Uncharted Territory

If there is one thing that I have learned from having had four children, it's that you NEVER know what you are doing. Oh, after the first one, you have the basics: you know how to change diapers, how to feed them, how to get stains out of clothes. You know that, until they are six years old, it's best to keep, not only a change of their clothes, but a change of your clothes in the trunk of the car at all times. You add a few tricks with each subsequent child: with number three (that would be Sam, my wild man) I learned that crazy children should always be dressed in overalls when taking them grocery shopping. The reason being, you can unhook the straps, loop them around the cart, and re-hook them. It secures them to the cart far better than the flimsy belt that is provided (or, not provided: it seems at least half of the grocery carts in town are missing the belt entirely), and means that you can actually use both hands to get the bananas into the little plastic produce bag. 

But, in the really tough parenting stuff, you know nothing. Every child is so different, that you are learning everything over again from the moment that baby is placed in your arms. I parented Ian, my angry, defiant, wonderful, funny, tender child much differently than I parented Bryn, my sunny, happy, resilient, dramatic, anxious child. Sam changed the rules yet again, proving to be sly, stubborn, creative, independent, and in constant motion. They enter the world with their own little personality, right from day one. Seeing how they grow into that personality is one of my favorite parts of parenting. 

When my fourth child arrived, I thought I had learned not to have expectations. For the most part, I waited to see what she would reveal herself to be. As time went by, I found something I had taken for granted: my previous three were (and are) extremely outgoing. Ian can, and will, talk to anyone. Bryn can walk into a new place and make a friend in seconds, a talent that helps her in her acting. Sam was called "The Ambassador" by the ladies at the fabric store I frequented, due to his adorable way of drawing people in with nothing more than a smile and the twinkle in his eye. I was accustomed to parenting children who would never seem to get the "stranger danger" message: "Mom, this isn't a stranger! This is Bob! He told me his name!" Ok, honey. Bob has prison tattoos and is drinking at the park at 9am....lets give Bob some space, ok?

When Sam was tiny, he came to drill (300 miles from home) with me, my mom along for babysitting during the day. It worked great; I didn't need to pump as much, since he could nurse in the evenings and overnight. It worked so well, in fact, that he was 2 years old before I ever spent a night away from him. I had anticipated doing the same thing with Astrid, but it was not to be. 

Astrid is...not. Not outgoing. Not a traveler. She is also not timid, or fearful, or unhappy. She is just a tiny introvert. She doesn't like strangers, loud noises, crowds, or unfamiliar places. When we go to the mall or the zoo, she prefers to be held close. She will hide her face from strangers who want to come up and coo at the cute baby. If they persist, she will cry. She stays close to us at the playground, looking back frequently to make sure we are there. 

From the very first overnight trip away from home, when she was only four weeks old, she was miserable. She would not sleep, not in a crib, not in my arms, nothing. She cried and cried, making me panicky with fear that she would disturb everyone else in the BOQ at Camp Rapid. She refused to take a bottle during the day, making her a miserable, cranky, nightmare of a child by the time I got back every evening. She clung to me and fussed, non-stop. Clearly, this was not working. 

At home, it's a different story. She is a little whirlwind. Into everything, running through the house, laughing as we try to catch her. She loves climbing up on the the landing, where she has a view of all the goings on in the living room. She will call out and wave to each of us as we go by. She is happy, adventurous, and, above all, busy. Here, in her own space, with her own people, she is delightful. Seeing her here, no one would ever think to call her "shy".  She isn't. Not really. She just needs time to get to know you before she welcomes you in with smiles and slobbery baby kisses. 

So, once again, I've adapted my parenting style. While she doesn't like me being away from her, she likes being away from home even less. It's ended up being easier on her to stay at home with Grandma, while I go off to drill. It was, initially, a little harder on me: I felt guilty and anxious, worried that somehow I wasn't being as good a mother to her as I was to Sam. I've since come to the realization that she and Sam need a different mother. Or, rather, they need different things from their mother. Sam thrives on novelty and change. He loves it. Craves it, even. Astrid needs consistency and stability. It's something of a balancing act, providing for each of their very different needs, but we are making it work. I try to take clues from my husband, himself a pretty serious introvert: don't do too many errands in one go. Alternate between busy, crowded places and quiet, peaceful places. Schedule downtime. Rather than using a stroller when we are in busy places, I wear her in an Ergo carrier, where she can hide her face against me when she gets stressed out. When strangers get too close, I tell them "She bites", which usually gets them to keep their distance. 

BJ asked me, "What can we do to make her more outgoing?" I laughed at him. "What could we do to make you more outgoing?" 

"Hey, baby," he said, "I want to be invited to the party. I just don't want to go." 

"Don't worry," I told him. "You and Astrid can stay home and have ice cream. I'll take Ian, Bryn, and Sam with me, and tell everyone you are home with the little one." 

He smiled. I may not always understand them, but I know how to keep them happy.