The Incarnation of Who They Are: Part 4- Patrick "Patch" Bryan Hearn

From the moment we found out that Hearnlet #4 was on his way, our lives have been a wild ride. Such is life with Patch.
Even though I was only 29 years old when I got pregnant for the fourth time, I felt like an old veteran. This baby-making thing had become old hat and I was an expert. Don't you just love how God allows ourselves to be lulled into that false sense of knowledge before He REALLY teaches us something!
As with my previous two pregnancies, I bled frequently in my last that required somewhat frequent ultrasounds. It was at around the 16 week mark when the ultrasound tech cheerfully told us we were expecting a girl. I have to be honest. I was a little disappointed. I wanted Charlie to have in a brother what the girls had in each other. It just wasn't meant to be. He would be our only boy and we would welcome our third baby girl with open arms. Clara Bryan. Clara was the name of one of my Grandmother's aunts and Bryan is my brother's name.
Having already found out our baby was a girl, the normal gender identifying ultrasound at 20 weeks was to be no big deal. Tucker didn't take off work and I just went to my appointment by myself anticipating seeing a larger version of the little girl we saw a month earlier. The appointment was very routine. They measured bones and fluid and all kinds of technical stuff that was unrecognizable to the untrained eye. At one point I asked very flippantly, "So is she still a girl?" Without an ounce of emotion or surprise in her voice, the same professional who four weeks earlier told us we were having a girl, said, "No, this is a boy."

WHAT!!!??

That's right. Our daughter had grown a penis. Well, more accurately, our SON just finally showed his. One of the greatest moments in my adulthood came when I called Tucker after the appointment. I played it cool and told him everything went well and the baby looked fine. I was just dying for him to ask about the gender. I could barely breathe! Finally he said, "So, did they confirm the sex." I said "Yes." So naturally he said, "girl?" That's when I very excitedly told him we would be a family of 2 and 2!

Of course we had no name for this baby boy. Nothing seemed right. All of the names we considered with earlier pregnancies fell short in our minds. For a time we reconsidered Geoffrey, but it just didn't feel right. None of our unborn babies had ever gone so long without a name. I was beginning to get agitated. In April we were to go to the beach for Spring Break, and I told the family we were not to return to Columbus without a name for our baby.

Of course at this time, The girls were almost 10 and almost 6 so it was impossible to ignore their input. All week long we tossed around names, even buying baby name books in the beach gift shops! Finally one night, as we ate dinner at a quaint, outdoor Mediterranean cafe, our baby was named. Patrick Bryan. But there was to be strict stipulations.

Tucker has always loved the name Patrick, but I resisted out of fear that Patrick Hearn sounded so uniquely Irish, that people might suspect us of trying to be "clever." (I don't even know exactly what that means, but I was really hung up on trying not to sound like we were claiming some strong Irish heritage) Lou had had a little boy in her class named Patrick, and was extremely concerned that her baby might be called Patty or Pat. (concerned to the point of tears, people!)
A friend of mine in Charlotte had a nephew named Patrick, who they unofficially had nicknamed Patch. I was in love with it! I loved the idea of having a Patch. It felt comfortable and familiar. We would name our baby Patrick with the understanding he would go by Patch.
Patch. Patchy. Patchy-poo. Patchy-pooser. Pooser. Pooser Bear. Patch is just one of those names that really lends itself to variations. Everyone who knows him, knows him by all of his names. He of course prefers "Power Patch," his super hero alter ego.
Never could there be a name that fits my silly, crazy boy better, and never has there been someone more in love with his name than he is. Patch- It's not just a name, it's a legend!

Best Friends

I think the greatest gift that I have given my kids is the gift of each other. Emily is 3 1/2 years older than Lou. After almost 3 years, Charlie was born, and 3 1/2 years later came Patch. For 10 years I had babies. I always knew I wanted more than one child but how many and the time span in which they were to be born was something I just never really thought about. I just kinda "knew" when it was time to start trying for another. Thankfully, pregnancy came extremely quick for me. (although some might say too quick in the case of that first one. ahem.)
When we decided to try for a baby after Emily, I prayed she would have a sister. Of course, the visions of two beautiful girls dressed prissily in matching frocks polluted my mind, but my overwhelming desire was to "grow" a best friend for Emily. Tucker was of like mind, although everyone just assumed he wanted a boy. He still talks about how annoyed he was when people used to comment on how disappointed he must be that it was another girl! Emily loved her baby sister from the moment she found out she was on her way. Although they have the occasional sibling squabble, they truly are best friends. They are together most of the time and understand one another like no other.
When we decided to have our fourth, which literally was a split moment decision, I thought how fabulous it would be for Charlie to have what Lou and Em have! The girls loved Charlie, but it was undeniable the bond that they shared as sisters. Could having a brother be just as wonderful to my son? Ironically, we were told very early on in my fourth pregnancy that we were expecting a girl. We were happy, but disappointed Charlie would miss out on having a brother. (surely no more Hearnlets after 4!!) For weeks we referred to the baby growing inside me as Clara, and mentally prepared ourselves for little girl #3. However, during a routine ultrasound it was confirmed that this last little baby was in fact a boy! Our little girl had grown a winkie!!
Charlie and Patch are to each other what Lou and Em are. They understand one another in a way no one else does. They are "bubbies" and they are best friends. They have each other now and will forever.
I know I had no hand in my children's birth order, but I marvel at God's perfection. He gave my children each other in the most perfect ways imaginable. They are better people for having each other and I am so very thankful.

Take Me out to the Soccer Field

Because we had so much empty space to fill in our lives, we decided to sign up the 3 year old for soccer. Well, that's not exactly true. Our soccer complex recently started a U4 division, (that is under 4 for all of you non-soccer savvy peeps) and since their practices just so happens to coincide with one of the 20 times we are at the fields each week anyway, we decided to give it a shot.
Patch has grown up on the fields. Soccer has been a huge part of our family since well before he was conceived and he was only a few months old when he went to his first game. He has watched as Louie and then Charlie have toddled their way up and down the field chasing after those balls. When he began walking, he insisted that he, too, had some little ball out there to kick around. A few seasons ago, our league began to phase out the old uniforms for a new style. As Lou and Charlie got their new duds, Patch became the happy recipient of their cast offs. He was so enamoured with them that he would often sleep in them or wear them to school despite the fact that he could fit at least two of his little friends in there with him!!
So the chance to get him out there, intentionally and purposely was really exciting. His first practice was this past Monday. He got his official U4 soccer tshirt (with smiley face soccer ball emblazoned on it) and was assigned his "country"- Italy. Then the head coach called all the little players to sit on the field and listen for instructions. Forty-five 3 and 4 year olds gathered around and hung on this man's every word. They sat still and listened intently to what they would be doing. It was surreal! These little people were so excited to be there, that they weren't gonna risk the chance of having to leave by misbehaving in any way!!
The countries all split up, (so much for the United Nations, huh?)and went out to "practice." This included everything from playing duck, duck goose while dribbling a ball, to playing freeze tag. Essentially they were learning skills the only way kids that age can...through trickery!! But it was fantastic, and they had such a great time!
By the end of practice Little Man was whooped but so very happy! He woke up bright and early the next morning asking if it was another practice day!

The kids have been back in school for a month now and tomorrow is Labor Day. Although the official end to summer is still a couple of weeks away, the summer "as we know it" has come to an end.
Due to the recession's unwelcome presence in our life, this is the first summer in a long time where we vacationed solely at home. Both Tucker and I commented on how much we enjoyed ourselves despite the lack of out of town plans and our busy work schedules. We really made an effort to hang out a lot as a family at the pool and in the yard with the occasional weenie/marshmallow roast. We learned this summer, that vacationing is not about packing a suitcase and traveling by car or plane. We were able to channel that vacationing spirit at home with each other, being silly and cheering each other on.

He finally decided to be a big boy and throw those diapers to the curb! Of course I couldn't be happier, but also amazed at the little person he is becoming. It really seems like he is growing and changing overnight. I am caught between the elation of watching him become a little man and the anguish of knowing the baby stage of my life is fast coming to end.
At school all of the children sang to their mommies for Mother's Day. His performance drove home to me what a big boy he is becoming!

Talkin' Dirty

God sure got me good. He gave me two shiny, sweet smelling baby girls first. They wore beautiful dresses to school and ALWAYS had coordinating hair bows. I reveled in giving them teensie weensie manicures on their itty bitty hands. Life was peaches and cream.
I was excited about having Charlie; up for the challenge. I heard all of the cliches that compare boys to girls. I was not going to buy into those horrid stereotypes. I was, after all, Supermom.
At a really early age, (I'm talkin' fresh outta the hospital, people) I was amazed how sweaty Charlie's little feet were; sweaty AND stinky! My newborn son had smelly feet! Surely not, but oh, yes. Over, the next weeks I was amazed how much dirt would accumulate in his tiny fists and between his toes. I bathed this kid on a regular basis, and it wasn't like he was running any marathons. Dirty, dirty, dirty.
To really drive home the joke, God bestowed upon us a second little stinker. We hadn't seen anything yet! Patch, or Patchy-Poo, as he is commonly referred to, has been the end all be all of dirty, little boys. Picture this Rockwellesque painting: adoring family sitting, gazing at the newborn longingly when suddenly out of nowhere emanates a strong sulfuric odor slowly filling the room. One by one, family members tuck their noses in their shirts and exchange their loving glances to ones of horror. How could that smell come from such a tiny person!!!??? Patch's "teachers" at school quickly realized the ONLY way to feed him without ruining his clothes, was to strip him down to his diaper; even then, somehow he managed to soil clothes that were 10 feet away.
Boys are just like that, I am learning. They thrive in filth and stinkiness. I would love to say my husband is different, but the truth is that he is "just one of the boys." No matter how many toys, books or games they may have, at the end of the day nothing beats a puddle of water or a pile of leaves. The more "one with the filth" they can be the better. A truly successful day is one where they are able to turn their bath water several shades darker.
Despite the seemingly magnetic reaction boys(and men) have to all things gross, we members of grime-opposed gender still love them. Perhaps because of their "condition" we love them more because it gives us something to work on with them. There is a definite sense of accomplishment when you pluck one of these playful ogres out of the swamp and turn them into Prince Charming- even if only for a few hours!

Baby Big Boy

"Bubby" has turned 6 and represents everything Patch wants to be; except potty trained, that is.
I have been called the "Potty Training Nazi" in some circles. I wear the honor proudly. My first three babies potty trained effortlessly and I also have helped dozens upon dozens of my little friends master this feat. Then came Patchy. As I have mentioned before, everything I ever thought I knew about anything flew out the window when he was born.
He goes potty; if he wants to. He is perfectly content to hang onto his little baby status as long as he possibly can. His two big sisters do everything they possibly can do to reaffirm his baby-ness to him. It seems they are all in favor to keep him little forever as well. But less face it folks, he will be a whole lot less cute at six years old, when he has to leave the soccer field so that his mommy can change his diaper.
So, I have resulted in the time honored tradition of bribery. I'm not proud. Sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do. The deal is, when he is "fully potty-trained," that is completely trustworthy in underwear, then we will go to the store and he can pick out a Nerf Gun. The kid who won't use the bathroom is being bribed with a gun. Seems a little like a serial killer in the making, huh?
Bubby has a Nerf Gun and Patch thinks it is the coolest thing in the world. We are hoping he makes the connection between Bubby being a big boy who goes potty and the fact that Bubby has the much coveted toy. We'll see. He's making progress. Slowly- but progress is progress.

The "Whipping" Boy

Patch. He is "whipped" as they say. The object of his love is a little girl, appropriately named Caroline. When he sees her everything makes sense inside that fuzzy, little head of his.
Caroline, who is called Sis by her friends and family, is the daughter of a good friend of mine. She is not your average run of the mill two year old. Since she was teenie-tiny, Sis has had a spunk about her. If she's not happy, you know. If she is bored, you know. If she thinks you look funny, you know. If she just wants to have nothing to do with you, you know. She is the most opinionated little tike I have ever met. Her mother says she's moody, I say she's hysterical. It is like talking to a 14 year old inside a two year old's body!
Patch loves Sis. He thinks she is THE greatest person in the world. He talks about her all of the time, and at school he seeks her out. He has such an overwhelming love for her. Problem is he gets on her nerves! She doesn't want him near her, but like a little puppy he keeps coming back. Her mother asked if Patch was her "boyfriend." Sis said no very vehemently, but acquiesced and said Patch was her "boy." As in "No need to lift a finger, my 'boy' will handle it." Patch could not be happier to fill that position in her life.
Every once in awhile, when no one is looking, Sis has fun with Patch. They will sing together or play together or just act like normal stinky two year olds together. For a moment everything is right with the world. Then Sissy decides Patch really is as annoying as she originally thought and goes back to snubbing him. The beauty of their relationship is that Patch doesn't care. He loves Sissy exactly the way that she is. (and probably BECAUSE of the way that she is!) He never gets his feelings hurt or becomes timid around her. He even has been known to say, "Sissy, you being ugly!" He will always be there for his friend because he just loves her that much, and he knows deep down she loves him, too!

I Know Nuthin'

I am a seasoned mother. There are so few experiences I have not encountered through the raising of my four kids, that I am without a doubt an expert in the subject of parenting. I speak with such overwhelming authority to the parents of the students in my class, because, after all I know everything.
Well...
I think God has an enormous sense of humor. Just to make sure we don't get a little too carried away with our opinions of ourselves, He throws us curve balls every now and then. Like after I had Emily, the most docile child on the earth, I was convinced colic was just something bad parents made up because they couldn't make their babies happy. Enter Baby Elizabeth...I became convinced that I had been wrong with my initial hypothesis. Colic was not only real, it was enough to send someone over the edge.
One would have thought that lesson would have been enough to teach me that my limited experiences, do not make me an expert, but no. (some people never learn)
My final child is Patrick Bryan. Anyone who knows him, knows him by Patch. Patch was what Tucker and I decided to call him way before he was born, in an effort to prevent the inevitable Pat or Patty, and to bless him with a fun and unique name. Thus, Patch. It conjures up images of doctors who dress up as clowns, happy scarecrows, energetic mutts, and dastardly pirates. Perfect!
So this little guy was born and has by far lived up to his name. Every thing I learned in my years as a preschool teacher and a mother is null in the face of my Patch. It is not that he is bad, per se, he just is well, Patch. The only thing I know for sure, is that I can expect what is unexpected.

My Patchy

My baby is almost two.
After having 4 kids, I can finally say that I will never have another. After each prior child, I never felt certain whether or not it would be my last. But we know now, without a doubt, Patch is the last.
I love being a mom, and I have great kids. I remember how I found out I was pregnant with each one of them. I remember the circumstances in which Tucker and I came up with their names. I remember all of the details of each of my pregnancies as if they have just occurred. I can retell my labor and delivery stories over and over and over again. Although, I often didn't feel well, being pregnant and having my babies has been among the most fulfilling things I have ever done.
That book is closed. No more pregnancy tests stashed in the back of the bathroom closet. I can pack up the mountains of pregnancy and baby name books we have acquired in the 10 years it took us to create our family. I will never again have use for those itsy-bitsy onesies, that look so tiny until your baby is born and then are just swimming on him.
I was watching Patch today. He really is phasing out of babyhood. He wants so much to be big like his siblings, it seems he is intentionally speeding up the maturing process! He talks as if he is the authority, and I really need to remind myself that he is only a baby! But baby no more. My little guy is growing up. And as he grows up, so must I. I am no longer that "young mom" who is just starting her family. That phase of MY life is over. Did I subconsciously enjoy that phase so much that I kept it going by procreating? Geez, I hope not!!
Regardless of how old my baby is he will ALWAYS be my baby. (As all of my children will be) Though the realization of him growing up is bittersweet, I am equally as excited to see what is in store for him. His future is limitless, and I believe he has the personality that will seize every moment.
I just don't even know how to end this. Excited for the possibilities that await my littlest one, or melancholy over the end of an era? (gulp) I just really don't know. I think maybe it just doesn't have to end...

Ch-Ch-Ch Changes

This will go down in history as the summer we changed everything. Well, hopefully not everything, but we are doing a whole lot of home improvements. In addition to the kitchen remodel, we have hired a landscaping company to clear out and grade the backyard. It was a collection of massive over growth, and it will be so nice when there will be such room for the kids to run around!! To get the job done, the landscaper has brought in 2 giant, tractory-looking machines. I'm not sure what they are, but the kids sure were excited to see that they had been left behind after the workers called it a day. All 4 kids enjoyed hopping up inside for photo-ops. (Although, I'm quite sure that was not why they were left!!)

Friends Forever

I have four children. Everyone who knows me, knows I'm that lady with the four kids. When we descend upon a grocery store or a public event, the world seems to know it. That being said, I have 4 of the most well behaved children I know. (and in my line of work I know A LOT of children!!) But still, no matter how good they can be, there is still four of them, and I often get those "haven't you figured out where they come from yet?" comments.
I really enjoy being a mom. It is the best thing I have ever done, although I have had some challenges as of late. Apparently, having 4 kids, fairly spaced out in age, presents unique challenges. For example, the 11 year old is on her cell phone, conducting very important business, while in the background the 1 year old is asking for a clean diaper. Alternate universes. It can be a lot to handle.
So, as I try to do in everything, I look for that proverbial silver lining; the nugget of inspiration and hope to carry me through.
All of us went to a party tonight for one of Patch's little school buddies. It was an outdoor party, and the kids spent 2 hours running around in the Georgia heat, and loving every moment. By the time we packed up to leave, our little Patchy had really begun to melt down from exhaustion. His daddy was holding him and talking so sweetly to him, yet all he would cry out for was "Lou Lou." (his name for his sister, Elizabeth) The 8 year old did what neither Daddy or Mommy was capable of at the time, and calmed him down and comforted him as we got in the car and drove home. Once home, and clean, my daughter and my son, snuggled up and fell asleep. Together. All is right with the world.
So, yes, being the mom of 4 is hairy at times. I get frustrated and overwhelmed and feel under appreciated. But tonight I was reminded what an awesome gift God has given me and my husband and children. We have the gift of each other. My kids will ALWAYS have their siblings. When Tucker and I are old, and go crazy, as is inevitable, I'm beginning to believe, they will have each other to lean on. We have each other to learn from, and to grow from- to play with and to spat with. We enhance each other's lives.
Whether it is just a much needed bedtime snuggle, or a personal crisis, we are friends in the truest form-forever.

On the mend...

After a somewhat tumultuous evening, I can confidently say the little guy is doing better. He slept only a few hours in his bed last night and spent the rest of night sleeping upright in his daddy's arms. (this has always been a talent of Tucker's--sleeping upright..hmmm...) This morning I took the day off and Patch and I cuddled and watched cartoon and even played on the floor a little. I managed to get him to eat a bit of banana and of course plenty of Gatorade. By the time 11:00 rolled around, the little guy was beat and slept until I woke him up at 3:30! It's so good that he is finally feeling better and is normal, silly self is beginning to peak out behind the sickness.

Poor sick Patchy

Today Patch was diagnosed with pneumonia. For anyone who knows our story well, you know this is not the first case of a Hearn baby with this. Thankfully, his case seems to be far more mild than Elizabeth's was nearly 5 years ago. But still, the feeling of helplessness to protect my baby came rushing back to me. How dare these yucky germs invade MY Patchy. Who do they think they are? But as I do when all of my little ones are sick, I will think of nothing else until he is his happy, joyful self once again. I will force feed Gatorade and Jello down his throat. I will give him popsicles every time he is willing to take them. I will keep all traces of dairy away from his tiny-mucus filled body. And I will, although I will probably cry while doing it, hold him tight for 15 minutes, three times a day to administer the dreaded nebulizer treatments. I'm a Mommy. It's what I do. It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it. (Thank God that it's me)