Baby and Bulldogge

On August 8, 2012, we welcomed Owen Martin Gares into this world, at 9 pounds 3 ounces and 21 3/4 inches long:

Or some of us did.  Others of us aren't so sure that a welcome is in order, unless it is of the "hello you must be going" variety.

Dorothy has actually been quite good on the whole.  Her dad had to get stern with her when we first brought Owen home, because she thought he might be a squeaky toy for her.  Once stern words were said, however, she seemed to realize that Owen is a tiny human requiring special treatment.

Dorothy was depressed, but now she is perhaps feeling a little better about things:

The thing that amuses me the most about her behavior is that at night when Owen starts to cry loudly, Dorothy hightails it out of the bedroom and goes and lies downstairs on the couch, until the crying stops, and she comes back.  She does not find his wails to be a pleasant, pear-shaped tone!

The cats for the most part are rather indifferent to their new baby brother.  Posy completely ignores him; and Plum is only interested in Owen's equipment, such as the cribs and strollers and whatnot.

We are all going through a period of adjustment, but are glad Owen is finally here!

Dorothy thinking back to when times were merry:

Laundry Day

Both Plum and Posy have new favorite places to sleep:  in two plastic laundry bins that are kept up in our bedroom--our bedroom which gets quite hot during the day when the air conditioner is not on.  I'll go upstairs and it will be hot and stuffy and pretty much unbearable, and there are both cats reclining in plastic like it was the most comfortable place on earth.  And of course, Plum usually chooses the smaller bin, while Posy chooses the larger.  Here they both are wishing the paparazzi would just leave them alone:

Waiting

Dorothy’s brother is not late yet, technically, since my due date is in a few days.  However, I had it in my head that since his parents are both early people in general—arriving unfashionably early to anything from the workday to the time one feeds the pets—the little guy would arrive sometime in the twenties of July.  This did not happen.

Because of my ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE, I have had weekly ultrasound images of the fine fellow, and in each one he seemed increasingly more comfortable, sucking his thumb and looking pleased as punch to be where he is, and oh excuse me, he’d like to stay longer for the ultrasound photo but he has some ribs to kick and a bladder to headbutt.

All this is to say that I no longer have confidence that he will enter this world in a timely fashion, and time is ticking for him to enter it punctually by the due date.  Luckily for me, there is such a thing called inducement, and we just might be resorting to that.

People with children tell us to enjoy this time by ourselves, rug-ratless, and we are trying to, although it is hard to enjoy anything when one moves like a hippo in stilettos, and it is now uncomfortable for me to sit and lie down.  (Which just seems wrong!  Sitting should always be comfy, as should a full recline.)  And then of course although Sean hasn’t joined me in hippo-dom, he has to listen to me moan about it. 

So there we are.  I will be happy to meet our guy face to face, instead of head to bladder, and – call me a curmudgeon – will  also be glad to no longer have my pregnancy be an invitation for strangers to talk to me on the street.  And call me mom.  On the flip side, I do admit to enjoying the fact that on the crowded train ride home, someone will usually give me a seat (although those someones are almost always young women.  Chivalry is dead).

Meanwhile, Posy is enjoying sleeping in the baby’s room, despite its pet gate, Plum can’t resist sharpening his claws on all of Sean’s furniture, especially the couches, and Dorothy is still OCD with the yard, even though she comes in with lizard legs—all wall to wall bumps from feisty mosquitoes.

 

King of Baby Mountain

Most of our unpacking is finished—although I should admit that the few remaining boxes are all mine and are all marked “flotsam and jetsam,” i.e. things that are impossible to find homes for.  

For awhile, we had all the baby stuff in a large pile in the dining room while we got organized, and also while the baby’s room was being painted.  Now the pile is markedly diminished, yet still contains a few large boxes and other items that create various ledges and levels.  Of course, the cats are quite pleased with this state of affairs and enjoy finding spots on Baby Mountain on which they can hunker down and get a few good z's. 

 They are going to be quite sad when the unpacking is finally complete.

Plum thinking, you mean this isn’t part of the permanent décor?

Not Big Enough

Is what Posy thinks of a king-sized mattress:

Dad's Shadow

Sometimes it can be a bit exhausting watching Dorothy fulfill her new self-adopted role as Dad's Shadow.  On the weekend when Sean is doing many a household chore, Dorothy is with him every step of the way.  Literally.  She will be visibly more than ready for a nap, but She Cannot Nap, Unless Dad Is Napping.

Luckily her father will on occasion take a break.

And then Dorothy will join him.

Although she has to keep checking to make sure he has not moved:

It is hard work being Dorothy the Bulldogge.

Yow Ling

I think Posy must know it is almost time for the Summer Olympics to begin, as she seems to have dusted off her previous Olympics' persona and become Yow Ling.  She's always been a vocal cat, but ever since our first night here -- which she spent very happily in the upstairs hallway, by choice, singing  all her favorite arias -- she seems to spend a portion of each day talking VERY LOUDLY.

That's right, I'm talking to you!

I've said this before, but it bears repeating:  for a very small cat, Posy has a very big voice.

Moi?

The basement and attic are still her favorite spots, and if you visit her there, she will trumpet a welcome.  Often several welcomes.

Here she is watching her father and sister work in the yard.  She is a few seconds away from opening her mouth and bellowing.

I admit it is sometimes tempting to tell her to put a cork in it.

Put a cork in what?!

But on the whole I am pleased that she seems to like her new home, and feels inspired to narrate her joy with many a musical roar.