We haven’t told Isaac that a new baby may be coming along the pike this fall. This because speaking to him about “the fall” is pretty abstract, like for us talking about the 22nd century. Also, of course, there’s still a risk that this whole thing might not happen as planned. It would be much better, if I were in the hospital, to just say “mommy is sick” or something like that, rather than grappling with the idea that “the baby is not coming after all.” But that being said, I’ve been talking with him about it in the vague general sense. The sort of remarks that an adult would easily see through. Along the lines of “would it be nice if a baby came to live with us someday?”
Isaac says yes, he’d like a baby. It would be a girl and he would give her some milk.
But what is so striking is that these days, often, repeatedly, he wants to “play baby.” This simple game (entirely conceived by Isaac) is one in which he puts his head under my shirt. The rest of his now three-foot-tall self extends over my lap. I have to pat his head (pretending that it’s my pregnant stomach) and say wistfully, “Oh I have a sweet little baby in my stomach. I wonder who it is… I wonder when it will be born. I can’t wait to give it some kisses.” And things along these lines. Sometimes sotto voce Isaac will give me a hint in a high-pitched “baby” voice, “It’s a girl… named Sappy.” (Other common baby names he chooses are “Brooklyn” and “Poopy Shnoopy.”) Then he suddenly decides to be born– he’ll reveal himself from under my shirt to an enthusiastic welcome. I’ll say, “Sappy! My sweet little girl baby! I’m so happy to have you in my arms!” And he’ll wallow in the attention. Sometimes he’ll carry it out, and begin crawling around on the floor explaining, “The baby can crawl” or he’ll recline in my arms and say, “The baby wants some milk.” Other times he’ll just insist that we play baby again and again and again.
Now, can I tell you how strange it is for me to play this game with him sitting on top of a real baby, hidden away in my real stomach?
Yesterday we went to the Cleveland Children’s Museum. They have a new exhibit there, about the hospital. This features a nursery, complete with isolette (incubator) and a row of little baby dolls in little Plexiglas bassinets. The babies are ethnically diverse and anatomically correct. Although they were all clothed, Isaac took great pains to investigate each one and sort out only the girls. These he cared for tenderly, bathing them, offering them toys, wrapping them in blankets, and tucking them safely in the isolette. He occasionally asked me to make a baby cry, and then he would soothe it. At one point he took a little girl baby to the x-ray area and x-rayed her, while trying to calm her frightened wails. He worked quickly and then reassured her that it was all done. (Obviously processing his own experience.)
A few days ago we were visiting friends who have a new baby boy, their third. I held the baby for a while (very chubby and smiley) and then Isaac had a turn. He did a good job of holding the baby tenderly and with great concern. Then he said, totally out of the blue, “I’m the big brother! I’ll tell this baby how to do things!”
Yes– he’s prepping for the role, there’s no question.
At the same time, I think he needs a little extra babying right now for a couple other reasons. He’s still dealing with the intense experience of being in the hospital– how scary it was and how important it was for me to be there to help make him feel as safe as possible. Also, he’s really making great strides in terms of potty training. I think he can feel himself on the brink of losing the last vestige of his babyhood (diapers) and making the leap to being a real big boy. It has to be a scary and threatening prospect to him in some ways, although he also is quite pleased with himself and all his big boy capabilities. But it’s hard to let go of all that safety and security. I’ve been paying attention to this and tucking in phrases like, “Mama loves her big boy,” along with all the babying. I worry that he thinks that if he’s a big boy he’ll never get cuddled again.
I’ve talked to several moms of more than one child to see how they prepared the elder sibling. Most seem to say that it was a really hard transition for all concerned, and that no matter what or how you tell the first child, he or she will not really understand the implications of this huge life change until it happens.
I got Isaac this book from the library about this big brother who helps his baby brother all the time (after Isaac referred to himself as the big brother– maybe he’s thinking of Caillou?). It’s called, “I used to be the baby.” I was reading it to him last night. I read it once, and then he asked that I read it two times. So I was reading it the second time and Isaac stopped me, held up all his fingers and said, “I want you to read it this many times!” I tried to bargain down from ten to just eight more, seeing as we had already read it twice, but Isaac wouldn’t have it. “This many times! This many!” he insisted. But as it turned out, Daddy came in to say good night and we turned out the light then. Isaac insisted vehemently that he wasn’t tired at all, yawned, and went to sleep.