moving day

A couple of days ago, Frances observed - apropos of absolutely nothing - that the fourth trimester is now over. As in, things should start changing around here. Beatrice is twelve weeks old. To an almost-eight year old, I guess things aren't moving very fast. For me, it's hard to keep up.

Case in point: she moved out. Beatrice is so old and independent, so totally done with the whole newborn thing, that sleeping with us was cramping her style. Well, that's a little misleading; in truth Beatrice is so long that sleeping in her bassinet was cramping her toes. She was knocking against the ends and waking herself up in the night. And she'd been napping pretty well in the crib next door for a few days. So two nights ago I put her to bed in the crib. Later that night, I walked past the darkened nursery and saw her sleeping there swaddled up all by herself. She looked so small and alone.

She did great that night. I did not. It was like when the older children spend the night somewhere else and their rooms, with doors ajar, exude emptiness: weird, and a little wrong. I spent the night listening for her. I was wide awake when she woke around four to nurse, and nearly leaped out of bed to run to her.

Last night was better. For me, I mean. She certainly looks more comfortable in her new digs. And it's a shorter trip from the rocking chair to the crib, which makes for a more successful transition from being soothed to sleep to actual sleeping. (Listen to me justifying the whole thing! I'm not abandoning her, I'm telling you. This is good for my baby.)

Beatrice really is making her way into post-newborn life. In the past week or so she is suddenly able to nap independently, sit in her bouncy seat or lie on her mat for longer stretches happily, watching the family action, and tolerate the car relatively well. She loves when someone sings to her, and flashes smiles at her brother and sister all day. I love all of these changes: life is easier, she is more sociable. But oh, a little part of me feels panicky when I realize how fast it is all happening.

Tonight I watched my big kids jump with gusto into a soccer game played by teenagers and adults. They were great! So skillful and enthusiastic, so ready to receive a pass from a much taller player. Gabriel melted down at the end when it was time to go. But before that, for most of the game I stood with the baby in her stroller, jiggling occasionally to facilitate a longer nap, watching in complete awe of my kids. Bafflement, really. Are they mine? Can they possibly be so big and so separate from me?

End of the fourth trimester indeed! Now it begins. Beatrice and I are getting onto the delicate tippy see saw - moving apart, coming back together, moving apart a tiny bit more, moving back together again. My arms start to ache when I haven't held her for awhile. But when she sits apart from me, I have such a great view of her beautiful, expressive face.