Our new neighbor moved in just last month. I didn’t read about the real estate transaction in the newspaper because she did not purchase her small home. She’s a squatter. We don’t take kindly to squatters in this neighborhood.

I did feel a little sorry for her because she must have been desperate. It’s a tough time of year to be pregnant – what with the heat, the humidity and the extra long days. I speak from experience – my first baby was born in September and that was the longest summer of my life. At least I had a comfortable nest, which is more than I can say for my new neighbor, the fat robin who moved in during July.

July? What was she thinking? Obviously, she wasn’t.

The robins in the past who have found our yard an ideal maternity setting were birds of late March and April. The latest I ever remember seeing new chicks was May.

Five or six times in the twelve years I’ve lived here, Mrs. Robin, or many Mrs. Robins, built nests in the early spring – usually on the porch. They mostly tucked themselves into a corner of the bakers rack or atop the cornices. And they always made a terrible mess. I willingly cleaned up their crud because I loved watching them build their little twiggy cradles. The glorious blue eggs, the hatchlings, the busily commuting parents, the sprouting tail feathers – those three or four weeks always brought me joy of the discovery. The discovery a few weeks ago was in the rhododendron by the front door.

We have a faucet extender and a hose outlet wired into the bush for convenience in watering the flowers out front. Dear Richard does most of the watering so imagine my surprise when reaching in to the secret spot and being startled by a mother robin who barely missed my head as she rapidly skedaddled. Her nest is about a foot and a half west of the spigot – as the crow flies.

And now this poor, food-fetching creature has delivered her second or third clutch of baby robins who hatched the first day of August.

That’s right – second or third. With the arrival of these baby robins being so out of season, at least to my limited knowledge, I decided I needed some more info. I Googled ROBINS / gestation period and learned quite a bit:

“Mother robins may start incubating their eggs during the evening after the second egg is laid, or after all the eggs are laid. They sit on the eggs for 12 to 14 days. Even in good weather, she rarely leaves her eggs for more than 5 to 10 minutes at a time.” Yikes – I remember sleeping only two or three hours between feedings being a hardship. I was a zombie and had to walk just to the crib and the kitchen. Not only does this poor thing have to muster up the energy to fly, she has to go hunting for their worms and bugs. Whadda crummy deal. And it gets worse:

“Frequently the care of the fledged young is left to the male, while the female prepares herself for the next nesting effort. Robins have two broods a year. Three successful broods a year is not uncommon, and in a good year even four are known.” In a good year? Are you kidding me? No woman wrote that piece of information.

I’ve always noticed that mother robins look pretty ratty after they lay their eggs . . . their feathers are scruffy and they look pekid – weak. Now I know that they lose more than half of their body weight (that they’ve been hauling around all through the construction period) and suddenly, job finished, babies in the nest, they’re supposed to look attractive to Mr. Robin so they can do this again – and again. No week at the beach? No dinner out preceded by a martini?

And then I read that one of the reasons for all this manic motherhood is because only a little more than half the babies survive. And I get that too. Imagine being just two weeks old with brand new feathers popping out every time you roll over in your snug, round bassinet. Then the two big guns who’ve been delivering the grub, kick you out of your warm, cozy world and you spend your first night on a branch, never to go back “home.” The unlucky fledglings who are girls have no idea what lies ahead. Predators are a reality and they don’t all make it to full-fledged flight status.

Richard and I are being very careful this week around the rhododendron. There’s a lot of full-beak deliveries by both parents. I’ve seen the scraggly mom hopping across the roof a few times, looking lost, confused and tired. I know what she’s thinking: “Is this all there is?” I feel so sorry for her.

I considered adding some gin to the water fountain but I checked with the Audubon Society and they discouraged it – mostly because of the vermouth. Oh, and olives aren’t on the robin’s diet.

Poor baby, take heart. Labor Day is right around the corner.