My Poor, Neglected Number 4

We took my baby boy in to get his first haircut today. It seemed like a pretty good idea, since most of the comments I've received of late have been something to the effect of "Awwww... You have four of the prettiest little girls!" But it was still heartbreaking to watch the barber shore off his sweet baby curls. Even more heartbreaking was when my husband whipped out his camera to capture the moment and announced, "Oooops. The battery's dead."

That figures. I have no before and after pictures of Ty's first haircut to place in his less-than-complete baby book. Ella's first haircut, on the other hand, is documented by 15 minutes of video and some 20+ pictures. Her baby book is splitting at the seams with keepsake paraphernalia from all of her "firsts." But as most parents - and frankly any last-born child - out there can attest, it's all downhill after the first kid.

It's true. I was the best mom ever when Ella was born. Or at least, I was the most super organized mom ever. I had not one, but three completely stocked diaper bags accessible to me at all times. And when I say stocked, I mean the we're-packing-for-this-trip-to-the-mall-like-we're-traveling-to-South-America-because-you-just-never-know-what-might-happen-along-the-way kind of stocked. I had one bag that I used during the week, one bag stashed in my trunk for emergencies, and one bag for church...because if she spit up on her adorable pink church dress, I was darn sure going to have another adorable pink church dress there for back-up.

Ty, on the other hand, doesn't even have a diaper bag. Oh, he started out with a bag. It was one of those black vinyl things from Similac that the OB-GYN nurse hands you at your 28-week visit. But other than a too-small diaper and some melted crayons, there was never anything useful in it, so I finally gave up the pretense of carrying around. Now I just put a diaper in my purse with Ty's name written on it in magic marker. When we drop him off at church and the nursery volunteer asks for his bag, I whip it out and hand it off with a smile: "Here you go!"

Sadly, though, Ty's neglect occasionally goes beyond the lack of pictures and well-stocked bag. A few weeks ago, as my husband and I were making the pilgrimage to Brownsbridge, I turned to him and asked, "You fed the baby, right?" To which he turned to me and replied, "No, I thought you did." Great.

I wasn't sure what to do. After all, there were four kids dressed for church and strapped into the back of our minivan. We were almost there anyway, and with my husband there is no going back, no matter what the circumstances. But there was also no emergency diaper bag in the trunk, and a quick survey of the back seat revealed only a small handful of discarded Cheerios. Why did I have to vacuum the car this week? I thought.

We walked into church, and handed Ty and his diaper off to the nursery worker. Not wanting to reveal too much, I said as nonchalantly as possible, "Ummm, he seems a little hungrier than usual today. Do you happen to have any snacks on hand?" The worker assured me she'd find something if he got a little fussy. Which apparently she did. Because apparently he did.

"Boy, you were right!" she told me when I picked him up. "He really is hungry today. I think he ate half a box of Cheerios!"

Poor kid. I try to make up for it. I'll remember on occasion to pull out the camera, and snap 50 pictures or so - all of him in the same outfit, mind you. I also do make a point to feed him - most days anyway. Knowing that he's a boy who's going to be a man someday, I doubt he's even going to care if he has a baby book. I just hope he's able to look back and know - without a hint of doubt - how much his mother loves him. Because I really do.