I feel like I rarely write about Marina. Especially in comparison to the troves of posts I wrote about my life with Evie during this time. Literally every other post in my blog during Evie‘s first few years of life were about her in some way. My breastfeeding journey, her sleep, dislike for car rides, and total attachment to me. I wrote about her constantly.
But Marina has had very few posts written about her life thus far. Or her life and its impact to mine. And I think that’s because she’s actually the best baby I’ve had.
This is compared to ALL of her sisters. Gianna and Scarlett just came too early in my life before I started this blog thing. So I didn’t get to document any of their childhoods like I did Evie’s. But if my memory serves (and it usually doesn’t), the older two did not drain me like Evie does/did. If ranked in order of best babies, from least to most, I’d have to go with Scarlett, Gianna, and then Evie.
In reality, it’s probably not entirely their faults that they weren’t the best babies. Marina is the only one of my 4 kids who didn’t nurse for most of her babyhood. And, in fairness, that’s where all my bitching originates from. I don’t get to complain about the ongoing struggles of breastfeeding with her because, after her starvation era, she never went back to nursing. She said, “fuck you to the boob” and never went back.
I will admit, I felt a little rejected by this. All my other girls loved the boob. I was their comfort. For the first couple of months, this was true for Marina as well. Until her failure to thrive diagnosis and her refusal to nurse. I took the rejection and resigned to pumping what I could to give her whatever meager ounces I had. Something was better than nothing.
And there was nothing to bitch about with pumping besides feeling like a cow, the sheer disappointment in my lack of milk production, and the constant cleaning of supplies.
Now, Marina is on to solids. Making typical messes that toddlers do by tossing her food all over the place so I have to wipe up wet banana mush off the floors daily. Gagging on food and giving my family mini-heart attacks. But nothing crazy or notable enough to write about. So….I don’t.
Then, her sleep schedule. I was going to bitch about that but in the span of time that it took me to finish this blog post, she actually started sleeping through the night!! It’s like she knew I was going to bitch about one of the very few things that is not perfect and she was NOT having it. Now, her sleep schedule is like what a baby’s should be. Like a normal baby that doctors tell you about. I’ve never had this! She goes down super easy. Pop a bottle in her mouth, lay her down, tuck a blanket, sound machine on, and wave night-night. That’s it! No 30-minute nursing sessions. No falling asleep in my arms and me trying to lay her down without waking her up. No 3-hour finger holding. Nothing.
And, get this, OTHER PEOPLE CAN LAY HER DOWN. Ahhhhhhhh! What is this luxury?! This is glorious. I’ve been the sleep initiator since the dawn of time. Again, mine and my boob’s fault. But with Marina, she will let anyone lay her down as long as they give her a bottle. The doctor had the nerve to tell me I need to take this away since she’s 1 now. I don’t know if I can do this. She literally shakes with anticipation when she sees her bottle. It’s the ring to her Smeagol. Myyyy precioussss.
I mean, I guess I could bitch about a couple things. Like the fact that she is constantly falling or bumping into things. As toddlers do. But anytime ANYTHING negative happens to her, she scream cries like someone just indian burned her arm. It’s like she is in sheer agony every time. It’s comical, and a bit annoying because I never know when something is really bad.
Then there’s the constant need to wash her sheets more than I should have to due to her nighttime 40’s. Very rarely does her diaper contain the gushes of liquid that she eeks out overnight. I have yet to figure out a solid cloth diaper combo that will not result in piss everywhere in the morning. Evie never had issues with her diapers…but in retrospect, she also wasn’t consuming that much fluid overnight. Pffft, my tats were probably giving her 3 ounces MAX. I am thinking my other kids were sooooo attached and cranky because my itty-bitty-titties weren’t giving them enough.
But Marina never really had to deal with my pathetic boobies. She did for like 2 months but, as I am seeing in other areas of her life now, she’s a quick learner. She gave my boobs a 60-day trial run and said nope, I’d rather starve that try to squeeze milk outta this geriatric set of tits. She’s smart. She learns fast.
As an example of her intelligence, we have small toys laying around the house now. Small, little choking objects just splattered everywhere because Evie loves playing with Calico Critter stuff, beads, Shopkins, etc. You might come into my house, seeing the small toys haphazardly laying in every possible cranny of my home, and pull out your phone to call CYS thinking, “this woman has a 1-year-old. Isn’t she concerned about airway obstruction? Hasn’t she learned her lesson from the last child she had that choked on a toy?!?! Clearly this is a shit mother, right here. Social media was right. Take all her kids away!!!”
Thing is, I was concerned in the beginning. We separated all the toys at first, putting the smaller ones away and only letting Evie play with them upstairs where Marina didn’t normally go. What a good mom should do. However, despite this separation, there were a few times where the little ninja got ahold of a perfectively sized choking hazard. Instead of freaking out when she started to put it in her mouth, I said “no, no Ri. That’s caca*.” She actually stopped and let me take the toy off her. And now, after a few times of that, any time she gets a small toy, she’ll look at me, shake her head no, and wait to see what I will say before doing anything with the small, potential death nugget.
Like…what? She’s just a little over 1. This seems unusual for me to have a toddler listen to me like this. Are you human, child?! Your head is a little large…are you really an alien?! Are there special ingredients in formula that make a child listen to you like this? Does having a child in your 40’s make them exceptionally perceptive and agreeable?? Or is Marina just a unicorn 1 year old???
Alien joke aside, I think she’s got something special going on up inside that incredibly large head of hers. Something special is brewing in that 85th percentile noggin. I may not write about her constantly. And that’s because, aside from the starvation period, she is kinda coasting through this life so far. Being wonderful. And I realize that I typically write to bitch, assess my feelings, or to document funny stuff. I don’t typically share when things are easy or just flow.
Tis life.
So, if you notice Marina not getting any prime-time blog posts, that’s why. She may be the last, but she’s certainly not the least.
*[Side note, I learned through looking up how to spell caca, that this word actually means shit. I’ve been telling all my kids for years that all the yucky or dangerous stuff they shouldn’t touch or put in their mouths is feces. I had no idea that caca was a real word. I just thought it was baby talk for yucky stuff.]