I haven’t posted in a few days – partially because of the need for both hands: my little boy, T. – Age 14 months is all over the place. If I am not removing him from one dangerous location or another, I am extracting objects from his mouth!
Fecal Matters
As parents with a baby or toddler, there are many things you think you should be discussing. Perhaps you might talk about parenting strategies, or growth charts, or even your hopes and dreams for baby.
In my home? Somehow we are always talking about poop.
Real men are OK with pink..
Because we had not found out what we were having with – well – either of our children but especially with the first, all of the baby stuff was pretty gender-neutral.
So when we got our precious baby girl, and she was old enough for her first baby swing, I pushed for pink. Truthfully, I think, I had figured, coming from a family of predominantly girls, it would not matter: clearly I would also have girls.
Which, of course, didn’t happen. And now that my son is old enough to enjoy such wonderful things, we are too cheap to buy another swing.
So- pink it is!
Luckily, my very macho son, T – Age 14 months, is far too cool to let color stand in the way of utter delight:
Things that Make Me Jealous of Toddlers
There are at least a few moments most days when I am jealous of my children.
They don’t worry about finances, they squeeze into cramped spaces readily, and have a capacity for fun and merriment that I can only longingly admire.
Best of all? At this point in their lives, the world and the people in it exist solely to cater to their needs and amusement!
Here are a few photo examples from just this weekend of childish glee:
Doggy Dish Trials
We’re worried about flooding in our kitchen these days. It has become a constant battle to keep the Pergo dry…
and the Pug hydrated.
Over-the-top Toddler Tea
My sister decided to have a particularly over-the-top special birthday party for her daughter A. – Age 5, at a local shop catering to such glamorous events.
The girls were ushered into two rooms filled with racks and racks of every conceivable sparkly gown, hundreds of tiny jewel-crusted shoes, tiaras, bows, jewelry and glitter. The girls all had their nails done, and makeup on their lips and eyes.
10 tiny tots took fizzy-pink high tea filled with marshmallows, frosted cakes and cookies, and were instructed to act like ladies as they dined.
I was never the girly-girl type as a child: whether it was because I grew up in a boy-dominated neighborhood, with the exception of maybe playing Barbies my childhood was spent climbing trees and playing in forts. This fascination with princesses and crowns is a shock to my system.
While the affair was the type that made my inner anti-pink sensibilities want to retch lace-edged doilies, the birthday girl and her little friends all seemed to have a blast. S. – Age 3.5 was in Diva Heaven.
In the end, I suppose, that is really all that matters: all those smiling little faces. My sister did an awesome job of putting it together, and my daughter lucky to get to experience it!
But I would be lying if I didn’t admit the whole thing made me shudder a little and long to wear black. 🙂
Miniature Bicycle Babe – winning!
We got our toddler (S. – Age 3.5) a bicycle a few months ago. We thought she would be thrilled.
Instead, because she didn’t know how to ride it perfectly- struggled with pedaling a bit and took a spill, she has basically refused to ride it. The sparkling, purple (ridiculously girly!) princess bike has literally sat in our garage for months. I would beg, threaten and cajole but could not get her on the thing no matter how hard I tried. Every attempt was an exercise in tears so finally, I let it go.
It has been driving me nuts.
A week ago, we went to the park and she saw her friend R. – Age 5 ride up the park on his bike. She didn’t mention anything to me about it but I know she noticed. I didn’t say anything either.
Two evenings ago I suggested to her perhaps she and I could take her bike out and try it before bed. She looked at me for a moment, the cocked her head sideways and said: “Well, I guess I could try.”
This morning that same kid rode that princess bike over a mile. What had started out as walking the dog S. – Age 3.5 turned into a quest, and I had not the heart to deny her. Accompanied by myself and our pug, she pedaled and pedaled and pedaled, and when she fell jumped right back up.
I had tears in my eyes. I am not sure if it was just pride – I think there may have been some (read: tons) of
OMG my baby is growing up!
in there too.
Here is a picture of the champ in her moment of glory:
Running Madness
My tiny son is a machine: he runs excitedly even when he should be walking, and has taken to dancing and marching in place when standing still. He has boundless energy. In this picture he is chasing after his big sister S – Age 3.5.
I was remarking to my husband that when our daughter was his age, there is no chance we would have let her go like that, barefoot and in pajamas, down a puddle-laden sidewalk. We would have been two steps behind at best. I guess since the first survived we have relaxed a little, and are more inclined known to watch and laugh.
We did not, for instance, keep him out of the puddle: we were too busy making bets on how he would react – whether he would plow through or plop down for a splash. He froze, actually, like his feet were stuck in glue for a moment, and stared down at his wet toes in confusion.
He then toddled happily on.
My son would have made it to the other side of the neighborhood had I not eventually scooped him up.
Children are the best thing that ever happened to me, and by far the most intriguing little creatures. It is becoming pretty apparent though, that their daddy and I are going to have to start marathon training if we hope to keep up!
Collateral Damage
My nose is killing me.
Would you like to know why? Of course you do…
About a week ago my 14 month son launched his bottle at my face. He is quite strong, by the way. My nose has been aching ever since.
To add insult to injury (or really, to add injury to injury) my daughter managed to wack the other side of my delicate schnoz on the other side last night.
I keep looking in the mirror to see if there is a bump. I am pretty sure something is off.
This is not the first time I’ve been so injured. I am routinely kicked, bitten, and used as a bounce house. When S. – Age 3.5 was merely S. Age 2 she did a reverse head-butt on me that sent me to the ER. I had a concussion.
I am sure the doctors were laughing at
me behind my back.
I knew motherhood was tough. I knew pregnancy was going to involve aches and pains, and expected childbirth to be a doozy.
What I did not expect was that at 40 years of age I would be considering purchasing a helmet to protect me from my tiny minions.
Oh wait! I am pretty sure there is a
hockey goalie mask in the basement…
Band-aid obsessed
No, it’s not modern art: it is an aerial view of my 14 month old son’s giant head o’ bald after Dr. S – Age 3.5 got to him post-traumatic bump with a Tinker Bell bandage.
I don’t know if it is the amazing colors or vast availability of characters from which to choose. My daughter is just as thrilled to get a new box of band-aids as she is a new toy.
The delight that follows every new bump, bruise or cut – on anyone in the family – is slightly wrong on some levels, but vastly amusing. Waking up from a nap with one on your arm seems a small price to pay.
Now that her baby brother is walking, it is good to know immediate and colorful first aid is always at the ready!
The Mischief of Minions 