Meeting Mike (err, Michael)

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Originally uploaded by 2XA.

This post has been a long time coming, I know, I know. Bad blogger, tired blogger, whatever. It is what it is, and now here it is. Deal.

When I first gave birth to Michael, and Emma came to visit us in the hospital, she was - how to say this nicely? - less than impressed with the little guy. Ignored him completely. He didn't exist. She was, however, quite taken by the ice chips that I was sucking on. They were neat & cold & fun to transfer from one cup to another and drop all over the floor and watch as fat pregnant women & bitchy nurses would slip n' slide down the hallways on wet floors without wet floor signs. Fair enough, I had fun watching that too. Especially when it was my too-loud and oh-so-annoying roomie. I was forced to bunk with a stranger because there weren't any private rooms left. Sadly I just dreamt that she flew down the hallway head over ass on a piece of wayward ice.

Anyhow Emma met Michael, gave him the once-over, then promptly turned her back on him to focus all her energies on the ice chips. But then when the hospital pediatrician came around to poke & prod the little fella, and he started screaming, Emma actually became CONCERNED. Who woulda thought? She leaned over the hospital bassinette and, near tears, kept asking "Baby O-tay?? Baby O-tay??" My kid has a heart! I was so proud.

For the next few days - yes, even after we got home - every time "Mick-New" would cry Emma would freak out and repeat over & over "Baby O-tay?? Baby O-tay??" After a few days she realized that yes, he is indeed fine. Just annoying. And since then no matter how hard he's crying she ignores him. The big sister I'm sure he always dreamt of.

Suddenly all Emma's old stuff became new again, and she didn't want to share. The bouncer chair (which he's not interested in anyhow), the 1984 Fisher Price cradle chair thing that is horribly ugly but all babies love & is no longer available, her many blankets, the swing, and of course, her Bubbie. God Forbid Bubbie should want to hold, or even look at, Michael.

Conversations about the swing go a little something like this:

A: Emma, can I put Michael in the swing?
E: Nope.

And then she'll proceed to put her blanket & juice in the swing and give it a nice push. Yeah, yeah... why did I ask for her permission in the first place? She's only 1 for chissake. Did I mention she also needed to revisit all her old haunts as well? Slight regression, but it passed. I'm just happy it was for the bouncer chair and not my boob.

Then the gifts started rolling in... mostly for him, and some for her. Funny thing is she knew exactly which were which. But that didn't stop her from trying on his stuff...

After a few more days she became okay with him borrowing all her stuff, but not Bubbie. MICHAEL, STEP AWAY FROM THE BUBBIE.

And now, on day 18, she's finally warming up to him. For the past three nights, she has kissed him good-night (on his tummy), and earlier today she tried to give him his soother. Speaking of which, he hates his soother. Why, Michael, why??? Embrace the soother. Love the soother. The soother is your friend. Trust me... I'm your mother. I know what's good for you. I know what will shut you up. That, and a little gripe. The with-alcohol version.

And then tonight, when she didn't know I was looking, I caught her whispering "Hi Baby" to him as we were getting ready to go to the jazz concert in the park. And then she even rocked him softly in his carseat. My heart turned into a puddle on the hardwood. Then I wiped it up quickly because water kills hardwood.

And while all this is great, I'm still on guard. The 'book' says to be careful of little girls coming off all sweet & nice & innocent cuz the second you're not paying attention, they often try to push their baby brothers into oncoming traffic. Loverly. Stay posted...