askyermom

How have a never written about this? Why are some of the best stories coming back to me after the book is done?

When they were small, I was extremely careful trying to prepare my kids for each new birth. I wanted them to have warm feelings about our growing family, not the itchy chaos I had seen in neighborhood families while growing up. For those families, babies would drop on the scene with little warning and were swept up in the competitive churn as soon as possible. This was definitely not what I wanted in my own home.

It seemed to me that it was rude to just appear with a baby and expect the kids not to be offended. So, we would talk about what babies are like, often. This was an easy lesson, since all my kids loved to hear about what they were like as babies. Also I thought it was important they have no hopes up that the new family member would be instant fun. Newborns are usually pretty fascinating for about five minutes and then they are the worst company ever; gurgling blobs in diapers who complain about sunshine and music.

Back then, we could visit a hospital and look at some random babies any day of the week. After the first nursery visit, the kids only had polite interest in the babies, once they understood we weren’t baby shopping and were not taking one of these babies home with us. It was good, I thought, for them to see how small and oddly shaped the newborns are. One of the gals came away convinced that babies are born with little caps on their heads and for all I know she still clings to this belief.

With each birth, the kids came to the hospital to meet our new baby and to see that I was okay, which came as a surprise to some of them. I never wanted to stay more than one night in the hospital, even though other moms would tell me I should claim dizziness to get some extra nights of sleep. I could not sleep properly in a hospital, and always pushed to get released as soon as I could.

Most of the time, things went well enough, if never according to plan, but one particular new baby introduction was the nightmare I had been trying to avoid.

I had a very average birth experience with the new one, even though she was almost nine pounds. I bullied my way out of the hospital and casually tucked the big baby into a used car seat. She was wrapped in pre-loved jammies and stuffed into one bit of used gear after another. The sense of competence from wrangling many children was strong. I had learned to gently clean up while I was in early labor, especially “false” labor, so the house was fairly tidy and I had plenty of important supplies on hand. Our home recovery was all set to be a piece of cake.

Bedtime had been a problem for a couple of months. Excitable gals would not sit still for a bedtime story or even admit that bedtime was real. Their dad would park himself in the hall with a book until they gave up trying to leave their rooms.

This phase had passed when we brought the new baby home. Everyone could cheerfully take to their own beds and pretend to read until they fell asleep. The baby would be in our now traditional bassinet beside our bed so that I could feed her with minimal fuss.

I was so relieved to be home, safe with my lovely little family. I felt hope that we could stitch our new life together in a way that made sense. At least in this house, I didn’t have to repair anything. The landlord was not great, but I knew where he lived if he didn’t take my calls. I sank further into relaxation, grateful for clean sheets, quiet air conditioning, perfect stitches… Suddenly I screamed myself awake as a goblin shape appeared at the bassinet and darted away with my baby tucked under its arm like a football.

Within seconds, everyone in the house was looming over my daughter who had deposited the baby on her own bed. The baby was fine, still tightly swaddled in the blanket her big sister had worn three years before. My daughter was terrified by our reaction and began to explain-cry in sobbing bursts.

She wanted to play. She felt that she had been heroically patient with the fact that none of us had let her play with the baby all day.

Despite all my precautions and explanations, I had failed to ask her what she thought the baby was for. She was convinced the baby was primarily a toy for her. Since she had wished for a baby sister and now a baby sister had been provided, she was satisfied that this baby was very much her business.

Our reaction was enough punishment for any toddler, and I feel certain that her protectiveness toward all her sisters started right at that moment. As an adult, she is the one most likely to get a call if anyone has a flat tire or any bafflement of adult business.

We had more discussions before the next new baby event, just to be clear and completely informed about the plans they might be hatching. After all, none of us could welcome another ten seconds of terror.

Love,
yermom

Don’t Eat Your Children is available at most retailers for mail order. Try this one: Bookshop.org. If you subscribe to my newsletter or my substack, you will have a chance to win a free copy of the hard back. Paid subscriptions are not necessary to participate, but they are truly appreciated.

Note: AI images are only used when I find them entertaining and I can’t find better. I try!!