Note to self: when your son's stomach starts to rumble loud enough for you to instinctively look for a freight train, you should immediately go on alert. When it does it a second time, you should check him before you pick him up and hug him.
Little Man was sitting in his chair happily eating away; a spoon in each hand to maximize the wonderful mess mommy will have to clean up but why stop with face, hair, and floor? Been there. Done that. Time to up the ante.
The first rumble didn't register with me right away. The second rumble caused a raised eyebrow but the look of shear joy and huge belly laugh wiped away any concern. Um, hello. You have a BOY. Listen to the stereotypes woman. They came about for a reason.
I pick Little Man up and give him a hug as I always do when a stench begins its assault on my olfactory receptors. Once that registers, I realize my boob is now wet. I extend my arms and am about to ask my adorable offspring if he pooped when it I realize I am about to be awarded the grand prize for asking the obvious.
As I've mentioned before, my son has never been one for spit ups or blowouts but when he does, he excels at them. I am not sure what award he is going for but he definitely took it tonight. Is there an Oscar for best blowout?
It is all the way up his back and half way up his front (not to mention also now on my front BLECH!). I carry my adorable yet revoltingly smelly and dirty offspring upstairs by holding him as far away from me as my arms will reach. I am not sure "pissed off" properly conveys the look I received. I quickly realize that there is no way I can use the changing table unless I want it spread to his hands, feet, face, hair, and of course, the walls. So stink boy gets unceremoniously dumped in the tub. The daggers shooting out his eyes are now joined by his spot on impersonation of a banshee.
I strip the socks and the shorts and am stunned by a horrific discovery. My son is wearing not a polo shirt but a polo onesie.
"Shit. Shit. SHIT! Literally and figuratively SHIIIIT! By the way dear, now is NOT the time to start imitating what you hear come out of mommy's mouth OK? SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT! How the hell do I get this damn thing off of you without getting it on your face and in your hair? DAMN IT! Why the HELL did I not install the damn detachable shower head? Hmm, would the neighbors be horrified if I took the hose to you outside?"
As the banshee screams increase I decide that maybe too scarring so I somehow manage the incredible feat of removing a onesie that seems to have shrunk instantly without getting it in his face or hair. I got it all over my hand and arm instead. Have I said BLECH yet?
The one time I am glad my son is too upset to sit down in the tub. It made cleaning him easier. I've never scrubbed him so clean. Ever. Have to remember to stop by CVS tomorrow and grab some more bath wash for him. I went through most of the bottle. Don't worry. I stopped short of reaching for the bleach.
So my son is now spit-shine clean and smelling like aquaphor. My hand and arm are scrubbed raw and smelling like rubbing alcohol (again, stopped short of reaching for the bleach. My arms are white enough). A pile of clothes, a ton of washcloths and towels are in the wash and his tub has been scrubbed, bleached and then bleached again for good measure.
I hope this a one time deal but the freight train rumbled again. SHIT! I tell you I am incredibly slow sometimes. My son's pajamas? A FREAKING ONESIE! I think of this now. SHITSHITSHITSHITSHIT! This better be a one-time thing. I can already hear my husband's response at 2 AM: "I have to go to the office tomorrow. You are working from home. All yours. Besides, you are the one that put in back in a onesie".
Oh Sweet Mother...
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
The Phases of the Moon
I understand that a child goes through phases, preferring one parent over another. Little Man is no exception. He changes loyalties with the phases of the moon. When it is time to switch from mommy to daddy, mommy appreciates the break and takes no offense (OK, at times I've cheered maybe a little too loudly). When the moon phases, he comes back to mommy just as the twinges of jealousy start to rear its ugly head.
Daddy phase began last week just in time for the weekend. This means I get to gently nudge my husband awake at 6:30 to go get Little Man while I roll over and go back to sleep. Hmm, maybe I should adjust part of that last sentence or someone will be calling bullshit on me.
This means I can elbow the shit out of my husband until he jumps up crying "what the fuck?" while shooting daggers out of his eyes at me. I smile sweetly. Let him know that his son wants him, roll over and go back to sleep.
Saturday morning I elbow my dear sweet husband and without question (but not without a few choice and maybe well-deserved words for me. Maybe) he goes and gets Little Man who proceeds to walk into our room and have a very loud conversation with me. Loud conversation and sleep do not go well together so I ask the little munchkin with the lungs of a T-Rex if he's hungry; would he like to go downstairs.
Yes, yes, yes! If he nodded any harder his head would have rolled off. I didn't have my bowling pins set up so I told him to go with Daddy who would be more than happy to get him breakfast.
You would have thought I dangled his breakfast just out of reach and refused to give it to him. T-Rex decided to imitate a banshee. Has the moon phased that quickly? Does he only want mama again? Again with the head nod. So I drag my tired ass out of bed, take him downstairs and get him breakfast. Once he is content in his chair shoveling food in faster than a starving squirrel, I proceed to the espresso machine where I start on my first of two double-shot espressos. I need to prepare for the mama only day in front of me.
I don't even get my second double-shot down my throat when Little Man decides he is done so down and off he goes. To Daddy. To Play.
The moon hasn't phased. My son has not swung back to his mommy-only phase. He has donned his Robes of Justice (hmm, future Supreme Court or League of Justice?) and decided to put mommy in her place. Daddy's job is to entertain him, play with him, and make him laugh until he hiccups. Mommy's job is to feed him, clean up after him, change him, and what ever non-playtime related task he can think of. Think you are going back to sleep? Well before you do - let me fill my diaper first - all mushy and disgusting and a PITA to clean up. OK, now can you get me some milk? Nah, I want Cheerios. Nah, I want....
I apologize to my darling husband. I will fore go the elbow to the ribs. I will drag my tired ass out of bed and have breakfast with my son.
Until I can find a spa retreat I can afford...
Daddy phase began last week just in time for the weekend. This means I get to gently nudge my husband awake at 6:30 to go get Little Man while I roll over and go back to sleep. Hmm, maybe I should adjust part of that last sentence or someone will be calling bullshit on me.
This means I can elbow the shit out of my husband until he jumps up crying "what the fuck?" while shooting daggers out of his eyes at me. I smile sweetly. Let him know that his son wants him, roll over and go back to sleep.
Saturday morning I elbow my dear sweet husband and without question (but not without a few choice and maybe well-deserved words for me. Maybe) he goes and gets Little Man who proceeds to walk into our room and have a very loud conversation with me. Loud conversation and sleep do not go well together so I ask the little munchkin with the lungs of a T-Rex if he's hungry; would he like to go downstairs.
Yes, yes, yes! If he nodded any harder his head would have rolled off. I didn't have my bowling pins set up so I told him to go with Daddy who would be more than happy to get him breakfast.
You would have thought I dangled his breakfast just out of reach and refused to give it to him. T-Rex decided to imitate a banshee. Has the moon phased that quickly? Does he only want mama again? Again with the head nod. So I drag my tired ass out of bed, take him downstairs and get him breakfast. Once he is content in his chair shoveling food in faster than a starving squirrel, I proceed to the espresso machine where I start on my first of two double-shot espressos. I need to prepare for the mama only day in front of me.
I don't even get my second double-shot down my throat when Little Man decides he is done so down and off he goes. To Daddy. To Play.
The moon hasn't phased. My son has not swung back to his mommy-only phase. He has donned his Robes of Justice (hmm, future Supreme Court or League of Justice?) and decided to put mommy in her place. Daddy's job is to entertain him, play with him, and make him laugh until he hiccups. Mommy's job is to feed him, clean up after him, change him, and what ever non-playtime related task he can think of. Think you are going back to sleep? Well before you do - let me fill my diaper first - all mushy and disgusting and a PITA to clean up. OK, now can you get me some milk? Nah, I want Cheerios. Nah, I want....
I apologize to my darling husband. I will fore go the elbow to the ribs. I will drag my tired ass out of bed and have breakfast with my son.
Until I can find a spa retreat I can afford...
Friday, June 26, 2009
Defective Babel Fish
Me: Where's the fish?
Little Man points to Elmo's feet.
Me: No baby, those are feet. This is a fish. Now where is the shell?
Little Man points to the shell. Success!
Me: Good job. Now where's the beach ball?
Little Man points in the general vicinity so he gets a check mark for that one as well.
Me: Where's the fish?
Little Man points to the fish and says: blagagla (or something to that effect).
Me: That's a fish.
Little Man: Blagagla (pointing a tad more emphatically)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! (one strong jab at the fish)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! Jab, jab - I'll stare you down Mama!
Me: Yes dear.
Little Man points to Elmo's feet.
Me: No baby, those are feet. This is a fish. Now where is the shell?
Little Man points to the shell. Success!
Me: Good job. Now where's the beach ball?
Little Man points in the general vicinity so he gets a check mark for that one as well.
Me: Where's the fish?
Little Man points to the fish and says: blagagla (or something to that effect).
Me: That's a fish.
Little Man: Blagagla (pointing a tad more emphatically)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! (one strong jab at the fish)
Me: Fish
Little Man: BLAGAGLA! Jab, jab - I'll stare you down Mama!
Me: Yes dear.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
The arrival of the Babel fish
Little Man and I were leaving the house this morning. He pointed to the door and said:
“Go. Bye-bye. Go.”
Go would be the second word my son has spoken that I have understood. Whoever slipped the Babel fish in my ear, I thank you; about freaking time but thank you.
“Go. Bye-bye. Go.”
Go would be the second word my son has spoken that I have understood. Whoever slipped the Babel fish in my ear, I thank you; about freaking time but thank you.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Mommy Milestone #2 (The Big One)
I've said this before: for all I know my son is having a conversation that would make Steven Hawking proud but short bus mama here can't understand a word of it.
Tonight after he put his bath toys away, we drained the tub. He did his usual - clap and wave good-bye to the water. And then, while waving, he clearly said: buh-buh. Not once but twice.
My son spoke. He said a word and miraculously I understood him. My son said bye-bye to the water.
I'm so happy I could cry. There is hope for me after all. I just may graduate from the short bus after all.
Tonight after he put his bath toys away, we drained the tub. He did his usual - clap and wave good-bye to the water. And then, while waving, he clearly said: buh-buh. Not once but twice.
My son spoke. He said a word and miraculously I understood him. My son said bye-bye to the water.
I'm so happy I could cry. There is hope for me after all. I just may graduate from the short bus after all.
Baby on Board
Baby on Board
The one small little sign can send my stomach into all sorts of upheaval.
Obnoxious but what do you expect about a Yuppie fad?
I could rant for hours about the (stereo)typical people who put these signs on their cars but George Carlin went there, did that and why mess with a good thing.
I won't go there. I will; however, go here:
To the obnoxious, faux-SUV-driving Bimbo who had the nerve to put a Baby on Board sign on her car: If you are that concerned about your child's safety, put your makeup on BEFORE you leave the house. Not while you are driving at 45 miles an hour. I wish I could have followed you. I would have moved that damn sign from the back window to the front where YOU could see it.
The one small little sign can send my stomach into all sorts of upheaval.
Obnoxious but what do you expect about a Yuppie fad?
I could rant for hours about the (stereo)typical people who put these signs on their cars but George Carlin went there, did that and why mess with a good thing.
I won't go there. I will; however, go here:
To the obnoxious, faux-SUV-driving Bimbo who had the nerve to put a Baby on Board sign on her car: If you are that concerned about your child's safety, put your makeup on BEFORE you leave the house. Not while you are driving at 45 miles an hour. I wish I could have followed you. I would have moved that damn sign from the back window to the front where YOU could see it.
Monday, June 22, 2009
The Evolution Continues
I've never had a green thumb unless it was a cactus. I do great with cacti. My dream was to rip the front bushes out and replace them with cacti. I have a friend who lives in the desert. Her dream is a backyeard filled with lush green grass, bushes, and flowers. I think we should switch locations.
Unfortunately cacti are not kid/toddler friendly so I've placed that dream on the back burner. The easy solution to my green thumb issue was to leave the bushes we have in the front of the house. They require no work outside of some pruning which my man is so kind to take care of. But we hate them. They are ugly. The gaping hole my husband accidentally cut into the middle of one doesn't help lessen the ugliness.
So I ripped them out and traipsed down to the local nursery where the woman there convinces me that I too can have a green thumb. I too can have a lovely garden like my neighbors. She then proceeds to show me all sorts of lovely bushes, perenials, and annuals.
That was 2 weeks ago. I still haven't replaced the bushes. I thought I had decided but then realized the cockscomb I have my heart set on will not look good with the Nandina. Yes, I am planning bushes around anuals not the other way around. I am not sure I should be in charge of the garden.
So there is a bare spot in front of the house. I should have ripped out the azaleas first. At least I an 80% sure I am replacing those with a crepe myrtle. Well maybe more like 70% sure.
However I am the proud owner of 6 hanging plants. The bareness of the front of the house didn't phase my mom at all this weekend. Nope - it was the bareness in the back of the house, you know, the part of the house 99% of the people who pass by never see - that part bothered her. So instead of buying bushes and cockscomb this weekend (man did my mind just dive into the gutter) I came home with hanging plants.
I don't have a clue what 2 of them are but they are pretty (leave it to me to grab the ones that didn't have the little tag with name and instructions on it). One is a vibrant red fluted flower. The other is small purple and yellow flowers. Then I picked a purple verdana (sp?). The other plant in the back of the house? A PINK impatiens (again - sp?). PINK!
And I LOVE IT!
Ok now that you have digested that let's move to the front of the house. Mom bought the 4 plants for the back. While we were looking for those I remembered that there are hooks in the front porch and some hanging plants there would be perfect. So I decide to buy 2 plants for the front. I am not sure I should be admitting to what I purchased.
TWO FUSHCIA PLANTS. You do realize that the flowers are half pink? PINK! That I picked myself!
I blame the Pink Ninja. I am not sure how but this has to be her fault.
Now I am looking at my pink and purple flowers hanging over the area where my new bushes will be planted and I realize that the cockscomb may not look to good with the fushcia so I am back to keeping my empty garden plot. By the time the Fushcia start to bug out on me it will be too late to plant anything else but then it will almost be Christmas. So I'll stake the 3' plastic Christmas tree we have in the back of the closet and surround it by potted pointsettas. When planting season rolls around next time, I have a friend whom I can fly in for an pink intervention. Unless the Pink Ninja gets to her through her daughter...
Unfortunately cacti are not kid/toddler friendly so I've placed that dream on the back burner. The easy solution to my green thumb issue was to leave the bushes we have in the front of the house. They require no work outside of some pruning which my man is so kind to take care of. But we hate them. They are ugly. The gaping hole my husband accidentally cut into the middle of one doesn't help lessen the ugliness.
So I ripped them out and traipsed down to the local nursery where the woman there convinces me that I too can have a green thumb. I too can have a lovely garden like my neighbors. She then proceeds to show me all sorts of lovely bushes, perenials, and annuals.
That was 2 weeks ago. I still haven't replaced the bushes. I thought I had decided but then realized the cockscomb I have my heart set on will not look good with the Nandina. Yes, I am planning bushes around anuals not the other way around. I am not sure I should be in charge of the garden.
So there is a bare spot in front of the house. I should have ripped out the azaleas first. At least I an 80% sure I am replacing those with a crepe myrtle. Well maybe more like 70% sure.
However I am the proud owner of 6 hanging plants. The bareness of the front of the house didn't phase my mom at all this weekend. Nope - it was the bareness in the back of the house, you know, the part of the house 99% of the people who pass by never see - that part bothered her. So instead of buying bushes and cockscomb this weekend (man did my mind just dive into the gutter) I came home with hanging plants.
I don't have a clue what 2 of them are but they are pretty (leave it to me to grab the ones that didn't have the little tag with name and instructions on it). One is a vibrant red fluted flower. The other is small purple and yellow flowers. Then I picked a purple verdana (sp?). The other plant in the back of the house? A PINK impatiens (again - sp?). PINK!
And I LOVE IT!
Ok now that you have digested that let's move to the front of the house. Mom bought the 4 plants for the back. While we were looking for those I remembered that there are hooks in the front porch and some hanging plants there would be perfect. So I decide to buy 2 plants for the front. I am not sure I should be admitting to what I purchased.
TWO FUSHCIA PLANTS. You do realize that the flowers are half pink? PINK! That I picked myself!
I blame the Pink Ninja. I am not sure how but this has to be her fault.
Now I am looking at my pink and purple flowers hanging over the area where my new bushes will be planted and I realize that the cockscomb may not look to good with the fushcia so I am back to keeping my empty garden plot. By the time the Fushcia start to bug out on me it will be too late to plant anything else but then it will almost be Christmas. So I'll stake the 3' plastic Christmas tree we have in the back of the closet and surround it by potted pointsettas. When planting season rolls around next time, I have a friend whom I can fly in for an pink intervention. Unless the Pink Ninja gets to her through her daughter...
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