Bits and bytes.

Kiddle: "Mommy, get off my computer!"
Me: "Excuse me? It's MY computer. I just let you use it."
Kiddle: "NO, Mommy. That's MY computer. YOU. GET. OUT. OF. THERE."

Wow. Needless to say, I did not get out of there.

***

We're not going to make it to Oklahoma for Christmas this year, so my mom ordered some gifts for the boys. You know, ON THE COMPUTER. She managed to get Kiddle's Imaginext Gorilla Mountain ordered from Walmart with only one phone call to me. Pretty good so far. But then she emailed me that when she ordered a puzzle from Amazon for Kiddle, she accidentally ordered TWO. Seriously. How does one do that? I can see missing the "2" in the quantity box, but it seems like the total cost should have tipped her off. God bless her.

It does make me wonder what technology will be in place in 20-30 years that stumps me to the point of driving Kiddle and Bigga crazy. I just try to keep that in mind whenever my mom is gearing up to place some orders. Patience ... patience.

***

Several years ago — you know, when I had a real job and was paid to be on the computer excessively — my right wrist was bothering me to the point that I had to switch my mouse over to the left side. And LIKED it. I could still write with my right hand and manipulate a document with the left, or, even more importantly, eat my lunch and surf around online. That practice was carried over to home and continues to this day, much to the annoyance of Mr. P anytime he tries to hop on my computer for a quick look at something.

But I decided to sacrifice my convenience for the kiddo. You see, he's got GREAT gross motor skills and pretty good fine motor skills. Or so I thought. Apparently school doesn't think so, simply because he can't draw a circle or use scissors very well. But he doesn't like to do those things so I hadn't pushed him too hard in the artsy-craftsy fields. What he does like to do is while away his time on the computer, which certainly requires a bit of fine motor coordination. He gets lots of practice — with his LEFT hand. And he's a righty. Whoops.

So I've officially switched back to a right-handed mouse. I know, I know, what a wonderful mom I am, giving up my ability to eat a sandwich while keeping myself updated on my Facebook friends' minutiae and all. And hopefully I'll find the sacrifice was worth it when Kiddle's school notebook is full of perfect circles, expertly cut out snowflakes, and in-the-lines colouring.

Kiddle-isms

Kiddle's speech has improved dramatically in the last month or so. He's probably still a bit hard to understand if you don't know him, and there are certainly times WE don't know what he's saying either. But lately I've been so impressed with his clarity, his increased flexibility in using language and that he's adding words or phrases or concepts that he's picked up at school and — this is the important part — I CAN UNDERSTAND HIM. Before, if I didn't know exactly what he was saying, or couldn't put it in context, it was all gobbledy-gook.

So I'm retiring the title of Mush Mouth. Going forward, his always interesting, and often funny, approach to language will be known as "kiddle-isms."

***

It's always amused me to hear my words come back to me out of the mouth of a three year old, and now I have the added enjoyment of hearing his teacher and classmates, too. Lately he's started saying "unh-uh" (as in, "Do you want peanut butter for dinner?" "Unh-uh!") and I can just picture Ms Tara's face everytime he pops out an, "Oh my gosh!"

***

Two of his favourite animals in the jungle? A pink-a-mingo and a croc-a-idle. Too cute!

That is not a handle!

I'm so tired of Bigga using my ponytail as a handle and all the pulling and grabbing of my hair in general. I mean I'm REALLY tired of it. To the point that I don't like to pick him up right now and I have to carry him facing away from me. I swear his first words will be, "Let go. Let GO! LET GO!!!"

I told Mr. P that one of these days I'm going to chuck him across the room in frustration ... but unfortunately he'll be attached to my head, so that won't work. I'd just end up tossing myself with him.

At least he hasn't discovered my earrings ... so far. But I'm sure that the day he realizes they're there will be the day I lose an ear.

Freddy Finklestein.

Kiddle recently realized that his fingers get all wrinkly when he's been in the bath a long time ... or sucking on his fingers while on the computer.

"Look, Mommy," he said one day with concern. "Look at my fingers."
"It's ok, sweetie. They're just wrinkled because you had them in your mouth. They'll be ok again after they dry out."

He tried rubbing them on his pants a bit, but eventually gave up and moved on. Until the next afternoon when, once again, he had taken over my computer. A while later he dashed into the living room to find me:

"Mommy, Mommy! Look! I have FINKLES!"

Don't push ...

I'm a woman on the edge.

We'd been talking about Mr. P going to Dallas with some buddies in December. Kind of a belated birthday celebration, I suppose. And I truly want to him to go and have fun. After all, it's not his fault I'm tethered to a nursing baby ... but I also resent the hell out of him for it. Especially when I found out he'd booked the trip — and it's Friday to MONDAY. I said, "Great, but you owe me big time for this." And he, Mr. Funny, said, "Huh-uh. You had your trip booked and didn't go. You missed your chance."

Oh, you mean the to-DC-and-back-in-one-day trip I had planned — TAKING BIGGA BIT WITH ME — that I had to cancel because Bigga cracked his skull and couldn't fly? Because I was worried I didn't have enough milk pumped and didn't want to strand you with a screaming, hungry baby? AND because I was sick? THAT trip?!

His attempt at levity was met with a silence so cold I'm surprised he didn't shiver. That's right. I'm so close to losing it, my sense of humor already packed its bags and left. Well, I guess he finally realized just how fragile my remaining sanity is, because he leapt into action and planned an afternoon of pampering at a spa in the city with my dear friend. A head-to-toe package with a massage, facial, manicure and pedicure. AND dinner. AND I'm spending the night at her place.

He even got me a sweet card, created a little certificate explaining the plan and slipped the card in with the mail. But naturally I just grabbed the usual pile of catalogs and junk out of the mailbox and chucked it all on the entryway table. "Anything good in the mail?" he said. "Oh, I don't know," I replied, dashing his hopes of an extra bit of surprise. "I didn't look through it."

Other than running errands on Fridays when I have a babysitter, I can literally count the hours — if it even adds up to hours — I've had to myself in the last six months. So I'm really looking forward to a bit of me-time. In all honesty, it won't fix what ails me. I'm so tired and disorganized and uninspired, and I know that in the end it's really up to me to get myself out of this funk. But a day at the spa ain't a bad way to start.

Tubful of monkeys

Bigga's first bath in the "big boy" tub. Kiddle has been vehemently against sharing his tub with Bigga, but tonight he finally relented. And loved it.

Mommy the Sailor

Well, it's official. I have to start watching my mouth around Kiddle.

I know that I've been saying that for a while. And I've eliminated (ok, maybe just cut back) on the really offensive bad words around Kiddle. But I'm not that careful about things like "damn," "crap" and a well-timed "JEEES-US CHRIST!" But no more, no more. I really have to stop.

We went to Queens today for Thanksgiving dinner with Mr. P's family. (Now THAT is a place to learn some colourful language!) Nothing interesting to report — except that on the way there, we passed a minor car accident. A Mercedes had rear-ended a BMW and the two drivers were standing in front of the cars, assessing the damage. I let out a little laugh as I drove past and said, "A BMW and a Mercedes? I guess those guys will have to dick it out." And what do I immediately hear from the back seat? A sweet little echo saying, "Dick it out!"

Whoops! Yep, it's official.

I thought I felt a breeze ...

Today I have my pajama bottoms on backwards. Not on purpose, you know (although I'm sure Kiddle would find that hysterically funny). I just happened to put them on that way last night and was too lazy to turn them around. And as I sat here this morning, working on the computer, I looked down and saw:

And thought, "Wow. I guess it's time for some new pants, huh?" Mr. P never mentioned I have at least six holes on my butt. Should I be grateful that he obviously doesn't look at my ass that closely? Or annoyed?

And then I thought, "I've had these pajama bottoms for over seven years." Really. I got them — with a cute coordinating tank top, of course — for my fateful trip to Cali to visit Mr. P oh so long ago. (On a side note, don't you just love the super sexy approach to lingerie for my first weekend with my then-future husband? Cotton PJs with a shelf bra? HOT!) Let's just hope their current shape isn't a reflection on the current condition of our relationship.

Six Month Checkup, Part I

Bigga's six-month checkup was today ... but nothing to report. Just as we got started, the office received a call that the gas station next to the building was on fire and we had to evacuate. So I grabbed all our stuff, hoisted my half-naked baby under my arm and dashed out the back door. And this is what we found:

Damn! They weren't kidding. I'll admit it was hard to make my nosy self actually leave the scene, but I figured my super-cautious pediatrician wouldn't approve of me standing around with a baby next to a gas station fire, especially with all the mini-explosions we could hear. And even I knew it wouldn't be a good scene if the pumps and tanks went up too, so I snapped a quick pic and got us out of there lickety-split.

The crazy thing is that I was planning to go to that station next to get my leaky tire fixed. And, as Mr. P pointed out, thank goodness I didn't leave my car there and just walk over to the appointment. I would definitely be sans car. Disorganization wins out in this case because I thought Bigga's appointment was at 10:30, but it was actually at 10:00 so I didn't have time to get there early.

And maybe it was a good thing after all that the doctor didn't get a good look at my kid today. First of all, he was DIRTY. I won't actually admit to how long it's been since he's had a bath. And, unbeknownst to me, he must have pooped just after he woke up this morning. I didn't realize it until I got Kiddle out the door to school, so by the time I changed him, his butt was looking a bit red and ugly. Plus, his ears needed to be q-tipped desperately. Fortunately for him, he doesn't seem to have inherited Mr. P's nasty ear wax (like Kiddle did), but his ears were looking pretty gross. And, to top it all off, I trimmed his nails the other day and obviously shaped one of his big toenails into a tiny little dagger. He has long red scratches all over the back of one leg. So he wasn't exactly the best example of maternal care today. Sorry Bigga Bit!

Half of that's been remedied (bath, ear cleaning). Still need to fix his toe, but at least he's clean. I'm starting to think he won't be as blond as Kiddle, but it was hard to tell with all that oil and grime. But even post-bath, I still think that. Only time will tell.

Six Months Old Today!

I can't believe it's already been six months. What a joy this baby is. Still very much like Kiddle at this age: really good natured, LOVES people, cheerful and happy. Biggest difference is that this one SLEEPS. It's true that he's driving me a bit batty right now with his multi-night wakings (more on that another day), but he's so damn easy to put to bed.

Developmentally he's right on schedule: he can roll over both ways, creep around a bit commando-style, lift up his whole body off the ground and even push up onto his knees. He's working on sitting up by himself, but of course I'm horribly nervous about him hitting his head so I haven't practiced this with him as much as I should. I've offered him some cereal and mashed bananas, but he really isn't getting the concept of swallowing yet. We just keep inserting the same bite, over and over and over again.

My one, tiny concern is that he isn't truly babbling. Very vocal and expressive, but not really experimenting with sound yet. Of course, I'm super sensitive to this area this time around. And I really can't remember if Kiddle had a "goo" or "dah" at this exact moment. But, my pediatrician assures me, his skills can change very quickly, so no worries yet.

I'll just be over here, holding my breath, waiting for that first "GAH!"

A night out? No!

I don't get out much anymore.

Boy, that's an understatement. Let's see ... since Bigga was born I've been out of the house — at night — sans children — once for a friend's art opening, once on an overnight "date" with my husband while we were in Oklahoma, and once for my book club. I think that's it. Seriously. Oh yeah, can't forget the Back to School Night PTA meeting. Woo hoo!

Last night's outing was a festive occasion: a wedding. I'll admit I was not looking forward to it. Not only was it an obligatory family affair (Mr. P's stepbrother). Not only was someone other than us going to have to put BOTH my children to bed. Not only was I going to have scrape myself together into some sort of decent-looking-ness. On top of all that, it was black tie. Ugh.

But — shockingly — it all came together quite well. I found a dress (on sale!) that I actually liked and felt pretty good in, without succumbing to tears in the dressing room. (I've finally accepted that I'm just not going to look like The Me I envision in my head anymore; the goal now is to find something that is between "inoffensive" and "somewhat flattering.") I wore the gorgeous river pearl necklace from my own wedding that's been languishing in a box for five years. Along with the backup shoes from my wedding that had never been worn (and before you get a horrible image in your head, no, they aren't white satin. They're beaded bronze and quite pretty.). And I even had a random evening clutch lying around that was just perfect.

The service and reception were both at a stately mansion on 5th Avenue right across from the Metropolitan Museum. It was simple and lovely. And not your typical Northeastern wedding, which of course means I loved it.

Despite all my pre-event dread, I had a good time. It was nice to get dressed up, have a couple of glasses of wine and catch up with my in-laws. And ... can't believe I'm going to say this ... I even felt pretty. Imagine that!

It ain't easy being green.

VEGGIE ALERT!

Kiddle willingly ate a (teeny tiny) baby carrot with garlic hummus today. Is the world coming to an end? Surely that's a sign of an impending apocalypse.

One little monkey jumping on the bed ...

He fell off and bumped his head. Mama called the doctor and the doctor said, "Get that monkey to the ER for a CT scan!"

Man, I've got myself one mobile little monkey. I was changing Bigga's diaper on my bed early this morning, when Kiddle asked me to put Diego on for him. I made sure Bigga was smack dab in the middle and positioned so he'd roll either toward the headboard or the footboard, then went to help Kiddle. I was on my way back to the bed less than a minute later ... and heard a big THUD, followed by a piercing shriek. Damn kid had rolled DIAGONALLY down the bed and right off the corner by the footboard. And, boy, he was PISSED.

It took a bit to get him settled down, but he eventually got over it and took his morning nap on schedule. And even slept over an hour — despite the fact I was hovering over him, checking his breathing every two minutes. But when I was nursing him after his nap, I noticed some swelling on the side of his head. Uh oh.

To say I'm an underreactor when it comes to falls and runny noses and head bonks is an understatement. But even though he was alert and generally happy and not showing any typical signs of a concussion, I didn't feel good about this one. We dashed over to the pediatrician's office and she sent us on to the ER for a CT scan, just to rule out a skull fracture. Or, as it turns out, rule one IN. Yep, he's got a small fracture on the right side. But, thank goodness, no bleeding or swelling in his brain. We're at the hospital overnight for observation, with another CT scan in morning. If all goes well, we'll be out of here by lunchtime.

And, lord, my freedom from this place can't come quick enough. I've been here for 12 hours now and have pretty much decided that holding us for observation is my personal punishment for leaving him unattended on the bed. ("I swear I won't do it ever, ever again! Can we go home now? Pretty please!?") With the added torture that a hospital is the LAST place you want your five-month-old hanging out. I can practically see the H1N1 and staph germs wafting down the hall. Ugh.

I do remember not to whine too much, however, when I think of friends who have spent a truly unfair amount of time in hospitals with their little ones, battling heart issues and other things I can't bear to think about. Our (hopefully) brief stay here is really just a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. His pediatrician commented that skull fractures from that type of fall are rare and we were just "unlucky" this time. But considering how little damage occurred, as Mr. P said, "We'll just hope this is as unlucky as he gets!"

I've been so impressed with his spirit through all this. Everyone keeps asking me if he's "doing better" but I don't know how to answer that. I can't say he's doing BETTER, because he wasn't ever doing badly in the first place. He's been his usual sunny self, charming everyone he comes in contact with and taking everything in stride (except blood work and IV attempts ... that was traumatic). If we were doing this whole scene with Kiddle? Shudder. I can't go there.

***

One thing I'm grateful for during these extended hours in the ER and PICU: Kiddle doesn't get home from school until 3:00 and I knew I could count on two different neighbors to lend a hand with his after-school hours. Although two wacky coincidences threatened those positives. First, as I was leaving the pediatrician's office, on my way to the ER, my phone rings. It's Kiddle's teacher. Fuck. I answered with sinking feeling in my stomach. I just knew he'd gotten hurt or had a fever and she was calling me to come get him. But, no, he was fine. She just wanted to talk to me about the upcoming Halloween party. Whew!

Then, once we realized Bigga was going to be admitted, I left a message for LK's mom to see if she could meet Kiddle's bus at 3:00. But, a few minutes later, I see Mr. P outside our ER bay talking to someone like he knows them. I pop my head out the door and see LK's parents. And LK ON A STRETCHER. Fuck. It turns out she'd had a really scary respiratory episode — couldn't catch her breath, gasping, lips turning blue — so she was whisked away from the pediatrician's office by ambulance. Terrifying. Last I heard, her flu, RSV, etc. tests had come back negative, so they aren't entirely sure what happened and she's doing ok now. But that was sure the saddest, most forlorn little face I've ever seen on her. Poor thing.

Eventually Mr. P headed home to meet Kiddle and pick up the things I'd need for our overnight stay in the hospital. Kiddle went over to our other neighbor's house for a playdate with Jack and dinner — where he ate MEATLOAF, MASHED POTATOES AND APPLE PIE without question (although he did turn down the carrots). I think I'll send him over there for dinner every night. After getting us settled in for the night, Mr. P went back home to handle the bedtime duties. And you know what? The damn kid NEVER EVEN ASKED ABOUT ME. Hmmpph.

Update: And then he got up in the morning, got ready for school, got on the bus and still NEVER EVEN ASKED ABOUT ME. Where's the love, little man?

***

So here I sit, on my really uncomfortable chair that will turn into my even more uncomfortable fold-out bed, listening to the surprisingly noisy sounds of the Pediatric ICU. I'm so grateful that Bigga is relatively undamaged and handling the situation with ease, but so mad at myself for letting this happen in the first place. And thankful that, rather making me feel bad, almost everyone I've come across has countered with their own story: a friend's nephew with a skull fracture from a misguided game of throwing rocks, a pediatrician's son who rolled off a super-high pillow-top bed, a nurse's daugher who fell down thirteen steps onto a concrete floor. Accidents happen, I know. And I'm sure this won't be the last time we're in the ER. But it's simply the worst when your child bears the brunt of a quick decision you made.

Big sigh. Of relief and regret.

Staph, Blood and Hives, Oh my.

All sorts of medical drama in my extended family this week. My sister has an MRSA infection in her leg. Naturally the pain and swelling reached its peak while she was away on a girls' weekend. Nothing like a small-town emergency room on a Friday night. And Mr. P's two-year-old nephew had to have a rather urgent blood transfusion last night when it was discovered that his red blood cell count was dangerously low. It turns out he has an uncommon form of anemia that will correct itself eventually, but will require close monitoring and possibly more transfusions over the next few months. Very scary stuff, but we're grateful it isn't leukemia or lymphoma. And that we don't have to start referring to my sister as "Auntie Hop" anytime soon.

On a much smaller, less scary scale, I had my first call from the school nurse today. Kiddle has a runny nose, so I was expecting to hear that he had a raging fever. But instead she said, "Do you know he has a rash on his legs?" Er, well, yes I do. But it's not really a rash-rash ... he had hives on Sunday night and still had a couple of slightly red, slightly bumpy areas this morning. No big deal. Unfortunately she seemed to think it might be a big deal, and was concerned it was either ringworm (what?!), or Fifth Disease because his cheeks were so red. I can certainly understand how she might leap to that conclusion, so I had to reassure her that not only does Kiddle the Rosy Cheeked Boy always look like that, but also that we think he had Fifth last year. Fortunately this call was only about half an hour before the end of the day so I didn't have to pack up Bigga and go drag Kiddle out of school early.

Then he got home. And when I took off his pants, this is what I found. ALL OVER his legs and butt.

Um, that's disgusting. And definitely not what he looked like when I sent him off on the bus this morning. Dear School Nurse, I'm sorry for poo-pooing your earlier concern about my son today. Yes, now that I see him, I also think he looks like Patient Zero for a new strain of the plague. My sincere apologies. We're headed to the doctor RIGHT NOW.

But the doctor confirmed what I thought: no ringworm, no Fifth Disease. It really is a form of hives, simply a reaction to the minor snuffly-nose virus he has right now. The only bad thing is we have to push his flu shot off for another week.

Somebody put some pants on that kid! Gross.

Happy Birthday, my love!

It's Mr. P's 40th birthday today ... and I have to admit I haven't done much about it. But I have sooo many reasons why. Ready?

One. Anything he wants, he buys. So it makes it nearly impossible to come up with a good birthday or Christmas gift for him. Especially one he doesn't know about, because 99% of what he wants is very tech-oriented, making his participation in the selection process mandatory. In the past I've gotten him tickets to various events, but this year nothing stood out as something he would enjoy.

Two. We come from two different schools of thought on birthdays. That's not to say that I need outrageous gifts or a big party on my birthday, but I do like some acknowledgement and thought-through planning. He's not into the whole birthday-celebration-thing in general, and is really not into the details (i.e., one of my first birthdays with him ... an unwrapped season of Buffy and NO CARD), which has slowly dampened my enthusiasm over the years. Otherwise known as If-He-Doesn't-Care-Why-Should-I Syndrome.

Three. That said, I did throw him a surprise party (well, ALMOST a surprise ... thanks for busting it, Mr. Weeden. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Dan.) a couple of years ago. And I did it then partially because I suspected that, by the time his 40th rolled around, we'd have two small children and I might not get my act together. Self-fulfilling prophecy, I suppose.

Four. I thought we would have moved by now. And originally I had grand ideas of flying out a couple of his best friends to wherever we might be to celebrate, or at least sending him back home for a fun boys' weekend. But we're still here. And it doesn't seem quite as exciting to send him to Long Island from New Jersey for the weekend.

Five. I'm a cheapskate. Well, not really. But I am in regards to the fact that we're still looking at an out-of-state move in the (hopefully) relatively near future. All I can think of is the stuff we'll need when we have a bigger house, and I'd much rather get him a giant TV or create him a cave/office when the time is right, instead of spending money now on something he doesn't really need.

Six. And this is the biggest reason ... I suck. I hate that I'm so disorganized and scattered and uninventive right now that I didn't get it together to do something lovely and special for his 40th birthday. Particularly because he did such a nice job of planning dinner out with my friends and taking me to a play for my birthday. Hopefully I can make it up to him before his next birthday. After all, he's 40 all year, right?

Are we talking the same language?

Here's what happens when my regular English runs into Queens English (as in Da Queens, not The Queen's).

Me: Sweetie pie, will you rub my shoulders tonight?
Mr. P: Ok. When I'm ready.
Me: Will you be ready in two minutes?
Mr. P: No, I'll do it in a couple of minutes.
Me: Like I said ... two minutes.
Mr. P: No, in a few minutes.
Me: So ... three minutes.

Mr. P: Argh! Several minutes, ok?
Me: Well, why didn't you just say that in the first place?

Over the years we've encountered our fair share of regional differences in our speech. I say tennis shoes, he says sneakers. I say have my picture made, he says have my picture taken. He thinks I sound like a dumb hick, I think he sounds like an obnoxious Yankee.

But this concept of "a couple" continues to be a roadblock for us. It took me several years of "I'll be home in a couple of hours" turning into three or four — or, "I need to go to the office for a couple of hours on Saturday" really meaning five or six — to finally realize that a couple does not mean TWO. It means way more than two, in fact. Sigh. Why can't he just use English the right way? And, of course, that would be MY way. Sigh.

"I love trains!"

Note to self: Do not give the three-year-old a new train set at 5:30 in the evening, unless you want to have the following conversation an hour and a half after he's gone to bed, already clutching three new train cars.

Kiddle (sobbing hysterically in his room): Mommy! Mommy!
Me: What's wrong, Kiddle?
Hysterical sobbing continues.
Me: Kiddle, what's the matter?
Hysterical, yet suspicously fake, sobbing continues.
Me: I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong.
More sobbing.
Me: If you don't stop crying right now, I'm going back downstairs.
Silence, at last.
Me: Thank you. Do you need me to help you with something?
Kiddle: Yes.
Me: What do you need?
Long, quiet pause.
Kiddle: I need train tracks.

Needless to say, no train tracks were forthcoming. And he finally went to sleep about 10:00.

Perhaps it does grow on trees.

How exactly does a three-year-old know what money is? I kind of get that he understands that bills are money. But coins? Hmmm. I've certainly never made a point of talking about what money is. And, the reality is, he doesn't see actual currency that often since I put everything on my AmEx. Now, if he called a credit card "monies," I'd totally understand. A few recent financial transactions we've had:

A couple of weeks ago, he pulled out a change purse of random foreign coins from my desk drawer, opened it and started passing out "monies" to me. Um, thanks. That's MY money and I'm not headed to Europe anytime soon.

At the zoo last week he wanted to go on this little carousel ride (it had an elephant ... need I say more?) that cost 75 cents. He first said to me, "I need monies," so I, of course, directed him to his father. "Daddy, Daddy, I need monies!" he cried and POINTED TO MR. P'S POCKET. "I need monies in dere, Daddy." Yep, he's definitely got the concept down.

And today was the best. He dashed into the kitchen and said, "I found a penny!" Seriously, how the hell does he know what a PENNY is? Someone explain this to me, please. I'll have to test him tomorrow to see if he knows the difference between nickels and quarters. Perhaps I can train him to scavenge for quarters in the fountain at the zoo and actually contribute a little to the family coffers. He's extra cute. He can get away with it, right?

The boy from Queens ...

Five years, man! FIVE! Five years. Five YEARS! Five years!!

Who'd have thought when I met you for the very first time, way back in 2001, on St. Patrick's Day Eve, that you were the future Mr. P? I certainly didn't. And I know YOU didn't since you don't even remember meeting me. (Let me add a hair flip and a "hmmphh" in response to that very first display of forgetfulness. It should have been my first clue that you truly are the absent-minded professor.)

Fast forward a few months to that random night when Molloy said, "Hey, Mr. P's in town and we're all going out. You coming?" (Oh goodness, wouldn't that be funny if he actually called you "Mr. P" too?) I still didn't see it coming.

And then ... you did it. You said you'd call me when you got back to Cali — AND YOU DID. You actually called me. Incredible.

But I still didn't know you were the one.

Not until that fateful visit to California, when we both thought, "Hey. I really think we've got something here." And, boy, then it was ON. The next six weeks were a happy blur. I went from yeah-there's-this-guy-in-LA-I-kind-of-like to oh-my-god-I-have-an-all-caps-BOYFRIEND-and-he's-moving-back-to-the-East-Coast-and-wants-to-marry-me all in the short span from Memorial Day to the Fourth of July. I don't know if you realize how momentous that was for me. I don't open my heart easily, and hadn't even peeked through a crack in the door in the five years I'd been in New York. Thank you for keeping your heart on your sleeve, so mine could catch up.

Five years ago today, we celebrated our commitment to each other on a gorgeous Indian summer day in Oklahoma. All the wedding-planning stress was absolutely worth it, as our friends and family gathered around us, supporting us. But as fun and busy and enjoyable as the entire weekend was (and damn, it was a great weekend, wasn't it?), do you know what still stands out the most to me? Our vows. The emotion was almost visceral as we pledged to join our lives. So many little choices, big decisions and happenstance, since the day each of us was born, culminated in that moment. It was intense and electrifying.

And here we are five years, one house, quite a few cars and, most importantly, two fabulous kids later. Thank you for supporting my desire to stay home with those kids. Thank you for continuing to pursue your dreams in a way that still makes me feel safe. Thank you for liking the same TV shows as me — and for agreeably watching the ones that you don't. Thank you for getting along with my family. Thank you for making me laugh and being the funniest guy you know. Thank you for wanting to know, and even listening to, my opinions on your work. That goes a long way toward making me feel like a contributor, although an unpaid one, to our family's fortunes. Thank you for hearing the oh-so-slight difference between my normal voice and my sarcastic voice. Thank you for being my best friend.

I'm still amazed that we found each other — the boy from Queens and the girl from Oklahoma — and that you are so utterly perfect for me. I honestly can't imagine anyone could be better suited to be my husband. I thank my lucky stars every day that you are mine. I can't wait for the next five years, and beyond.

Happy Anniversary, my love.

It ain't easy bein' cheesy.

Dear Bigga Bit,

I'm sorry. I know you're not into dairy products, but that slice of leftover pizza was calling my name this afternoon. I simply had to eat it. I know I said I'd cut out cheese for a few days to see if you napped better, and I really, really tried. But it's HARD. Cheese is so tasty and apparently a more common ingredient in my diet than I ever imagined.

A piece of string cheese for a mid-morning snack. Sprinkled on my favourite salad. A slice of provolone on my turkey sandwich. Melted and gooey in a black bean burrito or a chicken quesadilla. And pizza. Yummy, yummy pizza.

But not yummy for you, it seems. Unless all that wiggling, crying and man-sized tooting this evening was just part of you and your brother's master plan to torture me. Good job, by the way. Tell your brother the plan worked.

I didn't complain (too) much when I had to stop drinking milk and eating ice cream. It was tough to give up ice cream — after all, it was summer and I had already suffered through an ice-cream-free pregnancy thanks to gestational diabetes.

But cheese? You're asking too much, baby. Too much. But a necessary sacrifice, I suppose, to keep you sweet, happy and SLEEPING.

And just so we're clear ... don't get any ideas about chocolate. Capiche?

Love,

Muenster-free Mama

Of course, THIS is where he naps ...

A little background: Bigga has been DRIVING ME CRAZY with his no-more-than-30-minutes-at-a-time naps this week. Three two-hour naps? Great. Five half-hour naps? Not so great.

So when he fell asleep on my lap after nursing this morning, I just sat there. And sat. And sat. Eventually my need for coffee won out and I gently transferred him onto the couch. And he stayed asleep. Miracle of miracles.

Even more miraculous? He's been that way for almost two hours now. Wonderful. Except that you KNOW as soon as I leave him for any amount of time longer than a coffee refill or a trip to the bathroom, he'll splat right off the couch. So I'm trapped in the living room with him.

Great for watching reruns of "Angel." Not so great for my mile-long to-do list.

First Day of School 2009

What I should have done with my first six hours of Kiddle-free time:

• Exercise
• Laundry
• Sort through the horrifying amount of old mail lying around
• Clean up the kitchen
• Weed my flower beds

What I did:

• Go to Target
• Talk on the phone
• Obsessively check Facebook
• Play peek-a-boo with Bigga
• Watch reruns of "Criminal Minds" and "Without a Trace"

There's always tomorrow, right? Fifteen more years of school days, in fact. Plenty of time to get it all done.

Gloom and Doom

WHAT I NEED:

• Exercise.
• A drink.
• Kiddle to eat his dinner.
• A clean house.
• A break.

WHAT I'VE GOT:

• An elliptical so buried (and dusty) in the garage that it will cause more frustration than I'm already feeling just to get to it (and clean it).
• Not a drop of wine or beer.
• A three-year-old who doesn't want to turn off the TV long enough to eat. (NOOO!!!! I NOT HUNGRY!!! NOT YET!!! NO DINNER!!!)
• A mess so out of control I'm simply paralyzed.
• A husband who has disappeared to the basement to work on his soon-to-be work-from-home office.

It's just one of those days and it's made me realize I've had perhaps six hours totally to myself since Bigga was born. And there's no glimpse of any me-time on the horizon because Mr. P really does need to get his office space renovated AND he's going to be out of town the next two weeks. Kiddle starts school on Thursday and I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to it — on a personal level anyway. Hopefully Bigga will cooperate and I can get closer to regaining a sense of control around here.

Beach Babies

A good example of our crazy cold wet summer ... yesterday was our FIRST beach outing. And also a good example of the weirdness of three-year-olds. They always do the exact opposite of what you expect. So I guess I should expect it by now, huh?

Last time we were at the beach was a random day in April or so. The Atlantic Ocean in New Jersey that time of year is FREEZING. Yet Kiddle eventually made his way down to the water and would not come out. Seriously. He was blue and shivering, but he kept getting further and further in. Eventually we had to drag him away from the beach, with him screaming, "I GO WATER! I GO WATER! I GO WATER!" all the way to the car and all the way home.

So I was thrilled to finally make it to the beach yesterday, thinking that Kiddle would absolutely LOVE it this year. Silly me. He had a great time running around and digging in the sand. But he wanted NOTHING to do with the water. And if I went in just to rinse my feet off, he stood on the beach screaming, "NO MOMMY! GET OUT OF THE WATER!" Weird, weird, weird. The only thing I can attribute his fear to was how rough the surf was. The waves were pretty intense, and — as a child of the bathtub-water Gulf Coast — I can certainly understand how intimidating it can be.

This, of course, marked Bigga's very first beach trip. He was a trooper as usual, napping in the stroller and hanging out under the umbrella tent.


Want some chips to go with that sand?

Don't you just love summer?

This kid just might be from Oklahoma after all

Business in the front ...

... and a party in the back.

Two-Month Checkup

We had Bigga's checkup at the pediatrician today and he's still truckin' along in the weight gain. But he remains longer than he is wide, as I say, so he's good and healthy. But, boy, what a noggin!

Weight: 13 lb 1 oz (63rd percentile)
Length: 25 1/4 inches (95th)
Head: 41.5 cm (greater than 97th!!)

Compared to Kiddle at two months:

Weight: 12 lb 9 oz (52nd percentile — or 60th? did I use fractions or ounces in my notes? argh!)
Height: 23 inches (31st percentile)

Great report from the doctor. He's doing everything he's supposed to do and then some. She pulled him by the arms toward sitting to check his head control and said, "Oh! He thinks he's a three-month old!" I'll tell you, there might have been some disadvantages to (kind of) popping out a nine-pound-plus baby, but right now there just aren't any. I love that he's strong and easy to handle. No delicate flowers around here, no sirree.

Aside from the fact that she's really involved with and knowledgeable about the kids, I'm loving our new pediatrician for another reason ... she automatically vaccinates on an alternate schedule. Such a relief because, while I'm not anti-vaccine, I do worry about how much their new little systems are stressed with so many vaccinations at once. It means more trips to the doctor for us, but that's ok. I'm much more comfortable with this schedule than the regular one we followed with Kiddle.

Sprinkler Time

It took him a while, but Kiddle finally crossed that line into realizing it's actually FUN to get sprayed with cold water. His very first friend Max is in town from Tokyo for a few weeks and they had a great time this afternoon getting as wet as they possibly could.

Bigga G is in da house!

Extra Little no more. He's now Bigga Bit. An homage to Kiddle's original (and sometimes current) nickname of Little Bit. One day, when he's an infamous white rapper, he's gonna be so embarrassed when it comes out he's been known as Bigga G since he was a WEE LITTLE BABY.

Not so gangsta now, are you Bigga?

Running with scissors

So I was on the phone with my sister early this evening and around the corner from the dining room comes Kiddle — WITH A PAIR OF SCISSORS IN HIS HAND. I jump up and gasp, "Where did you get those?!" as I dash past him to inspect for damage. This is what I found.

"Is that dog hair? (We don't have a dog.) What is that?! Oh. My. God. Tash, I gotta go ... KIDDLE'S JUST CUT HIS OWN HAIR!!"

Shockingly, thankfully you can barely tell what he did. Even in person it looks pretty good. Even more amazing considering how big that pile of hair is. And the irony of it all? I finally broke down and trimmed his bangs a few days ago. Now they're just layered, I suppose.

Please, sir, may I have some more?

I have a sneaking suspicion it might be time to move him into his 3-to-6 month wardrobe.

I can't imagine why I think that, though. Hmmm.

Two months old today

Lots of great progress in the last couple of weeks:

• His hair continues to fall out but is also starting to grow back in. No definitive colour direction yet, but I still think he'll be blond. Kiddle's blondness wasn't really apparent until after he hit six months.
• Eyebrows! So weird to notice one day that they were suddenly there.
• Great eye contact. He can hear my voice and then find my face. What a joy to see that big grin as he focuses in. Lots of cooing and chortling too.
• I finally dug out a couple of toys for him (curse of the second child ... oh, you want something to play with? hmmm ... ) and he's really gotten into batting at the duck chime on his playmat. I've been pretty impressed with his aim.
• Still eating and sleeping really well. He consistently does a seven-hour stretch and one night we even got 10 hours out of him.

Now, Kiddle was a good, good baby. Not the best sleeper (I think I was jiggling him to sleep already at this point), but didn't cry a lot, very smiley and happy, a good eater — once we got past our first two months of breastfeeding hell. But this kid? He's just so damn EASY, we're amazed. He's made our transition to a two-kid family really pretty stress-free. I'm almost holding my breath, waiting for something to change.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. I'm trying not to screw him up.

Happy Birthday Grandpa!

In a happy coincidence of events, Mr. P flew back in to LaGuardia this afternoon AND it's his dad's birthday, so I packed up the boys and met everyone in Queens for a little birthday celebration.

The not so happy part was that Kiddle fell asleep on the way over there. Normally that would be a positive thing since he still really can't handle going out to dinner without a nap. But this was one of those impossible-to-wake-up-from slumbers and, once he was finally up and relatively coherent, he was a completely grumpy-to-the-point-of-embarrassment BEAR. His immediate reaction to any and everything was "NOOOOOO!!!!" He seemed to have forgotten that he hadn't seen his dad in three days. And I had to drag him into the restaurant while he protested loudly that he wanted to stay OUTSIDE, MAMA!

Back to the positive side, at least we were at a tiny, neighborhood restaurant where Mr. P's parents are regulars (and Mr. P worked at in high school). And since we were there at 4:30 (yes, I said 4:30!), we were literally the only customers. There was absolutely no way Kiddle was going to sit at the table without a meltdown, so I finally just left him lying on floor by the front door. Eventually he got over himself and managed to join us for a bit.

I'm a firm believer that kids need to learn how to act properly in public. Although, I'll admit we've been debating if we should start bringing his little Leapster game while we're out to eat. CON: he's not gaining any dinner time skills; PRO: he's quiet, sitting in his seat, and I can actually enjoy my food. So it was more than a bit mortifying to have such an ill-behaved kid, but at that point I simply didn't care and I didn't want to turn Grandpa's birthday dinner into a major scene.

At least there weren't many witnesses.

Can it be true?

Are we really moving out of the dreaded newborn stage into real babyhood? I think we're so close I can almost taste it. Extra Little has added hints of cooing and laughing to his smiling, happy periods. He's definitely much more connected to the world around him and responds to voices (mine in particular, of course) and movement. Today he really got a kick out of Mr. P chasing Kiddle around the living room.

I'm sure this emerging personality has had a boost by my dad being here right now. He's been fantastic about hanging out with XL while I shuttle Kiddle around and get things done. He's even changed some diapers (non-poop only!) and attempted a bottle feeding. Extra Little is going to be very spoiled to having an adult doting over him at all times. Unfortunately it's back to life as a second child and lots of time in the Neglect-o-matic once my dad leaves on Friday.

Welcome to the world, little one! It's lovely to see your personality peeking through the squishy newborn facade.

For the birds.

One of my favourite recent additions to our county zoo has been the new bird exhibit. Simple concept: you can walk along a path filled with parakeets and other tiny birds. For a dollar you can buy a feed stick and entice a bird or two (or ten) with a snack for an up-close encounter. When it first opened, I wasn't sure how Kiddle would react, but he loves it. As long as the birds don't actually perch on his hand, that is.

Happy Fourth of July!

We celebrated a day early with Mr. P's family in Queens. His sister and her family are in from the West Coast this week, which means we finally got to meet sweet Mary Cate for the first time. Four months older than XL — and the only girl in the family so far. We hadn't seen them in over a year, so Kiddle really got his first taste of big-brotherhood now that Tag is actively in his business.

We spent a big chunk of the afternoon at the local playground. Very NYC with its black rubber surface, chainlink fence and giant dragon sprinkler (if only it was an open fire hydrant!), but a great park, really.

Beautiful Mary Cate.

Kiddle chillin' with the dragon.

Extra Little chillin' in the double wide.

The deluge continues ...

Well, I think we ended June with rain 27 out of 30 days and 10-plus inches instead of the usual three. And July is off to a horribly similar start. Wicked thunderstorm yesterday. And today? Here's a glimpse:

I love the pop-up can floating by. And you might not have noticed my neighbor trapped in his car across the street. Hee hee!

Rain, rain, go AWAY!!

And summer begins ...

It's June 28th. Summer would be practically over where I grew up, but around here it's just getting started. School didn't get out until this week and the town pool only opened on Father Day's weekend. Of course, no need for the pool when it's barely gotten out of the 70s so far and it's rained 25 out of 27 days so far this month. That's right ... IT'S RAINED ALMOST EVERY SINGLE GODDAMNED DAY IN JUNE. Seriously. Let me put it this way — I haven't switched my closet over to summer clothes yet.

Finally, FINALLY, we had our dear friends and neighbors over for a cookout last night. I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I love, love, love having neighbors who are also friends. Kiddle, Jack and LK are the cutest little trio of three-year-olds. And I love relaxing under the soothing canopy of the 100-year-old dogwood tree with the adults, as the kids terrorize our backyard.

However... if I'd did this trek to the backyard once, I did it 50 times:

Over the years we've lived here, I've tried to make the set-up and execution of my backyard entertaining more efficient, but I simply can't avoid going in and out, up and down, down and up, out and in ... to the point of total exhaustion. MY NEXT HOUSE WILL HAVE A BACK DOOR RIGHT OFF THE KITCHEN! NO STAIRS PLEASE! Oh, and while I'm making requests, a fenced-in backyard to keep the kiddos contained without screaming, "Turn around! Back up the driveway RIGHT NOW!! Stay in the back!" over and over again. I want my outdoor entertaining to be as effortless as possible. Too much to ask?

Six Weeks Old Today

Oh, my lovely Extra Little! You've already been around for six whole weeks as of today. What a good, sweet baby you've been so far. I can't tell you how much I appreciate that you still spend most of your time sleeping and that we get good five-or-six-hour stretches of sleep most every night.

Your hair has already started falling out. Right now you and your daddy are competing for the title of Best Receding Hairline. Of course, your hair colour is still a big mystery. Is it going to grow back in blond like your brother? Or will you keep your current dark-brown-with-copper-undertones colour? Only time will tell (but we're all betting on blond).

I'm afraid you'll have to move on to three-to-six month clothes very soon. You're just too damn long for your current wardrobe. Especially since most of it was Kiddle's and has been washed and dried one zillion times.

The biggest change in the last two weeks? Your sweet smile has appeared ... and you're practically laughing (or so we tell ourselves, at least). But no change to your monkey toes. They're as long as ever!

"THE CALLER IS INSIDE THE HOUSE!"

My lord. I just had a classic horror movie sort of moment.

Kiddle was theoretically in bed and I was sitting peacefully on the couch with Extra Little ... when I hear a phone ringing. Not my landline. Not my cell phone. Not any of Kiddle's random toy phones. And it sounds like it's coming from UPSTAIRS.

Then I hear someone talking.

I creep up the stairs to check it out (I know ... that's the WRONG move to make in a horror movie). Of course, it's pitch black up there because Kiddle is supposed to be going to sleep so I can't see a damn thing. I turn on a light and peek into Kiddle's room. He's not in his bed, so my not-yet-adjusted eyes automatically go to his usual alternate location — under the chair. Then I hear this little voice floating out of the darkness, from the chair.

"I call numbers, Mommy!"

He had managed to call some random number. ON SPEAKERPHONE, I might add. And got the classic "Beep, beep, BEEP ... the number you're calling in not in service; please check the number and dial again." Jeez, Kiddle. Way to take 10 years off my life!

What the damn phone was doing in his room is beyond me.

Out here on my own...

We had Extra Little's two-weeks-and-change check-up at the pediatrician today. I could tell he'd filled out quite a bit over the last week or so, but I wasn't sure just how much weight he'd gained. I was simply hoping he'd gotten back to his birth weight of 9 pounds 4 ounces.

No worries. He's grown half an inch already and weighs 9 pounds 10 ounces. That's a big boy, huh? As my neighbor said, "He just doesn't look like a newborn at all. More like he's at least six weeks old." So true.

And on a side note, we went back to the doctor in the afternoon for Kiddle. I thought (or maybe hoped) he just had really bad allergies and that we needed to try him on a different medication. But, alas, no. He has a ear infection and mostly likely a sinus infection. So much for keeping the ugly germs away from Extra Little.

***

I've tried to be good about letting my body heal. Really, I have. But it's so much different this time because life with a 30 pound three-year-old just doesn't stop.

It was my second day on my own with both kids and it just about did me in: preschool to drop off Kiddle, the doctor for Extra Little's check-up, grocery store to replenish our milk and fruit supply, home to feed XL, preschool to pick up Kiddle, home for lunch, a second trip to the doctor for Kiddle, back home so I could change clothes (don't ask), Target (just as a massive downpour was starting, of course) to fill Kiddle's prescription, home to feed XL again, then over to my neighbor's backyard so Kiddle could jump on the trampoline and play with his friends. My house is a total disaster and I'm just too tired to care.

It's true what they say ... my mom doesn't live here. Too bad I'm the mom now and she's back in Oklahoma. This place was much neater when she was around!

Men in Trees

Kiddle and I have an understanding. I let him climb this tree whenever he wants and he promises he won't break his arm until he's four.

Oh yeah. That new kid? He's two weeks old today.

No more bun in the oven

Sorry for the disappearing act ... did you hear I had a baby? I promise I'll catch up soon with all sorts of ridiculous minutiae, but for now here's a link to my lovely doula's announcement about the kiddo.

What's in a date?

My due date is May 14th, but Mr. P and I had our own three target days to have this baby.

5/4/09 — I like this one because Kiddle's birthday is 04/05/06 (and isn't that a cool birthday?). 4/5 and 5/4 have some nice synergy. And 5+4=9. Which must be a postive thing, numerologically, right?

5/6/09 — We'd lose the mathematical quirk with this one, but it would be easy to remember birthdays. Kiddle on 4/5 and Extra Little on 5/6.

5/7/09 — As my almost-sister-in-law pointed out ... "consecutive odd number dates like this will only happen five times this century!" But it's almost 3pm already, so it's not looking good.

Oh well. A boring old regular birth date it is!

Criminal mastermind in the making.

But he's not one just yet.

I was upstairs putting away some laundry, while he was downstairs watching TV. I heard some suspicious, not-watching-TV noises so I headed toward the stairs, calling down, "Kiddle! What are you up to?"

Thump, thump, thump, thump, as he runs back into the living room.
Click, as he turns the TV back on.
Whump, as he throws himself on the couch.

Nice cover. Except that he left the water running in the bathroom.

Extra Little Update

My one zillionth prenatal appointment this morning.

I like that I lost three pounds. I like that she told me I could stop testing my blood sugar four times a day; instead, just twice a day. I don't like that I'm still 1cm dilated (same as last week). But ... I am 50% effaced, so that's some progress. She doesn't want me to go too far past my due date, so we've scheduled a c-section for Saturday, May 16th. That gives me nine more days to get this kid out. After that, he coming out — ready or not.

Tomorrow ... more castor oil.
Saturday ... more acupuncture.
Rinse and repeat.

Things on my To Do list ...

... when I thought I might be going into labor this afternoon:

• remove nail polish
• pack hospital bag
• finish baby laundry
• put away clean laundry
• four more loads of laundry
• clean up kitchen
• pick up house
• clean bathroom
• sheets on guest bed
• stuff to attic
• baby paperwork
• finish birth plan
• pay bills
• wash towels
• update "the care & feeding of Kiddle"
• go through mail

Things left on my To Do list:

• pack bag
• update "the care & feeding of Kiddle"
• go through mail
• fold two loads of laundry

Possible labor is a GREAT motivator. Especially for my lazy ass, apparently.

Blue and yellow make green.

Wow. I just had what seemed like an actual conversation with Kiddle.

On the way home from preschool I asked him what he'd like for lunch ... and, for the first time ever, he actually answered.

"Banana!"
"Oh, really? A banana? What else would you like? Some cottage cheese?"
"BLUE cottage cheese."
"That's a shocker. So, blue cottage cheese and a banana it is."
"No, Mommy. Blue cottage cheese and YELLOW banana."
"Well, excuse me. You are correct."

Oh my god ...

down to single digits on the Baby Countdown. (Although I'm actually hoping for 1 or 2 days. Not 9.) Gotta get back to doing laundry.

Must. Pack. Hospital. Bag.

Pronto.

AH-CHOO!

The only disadvantage to a whole-house fan I've found so far? Pollen still flows through window screens. That lovely green dusting of pollen is coating every single surface in my house. Mmm-mmm.

Uh oh.

Just got back from an ultrasound where Extra Little's CURRENT size was estimated to be 8.5 pounds. Yikes! That's the same size Kiddle was when he was born and I couldn't get him out. So I definitely might be looking at another c-section. I really don't want to go through labor only to end up with major surgery again.

Here's my big dilemma. My parents just left yesterday for vacation in Florida, returning to Oklahoma on May 10th. My mom is scheduled to come up here on May 12th and my due date is May 14th. Based on a couple of conversations with my sister, I had pretty much decided not to tell them when I went into labor, but just to call after the baby arrived. My mom is already more excited/stressed about my impending delivery than anyone else — including me — so if I call too early ... vacation OVER. Not only for my dad, but also for the other couples with them. She's just too high-strung to be relaxed (and silent) about this.

But if I schedule a c-section? Ay yi yi. Not sure what to do. I still think my instinct is just to let them know after it's all over. I don't need her to change her travel plans, so why create drama any earlier than needed?

Right?

I'm going to burn in hell for this, aren't I?

Am I in Oklahoma?

Because it sure seems like it. Sunday was 92 degrees. Monday was 89. Yesterday was 94 ... and today the high is supposed to be 58. That sure sounds an awful lot like Oklahoma weather to me. Of course, if you crammed those extremes into one afternoon, that would be even more familiar.

Seriously, weather gods, it's freakin' APRIL! In New Jersey, no less. Sunday we filled up the kiddie pool. Yesterday we spent the afternoon at my neighbor's house in the sprinkler. I was so glad I already bought some shorts for Kiddle. And I had been really quite pleased that, once again, I would avoid being pregnant in the summer. Or so I thought.

I did handle the heat much better than I thought I would, though. When I was pregnant with Kiddle, I remember swelling up a bit when the weather got a little warmer in March and being so thankful my due date was in April. So I really expected the worst with these extreme temps this week. But no swelling, no other issues. Yay!

Hopefully that's it with the crazy weather — for the next couple of weeks at least.

Where's Kiddle?

Oh. My. God. Kiddle just about sent me into labor a bit ago.

I was upstairs, sorting laundry. Mr. P was in his basement office, working on his thesis. And Kiddle was on the couch watching "Cars." At least that's where we left him.

I thought I heard him crying, and since I knew Mr. P was in the basement, I came downstairs to check it out. He wasn't in the living room and I continued on toward the basement, looking for the source. It sounded like he was crying OUTSIDE so I paused by the side door and called out to Mr. P, "Are you with him?" "Nope," came his reply wafting up from the basement. Fuck.

Kiddle had gone out the side door by himself and was on the driveway sobbing because the asphalt was burning his feet. (I should mention it's almost 90 out today and he was only wearing a diaper.) I almost had a heart attack or, at least, a baby.

In the last week or so, he figured out how to unlock and open the front door. I got an alarm for that door on Friday, but hadn't dealt with the side door just yet. It has a double key deadbolt so he can't get out that door (although he already swipes my keys on occasion and attempts an escape), but today it was open to the screen door because of the heat. Looks like we'll be headed out to Home Depot soon to get another alarm.

Or maybe a lo-jack for Kiddle. They make those for toddlers now, right?

No, really. Thank YOU.

People like this annoy the crap out of me. I posted a question on my local Mothers & More board asking about car seat placement for two kids in an SUV. Here's what I wrote:

Kid #2 is arriving shortly and I'm interested in opinions on which side of the car to put each seat on. With the one kid, I've always had him in the center or passenger side. I assumed I'd put the new baby on the passenger side and my 3yo behind me, but now I'm not so sure. The source of my waffling is my vehicle. When #1 was an infant/baby, I had a sedan; now I have an SUV. I probably won't be able to reach the new baby on the passenger side now anyway, so should I put him behind me, and leave the 3yo where he is? What's worked best for you, particularly if you drive an SUV?

At any point did I ask for what the "safety experts" say? Nope. I've got a computer, thanks. Did I ask people who don't have two kids to chime in? Um, no. So thanks Nosy Nellie for posting this gem:

The recommendation from safety experts is to put "least-protected child in most protected spot/most protected child in least protected spot." Any rear-facing child is more protected than a forward-facing child. And an outboard (next to the door) position is less protected of a spot than the center. Seems like in your case, the new baby in a rear-facing infant seat can go in to the 2nd row outboard seat behind you and your 3 year old can be in the 2nd row center. hth!

I'm sure this is the "safest" way to do it. And I'm sure there are people out there who actually install their car seats like this, but no one I know. And I'm more than sure that Kiddle poking the baby in the eye is going to be waaay more of a distraction and safety hazard than putting him in the seat behind me.

And I especially love the "hth" at the end. Happy to help, my ass!

Soccer For Tots

Or, as it should be called, Soccer For Parents and (Sort Of) Their Tots.

Kiddle went to his first soccer session today with his buds LK and Jack. His class is all three-year-olds and, as I'm sure you can imagine, it was totally chaotic and adorable. Their "field" was an entangled mass of kids and parents: "Hey, let's go listen to Coach Matt." "No, no, stay in the grid, please." "You've already got a ball; you don't need Emmett's too." As expected, super natural athlete Jack rocked it and LK was one of the best at actually listening to Coach Matt and following directions. As for Kiddle ...

He hasn't quite figured out you DON'T use your hands:



Or that you DO use your feet:



But when you get to BUILD A ROCKET SHIP and kick the ball? Suddenly, he's focused and into it:

Blast Off!

Such a silly little thing to write about, but I want to make sure I remember it. And what's a blog for, if not to wax (un)poetically about any silly ol' thing you want, right?

Kiddle's imagination hasn't really kicked in too much yet. He'll play with his animals, but mostly in a putting-them-in-and-out-of-the-barn approach, or he might go as far as re-enacting a bit from the Backyardigans or Sesame Street. I see glimmers of true imagination now and then, but I was particularly struck by something he did tonight while we were getting him ready for bed.

He already had a sippy cup of water in hand, when he discovered a slinky on a bedside table in our room. He first tried to fit the cup through the slinky, telling me it was TOO BIG. But next he stuck the slinky on the bottom of the cup, while letting it dangle toward the ground, and told me it was a ROCK-ET SHIP.

Why, yes, little one, that absolutely looks like a rocket ship! Brilliant!

Well, maybe not brilliant, but I was sure impressed since that's not the sort of thing he usually does. He then spent a while counting down a blast off from the ground and flying his rocket ship around the room. That part was brilliant because he totally distracted me from the fact that he was supposed to be going to bed.

It's the little things.

A tiny bit of progress today in the language department for Kiddle today. The last couple of weeks I've been working with him on how he makes requests. As in, instead of just saying "cookie," say "can I have a cookie?" This is our usual conversation:

"Cookie?"
"How do you ask for things, Kiddle? Can I have ...?"
"Haf"
"Can I have ..."
"Haf"
"Can I have ..."
"Haf"
"Ok, let's try it this way ... can?"
"Can. I. Haf. De. Cookie?"
"Yes! Yes, you can. Very good, Kiddle."

Annoying, isn't it? So I was very pleased tonight when he came up to me and said, "More milk?" Of course I replied, "How do you ask for things?" And he said ... wait for it ... "Can. I. Haf. De. Milk?" WITHOUT ANY PROMPTING. Woo hoo!

***

I guess I'm finally realizing how completely unnatural language and speech progression is for him. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware how far behind he is — more than a year. And he's simply not going to just catch on to this talking thing. He's definitely made progress, but it's been excruciatingly slow. His receptive language is fine. He might be a bit delayed there, but for the most part he seems to understand everything you say. It's just hard to tell the difference right now between not understanding and a toddler's penchant for ignoring you.

His expressive language, on the other hand, is a disaster. At first we thought it was mostly an articulation issue, but, six months into speech therapy, it's obvious that it goes beyond that. Although, in my mind, it's still a bit of a chicken-egg conundrum. Does he express himself with very simple word combos because that's all he can do or because that's the only way anyone understands him? Hmmm. Who knows?

He's definitely using more sentences and phrases, but this exercise of trying to get him to say "can I have ..." has been enlightening. He still can't say it as a smooth phrase; it's always chopped up into separate words. It's so hard to see him struggling with this, but also thrilling when he accomplishes something so tiny as using the phrase without a direct prompt. It's crazy that he's just turned three and has the language skills of a not-yet-two-year-old.

The day he says "can I have more milk" without any coaching? I'll fall off my chair, I swear.

Heartbroken

This morning I heard the devastating news that a friend's three-month-old baby boy died this weekend.

I guess it's not entirely accurate to say that Shana is a friend since we've never met. But after finding her blog in a roundabout way, I've followed along and feel oddly connected to her. You see, as we figured out through a string of emails, not only are we both from Oklahoma City and pregnant at the "advanced maternal age" of 39, we graduated from neighboring high schools the same year and both had a long-term boyfriend from the same group of guys (although at slightly different times so we're not sure if we ever actually crossed paths). The wild wide web is a small little world, isn't it?

Thalon was born at the end of December, destined to be the hapless younger brother of two wildly opinionated older sisters. I checked in on her site this morning and was shocked to see that Thalon was in the hospital and seemingly not expected to make it. I frantically scanned through all the comments of support and prayer, sobbing uncontrollably and trying to glean any info I could on his condition, when I realized he had died. I don't know the details of what happened, although I think I can guess. Whatever happened, it's every parent's worst nightmare. Three months old. Goddamn it.

This is the second friend of mine who's lost a new baby in the last year. The first had serious heart issues, so while the news was devastating, it wasn't totally unexpected. This one was totally out of the blue and, at eight months pregnant, has left me reeling. So many things can go wrong so quickly with these fragile little bodies and souls given to our care. I don't want to be that crazy parent hovering over my child 24 hours a day — and I still won't be, it's just not in my nature — yet that precious life can be snatched from you in a split second. It simply isn't fair.

I've been a basket case all day. And stressing out poor Kiddle as well. While he was eating lunch, I saw Shana's post confirming that Thalon had died and returned to the table with tears streaming down my face. He looked at me and said, "Mama crying? Whas de matter, Mommy?" I said, "Mommy's sad but I'm ok. Don't worry. I'm ok." He climbed up in my lap and stared at me with the saddest little frown on his face and touched my face. Then two fat tears rolled down his cheeks which, of course, made me cry even harder. What a sweet little soul.

As for me, I'd been feeling really odd all day. Just kind of off. My joints felt tight and I could feel my blood pounding in my ears and throughout my body. I couldn't separate what I was feeling physically from my anxiety and upset about Thalon, and since we're keeping an eye out for preeclampsia with this pregnancy, I was worried my blood pressure was spiking — and I knew I was probably making it worse by stressing out over it. I finally gave in and headed up to my doctor's office to get checked out (I know ... that's so unlike me). They were lovely and wonderful as always, and ended up doing the full exam that I was scheduled for on Thursday. It turns out my blood pressure was up a bit, but once I heard it wasn't terrible, I calmed down and it had dropped back down to normal before I left. I'm so glad I went against my basic I'm-sure-it's-fine nature though. I would have really worked myself up into a tizzy and not slept a wink tonight. Now I can worry about Shana, Kiddle and this kid-to-be with a little more peace of mind.

I'm off to make sure Kiddle is still breathing. Please keep Shana and her family in your thoughts.