Henry Thomas Everett was born on July 2nd, 2012- 15 days before his original due date, but he weighed 8 lbs. 2 oz. and was 19 in. long. I guess that explains my waistline being similar to that of a small planet.
Jack pronounces his baby brother's name as Hendry and unfortunately it just trips off the tongue, so we all end up calling him that as well. Everyone but Mitch, that is. He just maniacally tickles him, presses his forehead to Hendry's and squeals his catch phrase "diddle-diddle-do!" then runs away to Henry's laughter. Henry adores his older brothers. Mitch is the most exciting person he's ever met (now that I think about it, I think he's the most exciting that I've ever met too.), and Jack is so kind and helpful. He hands Henry toys to play with, helps him with his binky and covers him up when it's chilly. Together with a mom and dad who adore him, what more does a baby need? Not a thing, baby Hendry has it all and is the happiest of people.
Life here in the Everett household has pretty much gone back to normal since the upheaval of Henry's almost premature arrival. I've gone right back to being completely obsessive about house cleaning and organizing. I thought that maybe I had turned a new leaf with having to let things go for the 20 weeks of bed rest that we all endured. I pretty much stopped thinking about scrubbing the floors and tiny fingerprints on the windows. It didn't bother me at all to know that the baseboards hadn't been washed in 4 months, in fact it didn't even cross my mind. It was somewhat liberating to just take one day at a time with the feeling of gratitude for everyone involved in helping us get through that day. Now? Hahaha! I'm insane. It's like I've got all this pent up OCD madness fighting to break loose every day. The baseboards drive me up the wall (no pun intended), the fingerprints on the windows are a never ending drama and don't even get me started on the ceiling fans! Thursday I spent the day hauling every single thing out of the shed and repacking and organizing the boxes. Why, you ask? Because it was dirty. Ugh. I KNOW! I can't control myself.
I am a lot more relaxed about what the boys do now. Before Baby Hendry, I jumped up and ran to whatever sounds of destruction I heard. Now, at most I cock an ear to listen for broken glass or life threatening screams. Occasionally I yell something dumb like "Be careful!" in their general direction then mentally check 'safety control' off my to-do list for the day. The only purpose those words serve is to act as a disclaimer for parents everywhere who want to distance themselves from the mayhem. The children don't have a clue what I could possibly mean and thus continue to try to kill themselves and each other. If things get out of hand and I hear crying I will stop what I'm doing for 30 seconds to see if they come to me for comfort. If they don't, I am free to carry on with my day. If they do come running to me I'm on full time duty and because I was alert enough to get the disclaimer out in time for this incident, I feel comfortable in rubbing their tear streaked faces in their misfortune. I gather the little turkey(s) into my arms to snuggle and kiss and tickle- all the while telling them that it's their own fault they got hurt when jumping off the bed onto their brother when Mommy TOLD you to be careful. Sometimes I think that the only reason I can sleep at night is because I'm just too exhausted to stay up wallowing in my own guilt. That, and the fact that the kids seem to be alright.
As I wrote this last sentence, Mitch was running/hopping on the hardwood and ending up slamming his face into the floor. I try not to remind them that they weren't being careful when there's blood involved. I do have lines I won't cross, just so you know.
you crack me up callie!
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