So I wrote a few weeks ago about Cub calling me "mommy", a progression from his baby babble "ma-ma". Shortly after that, Cub began saying "mommys". I couldn't figure out where he got the plural from? And he was using it so desperately -- "mommysssssssssss!"
Then it occurred to me, I'm with him everyday and constantly talking at and narrating everything to him -- "Mommy's getting your milk..." "Mommy's cleaning up..." And so forth. Ah ha! How brilliant! Why wouldn't he think "mommys" my name?
But even more recently I've been called, Ali. My actual name. It started with me driving one day. We had just left someone and about five minutes into the drive I hear this, "Ali!" I almost crashed. Did he just say what I thought he said? And then he continued, "Ali! Ali! Ali". Hilarious.
So then the other day, he heard my husband say, "Babe? Ali?" While trying to get my attention. Then of course seconds later we hear, "Babe. Ali." From our little parrot.
Hopefully he'll never hear anyone call me anything ugly!
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Prayer
I've really been enjoying Mr. Cub lately. He's saying so many words and repeating everything! Yikes and Hooray!
We always pray before bedtime and at meal times and also attend church regularly. So naturally, Cub has picked up on praying. He proudly asks us to pray throughout the day and reminds us when we don't! Ironically, his timing is impeccable and usually just when WE need it!
Today, he laid his little hands on me and babbled this hilarious prayer and then ended with a big, pronounced Amen! I was so tickled. Then amazed. This little toddler was imitating what he's seen but also with such sincere intention. And if the Bible says God can use anything to bring him glory or minister to us, whose to say that babbled prayer didn't have true meaning? My little prayer warrior!
We always pray before bedtime and at meal times and also attend church regularly. So naturally, Cub has picked up on praying. He proudly asks us to pray throughout the day and reminds us when we don't! Ironically, his timing is impeccable and usually just when WE need it!
Today, he laid his little hands on me and babbled this hilarious prayer and then ended with a big, pronounced Amen! I was so tickled. Then amazed. This little toddler was imitating what he's seen but also with such sincere intention. And if the Bible says God can use anything to bring him glory or minister to us, whose to say that babbled prayer didn't have true meaning? My little prayer warrior!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
From Mama to Mommy
I remember the day Cub first uttered his sweet little "ma-ma". Oh, how my heart melted! Now I get "mommy". Which I love. Most of the time...
You see, now that he says "mommy", it has a certain charge with it. It's no longer a little baby babbling "ma-ma", it's a BOY asking for something. And he's learned to use it well. With a smile. With tears. With a fit. With a giggle.
The other night I put him to bed and walked out. He was sitting in his crib making these hilarious elephant sounds and rattling off his ABC's then I heard it. It was urgent. Desperate. Manipulative! Out of nowhere. "Mommmmyyyyyyy? Mommy? Mommmyyyyyyy!!!"
I tried to ignore it for a while. But it got faster, more determined, more skillful -- "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" And it was so doggone cute that I couldn't resist. I had to go back into the room -- to a toddler standing up in his crib now with this big, victorious goofy smile on his face -- and cuddle with him to sleep. I knew he didn't "need" me. I knew nothing was wrong and he would have eventually went to sleep. But I couldn't ignore that "mommy" voice.
What will I do when it turns to just "mom"?!
You see, now that he says "mommy", it has a certain charge with it. It's no longer a little baby babbling "ma-ma", it's a BOY asking for something. And he's learned to use it well. With a smile. With tears. With a fit. With a giggle.
The other night I put him to bed and walked out. He was sitting in his crib making these hilarious elephant sounds and rattling off his ABC's then I heard it. It was urgent. Desperate. Manipulative! Out of nowhere. "Mommmmyyyyyyy? Mommy? Mommmyyyyyyy!!!"
I tried to ignore it for a while. But it got faster, more determined, more skillful -- "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!" And it was so doggone cute that I couldn't resist. I had to go back into the room -- to a toddler standing up in his crib now with this big, victorious goofy smile on his face -- and cuddle with him to sleep. I knew he didn't "need" me. I knew nothing was wrong and he would have eventually went to sleep. But I couldn't ignore that "mommy" voice.
What will I do when it turns to just "mom"?!
Friday, June 4, 2010
Breathe, Girl
I don't have any advice to give. Not that you wanted it. But I wish I did have a magical button to push and release all of the motherly wisdom we all crave and need to survive. Or at least a small dose to swallow to help us through one more day.
I find that most of the motherly wisdom I desire or need doesn't have anything to do with motherhood at all, but with self. It all starts with me -- the worry, the stress, the anxiety, the emotions. Any trying moment in motherhood really boils down to how I choose to handle it. It's a me issue, not a mother issue.
Recently, I've been battling a lot of subconscious and very conscious stress. Worrying constantly about work and my "purpose" or destiny in the workforce. Fighting Mr. Ego again who keeps taunting me with, "Are you ever going to go back to work and BE somebody?" Threatening to rob me of my dreams. Of my potential. Will I ever see more of my work produced? Etc. etc...
And because of these internal arguments with Mr. Ego, I have "chosen" or "allowed" that stress to carry over to Cub. When he's being a typical one year old, testing his boundaries, expressing his likes and dislikes and pushing his independence, I find myself operating on a short fuse. Quick to snap at him. Quick to respond aggressively. Not physically harmful. But in ways that a one year old wouldn't and shouldn't understand. My attitude. My tone. And gestures. Everything that really makes ME look like the one year old!
This morning it came to a head:
Yes, I was frustrated about an ailment poor Cub has been suffering from. I was tired and frustrated for us both. Having to continue to hold a warm compress over his little eye. Having to keep him still from squirming, kicking and fussing.
But when I started lecturing him about how we'll never heal his eye if he continues "acting this way" and how all week long he's been fighting me and I'm tired of it, yada yada..." It occurred to me, this is about ME. This is not about the eye or his response to the warm compress. This is about me not working. About me being tired of the groundhog's day of being home with him. About me worrying if I'll ever make it as a writer. And every other insecurity about -- ME.
In my frustrated tears, I had to repent. I had to make the commitment that I will not transfer my internal struggles and stress over to Cub, my husband or anybody else. Yes, it will likely happen again. But I better work damn hard to avoid it. And furthermore, deal with the stress. Stop worrying. And TRUST. Breathe, girl! If I truly believe that God is in control and that He gives us (and puts) the desires of our heart, then I have to let Him be in control. Period.
I find that most of the motherly wisdom I desire or need doesn't have anything to do with motherhood at all, but with self. It all starts with me -- the worry, the stress, the anxiety, the emotions. Any trying moment in motherhood really boils down to how I choose to handle it. It's a me issue, not a mother issue.
Recently, I've been battling a lot of subconscious and very conscious stress. Worrying constantly about work and my "purpose" or destiny in the workforce. Fighting Mr. Ego again who keeps taunting me with, "Are you ever going to go back to work and BE somebody?" Threatening to rob me of my dreams. Of my potential. Will I ever see more of my work produced? Etc. etc...
And because of these internal arguments with Mr. Ego, I have "chosen" or "allowed" that stress to carry over to Cub. When he's being a typical one year old, testing his boundaries, expressing his likes and dislikes and pushing his independence, I find myself operating on a short fuse. Quick to snap at him. Quick to respond aggressively. Not physically harmful. But in ways that a one year old wouldn't and shouldn't understand. My attitude. My tone. And gestures. Everything that really makes ME look like the one year old!
This morning it came to a head:
Yes, I was frustrated about an ailment poor Cub has been suffering from. I was tired and frustrated for us both. Having to continue to hold a warm compress over his little eye. Having to keep him still from squirming, kicking and fussing.
But when I started lecturing him about how we'll never heal his eye if he continues "acting this way" and how all week long he's been fighting me and I'm tired of it, yada yada..." It occurred to me, this is about ME. This is not about the eye or his response to the warm compress. This is about me not working. About me being tired of the groundhog's day of being home with him. About me worrying if I'll ever make it as a writer. And every other insecurity about -- ME.
In my frustrated tears, I had to repent. I had to make the commitment that I will not transfer my internal struggles and stress over to Cub, my husband or anybody else. Yes, it will likely happen again. But I better work damn hard to avoid it. And furthermore, deal with the stress. Stop worrying. And TRUST. Breathe, girl! If I truly believe that God is in control and that He gives us (and puts) the desires of our heart, then I have to let Him be in control. Period.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
bubbles!
I've been away for so long I really didn't know what to write. So much is going on and yet it's all pretty much a variation of the same too -- chasing a toddler, balancing motherhood, reminding myself to eat, reminding myself to just sit my butt down and stop moving every second, writing, drinking coffee and more coffee, and forcing myself to write more.
I'm actually pretty proud, thankful and humbled that I've been able to write a lot of scripted material lately. I don't know where I've found the time or inspiration (other than God), but the work seems to be flowing, which feels great. I attribute much of my blog absence to that.
So back to me and Cub...
Bubbles. I cannot say the word. At least not around him. I must ignore the word when it comes up. I must ban the word from my home. Bubbles. Who would've thought? My son is currently obsessed with bubbles. He can even read the word "bubbles" at 15 months. And when he does, he gets a twinkle in his eye and seems to whisper the word like it's some mystical artifact that he's just discovered from a faraway Tibetan temple. Bubbles.
It all started with Your Baby Can Read. He loves the videos and guess what? He can actually read! No joke! Cub can read at least 25 words or more. It's pretty amazing. And his vocabulary and speaking for 15 months is extremely advanced I must say. So on one of the videos they show the word "bubbles" and a kid blowing a bubble. No biggie, right? At first it was harmless. He didn't pay much attention to it at all. Then out of no where. He started READING the word bubbles and occasionally seeing bubble containers around the house and it became a fixation. He would then see the container AND read it and shout, "BUBBLES!" Ever so proudly.
Once he started whispering "bubbles" in the middle of a church service. Out of the blue. His little face all rosy and sweet, staring at the pastor preaching and then his mouth started forming the word softly, "bubbles". As if he were seeing bubbles ascending from the preacher's head. But there were no bubbles around. He was simply in his own pleasant bubble-filled day-dream.
This bubble obsession was cute in the beginning. But before long, I would bring out the bubbles and we'd have a great time blowing them together, then, they'd have to be put away. And therein lies the problem. Putting the bubbles away. See, Cub loves the bubbles. And he thinks they should be available, with me blowing them for him, 24-7. Even if he decides to walk away and do something else, he expects me to keep blowing the bubbles for whenever he decides to return. If I do put them away, I must brace myself for a mega-fat-ugly-toddler-tantrum.
The other day we were at the grocery store. I decided, foolishly, to reward him with a new set of bubbles for being patient during the shopping. So I show him the bubbles for him to hold. At which point he starts whispering, "bubbles, bubbles" into a high-pitched animated crescendo of "BUBBLES!!". Then wanted to OPEN the bubbles right there in the grocery store. I took them out of the plastic case for him to "hold" until we get outside. But NOOOOOOOO!! Must do bubbles right there in aisle 7 -- now!!! Then I heard the rumble, saw the fire in his eyes, and had to just brace myself -- the tantrum came like a tornado. And boy did it. SCREAMING, dropping to the ground, flailing, crying (the suck the air shaking cry) with the little quiet tormented whisper, "bubbles!" When I say everybody was staring, I mean EVERYBODY.
My mind raced, how do I handle a tantrum? Do I ignore it? Do I leave the store WITHOUT the bubbles (that we already opened) or what? And everybody else waited to see what I'd do too. So I decided to quietly but firmly tell him to stop crying and that we'd do the bubbles once we got outside. It didn't work. But it was worth a try. Long story short, we did do the bubbles. On the curb outside like two homeless kids. And then of course another tantrum ensued when I had to put them away to go home. So now, we don't bubble. At least for a while. And don't you dare say the word if you come over, unless you either plan on blowing bubbles for the next 48 hours, or wanna see mama throw her own tantrum.
I'm actually pretty proud, thankful and humbled that I've been able to write a lot of scripted material lately. I don't know where I've found the time or inspiration (other than God), but the work seems to be flowing, which feels great. I attribute much of my blog absence to that.
So back to me and Cub...
Bubbles. I cannot say the word. At least not around him. I must ignore the word when it comes up. I must ban the word from my home. Bubbles. Who would've thought? My son is currently obsessed with bubbles. He can even read the word "bubbles" at 15 months. And when he does, he gets a twinkle in his eye and seems to whisper the word like it's some mystical artifact that he's just discovered from a faraway Tibetan temple. Bubbles.
It all started with Your Baby Can Read. He loves the videos and guess what? He can actually read! No joke! Cub can read at least 25 words or more. It's pretty amazing. And his vocabulary and speaking for 15 months is extremely advanced I must say. So on one of the videos they show the word "bubbles" and a kid blowing a bubble. No biggie, right? At first it was harmless. He didn't pay much attention to it at all. Then out of no where. He started READING the word bubbles and occasionally seeing bubble containers around the house and it became a fixation. He would then see the container AND read it and shout, "BUBBLES!" Ever so proudly.
Once he started whispering "bubbles" in the middle of a church service. Out of the blue. His little face all rosy and sweet, staring at the pastor preaching and then his mouth started forming the word softly, "bubbles". As if he were seeing bubbles ascending from the preacher's head. But there were no bubbles around. He was simply in his own pleasant bubble-filled day-dream.
This bubble obsession was cute in the beginning. But before long, I would bring out the bubbles and we'd have a great time blowing them together, then, they'd have to be put away. And therein lies the problem. Putting the bubbles away. See, Cub loves the bubbles. And he thinks they should be available, with me blowing them for him, 24-7. Even if he decides to walk away and do something else, he expects me to keep blowing the bubbles for whenever he decides to return. If I do put them away, I must brace myself for a mega-fat-ugly-toddler-tantrum.
The other day we were at the grocery store. I decided, foolishly, to reward him with a new set of bubbles for being patient during the shopping. So I show him the bubbles for him to hold. At which point he starts whispering, "bubbles, bubbles" into a high-pitched animated crescendo of "BUBBLES!!". Then wanted to OPEN the bubbles right there in the grocery store. I took them out of the plastic case for him to "hold" until we get outside. But NOOOOOOOO!! Must do bubbles right there in aisle 7 -- now!!! Then I heard the rumble, saw the fire in his eyes, and had to just brace myself -- the tantrum came like a tornado. And boy did it. SCREAMING, dropping to the ground, flailing, crying (the suck the air shaking cry) with the little quiet tormented whisper, "bubbles!" When I say everybody was staring, I mean EVERYBODY.
My mind raced, how do I handle a tantrum? Do I ignore it? Do I leave the store WITHOUT the bubbles (that we already opened) or what? And everybody else waited to see what I'd do too. So I decided to quietly but firmly tell him to stop crying and that we'd do the bubbles once we got outside. It didn't work. But it was worth a try. Long story short, we did do the bubbles. On the curb outside like two homeless kids. And then of course another tantrum ensued when I had to put them away to go home. So now, we don't bubble. At least for a while. And don't you dare say the word if you come over, unless you either plan on blowing bubbles for the next 48 hours, or wanna see mama throw her own tantrum.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Night Cuddles
Tonight for a brief moment I had my own separation anxiety.
Of all the nights I could barely keep my arms up, let alone my eyes open, trying to bounce or sway Cub to sleep, tonight as I cuddled him before bed I had to manually force myself to put him down in the crib. For a few split seconds, my heart hurt. I wanted to keep holding my little boy just a few moments longer. But in reality I knew the longer I held him, the harder it would be for him to go to sleep. Oh, for the gratefulness!
Of all the nights I could barely keep my arms up, let alone my eyes open, trying to bounce or sway Cub to sleep, tonight as I cuddled him before bed I had to manually force myself to put him down in the crib. For a few split seconds, my heart hurt. I wanted to keep holding my little boy just a few moments longer. But in reality I knew the longer I held him, the harder it would be for him to go to sleep. Oh, for the gratefulness!
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Mr. PTT
I've been doing a lot of sighing lately. Not somber sighing. The kind of sighing that is a placeholder for screaming. The kind of sighing that forces you to bite your tongue, take a deep breath, and sometimes turn away.
This sighing came about with the new visitor in my home. I call him a visitor because I pray to Dear God, this is just a "visit" and he will soon go away. Far, far away. I will call him Mr. PTT -- Mr. Pre-Terrible-Twos. This friend, is not my child. He only likes to pop up every once in a while at the most inopportune times and say, Wazzzz up??!!! However, he and my child have seemed to hit it off lately. They're chummy. Even conspire against me.
Yesterday, Cub and I went to the bank. He loves the bank. We enter in all happy. He's holding my hand and walking, greets our usual Customer Service lady with a big, toddler, "Hi!". Then continues walking like he owns the place, dragging me along. Everything was all good. Then Mr. PTT showed up out of nowhere. Like, Blaaaahhhhhhhhhh! And my sweet child was gone. I was left holding this kicking, screaming, defiant person.
So I, sigh, and take a deep breath. Finish my transaction as quickly as possible and leave the bank.
Perhaps a little FroYo will bring back my Cubster. So we leave the bank and my child is back. Everybody happy. We've only had frozen yogurt one other time together. And it was just a taste. But since the shop is next to the bank, why not. We go in, help ourselves to the self-serve yumminess and sit down to eat a fruity yogurty snack. Cub takes a few bites, mmmm. Pleasantly sitting on mommy's lap then --- BLAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Mr. PTT shows up again! Taking the spoon from me -- and he's STRONG -- and manages to splat the yogurt off the spoon all over my face and clothes. Nice. Then kicks out of my lap and wants to go monkey on me.
Once again, we leave and my Cub returns, happy camper and all. We go visit a dog grooming place, talk to the nice guy cutting the dog, meet some other kids, talk with their mom, talk to whoever else all this time and then get to our car. When I get inside to drive off, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and I had a quality drop of dried yogurt on my nose like Rudolf the Red Nosed Yogurt Fool! And could only sigh, embarrassed as can be that all those people were probably staring at my nose and never said a word.
This sighing came about with the new visitor in my home. I call him a visitor because I pray to Dear God, this is just a "visit" and he will soon go away. Far, far away. I will call him Mr. PTT -- Mr. Pre-Terrible-Twos. This friend, is not my child. He only likes to pop up every once in a while at the most inopportune times and say, Wazzzz up??!!! However, he and my child have seemed to hit it off lately. They're chummy. Even conspire against me.
Yesterday, Cub and I went to the bank. He loves the bank. We enter in all happy. He's holding my hand and walking, greets our usual Customer Service lady with a big, toddler, "Hi!". Then continues walking like he owns the place, dragging me along. Everything was all good. Then Mr. PTT showed up out of nowhere. Like, Blaaaahhhhhhhhhh! And my sweet child was gone. I was left holding this kicking, screaming, defiant person.
So I, sigh, and take a deep breath. Finish my transaction as quickly as possible and leave the bank.
Perhaps a little FroYo will bring back my Cubster. So we leave the bank and my child is back. Everybody happy. We've only had frozen yogurt one other time together. And it was just a taste. But since the shop is next to the bank, why not. We go in, help ourselves to the self-serve yumminess and sit down to eat a fruity yogurty snack. Cub takes a few bites, mmmm. Pleasantly sitting on mommy's lap then --- BLAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Mr. PTT shows up again! Taking the spoon from me -- and he's STRONG -- and manages to splat the yogurt off the spoon all over my face and clothes. Nice. Then kicks out of my lap and wants to go monkey on me.
Once again, we leave and my Cub returns, happy camper and all. We go visit a dog grooming place, talk to the nice guy cutting the dog, meet some other kids, talk with their mom, talk to whoever else all this time and then get to our car. When I get inside to drive off, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and I had a quality drop of dried yogurt on my nose like Rudolf the Red Nosed Yogurt Fool! And could only sigh, embarrassed as can be that all those people were probably staring at my nose and never said a word.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
The Sisterhood of Motherhood
Many people can become mothers. Whether young or old. Medical science has proven and surprised us on both ends with that fact.
You don't have to go through a rites of passage, pledge a mom sorority -- although I'm sure there are many "Delta Drama Mamas" out there, not to be taken personal Deltas! -- or go through some painful initiation -- which some may associate with childbirth. But one of the perks of motherhood I cherish the most is the "Sisterhood of Motherhood". Which is open to everyone.
The other day I was at Whole Foods. I never sit down to eat in their cafe area, but since I had Cub with me and we had time to kill, let alone a piping hot delicious latte, I decided to take a seat. Besides there were some young kids playing over at the long communal table and I thought he'd enjoy watching them play and I could enjoy savoring my latte. So we took a seat beside the kids and their mom. The mom was staring ahead. Zoning out. While the kids tugged and pulled at her and... WHINED! She finally dropped her head onto the table and closed her eyes, shutting them out. I smirked to myself remembering feeling that way just a day before. Then I said to her, "You look like me yesterday." She raised her head and smirked. Then said, "Oh, my god! How do we do this?!" We both laughed. Her face brightened up. It was a Saturday morning and wet outside. There wasn't much to do with the kids and she couldn't fathom being with them for another two hours without a break. So I suggested taking them to the library. A light went off in her head. Of course, the library! Duh! She was relieved I made that suggestion. In all her tiredness her mind had gone blank. So there they were at Whole Foods, driving mom crazy.
As we talked more and the kids started to play together, her whole demeanor changed. Suddenly she was re-energized, refocused, and ready to take on the kids. Just a moment of being able to bond with another mom and yes, vent, did wonders. Like an espresso shot of relief. They left shortly after that, headed to the library. And we left too. Both of us grateful for the interaction.
The day before when I was losing it, I had called another mommy friend. To vent. I felt a little embarrassed but had to talk with someone. I was at that -- Oh, my god! moment. And my friend laughed and said, "You're just having one of those moments?? I go through that at least once or twice a week!" Hearing her say that removed the huge block of guilt balancing on my head. I then felt, renewed. Like, "Okay, I'm not crazy. This is normal."
What would we do without the sisterhood of motherhood?! I would probably hide under my bed and never come out.
You don't have to go through a rites of passage, pledge a mom sorority -- although I'm sure there are many "Delta Drama Mamas" out there, not to be taken personal Deltas! -- or go through some painful initiation -- which some may associate with childbirth. But one of the perks of motherhood I cherish the most is the "Sisterhood of Motherhood". Which is open to everyone.
The other day I was at Whole Foods. I never sit down to eat in their cafe area, but since I had Cub with me and we had time to kill, let alone a piping hot delicious latte, I decided to take a seat. Besides there were some young kids playing over at the long communal table and I thought he'd enjoy watching them play and I could enjoy savoring my latte. So we took a seat beside the kids and their mom. The mom was staring ahead. Zoning out. While the kids tugged and pulled at her and... WHINED! She finally dropped her head onto the table and closed her eyes, shutting them out. I smirked to myself remembering feeling that way just a day before. Then I said to her, "You look like me yesterday." She raised her head and smirked. Then said, "Oh, my god! How do we do this?!" We both laughed. Her face brightened up. It was a Saturday morning and wet outside. There wasn't much to do with the kids and she couldn't fathom being with them for another two hours without a break. So I suggested taking them to the library. A light went off in her head. Of course, the library! Duh! She was relieved I made that suggestion. In all her tiredness her mind had gone blank. So there they were at Whole Foods, driving mom crazy.
As we talked more and the kids started to play together, her whole demeanor changed. Suddenly she was re-energized, refocused, and ready to take on the kids. Just a moment of being able to bond with another mom and yes, vent, did wonders. Like an espresso shot of relief. They left shortly after that, headed to the library. And we left too. Both of us grateful for the interaction.
The day before when I was losing it, I had called another mommy friend. To vent. I felt a little embarrassed but had to talk with someone. I was at that -- Oh, my god! moment. And my friend laughed and said, "You're just having one of those moments?? I go through that at least once or twice a week!" Hearing her say that removed the huge block of guilt balancing on my head. I then felt, renewed. Like, "Okay, I'm not crazy. This is normal."
What would we do without the sisterhood of motherhood?! I would probably hide under my bed and never come out.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Marble Poop
The other morning. 4 AM in the morning, that is. I went into Cub's room to change his diaper. When I got into the room, it smelled a little "poopy" but after I lifted him from the crib and did the sniff test, I passed it off as gas (pun intended).
So, it's 4 AM and dark. I don't turn on the light because he's still half-asleep and I'm changing him. The diaper by this time is heavily saturated and probably weighing half of his weight. I take it off of him, look inside and nope, no poo. Definitely was gas.
Then I snapped on a fresh diaper and started putting his little feet back into his pj's. You know the ones with the feet. Love those! Why can't we wear them as adults?! Anyway, as I push his little feet into the pj's and start to zip him up, I feel them. THEM. Little rabbit poops. A whole handful of them sliding behind his back and down into the feet, all across the changing pad. I have to lift one up to do a real sniff check and make sure it is what I'm thinking it is -- hey, it's dark, I said!!
And yep. It's poo. Tons of little marble poos. That slipped right out of the diaper in the dark. So there I sat, marble poops in hand, a now sleeping baby, freshly changed -- or so I thought. And what do I do?
Dump the "shit" in the genie -- with my hands (okay, I really used a wipe) -- and put the babe back in his crib. I'll do a thorough wipe down when he wakes up!
Don't judge me. And yes, I did wash my hands after that. I think. Heck, I can't remember, it was 4 AM!
So, it's 4 AM and dark. I don't turn on the light because he's still half-asleep and I'm changing him. The diaper by this time is heavily saturated and probably weighing half of his weight. I take it off of him, look inside and nope, no poo. Definitely was gas.
Then I snapped on a fresh diaper and started putting his little feet back into his pj's. You know the ones with the feet. Love those! Why can't we wear them as adults?! Anyway, as I push his little feet into the pj's and start to zip him up, I feel them. THEM. Little rabbit poops. A whole handful of them sliding behind his back and down into the feet, all across the changing pad. I have to lift one up to do a real sniff check and make sure it is what I'm thinking it is -- hey, it's dark, I said!!
And yep. It's poo. Tons of little marble poos. That slipped right out of the diaper in the dark. So there I sat, marble poops in hand, a now sleeping baby, freshly changed -- or so I thought. And what do I do?
Dump the "shit" in the genie -- with my hands (okay, I really used a wipe) -- and put the babe back in his crib. I'll do a thorough wipe down when he wakes up!
Don't judge me. And yes, I did wash my hands after that. I think. Heck, I can't remember, it was 4 AM!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Kick In The Pants
Everybody needs a kick-in-the-pants friend (KITPF).
Not somebody who will kick you when you're down.
Or someone that's a constant burden, kicking the life out of you.
But a friend that's a straight shooter.
Someone not afraid to tell you you're full of B.S.
As mothers, we especially need these types of friends.
There are too many reasons to justify why we did this or reacted to that or failed to do such and such. It's true we have a lot on our plates logistically, emotionally and physically.
But a KITPF will tell you when you need to suck it up.
A KITPF will tell you when it was your fault or when you are being childish.
And you'll be stronger and better after that good kick in the pants.
I was lunching with a KITPF this weekend. I was complaining in my most charming way about how difficult it is right now to decide whether I should return to working full-time for a studio or network or if I should stay at home longer, yada yada. And all the projects I'm developing at home right now but not sure if they're really going to be good, etc. So basically I was playing my violin.
My KITPF looked at me and said, "Boo hoo. You get to stay at home with your son, develop your own projects, meet with various people that a lot of people would die to meet with, and you're feeling sorry for yourself." Then she shook her head and said, "I'm sorry I don't feel bad for you at all." And essentially told me to get over it. Wow.
I sat there smiling, trying to take this kick in the pants with dignity but there was nothing to smile about. She was right. Nothing to frown about either. But it was time to straighten up and do what I gotta do. If it's gonna be this way, go that way. If it's going to go that way, then go that way. But don't sit around complaining about the wonderful opportunities in my lap!
If all your friends always pat you on the back and smile in your face, beware! Run!
Go find a good KITPF. You'll be better and the friendship will be stronger!
Not somebody who will kick you when you're down.
Or someone that's a constant burden, kicking the life out of you.
But a friend that's a straight shooter.
Someone not afraid to tell you you're full of B.S.
As mothers, we especially need these types of friends.
There are too many reasons to justify why we did this or reacted to that or failed to do such and such. It's true we have a lot on our plates logistically, emotionally and physically.
But a KITPF will tell you when you need to suck it up.
A KITPF will tell you when it was your fault or when you are being childish.
And you'll be stronger and better after that good kick in the pants.
I was lunching with a KITPF this weekend. I was complaining in my most charming way about how difficult it is right now to decide whether I should return to working full-time for a studio or network or if I should stay at home longer, yada yada. And all the projects I'm developing at home right now but not sure if they're really going to be good, etc. So basically I was playing my violin.
My KITPF looked at me and said, "Boo hoo. You get to stay at home with your son, develop your own projects, meet with various people that a lot of people would die to meet with, and you're feeling sorry for yourself." Then she shook her head and said, "I'm sorry I don't feel bad for you at all." And essentially told me to get over it. Wow.
I sat there smiling, trying to take this kick in the pants with dignity but there was nothing to smile about. She was right. Nothing to frown about either. But it was time to straighten up and do what I gotta do. If it's gonna be this way, go that way. If it's going to go that way, then go that way. But don't sit around complaining about the wonderful opportunities in my lap!
If all your friends always pat you on the back and smile in your face, beware! Run!
Go find a good KITPF. You'll be better and the friendship will be stronger!
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