Jack and Kate

Our kids are named Jack and Kate, but it's not because we're huge fans of the show "Lost." (Although putting Jack, Kate, and Lost in the same sentence like that will probably have this blog turning up in more online searches. I'm Sawyer, er, sorry about that.) We decided on "Jack" before the show even aired. I think our decision on "Kate" came down to just wanting to have a strong female name that went well (but not too well, so no "Jane" or "Jill") with Jack. And there you go.

One of our major early worries was Jack's treatment of Kate. While we were doting over her, how would he react? Would he be terribly resentful? Jealous? Play too rough with her, intentionally or accidentally? The first few weeks, when all she did was sleep while we passed her around like a little burrito from relative to relative, he wanted to be in the mix, always wanting to hold her. We went along with that by making him wash his hands, positioning him on the couch with huge pillows (or one of us) on either side of him, then placing her gently into his arms like she was made of glass. Jack was funny (probably feeding off our exaggerated caution and nervousness) -- he went stiff as a board, with legs and arms outstretched as she lay, blinking, in his arms. After about 10 seconds, Jack said "I all done...." And we gratefully plucked her out of his arms and reassured him about how well he did. In retrospect, we went a bit overboard.

The thrill of holding Kate gradually wore off, at which point Jack's interaction with Kate primarily involved singing to her. When he was younger, his cousins sang "Bay-bee Jack, Bay-bee Jack, Bay-bee Jack, we love you." Jack remembered that well enough that when Kate was crying or upset, he'd sing "Bay-bee Kate....Bay-BEE Kate....Baby Kate....How much is today." Or something similar which was part lullaby and part gibberish. Other times he'd speak to her, try to engage her, say, "What's the MATTER, baby?" Sometimes it would soothe her, and sometimes she'd cry even harder. Jack generally responded to that by singing louder, shouting "BABY KATE! How much is to DAY!" Good times on a long car ride.

Now Kate's 5 months old, and over the past month their relationship has changed yet again. She's fascinated by him. Unless Kate's starving, it's useless for Emily to try and nurse her with Jack in the room. She cranes her neck around to see where he is and what he's doing, even if we're only doing a puzzle or pushing one of his cars around. Jack, for his part, now recognizes this, and has started playing to the audience. He comes up close to her and talks to her, chattering away in a goofy voice, and singing. And at last, Kate reacts, bubbling over with laughter and fixing her eyes on him as he dances back and forth. Jack gradually loses interest (as he does with everything, gradually; he's 3) and wanders off, and her eyes follow him across the room. I'm probably only imagining her being disappointed, and hoping he turns around and comes back.

The other day we went to the Stepping Stones Museum in Norwalk, where little kids can run and play with various science-themed gadgets and devices. For Jack, this meant picking plastic balls out of one pool of water and putting them into another one, where they'd be swept into a whirlpool and carried down into another one -- at which point Jack would grab them and the process would start all over again. I think he did this for approximately 2 hours, give or take. Kate, meanwhile, spent most of the morning in the Baby Bjorn on my chest, watching Jack, smiling, momentarily concentrating, reaching out toward him, reacting to him.

Really, not so much different than us.