Picnic

Before I forget

Auggie is 8 months and 3 weeks old. Yesterday he was 3 months and 8 days old. Or so I thought. He can pick up and eat soggy cheerios, clap his hands, do funny things because he knows it makes us laugh, and though he may not be crawling he can certainly move around enough to get himself into precarious situations. More and more he tells us that he's mad or annoyed, that he's bored with the same old toy or that he really won't just sit and play while I do just one more thing.

He spent most of the last 2 weeks with his tongue hanging out of his mouth. I'm not sure if that feels good, if it's related to all the teeth starting to poke through his gums, or if he just forgets to pull it back in.

I just put him down for a nap. It was a rare moment of stillness for a very active little body. His sleeping face was peaceful and smooth and perfect. For a few minutes I considered staying there with him in my arms, letting his warm body sink into mine and his head rest against my chest. It reminded me of the countless hours I spent with him asleep on my chest while I lounged in bed, resting, reading (more likely watching "tv" on my computer). He'd be sprawled, frog-legged over my belly, his head heavy and cheeks puffed, listening to my heart beat. Every so often his neck would stiffen, rearing backwards, chin in the air, lips pursed like a fish. He'd crane and twist, stretch and wrinkle his face, and eventually fall back into his "pillows," never opening his eyes. Today I wondered if I'd always remember what it felt like to be someone's pillow, someone's absolute source of comfort.

Zzzzzzzz's

You don't often notice exactly when things change in a child's life. It's usually gradual, or too subtle to notice. In August Punkin still talked with a lisp and didn't pronounce his F's or S's, but by Thanksgiving he no longer needed an interpreter. At Christmas Auggie wouldn't be left sitting on his own, in February he required a crash pad of pillows all around him, and now he only falls over when he gets really really excited about something (usually something Punkin is doing).

Well one night, a few weeks ago, I'm pretty sure Auggie hit a new milestone. And it's kinda cool and kinda crazy that I just witnessed a change happen quite literally while he lay in my arms. With a bit of a struggle and whole lot of noise, Auggie fell asleep ALL ON HIS OWN. Ok, so a baby falling asleep on his own certainly has different meaning to different parents. In our house, BABY'S DON'T FALL ASLEEP BY THEMSELVES. It's like an unwritten rule that we didn't really choose but one we've come to accept after much resistance on our part. Up until his 3rd birthday (and still sometimes) Punkin required a warm body to snuggle up to as he dozed off and for much of the rest of the night, too. He inevitably finds his way under our covers and jams his toes into someone's back in the wee hours of the morning.

I can barely remember what bed time was like when Punkin was 8+ months old. I know he wasn't swaddled anymore, that he'd grown out of both the reflux wedge and the swing, and I'm pretty sure it was around that time that he was getting walked to sleep about 50-80% of the time. "Walked" as in strapped into the Ergo or a stroller and hauled all over the neighborhood streets until the humming and soft moaning/groaning drifted away and we were sure his eyes were shut. But then of course there was the second hurdle of getting him from outside the house to inside the bedroom, and from inside said-carrier to out and on the bed. If there were an Olympic sport in putting a sleep-resistant toddler to bed, Veggie and I would be gold medal champions. Sadly, there really isn't much pay out for being so stealthy, but that's not why you do the things you do as a parent.

Back then, walking Punkin to sleep was a survival tactic for us. Now, when I think of the prospect of "walking" Auggie to sleep every night and even on many naps, I think....NO. F'ING. WAY. Oh to be the second child.

So thar night, when Auggie didn't sack out at the boob, wanted nothing to do with bouncing or swaying or rocking or back patting, didn't go for the second attempt at nursing, and wasn't showing much promise in the swing, I chose option C. I laid my squirming, kicking, screaming, punching baby down on the bed, curled around him, rubbed his belly (a constantly moving target with all the writhing and kicking that was going on), and waited with him until the kicking slowed down, the screaming quieted and the hands settled in tight little fists. I didn't think it would happen. I didn't think he'd actually "give in" and go to sleep. But the truth is, there was no "giving in" because there was no more battle. I think when he finally realized that I was right there with him, keeping him warm and safe, and when the yawns started interrupting the screams, he knew it was ok to fall asleep there. It was safe, it was cozy, and there was someone there who'd heard his cries.

We've heard stories of kids being "trained" to sleep on their own, to sooth themselves, to be left to scream for hours until they finally fall asleep from exhaustion, who realize after awhile that despite all their screaming no one is coming to get them, no one is coming to tuck them into the covers and kiss them good night one more time. I chose not to "train" my kids, and for a long time we let Punkin run the show, with various nudges here and there. And now, after 3 years of constant adaptations and various routines, he finally falls asleep all on his own (most nights). I just hope we can be as patient for Auggie...

Update: Auggie's gone back to falling asleep nursing....but then waking up every 3 hours ALL NIGHT LONG. We know it's teething (4+ teeth all pushing through at the same time) and it won't last forever. But I can't decide which sleep pattern I'd prefer: crying to sleep in my arms, but sleeping through the night, or peacefully falling asleep in my arms, only to be up all night long crying in pain. The truth is, it doesn't matter what I'd prefer. I'm just his mom; I don't get to choose.

Teach your children well

Discipline comes from the word "disciple" which means "student." Therefore we should consider every instance of discipline a "teaching moment." But why does every second in life with a toddler have to be a "teaching moment?" I realized yesterday that everything I do, every step I take, every move I make (oh wait....that was just the song on the radio...see what happens to your brain after 2 kids? And you thought your brain on drugs looked bad...).

So what was I saying? Oh yes, some days when I ask Punkin to come get his diaper on, it would be nice if he would just listen to what I'm saying, acknowledge that he heard me say something, and then (GASP!) do what I asked him to do!!! Let's take that logic and apply it to EVERY SINGLE interaction between the two of us. Because there are many days when that NEVER HAPPENS. I ask him to come here, he runs away. I ask him not to hit the dog, he hits her anyway. I ask him to be quiet, he screams in my face. I try to change his diaper, he rolls onto his belly and, if I'm really lucky, farts in my face.

Now the parenting and discipline gurus will tell you these trying moments with your toddler are "teaching moments" and right now I'm just dying for a sabbatical. Can't we get from Point A to Point B without deviating from the course? Can't we just walk in the door, take off our shoes and coats, put them away, and make it through lunch without raising my mommy's-head-will-explode-if-you-do-that-again hackles?

Of course not, which is why we must greet these moments with calm, poise, understanding, a gentle voice and a kind yet firm explanation of why it is so important to mommy that you pay attention and that you are helpful and that, goddammit, you don't go running off to do your own thing because you will do what i say or else...oops. Calm. Poise. You want to draw pictures on the table with your soup? I guess we're all done eating. You don't want the dog to eat your snack? Let's use our words and not our bodies to ask Kdog to move away instead of hitting her on the nose. You feel like making lots of noise? You can go yell in your room.

Yes, life with a toddler is just one "teaching moment" after another, and you bet your ass you're being scrutinized every step of the way because one wrong step and your kid will be telling his therapist 30 years later that's why he hates to be barefoot indoors because his mother always yelled at him if he didn't take his shoes off before stomping around the house and who cares that he lived in Seattle where it was always the rainy season because it was her own damn fault for being too lazy to vacuum the floors more than once a month.

As parents of toddlers in the 21st century we are expected to keep our cool, be generous and gentle, and do everything by the new book(s). I have those books. They sit in my bookcase. Looking all sophisticated and diverse. And one of these days I might actually get around to finishing that one I started in summer of '08. Or maybe starting the one I bought last spring?

So to motivate myself, I plan to read each book and write a short little post on the important facts and skills to learn so that when the time comes I'll have a cheat sheet. Let's see if I ever actually get around to doing this.....

Unconditional Parenting by Alfie Kohn
Positive Discipline by Jane Nelsen
Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child by John Gottman
Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka
Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish

oh, and just because I'm a glutton for punishment we'll throw in the sleep books I never finished since neither kid sleeps well on his own and I could really use help:

Sleepless in America by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka
The No-Cry Sleep Solution for Babies and The No-Cry Sleep Solution for Toddlers by Elizabeth Pantley
Nighttime Parenting by William Sears
Sleep is for the Weak by Rita Arens

(Ok that last one is just for fun...it's sleep humor from some of the best "mommy bloggers" out there). I suppose I should have put them in ascending order, shortest to longest, since some get over 400 pages. I'll save those for last.

Wish me luck!

pile driver

That's what has taken up residence in my cranium the past 5 days. A pile driver. With big honkin' blocks o' cement being driven through my frontal cortex and out my left eye socket.

Yes, my friends, I am sick. Again. And I'm so done with being sick. I've had the sinus infection to end all sinus infections, and I'm not the only one suffering from it. Veggie's had to miss 2+ days of work and Punkin, while ecstatic that dada has been home every day for 4 days straight, is a little miffed about mama's laissez-faire attitude lately. I mean jeeze, the woman hasn't done a load of laundry in 5 days and he's running out of clean pants and pj's!

But seriously, he's definitely noticed my hands-off parenting style of late and has greeted it with equal, if not more, indifference towards me. That is, he could care less if I'm in the room as far as I can tell. Veggie says I'm being overly sensitive, but yesterday Punkin actually said quite clearly "NO!" when asked if he wanted to nurse at bed time. I instantly realized what it would feel like to have your baby self-wean. Of course, he was happily nursing 30 minutes later and I was convinced we had at least another day before I became completely replaceable.

Ducks in a Row

My mother likes to collect things. All sorts of things, but mostly antiques. She has multiple sets of antique painted glass juice jars that fill most of the cabinet above her "mini-bar" that we are not allowed to use. Ever. Yes, I find this completely ridiculous and a total waste of space in an already very crowded house. But that's her prerogative.

She's even tried to get me, and now my son, to become collectors, too. When I was in college she decided my interest in marine biology justified having a collection of rubber ducks, but when I showed a lack of interest in collecting them myself, she collected them for me. And mailed them to me. I guess the upside of her weird obsession is that now Punkin has a large collection of rubber duckies for his bathtub. She also has started a collection of wind-up toys for Punkin, and I'm ashamed to say this one was rather contagious. Shortly after we arrived back in Seattle I saw some wind-ups at a toy store that my mother didn't have and I couldn't help myself - I slapped down $6 for those suckers.

I documented a few of her wackier purchases this summer and I'll share them with you over the next few weeks. Sorry - I didn't get a picture of the glasses. I didn't think they were that interesting.

Piss Poor

My day has gone from cranky, tired, headache day in crummy cloudy cold Seattle (it's AUGUST people!!!) to that day where I might finally sell the kid to some gypsies and take off to live alone in Taos, New Mexico (I've always thought single people with a rebellious streak and a love of the outdoors would run away to a dessert mountain town - I think I've been reading too much Barbara Kingsolver).

Since I've gotta blame someone for my $h!tty day, I've decided it's the U.S. women's gymnastic team for keeping me up till midnight, and my husband (of course - who doesn't blame their spouse when everything goes wrong at home and they're not here?), and my family (of course - easy target). (I guess that's more than just someone).

It started off with Punkin wetting the bed at 7:15 this morning. Yes he was wearing a diaper, yes we have a mattress cover, yes it still managed to soak the mattress, and yes, I'm talking about my mattress, not his.

After my husband told me not to worry about it and my mother told me to put the mattress out in the sun (um, it weighs close to 500lbs and I live in Seattle. where it's raining. IN AUGUST!!!), I then found some extensive advice online and spent 2 hours trying to follow that advice while simultaneously dealing with a toddler who has decided he's going to act as much like a 2 year old as he possibly can today. The result? I managed to taco the mattress in my attempt to stand it up on end for air drying and Punkin "enjoyed" his first time-out. And I know you'll likely tell me how useless and maybe even cruel it is to put an 18 month old in time-out, and perhaps you're right, but I have not and will never declare myself a perfect mother. And Punkin quickly amused himself in his high chair singing his Punkin songs and making zooming and crashing noises.

The mattress saga continues since I must wait for it to dry out before the next step in the cleaning process, but Punkin is finally napping and we managed to get some fresh air (and blackberries!) during a brief moment of sunshine. Thank goodness for walks in the sun.

Happy 4th of July....Now What??

Our little nuclear family celebrated a relatively low-key 4th watching the local parade and spending time with relatives. I wish I had fabulously interesting stories to tell you about it, but Punkin was just as unimpressed with the holiday as he was last year...


The end of the holiday weekend also brought the end of Veggie's vacation. So now I am at my parents' house, in coastal Massachusetts, living the life of a single parent for 3 WHOLE WEEKS. I am such a wimp - I am terrified. I am NOT cut out to be a single parent. I applaud single parents around the globe. I know in most cases it is not a mother or father's choice to raise children alone, without a mate. But still, whether you choose to or not, YOU ROCK....and I don't.

SO, besides feeling sorry for myself, which I was told is really "unattractive" and which really isn't fair since I am spending my summer at the beach and not in a stuffy office somewhere, I've come to the realization that I must have something to do. (In all my spare time - haha). But seriously, I can't spend the next 3 weeks sitting on the beach watching Punkin carry bucket-fulls of sand back and forth without going TOTALLY INSANE. Maybe I've got a bit of A-D-D, maybe I'm just plain crazy. But I need some sort of project, something to occupy my mind, the time Punkin spends napping, and the time Grandma DD "babysits."

I've got several ideas so far - reading a few good books, making a First Year photo album for Mr. P. But in the off chance I get bored with those, I'd love to hear your suggestions. What would you do with 3 weeks at the beach and no companion??

Testing testing...1...2...3

The other day Veggie read aloud a paragraph from his summer reading. It went something like this:

"The reason two year olds are so 'terrible' is because they are constantly testing boundaries...aka 'what will make Mom-mom go so insane that she starts beating herself with my rubber ducky? Oh, let's do that again...and again...and again...oh look, now she's slamming her head against a wall...hmmm, let's do that again....' Two year olds will continue to make these so-called 'experiments' to learn how others feel differently than they do towards certain actions...aka 'Mom-mom doesn't seem to like it when I play with the doggy's water bowl and suck the water off my fingers. Wow, she still doesn't like it. I wonder if she'll like it now? Hmmm...what does it mean when Mom-mom's face turns red and her eyes look like a dead fishy's and she's making lots of loud noises?'

He may not be a terrible two yet, but Punkin is already knee-deep in experimentation with mommy's frayed nerves. Experiment #57 for today: Does Mom-mom like to play the game "Flip-flop on the changing table?" The answer is decidedly "NO." An over-tired Punkin immediately began to protest when I laid him down on the changing table for a fresh, nap-time diaper. He soon switched from a pissed off wail to all out giggles as he repeatedly flung his body towards the edge of the table so I could catch him in midair and flip him back over. I told him to STOP and STAY STILL and he heard MORE and THAT WAS FUNNY. Pretty soon he was laughing hysterically and I was hanging by a finger nail from the end of my proverbial rope. When I finally pinned him down and gave him my best Mom-mom-is-very-serious stare, his giggles melted seamlessly into cries.

With the diaper finally secured, I unceremoniously plopped him on his bed. His crying had turned to deep, guttural wails and the flood gates had opened. After cleaning up the table, I followed him to the top of the stairs where he was now attempting to descend head-first towards Veggie, who had climbed halfway up in anticipation of an all-out Mama-Punkin meltdown. The wailing reached new levels of sorrow when Veggie refused to pick him up for fear of undermining my attempts at "discipline." After a few minutes we all headed to bed because, after all, the purpose was to get Punkin to take a nap now that he was 2 hours past due. Despite my attempts to reconcile, Punkin continued to cry and, just to rub it in, scrambled up over Veggie in an attempt to get as far away from me as possible. When he finally gave in and curled up to me, his usual nursing sounds punctuated by hiccuping and sniffling and the rapid, post-melt-down breathing, I put all of my heart into soothing him to sleep and decided perhaps I'd continue to let the experimentation persist just a little bit longer.

Sometimes I can be a real hardass, but most of the time I'm a total sucker.

Choices

What kind of mom am I? No one can truly be categorized, but some people have come really close. I won’t name names....they might be reading ;) But if I’m sticking mommies in little boxes, it makes me wonder if mommies are sticking me in a neat little glossy package, like Barbie Housewife - Comes complete with screaming toddler, towering pile of real Barbie laundry (unfoldable of course), scruffy unwashed dog with real shedding fur, and a tiny Barbie kitchenette complete with dirty dishes overflowing from the sink with real scratch and sniff moldy food!

But seriously, after a year plus of parenting I’ve done quite a bit of reflecting on the choices I’ve made, or rather stumbled through, in raising my son. And I figured those who don’t know me already might be curious to know what “kind” of parent I am. (Or, more likely, this is just an excuse for some personal naval gazing...feel free to go take a nap).

For the most part, I guess I’ve been leaning in the direction of what I like to call “Hippie Parenting.” That is, we use cloth diapers, I still nurse my toddler, have a family bed, buy organic food, wooden toys, etc, etc. But, as I like to say, I’m no purest. When I meet “Real Hippie Parents” I feel I am closer to “Crackpot Poser Hippie Parent” cause, you know, I’ve got plastic in my house, in my kid’s toys and sippies and bedding, because even though I try to discourage relatives from buying him plastic things, it’s not worth alienating anyone. My kid has tasted refined sugar. By the pound. (Seriously, I once found him in my mother’s kitchen, sitting amidst a sea of sugar, proudly shaking the torn Domino box). I let him watch tv. The Bachelor is his favorite - all those pretty girls getting drunk off their a$$es and running around in skimpy bikinis trying desperately to have their 30 seconds of fame. It’s sure to prepare him for dating in the real world, right?

But the more I learn about parenting, the more I play voyeur into the lives of other parents (bloggers especially), the more I realize we’re all “Crackpot Poser Perfect Parents.” I mean, no one’s really truly perfect, right? No one takes on a mantra and sticks to it to a T, right? Or if they did, truly parent perfectly, that is, their kids would turn out totally f-ed up, right? Right? RIGHT??? It’s thoughts like these that allow me to continue breathing, to feed my kid bread when he really needs his spinach, to have friends over even though the couch is covered with laundry and they have to sit on the floor instead, to let Punkin play with the lead-covered tonka trunk my mom pulled out of her closet, and all the other crap I let slide.

At least we’ve taught him to enjoy a good micro-brew...

His Bad Mother

Like many families, we have a drawer in our kitchen at perfect Punkin height filled mostly with innocent tupperware and wooden spoons. I often let Punkin play with the items in this drawer entirely unsupervised because, well, how could he possibly hurt himself with tupperware? So the other day I decided that I should take out the hand mixer because, who knows, maybe that wasn’t such a good toy. Once I removed the mixer, I noticed something else in the drawer that probably wasn’t such a good toy - a cheese grater. So I took that out, too, and a few other things, and then low and behold I had gathered the items below, all rescued from the “safe” baby drawer. Those funny white triangle things are inserts for a mandolin...you know, with different sized blades on the ends. And yes, that is a meat cleaver, and no, I didn’t put that in there just for show...

Baby Things

Mighty Girl has posted an excellent list of top baby things (useful ones, in fact!) and I had to second her recommendations. Out of her list, I couldn't have survived the first year without the My Breast Friend nursing pillow, a co-sleeper, universal car seat carrier, Happiest Baby on the Block, the kiddopotamus swaddling blanket, a Medela breast pump, and a video camera. I'm also a big fan of the American Apparel baby karate pants.

Check out the list (and the suggestions by other readers!).

Why I love my new camera

Hammin' it up for the camera...



Inspecting canine nose hairs...


Pretending to be Martha Stewart...

Thinking In Tens

I’m copying ScienceMama, only my answers are soooooo boring!

In Ten Minutes: I will be watching tonight’s episode of Bachelorette. My husband would join me on the couch...if there was room.

In Ten Hours: I will be feeding my son breakfast and hopefully able to stomach some myself. Recovery is oh so slow...

In Ten Days: I will either be home, in Seattle, up to absolutely nothing important; or I will be in Massachusetts, bored silly, up to absolutely nothing important.

In Ten Weeks: It will August in Seattle. My basement will be finished! (I hope) My new kitchen will be all planned and ready to take shape. (I hope)

In Ten Months: I will have a two year old on my hands. I will most likely be pregnant. Shhhh....don’t tell!

In Ten Years: I will be happy, wherever we’ve settled, with my 3 kids, 2 dogs, 1 husband (or maybe 2 - just to spice things up a bit) and a career I love that allows me to enjoy time with my family and everyday successes.

What are you doing in the next Ten???

Sick

I could make many excuses for my absence.

But I won’t. I’ll just tell you about the last few days I’ve spent IN HELL.

This week, the one we’re finishing right now apparently, with a so-called “holiday weekend,” this week has been a really really bad week. I’m not sure what has been worse: holding my squirming, crying, pissed off toddler, trying lamely to comfort him when all he wants is BOOB mom, come on just a little BOOB, but I am under strict orders not to whip it out as often as he’d like because I might pass out from the dehydration. Or spending all night running back and forth from bed to bathroom wishing I had a bedpan and crossing my fingers I won’t make a mess in the bed if I sleep right through but kinda wishing I could just sleep right through it because the pain in my gut is so excruciating when it wakes me up at 3 am that I’d rather just not be here for it and stopping short on more than one occasion from asking my husband, “Could you get me more pedialyte...and maybe some dry toast...oh and could you pick me some depends while you’re out?”

Yeah, that’s what 5 days with a stomach flu will do to you. I figure if I finally break down and really do ask for the Depends ya might as well just take me out back and shoot me and save us all some trouble. It’s better then letting the nurses try to stick me with needles again ‘cause oh was that FUN with a capital F.

Punkin thinks his mommy is one cruel b&%ch for sleeping in the guest room all week, never playing with him, and taking away his all-access pass to Boobyland (and even if I tried to explain that it was really the mean doctor that took away his all-access pass to Boobyland, and that I didn’t want to keep him up all night with my tossing and turning and stomping in and out of the room each time my tummy gurgled, I don’t think he’d really forgive me. Not really. Especially since it looks like today, when his tummy gurgled, Oh did it feel not so good down there, no sirree. And you know who he can blame for that? Oh yeah, yours truly).

The funny thing about all this (and yeah, there is a funny thing - just one though) is that I don’t really care that I spent my birthday curled in a ball in bed with a 102 fever and drenched in sweat, because you know it wasn’t really my birthday. Nope. As far as I’m concerned my birthday just hasn’t happened yet. Of course, it would have been nice to go to Cirque du Soleil like Veggie had planned ‘cause he’s a freakin awesome husband, but I’m just not going to think about it ‘cause what’s the point?

And I do have to hand it to Veggie for being the World’s Greatest Husband this week (sorry ladies, but he is and he’s not giving up the title any time soon). Not only did he take time off work to take care of me and Punkin, but he also arranged for friends and babysitters to come over when he had to work, changed my sheets when I soaked them with fevered sweat, scrubbed the tub so I could safely soak in it after 4 days of stinking up the house, made me jello and soup broth and dry toast and pedialyte cocktails, woke up in the middle of the night to rub my back and put me in bed after I’d collapsed in a miserable lump on the bathroom floor, and never once complained. Not once.

Being sick can actually be rather freeing. For once I don’t care that the house is a mess, there’s laundry to be done and a fridge full of rotting food. Maybe I should get sick more often.

Or not.

Sunshine

Enjoying what little bit of sunshine Seattle has to offer this Spring.

YIPPEE-KAI-YAI-YAY

I just hired my first ever babysitter. This is MAJOR cause for celebration. I thought about taking the whole fam out for a celebratory dinner, but decided to make a regular fiesta dinner.

I never thought it would take 13 months for me to get around to hiring a babysitter. I never thought we’d go on only two dates in one year. I also never thought it would take me 13 months to realize this was a problem. A MAJOR problem.

But she’s coming and I promise not to scare her away. Or at least I’ll try.

Fly Away Home

I used to love going home. Love it. In college, I’d stick my stressed out brain and a bag of laundry in the car and head home and the minute I walked in the door all the tests and other crap would just disappear and I’d happily let my mom cook for me while I downed wine with my dad and let the dog slobber all over my jeans. But I’m not a college kid any more, and home is here, in Seattle, with Veggie, Kdog, my crappy kitchen and my basement drowning in 18 loads of laundry. And now when I go “home” to see my family, I bring my stress with me...in the form of a 33 inch (give or take) munchkin who randomly decides to nurse like a newborn and keep me up all hours of the night. I should have known I was in for trouble when mealtimes with Punkin became a losing battle just days before we headed east. But how was I to know his erupting molars and wonky tummy would send him on an all out hunger strike? And no amount of tylenol or infant motrin would seduce him to sleep more than 2 or 3 hours at a time?

Well, I didn’t, and he did, and after many days of sleepless nights and letting him literally suck me dry all day long I finally came to several conclusions (which I may or may not disregard in my fickle way once we’re back to some semblance of normalcy).

1) From now on nursing will be on my terms, dear sir, and no more than, oh....3 times a day? Or is that too harsh? I’ll come up with a number...maybe tomorrow...and then, dammit we’re stickin to it, ya hear me? No more slamming yer head into my chest every time you’re thirsty - you’ll get water and like it! No more furious grunting each time you bonk yer head - can’t we just cuddle and not drain mommy of every last drop of energy she has? Do I sound a bit mean and undone. Well, perhaps that’s because I am. Undone. Thanks to you, little man, I walk around supermarkets with my bra hanging loose cause my brain can’t be bothered with remembering silly details like that.

2) Git out of my bed! Give me back my husband. I want to snuggle with him for a change. You need to learn to sleep. On your own. I’ll be hear for nightmares and sick times, but nothing more. I am drawing the line and taking back my sleep...tomorrow....or maybe next week?

3) I’m taking back my brain. The fog has been lifted. I am not pure-mom material. I must use my brain for things other than feeding, folding, fierce tantrums and foolish fun. I must take time to be away...from the house, the chores, the child, the endless hours of sitting on the living room floor. I am going to seek employment and I wish my boss, for at least part of the week, to be over 4 ft tall and speak in full sentences. Or maybe not. Maybe just for now I’m going to take a few hours each week for myself.

Will I finally cut that umbilical cord? I never bother making New Year’s resolutions...Check back in a few weeks and I’ll tell you just how fickle I really am.

Correction

I said in an earlier post that Punkin was 95% bigger than other 1 year olds. While I would love to tell you this is indeed true because then you might understand just why my arms fell off yesterday and must be surgically reattached to my body, he is not actually 95% bigger. This would make him, oh, about 47 lbs and over 4 feet tall. yeahhhhhh....no.
He's just bigger than 95% of other 1 year olds. Thanks for the correction, Veggie. My brain has officially left on permanent vacation.

One step for mankind...

Yesterday Punkin took a step. One step. No help. One step. Nothing to hold onto. One step.

Veggie and I attempted to restrain our excitement. You know, so we didn't scare Punkin away from a repeat performance. We didn't do such a good job. You would have thought the taxman had come to our door and said "HERE'S A MILLION BUCKS, TAX FREE, GO CRAZY!!"


I whipped out the video camera, Veggie propped up the little man again, and we prepared to document step #2 properly.

All we got was a giggling, noodle-legged baby that thought this ridiculous game was just too funny but ok parents now that's enough and I have toys to play with so LEAVE ME ALONE. thank you.

All attempts to elicit more steps have been mocked.