The Third is for Enjoying

I love Jordi's pediatrician.  He is a wonderful German man, equal parts stern and softie, periodically dropping jokes in his German accent with such a straight poker face, you are constantly asking yourself: "Is he kidding?  Do I smile, or nod seriously?"  It is old school doctoring.  You make an appointment with the doctor himself, check in at the scheduled time, and walk right into his office.  His actual sit-at-a-desk office, which is attached to a little exam room all his own.  Then you talk.  To the doctor.  For, like, as long as you need to.  While he is actually looking at you, and not at a screen or a chart.  It is revolutionary.

What I love most about this man is that he is perceptive about family dynamics.  He picks up on things like family demeanor, bonding, and parenting styles.  When I had asked him at our first appointment about possible long term effects to children born to mothers with HELLP syndrome, he assured me there was nothing in the studies to worry about, but that likely we will have a different kind of bond than I had with my other children.  I may feel more protective, and that my attachment to him will be exactly what he needs to thrive.  He told me he could see that I was relaxed with him, that I was calm and attentive, and it was that kind of interaction that will make the longest lasting effect on a child moving forward.  I liked that answer.  

Anyway, on our last visit to Jordi's pediatrician, he said something I thought was pretty spot on.  He said first children were for learning, second children were for applying what you learned, and third children were simply for enjoying.

So far, I couldn't agree more.

There is chaos.  Oh, is there chaos.  We are a family of five tucked not-so-neatly into a loft-style apartment, essentially living in one room down stairs.  The Living Room is the Dining Room is the Kitchen is the Playroom is the Office.  (I dream of finished basements and mud rooms)  It gets loud and messy.  The first six weeks took...adjusting.  New discipline styles were introduced, we realized more one-on-one time needed to happen with each child, and there is certainly less down-time and WAAAAAAY more laundry.  I find that my children's outfits on any given day are pretty much the barometer for life that week.  Mismatched socks with warm-up pants and PJ tops to school = not enough coffee in the world.  Neat little braids, cute tights and matching outfits = winning!

Morning lessons

However, this time around, I notice what is lacking is that sense of panic I felt with the other two.  This is not to say I didn't enjoy Evan and Mia's infancy...I did.  But all too often I look back at their baby pictures and feel a bit sad, wishing I had enjoyed it more.  With Evan we were new parents, unsure of what we were doing.  With Mia, we thought we had all the answers, only to discover...this is an entirely different kid!  Those answers no longer apply!  Damn.   With Jordi, it's not so much that I'm overly confident and have all the answers, but more like I know it isn't possible to have the answers and I'm OK with that.  I no longer feel like there is A Right Way, and if I don't find that Right Way, I am Bad Mom. Ok, maybe I do still feel the Bad Mom clouds start to gather, I don't think we can ever really shake that one, but for me it isn't about having all the answers anymore.   I know, eventually, they sleep.  I know, eventually, he will lift his head up, and kneel, and crawl, and walk.  I know one bad night of sleep doesn't have to mean anything other than one bad night of sleep, and if it does, we will get through it.  I have to deal with each day as it comes, do what works best for us at the time, and keep in mind this is a marathon, not a sprint.

Lately we've been dealing with new challenges as the kids get older, and I see how the first born really does pave the way for the rest to follow.  I think poor Evan will always be the victim of our inexperience, and Jordi will always benefit from a calmer attitude of "been there, done that".  

First smile caught on camera!  7 Weeks Old

This time I want to trust and enjoy the process for once.  Granted, so far he is a pretty laid back little guy, so it's easy to put on the calm, cool, and collected hat.  Still, I want to remember what it feels like to hold a little 10 lb baby in my arms, looking at me with milk on his face and wide eyes.  I want to remember what it is like to have his little fist clasp my hand tightly while he nurses, and fall asleep in my arms.  Someday soon, he won't sleep in my arms anymore.  He will nap on a schedule, and sleep through the night, and sleep in a crib, and feed himself food.  I know I don't have to worry about that.  I've replaced those worries, those panicked "when will it happen" thoughts, with trying to continually remind myself to be present, get to know this new little person, and enjoy what is happening TODAY.

Our mornings alone make it easy.

8 Weeks Old

Something else I've learned over the past couple months is that my children are happy when I am happy. Simple as that.  If we spring a leak, we find a way to fix it, and keep sailing.  The point is, I like it on this boat.  I wouldn't trade it for the world.

End corny metaphor here.

Insert cute pictures.

We're moving into the Christmas season here in Barcelona...by far my favorite time of year here.  We had high hopes of pushing ourselves to make a trip to Bavaria, Germany to tour the Christmas Markets, but once again those travel plans were nixed.  We weren't able to get Jordi's USA paperwork completed in time to travel.  So, in the spirit of embracing last experiences, we plan to squeeze the life out of this Christmas season here in Barcelona.  I went through as many websites as possible to find the good happenings, put them in the calendar, and am ready to hit them all.  Or, as many as we can barring any tantrums, meltdowns, hunger fits, or nap deprivation.  This is it, our last winter here.  The last is for enjoying.

First night with our street decorations lit!

Hair today...

What started as, I suspect, a bit of a lag in making the effort to get his hair cut, ended up as almost a year long quest to change up "the look".

I have to admit...at the beginning, I dug the new look.  My husband was blessed with a nice head of ringlet curls.  Most girls would kill for naturally wavy, curly hair like that (and the mile long eyelashes he has to match).  The new look suited him.

May 

But, like a fine wine...there was a peak.  And that peak was about four months ago.

July

As the summer turned to fall, what was once a nice, tousled head of hair slowly became what can only be described as...a mop.  Less and less "Laid back Spanish Guy", and more and more "Where is the Nearest Shelter Guy".

I let to go for a while.  Hell, we've all made some bad choices whilst looking to change up our hair identity (anyone happen to catch the bob and bangs debacle of 2012?)  Clearly, I love the man no matter what and if he was happy with the look, then who I am to ask him to change it up.  But lately I had to start some gentle prodding.  He was starting to ask my opinion, and I had to break it to him.  My handsome husband was being buried in a sea of frizz.

November

"Just needs a little more time" he kept telling me.  Secretly, I think he liked the shock and awe factor.  But after taking a look at a little video I took of him today, even he agreed.  It was time.

With his whole family around him (no joke, even the dog was waiting outside the salon), we said goodbye to The Mop.  And damn, does he look good.

I give you...the before...

And after!