm not writing all this down to tell you how hard your first year was.  Well, I guess I sort of am.  What I'm trying to say is, in spite of how hard it was, you're the best baby.*  I have loved almost every minute of the last year.  (The ones I haven't loved, I've either blocked out or they have only served to make the good moments better.)

You are sweet and funny and have the best laugh.  You love music and do this cute little wiggle dance when music plays, or just when you're happy.  You nuzzle my arm or leg or the side of the couch when you're tired.  You love your sisters and they absolutely adore you.  When I got home from my run yesterday, I came upstairs and you were in the middle of the hall with Dad.  I expected you to tear down the hall to nuzzle me (unlike Annie, you're not bothered by sweat), but you looked at me for a minute, then we heard Annie on the other side of her door say, "Bubsy, you can come in my room now," and you turned and bolted into her room.  I was a little hurt, but that's okay.  You're the brother that Mabes has been wanting for YEARS, and she comments daily about how glad she is that you're in our family.  You know exactly where Dad's office is and I have to pull you away from his door multiple times a day.  When he opens the door you bolt in there as fast as your little arms and legs will carry you.  When I put you in your crib, you roll onto your tummy and tap your right leg until you fall asleep.  You still let me cuddle you when you're tired, and I love that so much.    

I may have cried last night.  Something about when my babies turn one gets to me.  Subsequent birthdays aren't as hard, so here's hoping I'm not on the verge of tears all day when you turn 2.  The last year has been wonderful and difficult and sleep deprived and amazing. I miss the tiny hands, the tiny toes, the tiny yawns, and baby stretches.  I miss the snuggly little newborn that would sleep in my arms for hours.  But I savored those hours, and while I may not be ready for you to grow up, I'll accept that it will happen.  And I will enjoy every minute of toddlerhood that I can--and I won't object if you want to fall asleep in  my arms every once in a while.

Happy Birthday, little man.

 

*I'm sure I said that about your sisters.  And I probably meant it at the time.  But I really mean it about you.

Dear Annie Bananie,

Or, to use your full name, Annie Bananie Cuckoo Katanie:

I'm sorry.  I've really dropped the ball on this blog.  The last year and a half have been really busy, I just lost steam, and figured who cares.  But then I look back at the stories I've written down about Mabes, and realize you've kind of gotten the shaft.  You are a such a fun little girl and I don't want to forget the little things that make me smile every day.  So I'm writing this down so that when you're older and ask about what kind of kid you were, I can tell you.  At three years old, you were:

HILARIOUS.  You make me laugh every day and you know it.  Your sense of humor is much more subtle than your crazy older sister's, but you've been funny for as long as I can remember.  As a baby, there was something in your eyes, and now also the way you raise one eyebrow, your little half-smile with dimple, or the way you give me the side eye.  Your timing is fantastic--you know when to crack a joke and when to reel it in.  I'll ask you to make a silly face and it's a different one every time.  You do silly walks for me, though my longstanding favorite is the penguin: arms straight down, hands flared out, legs straight, chin tucked in, eyebrows raised and you shuffle around the room.  

(the stink eye)

Sweet.  You give the best hugs.  My favorite is our hands free hug.  I wear you like a front pack and you cling to me for as long as you can (this isn't long if you're giggling) until you get tired and yell "Yes hands!"  and I wrap my arms around you.  After a break, you yell "No hands!" and I let go and you're back to being a little koala on me. This game lasts until you are tired or I actually need to get something done.  And you give the best supersqueezes.  It's much easier to start my day after I've had an Annabelle supersqueeze.

You adore your siblings.  You're such a good big sister.  You help me with Bubs, you comfort him when he gets hurt, sing and dance for him, make him laugh, even share your beloved Littlest Pet Shop toys with him.  And he lights up when he sees you.  You insist on trying to hold him, but refuse to acknowledge he's almost as big as you are.  You think you're almost as big as Mabes, or as you sometimes call her, Mabes-a-doodle.  You have been counting down to "summer bacation" and now that it's here you are thrilled to have Mabes home every day.  You guys are silly and crazy and sometimes get a little out of hand, but you love each other so much. 

Imaginative. You can entertain yourself for hours.  I love listening outside your room during quiet time and hearing all the fun your toys are having.  I didn't put you in preschool this year.  Over the summer and at the beginning of the school year, I was dealing with a colicky baby and the thought of scheduled preschool was just one more thing and it seemed too overwhelming.  Besides, you're not going to kindergarten until fall 2015, so I figured we have time.  Apparently, you decided to go to school anyway.  Each day, you would tell me about your preschool, the things you were learning, the kids in your class, the food fights (daily!), the painting fiascoes, the turtle class pet, and your teacher Miss Kinsey who is really fun and sleeps on a bench (you weren't clear as to whether it was a park bench or some bench in her house...but it kind of sounded like a park bench).  You've told me about your friends Fossa and Kinsa and Moussa, and sometimes they tag along when we run errands.  We've had as many as 10 of your friends go with us to Costco, Hobby Lobby, and the grocery store, and you've assured me that they are all properly buckled into carseats and will behave.  They're kind enough to bring their own snacks, and you're quick to point out that they won't make messes of their strawberries and apricots.  When they're with us, you are exceptionally well-behaved, presumably to set an example for these friends.  I hope they stick around. 

Self conscious...at times.  If you're trying to do something challenging, you don't want me to watch.  You like to exercise with me, but I'm not allowed to look at you while you do squats with your Lincoln Log weights.  Since you've been potty trained, every time you go to the bathroom you tell me I can't say "good job." 

And confident at other times.  You firmly believe you can do everything Mabes can. Last night, she was jumping in the pool and though you had been timid at the pool a couple of days earlier, you decided you could jump in, too.  After a few jumps you turned to Dad with excitement in your face and said "Dis time, I'm going to jump in by myself and it will be AMAZING."  You did, and it was.  A couple of weeks ago, you were painting and as you put the finishing touches on your work of art, you surveyed it with obvious satisfaction and with a smug smile whispered, "I'm the best Annabelle ever!"  I smiled and agreed with you, but that snapped you back to reality.  You shot me a look and said, "No, Mommy, you don't say that." Oh, okay.  "You just say, 'I love you, Annie.'"  Got it.  I love you, Annie.

Fun to watch sleep.  Yep, it makes me sound kind of creepy, but sometimes when I check on you before I go to bed, I just sit and watch you.  You're so peaceful and sweet, and sometimes you giggle.  Just an FYI--I'm not sure when, if ever, I'll stop.  Hopefully by the time you're in high school?

Even more fun to wake up.  Aunt Laura and Aunt Becca have this running joke about how cute babies are when they're sleeping, so let's wake them up and play with them. It was so difficult for Mabes to fall asleep and stay asleep that even joking about waking her up was enough to send me into panic mode.  On the other hand, you often wake up when I come into your room to close your curtains or turn off your fan, and when you see me, your face lights up and I feel like a celebrity when you smile and squeal, "You checked on me!" as you realize I'm holding up my end of the bedtime bargain.  The other night, I missed bedtime so when I came to check on you, I kissed your forehead, adjusted your blanket, and tried to sneak out.  As I made it to the door, I heard, "Hug me, mommy!" I was happy to oblige.  We hugged and I whispered "I love you so very much, Annie."  You smiled, laid down, closed your eyes, raised your eyebrows, and whispered, "I love today so much...swimming...bubbles...super MEGA bubbles...I love today."

 You're not perfect--you whine, throw fits, scream, ignore me, make your sister mad...you're three.  But you're a little ball of amazing; you're a smart, precocious little girl and I'm so grateful I get to watch you grow up.  Time goes by way too fast and I know that all too soon, you'll be grown up and I'm going to wonder where this sweet little three year old went.  My heart aches just thinking about it.

But I won't dwell on that.  Instead, I'll go check on you tonight and look forward to a supersqueeze in the morning.

I love you, puppy.

Easter

 

Mabes & Annie: She said smile.  Let's give her the cheesiest smiles we can.
WP: Whatever, I'll smile for the lady.  I'm just glad she ran out of time and couldn't make that vest and bow tie to match your dresses.  Easter dresses for you, Opening Day sweater vest for me.  That's the way it should be. 
 

 WP: Annie, you create a diversion, I'll make a run for the jelly beans!

 WP: She's doing the bunny ears again, right?  Yeah, those are hi-lar-ious.

 Silly picture!

 Mabes: "Annie, you're supposed to be doing bunny ears!  You can't have a silly picture without bunny ears, and I've already got my fingers in my ears, so YOU have to do bunny ears!"

Annie: Fine.  I'll do the freakin' bunny ears, but they are dumb.

 

Happy Easter!

Oh, hello there

 Fancy seeing you here.  Or me, for that matter.  One of these days I'll catch up.  Or start over.  It's been forever since I posted anything, and Dave pointed out that the aunts might want to see pictures of these kids--I can't believe how fast they're growing up. So here's a quick summary:
 

 We're back on dairy, and have been for some time. Colic has passed, he's been off reflux meds for a few months, and he's really just the happiest little guy.  As long as he's not supposed to be sleeping; he's not a big fan of that.  I hate to say it, but his sleeping has been similar to Mabes'.  Heaven help me.  Having a 2-3 year old on top of the sleep issues has been difficult, but on the upside, he is WAY more chill than Mabes was during waking hours.  Mabes constantly demanded attention (shocking, right?), whereas he's pretty content to just watch the mayhem.

 Annabelle is 3 in every way.  She is adorable, sweet, cuddly, and a complete joy, and she also manages to be a shrieking, demanding, whining terror.  But the hugs outnumber the tantrums, so she's doing 3 pretty well.

 Seriously, I love this little guy.  It's been at least 9 months since I got more than 4 hours of unbroken sleep (usually it's 3 hours, though), but look at those cheeks!  I can't hold a grudge.

Mabes is 7 and a half (that half is very important), a great big sister, and loving second grade.  Both Annie and William are very happy when Mabes gets home from school; she is a crazy personality, but of course they love it.  And yes, that's Ricecake.  She's doing well, too.