Icky Sickies

I am the mother of a snot-monster.

Seriously, the kid's nose hasn't stopped running since yesterday morning.  And this morning, when I got him out of bed, he had dried snot all over his face.  Disgusting, but true.  And, of course, his nose hurts, so wiping it has become this major struggle.  Every two minutes.

So, I pulled out the snot-sucker.  I have never, ever used the thing on him.  But then, he's never been this congested before.  I held him down, and fought with him, and in the end, he was breathing through his nose.  Briefly.  Then, exhausted from our epic struggle, he fell fast asleep.

I'll probably be cleaning dried snot again in an hour.

It wouldn't be so terrible, except the kid was already on the verge of extreme crankiness because he has four molars coming in, all at once.  We have been fighting these teeth for almost three weeks now.  So far, he's done wonderfully.  He gets a little fussy for awhile, sometimes, and then I put on the Orajel and life returns to sunshine and rainbows.

But now, with this cold, he just can't force himself to be happy.  He tries.  He played with eighteen toys in the space of ten minutes this morning in an effort to distract himself.  When that didn't work, he climbed into my lap, put his head on my chest, and whimpered.*  I tried comforting him, but he assumed I was trying to put him down for a nap, and he bucked backward and climbed back to the floor, looking again for comfort in his toys.  And so the cycle continued.  Over and over again for the next hour.  Until I pulled out the snot-sucker and he finally fell asleep.

As if that weren't enough, I woke up with congested sinuses this morning.  It's going to be a long week.

*And then blew his nose on my robe.

Boy's Best Friend

This is the little bundle of energy we adopted this weekend.  He is a Dauschund-Beagle mix, and it's not hard to tell.  He has the face and markings of a beagle, but his body is all dauschund.

His name is Dominic Deagle.  And props to your nerdiness if you get the joke.*

So far, here is what we know about the little guy:

• He travels well in the car.  On our way back home last night, he curled up on the floor of the van and slept the entire way.
• He loves to go for walks, and never pulls.  Until he sees a squirrel.  Then, he points, and gets really confused when you want to keep walking instead of chasing the squirrel.
• Our place is surrounded by squirrels.
• He is intelligent - five hours after getting him and changing his name, he was already beginning to respond to it.
• Someone loved him once.  He is house-trained and wants to sleep in the bed.
• He plays fetch.  And he usually brings it back. 
• He loves Miles.  That's why he came home with us.

*If not, google Dominic Deegan for a delightfully cute webcomic.

Black Friday

Happy Black Friday!

Hope your Thanksgiving was amazing.  Ours was great.  We ate too much, visited with family, played games, and then went across the street to my family's gathering and did it all again.  I would love to do a Friday Photos today, but the internet connection that comes through my phone takes forever to upload even one picture.  And for some reason, Patrick's 93 year old grandmother doesn't have high speed wireless available for us.  Weird. :)

So, instead, you get another day of my mad ramblings.  Since I can't do Friday Photos, I will instead share some of the adorable things Miles has been doing lately, and allow your imagination to fill in the pictures.

• We have an old back scratcher that had gone in the Goodwill box.  It has a curved top and, for some strange reason, wheels on the other end (maybe to give yourself a mini back rub?).  Anyhow, Miles pulled it out and has been 'vacuuming' with it.  Sometimes, he will even make the "vrrrrrrr" noise while he does it.
• Miles likes to 'help' with dinner, now.  Whenever someone is cooking, he gets into his cabinet and pulls out all of his pots and pans and bangs them around on the floor.  The other night, he then picked up one of the pots and handed it to me, trying to get me to put it on the stove.
• He likes to "squish" faces - or have me do it.  I put my hands on either side of those chubby cheeks and press in a little until he's got a fish face.  Then I do it to myself.  He thinks it's hysterical.
• He's fascinated by any minor change to my face.  When I pull him up in my lap, I give myself finger-glasses (where you make spectacles out of your fingers).  He starts giggling immediately, and then pulls my finger-glasses onto his own face.  Then he'll lean in until we're eye to eye, with only my fingers in between.  He will giggle for several minutes at a go when that happens.
• He has learned how to tickle.  Any exposed flesh gets a poke, and if you don't giggle, he'll poke even harder until you do.  He also likes to lift my shirt about an inch so he can see my belly, and then tickle me.  He usually gets tickled back at that point, and a vicious cycle ensues, usually resulting in both of us lying on the floor giggling uncontrollably.
• His language skills are progressing so fast.  Kids his age generally have one or two words.  Miles has about 8-10, and another dozen or so that we can interpret.  And he now has about 15 signs, including more, help, please, thank you, and music, which get used the most.  When he starts throwing a tantrum, I can often de-escalate it by asking him to sign or tell me what he wants.  His only real meltdowns come when he is either really tired, or when he can't find the word or sign he wants.  And I'm really proud of the fact that he uses the sign for 'please' every time he asks for something.  We're working on 'thank you'.

I could go on and on, but there is leftover turkey to eat, and relatives to visit.  Enjoy your weekend, and I will post again on Monday!

Giving Thanks

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday.  Mostly because it's impossible to commercialize like Christmas, but also, because it's a welcome reminder to count my blessings.  So, on this most glorious of holidays, I am thankful for:

Miles.  I cannot imagine my life without that crazy little monster who makes me want to pull my hair out one minute, and then gives me a kiss the next.  He is so amazing in so many ways, and I don't know how I've made it this far in my life without him.

Patrick.  He is my rock.  My other half.  My teammate, and my friend.  I am so incredibly blessed to have such a loving, forgiving, affectionate, and intellectual husband.  And after being together for almost 12 years, he still makes my heart flutter when he walks in the room.

My friends.  They have been here for me through thick and thin, always giving of themselves, lending a hand whenever I need it.  Often, I don't even know I need it until they offer.  These are the people that share my secrets, and my adventures.  People that I trust implicitly, even with my precious child.  People who laugh with me, cry with me, and support me in so many, many ways.

My family.  I could list each of them out, and say a million wonderful things about each of them, but then this post would go on for a hundred pages.  They have been there for me, whenever I needed anything.  I can call them anytime, and I know they will be there.  And more than anything, they are the ones who taught me about unconditional love.  Because I know I'm hard to love sometimes, but that never mattered to any of them.

My job.  As awful and difficult as it can be some days, it also has provided me with more opportunities that I would have ever imagined.  Opportunities to grow as an actress.  Opportunities to meet people I would never have met otherwise.  Opportunities to perform for huge crowds, and to touch people on a very individual level.  But more importantly, it has offered me the opportunity to become a better person.  Under the guidance of Maestro, I have learned to appreciate the talents of people that are difficult to love, and by doing so, I have come to love them.  I have learned patience, and the importance of tact.  I have learned to speak the truth with kindness, to temper its unkind nature.  And I have learned, once more, to trust in God, for He has a plan for each of us.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, and take the time today to count your blessings.  You may find you are luckier than you could have ever believed.

I'm a Klutz

So, I fell down the stairs.

Yeah, that sounds way worse than it was.  Honestly, my feet slipped out from under me and I landed on my back, bruising my back and my tail bone, and whacking the back of my head hard enough that I had a headache all day, yesterday.

Yes, I'm really talented at falling.  Also, I think Stacey's staircase is trying to kill me.

For anyone out there who doesn't know about our living situation, here's an overview:

We are renting a townhome, with Stacey, who may as well be my sister.  Miles and Patrick and I have the two bedrooms on the second floor, Stacey's bedroom is in the basement, and the main floor is a common area.  Rent is way cheaper, and honestly, she was at our place 90% of the time anyway.  This way, I just don't have to worry about her driving home when she's so sleepy she can hardly keep her eyes open.

So far, it's been awesome to have her here.  And I'm not just saying that because I know she'll read this.  It really is awesome.  I'm not even sure if she's human.  Humans should have more flaws and annoying habits.  Her worst one?  Blaring Disney music while she showers.  Which I can totally dig.*  I'm sure my list of annoying habits is about to drive her away, but in the meantime?  She does the dishes most days, which lightens my load considerably.  And she watches Miles while I cook dinner, or any other time I ask.  And last night, when I was so stiff and sore from my tumble, Stacey took over so I could just sit and whine about how much I hurt.  And she sat, and listened, and sympathized.  Because she's an awesome friend.

Even if her stairs are trying to kill me.

*She has no idea that I sing and dance along downstairs with Miles every time she showers.**

**Oops.  Guess she does now! :)

Housewifery

With the Festival put to bed for the year, I find myself in an unusual place:

At home.

There's no office to go to.  There are errands to run, certainly, but they can be accomplished in an hour's time.  And our evenings?  Free.  And our weekends?  Empty.*

So, I find myself focusing on taking care of the house.  My kitchen hasn't been so regularly cleaned in months.  My floors are vacuumed 3-4 times a week.  All of my laundry has been cleaned, folded, and put away.  And best of all, I have time to cook again.

I love cooking.  It reminds me of my mom teaching me how to brown hamburger, and fry chicken, and my grandfather teaching me how to make breakfast, and my grandmother teaching me how to make stuffed peppers.

Which is what I made for dinner last night.  With Miles underfoot.  Crazy child.  While I browned hamburger, he opened his cabinet and played with his pots and pans.  While I boiled peppers and mixed ingredients, he played with magnets on the refrigerator.  And when the timer was going off, telling me that I was about to overcook the peppers and ruin the meal, Miles started screaming bloody murder.  For no reason.  He just wanted attention.  But I didn't know that at the time.

Cooking with children underfoot should be considered an extreme sport.  It certainly got my blood pressure up. :)

*Except, of course, this weekend, since it's Thanksgiving. :)

Quiet Moments

In these rare, quiet moments, when Miles is sleeping, I sit, alone in my chair, and I think.

I think of a time when toys did not decorate my living room.  A time when there was no jelly to clean off the couch.  A time when I could come and go when I pleased, without worrying about a nap schedule.  A time when sleeping in on the weekends meant not getting up until noon.  I think of a time before Miles.

And it hurts.

Because I didn't know how much I was missing.

I turn my thoughts to the present.  And I wait for him to wake up.

I wait for that angelic smile that will melt my heart.  I wait for the tousled hair, that will never stay brushed.  I wait for the hugs, and the kisses, and the mess.  I wait for the thundering of tiny footsteps running through the living room.  I wait for the tickles, and the giggles.  I wait for the soft hugs, and the piercing squeals of happiness that cannot be contained.

And my heart sings for the joy of it.

Return of the Hubby!

I don't like to complain,* but this has been a really rough week.  Miles has been extra cranky.  I've been on edge.  Neither of us has had enough sleep.  And honestly, we've just been getting on each other's nerves.

This is what happens when Patrick goes out of town.

I am very aware of the fact that I tend to take my husband for granted.  He is amazing.  He is super helpful around the house, and he picks up the slack when I just can't manage for a day.  Our routine works so seamlessly that I often forget how much there really is to do every day.  He takes on so much that I just never think about.  Until he's gone, and I have to cover it all.

More than that, though, when Patrick is gone, I feel like I've been thrown off my game.  I am shaken.  I lose my ability to take on the world.  I am grumpy, and irritable, and prone to wild mood swings.  Everything feels slightly off-kilter, like someone removed an essential piece of my life.  Because honestly, that's what happens.  Patrick is essential to my mental well-being.

Last night, we had our Awards Party for Festival.  I was standing near the doors, a few minutes before everything was supposed to begin, greeting people as they entered.  I had turned to talk to someone briefly, and when I turned back toward the door, Patrick had appeared, looking dashing in his suit and tie, and holding a single red rose.

And with an inaudible twing, my world popped back together.

*Who am I kidding?  I love to complain.  That's half the reason for this blog. :)

Friday Photos!

Auditioning for the part of a chipmunk.  Or possibly a monkey . . .

If I steal Daddy's shoes, he can't go to work!

This is what we call the "grump face".

Yay for plastic rings!!!

Enjoy your weekend!

Labels

You may have noticed a new button to your right, there.  That is a button I am very proud of, even though I really didn't have to do much to earn it.  Yet.  Yesterday afternoon, my blog was accepted by Top Mommy Blogs!  I am very excited, as this has the potential to bring in some new readers, which is apparently what this whole "blog" thing is all about.*

To make their listings more efficient and standardized and easy to navigate, the Mysterious They have separated their mommy blogs into different categories: working moms, stay-at-home moms, couponing moms, giveaway moms,** moms of multiples, and so on.  And so, once more, I find myself trying, unsuccessfully, to define this life I live.

I am every inch a Working Mom.  I work at an office, almost every day, and I earn a paycheck.  I could write volumes on my job, but trust me, I am definitely a working mom.  But, I find that I don't really connect with other working moms very well.  In my experience, one of the primary topics of discussion amongst working moms is daycare - the process of choosing one, the guilt that comes with leaving your child, etc., etc.

Which is one thing I have no experience with, because I have been incredibly blessed with the ability to bring my child to work with me.  Every day.  My experiences and struggles revolve around trying desperately to talk on the telephone while responding to an e-mail, and entertain Miles so he doesn't scream bloody murder and disrupt the entire office.  I work, but I'm also my child's primary caregiver, 24 hours a day.

Which is why I very much relate to the Stay-at-Home Mom.  I am the one who is primarily responsible for the care and feeding of this rare creature known as the Miles Monster.  I am also the one who does the majority of the housework, the cooking, and the errands.  But I find that I have a hard time connecting with other stay-at-home moms, too.  Stay-at-home moms tend to talk about the loneliness of being alone with their children all day, every day.  When I visit the SAHM forums, there is always someone reaching out, wishing for just an ounce of adult interaction.

And here is where I stop being able to relate, as well.  I go to the office every day.  My job is to interact with other adults all day long, often to the point that I come home wanting only to interact with my child for awhile. To stop being an adult, with worries and stress and deadlines and reports, and just be with my kid, rolling around on the floor, being silly.  I am a Full-time mom, but I also work.

Which is the reason I refer to myself as a Full-time mom.  No other label seems to fit. :)

Disclaimer: I mean absolutely no offense to either Working Moms, or Stay-at-Home Moms.  I know I have overly simplified your motivations and choices.  I assure you, it was only to make a point about how I feel I fit (or don't fit) into those categories.  Every mom makes the choice that is best for her children, her family, and her sanity, and I would never wish to offend any of you.

*I can't believe I missed that memo for the past year. . . :)

**Moms who do giveaways, not moms who get given away.  Cuz that would just be awkward. :)

Christmas Cards

I love sending out Christmas cards.  I love the tradition of it.  I love sending a little piece of love to my family and friends.  I love everything about Christmas cards.

Except choosing them.

Because, I live in the real world.  I know that 99% of all Christmas cards get read once, then get tossed in a basket or a drawer until you find them in March and toss them in the trash.  I'm not offended in the least.  You know I love you enough to send you a card, but you also get tons of these things every year.  There's simply no way to keep them all.  So, you may keep one or two and post them on the refrigerator, or on your Christmas tree.

My goal this year is to send one of the few cards you will keep.  And I have a plan.  I am going to use Miles and his irresistible cuteness to earn that coveted spot on your refrigerator.  Or your tree.  I'm not picky.

And Shutterfly is going to help me. :)

Shutterfly has offered me the opportunity to talk about their awesome products - something I do in real life all.the.time.  And as a reward, I will be getting my Christmas cards for free.  Complete with adorable pictures of Miles splashed all over the front.  These cards will still be on the refrigerator in June.  Because really?  Their holiday card collection this year is awesome.  My favorite is the "Joy Sage Story" card.  They are so classy and elegant, and totally reflect my wishes for my friends and family for Christmas.

Ooh, and if I could afford it, I would totally be getting one of these for my wall.  Can't you just imagine Miles' adorable little smile as art.  And while we're dreaming, I'd totally buy one for each of the grandparents.  And possibly every other person that Miles has ever met.  They're just that cool. :)

I have always been a fan of Shutterfly.  My love affair with them began with a coupon for a free photo book that came with our wedding registry stuff.  I used it to make a hardcover picture book of our honeymoon, and I love it.  So, when Miles was born, it was a no-brainer to go back to Shutterfly for his birth announcements. Which were perfect, and adorable.

So, visit those links, and start your own love affair with Shutterfly.  I promise, you won't be disappointed!

Disclaimer: Shutterfly is providing me with 50 free Christmas cards in exchange for this post.  But I really do enjoy their products, and have used them in the past.  I would never endorse these people if I didn't truly love their stuff.

Let the Brain-Rotting Begin!

So, I have a confession.

My kid watches TV.

I know, I know.  The AAP and AMA and all of those other acronyms recommend "NO TV before age 2".  And really, I understand why.  I've read the studies.  I know the research.  I know it's bad.

And, truth be told, I was very judgy about it pre-Miles.  I couldn't understand why a parent would allow their precious tots to 'plug in' at such a young age.  I mean, really, when you think about it, it's only two years.  You can avoid it for two stinking years.

Umm.  No, you can't actually.  Not if you want to keep your sanity.  Because it's one of those little facts that every mother spouts, and every non-mother rolls her eyes at: Having a child 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, who is entirely reliant on you is hard.


It started off innocently enough.  I would turn on the TV while Miles napped in my arms as a newborn.  He wouldn't let me put him down, so I had very little choice in the matter.  It was either watch TV or die of boredom as he spent his eighth hour in a row in my arms.  Besides, I told myself, he's asleep.  And he's too little to really understand it anyway.  No big deal.

Then, as he became more and more aware of the world, it became easy to justify just a few minutes of TV every day.  He was always playing.  He hardly noticed it.  And I had earned a break.  Right?

Now, at thirteen months, he knows how to turn the TV on and off, how to change the channel, and how to ask us to find him a show or a movie.  And all too often, this is the sight at our house:

That's not to say that it's on all the time, or that it's really on all that much at all.  But it's on a lot more than never.  I'll just chalk it up to being a Bad Mommy.

Poo and Blasphemy in the Morning

So, Patrick left at 6:30 this morning for a business trip, which meant he wasn't around to help with the morning routine.  Which meant that the poo was bound to hit the fan. . .

So, I got up extra early and took care of all of the little things he usually does, until Miles woke up.  Which he did a good 15 minutes ahead of schedule.

When I went in to get Miles out of bed, I found him smiling and laughing, and soaking wet.  I figured the diaper had leaked, but as I picked him up, I realized he wasn't wearing it at all.  And he had pooped on the bed, and had been playing in it.  He was covered in poo.

It is currently 9:00 am.  I have already given Miles a bath, washed the sheets and blankets from his bed (and tossed them in the dryer), retrieved the sippy cup of milk that he threw down the stairs in protest to me leaving him alone for two seconds (twice), and fed him breakfast.  I am finally getting my first cup of coffee.  And I want a nap.

Oh, and Miles pointed to a picture of Jesus in his Bible stories book and called him a "kitty."

It's going to be a looooong week. 

Mirrors

It's no secret that my little man loves his own reflection.

Yes, that is my son, kissing his own reflection.  He started kissing himself long before he kissed anyone else.  And silly me, I encouraged his love of the mirror.  As an only child, and the only child amongst our group of friends, he doesn't get a whole lot of interaction with other children.  And the few that he does interact with on the rare occasion are a lot older - like ten to twelve years old.  And with our crazy-busy life (and my total fear of actually interacting with other moms), I just haven't figured out play dates or anything like that, yet.

So, I figured that playing with the Baby in the Mirror* was better than nothing.

Then, yesterday, as we were reading Pat the Bunny,** Miles stopped me on the mirror page.  If you've read that book even half as many times as we have, you know what I'm talking about.  Anyway, he grabbed the book, adjusted the mirror so he could see himself, and honest to God said:

"Hey, hasom"

That's right.  Hey, handsome.

I may have been wrong about that whole mirror thing. . .

*That sounds like a bad horror movie, doesn't it?  I think I may have found something worse than "Lady in the Water". :)

**Which is a whole other rant for another day.

Going Public

I'm taking this blog public.

Yes, it's a slightly different format.  And yes, there are several small changes all over the place.  But, I'm ready to test my wings and see what happens.  Probably, nothing more will change.

We'll see. :)

It's Thanksgiving, Darnit!

I know this has been said over and over again, but I just have to state for the record that I hate when Christmas comes too early.

When I was a kid, I once told my mother that I wished Christmas was every day. My mother, like most sane people in the world, wisely stated that too much of a good thing is bad for you.

Well, it's gotten to be too much.

Christmas displays go up in the stores as early as September. Now, I love Christmas and all, but not next to the skeleton candy dishes.

September through December - four months of Christmas.

Then, there's the inevitable "after-Christmas" hubbub, which lasts most of January - until Valentine's Day generally appears around the end of the month.

January - one month

Then, for those who just can't wait for December to roll around again, there's this insanity known as Christmas in July.

July - one more month

All told, the stores are shoving Christmas down our throats for six solid months - that's half of every year. And I, for one, am tired.

I want to enjoy Christmas again. I want it to be something I anticipate as Thanksgiving approaches - rather than dread the sight of when I'm shopping for Halloween costumes. I want to close my eyes on Thanksgiving night, excited about the upcoming Christmas season. And awaken the day after to my first Christmas song of the year.

Part of my issue is that we have begun to skate directly from Halloween to Christmas, completely skipping my favorite holiday. I love Thanksgiving. It's the only holiday that really can't be commercialized - it's about food and family and football. There's not much you can do to ruin that combination. And it's one of two days of the year that my family gets together without (much) arguing. We fast until the dinner is ready - usually at least an hour later than planned - and then we gorge ourselves silly. The men retire to the living room to doze off and on throughout the football game, while the women (and any men who dislike sports) move to the kitchen table for cards or board games. It's a very peaceful day, full of warmth and the friendship of family.

I just wish I could enjoy it before the Christmas songs start.

Conversations

Miles has been babbling for months, but in the past couple of weeks, he's started holding conversations with people. Or in this case, a meeting.

Generally, the process goes something like this:

Miles begins with a very strong statement. Usually, "Abadugabadah" or similar.

Then, it's your turn to speak. And you'd better respond correctly. "Is that so?" or similar is acceptable. Say something along those lines, and the conversation will continue in the same manner for several minutes at a time, until Miles decides he's done.

However, respond incorrectly (i.e. "No! That can't be!) and brace yourself. Because Miles will bang his palms on the table, shake his head, and emphatically repeat what he had just said.

And as you can see from the photo above, it's all very serious business.

My Biggest Worry

I worry about my kid sometimes.

Now, being the terrible mom that I am, I'm not worried about vaccines, or organic vs. regular food, or diaper rash or anything normal like that. Frankly, none of that ever crosses my mind. We vaccinate. We buy food that he will eat, regardless of whether or not it's 'organic'. And diaper rash is usually cured by diaper cream. No, my worries are much greater.

I'm worried that my kid will be a jock.

Now, I am a self-proclaimed nerd. And Patrick is proud of the fact that he was the nerd standard in middle school. We're both very happy and comfortable with our identity. He is that guy who will ramble for weeks about the differences between various electrical components found in your average remote. I'm that girl who will correct your grammar. Repeatedly. We're both comfortable with our insane levels of nerd-ity.

And our son can already 'dribble' a miniature soccer ball.* And he throws a ball with far more accuracy than a 13 month old should be able to. Truth be told, he throws a ball with far more accuracy than I can muster. And he picks up dance steps just by watching them.

So, needless to say, I was starting to worry. And then, this morning, my faith was restored.

This morning, after putting the DVD's back on the shelf for the third time, I decided I needed a distraction for Miles. Blocks didn't work. Neither did books. Or tickles. Or even the drum. So, I consulted the Bad Mommy handbook, and popped in a movie.

I let him choose from the pile that he had left on the floor. He picked up Star Trek. I was thrilled. Then, he sat there, enthralled, throughout the entire thing. And at the end, after Spock said, "to boldly go where no one has gone before," and the Enterprise leaped into warp? My son, who can throw and kick a ball, and seems to have more coordination than I ever will? He waved, and said, "Bye-bye!"

And then danced through the credits.

I love my kid.

*I only know that term because my older sister loved soccer and played all through high school.

:P

Miles has discovered a fun new toy.

What's more, he's discovered that everyone has one.

He loves to crawl up in my lap and stick his tongue out at me. Of course, that's my cue to stick my tongue back out at him. We go back and forth, sticking out our tongues at one another until, finally, I decide to mess with my kid.

So, I roll my tongue. And he just stares. And tries to copy it.

And for twenty minutes, we laugh like idiots over our wonderful tongues. And I wouldn't trade it for the world.

Lactose-Free

I'm sure you all remember my rant regarding the last doctor visit, no? If not, please refresh your memory here, because there's nothing like crazy to start your day. :)

After much agonizing and raving like a lunatic to anyone who would listen, I finally pulled myself together, thought it through, and decided on a plan of action. Starting this past Monday, we have put Miles on a strictly lactose-free diet. I am recording every item of food that goes into his mouth, along with his sleep patterns, behavior, and of course . . . diaper contents.

I won't go into the disgusting details, but suffice it to say that my biggest concern is that I can count on one hand the number of . . . solid stinky diapers Miles has had in his entire life. For thirteen months, now, every dirty diaper has been . . . loose, to put it mildly. I could explain it better,* but I think you get the idea.

So, I'm keeping a record. And I'm finding that it keeps me very cognizant of what I am allowing him to consume.

For instance, I realized on Monday evening that every single meal and snack included a generous helping of fruit. Not an altogether terrible thing, granted, but it showed me that he got far more fruit than he did vegetables, proteins, or even grains - his favorite food group, by far. Which meant that I was more careful about balancing his meals today. Now, that's not to say that I went crazy and changed his diet entirely - that would bias the data I am taking regarding his reactions to dairy. But I did think through every decision I made about his food intake yesterday, something I haven't done in months.**

And regardless of what this little study finds, it is, at the very least, encouraging me to think a bit more about what I feed my kid. So, even if I find that my instincts are wrong, and he really doesn't have an issue with dairy, I will still have learned something that will help me to better care for my son. Because, at the end of the day, that's the best I can do.

For the record, though, 48 hours into the study, and things have already solidified, if you get my meaning. I can't say this is necessarily a permanent result, but . . .

Perhaps my motherly instincts weren't so far off after all . . . :)

*In fact, I've found I have quite the knack for describing the contents of Miles' diapers, much to Patrick's chagrin . . .

**I know, I know, I'm a Bad Mommy. Why are you surprised?

Mothering a Boy

Here's a little piece of trivia for all of you: I never expected to have a son.

I know, that sounds strange. Especially since I always wanted one. Growing up, my ideal family included a son and a daughter, in that order. And yet, until I found out I was having one, I didn't realize that I had never really expected to have one. I had, somehow, assumed I would only have girls. Maybe because that's the family I grew up in, or maybe it's something deeply psychological.

I have found, though, that I was made to be the mother of a son. I love rolling around on the floor with him, being his jungle gym. I love that he's so rough and tumble, that he can take a spill and keep running, just as hard.

Like this weekend. He was running downhill and tripped, scraping his head along the blacktop. As people around us began to panic over the possibility of a head injury, Patrick calmly picked him up, and we comforted him. A smidge of panic fluttered in my belly, but I kept it at bay while I made the basic examinations. He was still alert. A small bump was forming, pushing outward under the scrape. He was screaming, from a mixture of pain and fright, no doubt, but otherwise, his demeanor hadn't changed from a few minutes before. From somewhere, an EMT came running up, and did the same checks, and gave him a clean bill of health. Calmly, I asked what to watch for, just in case. He told me, and I locked it away in my memory, certain, somehow, that it would be unnecessary this time.

And it was. Five minutes later, he was eating chicken and smiling, a new band-aid proudly displayed on his forehead. And five minutes after that, he was fighting to run down that same hill a second time, completely undaunted by the experience.

And me, I'm doing okay, too. Because I am the mother of a son, and I know that these things happen. And will happen again. And he will be okay.

Though, he does look pretty hardcore with his new bruises, no?

New Skills

Miles amazes me, every day, in a myriad of new ways.

Sure, he knows how to play pat-a-cake. And how to go up and down stairs. And about a dozen different signs. And give hugs, and blow kisses. He knows all sorts of amazing things. And now, we can add a new skill to his repertoire: the high five!

This weekend, Bethany taught him to high five. Of course, she taught him by tickling him after each one, so every time he high fives you, he immediately clutches his arms to his sides to protect himself from tickles. It's kinda adorable, I won't lie. :)

In other news, he's also learned how to throw things off the second story from behind the railing. . .

Ah, well. Some milestones you celebrate. Others you just sigh, shake your head, and try to move past. :)

Meet Daphne

I have a new friend that I think you all need to meet. World, meet Daphne...

Yes, Daphne, my brand-new (refurbished) Notebook computer. Yep. This thing is the size, shape, and weight of a decent hardback book, with all the functionality of a basic laptop.*

Daphne is the newest member of our computer family. Way back when Patrick was naming his desktop computer**, he chose the name Aggamemnon, mainly because he liked the sound of it. Then, a few years later, he acquired a laptop. He chose to name it "Odysseus," to go with the theme. My laptop was then dubbed "Penelope," because in The Odyssey, Penelope is Odysseus' wife. Patrick's smart phone became "Telemachas," their son. My smart phone became "Calypso," the nymph who detained Odysseus for several years.***

Daphne, a sister nymph, just seemed like an appropriate name for my little roving distraction.

Not that you cared to know all of that, but it's my blog, so I'll say whatever I want, and you'll keep reading on the off chance that a picture of Miles shows up.

Like this:

Yes, it's a really outdated picture, but you don't care, do you? You're just gushing over the cuteness, aren't you?

Tune in tomorrow, when I may actually write about Miles for a change. Or not. Now that I have reliable access to a computer for a change, I can write as often as I wish, on any topic that suits my fancy.

But, you'll keep coming back, hoping for another random picture of Miles. :)

*Minus the CD drive, but really, who uses that anymore?

**Yes, we name our computers. Who doesn't?

***I can totally see that happening with my phone.

Drowning

I kinda feel that way today. Utterly overwhelmed.

We successfully moved out of our old apartment today. Two days late. Blargh. Now, all that's left is the daunting pile of boxes to unpack. Which is what I should be doing now, rather than whining . . .

But, on top of that, Miles is teething. If my motherly instincts are correct, he has not one, but two MOLARS coming in. Cue low-grade fever, high-grade snot/slobber mixture oozing out of his face, and massive doses of Cranky Baby, with a side of "Please don't put me down."

And I have work tomorrow. Which, of course, just compounds every other problem that boils down to Not Enough Time.

The one bright spot in my day was getting my brand-new (refurbished) Notebook computer. It's tiny, and cute, and perfect for browsing the internet just about anywhere. Except here, because the company still hasn't gotten around to hooking it up. Ahh, irony.

I think it's time for bed. Maybe tomorrow will find me with my head above water again. . .

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