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.

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. 

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 99^th 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.

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.

HippoWhat?

Leave it Maggie to come with the most creative (read difficult) costumer...a Hippogriff. I am sure you are scratching your head trying to picture what this is. And no it does not have anything to do with a hippopotamus. Thank you J.K. Rowling for creating Harry Potter and the mythical 1/2 eagle, 1/2 horse creature. You didn't think any kid would want to be this for Halloween, did you? Oh no, the stripped ties, broomsticks, robes and scar is too mundane for my child. Come on J.K. help the mother of a newborn out here. It's not like this costume can be bought; it's ANOTHER handmade costume. This is the year I wised up. Once I had an inkling of Maggie's costume of choice I asked Jack to make it. I mean I did make the lady bug and the poison dart frog. The costume was a perfect rendition.

Maggie was heartbroken that no one knew what she was. The eagle part was easy to discern, but the bottom 1/2, (the horse) was completely overshadowed by the talons and feathers. I tried to make her feel better by telling her Harry was a 6th grade book and she as only in 3rd grade. It didn't help and tears at the Halloween parade/party seemed imminent. Thank you Isabella for "getting" the costume.

After the hippogriff and the poison dart frog perhaps next year's costume should be a bit more mainstream. I don't want to discourage Maggie's creativity in any way, so on second thought maybe I should just delegate to Jack every year...

As per Maggie, the best part of the costume was taking off the Eagle 1/2 and trick or treating AGAIN with her friends just as a horse. Without the eagle mask none of the neighbors were the wiser and I turned a blind eye.

And Max? Max went as a monkey and slept through the entire process. I harbor a secret desire for them to go as M&M's next year.

The Lounge Lizard

Something wonderful happens every time Max takes a bath; he turns into a absolute and utter piece of mush. With one leg draped over the bath sling and his arms are raised above his head, he's the eptiome of relaxed. In fact, he's so relaxed that he pees on himself. Every time.

Max's bath positions make me think of the phrase "lounge lizard". What this actually is I'm not exactly sure. However, I always conjure up an image of a sleazy John Travolta-esque man in a velour leisure suit at a skate rink, complete with a hairy chest and a moose knuckle. Not really an image I want to associate with my pure, innocent newborn son.

Introducing Mad Max

I am officially changing the name of the blog to the M & M chronicles. I'm sleep deprived and cranky since the arrival of my other M, so forgive the lack of wittiness on my first entry. My wit will return or at least I hope it will....just like I hope my waistline, energy and sex drive (sorry mom) all return before 2013. Stay tuned for the updates regarding Max's flatulence which rivals that of a grown 300 pound man who has been eating greasy chicken wings and drinking Busch.