Ducklings to Spare

Yesterday the queen only took about a 30 minute nap at daycare. She was cranky and demanding all afternoon, but I’ve learned that those late afternoon snoozes, while wonderful and timely for a frazzled working mama duck attempting to make supper and supervise homework, carry heavy consequences late into the night. So I kept her up, and attempted to go about my business with her on my hip or clinging to my calves and shrieking. Fun. When Chad got home, he dealt with her for about 5 minutes before saying, “Just let her sleep!” (Keep in mind, this is the same guy who has reprimanded me more than once for giving into late naps. And, in his defense, he is also the same guy who usually ends up staying up with the little duck turned night owl on those same occasions). I didn’t—we persisted and by 7:00, we could take no more. I took her upstairs and bathed her and put her in her monkey jammies. Just in time for her to catch her second wind.

The queen has reached that age where she has a lot to communicate, but very few ways in which to make them known--other than the all important go-to word “Ma!”. “Ma!” (I want a drink), “Ma!” (she’s picking on me), “Ma!” (I want one of those cookies, too), “Ma!” (Look what I found!), “Ma!” (Can you help me, please? I’ve climbed up on the bathroom stool again and can’t get down!) “Ma!” (look what I just threw in the toilet). And so it goes.

So we got upstairs, cleaned, and jammied. We found a binkie and lamby. And then “Ma!” I tried lying down with her, walking with her, rocking her, singing to her, letting her thrash around in her crib for awhile. No go. “Ma!” she demanded, gesturing to the door. “Ma?” she queried, swiveling around to look me in the eyes and willing me to understand her. On a hunch, I took her downstairs where the rest of the little ducks were cuddled up on the couch watching a movie (they aren’t allowed upstairs when I’m putting the queen to bed). Lucy smiled and wriggled until I put her down. She toddled happily around the room, greeting each of her big siblings and smiling beneath her binkie. “Ma!” she acknowledged each one happily, clutching Lamby the whole time.

I sat down in the recliner and Gracie promptly settled herself in my lap. Lucy joined us, then got down and played, then joined us, then played—clearly enjoying her second wind. Gracie turned to me and said “wouldn’t it be sad if you were like A (her friend from school) and didn’t have any brothers or sisters?” I hugged my sweet girl—“Yes, very sad,” I agreed. The queen clearly shared our sentiment as she was completely tickled to be back among her siblings again.

One of my absolute favorite things about being the mama of many is watching their relationships with each other grow and develop. They are so completely connected—an effortless togetherness that simply cannot be replicated by any other relationship now or in their futures. I love hearing them laugh together; watching them in my rear view mirror as they discuss their opinions and their experiences on the way home from school, or in the back yard as they chase one another, push each other on the swings, jump on the trampoline, or crawl around playing “puppies” or “house”. Both Lucy and Claire have always been happiest—from their earliest days—when surrounded by their siblings. I remember once when Claire was just 4 months old and having a rare restless afternoon. She fretted and fussed—not crying exactly, but clearly not content. I tried all the usual things—nursing and changing and pacing. Finally, frustrated, I put her on her boppy pillow near where the big kids were playing. My plan was only to leave her there as long as it took for me to go to the bathroom. She cooed, smiled, and kicked contentedly. That was all she wanted. Same with Lucy last night.

That is not to say, of course, that they are always the best of friends. They bicker, certainly. And they are competitive—capable of the usual laser precision in the measurement of parental fairness. Sammy can be awful to his sweet (albeit occasionally annoying) sister Claire. Lucy can be quite demanding and unyielding. Claire can be destructive and insensitive about other’s belongings. And even Grace can be selfish sometimes. But by and large they have the kind of relationship I always hoped they would—the kind I share with my beloved siblings. No one knows you better than your siblings. No one shares more of their life story with you. I once read an article that said of all the people in our lives, the ones we share the most experiences with are our siblings. Our parents are only with us the first 2/3 (roughly speaking). Our spouses and most of our friends typically do not share our childhoods and earliest experiences. And our children enter our lives in adulthood. Only our siblings are with us every step of that way.

I’ve always wanted a big family—and I like having the ducks all close together like they are. Certainly they have had to give up something in terms of my attention and time—diluted as it has been by the needs of so many and the continual addition of another baby to the mix. And they have to share their bedrooms and wear hand-me-downs and look after younger siblings (the older ones) or sit on the sidelines or in the bleachers at countless events (the littler ones). But Lucy and Claire, especially, have shown me again and again that what my mom always told me is true—“the best gift you can give a child is a sibling.” That is not to say, of course, that my way is the only way. Small families are fine, I’m sure. Not that I would know. And for that, I have to admit, I’m grateful. My nest would never have been full or complete without a whole little pack of baby ducks. And, from what I can tell, they like it too.