Four Today.

My baby is four years old today. He's for P1 in September and that 'll be a whole new stage for both of us. Mixed feelings anyone?

Another step away from babyhood, another step towards the day he packs a bag and heads off round the world to 'find himself'.

Or maybe I'm getting a bit ahead of myself...he IS only four after all.
The difference, I think, is that this time there's no baby coming after him.

Which actually, is a little unfamiliar, and ever so slightly scary, but also quite exciting too in an uncharted territory, filled with possibilities kinda way.
Did I already mention the mixed feelings part?

Here's what I wrote about him two years ago when he became a toddler....and now just like that, he's a boy.  My sentiments however, remain the same.
Happy 4th Birthday wee man xxx
                                                
                                                             * * * * * * * * *

The night before the big day

My baby is two years old today. Two years ago, just about now, I was sucking back the gas and air for dear life, and a few hours later our fifth child, and fourth son was born. This time, we knew we were having a boy- he was the only one we chose to find out, but we told few.

I remember The Killers had a song out at the time which began 'When there's nowhere left to run, is there room for one more son, one more son?' and it used to make me cry. I suppose that I wanted to get any guilty, crappy, disappointed feelings about not having a girl, out of the way before our child arrived...And of course I did, and now, looking back, I'm incredulous and slightly ashamed that I ever felt that way at all. But then I tell myself that that was before I knew him, and held him, and loved him.

From the moment he arrived, he was everyone's baby. Every morning, I would discover Cormac lying on the bed beside his cot, gently holding his hand, waiting for him to waken.  Rory sang songs to him that mostly featured the name 'Luke' monotonously over and over. They all fought over whose turn it was to hold him and suddenly he was 'Lukey', and it was as if he'd been here always. I remember reading somewhere that there isn't a finite amount of love to be shared among your children - with each one the heart miraculously expands and love multiplies ....and it's just so true.

Before his op in the hospital

First Birthday

He didn't give us the easiest of starts. I was more tired this time around, which probably had to do with being pregnant at 38, not 28, and now having 4 other children to care for.
Then, in the last two weeks I started going into spontaneous labour- once we even made a late dash to the hospital - only to find that it would peter out, leaving me exhausted and weepy.
Much later, both sets of parents disclosed their fear that something was wrong with the baby. When he was born, it was with the cord round his neck and he was blue and silent, but the midwives rubbed him and he quickly pinked up and when he cried, we cried too.

 Then at five weeks old,  after weeks of projectile vomiting, it was discovered that he had a condition called pyloric stenosis that required a one off operation on his stomach muscle. One of the happiest moments of my entire life, was giving him that first feed afterwards- he had been starved for almost 2 days before the op, which was truly awful to watch - so he guzzled the milk down and then lay back on my lap like a wee drunk man...and kept it down. Sitting there, at that moment, I thought my heart would burst.

The Man himself

And now he's two and he's leaving his babyhood behind and that does make me a little sad. But then I really love this next stage, (despite tantrums and potty training!), because his personality is really emerging and every day brings new words and games. He rules the roost, with his brothers and sister catering to his every whim, while he, like an imperious mini dictator ponderously selects who will carry him, or bring him to the 'bouncy' (trampoline) or push him on the swing or just watch Teletubbies.

So, a very happy 2nd birthday to our precious Luke - You were meant for us and we were meant for you and I'm so thankful every single day that we didn't stop at four...but then we never were sensible!
Thank you my little man for all the joy you've brought us already and all that is yet to come. Xxxxx

Toddler Terrorist

Don't be fooled-he's hardcore....

So, just a little follow up on last week- about two minutes after I wrote that sweet little post about sweet little Luke, he turned two and morphed into Devil Child. Quickly it soon became clear that he'd got the 'Terrible Twos' memo, and decided to give it his all. For example, on a whim, he's taken to shouting loudly just for the sake of it- not necessarily in anger or frustration- just out of the blue, and because he knows that the entire room will turn to look at him. Then he just smiles angelically, and goes back to whatever he was doing.

Similarly, his new, and wonderfully refreshing way of getting my undivided attention, is to scream, (and I mean SCREAM), 'Maaaaammmmmmy' right in my face. I'll grudgingly admit that I may share some fault  because I don't always 'hear' first time around. (I mean please- I know I'm wheeling out the old 'I've got 5 kids' card here, but if I 'heard', never mind reacted to, every single 'mammy' uttered in a day, I wouldn't get a minute's peace, and they're too few and bloody far between as it is).

So yes, I could be on the phone, in conversation, reading an email, nosying on Facebook, nosying on Twitter, engaged with another child, or even on the loo, FFS, but none of this matters to  Luke in the slightest. He goes straight from zero to hero, ramping it up right away, thus propelling himself straight onto my radar. So on assessment, yes, I suppose it's really working out for him. For me though, not so much.

Things came to a headmelting climax at Mass last Sunday. Quick back story-we go to the 930am Mass- partly habit, partly because there's a 'kids's club', but regardless, it's an early start. We're up and at it, (with or without hangovers), by 8am, and getting the kids up, washed, fed and watered  is no picnic, but by this stage- and I don't want to overstate here- we're pros. The older four are great in the church itself, no worries there, but Luke has been a bit of an unknown quantity of late-he could really go either way, and this week he most definitely went the wrong way.
You see, every Sunday for months, sooner or later, one of us have had to do the walk of shame down the church with a squirming, squealing toddler, and on those extra special days, when he's really kicked off, we end up outside the church completely. But, as this hadn't happened for about, oh, 3 or 4 weeks, we'd got ahead of ourselves, and moved from tentatively patting each other on the back, to openly congratulating one another for coming out the other side.
 'Woohoo! Well, we stuck at it and now we've turned a corner.' (Said expansively.)
'He didn't break us.'
'You're the best!'
'No, you're the best.'
'No, you are.'
'No, you.'
You get the picture.  Thus, it was with a certain complacency, and a new, (utterly misplaced), confidence, that we arrived for Mass last week, so when Luke the Terrible rolled in, he caught us completely off guard.  Before it even started, he had begun to limber up and none of the usual charms were working (Toast? Check. Dummy? Check. Books? Check. Quiet soft toy? Check). The noise and stress levels climbed steadily, and it all went down hill from there really. Fast forward ten minutes to me, almost in tears outside the church, unable to even LOOK at him I was so cross. A final, last ditch attempt, to sneak quietly in the back, was abandoned when he gave me the proverbial one fingered salute, by going rigid and squealing at the top of his lungs as soon as I opened the door. At that point, I threw in the towel and it was bowed and broken, that I dragged him to the car and drove home. (Leaving everyone else high and dry for a lift but thankfully it was a fine,(if chilly), day for a good stretch of the legs). As for our resident mini terrorist, if I've learned anything, it's never trust a toddler. Yes, he may have won the battle, but I'm playing the long game and some day victory WILL be mine!

Our Lovely Luke



The night before the big day

My baby is two years old today. Two years ago, just about now, I was sucking back the gas and air for dear life, and a few hours later our fifth child, and fourth son was born. This time, we knew we were having a boy- he was the only one we chose to find out, but we told few.

I remember The Killers had a song out at the time which began ' When there's nowhere left to run, is there room for one more son, one more son?' and it used to make me cry. I suppose that I wanted to get any guilty, crappy, disappointed feelings about not having a girl, out of the way before our child arrived...And of course I did, and now, looking back, I'm incredulous and slightly ashamed that I ever felt that way at all. But then I tell myself that that was before I knew him, and held him, and loved him.

From the moment he arrived, he was everyone's baby. Every morning, I would discover Cormac lying on the bed beside his cot, gently holding his hand, waiting for him to waken.  Rory sang songs to him that mostly featured the name 'Luke' monotonously over and over. They all fought over whose turn it was to hold him and suddenly he was 'Lukey', and it was as if he'd been here always. I remember reading somewhere that there isnt a finite amount of love to be shared among your children - with each one the heart miraculously expands and love multiplies ....and its so true.

Before his op in the hospital

First Birthday

He didn't give us the easiest of starts either. I was more tired this time around, which probably had to do with being pregnant at 38, not 28, and now having 4 other children to care for. Then, in the last two weeks I started going into spontaneous labour-once we even made a late dash to the hospital - only to find that it would peter out, leaving me exhausted and weepy. Later, both sets of our parents expressed their fears that something was wrong with the baby. When he was born, it was with the cord round his neck and he was blue and silent, but the midwives rubbed him and he quickly pinked up and when he cried, we cried too.

 At five weeks old, it was discovered after weeks of projectile vomiting, that he had a condition called pyloric stenosis that required a one off operation on his stomach muscle. One of the happiest moments of my entire life, was giving him that first feed afterwards- he had been starved for almost 2 days before the op, which was truly awful to watch - so he guzzled the milk down and then lay back on my lap like a wee drunk man...and kept it down. Sitting there, at that moment, I thought my heart would burst.

The Man himself

And now he's two and he's leaving his babyhood behind and that does make me a little sad. But then I really love this next stage, (despite tantrums and potty training!), because his personality is really emerging and every day brings new words and games. He rules the roost, with his brothers and sister catering to his every whim, while he, like an imperious mini dictator ponderously selects who will carry him, or bring him to the 'bouncy' (trampoline) or push him on the swing or just watch Teletubbies.

So, a very happy 2nd birthday to our precious Luke - You were meant for us and we were meant for you and I'm so thankful every single day that we didn't stop at four...but then we never were sensible! Thank you my little man for all the joy you've brought us already and all that is yet to come. Xxxxx