So, being a mother of three, naturally, I love talking about my children. And I intend on doing just that. Now.
Ronnie's
tumultuous birth and disastrous three weeks following aside, he is the easiest baby I've ever come in contact with. I am not going to lie and say that he never cries, he does, very well, but I am referring to his needs as a whole. First, he's a boy, so even when facing the messiest diaper a child has ever created (the kind that makes even the most diaper hardened women gasp) everything is on top. There are no female crevices and canyons to contend with, and that is a wonderful and welcome repose. Now if only I could get Viviane potty trained and out of diapers wholly . . . too bold, too bold.
Yes he is on a medication regimen, but it is exactly that, a regimen. He gets his dose of A,B,C, and D at x o'clock. It's not confusing, it is very straightforward. So, yes he has a shunt in his heart, yes he has DiGeorge Syndrome, but he is an alarmingly healthy and happy baby. As of now he is two months old and experiencing no developmental delays, and I am pleased. Growing up and even in to adulthood, my heroes were always the likes of
Katharine Hepburn, and
Satchmo Louis Armstrong. However, no matter how great they both were and are to me, neither has ever done anything as great and what my son has been through. So, my infant son has become my hero, and I hope that I can provide him with a life that he will be proud to have fought so hard to have.
Moving on to Viviane and her wily ways. Although she is not officially 2 as of yet, she has been practicing for a few months now,
ensuring that in August she will be well prepared. And my what a precocious, no wait precious, no, both, child she is, indeed. She is trying very hard to figure out why I want her to wee and poo in a completely different way than she is accustomed. Every time she succeeds, her first action is to run to me and claim her hugs, kisses, and round of applause (and she gets them, every time). Her hero is her sister and she imitates everything she does. She still loves her time with Mommy above all else, though, which is adorable. She is at that age now where she has specific wants and will get them, regardless. So, it doesn't matter if Mommy is in the shower, if Viviane wants Mommy, she is going to find Mommy and be with her. What
can I say, she makes me laugh. Her personality is developing as rapidly as her intelligence and speech, all of which are completely wonderful. Vivi has found that there are certain things that she can do that will cause everyone to laugh, and she does them often. Vivi has found that there are certain things that she can do that will cause everyone to panic, and she does them often. I am not sure why, but there is something about having a liquid in a cup that just irritates her. With each meal she is provided a plate or bowl of food, and a cup with some sort of libation, most often juice or milk. Perhaps she is trying to save time, perhaps she is trying to go green by saving one dish at a time, perhaps she is just a 2 year old hellbent on making her mother insane, but each and every time she received a cup she must quickly dump it onto what ever food she is eating.
And it doesn't stop there, she must mix the food with the liquid well so that it is just the right consistency to turn everyone's stomach, apart from hers. She has an aversion to clothing and diapers, but only when they are on. She loves getting dressed and is very agreeable about having her diaper put on. From what I have seen, there must be something that happens within the first minute or so of having said clothing and diaper on, maybe an itchy tag or her reflection just seems off, but something just ruins it for her and all things concealing her nakedness must be removed and thrown, not placed and goodness not folded, but thrown, landing wherever they will. I have stopped fighting her about this and have merely imposed a new rule . . . all visitors must give me at least a half hour's notice. She is my tornado, and I love her dearly.
And what do I say about Seneca?
My darling, dear Seneca. There are countless amounts of things about her that are wonderful, hilarious, frightening, and beautiful, she is my . . . I can't even find a word for it, but the past 7 years with her have helped mold me and shape her into a dynamic duo the world has never seen before. We are very close yet she has no conflicts viewing me as both buddy and parent. I have her respect because I have earned it, and the same goes for her love and admiration. She tends to get daring with her mouth when talking to Robert, which is natural for a child of mine to feel the need to assert themselves to those that are bigger, and I imagine it feels good to loosen the tongue, but now I have to help her find an outlet for her premature sarcasm as it is lost on his ears. Home schooling and Seneca are a perfect match and she is thriving and flourishing in ways that I never thought probable. She is merely 7, a would be 2nd grader come fall, yet she has nearly completed 3rd grade mathematics and is reading on the same grade level.
Academically she is facing no challenges, but personally she is very hard on herself, a characteristic she inherited from myself. If she makes a mistake she chastises herself and it upsets me, and worries me as that level of self criticism at such an early age can blossom into something darker as she grows . . . I should know. She is highly competitive, yet not very skilled when it comes to athletics. However, she is developing some skills with a baseball bat and glove and wants to join a team in the spring. She also wants to join a swimming team and wavers between the two often. Her grasp of language is music to my ears, and my constant correcting her "me and Vivi's" has resulted in the melodic "Vivi and I." She is extraordinarily intelligent, very funny, a joy to converse with, gorgeous to look upon, and a general pleasure to have around. Again I find myself mired in emotions when it comes to my eldest, she is not what I expected nor ever dared hope for. Yesterday at the library, Seneca and I each chose a book, and sat together and read for about a half hour. I chose
From The Mixed Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and Seneca chose a book that illustrates nearly 100 Chinese characters, the name of which escapes me. While reading together, a woman walked past with a large group of very unruly children, and she cast a harried glance my way and proclaimed to her brood "look at that little girl, why she can't be a day older than any of you and look at her, just sitting quietly reading with her mama.
Why can't you be more like her?" I had to giggle, and Seneca's pink cheeks illustrated her embarrassed flattery. She is an extraordinarily well behaved child, but it causes her a few problems. She finds children her age boorish and uninteresting, and she gravitates toward older children with whom she has more in common, or younger children whom she simply enjoys their speech and mannerisms. She has been teased because she is not understood, and immature people always ostracize that to which they cannot relate. Most of her friends are at least two years older than she. Seneca is my best friend and I am extraordinarily lucky to have her and her siblings in my life.
