Mom’s Journal by Shelley Campbell four is a magic number after the first 3 strikes

I’m just eating my snack. All by myself. Away from that baby.” This is a direct quote from Hayden the day after bringing his baby brother home from the hospital. My husband said he was tired. My mother said he was having a pity party. I had no words. All through my pregnancy, I truly believed that, right off the bat, Hayden would come forth with a flood of hugs, kisses, toys and, a little later, good advice for Evan, and they would immediately start planning what mischief they could get into together.  That was well before the ‘that baby’ comment. I know that you Moms who already have more than one child are chuckling at my naïveté, but please tell me you thought the same way I did. Just a little tiny bit? I wanted more than anything for the boys to be best friends and share triumphs and troubles all through life. To ease the transition of only- child to child -who-must-share, I had heard from more than one veteran to buy a gift for Hayden and explain that Evan picked it out. Part of me (the smallest part of me left at this stage) thought that bribery wasn’t the answer. I truly felt like Hayden should just love his brother. That he should be thankful he was born happy, healthy and hungry. Hhmmmmmmm. Reality and practicality set in and I figured a little gift couldn’t hurt. Simple vs. elaborate. Cheap vs. costly. Quiet vs. noisy. We settled on an umbrella, of all things. At the time, Hayden was very much into Mary Poppins and had been substituting a wooden spoon for her parasol.  Well, every little boy needs a proper umbrella for flying high over the chimney tops, right? Upon presentation of said gift, Hayden was thrilled with his brother — as long as he kept his distance. Hayden said if we put the umbrella over his bassinet then we would never know Evan was there. Not exactly the answer I was looking for. Little brother was also pretty cool as long as he did not take any time away from grandparents, aunts, uncles or family friends. For over three years, Hayden had been the center of the universe, but that universe had just experienced a sonic boom. What I needed was a plan. The old “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” game. I encouraged Hayden to help with all things baby. He was game as long as it fit his schedule. Helping to feed the baby seemed exciting—- except Hayden felt a three-second feeding was adequate. Strike 1. Diaper changing time was a big bust—-can’t blame him there. Strike 2. Grabbing a blankie for the baby meant he had one less blanket to use as a cape. Strike 3. Finally, we hit on something. He enjoyed retrieving the bottles from the refrigerator. It enabled him to run from one part of the house to the kitchen, plus he could check out whatever cool snack should be in there. More than once I caught him with a bottle in one hand and a pudding pack in the other. But soon he was proud of his new position in the household. “No, Mama. You sit there. Bottles are my job.” Unfortunately, he wasn’t available for those 3 o’clock in the morning feedings. Good help is hard to find. Our first few weeks as a Quad were rough. I got teary- eyed more than once when Hayden would walk in the room and just ignore me or worse yet, just breeze by Evan like he wasn’t even there. Was it always going to be like this? Was I going to have to force them to play together? When was Hayden going to acknowledge there was another person in the room? One person told me two months. Two months?? No way. I didn’t have two months. Remember, I was still post-partum at this point. They are the only brothers each of them is going to have—- I was determined they like, no, love each other. I tried not to force the idea down his throat. Hayden is not the kind of kid you can cajole into anything— he typically comes to conclusions on his own. But I did try to casually bring the subject of Evan into conversations: a trip to Sonic would warrant a remark like “You are so lucky! Baby Evan is too little to have tator tots.” He typically would just turn his head towards the window and not make a peep. I’m not sure what was worse: complete and utter silence or a shrieking tantrum.  My friends say that brothers have a special bond, a special language all their own. I knew we had turned a corner one day this week when Evan, a little fussy from still being strapped in his infant carrier, let it be known he wasn’t a happy camper. I heard the refrigerator door open and close. I peeked around the corner and spied Hayden feeding his brother a bottle. “Mama, Baby Evan is hungry. That is why he is crying. I will handle it.” Of course, Hayden’s aim wasn’t just spot-on. A bottle in the eye and a pool of formula in his neck couldn’t have felt good, but Evan’s big blue eyes never left his brother’s face and his cries stopped instantly. That special language finally translated.