The first time Charlie went to church was the day of his baby blessing. He wore a smart little white romper made for him by his Grandmother Heim. Very dapper. His Grandparents Chelson and Uncle Spud were there all the way from Tennessee. All adored, fawned over, and cooed at the scrumptious little baby boy. After sacrament meeting and the blessing, we went outside to take some pictures to remember the auspicious occasion. Cameras were pulled from pockets, flashes were going off, successes being achieved, when there came upon us THUNDER BELOW.
I knew I needed to change his outfit before his bright yellow poop became a beacon of incorrigible childhood shining for all to see on the back of his stark white romper. That blessing outfit was intended for the use of all grandsons. I was supposed to give it back. I was supposed to not ruin it. And thus, I dashed off with great haste.
I rapidly tore (in a gentle, non-tearing sort of way) the romper off just in time to see yellow seeping through Charlie's white onesie, the way that ink starts pooling out and spreading when you hold a marker or a fountain pen to paper for too long. I had saved the romper! With my mother's help, I then changed Charlie into a fresh diaper and onesie, and we all set off home. I took with me the lesson that it is imperative to have a spare outfit, as well as diapers, in your bag at all times.
The next time the young Princeling went to church, we were out visiting my family. He wore a smart little sailor romper bought for him by his mother. Very dashing. He was finally big enough to wear it without swimming in it. (Strange how swimming in his sailor suit is undesirable. Ah well, fashion at its finest, I suppose.) We made it through sacrament meeting without incident. Sunday School was forgone in favor of feeding the young Prince and chatting with Mum in the mother's lounge.
But then he needed a diaper change.
Mother set Charlie on the changing table while I gathered the necessary equipment from my bag. Everything was going smoothly until Charlie felt the need to shower us with his blessings.
Mother and I managed to save ourselves. but Charlie's debonair little suit was quite wet, even his as yet unfastened and formerly fresh diaper. I victoriously pulled the extra onesie out of my bag, and we set about changing the lad for a second time. Once cleaned and clad only in onesie, socks, and blanket, we deemed Charlie decent and adjourned to Relief Society.
Where I stayed for only about ten minutes. Talk about some thunderings down below!
After begging pardon for my savage son's comportment, I excused myself from the room, taking with me the pack of wipes, a diaper, and my sister Megan. Megan actually came because she wanted to, not because I picked her up with other diaper changing accouterments. We got Charlie on the changing table again, and got his little bottom all cleaned up, and as the diaper was going on, Charlie struck us once again with his benevolence.
After the Prince had finished, we took stock of the damage. Charlie was wet. His clothes were wet. His socks were wet. His diaper was wet. And he was upset. I quickly set to work stripping him of his wet things, and took a fresh diaper (a size too large) from the emergency stash in the mother's lounge. Fortunately, his blanket had been set down on a chair away from the scene of the incident, and was therefore dry. Instead of being able to victoriously reach into my bag for some more clothes for my son, I was reduced to wrapping my naked-save-for-a-diaper child up in his blanket. Good thing that he likes being swaddled. He remained naked until we returned home and I was able to get more clothes.
The next time Little Man went to church was this recent Sunday. He wore a onesie and some sweatpants. Very comfy. We were running late to get to our 8:30 meeting time, and efficiency and speed were the names of the game. Actually, the predominate name of the game was try not to wake the baby as we get him ready for church now. And we played that game pretty well until we actually got to church, at which point Charlie required my attention in the mother's lounge. I missed just about all of sacrament meeting.
By the time I had calmed Charlie to sleep, Andrew had already reported to his duty of nursery helper, so I went to Sunday School. On the way, I was stopped by my friend Aleece. She presented me with a pair of pants that went with an outfit she had given me for my baby shower months ago.
During Relief Society, the young Prince required feeding. I once again retired to the mother's lounge. I was burping him afterwards, when rather than a burp from his mouth, he presented me with what Andrew affectionately calls an Australian burp, due to the fact that this form of belch resounds from down under. I made my way to the changing table. I pulled off his sweats and noticed that they were soiled. SOILED. As was his onesie. I changed his diaper and stripped him down of his dirtied things.
I rummaged about in my bag, and found a spare onesie. And then, thanks to Aleece, a small pair of pants came out of my bag.
Thanks to Aleece, the cycle of Bring Your Baby To Church Dressed, Bring Him Home Naked would perhaps be broken. Aleece, to you, I give my sincerest gratitude. Thank you for saving me from looking like a horrid mother who doesn't dress her child before taking him out but really had spare clothes all along but not enough. You're a real pal.
And thus we see that taking a little boy to church can be a perilous adventure, full of much clothes changing, diving for cover, and memory making. I will from here on out be keeping more than one spare item of clothing in my bag when I go out with our little boy in tow. otherwise, he just might end up naked. Lesson now learnt.
PS. I found the camera!
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
HEAR YE, HEAR YE! AN ROYAL INTRODUCTION!
Hello again, family and friends. I know that it has been a while since you have heard from this source of news, but I assure you all that we are still alive. The healing, new (lack of) sleep schedule, continuing lack of sleep, and familial visits has made me rather reticent in my communications in this venue. Though fully equipped with this more than adequate excuse, I still offer my apologies and condolences to all persons who have been waiting anxiously to see our adorable baby. Worry not, dear ones, for the wait is over.
I know that a lot of new moms like to share their birth stories via blog. I think that's wonderful for them, but I opt out of that experience except for a sum up of the day. It happened. Charlie was born healthy, happy, and absolutely perfect in every way possible.
|Charlie displaying an adorable little suit from Grandmama|
That is a picture of little Charlie just one week old. He's pretty cute. Below you will enjoy looking at our first family portrait, taken when he was three weeks old. Charlie's little shirt matches his daddy's green polo, and I think that's just about the best thing I've ever done with my life. I'm very proud. I love my little family. I call Charlie my little Prince.
|Charlie modelling an attractive Instrument of Peace (a "pacifier" to the layman)|
I take special pictures on his monthly birthdays, but it doesn't always work out so well. And by not always, I mean not ever. But it's fun to try and he's endearing when he throws himself away from candles and cake and ice cream. Don't worry- Andrew and I aren't feeding him all that junk food. No, we eat it in his honor right after blowing out the candle on his behalf.
NOTE: I am unable to find the camera at the moment. How unsurprising. I shall bring forth more recent pictures when I unearth the hiding piece of photographic technology.
Here is one of my favorite pictures of Prince Charlie and Andrew. Little Prince was smiling right up to the moment the photographer actually snapped the picture, and I love that little lip.
|Charlie making an exhibition of the world's cutest lower lip|
Since bringing the young Prince home, both Mother's Day and Father's Day have passed. I have been doing a lot of thinking about the critical roles of parents, and how much they do, and what a large and devastating impact it makes when they DON'T do. But those are deeper thoughts saved for another post. This one is fluffy and all about showing off our cute baby and proving that we're still alive. To achieve those ends, here are some more pictures.
|Tiny Charlie wearing his daddy's Luigi hat.|
|Charlie's precious cheek receiving kisses.|
|Charlie climbing up Mt. Daddy|
|Charlie carrying on the cow tradition|
The past two months have been filled with new challenges, many laughs, a camera that runs away all the time, long nights, long days, and plenty of joyfulness despite the hard parts of dealing with new parenthood. We love our baby, and we love each other. When the going gets tough, we relish in the fact that we have each other. We're still best friends, we're still here for each other, even if that's in a less-than-helpful-because-I'm-sleep-deprived sort of way. We've had some pretty low points while getting here, but we've had even higher ones. Charlie always knows the perfect times to coo, smile, gasp, and charm us right back into a cheerful mood.
I love Andrew. I love Charlie. I love my life, even when it's hard. No matter how great the trial- physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual- we can not only make it through, but we can conquer, we can come out on top, triumphant, stronger, and ready to thrive. How? By centering our lives on the gospel of Jesus Christ. It works. It will always work. It will always work because Christ's Atonement works. His Atonement always works when we apply it correctly and faithfully.
I rejoice in knowing that my family has the opportunity to be sealed for eternity. I have up days and down days, but at the end of every day, I give thanks for the greatest blessings.