Son #3 is a hefty little guy. If you see me and think I’m losing weight or wonder if I’ve been working out, the answer is I’ve been carrying around Son #3.
He’s also a squirmy baby. We have to keep a strong hold on him, or his sudden movements could take us by surprise, and he could squirm right out of our arms.
I do not stand up and hold him simultaneously unless I have to. Why? I like the shape of my spine as it is right now. Additionally, I don’t have the stamina to do both things at one time.
Even sitting down is a challenge with Son #3.
A couple of weeks ago, we attended a Christmas concert. I wore navy blue dress pants, a white button-up shirt, and a red and navy blue tie. I didn’t wear a suit jacket because I’m tired of getting baby spit and snot all over it. I can only afford so many dry cleanings a year. I may not wear a suit coat until my children reach the age of being able to realize their noses are running and will seek a Kleenex of their own free will to wipe it clean.
On second thought, I may never wear a tie until they’re older. As I held Son #3, he squirmed, wriggled, lurched, and jolted back and forth from one arm to the other, and my tie wrapped around his midsection. At one point, I envisioned standing on makeshift wooden scaffolding in a Western town, waiting for the platform to disappear from beneath my feet as the noose tightened around my neck.
That’s what it felt like as Son #3 wallered across my necktie and pulled it tight.
Charity was holding Son #2 after he fell from a standing position on the metal chair, trying to see over the people in front of him. He was sitting still. I looked over at her.
She wasn’t wearing a necktie.
“Hey,” I whispered, “This guy is wearing me out. He must’ve drank some of our coffee. Wanna trade?”
“Sure.”
We made the switch, and Son #2 sat still and enjoyed the concert. It was wonderful.
Then, Son #3 got tired — from being held so much, I guess. Tired equals cranky with him.
Babies get loved on, held, carried, fed, and goochy-goochy-gooed beyond compare, then get tired from all that and then get cranky as a hornet in a pesticide factory.
Anyway, I got him from his momma, carried him to the back of the church, and with him slobbering all over my suitcoat-less shoulder, he fell asleep within thirty minutes — thirty minutes of holding him and walking back and forth.
Like I said, Son #3 is hefty. I lost ten pounds that evening, and I’ll be making an appointment with the chiropractor shortly.
to the parents looking like Popeye,
– Caleb
caneymountainblog.com 