For the Hanson Family Annals

Any addition to a family requires adjustment. There really is no "good time" to have a baby in my opinion; there's always a good time. That's a really deep distinction. Or oxymoron.

The only reason I say that is because I've had people tell me that they'll wait to have a baby until things in their life are easier. Then they get pregnant. Then during the pregnancy their spouse gets a new job and they have to move. Or they lose a job and have to move--even worse. Any domestic situation can develop snags that no longer seem to work. Suddenly this baby that you've planned is coming at the worst possible time. Even though its birth was planned.

Here I sit on my bed with baby John snuggled in his blanket. The three other girls are in bed. Jamie is teaching a Latin class. It would be nice to have him home but it's also nice to have the income from his efforts. John is our second law school baby. We've been living on loans and some family savings for the past two years. Practically speaking, law school is not a "good time" to have a baby--much less two. Am I right?

If we trust that God is truly the author of new life and we are His co-creators we can't really doubt his plan for bringing new souls into this world. Admittedly, I'd like a bit of a break before any more babies. There are days when Jamie doesn't ever want more. But the truth is that when the suffering (not just mine, the entire family's) of pregnancy is passed and we're holding that new child it's all worth it.

So what does life look like now? We're a lot less mobile at this point. I'm doing my best to rest. I want to avoid getting sick like I did after Rowena was born. I was way too ambitious. The transition from three to four is easier than the transition was from two to three. Two is manageable. Then I got my third and foolishly thought three would be equally as manageable.

Wrong.

I did too much and got sick twice in less than a month. So this time I was going to aim low (even though Jamie hates it when I call it that). I don't have many plans for leaving the house for fun activities. We watch more movies than necessary. I think we'l do some baking. We read books or color. Then the girls watch more Arthur and Angelina.

I read a great post this summer that inspired me to not be so hard on myself. I'm raising little souls here, not trying to win cleanest home of the year!

1000 Words

Sums up nicely how she felt about her new baby brother:

Small Successes: Fourth Child Edition

1. I've held baby John instead of trying to do housework. This is a success since I usually can't stand the pile-up.

2. I spent all morning Wednesday by myself. The first time home with all the kids alone. And I didn't lose my temper or yell. I did have to give a couple spanks, but it was all in an appropriately measured amount of frustration.

3. I've chosen to rest and go to bed early with little John Lepant (one of his many nicknames). We snuggle up and sleep away for naps and nighttime. It's blissful. I love him to pieces already. (Surprise, surprise!!)

Her Night Moves

Gianna lays in bed for a long time, I mean a long time, before she falls asleep. She comes out frequently. She gets spanks and lots of times she gets lovingly tolerated because she does stuff like this:

"Mama, where are we going?"

I reach for the wooden spoon snuggled up beside me and show it to her.

"Mama, I love you very much." She says this with the cute little thrust of her three year old speech. "Mama, I love you and Stella and Dada and Rowena very much."

"Oh, good, Gianna. I'm very glad."

Then she turns and goes back to bed.

Unfashionable

Tonight was one of those nights where all the children are bedded down before seven. Thankfully it's dark out. The half hour before everyone was put down was filled with screams of tired protest and misunderstandings.

I told the big girls I'd read them some books. Between constant interruptions and questions like, "When you're done with this book..." I had enough. I started reading really fast with the wooden spoon nestled next to me.

I really dislike ending a day in this fashion but I dislike even more the thought of my children being really obnoxious/annoying people who cannot tell when enough is enough.

They're young. And they outnumber us.