Home Coming

We arrived home today after being away on a house-hunting trip in ND. The joys of being in one's own house reminded me that I wanted to write a post about coming home from the hospital. I have a chronic problem of desiring to write and imagining lines for so many more posts than I actually find the time to blog. Anyway, since Tobias is the last baby we will bring home from the hospital, I wanted to capture the experience.
Whenever I am late in pregnancy, I always get well-meaning advice to stay in the hospital as long as possible when the baby arrives so that I can recover before returning to my other munchkins at home. However, I always find the hospital to be less restful and just less desirable in general than my own home. It's not because of the people, our nurses this time in particular were absolutely fabulous. In fact, I had the very same postpartum nurse that I had with Benjamin. She was thrilled to see Benjamin when he came to visit Tobias. I bet nurses don't often get a chance to meet the babies they help take care of when they are a little older.
No, it wasn't the people, the problem with being in the hospital was 3-fold: the rules, the bed and the food.
Hospital rules require that poor mothers who are supposed to be resting get woken up, not only by their newborn babies, but by nurses coming to check vital signs in the middle of the night. I wanted to tell them that if I started dying I would let them know right away. Honestly, as soon as I am aware that Death is on his way to collect me I will push the nurse call button, I promise. Until then, you can assume that all of my vital signs are present and accounted for. It is unlikely that I would even be comfortable enough to slip into unconsciousness much less die anyway because of the awesomeness of the hospital bed.
Oh, the bed. Is there any more amazing piece of technology? The bed self-inflates based on how much pressure your body is putting on various parts of the mattress! The bed can be adjusted to multiple heights! The bed's head can be raised and lowered so that you can sit up to feed your baby and then lay down to go back to sleep! The bed is great for so many things! Except sleeping. Not so good for sleeping. The bed is uncomfortable. When it self-inflates, it sounds like your neighbor is mowing the lawn. Under your bed. When you raise or lower the head it creaks like the Titanic did as it was sinking into the Atlantic.
When you are able to shut out these noises, ignore the discomfort and drift off to sleep, you have disturbing dreams about being hired to mow the lawn on the Titanic while a screaming baby is strapped to your back. To me, this is less than restful.
After an eventful night of nursing, yard maintenance, and witnessing the death throes of a massive ocean-liner, one can naturally expect to be quite hungry; famished, in fact. At our hospital, they have a lovely system in which you call the cafeteria when you are hungry and order a meal off of a menu located on your bedside table next to the phone. The cafeteria then makes your food and supposedly it arrives in your room in about 30 minutes. In reality, the food arrives anywhere in the neighborhood of 1-3 hours after you order it in varying states of temperature and quantity. Sometimes you get two pieces of French Toast for breakfast, sometimes eight. An entree salad comes with one small packet of dressing. A side salad comes with 3 large dressing packets. A baked potato or a stack of pancakes comes with a single pat of butter. A solitary dinner roll arrives with four. Each tray of food arrived with a receipt delineating what was on your tray. Sometime quantities listed on the receipt differed from that in the tray. Specifically, only one cookie often appeared when the receipt said two. I think there was a cookie thief in the kitchen.
To stave off the pangs of food deprivation, Marc and I would imagine what was happening to cause such massive delays. We envisioned a giant Rube Goldberg machine much like the mousetrap game so that each time a tray needed to be loaded with food, someone had to spend 15 minutes setting up the machine and starting the chain reaction with a giant metal ball. We also speculated that perhaps there were cafeteria worker union regulations that only allowed them to prepare a certain quantity of food i.e. 3 trays in any given hour. Despite getting often cold, often tasteless food hours after we ordered it, we found it very difficult to complain. That is because the cafeteria has a secret weapon. Her name is Valentina. Valentina would bring the trays into our room with the air of one bringing in an expensive catered dinner. A matronly figure with a bubbly personality, blonde curls, dimpled smile and a beautiful Russian accent, it was impossible to complain to Valentina. You could just tell she sincerely wanted to help you and she sincerely wanted you to enjoy your food. We always felt embarrassed when food was left on the trays because we didn't want Valentina to know that it was less than delicious. Such were her powers that I believe she could negotiate peace in the Middle East. No one would be able to bring themselves to complain about the policies of neighboring countries with Valentina in the room. A treaty would be signed in no time.
At any rate, we were relieved when the hospital released us early to come home. Being married to a pediatrician has its perks. It was so nice to come home to my own bed. Marc didn't check my vitals even once in the night. It was great to get meals cooked by my mom or members of the ward and it was fun to see the "Welcome Home" decorations the boys made for us and Tobias. The pictures and signs were very sweet, even David John's random signs that read "Yogurt" and "Bubbles". The point is, there is no place like home and that is where I want to be.

Caution

I am sitting in the Minneapolis/Saint Paul Airport waiting for our flight to Bismarck, ND. Periodically, I hear a suave female voice with a British accent announcing, "Caution, you are reaching the end of the moving walkway." emanating from the delightful moving walkways positioned behind our gate. This made me wish for my own warning system announced by a suave British woman. "Caution, you are reaching the end of your mother's patience." That way, when I am starting to get really upset, I wouldn't have to express this to my boys, they would be warned in a calm, reasonable way. Maybe this could work for husbands too. "Caution, you are reaching the end of your wife's rope. Please stop what you are doing and plan a romantic evening out." If men listen to the voice on their GPS, surely they would listen to this advice as well. Do you think there are already patents out on personal warning systems?

Showered With Flowers

Since Tobias was born, we have been basking in the warmth of the affection of our friends and family both near and far. We have received meals, gallons of milk, cookies, clothes, candy, babysitting and beautiful bouquets of flowers. For a solid week there, I felt as though I were living in a greenhouse. Each time I walked by one of those gorgeous vases of flowers it reminded me just how lucky I am. So far, life with baby Tobias has been a bit bumpy. He is a wonderfully sweet baby, but has had some unexpected needs. All of this love and support is seeing me through a difficult adjustment to 5 little boys 5 and under. I wanted to share our beautiful blooms (not to mention the balloon flowers Marc made for me) and a cute picture of the little man himself. Thank you, thank you to all who have showered us with the blessing of your friendship.

The David John Dialogues

We are thoroughly enjoying David John's 3-year-old-isms. Here are some of our recent favorites:

David John came with me to the side door when we heard a knock. We found a flyer asking us to support our local fire department.
D: Is that mail, Mommy?
Me: No, buddy. It's a flyer. Do you want it?
D: Yes. (thoughtful pause) Can I put it in my backpack to go to preschool?
Me: Sure,
D: Maybe I should not take it out of the house. If I take it out of the house and it flies away, it might not fly  back to our house.
Me: Oh. I see. I hate to tell you this, but it doesn't really fly. It's just a piece of paper.
D: (smiling at me as though I am teasing him) No! Mommy! It is not paper. It is a flyer.
He happily took it to school in his backpack and I can report that it did come back home.

At preschool, they are doing an ocean unit so there is a lot of talk in our house about fish and other ocean creatures. The boys have also been bringing home a lot of ocean-themed crafts.
D: Mom, we made an octopus at school today. Octopusses have lollipops so they can walk.
Me: You made an octopus at school with lollipops for its legs?
D: No! I did not make a octopus with lollipops. Octopusses just have lollipops ON their legs so they can walk.
Me: Hmmm.... I'm not sure what you mean.
D: Mom! They have lollipops on their legs!
Me: Oh! Do you mean suckers? They have suckers on their tentacles?
D: Yes! Suckers! Lollipops!
I then tried to explain that "lollipops" was not always a good synonym for "suckers" but I don't think he got the message. At least I figured out what he was talking about.

Marc decided to run out and pick up a prescription one evening while I got the boys ready for bed. Marc generally hates shopping and does not often go to the store unless I am with him.
Marc: Okay guys, I'm going to run to the store for a few minutes.
D: Mom, are you leaving to the store too?
Me: No, just Daddy is going.
D: What?!? Daddy is leaving to the store by himself?!?
Me: Yep. Daddy is going to the store all by himself.
D: That's impossible! If Daddy leaves to the store I will pee my pants!
(Other people almost peed their pants because they were laughing so hard.)

David John loves to check the mailbox for mail and help carry the envelopes and sales ads into the house. Sometimes he checks it multiple times a day which means he is frequently disappointed by an empty mailbox. Apparently, he thought something sinister was going on because when he checked it today and found it empty he exclaimed. "I guess somebody stole our mail AGAIN!"

David John kept turning off a show the other kids were watching at a play date. I sat him down on my lap to talk about his naughty behavior.
Me: I hear you are making choices that are making the other kids sad.
D: No, I am not making them sad. (wicked grin) I am making them angry.
My friend and I tried valiantly not to laugh but it was a while before I could talk to him again with straight face.

Oh, we love that kid.