Meal times with Ceilidh

Ever since she started kindergarten, Ceilidh has left us scratching our heads. As a baby she wasn't a fussy eater, but as a toddler and pre-schooler, she was extremely picky. We were always cajoling her to eat, and bribing her with dessert to finish supper. The only meal that doesn't create a fuss is chicken nuggets and fries.
When the news came that she would be attending full-day kindergarten, I worried about what to pack in her lunch and wondered if she would eat any of it. I couldn't send chicken nuggets and fries to school every day.
Surprise, surprise - her lunch box would return home completely empty. On a daily basis. The child who wouldn't consider eating a sandwich was happily devouring one for lunch at school. Maybe is was the effect of conformity - when in Rome, do as the Romans do. If everyone else is eating sandwiches, then so would Ceilidh. Apparently, conformity only influences to a degree. I tried sending vegetables for lunch in the hopes that seeing other kids consume them would also encourage Ceilidh. Not so. Or, no one else eats vegetables at school.
As other students began to vary their midday meals, Ceilidh would also ask for various different food items as well. For instance, she wanted left over spaghetti in a thermos. The same spaghetti she refused to eat unless Daddy fed her the previous evening.
That was another source of conflict at the dinner table with Ceilidh. She wanted to be spoonfed by Daddy, or Mommy, or especially by Halmuhnee. Despite being reminded that she was old enough to attend school, and her younger sibling Aisling was feeding herself. We would ask Ceilidh who fed her at school? She said no one. Then why couldn't she do the same at dinner time?
While we still struggle with these same issues, there's a new one that's developed this year. The use of utensils, or the lack of use at dinner time. While we've tried to alter her behaviour by modelling (using utensils ourselves), shaming (Aisling is using a spoon), bribery (no dessert unless...), we are constantly nagging Ceilidh to use a spoon or fork, and not her hands.
So, what a shock it was to have Ceilidh come home from school and state in an accusatory tone that we had forgotten to pack spoon and fork in her lunch for her hot dogs and rice. She added that she had to obtain a plastic spoon from the teacher. I don't understand it. She'll use utensils at school, but not at home.

Maternity Leave and a Type A Personality

Quinn is a month old. I am completely and utterly sleep deprived. While I realize that I've "just" had a baby, I feel like I've done nothing during this first month. That's the problem with being a Type A personality. It's hard to sit back and enjoy the ride. It's difficult to accept that making dinner and not calling for take-out every night is something to crow about when you have a newborn, and three other kids.
Since this is our last baby, and my last maternity leave, I decided that I would try to accomplish a few tasks during the year. I planned to master the art of Korean cuisine, or at least learn a few more recipes. I also intended to re-introduce myself to the piano and also work on some creative writing on a daily basis.
To that end, I have eaten lots of Korean food, thanks to my mother. In terms of cooking it, I've reheated several yummy dishes. I tinkled the ivories on one occasion, and I've sadly neglected even this blog as I haven't found even 20 minutes during the day when no one is either calling for me or clinging to me.
But looking back on the month, I realized I did in fact accomplish a few things. For instance, the children and I have settled into a daily after school routine that involves a snack and a little bit of television before turning off the tv for piano practising and homework. I started exercising. I went through three years' worth of magazines and clipped out the recipes or articles I wanted and tossed the rest. I sorted through old clothes, toys, and books and donated several bags and boxes to charity. I finally organized the pile of papers on the kitchen counter. I created a binder for the kids - notices from school and their extra-curricular activities.
And I've spent the last four weeks enjoying the grunts, yawns, squeaks, and the occasional smile of a beautiful baby boy.

Who's the Boss?

After meeting Quinn and declaring him to be very cute, Aisling wondered aloud if we could now have a baby sister. Daddy was quick to nip that idea in the bud, and used the age old trick of re-directing to her mind off requesting another sibling.
"Now that Quinn is here, you're a big sister. Soon, you'll be bossing him around just like Ceilidh bosses you," he offered.
Aisling, being Aisling, came back with this response.
"I'm not the boss, you are!" she stated with conviction.
"Why do you say that?" Daddy asked.
"You're the boss because you can put us in time-outs," she explained, referring to our disciplinary methods.

However, after a mere 4 weeks at home, Aisling has now declared there are two bosses in the family. Mommy is the boss during the day, and only until Daddy walks through the front door.

Beer and breast milk

I once read somewhere that beer is good for getting the breast milk flowing. Quinn is feeding every 2 hours during the day. I've been enjoying a sudsy drink every night. So that my tiny son can receive his nourishment.
My husband thinks I'm becoming a raging alcoholic. That I'm using the breast milk line as an excuse.
Perhaps. But I'm the mom to 4 kids, all of whom make me question my decision to procreate in the first place. So I think I'm entitled to that daily drink.
He'd understand too, if he was home all year.

Dilemma

The daily dilemma:
The house is quiet. Aisling is napping upstairs in the top bunk. The first nap in weeks!  Ceilidh is napping on the couch. She came home early because she was complaining about a tummy ache. Quinn is also finally asleep. On my chest in the baby carrier. It's two o'clock in the afternoon. I have one hour before I have to get ready to pick up Devlin from school.
Do I try to remove the baby from the carrier and lay him down, and risk him waking up again? And if I do lay him down somewhere successfully, do I risk waking him up from a much needed nap early to get him bundled into a car seat for the trek to the school? Or do I simply keep the baby in the carrier, on my chest for the hour, and try to grab a quick nap myself? And when it's three o'clock, do I cross my fingers and hope the rain holds off so we can walk to the school with the baby still strapped to the chest under a large coat? Or do I try the transfer into the car seat?
Yep - a glimpse into the inner workings of the brain of a sleep deprived individual....

If only...

It's week 3 of Quinn's young life, and Daddy is home for the week. An unexpected perk as Daddy's employer offers 5 days off for the purposes of "bonding" with your new family. So, we've had Daddy's help in chauffeuring Devlin and Ceilidh to school and back. Plus he's made some dents in his "honey-do" list, thus making use of his Christmas present - a gigantic screw and socket set.
While Quinn has enjoyed some naps on Daddy's chest, it's Aisling who has reaped the most from this bonding week. She's had a playmate to complete puzzles with, a partner in the board games, and an eager audience for her impromptu song recitals. An added bonus for Aisling is having her favorite breakfast prepared hot and fresh every morning - pancakes. Since Daddy also received a pancake shaper for Christmas, Aisling had been making requests for various animals every morning. Today, it was a piggy. It looked more like a bear.
Daddy has also been enjoying this time. He commented somewhat sadly, "I am not looking forward to returning to work next week."
Overhearing this, Aisling stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "Well, I guess you'll just have to stay home with me!"

Aaah, if only, there was a way...perhaps it's time to go and buy a lottery ticket.

Aisling's Royal Decree

At dinner one evening, Aisling noticed that Auntie Grace was sitting at the head of the table. Daddy and Grandpa were seated along one side, and she and I were seated on the other side.
"Auntie Grace - you're the queen. Mommy and I are Princesses, and Daddy and Hahbudgee are our royal servants," she announced.
Devlin had been standing off to one side, having already finished his meal. "What about me, Aisling? What am I?"
"You - you're nothing!" she stated in a very regal and haughty tone.

Devlin's Impression of Quinn

Upon seeing and meeting his baby brother Quinn, Devlin stated, "He's cuter than I thought he would be!"
What he said to Auntie Grace when asked about his newest sibling: "My wish came true - Quinn turned out to be a boy. Now Daddy and I won't have to move out!"

Happy New Year and a Welcome to Quinn

It's 2012 and the zoo is off to a rousing start - mostly because of Baby #4's arrival in the waning minutes of 2011. That's right, ten minutes before the clock struck twelve, Quinn came into the world, and I heard the announcement "It's a boy!"
It was not the easy delivery that I expected in a fourth pregnancy. Nor was it quick. In fact, the pattern displayed by Quinn led to suspicions that I was carrying either a boy or a very very stubborn child. After days and days of discomfort, painful Braxton-Hicks contractions, and being dilated at 2cm, my water broke at 3am on December 31st. I awoke in a pool of warmish water in bed, and wondered which kid had peed the bed. Then I realized it was a lot of fluid and centered around me. Like the pregnancy books state, I did not go into labour right away. Despite my mother's worried insistence that I get to the hospital immediately, I refused and showed her the slip of paper that advised women not to go to the hospital unless there were regular contractions. Eventually, that occurred around 7am.
But alas, those contractions I was experiencing were not "real" contractions, according to the nurses. I was only 3 cm. In my mind, I swore I wasn't leaving the hospital without a baby in my arms. I was sent walking around the hospital for an hour to see if labour would progress. Every six minutes, I'd have a contraction, and more amniotic fluid would gush out. When the hour was up, we went back to the labour and delivery assessment unit to be assessed. Still 3 cm.
However, given the rupture of the membranes, and despite the rule against "inducing labour" in a vaginal birth after caesarean section, I was admitted and prepped for the administration of oxytocin.
Our labour nurse was a bit scary, although she did become more approachable as the hours dragged on. And drag on, they did. My sister Shunaha came in to spend a few hours, hoping to witness the birth before flying home to Minnesota on January 1st.  When she left, I was still 3cm. I was beginning to despair the hope of having a baby in 2011 and began to worry about having to undergo another c-section if there was no movement on the labour front. The drug dosage was increased. The contractions were becoming unbearably painful. Until this point, Wayne had been sitting in a corner, enjoying the book The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. At this point, I needed to cling and squeeze the heck out of his arm to get through the pain. After what felt like an eternity, the anaethesiologist arrived with the epidural equipment. The relief was almost instantaneous. I was introduced to the labour nurse who coming on shift, and instructed to rest and sleep. Sound advice but difficult to follow, partly because every five minutes, the blood pressure cuff is inflating, or I'm being poked and prodded by the nurse, or told to turn over to a side to evenly distribute the epidural's effects. And partly because I was nurturing a hope the epidural would kick start the dilation efforts and there was an eagerness growing within me to meet this child.
By 8pm, I was 5cm. At 10pm, I was 8 cm. My sister Shunaha texted that she was on her way to the hospital. When she arrived at 11pm,  I was 10cm, and preparations were underway for the delivery. The nurse was readying the newborn kit, the bed was being converted into delivery mode, the overhead spotlights were lit. Meanwhile, I was huddled under the sheets, holding onto a puke bowl and feverishly glancing at the clock, wondering if I would have a baby this year or the next. The push for the baby's arrival started at 11:15. At 11:50pm, with the assistance of the vaccuum, Quinn entered the world, mewling and pooping. Since the labour pattern was similar to his older brother Devlin, I shouldn't have been surprised when it was announced that Quinn was a boy, but I was still stunned. Of course, it wouldn't have mattered if Quinn had turned out be a girl, but now I felt a completeness to our family.
Just like his older brother and sisters, Quinn was covered from head to toe in hair. Even the tips of his ears. Once placed upon my chest, and the umbilical cod was cut, we examined his tiny features more closely. All ten toes and ten fingers were present. His tiny eyes blinked slowly as he gazed about in an unsure manner. When he was finally weighed, he came in at 3.456kg, or 7pounds, 6oz, which makes him the heaviest by 0.1ounce. Not even 30 minutes old, Quinn displayed a knack for feeding, and had no trouble latching on.

Too soon, Auntie Shunaha had to leave since she was flying back home to Minnesota in the morning. He was kissed and cuddled after a slew of pictures. Excited phone calls were made. Eventually, Quinn and I were settled into our room. And where did he spend the night? Or what remained of the night? In my arms. He refused to settle into the plastic bassinet, and protested mightily whenever the nurse or I placed him in there. So, exhausted after being awake for 24 hours, I cuddled him into my arms, and we both fell asleep within minutes. Since that moment, Quinn has declared in no uncertain terms, that he prefers to slumber in a pair of arms or cuddled up against a warm body. Yes, it's a bad habit already, but it's also my last baby, and I'd be lying if I stated I didn't enjoy the cuddling.