Do not go to Google and type in "vomiting hives virus fever" because you may just get a link to "
Ebola Hemorrhagic Fever
Why do I torture myself!?
Thank goodness I found calming answers at Dr. Sears.
How to know if there is an idiot at your door:
-Hang a cute little sign that says "shhh, baby sleeping" on your front door
- If they ring the doorbell they are an idiot
I seem to have lots of idiots coming to my door. Grrr.
Crate and Barrel has discontinued my silverware, forcing me to spend money to finally complete my set. I am too young to have discontinued silverware! I will be married 5 years in April though. Yikes.
A neighbor introduced herself and said "what, you're the mom? I thought you were one of the kids!" Now, her perspective was skewed given her Florida retired age and all, but damn, that felt good. I kindly replied that yes, I am actually old enough to drive 2 times over. For pity's sake, can I be that old? I can still feel how I felt the day I took my drivers exam, I can clearly see the officer, I can picture our old wood paneled station wagon with burgandy plush interior. Aaah, those were the days. Do they still make that faux velvet interior? Why oh why would parents ever buy that stuff? I am all about the pleather. But what did parents know back then anyway - I rode around in the trunk of that station wagon, being thrown all around, sliding along. It actually makes me ill to think of my kids doing that. 5 point harness for them for life please.
Enough randomness, I have Lost and Alias on TIVO and I am going to go enjoy some downtime. See ya.
Is the sweetest, funniest little guy. I enjoy him like nothing else. He loves me like nothing else. The way his face lights up when I enter the room or reach down to pick him up makes my heart literally get warm. He has so much personality I have no idea how his little body holds it all.
He snorts, he laughs. He babbles, he screeches. He blows bubbles, he toots. He can play "So Big!" He can wave - a stiff arm, elbow and wrist locked wave. He looks like he is washing windows.
But he is the second baby. His babyhood is not the same as his brother's. By the time A was 8 months old he was enrolled in swim lessons, kindermusik and had a slew of playgroup friends. My little baby O goes to the grocery store, preschool drop-off, and the library playgroup with his brother where there are no other babies his age. Not quite the same. Not at all.
The picture frames in his room all have beautiful pictures in them, they are the stock photos that came with the frames. All of O's photos currently reside at Snapfish.com - I seriously need to get on ordering some prints! And those *professional* photos I had taken of A religiously every month, well, um, I do take O to Sears, yes I do. But, um, I lost track of time somehwere and got quite messed up really. See he was 8 months old on 1/24 and um, on Tuesday, 2/8 we are going to Sears for his 7 month photo! Shhh, don't tell, he'll never know! I must have a good looking snapshot I can put in his "first year" frame to make up for the month I missed....
Poor second baby, it's more like the 15 second rule for you. You're lucky if I wipe your toy in my shirt before I give it back to you if it fell on the floor - usually I just give it right back. It's good to build up your immune system!
But for all the places he gets short changed, he scored a more relaxed mama, one who will toss him up in the air and make him laugh, not nervous she might break him. I don't fuss over everything and worry about him hitting every milestone on the scheduled hour. I just enjoy him, I hold him close a little longer because I learned just how fleeting babyhood is. What he might miss out on with things and activities, I hope I am making up for in snuggles and fun.
Today on the way to The Cracker Barrel for breakfast, a little voice from the backseat piped up -
A: Mama, when I am a little bigger, can I get a green motorcycle?
Me: Not while you live in my house, A.
A: But Mama, where else I ever live? (sounding slightly worried and confused)
Because I lay down on the floor with both my boys and let my 3 year old slither snakes, crawl icky bugs and creep freaky lizards all over me. Blech! Yes they were rubber and that weird stretchy material, but still, they were snakes! And bugs! And lizards! Blech! I creeped them all right back at him and he loved it. Loved it! "Mama, I love snakes. I'm a snake boy. You think they're freaky, but not me. If I see one I'll tell dada not you."
Methinks God sent me boys to make me stronger, or at least less squeamish. And actually, it's working. Though when I saw the REAL SNAKE curled around my flower pot on the front porch, I did do a girly girl squeamish dance and repeated "oh my God oh my God oh my God" until I had achieved the attention of my husband who got all excited and went over to check it out and then tried to give me a science lesson about the different types of snakes, etc. Um, I don't think so. Snakes = me no likey = me run away = me no need to know any more thankyouverymuch.
Though considering A and I went on a bug hunting expedition this morning, I may need to bone up on my bug, snake and all creepy crawly things knowledge. Ick. Despite it all I wouldn't trade my buggy boys for all the tea parties and tulle in the world.