Scampy-love

Another post that I would counsel readers to ignore, if this were a reader kind of blog. Sometimes I just need to document a James Joyce stream of consciousness about the imps and the scamps -- I don't expect it to be interesting to anyone but hub and me. And now for some Scampy love. Baby B, my Scampy, was my quiet one. He barely made a peep my entire pregnancy. It turns out the little scamp was sitting directly in the middle of my ute, fanning himself. This relegated Impy to the margins, hence all the kicking, punching, and hullaballoo.

Scampy frightened me in the OR. Before labor began in earnest, they lost Scampy's heartbeat. The nurses were calling for the doctor increasingly stridently. Finally they found him again, fortunately before I panicked.

Scampy was tough to bring here. He was more than a pound heavier than Impy; some doctors will only attempt a non-surgical birth if Baby A is bigger (thus making it likely that Baby B will come through easily). I'm not bragging -- I wanted a surgical birth to avoid the dreaded one-by-land and two-by-C. However, my doctor wouldn't let me have one. We had to wait for me to contract some more before working on Scampy's arrival. It really wasn't that bad, though, thanks to the epidural.

When Scampy arrived, he didn't cry. I think I remember asking whether he was okay (he was). I also remember my hubby heroically staying by my side while we both craned our necks trying to see the babies over in the corner behind a wall of nurses. I finally told hub to go see the babies.

In the beginning, Scampy was quiet and laid-back. He slept a lot, and when he wasn't sleeping, I swear he sometimes even smiled (no one can prove it was gas). Unfortunately, he had some jaundice, and ended up in the NICU the day after we brought him home. He was only there for a night before he was sprung, thank goodness. I will always honor parents who deal with more serious challenges and much longer NICU stays -- our tiny, butterfly-brief brush with it was miserable enough. We brought him home with a U/V blanket -- the kid loved it. It was like baby resort season; Scampy even got a tan. What he didn't love was going to the hospital on Christmas Day for a foot stick to check his bili levels. We joked that we had to get to the ER early before all the Christmas toy-related injuries started rolling in. At least the "A Christmas Story" marathon was on TV in the waiting room.

I think Scampy was in a sleepy phase for about four months. After that, his personality started emerging. Far from being a laid-back, calm little man, Scampy is pure id. The boy can squeal with frustration, and be laughing himself silly the next minute. He has an absolutely beautiful, cherubic smile that just illuminates his face. And he beams at just about everyone.

He's a big talker, too. He was babbling pretty early on. Now, he babbles, and he says "guh" very authoritatively. We have yet to determine the exact meaning of "guh," but it clearly means something. When Scampy crawls across the room, he will often do so to a loud "aaaaaaaaaaaaa" soundtrack of his own devising. It doesn't look at all funny written down; you'll have to trust me when I say that this is the stuff of which comedy gold is spun.

Our Scampy loooooooves his music. He has always responded well to it, and now he loves to dance to the swinging sounds of Vivaldi's Spring, as played by the Baby Einstein exersaucer orchestra electronica. Unfortunately, he didn't think much of the stale old symphonic Vivaldi Spring I played for him via stereo today.

Scampy also has a binking problem. One of the first demonstrations of his talent with manual dexterity came by way of his wubbanub, and his ability to spin it like an old timey revolver right back where it belongs in its mouth holster. Then, he started stealing binks from his brother. Now, I occasionally find him with one bink en-mouth, and one in each hand. I know that this is one of those "how cute" moments that is destined to become a horrible, habit-breaking war later on. I haven't been very vigorous in googling the current norms for age-appropriate binking. I really just don't want to know yet.

The Scampy is a mimic, too. I realized to what extent when we went to the library several weeks ago. Scampy kept heading off, and I kept calling him back. He would pause, sit up, lift his arms and slap them down on his lap, and then sometimes return to me and sometimes continue on his way. Finally I realized that this was Scampy's initial try at clapping. Earlier that week, I had been practicing, for lack of a better description, obedience with them. When Scampy turned around upon request, I had clapped and cheered. So, at the library Scampy was cheering himself on for pausing (and then continuing on). I realized then that I should probably cheer after he has completed the desired action.

Lately Scampy has been standing up and letting go with both hands. And then clapping. The sheer joy and unfettered pride is marvellous. How I love my Scampy.

Impy-love

Forgive a barren old fool's rhapsodizing -- I need to write a tale of love about my boys. One of the advantages of having a new blog with no readers: you shamelessly can write things that no reader except possibly those closely related to you could possibly be interested in reading. So, on with my Impy-love. Scampy-love will come next.

How I love my Impy. My first-born, by exactly half an hour. Impy was my Baby A -- the little uterine pistol on the left who spent many months kicking and punching his way to annexing my liver.

When Impy was born, he YELLED. It surprised the hell out of me, because I had no idea he was so close to birth. I remember my first look at Impy -- hubby held him by my side in the OR, and lovingly told me to look at his eyelashes. As I'd hoped, Impy had my hubby's eyelashes -- dark and thick and long. The part of me that just wanted to gaze, lovestruck, at Impy right there had to make way for the part of me who was busy laboring with Scampy. I remember telling hubby "I have to focus." It was surreal.

As a newborn, my Impy had that little old man look. Many people commented at how wise he seemed. He was very vocal about his needs, too. Right from the start, when his brother was spending most of his time sleeping, Impy would be awake and keeping his eye on things.

In new social situations, he will still sit back and take in everyone before interacting with them. Once he gets comfortable, though, he gets incredibly energized by the give and take of the social scene. He will fight napping for hours, just to spend a little more time squawking it up with Grandmas, Grandpas, Uncles, Aunts and friends. He loves to invent games, such as the classic Pick Up my Toy(R) and the Impy House of Fun Screech at Grandpa to Try to Startle Him(R).

We're learning that Impy is fearless with Xtreme baby feats such as climbing, walking with his sports car, etc. Last weekend we had to purchase a crib tent, because the child has begun hooking his arms over the crib sides and pulling up both legs. If he were a little taller, he would undoubtedly topple right out. Yikes.

It looks as if he may not be so fearless with new foods, much to his father's dismay. He seems to have some very strong opinions about what he likes and what he doesn't. Textures, especially, seem to meet with his distaste. We're hoping that will change, and that he has not inherited my weird food aversions and affinity for processed crap.

My Impy has the cutest little crooked smile. It will flash on in an instant, dimples, pointy chin and all. His eyes just sparkle with joy and mischief, and he sometimes gets so excited that he will pant (especially when he has a cold). When he feels that way, he will crawl over with such exuberance that his gait has as much upward movement as forward momentum. Early on, he had an unruly shock of mohawk hair. Now, he looks more alterna-rocker, with silky, straight hair in front that's almost long enough to fall into his eyes.

Impy isn't possessive. His brother often takes things from him, and more often than not, he'll blithely move onto something else. When he takes something from his brother, one gets the sense that he doesn't want the object itself -- he just finds the getting hilarious. I've seen him bait Scampy, too, by holding something tantalizingly close to his brother. The child has initiative. Channeling said initiative ought to be fun.

On the relatively rare occasions that he's upset, he will sometimes stick out his lower lip far enough that it is in danger from the proverbial bird. When he was a newborn, his chin would even tremble. Awwww. His cry is insistent, very much like my kitty's. If you pick him up, it stops as quickly as it started. He'll wrap his little arms around your neck so tightly that you could probably let go and he'd still be attached -- a hands-free baby.

No epistle about Impy would be complete without mentioning how he loves to bounce. Oh, how he loves it. Hubby tells the story of going to his company picnic, where Impy wore out four healthy adults by bouncing on their laps until their arms gave out. He was trying to stand almost from birth, doubtless because he wanted to make with the bouncing.

If Impy were an element, he'd be liquid mercury. If he were a bird, he'd be a sparrow, or possibly a hummingbird; an animal, maybe a Capuchin monkey. If he were a drink, he'd be something fizzy. That Impy, how I adore him.