Left foot, right foot

My giant child also has huge feet.

Well, not huge, but much bigger than they were in June.

Who would have thought that he would go from a size 5.5 shoe at the beginning of the summer to a 7 at the end? Apparently, not Mommy because I have been cramming his piggies into the same shoes all this time.

So he got measured for new shoes today and we got him some awesome new kicks.

But you can bet your Aunt Fanny I am still cramming his feet into the same sandals. He'll be fine, it's not like his toes are hanging over and we can just velcro them a little looser to avoid those unsightly strap marks.

Sandal season ends on Monday anyway. You won't catch any child of mine wearing open-toed shoes or white after Labor Day, that's for sure.

Tuity fruity

My Picky McPickerson decided this weekend, after we had been putting grapes on his tray for three weeks and watching them get squished by his fingers but getting nowhere near his mouth, he would eat them.

At first, he just sucked out the grape part and left the skin. But then on Saturday, when he was begging for a snack, we have him grapes and canteloupe. Which, haha, I was convinced he would not eat. It's new, it's orange. No good can come of that.

He sucked the canteloupe and liked the taste, but kept chewing it and then putting it back on the tray. But then he ate it. And swallowed it. And then ate some grapes. And swallowed them. I had to turn around to hide the joy on my face, lest he change his mind. I ran over to Josh and whispered excitedly that he was EATING ACTUAL FRUIT. Which of course was met with the comment, "See I told you if you waited until he was really hungry and only gave him that he would eat it."

Ahhh, bite me. You're clearly the better parent.

This is the first fruit, other than applesauce, that he has eaten. Dare I say, could carrots and peas be far behind?

Eye of the storm

There were some rather large, intense storms in the city today. It's been storming practically every day for a week now, but the last few days have been primarily at night.

Today, they were predicting severe storms for this afternoon. Of course, knowing full well it was going to rain, I decided to fill up the old wading pool for Jack because of the stifling heat and humidity. I figured we could squeeze in some wading after naptime.

Jack decided to sleep a little later than normal, so I was hustling him outside to the water shortly before the red blob of storm death and destruction was to close in on us. He was having a good time, and Josh stuck his head out the door to ask something about the window guy who was scheduled to come to the house, and then he went back upstairs to work.

About 10 minutes later, I thought it seemed darker than it had in previous minutes. The wind was picking up, but no drops had started yet. So I went to the door to ask Josh to come out and carry Jack upstairs.

The door wouldn't open. That would be because it was locked. My husband, bless his heart, locked me and his son out in the storm.

I start banging on the door and ringing the doorbell and banging some more. But Josh is all the way upstairs in the back of the house. Jack is standing in his pool looking at me with a scared look, frozen to the spot with his bucket poised in midair. The winds are really picking up now and the rain is coming down in hurricane sheets. I have never seen it just start to rain this hard, this fast.

For a moment, I actually consider flipping the pool over and taking cover under it, underneath the porch steps. But I realize it is full of water and weighs about 11 gazillion pounds and there is no way I can do this. My next thought is the pizza place down the block. But I have no shoes, and Jack is only wearing a swim diaper, so "No shirt, no shoes, no service" pretty much covers us.

So I go back to Jack and as he starts to freak out, I hug him and I hear the door open and Josh is looking rather sorry. He apologizes profusely, while I am yelling, "Just grab Jack and take him inside!"

Jack is now laughing like this is the funniest thing he's ever seen and I am soaking wet from head to toe.

We find out later the wind gusts were clocked at 60 mph in our neighborhood and the storms downed trees and power lines all over the city.

I felt like one of those weatherpeople on the news, broadcasting from the eye of the hurricane.

Bend it like Mommy

Because I can't pick Jack up anymore, I have to bend down or sit on the floor so he can give me hugs or climb into my lap.

This morning, when I came downstairs, he ran over to me and started bending way down with his butt on the ground. I bent down to give him a hug and then he did it again. And again. I realized that he knows I can't lift him, so that's how he asks me for hugs now.

It was about the cutest thing I have ever seen. I gave him about 50 hugs.

In a totally unrelated turn of events, as I was typing this, I got the dreaded blue screen of Dell death. I think I might cry. My laptop is only three months old. Please think good thoughts for us. Also, I just this minute found out that if you don't check your hotmail for the entire summer, you lose all your messages. Like the ones that date back to 2001. I think I really might cry now. I switched to Gmail and this is now my fate.

Raising a terrorist

My son, he is a baby terrorist.

Today, my friend, leah, came over with her very sweet and little six-week-old daughter. Maya was enjoying a little snooze in her carrier when Jack awoke from his nap and he was very interested in the "baaabeeee!" that was downstairs.

At first, he was content to just smile at her and rock her nicely in her seat. Then he started to get a little bolder and lean in closely and get a good look at her.

Then his training from the Al Queda camps kicked in and he launched his 18-month-old jihad on her and smacked her right in the head.

I was absolutley mortified. She's six weeks old! I was sitting inches away and I could not stop it. I knew he would attack, it's his M.O. He hits, that what he does. Not in maliciousness, but more of a greeting or a "let's see what happens" kind of thing.

I gave him a stern talking to and told him we don't hit people or babies because they are very small and that's not nice and we have to be gentle. And then I dropped a United Nations peacekeeping force on him and did not let him get near her. I took away his weapons of mass destruction by holding his hands and his reign of terror was over.

Except when he sidled up to Maya while my mom was holding her on the couch. She was blocking his attack from the right when he came with the left and got her again. At this point, I was ready to leave except we were at my house and I had no recourse.

Poor Leah assured me it was totally not a big deal, but I was and still am mortified. Not to mention the fact, we're going to have to place the new baby in a bullet-proof pack-n-play until she can defend herself against her big brother's attacks.

This is why there needs to be drinking at playdates. Even when you are pregnant.

Sugar and spice and everything nice

I usually don't post pregnancy updates on the Jack site, since you know, I am not pregnant with him. But this one warrants an exception since it involves hium being the big brother and all.

We had an ultrasound this morning to check the ole cervix. It looks great, 3.7 cm and no funneling.

Oh and they checked the gender.

It's a girl!

I am still a little stunned that we're going to have a mixed doubles team in this house. I really thought it would be another boy, but everyone else thought girl.

So the pink and the ruffles and the makeup and sass. What in the world have we done?

We're excited to have her though. One of each, still wrapping my brain around that one...

18 months

Jack had his 18-month appointment yesterday, and all things considered, it went a lot better than his visit last week for the dreaded Hand Foot and Mouth. This time he only cried instead of screaming bloody murder, and he was able to cry and clap at the same time when we would say "Yay" because the doctor was finished with some aspect of the exam.

But holy tall kid batman. He's 34.75 inches tall, which is 95th percentile, and he's 26.5 pounds, which is 50th percentile. So as he has been his entire life, he's tall and skinny like his father.

He can say 35 words now and eats with silverware and hugs stuffed animals and can stack three blocks. He can climb and run and walk backwards and is sleeping through the night like clockwork.

I really can't complain now can I?

He is a joy to be around, well except for when he's biting me. Like tonight, when he was crawling all over me on the couch, bent down and took a chunk out of my back. Right through my shirt. I kid you not, he broke the skin.

But he's awesome. He laughs and makes me laugh all the time. He gives me kisses for no reason. He yells "MUM" when he sees me across the room. He says "Daddy" every 10 seconds throughout the day and loves to play a special game with Josh where he gets thrown around and spun around and dropped on the couch.

He begs to go outside by asking for his shoes "eesh! eesh!" and pointing wildly because he knows when we get the shoes on, it's time to leave. He sobs when we have to leave the park. He makes the sign for eat about every five minutes, and cries forlornly if we deny him a snack. When we give him a cracker for each hand, he smiles and says "ank."

When he goes to bed, he reaches out to me with his index finger pointed, like ET, as I shut the door to his room. He bellows "MOOOOOORRRRRRREEEEEEEE" now instead of signing it frantically. He loves to read books and will sit quietly in the book corner, emitting a high-pitched "meeeeeee" when he see a cat in a book.

I can't imagine meeting anyone more interesting or who could possibly teach me as many new things as he has in the last 18 months. I see the world through his eyes now and walks are no longer about getting from one place to another; they are about trucks and ants and birds and trees and shadows on the sidewalk. Mornings aren't about grogginess and snooze buttons; they are about listening to him chatter in his crib and call out "Mom? Daddy? Dee dee dit dee mmmmmmmmm hi." Days aren't about work and stress; they are about teaching and playing and rolling on the floor.

Things are certainly going to change in a few months, but for now, I am enjoying it being Mommy and Daddy and Jack. I really love this kid.

Shaking his groove thing

I think this video just speaks for itself.

Happy 18 months Jack (one day late). I love you and your rhythm.

Gimme an H, F and M!

Christ almighty, if it's not one thing, it's another in this house.

Because it wasn't enough that I was getting a cerclage this week, Jack also got sick for the first time in months.

Sunday when we got back from our vacation, he felt hot to the touch. He started running a fever during the day and by Sunday night -- conveniently during the Pearl Jam concert at Lollapalooza -- it spiked to 104.5 and I called the pediatrician. Who told me at one point, "I can barely hear you." That would be because I am calling from the middle of 160,000 people. While my child is at home. Running the highset fever of his life. Nice Mommy aren't I?

We got it stabilized with Motrin, but it's been with him off and on and averaging around 100 since then. He was also grabbing his tongue, which when you can't speak, apparently translates to "Mom, my throat really effing hurts."

So we took him to the doctor today. We enetered the exam room smiling and happy and the second the pediatrician walked in, the screamfest commenced. Because I can't lift him, Josh was the lucky holder of the hysterical child. He was lunging for me during the exam of his ears and I thought his head might actually make a 360-degree rotation when the doctor took a throat swab for strep.

During the screaming, the doctor conveyed to us that the fever and the throat led him to a common diagnosis for this time of year: Hand, Foot and Mouth. It's spread through saliva and poop and the playground is a perfect hangout for this little germ. But it's not to be confused with Hand and Mouth, which strikes cattle. And while Jack likes to tell us the cow goes "MOOOOOOOO" he's never milked one or even seen one up close for that matter.

He has sores on the back of his little throat, but no signs on the hands or feet. The virus should run its course in a few days and he'll be back to normal. It's also not a danger to me or Baby2 if I catch it, but hopefully my exposure is limited since I was gone for a week.

But after the exam, he was clinging to me as if he wanted to crawl inside my skin. I felt so bad that he was so scared. He was laying his head on my shoulder and just slobbering and snotting all over it. He finally calmed down when we left the room and by the time we got to the car, he was all smiles again.

Can't wait for that 18-month appointment next week! I may have to bring a tranquilizer dart.