I know most of you probably read this on my Facebook, but it's Boog big brother blog time, because that alliteration was too perfect to pass up!
So, yes, some time around May 16th, 2011, the Boog's little sister or brother will be entering this world. I am very, very, very excited because this is a baby we wanted very much, this is definitely our last baby, and I'm so much more relaxed this time around - so relaxed in fact that we sort of took the lazy man's way out on the pregnancy announcements. Yes, I realize the lameness of announcing my pregnancy to all and sundry at 12 1/2 weeks on Facebook. Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea culpa.
I'm excited, but I'm also trepidatious, for the Boog does not yet possess the qualities of a big brother (well, one that would be trusted around an infant anyway). The Boog hates his baby dolls. Yes, my son has baby dolls. They were prescribed by his therapists for pretend play, so there. Besides, little boys should learn how to be good daddies. Anyway...thus far, the pretend play has been completely unsuccessful. When I try to show him how to feed and rock his babies, he looks at me like I'm a mental patient he's patiently and fearfully humoring. I can almost hear his thoughts, "Mom, why are you rocking that hunk of ugly plastic that smells like baby butts? Do you really think there's milk in that fake plastic bottle? My mother has gone insane!" When I hand him the baby doll so he can mimic me, he grimaces and throws it or bangs its head against the ground or smacks it in the face and then bangs its head against the ground and throws it. I have nightmares of him smacking his new brother or sister across the face, banging his/her head against the ground, and then throwing him/her.
Apart from his hatred of baby dolls, he's also a terrible sharer. I mean, we're talking world-class selfish only child here. We've been working on "turn taking" in therapy for several months now and he still has yet to grasp the concept. When it's my turn or his therapist's turn, we literally have to tear the toy out of his surprisingly strong Boog grip and then ignore his whining and the acrobatics he performs in an effort to get the toy back. That kid would climb over hot coals laced with razor blades to get his beloved electric guitar or alphabet ball back. Once he reaches the toy, he grabs it, gives us a look like, "How DARE you steal my things?!!" and then gets as far away from us as possible to protect his toy. Littlest One is going to have to get really fierce really fast or I'll have to resort to writing initials on the bottom of all of their toys like my mom did with our Barbies so my sister wouldn't chew the feet and noses off of mine (sorry Grace).
Let's also visit the fact that he is himself still very much a baby. He's a bright and amusing little fella, but the fact of the matter is that he doesn't speak at all, he doesn't walk regularly, he's not potty trained or anywhere near it, he still sleeps in his crib and will need to until he's much more mobile, and he still needs a LOT of help to eat his meals. Holy cow. What have we gotten ourselves into? By the time the Littlest One gets here, the Boog will be 2 years and 7 months old chronologically, but who knows how old he will be developmentally. I tremble.
Nevertheless, whenever I see an adorable picture of one of my friends' toddlers and their newborns, I get all teary-eyed. It is so sweet to see the bond between siblings and part of me has faith that the Boog will rise to the occasion. He's got an uncanny ability to occasionally understand things that no one could possibly expect to understand. I have a good feeling this will be one of those things...
...or maybe he'll dump a basket of laundry on the Littlest One's head. It's a beloved and amusing family tradition...unless you're my sister, Grace.