Thank Heaven For Little Boys.

It's fun to me to play "compare the kids," especially since we're dealing with a son and a daughter. When I was pregnant, I heard a lot about how boys were this and girls were that. Boys are easier, girls are sweeter, boys always love their mommies, girls take care of you, blah blah blah. Mostly I rolled my eyes because I think kids are kids, and I'm hoping to raise my kids to be good people, not to do something specifically because Elizabeth is a girl or Adam is a boy. My comparisons thus far are more about looks, and their little personalities. 

Though one of the things I heard a lot about a boy is that they're snugglier, and every time someone told me that, I shuddered a little, because Ellie did not nap without me holding her until she was fourteen months old. FOURTEEN MONTHS. That is a lot of snuggling, since she woke up at 8am and went to bed at 9pm. 

Thus far though, Adam is much snugglier. He eats less than Ellie did and is less urgent about it, but in the past few days, I've had to hold him basically non stop from 4am until he goes to bed at 9pm. Tim provides breaks, but I am slowly losing my mind. We're trying everything we know - swaddling, not swaddling, extra blankets, sleeping in just his clothes, white noise machine, silent room, dim light, sleeping in the living room with lots of noise and lights, sleeping in the swing and none of it seems to get us more than a half hour. Sometimes, no more than ten minutes, despite him being fully asleep when I lay him down.

Thank goodness for wraps - it's the only way anything gets done. Today he rode in the moby so I could make cupcakes and wash dishes. His help is not that appreciated, but I do sometimes think of the poem: 

Mother, O' Mother, come shake out your cloth,

Empty the dustpan, poison the moth.

Hang out the washing, make up the bed,

Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

Dishes are waiting and bills are past due,

Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek - peekaboo.

The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew,

And out in the yard there's a hullabaloo.

But I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.

Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue?

Lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow,

But children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!

I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

~ Ruth Hulbert Hamilton