Tag Archives: Milestones

Hey, Hey, Hey!

Hi, guys! I know! You had almost forgotten about me. Its okay. I totally understand. I am a slacker. But I haven’t forgotten YOU…

My kids are currently quiet and watching some ridiculousness on BabyFirst TV (which makes me want to shoot myself in the face, but I have discovered that, if I allow this, I am able to drink coffee and possibly pay some bills online so…I’m running with it) so I have a few minutes and I thought I would try and pound out an update.

Before we get started, I want to go ahead and dedicate this post to themathmaster because I am a woman of my word and I do it all for the people. (My apologies, because I am basically still asleep and I am not sure I have anything interesting to say at all…so…there’s that…)

I don’t really know the format in which to write this post because SO many things are going on. Every day is different. I can’t even explain to you how much of a roller coaster this last couple of months has been. But here goes…let’s start with L.

  • L is 22 months old today. She is absolutely hilarious. And also ABSOLUTELY a part of this gang called “The Terrible Twosies”. It is notorious. You may have heard of them. If you haven’t, BE WARNED.
  • She likes to wear my Reeboks around the house and then attempt to jump over things.
  • I put her on a gluten-free diet a little over three weeks ago because Celiac Disease runs in my family. I was hoping that this would improve her ability to sleep through the night without any blood-curdling screaming for me. This did not happen. She is still sleeping on face for half of the night. BUT, the tantrums, which started at about 18 months, have lessened. I don’t know if there is a connection there, but I’ll take it.
  • We decided that, instead of a birthday party for her, we are going to take a family trip to visit my sister and stay on the beach on the gulf. I am super excited because 1. L has never been to the beach because the whole time she has been alive it has either been cold or I have been pregnant, neither of which will be the case in May this year and 2. I have to throw Baby O’s FIRST birthday party three weeks later and am NOT A FAN of trying to plan two parties at the same time. And he gets a first birthday party. Next year, they can share the party.
  • She’s doing things like, throwing everything in the garbage can (and when I say EVERYTHING, that’s exactly what I mean), unraveling rolls of toilet paper and then shredding said paper all over the house, “reorganizing” shelves full of things like DVDs or cabinets full of tupperware, (I don’t think I need to tell you that reorganizing actually means, THROWING EVERYTHING ONTO THE GODDAMNED FLOOR), trying to jump on Baby O (I think that she THINKS that she is playing…but…), screeching like a pterodactyl, climbing any and all furniture (or anything else that is stationary enough for her to get onto, this includes people and pets), repeating EVERYTHING I say. EVER. (Again, dangerous. I have mentioned before that I am really bad about censoring my expletives because for 33 years, I didn’t have to. Now I find myself making up words on the fly to avoid screaming “FUUUUUUUCK” when a can of frozen apple juice hurls itself out of the freezer and onto my toe. (Note: I was not successful. I totally screamed, “FUUUUUUUCK!” She did not repeat this. But I think it was more because I think it sounded more like, “FUUUUUUUUUHHHHHH” and the “CK!!!!” part I said under my breath. Because, that’s effective, right?
  • She is still obsessed with “Yo Gabba Gabba”. I don’t have much else to say about this except that she can, at least, now sing the words to songs that they sing. And sings them all day when she is not watching the show too. Which, while sometimes annoying, is REALLY EFFING CUTE.
  • I still can’t believ e that this little PERSON came out of my body.

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Okay, now Baby O:

  • He turned 9 months last week (hopefully an Open Letter to follow this afternoon…) and has started to do some dumb shit where he gets up twice per night wanting to be held or a bottle or whatever and it is very reminiscent of having a newborn. And I don’t want to remember all of that not sleeping and forgetting my name and stuff. I am really not sure if this is because he is about to have some major milestone or he is getting teeth (he is TOTALLY getting teeth. I can see those little bastards…) or a combo of both. But with this kind of shenanigans, the milestone had better be that he has learned to speak German, graduated from college and written some sort of book. I will keep you updated.
  • He currently has four teeth. The top two front ones just came through within the last two days after nearly a month and a half of sitting there, RIGHT BELOW THE SURFACE and making everyone’s life a living hell. I will be glad when this kid doesn’t need to grow anymore of these bitches.
  • He is blonde. Like me. And that gives me a lot of pleasure. Because, if he weren’t blonde, I wouldn’t see any of myself in him at ALL. Because he looks JUST LIKE MB.
  • I almost punched his pediatrician in the throat last week at his nine-month checkup because she was really condescending about the fact that he isn’t crawling. I don’t think that people understand that with an almost two-year-old, crazy hard floors and a pretty hefty anxiety issue, putting him down on the floor for any length of time, unless I am sitting RIGHT THERE, is not really an option. I am not worried. Hell, L went from not crawling to RUNNING around like a little insane tornado with barely any transition time at all.
  • He is a massive kid. 28.5 inches long and 23 lbs 9 oz as of last week. GIANT.

That’s about all. I mean, aside from that I need a nanny, a cook and mimosas with breakfast.

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An Open Letter to My Kids: 8 months and 21 months

Dear Kids,

This past month has been INSANE. You have been sick, teething, exhausted, cranky, defiant, loud, hyperactive, and sometimes, all of these things at the same time. My days with you have varied from wonderfully entertaining to seriously infuriating. When I say infuriating, I want you to realize that I am not mad AT you, but I am mad that I a) I have tried 47 times to drink coffee while it is warm, subsequently heating it up OVER AND OVER AND OVER but it never works because one of you has suddenly created some sort of gift for me in your pants and it needs to be dealt with RIGHT THIS MINUTE or because someone else is shrieking because she cannot lift a chair that is TWICE HER SIZE, over her HEAD. (I can see where this would be frustrating, my dear. The shrieking is taking things a bit far. I am more than happy to relocate said chair for you. Promise.) or b) no matter how many dishes I have done today, every time I go into the kitchen, the pile seems to have doubled. Or tripled. (Why the eff don’t we have a dishwasher?) or c) one of you is sick and cannot decide if you would like to sleep constantly or not at all so I spend most of the day fighting with you to sleep and then you wake up the other one of you. And then I fight with that one. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I could never be angry at you guys though. You are little and hilarious and super fun. You know, when you are smiling and cooperative. Which, by the way, could happen more often if you wouldn’t mind. Just saying. But you are generally good little spawn. You are more grown up every day and it kills me to think that, pretty soon, you won’t be my tiny, dependent little people. And you will be doing things like going to school. And having sleepovers at friends’ houses. And, like, stealing cars and stuff. (You seriously had better not steal cars EVER, you guys. I am serious. Unless you can be really good at it. Like, if you were like Nick Cage and Angelina Jolie in “Gone in 60 Seconds”. Far be it for me to make you stop doing what you’re good at. Don’t get caught stealing cars.) It blows my mind that you guys will be ONE and TWO in a few short months. How did this happen?

If there is a grievance here, it is that I would really like to sleep more. I am not saying that this is always a problem. And O, you are mostly an angel in letting Mommy sleep. L, on the other hand, you are a monster. 21 months old and you still refuse to stay in your crib all night. You want to be next to me ALL. THE. TIME. (And I don’t hate this at all because you are the best cuddler I know…but let me tell you something about how mommies and daddies like to sleep in the same bed. Sometimes, you make it a little difficult for your Daddy to sleep because you are kicking him in the nose for hours on end. You really should apologize for that.) But I am tired. With your Dad’s schedule, at this point, there is rarely any time for showering or sleeping or the brushing of the hair. I really miss brushing my hair too. And showers. Oh my god, how I miss showers. Long ones. Long, hot, GLORIOUS SHOWERS. Okay, I might be getting off topic. But you guys will understand all of this when you become parents. Or probably when you are teenagers and I start giving all of this back to you tenfold. Just wait. Sleep with one eye open. Mommy will be there. Interrupting sleep and showers and peace. You wait.

I haven’t had a whole lot of time for writing since you have both been sick with strep and Baby O with a double ear infection before that. You have definitely been giving me a run for my money for the last few weeks. And I really did want to write you each and individual letter about how insane you are making me awesome you are on an individual level, but there just hasn’t been much opportunity. So this will have to do.

L:

You are getting to be SO very smart. And social. And you love being outside and running around like a maniac. And singing. And pulling all of Daddy’s DVDs off of the shelf and then sitting amidst the pile of them while I stand by and decide whether it is worth it to tell you “no” and risk the epic tantrum you will have or if I should just let you have your way and try to use this as a teaching tool for “Cleanup Time”. Most of the time, you win. Because I am a sucker and you are so freaking cute. Because not only do you make this giant mess, but you then look at me from your pile of whatever it is you are attempting to destroy and you put your arms up with a concerned look on your face and say, “What happened?!” like you have NO IDEA how this has occurred. I am in trouble with you, kiddo. You are an evil genius.

I am about to start to plan your second birthday party. And it makes me crazy to think about because it feels like just yesterday we had your first one. You are such an amazing little person. You are getting so big and you talk so much and the best part of it all is that you actually make sense now. You know, sometimes. The other day, you tried to pick Baby O up from off of my lap and, while it was hilarious because he weighs ONE POUND LESS THAN YOU, it was terrifying to think, “What if she actually succeeds one day and drops him on his baby noggin?!”

As per usual, you make life worth living. You are the best, brightest, most amazing little girl in the world and every day with you is the best day ever. (Okay, I am going to go ahead and say that I mean this all the time, but there are definitely days that I want to run screaming from the house because you have had 74 tantrums. Just so you know. I love you. But you are a handful.) I can’t believe that, before too long, I will be looking back on these days and they will be a distant memory. It is bittersweet.  But I am excited to see the person that you will become. I love you.

Baby O:

You are eight months old now. And holy crap, I don’t even know what to say. You are amazing. Your smile is HUGE and real and just as contagious as the strep throat you and your sister have been bouncing around. You are super ticklish and you HATE to be on your tummy. You immediately roll over onto your back. I assume it is so you can protect your head better from being crushed by your insane sister. Or at least see the skull crushing coming and yell for help. She doesn’t mean any harm. She just thinks that everything is a seat. Seriously. She has totally sat on my head before too. Don’t be offended. You love her though. Your face still lights up when she comes near you. I’m convinced that the two of you are going to be inseparable.

You are still not crawling, but not because you don’t want to. I, actually, believe that you probably just need a few more minutes per day of practice. But this poses a problem because you are both at ages where you demand attention. A lot of it. And usually simultaneously.  I am going to get this thing going. Because even though the thought of both of you running around the house and falling down and stuff scares the bejesus out of me, the thought of carrying you around for much longer is far worse. You are a BIG BOY, kiddo. Adorable. And totally solid. But FREAKING HUGE.

I find myself getting so excited for you to grow up a little and be a little more independent and then I immediately feel guilty for what feels like wishing your infancy away. There are, however, moments that I wish you could stay my cuddly little turkey forever. But there is so much more to come, little guy. So much. And we will have so much fun!

I love you.

 

Both of you make me so very happy and fill my heart up with some crazy happiness I didn’t know existed until you were here and our family was complete.

To the moon and back,

Mom

An Open Letter to Baby O: Seven Months

Dear Ollie,

Just a few days ago, you turned seven months old. And I sat and thought and thought about how, just a year ago, your sister was at this stage and I just can’t believe that, a year from now, you are going to be doing all the crazy things that she is currently doing. And then I thought and thought about what kind of crazy things she will have learned to do in that span of time and then I thought, “HOLY HELL! How will I maintain any sanity with TWO TODDLERS who will inevitably be refusing to take naps, throwing food all over the walls and floor, flushing strange objects down the toilet and learning to effectively TANTRUM?!” You know. Among all the other things that I haven’t even thought of yet. This all scared the bejesus out of me. Because OH. MY. GOD. I am already averaging 2-3 days without showers because I can rarely ever contain the two of you long enough to turn the water on, let alone, get in there and wash my damn hair. Yeah, you guys are making me suffer right now, FOR REALS.

So, yeah. I am freaking out a little bit about the future of my sanity. (Or the lack thereof…) But I am also really excited for all this fun stuff right there on the horizon for you. Pretty soon, you will be getting all brave and trying to dive off of things, like your sister does! Ooooh! Okay, this doesn’t thrill me, it just gives me a heart attack. But you WILL be learning to crawl and pull yourself up and stand and then WALK. And then I will lose my shit because, as much as I want you to do all of that stuff (because you weigh FAR TOO MUCH for me to carry you much longer), I am only one person and you guys outnumber me and can fit into small places that I cannot. Danger. SO much danger.

But I am excited that you will pass through all the really annoying parts of infancy. Take, for instance, your most recent development, wherein you gave up sleep. I don’t really know why you have done this all of a sudden. Because you have always seemed to enjoy sleeping. Much more than your sister ever did or currently does. You have been a little sleeping angel. That is, until the DAY that you turned 7 months old. And then you decided that 4:30 am is an appropriate time for singing songs at the top of your lungs for long periods of time. I am grateful that you aren’t crying during these times. On the contrary, these times seem like very joyous events for you. Good for you, buddy, for having a healthy love of music. Can I just suggest that maybe we try loving it more, like sometime around 9 am instead? That would be cool.

When I think back on L and her sleeping (or NOT sleeping, in her case) patterns, it dawns on me that when she was exactly 7 months old, she decided she hated to sleep even more than ever before also. So…I am hoping that you do not continue this into toddlerhood. Because if you do, you will both be sleeping in a tent, in the back yard. Which is probably a total lie. Because I will probably be the one sleeping in the yard. Let’s be for real here.

You have two teeth now and I am sure that more are right there, just waiting to make my life a living hell push through those juicy little jaws of yours. You look more like a kid every day and not so much, anymore, like my little baby boy. It is so insane that you are almost as big as your sister at such an early age. But, again, your father is the Jolly Green Giant. So…at least we know where you get that from. But you are pretty much your father’s clone in most ways anyway. So I was expecting as much.

You are generally still one of the happiest babies I have ever encountered. Your giggle is so infectious. You love it when I hold you in the air and pretend to nibble on you and you laugh like this is the best/funniest/most entertaining thing that has ever happened in the history of the world. And I love the sound of your happiness more than I can ever tell you. Your big, hazel eyes are wide with curiosity already, and it is as if you are trying to take the whole world in, all the time. You seem to be sizing everything up and becoming a little genius before my eyes. You seem like an old soul to me. You seem, to me, to be a lot like my Grandpa Ollie, your namesake. And I think it is wonderful. I couldn’t have asked for anything better than you. I am so excited to see who you become. I hope, every day, that I can be a good example to you. I hope the same for your sister. I hope that I can teach you to be the kind of person that you can be proud of. I hope you will learn to be kind and gentle like your father and I hope you value the importance and opportunity of education and knowledge. I hope that you belly-laugh every day. And I hope that you find the joy in making other people belly-laugh as well.

Being a parent is one of the scariest things I can think of. I hope that I do you proud, my little dude. Because I couldn’t live with myself, otherwise.

You two are the loves of my life. And I value every second of every minute of every day that I am lucky enough to have you. I hope you remember that always.

To the moon and back,

Mom

Daughters

So, I never thought I would have kids, much less a daughter. The thought of having a daughter was like…well…there wasn’t any thought of it. Because I just KNEW that if I had kids, I wanted a son. A son just seemed easier. Like, I wouldn’t have to have “the talk” because, obviously, as the opposite sex parent, I would get to be oblivious of all those nasty things that happen to boys during puberty. I wouldn’t have to explain that it is totally natural. I wouldn’t have to pull a Dan Connor and advise him to “put a book in front of it”. Because…gross. I don’t want to know about any other uses for your books than reading, kid. That’s Daddy’s department. I don’t have a penis.

But then I found out I was pregnant. With L. And she didn’t have a penis either. And holy shitballs, you guys. What the hell was I to do with this tiny female fetus? A fetus that would eventually go through a totally different puberty that warranted ZERO books. Puberty is totally shitty for girls. Because it isn’t just embarrassing. It is messy as hell. And, much like in pregnancy, things happen to your body that you not only can’t control, but don’t understand. And those things make PREGNANCY, like, POSSIBLE. Which is terrifying. And maybe the thought of that is MORE terrifying for the PARENTS of these little things. Because no parent wants a pregnant, barely pubescent kid. And you, as the parent, are responsible for making sure that this little spawn of yours understands that all this mess and embarrassment comes with some responsibility. How do you teach this to someone who can’t even drive a car? Or drink legally?

I know I have  a little while to stew on this, you guys. L isn’t even two. Right. I get it. But I definitely think about it a lot. Because as her same-sex parent, I want to make sure that I am a role model. And an information source. A trusted one. Because I sure as shit didn’t feel comfortable talking to anyone about anything like this. But I also waited until I was 19 to have sex. And with someone that I genuinely loved and trusted and planned to be with forever. And I definitely don’t regret that three-year relationship. Because I was responsible. But not because I had anyone explaining why I should be. But because I am just a pretty logical person. And I am kind of scared of everything. So…the combination did me well. I just want to make sure that my kid…you know…isn’t a total ignorant mess about the whole deal.

There are SO many things I worry about with my little lady. As she grows, I hope that she doesn’t ever get caught up in bullying. I hope she isn’t bullied either. But I hope that if she is, she will be strong and confident enough not to fall into a trap that threatens to ruin her. Because she is beautiful. And she is already so smart and funny and amazing. Kids are so mean. And society is mean to kids. We make them believe that they have to be this impossibly beautiful, thin, imaginary person. We make them small. We make women small, in general. And women are NOT small. We are the center of the universe, ladies. We are where life starts. And we are responsible for the next women. And we will plant the seeds for the women after them. And we have to do them proud.

And this scares me.

We don’t need more Kardashians. (Please, Cheesus, no more Kardashians.) We need more strong, brilliant, beautiful women. Women who are strong because they are proud. And not women who are famous for the size of their asses. Or whatever those Kardashians are famous for…

We need to lead by example.

It is especially daunting because, though I know I am strong, I am sort of delicate. I have anxiety and I like to blend in more than I like to be seen. And I could definitely benefit from being a little easier on myself these days, after two babies in two years. I have to be the one to show L that she, despite whatever flaws she might think she has, IS BEAUTIFUL. And to do that, I have to start recognizing the beauty in me. Because that’s where it all starts. With me.

 

An Open Letter to Baby O at Six Months

Oh, my Darling, Oliver,

You are growing SO FAST. You turned six months old the other day and I am having a hard time processing that. Because about this time last year, I was starting to plan your sister’s first birthday party. And now here you are…catching up with her. I can’t believe it.

You got your first tooth on December 7th. And not without a lot of screaming. I will be the first one to tell you, son, that you are the loudest screamer EVER. You are quiet and content and giggly almost all of the time, but when you scream, little boy, you don’t mess around. Your sister had a hard time with the teething too, as all babies do, but she didn’t come close to your range of angry sounds. L just kind of fussed continuously for months while those stubborn teeth popped in, one by one, taking their damn time and ruining any plans I had of sleep or peace in general. You are like a really pissed off air horn. I will forgive you sometime between now and your first birthday (hopefully) when all of these little bastards are in place and I can sit back peacefully and wait for the molars. At which time, I will move out of the house until you are finished growing them. Just kidding. (Kind of.)

You sit up unassisted. Which, I mean, isn’t new. But it is something you are doing. You seem to be hitting your milestones a little slower than you are supposed to. But this is totally my fault. Or, rather, your sister’s. I am terrified to put you down on the floor to let you explore your body and strength and surroundings for two reasons: 1. we have hard wood floors and I am constantly concerned that you will lose control of your giant noggin and crack it open and 2. the other day, I put you on this baby gym thing that lies on the floor and has toys dangling above your head. I went to the bathroom and left the door open to where I could hear you and your sister but could not see you. I heard your muffled cries and ran into the living room with my pants around my ankles, only to find your sister, straddling your face, attempting to reach the dangling toys. And I screeched like some sort of bird not yet identified by scientists and pulled her off of your face. So…needless to say, our home is a dangerous place for the likes of you. And if it takes you a little longer to crawl but your cranium remains intact, so be it. Score one for mommy.

Aside from almost being smothered by your sister, you seem to really enjoy being around her. You get so excited when she is around. You giggle at each other and you babble to her and she treats you just like I do. When you cry, she strokes your head and says, “It’s OK, baby” and she gives you hugs and kisses ALL THE TIME. And you eat it up. And it melts mommy into a big, slimy puddle of gooey love all over the place. I really can’t believe how quickly and beautifully this bond is forming between the two of you and how blessed I feel about getting to witness it as it does.

You have giant, pink cheeks and beautiful hazel eyes. And you have a wonderful, happy disposition. You sleep well and you eat well and at your six month checkup on 12/12, you weighed in at a whopping 20 pounds, 11 ounces and you were 27 inches long. You are a big boy. Rightly so. You are definitely your father’s son. And that makes me happy. I hope that you learn from him how to treat the ladies. Because, honey, your father is truly a gentleman. I am so lucky to have him. And so are you and your sister.

We are finally about to transition you into sleeping in your crib full-time. And yes, we may be slow to do this, and we are aware. But your sister didn’t start sleeping in her crib until six months old (although, she pretty much still hates it) and your room was an utter disaster until this past weekend. And now, it is complete, and ready for YOU. Daddy put all kinds of things together for you and we bought all new toys and bedding and fun things for you to look at and play with. Just in time for Christmas!

I hope that, when you read these letters, you know that I love you more than I could possibly document here. I hope you know that there is nothing better than you and your sister and our little family.

I love you always, little man.

Mom

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An Open Letter to Baby O: Five Months

Dear Oliver,

Today you are five months old. I always say that I can’t believe it. Because I CAN’T FREAKING BELIEVE IT! You are not only no longer a newborn, but you do tricks!

You can sit up unassisted now! Not for long periods of time, yet. But I am a firm believer that this is because your overall chunk factor is outweighing your ambition to do so. Understandably so. You are CHUNKY. You are at your most motivated when I am eating food next to you and you are intrigued and drooling. I am thinking that if I create some sort of device that dangles donuts in front of your face, you will do lots more interesting things.

You are not a fan of tummy time. And this is not a shock because your sister hated it so much that it took literally TWO SECONDS on her tummy before she started wailing her pretty little head off. You aren’t quite as bad as she was. You will, at least, humor me for a minute or so before you get angry. But you’re strong. And that makes me happy.

You might not believe this when you finally read this post, and you might call me a liar, but you absolutely LOVE YOUR SISTER. Your eyes light up every time she is within your line of sight and you squeal with glee when she pays attention to you. I mean, like, ANY attention. Now, like I said, you may never believe that this was ever the case. But here it is, Ollie. In print. Mommy has spoken. I get so much satisfaction out of the two of you and your interactions with each other. When you cry, she brings your pacifier to me to give to you. (She sometimes tries to shove it, ever so gently into your eye mouth. She tries to help. She loves you too.

You are still such a happy baby. You sleep well most of the time and you coo and giggle and have all this personality and I just can’t believe how fast you are growing. You are generally content just to sit and watch as I put out your sister’s little fires all day. You bounce in the little bouncy contraption while she bangs pots and pans and creates a ridiculous amount of noise. You don’t mind. You just want to be near her. And when the mood strikes her, she pushes the bouncy contraption back and forth, saying, “WEEEEEEE!” for you so that it is like you are in a swing. (She used to push you in the swing too, if it wasn’t turned on, because she can’t stand you not to be moving?) You love this. You giggle and scream and just watch her. It melts my heart every time.

I hope that, by the time you read this, you and your sister are as close as you can be. I think that is the most exciting thing for me about you being this close in age. You, I hope, will grow to be best friends. I hope that you will love each other and look out for each other always. I hope that you get the best of the best out of having a sibling. Because, I mean, siblings are AMAZING. (Try and remember that when she plays tricks on your or tells you that you were adopted. You were NOT adopted and I have this blog, detailing all of the pain of my pregnancy, to prove it. But it is an older sibling’s DUTY to convince you of such things. Just kick her. No. Don’t kick your sister. Man…I maybe need to work on my parental advice before you get old enough that you actually do start kicking her. Crap.)

Anyway, I love you very much. More and more every single day. I can’t imagine my life without your smile. And your big, beautiful eyes. And being puked on 17 times before noon every day. (My guess is that I would probably smell better without that last one, though.) You should know that you, your sister and father are my whole world. And I couldn’t love any three people more. You all complete me. So, yeah. Thanks for that, little guy.

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To the moon and back,

Mom

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No Apologies…My Kid Watches TV.

DJ Lance Rock with King Khan and the Shrines

DJ Lance Rock with King Khan and the Shrines (Photo credit: greenplastic875)

This evening, right before bath time, L spilled her sippy cup of water all over the hardwood floor in the living room. She stood in a puddle of water next to the coffee table and looked at me with those little wide eyes as if to tell me that she had done something wrong. When I walked over to her, she looked down and her soggy socks and started to try and walk away. She slipped and lost her footing, but she didn’t fall. I realized what had happened, scooped her up and grabbed some paper towels to clean up the water. And when I started to clean it up she looked at me with those same giant blue eyes and said, “Oh NOOOOO! I sorry!”

This may not be such a big deal. But so many things happened in that moment. Like, I realized for the first time that, while she has previously exhibited some knowledge of what is going on around her on a deeper level than I expect her to, she actually KNOW THINGS, you guys. Like, she knows that she made a mistake. And then that the proper and polite thing to do was APOLOGIZE. And she’s not quite 18 months old and she walks and talks and sings and dances and it is like she learns more stuff so quickly that I can barely keep up! And it makes me feel so full of this immense joy that I feel like my heart might actually explode. But it also makes me so sad that SOOOOOON she won’t be my baby anymore. (Which, I guess, makes it pretty awesome that I get to do all of it simultaneously with her brother, who is just a year and 24 days younger than her. Yes. Most of you know that already.) But Oh. My. GOD. My baby is a PERSON.

That’s not really the point of this post.

I read a lot of stuff about the development of the brain of babies and toddlers. And, like, how they shouldn’t watch any TV before they are two years old. And then it is supposed to be a REALLY small amount. You know, you have all read the same things. And for a long time, with L, I was really stringent about letting her watch ANYTHING. And then I got to a point where I knew that, with her NEVER SLEEPING and all of that, I would need to find some SECONDS to do ANYTHING else and that might require DJ Lance Rock. And things worked out well. A half hour of DJ Lance was enough for me, when she was seven months old and bouncing up and down in some contraption or another, to do dishes. Or PEE. Or brush my teeth. And life was better.

And then I had Baby O. It was then that I realized, not only do I no longer have time to read these articles about baby and toddler brain development, but I don’t have time not to turn on DJ Lance for 30 minutes so that I don’t stab myself in the eye so that I can get a break (read: trip to the emergency room which would be the only way I would get a break most of the time). And I said, “Fuck this. I get to decide these things.” After all, my mom said that, at 18 months, since I was unable to walk due to an injury sustained during birth, I would watch entire episodes of Sesame Street and could read well by the time I was four. So, yeah. The articles say that allowing children under two to watch television will cause them to have ADD. And they will be socially underdeveloped. And BLAH BLAH MOTHERFUCKING BLAH. But the people who write these articles CLEARLY don’t have a four month old and a seventeen month old sucking the ever-loving sanity RIGHT OUT OF THEIR SOULS. Nope. I am sure of it. So my kid watches “Elmo the Musical” and happily sings the theme song to “Yo Gabba Gabba” but she also apologizes for spilling her water on the floor. And she interacts with everyone. And she shows NO signs of any kind of ineptitude in any area. Do I let her sit in front of the TV for 10 hours per day? No. (And that would make me a total asshole, b t dubs.) Does she watch 2 hours per day? Heck yes. And you know why? Because I’m the mommy. And there’s another tiny, demanding little guy needing something during pretty much ALL OF THE SECONDS in which she isn’t. So there.

In your face, article writers who make moms feel guilty about stupid shit. My kid is gonna be a damn genius.

Elvis was Booked This Year

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Elvis-impersonator-martin-fox-01-1- (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So, internet, one year ago yesterday, MB and I got married. In Vegas. With an Elvis impersonator. Yep.

I can hardly believe that we have been married for a whole year. Not to say that this year has been particularly easy. Because it has been a total mindfuck. Right after we got married (L was 5 months old), we found out we were expecting ANOTHER baby. Then we moved into a house, had a baby boy, MB changed jobs, I had to learn how to be a mother of two (still working on this one) and we have had to combat a LOT of hard shit. With MB working more at this new place, he is gone more than he is present. He misses things that the kids do every day. He missed the first time L gave a kiss (which was the cutest thing ever), the first time Baby O laughed, and COUNTLESS things already in the two months that he has been working this new schedule. And it is heartbreaking for him. And for me.

And our relationship is sometimes strained. He goes to work, day in, day out and makes money so that I can stay home and be driven completely mad by raise the kids so that we don’t have to send them to daycare. (Daycare totally terrifies me. And I am not judging those of you who don’t have a choice in sending your kids there, I am just lucky enough, because of my husband, that I can be here with them myself.) Sometimes I feel resentful that he gets to leave the house and see adults and have conversations that don’t involve babbling or made-up words.  Sometimes, I get angry that I am here all alone with no support from him. And I am sure that sometimes he resents me for being able to stay home with the kids and be there with them while they learn and grow and discover. Because I know that has to sting.

But I am wrong in being resentful. And I do check myself when I feel that way. Because I appreciate him. For every single thing he does for me. For us. He makes this life possible and I love him infinitely. And I am so lucky. Sometimes I need to remind myself of that.

On our anniversary, we saw each other for about two hours when he got home from work before he passed out from exhaustion on the loveseat. I always regret not having the time to say the things to him that I think about when I have time to think about our relationship. And my gratitude. We get lost in a sea of to-do lists and last minute chores and taking the trash out before we forget. And our anniversary was no different.

He came home with a bottle of wine, a card, and flowers. After working a 13 hour day and not having had lunch. After sweating in the hot sun. All for us. All for me.

And I just love him, internet.

I have never met anyone so kind and gracious and generous and loving. IN. MY. LIFE. And he has made this life possible for me. And I am eternally grateful. Even if I rarely can find the time to say it.

He never has time to read this blog. And I am writing as a reminder to myself that he is amazing. And I am one lucky gal.

(Happy ONE YEAR, MB. I hope you read this sometime when you aren’t busy making our family work and know that you are my everything. I love you.)

An Open Letter to Baby O: Four Months

Dear Ollie,

Tomorrow you will be four whole months old. And, I’d like to also point out that, while I can hardly believe that you are already this old, I can also hardly believe how you LOOK like you are NINE months old. You are huge. HUGE. (I will find out tomorrow at your check-up just HOW huge. But huge.)

I also think you are teething. Which also blows my mind because, Good GOD, kid, SLOW DOWN. What are you trying to do to me? With teething comes a lot of not sleeping. And drooling. And trying to gnaw your own appendages off. Which SUCKS for me because I have your big sister trying to climb the walls and rearranging the kitchen (read: dragging all of the pots, pans and Tupperware into the living room and banging it against the coffee table). The gnawing thing is pretty cute, but you are a soggy, soggy baby, Ollie.

You smile and giggle a lot now (when you aren’t shoving things into your mouth or screaming about the gums) and you are happy most of the time. Which is so great because if you were anything like your sister was, I would already have been institutionalized.

You found your feet a few days ago and you were so excited when you finally managed to grab ahold of one of them that I thought you might poop. It is so funny to think that I just watched Lilah do all of this same stuff a little over a year ago and she’s so big and all over the place now. It just reaffirms for me that time goes by super fast and before I know it, you’re going to be toddling all over the place too. (I am not sure that “toddling” is an actual word. But I like it. And it very much describes what your sister does.)

You make me so happy, Little Man. You are the spitting image of your daddy and you are just so freaking adorable that sometimes I am worried I might actually eat you. (I PROBABLY won’t eat you. But I can’t make any promises because you are just THAT YUMMY.) Sometimes I feel a little bit of guilt for having you so soon after having your sister because I wonder if I am giving you all the attention that you need but you seem to be happy and thriving just like you should be. It helps that you are not as much of a total spaz as your sister was/is. You are patient when she is destroying the house and I have to put you down to “regulate” the situation.

You are a good boy. You are handsome and strong and a joy and you’re all mine. I love you, little guy.
Always,

Mom

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An Open Letter to Baby O: Three Months

Dearest Oliver,

Today, you are three whole months old! And you are alive! And aside from the cradle cap that will not die, you are doing wonderfully! You smile and coo and sleep through the night most of the time and you are just a little nugget of happy!

At your last checkup, about a month ago, you were already a whopping 12 pounds, 5 ounces and were 20.5 inches long. Meaning that you are growing SUPER fast and getting into that chunky baby phase where people are compelled to touch your cheeks. Constantly. I am not immune. I pinch your little cheeks and kiss your little toes and sing you ridiculous songs. Songs that sometimes involve water buffalo. And then I ask myself, “Will you ever sing normal songs again, Crazy Lady?” to which I answer, “Who cares?” Because you are growing up so fast and I know you will never enjoy water buffalo songs as much as you do right now.

I have to tell you, I am definitely exhausted. I chase your sister while giving you your bottles because if I don’t chase her, she is typically littering the contents of my underwear drawer all over the house or hiding my Tupperware. But you remain calm. You look up at me with those big eyes (we are not sure yet what color they will be, but I imagine, like everything else, you will have your father’s hazel beauties), confused but peaceful as I try to intercept bras before they end up in the toilet. You don’t often seem phased at all by the gleeful screeching of Lilah as she watches “Yo Gabba Gabba” in the afternoons.

Lilah, who initially didn’t have a clue what to think about you, the little meatloaf that suddenly appeared in place of mommy’s giant belly, is totally enamored with you. First thing in the morning, she runs to where you are sleeping (which could either be next to our bed in the sleeper or in the swing, depending on what kind of night we had) and says, in the sweetest, most adorable voice I have ever heard, “Hiiiiiiiiii, Ollie!” (Which, by the way, is the only full sentence, if you can call it that, that she knows so far.) Judging from the giant smile on your face when this happens, I am optimistic that you two will be the best of friends. And not so long from now!

You hold your head up for long stretches of time. So often that it amazes everyone who sees it. It is astonishing to me that, a year from now, you too will be learning to walk and exploring and eating toilet paper. I have to remind myself how quickly this all passes so that I don’t miss a minute of your babyhood. I try and remember, at four in the morning, that you are my last baby. And you won’t be a baby for long. It goes too fast.

Your dad has been working 15 hours per day, six days per week since you were about two months old. It has definitely taken a toll on us because you kids don’t get to see him every day like you used to. But when you do see him, the love that I see between you brings tears to my eyes. Our family is complete. And it is so because of you, my little man.

I had forgotten how beautiful it is when your baby smiles at you, though. Not because your sister doesn’t smile at me, but that she is no longer a baby. And not because it has been a long time, because she is just shy of 16 months old now. But because there is no comparison to it. In. The. World. When you smile at me, it is different than the way that you smile at your Grandmas or your sister or even your dad. Because I can tell it is just for me. You know me. And you already love me. And it melts my heart. Every. Single. Time.

I love you too, little man. To the moon and back.

Love,

Mom

(Right now, I have to tell you, you are sort of pissing me off, however, because you refuse to nap. Even though your ridiculously loud sister is quietly napping in her room and there is virtually ZERO noise in the house. Mommy needs 15 minutes to write you a letter, buddy.)