Transformations

When Finn was born, Oliver turned into a giant overnight.

The day I went into labor had been a busy one. Trying to keep myself distracted from endless contractions that seemed unlikely to turn into real labor any time soon and weighed down by the feeling I would be pregnant forever, I went to yoga, bought groceries and contorted myself around my giant belly to remove some way past its prime toenail polish. After dinner I stretched out on the couch, carefully settled on my side, and Oliver snuggled up with me for a few chapters of Winnie the Pooh.Here we are after dinner Saturday, just a few hours before Finn made his grand entrance. I love this picture, even though it's blurry--my last photo of my sweet boy before he became a big brother, before we all jumped off the cliff that is birth and the addition of a new life to our family.


Before lunch Sunday we are home again, but a family of four now. Oliver was so excited to meet his baby brother, although not so excited about his name. He had a lot to tell us about his first night apart from me; how he had been so sad when we left (me too! Leaving him was heart wrenching), how he and Grandma and Grandpa had sat on the couch and told stories for a long time, then all gotten into bed together and gone to sleep; how he had woken up and played, and waited for us to come home with Finn. And then he went on with his day, like he'd been a big brother forever, and having a new baby at home was pretty cool, but would Grandpa play another round of Mechanic, please?

So, Oliver seemed to adjust pretty darn smoothly to this new reality. Sure, there was a bit of a potty regression, and a certain wild glint in this eyes when asked to put on PJs or brush his teeth, and he did manage to get himself trapped behind the bed on my first solo afternoon a week after Finn's birth, just as I sat down to nurse--but overall, he just moved on with his life as if he acquired a new brother every day.

The adjustment for me, and particularly in my relationship with Oliver was a little bumpier. There were some hard nights early on, when Oliver woke and wanted me and Finn woke too and needed me, and I had to leave my crying firstborn in the capable arms of his daddy to tend to my newborn. Most of all, I had to adjust to a new way of seeing Oliver--not just as my baby, but as this big, capable, verbal, smart kid. How did that happen so fast?



Lately, when Oliver tests me (oh, all the time it seems!) or cries hysterically because he needs to sit in my lap when I read to him, but Finn is nursing, or clings to my neck so I'll carry him everywhere around the house, I feel like the other shoe is dropping for him a bit and he is realizing just how big a deal it is to have to share me all this time with this attention-sucking little brother of his.

When I feel impatient, I remember his baby-self--gazing into those deep brown eyes, smelling his milky sweetness, feeling him snuggled up to me all night, and hold him closer now, his long-legged, lean, muscled, grimy, powerful three-year old body leaning into mine hungrily. And then I listen to him tell a tall tale about conveyor belts, cranes, and cookies that ends "Pop! And they jumped right off the belt into our mouths!" and think "How did I get so lucky?"