I have been in hospital every day for the last 50 days. The father figure decided to shake things up and go ahead and have his surgery in a different hospital than D'Garebear. In a different state. Well, it wasn't really the father figure's decision but I'm holding him responsible anyway. I'm also not really winning any awards for my sympathetic care giving abilities. The father figure was anxious about getting a spinal as a aide to pain relief after surgery. I rolled my eyes at his nerves, having received three myself, while bringing his children into the world. The last one was just weeks ago. Not to mention, his as administered after he received a sedative, not something they give laboring women. Nor did he have to endure contractions while being jabbed in his spine.I don't really score keep, but I forgot my breast pump at home so my discomfort level will rival his before the day is done.

Two different hospitals in two different states. If that doesn't sum up 2019 for me, I'm not sure what would.

D'Garebear is continuing to grow and is remarkably healthy. He's also mastered the all important skill, guilting mom. I visit him consistently, every day. Well except for the days that his father has surgery in another hospital. I keep myself on a very consistent schedule, for his sake. And D'Garebear is putting that consistency to his use. He is awake when I arrive most days, staring pitifully at the open door, waiting for me to arrive. And it does pang my mother's heart to see him waiting. Of course he promptly falls asleep for the next three hours while I am there. He consistently wakes up right as I am getting ready to leave, again staring at me with wide open eyes. To top it off, he decided to forget how to breathe as I was trying to leave the other day. All sorts of alarms and monitors went off and he stayed looking serene and slightly judgmental. When I explained to him that I still had to pick up X-Man from school, oxygen or no, he decided to resume breathing. But he got me to apologize several times.

D'Garebear seems ready for the real world.

Cinco was uninterested in losing her position as youngest and tyrant of the family. It's pretty clear that she won't be surrendering the tyrant position to D'Garebear, but she has reconciled herself to his existence. She's moved past resenting him to assuming she knows how best to care for him. She corrects me as I hold him, pushes my hands away because "I know what he wants" and critiques my diaper changing techniques. She's also appointed herself his personal shopper/stylist. I'm enjoying watching her come into her own as older sister, but I do have to admit that I worry for D'Garebear. He's in for a micromanaged life. Cinco is nothing if not imperious when it comes to what she thinks she knows.

Cinco was convinced she not only knew how to change diapers, she could do it better than I did. This was before D'Garebear gave a master class in how to void your entire body weight worth of poop while your mother changes your diaper. Or diapers as it were. She decided quickly there were somethings she was meant to supervise rather than do.


So life continues. I'll shuttle between hospitals while hissing threats at the other children to refrain from getting any fancy ideas for attention themselves. Although, once you've knocked the deductible out of the park for the year, is there any reason to just not throw anything else in the mix?

Geeze, I'm really tempting fate with that one.

"Mom? Can I have the honor of feeding D'Garebear?"

I admit, wasn't ready for X-Man's question.

"Uh, yeah, eventually sure I think you could help him eat."

"But I wanted the honor of feeding D'Garebear!!! Why can't I feed him?"

I should have seen Cinco's outburst coming.

"I asked first! It's my honor!" X-Man was irritated.

"But I want to too! It's no fair!!" Cinco was outraged. A fairly common state of being for her.

I attempted to play mediator.

"Well D'Garebear will eat often there will be plenty of opportunities for you both to feed him."

"NO! I ASKED FIRST!!!"

Cinco just started to look amazingly forlorn.

"You're good giving D'Garebear his binky, maybe you can have the honor of giving him his binky."

Why won't anyone ask for the honor of changing his diaper? Or the honor of getting up with him at two am? Or the honor of making him clean his room....well I can see them jumping on that bandwagon down the road.

Quivering sigh "But WHY can't I have the honor of feeding him?"

Where do they get this stuff?

"D'Garebear isn't even home yet, we'll worry about who feeds him when later. Maybe when we need to feed him."

X-Man had still been paying attention, despite my hopes "And then I'LL have the honor of feeding him!"

"BUT MOM!!!!"

And clearly Cinco and X-Man have adjusted to the newest member of our family.

D'Garebear is establishing rolls on his arms. We are swimming along.

Cinco is partaking in NICUschooling. It's like homeschooling, only it's done in the NICU. For those people who just aren't challenged enough by homeschooling. Or, for the parent who feels the need to school in semi-public in order to prevent meltdowns. And by prevent meltdowns, of course that only applies to the mother.

Cinco has mastered the art of looking forlorn and miserable with a single tear sneaking out of her large brown eyes. I have mastered the art of rolling my eyes at her and saying "suck it up buttercup." Mostly when it comes to reading. Because I make her read and she thinks that's a cruel punishment more befitting a totalitarian regime. Then again, I've read the BOB books, more than once. They are fairly tedious.

Cinco also doesn't cry, she squeaks. And the weight of the entire world rests on her shoulders as she is forced to read "bat, cat, fog, log." Ok, she might have a point, it is painfully uninteresting. (side note, I just spent 45 seconds trying to delete an errant period, turns out it was a random speck on the screen, no wonder the child doesn't trust me to educate her.) Well it's uninteresting except for seeing how cruelly oppressed Cinco is by the English language.

X-Man really wants to be homeschooled. I told him once he stops having meltdowns at school, he can be homeschooled. Cinco really wants to go to school. I told her once she stops having meltdowns during homeschooling, we'll talk. I see it as a win-win.

Baba is awash in English lit books. Right now she's reading The Scarlet Letter. Shockingly, I had extremely strong opinions on just about everything I read, especially in high school. And my opinions were so forceful, they alarmed my mother. Well probably more the fact that I was, and still am, incapable of any sort of nuance view. But I never let that stop my rantings about various characters. And one in particular I remember Arthur Dimmesdale, from the Scarlet Letter. First off, his name is Dimmesdale, and boy is he dim. And worthless. I never bought the whole, Hester Prynne, strong independent woman, fell for wimp-head Dimmesdale. The willing suspension of disbelief that required was a bridge too far for me. He was nothing except annoying. Which explains Pearl, who herself was bizarrely irritating too. Hester should have sent her to live with Dimmesdale. Now that would have been a book I enjoyed reading. Since Hester had the time to bedazzle a scarlet A, one does wonder why she never made a pair of man pants for Dimmesdale. Yes yes, he was probably too weak to put them on, but it was worth an effort.

And why didn't a branch just fall on Chillingsworth's head during one of his walks through the woods? Also, why not Dimmesdale? Seriously, how did those two not set off every hinkey gut feeling of the neighbors? Speaking of the neighbors, they did give me my favorite line every from anything I read in highschool “Behold, verily, there is the woman of the scarlet letter; and, of a truth, moreover, there is the likeness of the scarlet letter running along by her side! Come, therefore, and let us fling mud at them!” WHO TALKS LIKE THAT??? My mother tolerated a larger amount of mockery of that line than she typically did. Which just goes to show you, the whole situation was absurd. 

The hard part now, is that in theory, I'm grown up and mature and am supposed to be helping to educate Baba. I've bitten my tongue more than once while going over her study questions with her. But last night I lost all control and blurted out "How much do you hate that pansy Dimmesdale?" She responded "Who?" Apparently her response to fictional characters she doesn't like is to not think about them. A novel approach.