Tell Me About the Babies, George

Twelve days ago, Number Four arrived into the world.  He was four weeks early but no worse for the wear, at a whopping 6lbs 6oz and 19 inches.  My precious, screeching little larva and I spent four days, alone, safe in our hospital room.  Then the day came that I had to bring him home and introduce him to THE OTHERS.

This past week with him home has been a bit overwhelming, to say the least.  Number One finally resigned herself to the fact that she has another brother and her help is still the main reason I have managed to stay sane.  Number Two is completely enamored with his new baby brother.  He says “I hope our baby stays little forever” and he wants to hold him as much as possible.  He is both fascinated and puzzled by breastfeeding.  Although I breastfed his little brother for close to two years, I guess he was too young to fully comprehend what I was doing but I digress.  Several times a day, he asks or makes observations about breastfeeding.
“I don’t know how that milk gets in your boobs!”

“How did you make milk in your boobs?”

He always makes it a point to specify that the milk is in my “boobs”.  Whenever Number Four makes any hint of a whimper, he is the first to inform everyone in the room that the baby wants to drink my milk.

That brings us to Number Three.  I was actually worried about what kind of reception he would give the newest addition that would be replacing him as “the baby”.  Considering that he has practically been attached to my hip since he was born, I didn’t think he would be very accepting of this newcomer monopolizing my attention.  Much to my surprise, he is completely infatuated with his tiny sibling.  My concern has since changed to protecting Number Four from Number Three’s shows of affection.  He demands “gimme baby”, with hands outstretched.  The main problem with fulfilling this request is that his desire to hold the baby, coupled with his less than gentle handling techniques, can only be matched by Lenny’s affinity for the rabbits.  Number Three is, as well, confused by breastfeeding.  He thinks the baby is biting me.  He pats me and asks if I’m alright, then softly scolds his brother for biting and tries telling him, repeatedly, to stop.  He gives up after a few seconds and goes after whatever shiny thing has caught his eye elsewhere in the room.

So far, so good.  Four children has been an adjustment but it has definitely not been as scary as I had envisioned all these months.  I am not letting my guard down just yet, though.