Hiccups

When Little Professor was in utero, he often got the hiccups. I'm still mystified by the biological machinations that make this possible, seeing as though he floated in amniotic fluid and received oxygen directly into his bloodstream via God's wondrous creation, the umbilical cord. Yet there he was, maintaining an impressive esophageal rhythm that kept me feeling like my midsection was a strong second-hand on a tightly wound clock. Amazing, yes, but also just plain weird.

Small Dude repeated this feat, and like his oldest brother, has kept up the habit now that he's breathing oxygen through his windpipe. Such a small yet uncomfortable thing. He'll get a bad case that practically lifts him out of the bouncy seat with each hiccup, and I'll simultaneously snicker and sigh in sympathy, thinking of how he's nowhere close to drinking water or standing on his head to remedy his discomfort. But he'll outgrow it, and in the meantime, he'll squirm a little more and scowl and work 'em on out.

We're experiencing hiccups here, too. Some is Normal Family Adaptation to New Baby Mode. This resembles a roller-coaster ride, complete with careening turns, yelling, and a necessity for seat-belts, both literal and emotional. Some of it, though, seems more like a terminal case instead of a momentary change. With the addition of Small Dude, I'm finding the "hiccup" of his transition both routine and predictable as well as precarious and somewhat terrifying. I know the disruptions of newness will fade eventually, as will the sometimes overwhelming events that occur in a household with four children under six years of age. And for now, I'll trust that God will help me embrace all of the changes, their disquieting discomforts with their humorous additions. After all, hiccups often happen after belly-shaking laughter. And He knows our Small Dude--and Little Professor, Superman, and Pearly Girl--are big joy-givers.