Katharine's Second Day

I awoke this morning to the jangling sound of a ringing telephone. It was Lia, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed on her end, with no apparent conception that at 7:27 all the house might still be sleeping. During the course of our brief conversation Julia and Eli each came roaring into the bedroom and crept into bed for a Daddy-daughter snuggle session. They soon tore the phone from my hands and regaled their mother with all sorts of interesting information.

Lia decided some months ago to establish a new family tradition, according to which I take all the rest of the kids out to breakfast the morning after a new baby is born. Somehow, it was decided that the IKEA cafeteria was the only place where this could happen, so for many weeks Julia and Eli have been talking of going to IKEA for breakfast as soon as Katharine finally got around to making her appearance. Today was the fateful day.

But first we lolly-gagged about the house at a leisurely rate. Chores seemed to pile up, and it was after nine before we got out the door. I even added to the girls’ already painful expectations by stopping at the bank to get laundry quarters en route to IKEA. But all of this was just as well, for the IKEA cafeteria doesn’t open until 9:30, and we arrived only a few seconds after 9:29.

Breakfast was an adventure. Navigating through the chow line with three plates and as many trays, all while corralling two wanderlust-ridden yahoos, was a challenge. I don’t know how Lia does things like this all the time. Maybe it’s that she notices ex ante, where I tend to notice ex post, things like IKEA’s provision of handy breakfast carts, capable of carrying several trays and with helpful handles for children to hang onto.

We enjoyed our food. Julia wept irrationally when the server placed two slices of bacon on her tray. She didn’t want bacon, she explained. She later wept anew when I tried to eat her bacon. She also declined vehemently when I offered her a bite of a scone slice—only surreptitiously to steal a bite when I was helping Eli spread ketchup on her eggs. She then begged for a bite to share with Eli, whom she proceeded to berate with a verbatim repetition of my own unavailing arguments: “Eli, do you want a bite of this? I think you’ll really like it. It’s bread with honey around it. It’s almost like candy.” Eli took the proffered mouthful in her hand, regarded it with some diffidence, then shoved it into a mouth still half-full of ketchup and eggs. She made the face of a man who has swallowed a lemon.

On our way out I bought, at the point of a tantrum, two overpriced boxes of apple juice. Not wanting to let Julia relish this conquest, I explained archly as we got in the car that these two tiny boxes cost together what we would ordinarily pay for a gallon of milk. Julia’s garbled translation of this lecture to Lia was that, “We drank apple juice; it tasted like a jug of milk.”

Around 11:30 I dropped the girls off with Rhonda Turner and her intrepid gang, then went to see Lia and Katharine with the goal making the former take a nap. I partly succeeded. Katharine gets cuter every hour (a crescendo that leaves us in no hurry to post pictures). Lia is recovering admirably. Soon after I arrived Lia was mercifully transferred to a new room—this time a room of her own. Her previous roommate had just given birth for the second time in twelve months fathered by a man (not her husband) who, Lia overheard, had been text-messaging another woman during labor and delivery and who, Lia heard firsthand, swears with all the fluency of any sailor or Goldman Sachs operative.

It was sweet to return to privacy and peace. Ensconced in our cozy new headquarters I read general conference talks to Lia while Katharine ate. After eating only infrequently in the middle of the day Katharine decided, in the late afternoon, that she has a formidable appetite after all; she has hardly stopped eating since. We had a very peaceful and happy afternoon together, the last of which was spent with Lia sleeping soundly (if not always silently) while I paced the floor with Katharine and sang a dozen hymns.

When I left at about 5, both Lia and Katharine were both asleep, and all was stillness and tranquility. Apparently Katharine awoke twenty-five minutes later, but I felt pretty heroic as I sneaked out of the room and was off to pick up Julia and Eli. Heaven, in any case, seemed close indeed as I cast a final glance over the angelic faces of my two sleeping beauties.

The incomparable Gretchen Cheney provided our dinner tonight—a gourmet repast of pasta (butterflies with chicken, broccoli, and red peppers), Italian bread, salad, and a gallon of milk to boot. This last was a great luxury for Julia and Eli: Lia, who governs our home with an iron budget, forbids us all to drink milk after breakfast time.

After dinner we all headed to the hospital together. If Lia was happy to have her own room, Julia and Eli were thrilled. They bounced from wall to wall and meddled with everything. Best of all was getting to hold their new sister, which Julia did with tenderness, grace, and affection, and which Eli did with unbridled fascination and enthusiasm. Both girls wondered aloud why Katharine did no talking. Eli wandered about the room, officiously offering to all and sundry a baby spoon the hospital had provided for Katharine.

We played with Lia and Katharine for ninety minutes or so before I took Julia and Eli home to put them to bed. I predict they will both be very sweet big sisters—and that Katharine’s life will be perpetually imperiled by the ardor of their affections.

Both girls gave Lia big hugs and kisses before we left. As we quit the room, Eli turned around for a sweet, parting declaration to Lia that, “I hope you both get better.” We all do.

Lia and Katharine had a handful of visitors from the ward during the course of the day. Our inestimable bishop even came by with a lunch for me—part of an ongoing effort to defend new dads against the evil forces of overpriced fare at the hospital cafeteria. The centerpiece of this lunch was the first triple-decker PBJ I have devoured in more than a decade. Alas, however, Lia had drained her half-pint of Guida milk to the last drop, and I bore the look of a “Got Milk?” dupe as I swished down my PBJ with a cup of tepid tap water.

It’s been a very good day. Our family seemed perfect before. Now, in the apparent oxymoron of the Constitution, it has grown “more perfect.” Praise goes to the Lord and gratitude to the many who have showered us with congratulations and acts of Christian service.