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The Unassuming Mother’s Day

May 13, 2013 By 4 Comments

I have so many words in my head and heart for Mother’s Day.

So many mothers I would love to write about and give words to so they know what impact they have had on me…and how they continue to inspire me every single day.

So many different types of moms: laid back ones, working moms, stay at home moms, teacher moms, best friend moms, groovy moms, trendy moms, veteran moms, newbie moms, optimistic moms, realistic moms, dreamy moms, dreamer moms, hot moms, sad moms, hurting moms, waiting-to-be moms, past moms, present moms, my mom.

All beautiful.

All deserving of something extraordinary.

But this year there was no fanfare.

And I was glad for it.

There was no running around to all of the mothers and trying to thank every mother who has ever mothered me or inspired me to mother.

There was sleeping in.

There were boys pouncing on the bed.

There were new jammies that someone (ahem…EDDIE) had already told me about.

There were cards…one in particular with a “macaroni and cheese machine” drawn on it.

There were wet kisses and tight hugs.

There was fighting and whining and pooping in diapers and barging into the bathroom.

There were groceries gotten and laundry done.

There was feeding of hungry boys.

There was grading of long-overdue tests.

There was a bubble bath.

There was rocking.

There was wearing sweat pants all day.

There was this…

008

Smile as hard as you can.

And hold on even harder than that.

Mother.

So much power in that title.

I hope I do justice to it.

Filed Under: Katie Tagged With: , ,

April 15, 2013

April 22, 2013 By 9 Comments

Monday, April 15 was anything but normal,  but as it goes with those who don’t live in the center of the abnormal but have small, current-event-oblivious-children, it was totally normal in Sluiter Nation.

We worked. We had daycare. We had a rampant case of the Mondays.  We came home and tripped over each other while dinner was  made.  It was…typical.

Cort was in the kitchen making chicken. I was trying to occupy Charlie so he didn’t turn into a hungry dictator before dinner was ready and Eddie was playing on the computer busy writing his “stories”.

The news was on because obviously.

We never thought about the news being on.  It is always on this time of day.  Charlie has never cared about TV and Eddie has lately been having his screen time while dinner is prepared, so the news is on because it’s not a kid show, but it’s also not something that will slip foul language.  It seemed neutral.

Until Monday, April 15.

“Mom, what is that ‘splosion?” he asked over my shoulder.

I turned to see Eddie looking intently at the TV coverage with a puzzled face. “Did someone drop a bomb? Did those people running get hurt?  Are they helping people?  Did someone go to Heaven?”

The questions came fast, but calmly. He sat next to me on the floor never taking his eyes off the TV that I was willing to just shut off by itself.

It didn’t and even though I felt like a total mom fail for allowing him to see this sort of tragedy, I tried to explain.

“Yes, buddy. It looks like someone let a bomb explode by all those people who were running a race. And yes, it hurt people. And yes, some of them died and went to Heaven. And YES, those people you see running? Are trying to help the hurt people.”

“That’s good. We need people to help people.”

And then he went back to what he was doing.

Dinner was soon ready and the local news had moved on to weather and sports and less heavy topics.  Eddie brought up the ‘splosion a couple more times, but didn’t seem scared or fearful.  In fact, knowing that people were helping people seemed to be what was most important to him.  That and that those who died went to Heaven with God and his Papa and his cat.

He is three.

He brings up death a lot, but not in a fearful or worried way.  He seems to just want to know about it.

And because communication is important to Cort and me, we encourage our boys (well, Eddie right now), to ask us anything at all that they may be thinking about.  This has come in the form of how seeds grow to why plants and trees die to why girls have a vagina and not a penis.

Someone recently asked me if Eddie is in the “why” stage.  I guess yes and no, but he mostly makes observations and then asks “what? where? when? how? who? and why?”  He asks all of them

I don’t feel like I spend a ton of time answering just “why?”  We mostly have conversations.

On Monday he didn’t ask why someone would bomb other people, but when we were having the conversation about it Cort and I did say the bomb hurt lots of people and to us, it seemed like a really awful thing to do to someone else.

Eddie agreed, “yeah, because hurting people is so so SO mean, right guys?”

Right, bud.

So maybe I am a mom fail for letting my son see the news, and we did our best to limit it the rest of the week.  But in the end, he felt comfortable talking with us about it and wasn’t afraid or worrisome.

I’m not sure that I could call it the right thing or claim some parenting strategy here, but I will say that his reaction to the whole thing helped me know we are doing something right with our parenting.

He asked questions, he told us what he thought, and we had a conversation that left him satisfied, but not afraid.

I’m still sorry that he saw it and that he now knows about that level of evil, but I’m proud of him for asking questions and responding the way he did.

Filed Under: Eddie, Sluiters Tagged With: , ,

Eight Weeks

April 8, 2013 By 8 Comments

“Hi mom. How did you sleep?”

Every day for a week this was my morning greeting.

Every day for a week Eddie and I moved into a comfortable buddy relationship that we have never had before.

Every day for a week I marveled at how Charlie went from my mushy little baby into a full on little so-and-so walking and babbling and being full of being Charlie.

Every night I fell into bed completely exhausted.

It was a wonderful exhaustion.

There were times when Eddie and I faced off, when he stopped using his words and instead used his screams and grunts.

There were times when I thought I might lock Charlie in his room for the rest of the day because he wouldn’t stop climbing on ALL THE THINGS (oh yeah, because he does that now).

I learned that Charlie is not ready to drop his morning nap unless we are out and about and super busy, but I also learned that his limit is 3 hours of nap a day.  Doesn’t matter how it’s broken up or when it is, 3 hours. Limit.  Otherwise? We are all up all night with someone who wants to party. Ahem…Charlie.

I learned that Eddie has a voice and that voice has something to say.  When Eddie is heard, his behavior vastly improves.  Every choice was talked over between the two of us.  Cereal or pancakes for breakfast?  Grapes or bananas?  Stop for gas now or later?  Should I have another cup of coffee or have some water?  Should I put Bird down for nap now or later?  Is it a cleaning day or a relaxing day?

Sometimes we decided he didn’t need a nap that day and he helped me with laundry and cleaning and playing Legos and entertaining Charlie and racing Mario Kart and making dinner.

We read books together and napped together and cuddled together and ate together.

He told me stories and made me laugh.

He broke my heart telling me when kids were not nice to him and how he didn’t say anything.

We talked about why flowers and plants and pets and people have to die, and how there is a time for new things to be born and grow.

He asked questions and made observations.  I asked him questions in returned and offered explanation when I had it.

Charlie discovered he can go pretty fast on two feet rather than two knees/two hands.  He found that he can climb on the footstool, the chair, and the couch.  He can also fall.  A million times.  But not a million-and-one times.  Nope.  That is when he suddenly got on his tummy and slide down feet first.  And clapped for himself.

Charlie learned the art of pushing boundaries.  How close can I get to touching something before I am redirected?  Does crying help? No, it does not. Darn.

Charlie protested milk and insisted on a bottle at least twice a day with FORMULA, NOT MILK, MOM! And if I insisted on milk? The bottle came flying back at me and wailing ensued.

Sometimes you choose your battles.

I watched two little men that at one time were little blobs growing in my tummy.  Now they are people with personalities and they are making their presence known with clapping and screeching  and dancing and singing along to the Sofia the First soundtrack.

And now we are back to our routine of daycare and work.  A different kind of exhaustion that is not nearly as satisfying.

But it’s just eight more weeks.

Eight more weeks until we can go back to the business of playing.

Filed Under: Charlie, Eddie Tagged With: , ,

Raising WMAs

January 15, 2013 By 41 Comments

I was born to a middle-class, white, married couple in 1978 in a safe, conservative town in Michigan.  My parents are still married almost forty years later, and they still live in the home I grew up in, and they still have good jobs, and because they are smart with their money, they are comfortable.

I have never been afraid that we would lose our home.

I have never wondered if I would get food on any given day.

No one has ever assumed I was a less-worthy person or a scary person or a violent person based on my looks or my school or my background.

I have occasionally been told I can’t do something because I am female, but it’s never been a real barrier that I believed actually hindered me in achieving anything I really wanted to do.

Had I wanted to, I could have been just about anything I was talented enough to become.

I won the lottery by being born.

Why?

Why me?  Why did I get so lucky?

My sons were born to a middle-class, married couple in today’s society. We live in that same safe, conservative town that Cort and I grew up in.  We are both employed. We are trying to be smart with our money, and although we feel like things are tight, in the grand scheme of things, we are comfortable.

Our boys have never felt (and we hope they won’t) the anxiety of adult worries about shelter or food or clothing.  They are very comfortable.

Plus they are boys.  White boys.  Who will become White Men.  In America.

White Male Americans.

The Jackpot in this world.

They will not know what it feels like to be suspected of ill-intent because of the color of their skin.  They will not feel the assumption of failure because of their home life.  They will not be assumed guilty until proven innocent because they are “those people”.

They won the lottery by being born.

This bothers me.

Winning a lottery should feel good.  This does not.

I have friends, students, even family who I know have certain struggles solely because society views them differently than they view my boys.  Even if it’s subconsciously so.

Racism is alive and kicking in the United States and it hurts my heart when I read about friends’ sense of belonging questioned because of the color of their skin.  When their honesty is questioned because people have clumped them into “those people”.  You know how “those people” can be.

No. I don’t.  “Those people” are my friends…my family…and they would give you the clothes off their back if they knew you were in need.

Eddie and Charlie will automatically get a pass from cops on certain suspicions.  They will have a better chance of becoming President.

I am not saying people can’t work hard to beat the odds and make it happen.  Look at President Obama.  But he had odds to beat.  My sons don’t.

I’m also not saying my sons will have everything super easy.  They may not.  In fact, I am sure there will be things that are hard or challenges or obstacles they will have to overcome…or fall to.  But they are not built into the way our society thinks.

Instead of only celebrating this “lottery” we have won (because, yes, I am grateful), I find it an enormous responsibility.

As a woman, how many times in college did I whine about how everything we read was by dead white guys?  I longed for more female voices.  I also longed for diversity.

I couldn’t take a social studies class…or read the news today…without shaking my head at the messes that white men have made (yes, other people make/made messes too, but if you look at the US track record? White men outnumber all the other people in horrible things).

I don’t want my sons to turn into arrogant, self-centered white boys.

I don’t want my sons to be part of the mess, but rather part of the clean-up and resolution.

I read a post this week about talking with your children about race.  I thought about it.  Eddie and Charlie have black cousins.  They have a Hispanic aunt.  They have Cort’s cousins who are all different races.  They visit me at school and see the huge amount of diversity of the student body I work with.  Eddie knows Baby  (his doll) has beautiful brown skin like his cousins.   It means nothing to him.

He sees it, he appreciates it, and then he moves on because it doesn’t impact him.  He hasn’t gotten society’s views engrained in his mind yet.

When did I first think skin color meant someone could be different than I am?  Did someone bring it up?  Did I hear someone I trust and respect make an off-color joke?

I remember my grandpa having a black baby doll he found and referring to it as a N- baby and my parents getting very upset.  It’s the first memory I have of it being important not to call someone a name just because their skin is different than mine.  But I also didn’t have many people around me who were different.

Do I need to call my son’s attention to race to teach them about it?

They will someday be white men.  White men that Cort and I raised.

I don’t want them to be sensitive to race.  I don’t want race to be anything to them other than something on a family tree that shows where people come from.

But that would be a naive way to parent them.  Right?

They will have to know about the struggles and the challenges that their non-white brothers and sisters in humanity have to battle.

And I hope I can teach them to see the battle, and stand firmly beside their friends and family who are fighting and take a stand too. Until the battle is won.

He won the lottery by being born
Big hand slapped a white male American
Do no wrong, so clean cut…
Dirty his hands, it comes right off.*

 *Lyrics by Pearl Jam from the song “WMA”.

Filed Under: Charlie, Eddie, Sluiters Tagged With: , , , ,

on bedtime and becoming moot

January 3, 2013 By 28 Comments

Bedtime with Eddie has never been anything remotely what I would consider falling under the definition of “easy”.

I’ve lamented this all over this blog.

When he was a colicky baby, Cort and I would say to each other, “It can’t last forever, right?” And it didn’t. But bedtime didn’t get easier.

When he was sobby and clingy and needed to rock for over an HOUR at bedtime we would argue about whose “turn” it was and how it wouldn’t last forever and that when he was older we wouldn’t put up with this “shit”.

When he moved to a Big Boy Bed and got up one kazillion times we would rub our faces and pull our hair and whine about whose turn it was to bring him down to bed.  Whoever wasn’t on the verge of punching a wall “won”.

This week Cort came upstairs after an hour with Eddie.  Eddie came upstairs for some ridiculous reason (booger on his finger? fuzzy on his floor?  Llama Llama giving him the stink eye? Who knows), and Cort burst out, “THIS IS NOT HOW IT SHOULD BE!  BEDTIME ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE LIKE THIS!”

Eddie’s thing lately is that he wants us to “lay by me a yiddle bit.”  But what that really means is just lay here and I will talk and goof around until you fall asleep in my bed. Then I will fall asleep and daddy will have to come get you at 10pm because it’s time for you to go to bed.

It’s stalling.

Sort of.

Eddie is three and a half.  He knows what is expected at bedtime.

When it’s nap time, he will say, “Mom. Naptime.” And we will go down, he will crawl into bed, I will tuck him in and kiss him and that is that.  He knows how to go to sleep.

Bedtime is…different for him.

I don’t really know why, but I think it has to do with the dark and his mind working and how he processes everything.

That boy thinks a LOT.

Anyway, when Cort found the end of his rope, I realized that if I could? I would crawl into bed with Eddie every night and fall asleep next to  him until my bedtime.

Tonight, we read two books and then talked about those two books.

Then he had to poop (which is his regular time as of late. He’s like a little old man), but when he came back, he asked me (again) when we could have another baby in our family. (not for a LONG time, little man).

That brought him to asking how God puts babies in a mommy’s tummy anyway, and how does he pick if it’s a boy or a girl? And maybe we should leave God a note on the wall with a cookie and asking him for a baby sister. Also? God doesn’t have a beard because beard’s are weird and God is not weird.

He didn’t stop there. Nope. Then he began questioning why God and Jesus had to live in a barn (the Christmas story is still fresh in his mind) and sleep on hay and was there baby food there for Jesus? And did he have baby toys? Because goats are not good toys.

Around 9pm (an hour after we started this bedtime adventure), he asked if he could read books.  I said sure, and I kissed him and turned his light on and said goodnight.

He was good.  Until he found a Llama Llama book.  He loves these books.  But not having them live in his room.  He thinks Llama Llama is giving him stink eye. So he brought it up to me.

We had some more set-backs tonight due to a sore knee (he fell on some ice today) and some “I don’t like the dark or the shadows,” but after some dad time, he is all set.

I really do like cuddling him until we both fall asleep.

Because really? Like Cortney and I always say (usually in exasperation), “it won’t last forever.”

Someday I won’t be able to lie there with him…and he won’t want me to.

I won’t be able to feel his feet start to rub together and hear his breathing slow.

He won’t turn into me while letting his hand go limp, releasing Lamby onto the pillow next to him.

My presence won’t be needed to comfort him in the darkness and shadows.

He’s getting so big, that these little boy moments wash over me suddenly and remind me of how time keeps on trucking…and takes the babies and the little boys and turns them into teenagers and men.

Teenagers and men who don’t need their mommies to snuggle them and talk out their worries and their fears.

Because by snuggling him and reassuring him now, I am raising him to be a man who is fearless and confident.

I am working to make myself unnecessary.

It is both beautiful and heartbreaking.

But that is motherhood, right? In order to be a success, you have to become moot.

So instead of complaining and whining about how my boy needs me at night, I am going to let him need me…and be Ok with it.  Because I am his mom and he is three and it is my job–right now–to be needed.

Filed Under: Eddie Tagged With: , , ,

I am Thankful for a Potty-Trained Boy

November 20, 2012 By 25 Comments

That’s right.

Eddie is potty-trained.

Did you hear that huge sigh of relief that collectively exhaled out of both Cort and me?  It was a powerful sigh, I tell you.

Eddie is 3 years and 5 months old.

For those of you who have yet to potty train a child?  People are not kidding when they tell you it is the most exhausting, frustrating milestone to date when raising a child.

And that is saying a lot. I mean, not much has been super easy with Mr. Edward.

It seems like we have been potty training FOREVER.  Our entire attitude was always that we would let him lead the way.  We would just follow his cues.

At first it seemed to work.

He was incredibly interested in the toilet and using one before he was even two.

getting his first potty at 23 months old.

We openly talked about poop and pee and going on the potty.

He liked to sit on it and every now and then he would tinkle on it.  But at just 2 years old, he just wasn’t REALLY into it.  But we kept it in the bathroom and let him sit on it whenever.

Time went by and the potty got dusty.

And then I got pregnant.  Suddenly being a Big Boy was THE THING.

Pooping came first.

two and a half and pooping on the pot.

After a couple issues with poop in the bath tub, it was a rare day that Eddie didn’t ask to sit on the toilet if he had to poop. It’s like seeing his poop floating around him did a number on his brain.

I guess I would be traumatized too.

And then he started to pee on the toilet too.  Mostly before bed or after nap or before bath time.  We kept a potty chart on the fridge for him to stick stickers when he pooped or peed and he got m&ms for each.

He was so close to being able to wear undies instead of pull-ups or diapers.

And then this happened:

Charles Thomas: The Poop Regresser

Suddenly Eddie wanted nothing to do with pooping or peeing on the toilet.

NOTHING.

We knew this could happen, so we tried to take it in stride, but it got maddening.

He would purposefully poop in his pull-up so we switched back to diapers exclusively and stopped trying to have him be potty trained.  We tried to just accept he would wear diapers until he was ready.

But every time he would announce, “I go downstairs now.  You not come down,” we would bristle.  “Ed, are you going to poop?”  “No.”  “Ed? Are you going to poop??”

“Yes. Don’t come down.”

::head desk::

Meanwhile all his friends at daycare were potty training.  All but one girl who was younger than him and the babies.

He didn’t care.

Most days he just wore his diaper with no shame.  Sometimes he would tell Renae (his daycare mom) that he wanted to pee.  And sure enough, he would.

But most days…diaper.

Until…that last little girl started potty training about a month ago.

I don’t know what happened in Eddie’s mind or why. Maybe it was because he is so competitive and he didn’t want to be last. Maybe it was because this particular little girl is sort of his arch enemy (if 3-year old’s can have arch enemies) and he couldn’t stand her “beating him” to this milestone.  Or maybe he realized he would be the only one that was like the babies if he wore diapers…something he was NOT in his mind (yes, this child went from baby to Big Boy.  There was no little boy phase if you ask him).

I really don’t know, but on the first day the little girl started wearing undies at daycare, Eddie told Renae he wanted to do it too.

He we through two undies and hasn’t had hardly any accidents since.

Sometimes at home he will forget to go and have an accident, but never at daycare.  And never poop.

He even told the Sunday School teacher he had to poop in church on Sunday.  And sure enough.  He did it. On the can, with privacy, of course (that’s his thing…no coming in until he needs a wipe).

He even pees standing up with no aiming issues.

He only wears a pull up at night.  Not at nap…he stays dry in his undies at nap.

There was a time I thought I would miss having him in diapers.  That somehow my baby would disappear and I would be very sad.

that pipey in his mouth…that’s a whole other post

But I’m not.  Not even a little bit.

I think everyone has a poop in the pants limit and I had hit mine with this guy.

I am thankful that my little boy is potty trained.

*************

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Filed Under: Eddie Tagged With: , ,

like me

November 7, 2012 By 15 Comments

“He is so much like me…it worries me,” I said to my therapist at my appointment last week.

I was talking about Eddie.

I talk about him a lot in therapy.

Being a mom is hard for me.  His being placed in my arms didn’t do that thing that I thought it would do.  I thought it would transform me into a crying emotional ball of love and gratitude for the perfect being that I grew in my tummy.

But instead I was left confused. And tired. And depressed. And anxious. And resentful.

I’m still confused.

And tired.

Our relationship is like nothing I have ever experienced before.

I suppose that should be a given…that it is obvious.  But for some reason it surprises me daily, hourly even.

It’s a strange thing seeing a tiny version of yourself walking around in the world.

And Eddie truly is a small version of me in almost every way possible.

I watch him play and think out loud to himself and I can remember doing the same thing when I was small.  He has trouble falling asleep when there are things on his mind just like me.  When something bothers or worries or puzzles him he needs to talk it out, just like I do.

He also worries.

A lot.

He thinks about big things that seem too big for a 3 year old to worry about.

Like the idea of “forever” and “death” and “heaven”.

He asks questions I don’t know the answers to for my own mind let alone how to put something into words that will soothe the worry of such a small little guy.

“I worry about him turning out like me.”

“Is that bad?”

“I just don’t want him to…end up…here,” I say as I look around my therapist’s office, “you know, no offense or anything.”

He is emotional. Dramatic. Worrisome.

He is me.

He wears his heart on his sleeve and cannot tell a lie.

He is me.

He gets excited about the smallest things and cries over even smaller things.

He is me.

But…he is also Eddie.

He is NOT me.

He is Eddie.

He loves me fiercely…and I love him madly.

And I hope I am enough for him…

so he doesn’t end up like me.

Ok, maybe he can be a little like me.

Filed Under: Eddie, Katie, mental health Tagged With: , , ,

Subtle Shifts

November 5, 2012 By 16 Comments

It didn’t happen all at once.

It never does.

But this weekend we finally were blessed with a slow, no agenda Saturday so I decided to do one of my good Saturday House Cleanings that I haven’t been able to do in months.  You know, scrub everything really well all at once.  The kind of clean that when you go outside to get the mail and come back in it smells like a mixture of lemon Pledge and Windex? Yeah, it was awesome.

But once I had the house all cleaned, and Charlie was napping and Cort and Eddie were outside, I saw what had happened while I bustle through our days.

The subtle shifts that have been happening in our house.

Once all the toys had been properly put away to make room for vacuuming and dusting, I saw the empty space where the baby swing once stood.

I saw the spot next to the couch where we used to keep the bounce seat.

I noticed that I could see our side table’s shelf with a picture of Cort and me because it wasn’t covered by the boppy or the bumbo seat.

The chunky trucks Eddie used to play with were long stashed in a drawer and out the table was a magnetic “discovery” truck set that involved fitting pieces together.

In the past nine weeks that I have been back to work, my infant very slowly morphed into a clapping, laughing, rolling, army-crawling baby.

When I wasn’t looking, my toddler ditched his diapers and his squeeze tubes of yogurt and grew right up into a Big Boy.

My baby feeds himself puffs and melon and banana.

My big boy assembles trucks and builds towers and asks questions and washes his own hands and face after dinner.

My baby has 3 and a half teeth.

My big boy stands up by the toilet to pee.

The infant carrier has been permanently stuck in my truck and a convertible seat has been installed in Cort’s truck.  Eddie has upgraded his car seat to one that can convert to a booster and is good up to 100 pounds.

I just filled a tub with out-grown 6 months clothes to be stored away, possibly forever.

I filled another tub with 3T shirts and pants that don’t fit anyone in this house.

Eddie asks me big questions that I don’t know how to answer.

Charlie needs me less and less for things like falling asleep and holding his bottle.

It’s so cliche to say they “grow up so fast,” but they do. And it happens right in front of you without you knowing…until it’s too late.

Charlie’s chubby little hands with the dimples remind me that Eddie’s are thinning out and feel rough from play.  Charlie’s complete trust in us to always be there for him reminds me that Eddie is developing doubts and fears.

This juxtaposition of having an almost 8 month old and an almost 3.5 year old reminds me that they are little for such a very, very brief time.

Each age and phase is so short, so fleeting.

Charlie’s days of being a squishy little pile that just eats and sleeps are completely gone.  I know the days were fading when I went to work 9 weeks ago, but any hint of them is completely gone now.

I really do love this new shift that is happening, it’s just shocking to me how it seems to come out of nowhere, yet at the same time it’s been happening every day right in front of me.

One day this…

And then all the days that feel so much the same, but are subtly very much different happen.  And I have this…

They amaze me every single day, these creatures I am blessed to call my sons.

Even if they are growing up way to quickly.

Filed Under: Charlie, Eddie, Sluiters Tagged With: , , , ,

closeness vs cuddles

September 24, 2012 By 8 Comments

A tired Eddie at 6 months with a tired Mommy

Can we talk about sleep for a minute?

I am happy to say that for the most part, I have birthed good sleepers.

Both boys were “sleeping through the night” by all definitions by about 2 months.  (I know, I am a VERY lucky girl. This fact does not escape me).

That is where their sleeping similarities end.

I thought Eddie was a cuddler. I mean, he was my first and I had nothing to compare him to, but he really REALLY didn’t want to sleep alone. Ever.

The nightly routine

Naps were fairly non-existent for Eddie until he was older. He wouldn’t sleep longer than 20 minutes by himself in bed or the swing or anywhere.  And night time was the biggest battle ever.  It was like his crib had giant teeth and sharp talons that might shred him to bits if he let himself get comfortable and fall asleep.

It was the nightly routine for someone to cuddle him up until he fell asleep.

Then it was always a crap shoot as to whether he would wake up once and need rocking back to sleep or 700 times.  On really bad nights, one of us would take him to the couch and sleep there for the majority of the night with him all balled up on our chests.

But he was really was a good sleeper.  The bad nights were exceptions to the rule.  Most nights were were blessed with a sacked out little guy…once we could get him that way.

And he just wanted to be held. Always.

We had a cuddley baby, right?

Apparently not.

Well, not compared to his baby brother.

even in a winter coat, Eddie did “airplane arms”

It took until Eddie was well over a year old before he reached for anyone. He would shout and scream when he wanted to be picked up, but he would NOT put his arms out toward anyone.  And once held, he did NOT hold on.  In fact, he sort of had an aversion to his hands touching people.  He would do what we called “airplane arms” when held: thrust his arms straight out at his sides or slightly back, like he was avoiding you.

He wanted the comfort of being held (all the dang time), but did not cuddle into the hold.

The Bird and his daddy.

From Day One Charlie was different.  He didn’t need to be held to sleep at all, but he adored the cuddles.

When we were in the hospital, I would take him out of his little plastic baby aquarium cart thing and put him in my bed with me.  He would turn his face into me and sigh. Every time.

This boy had the mommy-wooing thing down pat right from the start.

first person he started reaching for? Eddie, of course.

Charlie has always napped well.  When he is tired? He sleeps. Or he lets you know he wants to sleep so you’ll put him in his bed–yes, the same bed that Eddie was convinced would injure him, Charlie adores and falls right to sleep in.

At night, Charlie just goes to sleep.  We put him in bed, maybe rock him for a bit if he is overtired and needs help, but usually it’s just to bed, end of story.  He rarely wakes up in the night unless he is having a growth spurt that requires a middle of the night feeding.

And he definitely loves the cuddles.

Could have done this in his bed, but we both like the cuddling better.

Charlie has been reaching for Eddie for over a month now.  And recently he started reaching for Cort and me when he wants to be picked up or held.

I just need a quick hug, daddy.

Charlie will lay his head down and hold us when he is tired or needs a buddy.  Eddie never did this.

At night, Eddie would still rather have a friend lie near his bed or in bed with him until he falls asleep.  He won’t cuddle up, but it makes him feel safer while succumbing to his exhausted body and mind to have someone he trusts near.

Charlie will take a cuddle any time he can get them, but doesn’t require them for comfort or safety the way his older brother needs us.

Classic Charlie: roll to side, pass out

They are so similar, yet so different.

One needs closeness for comfort, the other enjoys cuddles for coziness.

Eddie gives us hugs now, but on his own terms.

Charlie will give anyone who smiles at him a good nuzzle.

One thing is for sure: Both of our boys love fiercely.  And that makes me very happy.

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