Seven minutes in heaven

My son made out with his first girl today. I am so proud. And it wasn't even at a grade-school dance.

We had a playdate with his little friend this afternoon and as they were leaving, I told Jack to say goodbye. So in addition to his regular waving, he ran across the room humming, "mmmmmmmmmm," which means he wants a kiss.

His little friend seemed game, so when he leaned in for a smoocher, she let him. He laid one on her, full-on on the lips.



Then she leaned in and gave him a huge hug.



My friend and I were dying of the cuteness and snapped some pictures. I feel like there should have been some cheesy REO Speedwagon song playing in the background, but alas, there was no time to set a mood. Although I could always have him send her a mix tape later.

I told Jack I think she might be a little fast for him, but since we are such good friends, I will reserve judgment. I also told him to be sure to keep his options open and play the field. He doesn't want to be tied down at such a young age.

Mo guk

The title of this post is how Jack says "more milk." Which we have heard approximately 673 times a day this past week.

Normally, when we control Jack's diet, he gets 7 ounces of milk with each meal and maaaaybe a couple of ounces after his nap. But when the grandmas are around and he turns on his woe-is-me face and drags out a good "peeeeeeaaaaaassssseeeee," he gets as much as he wants.

Couple that with not eating much solid food -- because God forbid he should eat turkey, mashed potatoes and stuffing -- he has been having some issues with the diapers. Because he's drinking so much milk, he doesn't want to eat much real food. Because he's not eating much real food, all that liquid just sits in his stomach. And that's no good at all for the diaper situation. And because his mother is an idiot, there may have been a period of time on Wednesday where he had a really poopy diaper for more than a few minutes.

So he got a god-awful diaper rash that included bright red skin and blisters. I was almost in tears because it looked so painful, but he seemed fine with it. Of course I am thinking if anyone saw this they would totally think we hadn't changed him in days and would have Child Protective Services at our door faster than you can say Pampers.

Today it is looking a little better, but I am laying the smack down. No more milk between meals and he has to start eating some solid foods. We will defeat this scourge!

Yuck

Two days ago, Jack was getting into his little pushcar to go to the park. He likes to get in and then buckle himself into the strap and yell "Goooooooo" until we open the front door and take him out.

But two days ago, the normal sequence of events took a wayward turn when he buckled the fleshy part of thumb into the buckle. Which resulted in howling and crying and much hugging and assurances from Mommy and Daddy that all would be OK.

But then he was off to the park without a second thought and everyone moved on.

Then the next morning, he got up for breakfast with Daddy while Mommy was dying from the effects of the plague. He kept showing Josh a little blister on his thumb and saying, "Yuck" and trying to get it off. Josh had to explain that it didn't come off and that it wasn't yuck.

When I came down a few minutes later, he showed me his "owie" and tried wiping it off on his pajamas. Then later he kept taking me with him to the garbage and trying to the throw the "yuck" away. This would be where I got all teary-eyed, because, my god he is so cute.

Even today he kept looking at the blister and showing it to me. He is quite concerned about it.

So apparently every time he hits another child, I should hope he hits hard enough to leave a mark and then he will be so concerned about the bruise that he will never do it again. Good plan, huh?

You put your right arm in...

Guess who came to live at my house two weeks ago? Why it was Hokey Pokey Elmo!

Now if you know me, or at least knew me in my pre-child life, you would be familiar with the fact I detest the Hokey Pokey. It was outlawed at my wedding, naturally.( I can't even tell you how tacky I find that when done at weddings, which reminds me of the Dollar Dance, and it's equal horror in my mind, but that is another post.)

But Jack, he loves him some Elmo. And he now loves him some Hokey Pokey. And he can get us all to do it with him any time he wants now. I do respond to his commands, it is sad.

I present to you, my son in all his glory:

Jack wins by KO

Could his noggin be any harder?

This morning, after returning from my doctor appointment (more on that in a minute), I was sitting on the couch with Jack and Josh. Jack was talking on the phone to Grandma and kept trying to slide the keyboard out on the phone. Apparently he wanted to text her instead.

The problem with sliding the keyboard out is that he is able to activate the screen, which then enables him to hang the phone up. As Grandmas don't generally like to be hung up on, we try to discourage that little trick.

And know that by discourage, I mean "take the phone away" from his hot little hands. Which results in screaming and tears and tantrums the likes of which you have never experienced.

Today's little fit resulted in him throwing his head back with the force of an atom bomb. Into my eye socket. I saw stars -- literally. I ran from the room, clutching my head and sat down on the kitchen floor, where I actually shed tears.

That shit hurts!

Jack ran over and tried to pull my hands off my face, and then when I finally looked at him, telling him he hurt Mommy and that she was sad, he hit me and laughed. That's right kid, kick me when I'm down.

So now I have a knot on my eyebrow bone and a headache. Jack, of course, was rubbing the back of his head for like a milisecond and then was off to the next adventure.

After that we settled down and I showed him my "owies" from the doctor's office. My OB gives the pediatric flu shot to pregnant patients, since that is the thermerisol-free one, so adults get two shots: one in each arm muscle. I showed Jack my bandaids, but lamented that Mommy did not get an Elmo sticker for her bravery. He pulled my sleeve down and didn't want to look at it anymore. Great bedside manner on this kid.

But everything looked great at the doctor. She said my cervix is closed, but short, but no shorter than it was on Monday, so we're still calling it 1.5 cm. I am free to roam about the cabin, she just said to sit down or lie down if I start having contractions again.

And HA! I lost 3 pounds this month, which I didn't really, but it all balanced out. Last month I went in right after my hospital stay and all the IV fluids they had given me were apparently still floating around in there. They tried to tell me I gained 11 pounds that month, which I disputed vehemently. So losing 3 pounds this month really puts me at 8 pounds over two months, which is what I figured. So for those playing at home, I have gained a grand total of 21 pounds in seven months, which puts me on track to gain exactly what I did with Jack.

My twice-monthly appointments start now, continue for the next two months, and then right after Christmas, I go weekly. Which scares the living hell out of me because here is the progression: Thanksgiving is in two weeks; Christmas is a month after that; my stitch comes out the first week of January and then HOLY SHIT we're having another kid. See how quick that comes up? It's like boom, it's Christmas and we're having a baby.

Excuse me while I go hide under the bed now.

Work-at-home dad

Many moons ago, when I was first pregnant this summer, I might have mentioned that Josh was traveling for work four nights a week. Five hours away. I think I mentioned it probably more than a few times, as it was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

Perhaps that sounds a bit melodramatic. But I was so so so sick all the time and here I was with a toddler all by myself and the days stretched on endlessly as I swung from dibilitating nausea to extreme exhaustion.

I clearly remember days where I was convinced I would not make it to Jack's bedtime. My mom would come to help overnight one day a week, which oh my God, thank you baby jesus. But other than that? Shitty times.

Well the week after Labor Day, Josh called me very early in the morning. It was 7:45 a.m. and I had to get up to answer the phone and who the hell would call that early? It was Josh, telling me his role on the project was done. Effective the end of that week.

By the end of that week, he had already had his next project lined up, and it was set to start a few weeks after that. Since we were going on vacation at the end of September, it was perfect timing. He did a bunch of training from home and wasn't I excited to have my husband around so I could ask him to do things like scrub the floor and change diapers! And of course, Jack was thrilled Daddy could take him to the park before dinner every night.

Well the few weeks stretched into more than a few and while the new project is just awaiting contactual signatures, he remains here, working at home. Which has been more than convenient this week with my ass on the couch.

Let me take this opportunity to publicly thank my husband for all he does. I know I don't tell him enough, but he is an awesome dad and husband. He's been lifting Jack and changing diapers and feeding some meals and taking park duty and playing legos like a champ. Of course, his expertise on all the parenting things I should be doing is appreciated (I am rolling my eyes so hard right now they might pop out of the back of my head) but he really is awesome.

So they are saying next week, he'll probably maybe perhaps be working away from home again. You'll never guess where! Bloomington! It's like deja vu and the last seven months have never happened and he's never left his project there. I'm still not jumping up and down about him traveling, but at least he's only two hours away instead of five and he can be here in a flash when needed.

But I sure will miss having him around all day. Who will make me paninis now?

I hate you daylight savings

Dear Daylight Savings Time,

I hate you.

It's not me, it's you. There is no way we can work this out. I'm so over you.

Sincerely,
Amy

**************************

I abhor this clock-switching business. Last spring, I was so smug. Ha! The clocks are springing ahead! My child will be fooled and will sleep until 8 a.m. and I will sleep the sleep of queens and the princess and the pea!

Oh but no. He woke up at the same damn time, not even acknowledging the fact the clocks had switched. I felt cheated. It was such a letdown.

Of course this time around, I knew it would be even worse since we were setting the clocks back an hour.

Last night we put the Jackster to bed at 8 p.m. That's a full hour later than normal. He had also taken a much later nap because of some problem falling asleep, so we were thinking maybe we beat the system.

You know what time I heard the crib soother this morning? That would be 5-it's-way-too-freaking-early a.m. I listened to babbling and singing a short bursts of silence until 7 a.m., when I finally dragged my ass out of bed and staggered into his room.

Because I am an idiot and realized a half-hour before lunchtime today that I needed to make a Whole Foods run, his nap was an hour later than normal, but with the time change it was really two hours later and oh my holy hell, all this thinking about what time it is and what time it would have been yesterday makes my head hurt.

Also, it is making me have Braxton Hicks contractions. Well, not entirely true. It's not all the thinking, it's the lack of water I would imagine. So I shall go lie down now and drink some water and think about how great it will be in a week when everyone forgets what time it could be and instead just thinks about what time it actually is.

Why yes, he's fluent

Today Josh and I attended a preschool informational fair.

Oh my sweet lord. Our child is not even 2 years old, and there were were, standing in line with our e-tickets and IDENTIFICATION. Yes, you had to show ID to get in. One person per e-ticket. One e-ticket per account member. Do not even think about sneaking in any contraband parents who are not members of the super-secret society of parents that sponsor the fair.

Note of disclosure, I resisted joining this society, because it costs $40 per year and hot damn, I was not paying anyone $40 per year to read message boards and set up play dates. Except then I heard they had a preschool fair every fall and all the cool parents were going and I of course wanted to be like the cool kids, so about five seconds later, they had my AmEx number and I had an e-ticket in my hot little hand.

They told us we had a one-hour slot. There would be more than 1,000 parents attending, they told us via e-mail, so we were to be on time. I am not sure what they planned to do once the clock struck 1 p.m. -- beat us all about the head with pamphlets and herd us out of the fieldhouse? But I was too scared to find out.

So at the appointed noon hour (OK, we were 15 minutes late, but for God's sake, we had to drive all the way north in traffic and it was Saturday and have you SEEN Lincoln Park traffic on the weekends?) we arrived and waited in line to speak with all the nice preschool representatives.

While we were waiting, there was a booth about learning Chinese. Our child, that is, not us. DVDs and books and pictures of multi-ethnic children grinning from ear to ear decorated the booth. I snorted, because, well the notion of teaching Jack Chinese when he refuses to even say two-syllable words in English seemed just ridiculous.

So the woman asks would we like our child to learn Chinese and Josh responds, "No thanks, he mastered that last month. This month we've moved on to Portugese."

Road trip! With a child!

Today we are embarking on a four-hour, one-night trip to see our friends in Bloomington, IN. With an almost-two-year-old ball of energy.

I am not sure yet if this is a good idea. I will let you know in, oh, about four hours.

This is the longest we have ever spent in the car with him. Sure, we've taken him on an eight-hour plane ride and a three-hour train ride, but that was with other people. This is just the three of us.

We're taking snacks and milk and toys and books. I think we have Elmo on the computer for cases of extreme emergency.

What constitutes an Elmo Emergency, I am not sure. But I will know it when I see it, that's for sure.

I also have some grave reservations because our friends are the proud new parents of a seven-week old boy. And we all know how Jack likes him some target practice.

In his defense, I should say he has not hit any babies in quite some time. Just this week we had a playdate with a friend and her three-month-old little girl and he was quite fine with it.

I am actually glad he'll get some practice hanging out with a wee baby. Maybe the shock to his system won't be quite as profound come January.

Yeah, right.

Happy Halloween

Nemo collected an absurd amount of candy for a child who does not eat candy. But he was so cute, who could resist?




There were even two houses on our route, right around the corner, that were giving out full-size candy bars! Full-size! A neighbor told us that after we were done for the night, there were even some houses giving out beer and wine to the grownup trick or treaters. I love Lincoln Park. Mansions, Bugaboo strollers, $17,000-a-year preschools, Starbucks every two blocks and full-size candy bars and beer on Halloween. I am never moving.

Notice in the second picture, the kid behind me IS AS TALL AS ME. And he was trick or treating. I really think that's a bit much.

But not as much as the kid who marched up next to us at a house around the corner and held out his school backpack. The homeowner said he wanted to know where his costume was, because he was not giving candy to kids without costumes. The kid, without missing a beat, replied, "I am a black gangster." He was dressed in black sweats and pretty much looked like he probably did at school all day. I would say he was about 13 years old.

He did get his candy, incidentally.

But that was not the best part of Halloween 2007. Oh ho know.

We left with Jack about 4:30 p.m. But I didn't want to not leave any candy for the kids who stopped by while we are gone. So being Dorothy from Kansas, I assumed that leaving a bowl of candy out on the porch with a note saying "Please take one!" would be sufficient. Plus, I reasoned, if people took more than one, then they clearly needed that candy more than someone else. So I left two bags worth of candy in the bowl and off we went. I have lived in this city for nine years, I didn't grow up on farm either. I grew up in a fairly big city. You would think I would know better.

Please let me note, we live on a busy street. Lots of foot traffic.

We come home an hour later, and not only is all the candy gone, BUT SO IS THE BOWL. Now come on, that's just shitty. Who steals the bowl? Like no one noticed a kid carrying a heaping bowl of candy down a busy street in broad daylight? And for god's sake, where was this kid's parent?

So yeah, Happy freaking Halloween. I hope that kid's teeth rot from all the Snickers and Skittles in there.