OK. I know we need to get a little something in here soon about the big news of the day, Hurricane Ike. But since it essentially starts and stops for Lorena and me these days with these two fellows, figure we should talk about them first.
Two boys. That’s what we have now. Originally much to Sebastian’s chagrin, as he was more than comfortable being the one and only. We had a tremendous time, the three of us did, especially living in Africa for more than a year, and I’ll write a lot about that as time goes on.
We really did bond up nicely, the three of us seemingly on the move from here and there just about from the time Sebas was born. Especially in Africa, we spent so much quiet time together, so many long, peaceful, often dark and cold nights, often huddled up together under a blanket waiting for morning, that Sebas became remarkably calm and centered for a child his age. All kids love the role of being the only at that age, but Sebas especially so.
Then, as the pregnancy moved along last year, and particularly because it was so hard on Lorena and she was so under the weather with it, Sebas began to get the idea that there was another one on the way.
He even broadcast such to his little friends at the original school we sent him to here in Houston. Lorena walked in to pick him up one afternoon and was met at the door by a stern little girl with a serious face. Not cracking a smile she pointed at Lorena and informed her (as well as all those within earshot) “You’ve got a baby in your tummy.” Wonder where she heard that…
As the tummy got bigger, Sebas began to like touching it and putting his head up against, I guess so he could hear the baby. He learned he would be having a brother, that his name would be Oscar. He would talk to him in the tummy, and kept on telling everyone he met that his brother Oscar was coming.
Eventually the big day came, the much anticipated (by Sebas for months) day where mommy would “go to the hospital so they can take Oscar out.”
And, indeed, Mommy did go. Uncle John and Aunt Rosann came over to stay with Sebas. Mommy didn’t come home the first night, and Sebas knew it was game on.
The day after Oscar was born John and Rosann brought Sebas up to Methodist (by the way, phenomenal place to have a baby – Methodist has a big reputation in this part of the world, and very deservingly so!) to have a look at him.
Sebas didn’t hold back. “I want to touch him.” (And this hasn’t changed. Much negotiation over this point has produced this common comment – “Can I touch him softly?”). His face lit up, big smile, and he knew his brother was here.
Two boys. That’s what we have now. Originally much to Sebastian’s chagrin, as he was more than comfortable being the one and only. We had a tremendous time, the three of us did, especially living in Africa for more than a year, and I’ll write a lot about that as time goes on.
We really did bond up nicely, the three of us seemingly on the move from here and there just about from the time Sebas was born. Especially in Africa, we spent so much quiet time together, so many long, peaceful, often dark and cold nights, often huddled up together under a blanket waiting for morning, that Sebas became remarkably calm and centered for a child his age. All kids love the role of being the only at that age, but Sebas especially so.
Then, as the pregnancy moved along last year, and particularly because it was so hard on Lorena and she was so under the weather with it, Sebas began to get the idea that there was another one on the way.
He even broadcast such to his little friends at the original school we sent him to here in Houston. Lorena walked in to pick him up one afternoon and was met at the door by a stern little girl with a serious face. Not cracking a smile she pointed at Lorena and informed her (as well as all those within earshot) “You’ve got a baby in your tummy.” Wonder where she heard that…
As the tummy got bigger, Sebas began to like touching it and putting his head up against, I guess so he could hear the baby. He learned he would be having a brother, that his name would be Oscar. He would talk to him in the tummy, and kept on telling everyone he met that his brother Oscar was coming.
Eventually the big day came, the much anticipated (by Sebas for months) day where mommy would “go to the hospital so they can take Oscar out.”
And, indeed, Mommy did go. Uncle John and Aunt Rosann came over to stay with Sebas. Mommy didn’t come home the first night, and Sebas knew it was game on.
The day after Oscar was born John and Rosann brought Sebas up to Methodist (by the way, phenomenal place to have a baby – Methodist has a big reputation in this part of the world, and very deservingly so!) to have a look at him.
Sebas didn’t hold back. “I want to touch him.” (And this hasn’t changed. Much negotiation over this point has produced this common comment – “Can I touch him softly?”). His face lit up, big smile, and he knew his brother was here.
A few minutes later the bloom was clearly off the rose, as Sebas jumped down off the chair he was using to hover above a still hours old Oscar and announced to me “I’m a doctor! I’m going to go see patients, Dada!”
And we did, the youngest doctor in Methodist history, with Dada’s stethoscope around his neck, going door to door on the maternity ward. “This one is OK, Dada. So is this one.” He’s amazingly clinically adept for a doctor who never goes into a room and can’t even reach the doorknobs.
Eventually his wonderful nights with Uncle and Aunt falling asleep to movies (thanks, guys!) ended, and Sebas being Sebas, he of course wanted them back.
But now Oscar was home.
And the world as Sebas knew it was more than a little different.
First couple nights he tolerated Oscar’s middle-of-the-night crying for feeding just fine, although he was getting sleepier and more cranky day by day. We kid him that he from time-to-time turns into the Little Critter from the children’s stories, feet turning furry, claws popping out. And this was clearly happening.
The third night when Oscar started crying, I headed downstairs to get something for Lorena as she started feeding Oscar. After a few minutes, I heard a muffled conversation between Lorena and Sebastian. Back and forth it went. They were discussing something.
The conversation was getting louder, and I could finally make out some of the words. Sebas cut Mommy off in mid-sentence.
“I’m going to go talk to Dada!”
Heard his feet hit the floor and down the stairs he headed.
Into the kitchen, so tired-looking, but so serious. He took my hand.
Into the kitchen, so tired-looking, but so serious. He took my hand.
“Dada, we need to take Oscar back to the hospital.”
“Pal, we can’t. He’s part of the family.”
“Yes, Dada, we have to! We need to!” His tone was getting frustruated.
“Pal, we can’t.”
“Yes we can, Dada. He isn’t listening to Mommy. He isn’t letting anyone sleep!” Then he broke down in tears.
The next few weeks were tough on Sebas. “Playing with Oscar” was code for doing anything he could to snuff him out. We were Oscar’s constant defenders, and each time Sebas would retreat, smoke coming from his ears, that fur and those claws beginning to appear.
As the first months have passed, time, as always, is healing the wounds. Day by day Oscar’s big brother grows more protective of him, and oh so proud. More than a few times we’ve been told “leave my baby brother alone!”
Gee whiz, pal, we were just going to change his nappy.
As Oscar begins to do more, Sebas is seeing the emergence of the playmate he so desperately craves. He tells me all the time to “watch what the two boys are doing!,” while one does and the other watches, so excited, and so much wanting to get into the game with Sebas.
Oscar smiles and gets happy when Lorena or I give him special attention, and he’s an especially attention-craving child.
But nobody gets him going like Sebas. He likes anything and everything that has to do with big brother. If Sebas so much as sniffles, Oscar’s face will break wide open and the crying will start. If it looks like Sebas is roughing him up to us, its happy fun time for Oscar, smiling and laughing that brother is "playing" with him.
So from one to two. We still see the Critter from time to time, and probably will until Oscar can properly play with hot wheels, read books, and generally follow Sebastian’s every command, as the little chief has expected since day one.
Dada, what’s taking Oscar so long?
“Pal, we can’t. He’s part of the family.”
“Yes, Dada, we have to! We need to!” His tone was getting frustruated.
“Pal, we can’t.”
“Yes we can, Dada. He isn’t listening to Mommy. He isn’t letting anyone sleep!” Then he broke down in tears.
The next few weeks were tough on Sebas. “Playing with Oscar” was code for doing anything he could to snuff him out. We were Oscar’s constant defenders, and each time Sebas would retreat, smoke coming from his ears, that fur and those claws beginning to appear.
As the first months have passed, time, as always, is healing the wounds. Day by day Oscar’s big brother grows more protective of him, and oh so proud. More than a few times we’ve been told “leave my baby brother alone!”
Gee whiz, pal, we were just going to change his nappy.
As Oscar begins to do more, Sebas is seeing the emergence of the playmate he so desperately craves. He tells me all the time to “watch what the two boys are doing!,” while one does and the other watches, so excited, and so much wanting to get into the game with Sebas.
Oscar smiles and gets happy when Lorena or I give him special attention, and he’s an especially attention-craving child.
But nobody gets him going like Sebas. He likes anything and everything that has to do with big brother. If Sebas so much as sniffles, Oscar’s face will break wide open and the crying will start. If it looks like Sebas is roughing him up to us, its happy fun time for Oscar, smiling and laughing that brother is "playing" with him.
So from one to two. We still see the Critter from time to time, and probably will until Oscar can properly play with hot wheels, read books, and generally follow Sebastian’s every command, as the little chief has expected since day one.
Dada, what’s taking Oscar so long?
