The Power of Words

Words are powerful things. They are the tools we use to connect with each other, a carefully chosen word can make us feel sadness, anger, love, hate. As a parent, I have the joy of watching my children learn words and develop language. Every day, one of them says something that makes me marvel at how a child's brain hears, processes, then creates language.

Penelope is at the very earliest stages of language development. She coos, babbles, and cries, trying to engage her audience. When she is in a talkative mood, babbling away, she looks you right in the eye, and pauses. When you respond to her, as though you were having a conversation, her eyes light up, she smiles, then responds in her own language. She is learning the art of conversation, the give and take, at the young age of eight weeks.

Samantha has a solid grasp on the English language. She is clear, most people can understand most things she says. She has a good vocabulary, but is still acquiring words. It amazes me when she uses a new word. I wonder where she heard it and how she came to know the meaning of the word without being told. The other day, she told me she was just going to ignore Ella so she would go to sleep. She said it as an adult would, ignore just rolling off her tongue as though she used it everyday when in fact, that was the first time that particular word had been incorporated into her vocabulary. She is learning to utilize common expressions. They are a constant source of amusement for us. Seeing my 3 1/2 year old standing in front of me, hands on hips, scowling and saying, "Oh for goodness sake!" makes me laugh inwardly every time.

Ella is at one of my favorite stages, rapid language acquisition. Every day she is using multiple new words and speaking more clearly. She has started saying two to four word sentences and is becoming more expressive. Her tantrums, though still intense, are less frequent now that she can communicate a little better.

Last night, after the eighteenth time I had gone into the girls' room to tuck them in, and take them potty, and sing a song, and say good night to every doll in their beds, and get my orders for checking on the pets, I stepped over the baby gate. As I was closing the door (again), I said my usual, "Love you both", and heard a little "Wuv you, Mommy" in return. It made every trip over that gate worthwhile.

Protecting Penny

When I can't sleep in the middle of the night and am in that half-awake, half-asleep state, my imagination starts to run wild and I think of all the things that could happen to my kids and how I can prevent it or rescue them.

Fire in the house is always a big one for me. As my mom will tell you, ever since the firemen visited our grade school, I've been scared of not being able to escape from a house fire. Now I worry I will escape but won't be able to get the girls out. In my mind, the fire is always in the hallway between our rooms, preventing me from running in there and dropping them safely out the window. The windows in their room are too high to reach from the ground without a ladder, so I'll have to waste precious time getting the ladder once I get out our bedroom window. And, with both cars in the garage, I will not be easily able to get the ladder that we store on the side of the SUV. Once I'm able to get the ladder from the garage to the front of the house into the bushes below their room, I imagine I'm unable to break the window, so I'll have to remember to grab a hammer or something to break it with. I always imagine their panicked little eyes, tears streaming down their faces, screaming for me as they pound on the windows, unable to open them.

Clearly, I have an over-active imagination. But as a parent, as soon as you leave the hospital you start to worry about how to protect your child from the all the bad things in the world: car accidents, abductions, getting burned by the stove, falling against the table and splitting their head open, the list is endless.

The one thing I didn't think of was how to protect Penelope from her big sisters. They love her (well, Ella mostly loves her, unless she's jealous), but they're so small they don't quite understand how to be gentle.

Samantha is generally okay. The biggest problem with her is when she wants to hold the baby. She imagines the baby is uncomfortable and wants to move her around. She is physically strong enough to lift Penelope, but she is too small to support her head, so as Samantha shifts her, Penny's head lolls about while I try to support it and remind Sam not to try to move the baby. "But Mom, she didn't like it like that".

Ella presents more of a problem. She's a more physical child to begin with, so a kiss may end with a head butt. She also is jealous at times and will pinch, scratch, and hit Penny given the opportunity. Today I was cleaning Moon Sand off the table outside and had set Penny, sleeping in her carseat, behind me. I heard Ella say "Rocka, rocka, rocka" and turned to see her sitting in the carseat, on top of Penny, rocking back and forth. Penny slept through the whole thing without making a sound (and without injury).

On top of trying to manage three small children and meet their constant needs, I have to remember to protect Penny from her sisters. When she's awake, I carry her in the Bjorn. Setting her down results in injury. When she sleeps, be it in her bassinet, carseat, or bouncy chair, she is in our room, safely behind a baby gate. If I do need to set her down when she's awake, for example, to change Ella's diaper, it has to be in her crib. I'm doing an okay job so far, no hospital trips, yet. But, Penny does have a few scratches and red marks on her face from when I thought I could get dinner ready with the two older girls in front of the television and Penny in the kitchen in the bouncy seat. (Ella really moves fast for a relatively novice walker.)

I'm waiting to see how it goes as Penny becomes more awake and wants to not be restrained all the time. My guess is she's going to become one tough little kid.

Firsts

A new baby brings with it a large number of firsts in a very short time: first cry, first time Mommy and Daddy hold baby, first day, first night, first poop, first bath, first car ride, first day home, first time your sister hits you (followed closely by the second time your sister hits you).

Many of these are great photo opportunities. I have each of them documented seventeen times for Samantha, as her baby album can attest. (Here's Samantha. Here's Samantha two seconds later. Oh, look! Here's Samantha two seconds after that.) With Ella, I caught all of them, but maybe not quite as many pictures of the same thing. I realized, cute as they are, it really isn't necessary to document every second of their lives. With Penelope, I'm having a hard time catching some of the firsts. She does something and I don't have the camera handy, or I'm too busy chasing the other two around the house to take the time to get the camera.

One of my favorite firsts is the first smile. For me, it's one indication that a little person exists and is starting to interact with things around. There's not a lot better in the world than having a baby smile at you.

Penelope started smiling two weeks ago, but I am having a hard time catching it on film.Penelope is not fast and loose with her smiles like her sisters were. She is more reserved, smiling only when she really means it, not just because you smiled at her first. She usually smiles only one or two times a day, and only one or two smiles at a time. She doesn't smile for five to ten minutes at a time. For that reason, I am just never prepared for the smiling with my camera and by the time I get to the camera, she's done. Opportunity lost. What am I going to put in her baby book where it says "Picture of my First Smile"?

Today, I finally caught the elusive smile. It does exist. So now I have exactly one picture of her smiling. Good enough for the baby book, but I can tell Penelope's first photos are not exactly going to be the actual first time she does somethimg. I guess that's the fate of third children. I guess it will give her a reason to tell her therapist how her mother ruined her life.