End of the Fourth Trimester
I remember when Owlet turned three months old, and the world suddenly clicked. She was no longer a mysterious space alien sent to deprive us of sleep and sanity. She was our little urchin and we adored her.
With Platypup, maybe because he’s our second, maybe because we had him at home, maybe because he is the gentlest giant baby there ever was, there’s been no mysterious space alien period. He just nestled snugly into our lives like he was clogging a hole we hadn’t noticed.
I sometimes feel guilty about how the majority of our time and attention still go to Owlet. Sure, I’m nursing him all the time, but I’m usually multitasking. He occasionally requires diaper changes or swaddling to sleep or just some damn admiration for his adorable toothless grins, but a lot of the time, he’s just hovering around in the background, mellowing the heck out.
For example, a half hour ago I plopped him down on his playmat. He didn’t immediately wail, so I went to put Owlet to sleep. He didn’t make any sounds, so she went right to sleep, and about 15 minutes later I tai-chi-ed my way out of her bed and came back. He was lying there, a happy little clam, mostly gazing around and occasionally giving little kicks. I went to get a glass of water. When I came back, he was asleep. He’s still there, occasionally twitching awake, flopping around slightly, and drifting back off.
Now, I can tell he’s got big plans to change all that. Yesterday he started trying to roll over in his bouncy seat. He can make it at least a quarter turn even while swaddled… that’s when I get too scared to let him continue, so I’m not sure how far around he could actually go. He’s also starting to make some major progress scooting around on his playmat. No, he is not six months old. He is three months old. Trust me, I was there.
Looking at old photos of Owlet, I am stunned by how much larger he is at the same age. In the same way that no one has ever asked if I play basketball (at 5’2.5″), everyone is going to be assuming he’s the rugby team’s not-so-secret weapon.
When I get the chance, every couple days or so, I gaze at this little son of mine and wonder. Who are you going to be? I would never have guessed how shy and sensitive Owlet would be, though I knew from day one she had smarts, strength, and musical prowess. Her little brother seems to be following in her footsteps in the intelligence, muscle-tone, and music-making departments, with an extra dose of super-chill, but who knows what kind of toddler, or teenager, or man he’ll become? It’s simply a little disconcerting to look at Platypup and try to guess just what it is that we are writing on this mostly-blank slate of ours.
(Owlet, face covered in something sticky, tries to use a towel as a blanket over her, Platypup, and Chocolate Bunny. This rabbit is the only toy thus far that we have been defending as belonging to Platypup, although he is kind enough to “share” with Owlet. She didn’t like the idea very much at first, but now she brings him his rabbit sometimes when he’s fussy. Super cute stuff.)