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.