It’s 7 am and I am bit busy responding to a work call,
heating up coffee, fixing the kids’ breakfast, IM’ing Chance about why there
isn’t more coffee. At this exact moment
I notice someone is missing. I look
around for Max and his lopsided crawl, one leg is in the normal crawl position
and the other is dragging behind him.
(This crawl deserves its own blog post.)
I expect to see Max terrorizing Lola but instead I see a little
body going out the dog door. I drop the
phone and grab those legs just as they are about to disappear and drop 6 inches
onto a flagstone patio. I just saved my son from what was at the very least a
goose egg and at the very worst some stitches.
I knew better than to think that was the end of it. No, indeed I just
invented the newest game around here; save Max from the dog door. He of course goes right for it anytime he’s
crawling around which is pretty much ALL THE TIME.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Letter to Chance
So you’re backpacking and while I am extremely jealous….no
kids, wine and your best friend I AM in a nice warm dry house which is more
than I can say for you, especially the dry part. Our evening started off fairly mundane, an
early dinner and a bath. Max tried to
pull himself up on the faucet. I was a little obsessed about picking my face
tonight but once I pushed the tub far enough away from the faucet he was in no
danger. (This a joke….kinda). I thought that I had it made. Max’s third nap was
fairly short and I knew he was tired so I tried bed time at 6:30. He couldn’t stop rubbing his eyes and
yawning. I could see it, a nice glass of
wine, the chocolate I bought for your trip but somehow ended up here and some
House Hunters. Oh what a night. (I am still in denial that I have to put
sheets on the bed before I crawl in there.
I was so hoping to hang the sheets on the line that I let them stay in
the washing machine so long and now I’m actually waiting for them to dry so I
can go to bed.)
Much to my displeasure Max did not fall asleep immediately
as was my evil plan. I got him up and he
had a party in our living room. Crawling
around, chatting, playing the piano, and being his overall adorable charming
self. How could I make that baby cry
even if it is for his own good? I do
believe that he has a slight fever so I wrestled the pink cherry flavor Tylenol
down his throat. And of course I could
not find the 3 ml syringe, only the 1 ml syringe so that I had to give him
THREE doses. Needless to the say
“handsome like dad” onesie will be forever stained a nice pink hue….so it is
quite appropriate actually. It’s now
7:45 and I put him back to bed and try the Chance pat only to be out smarted by
a 9 month old. I sit in the rocking
chair shushing him. Max becomes
interested in his books and I drop to my hands and knees and try to crawl out
of the room unnoticed. This is the exact
point Max pulls himself up and peers down at me on all fours. I have suddenly lost all dignity. (I think I actually lost all dignity when I
turned on the Jersey Shore in between bouts of trying to get Max to sleep. And yes I realize my IQ just dropped 40
points.) I start to laugh out loud at the absurdity of the situation and Max
gives a deep belly laugh. This round has
been won by Max. It’s about this time
that Matt sends me a one word text “drink?”
I of course run over there with baby and Lola in tow. After a Matt marg and a little bit of Caitlin
and Partner time we head back home and Max goes right to sleep.
The best part is that I run into Clare and Steve and I tell
them that I’m headed to Matt and Debbie’s after a rough night. I think they felt sorry for me and invited me
over for drinks tomorrow night. I’m
going to play the poor harried mother card and milk this weekend for all it’s
worth. Next year though, I’m coming too.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Bubbles and legos
My beautiful little girl is suddenly not so little any
more. I’m still trying to figure out how
this even happened. It seemed like just
the other day she was riding her scooter naked around the back yard with her
baby fat dimples displayed for all. I can’t
dwell on it too much, it will destroy me to think of another 8 years passing in
the blink of an eye.
Karen and Jim gave Maggie her very own bubble bath set for
Christmas. This is a gift that never crossed my radar because in my mind Maggie
is still wearing Hanna Andersson play dresses (with the contrasting leggings of
course) and playing with Littlest Pet Shop.
Her very own bubble bath (and not the baby type) was so very appealing. And in fact, Boulder conservationist be
dammed, she filled the tub up TWICE to ensure a good 30 minutes of
bubbles. Lest you think she’s all girly
she did read her Lego Club magazine in the bathtub complete with a green ninja
Lego figure on the front. I couldn’t
help but stand just out of her sight line and marvel at this child of mine, the
ultimate study in contrasts.
When she was finished she insisted on applying the matching
scented body lotion. I long gave up on
the moisturizer after chasing this child around for YEARS with body lotion in
hand. All it took was Cherry Blossom
body lotion? Don’t get me wrong she
still doesn’t brush her hair or her teeth but that little girl-ism is being
replaced by something else and frankly I’m not sure I am ready.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Mom. I mean Aimee....
I've been listening to my baby "cry it out" for the last 45 minutes. And we're out of wine. This should give you some indication of my day. The high point was when my darling eight year told me that she hoped her dad would remarry so she could call that woman mom and call me Aimee. Apparently at that point I wouldn't be her real mom, just a crappy step-mom named Aimee. Serves me right for telling her to make her bed and pick up her room. And on that note screw the wine and bring me the vodka.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Skinny legs and all
“Jeans?” Chance asks as he’s folding laundry. “Jeans,
Maggie? Really?” This question is asked
to the child who has refused to wear jeans her entire life. Jeans are not soft. Jeans are not comfortable.
Jeans don’t fit like jammies. Never mind
the fact that they last 10 times longer than those damn leggings which require
replacing after 5 wearings due something I like to call HKS (holey knee
syndrome). I clearly have a hard time
learning my lesson because I continued to buy jeans convinced at some point there
would be a turn around. (I am the proud
owner of multiple pair of jeans size 2T through size 7 that have NEVER been
worn.) Yet, in the course of one day (yes,
one day) Maggie became a jean wearer. Important
to note here is the fact that not only is Maggie wearing jeans but she is wearing
skinny jeans. When she does something
she goes all in. Maggie could not figure
out why there was such incredulity in Chance’s voice. “You hate jeans, Maggie.” “What are you talking about? No I don’t. I’ve
never hated jeans” replied the girl with the short term memory indignantly.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
This one?
We’re moving out of the haziness of the last 3.5 months (also known as life with a newborn) and tiptoeing into infant hood. The result is a little more sleep and clarity for us all, which means I finally have the wherewithal to put down some thoughts regarding Max’s first days. There was one particular thought which played over and over in my head. It went something like this….
My cousin Kelsey told a story at my grandmother’s funeral in March. When Grandma was born she was so very tiny and her mother was afraid for her health. She asked the doctor if Grandma would make it. “This one?” the doctor said jerking his head toward my grandmother. “Don’t worry about this one. She’s going to live to be an old lady.” My grandmother died a few weeks before her 99th birthday.
I think of this story often. In fact I held on tightly this story during our stay in the NICU and made it my own. Max’s life was never in any real danger but the blood draws, the antibiotics, the heart echoes, the monitors, the oxygen, the IV in his head, foot and arm, and around the clock care certainly made it seem as though everything could collapse at any moment. During these times I would look at my fragile baby Max and think to myself, “This one? Don’t worry about this one. He’s going to live to be an old man.” Those words never failed to give me comfort and make me smile. In the midst of it all I like to think that maybe just maybe another tiny baby born 99 years ago was watching over Max and thinking the exact same thing.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Tongue Olympics
Max has started to smile. A lot. He does have one problem though; he cant figure out what to do with his tongue when smiling. Sometimes he sticks it out (accompanied by a bit of drool). Sometimes he puts it under his bottom lip making him look like an 80 year old who is thinking hard. And sometimes he even gets it right. I am sure Max will figure it out in a blink of an eye but for now we love watching him practice.
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