metaphortunate: (Default)

You may recall that the Junebug at this age stayed on brand with a very strong message of MAMA DON'T SING. Rocket, however, is my little music lover. We have had to put our foot down and stand firm on ONE song every night before going to sleep.

For a long time every single night's request was "the diamond ring song" (Hush Little Baby).

This has recently been broken up by frequent requests for "millions of degrees" (Why Does the Sun Shine?).

A strong third is "Roy G. Bivot" (Roy G. Biv).

And, because I have been on a folk song kick lately, his latest obsession is "ladies fly home" (The Seventh Girl).

My understanding is that Mr. E gets other requests sometimes, but I don't know what they are.

metaphortunate: (Default)
In an effort to get our goldbricking, foot-dragging children to haul their butts up the stairs after dinner without whining every step of the way or demanding a horsey ride every single night, we have instituted a game called "Tickle on the Landing". The rules of this game are that, if you are on the ground floor, either of the two stair landings, or the upper floor outside of the bathroom, you are fair game for tickling.
 
This works well for both children. 
 
But differently. The Junebug will levitate over the landing and up the next flight of stairs to avoid tickling. Rocket will fling himself down on the landing and demand "Tickle me!" until he is told that he has used up all the tickle on that landing, upon which he will pound up the stairs on all fours in pursuit of his next tickle.
metaphortunate: (Default)
When Kid 1 is like: "No kisses. No hugs. No nose boops. Bye, don't touch me. I'm gonna shoot a cannon at you."

and Kid 2 is like: "Mama come here, I need to smooch you before you go. Are you sad? Do you want huggies?"

goddammit, I feel like an awful parent, but it is HARD not to have a favorite.

...that being said, there is something kind of nicely unworrying about a kid of whom you say to teachers, "Yes, he is irrepressible. We've tried to repress him, but it just doesn't take." Whereas with Kid 2, it's more like "please be careful of our extremely sensitive flower."
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
Science is wonderful. Medicine is wonderful. Back in the late Cretaceous, there were two things you could do for a cough:
  1. Codeine, which worked;
  2. Everything else, which did not work.
And since you probably don't want to give codeine to a tiny child unless there's no other choice, when tiny us got coughs, we just suffered through it. And, though I am not a neglectful parent I swear, I thought those were still the options. So though Rocket has been coughing and coughing at night, and it is just awful to hear, it doesn't actually wake him up. And he doesn't seem to mind it during the day. So we hadn't taken him to the doctor. Until he got a fever.

And holy shit y'all, now you take your tiny child to the doctor and they send you home with a six month supply of albuterol and a little nebulizer. Protip: tell the child the face mask is an astronaut mask. Ten minutes and the wheeze is gone. Just fantastic.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Last night I started to have a sexy dream and then it gradually started to get mixed up with a work dream and at one point I was trying to have sex inside of a PowerPoint presentation and then somehow one of our project managers was there and I basically woke myself up mentally screaming NOOOOOOO.

The other day the Junebug, talented little staller that he has become, ran over to my room when he was supposed to be getting dressed in his room instead and asked, "How does Batman say the alphabet?"

Me: [Is this a joke? Is this a real question that I somehow have to come up with a answer to?]

Me: I don't know. How does Batman say the alphabet?

Junebug: [wrinkling up a ferocious little nose] [stomping his feet so hard that his naked little butt jiggles] [DOING A SURPRISINGLY CREDITABLE CHRISTIAN BALE IMPRESSION] "A!" "B!" "C!" "D!"

It was a real joke! It was funny! He is 4!

Rocket is in like the stage of maximum adorableness. He understands more every day, but he's still all round and squishy. He's more capable every day, but he still wants to please and to be helpful. IT'S THE BEST.

You know when you run the shower before you get in to get hot water? A friend of mine started catching that water in a bucket & putting it on her tree outside. I liked that idea, but I have developed precognition since becoming a parent, and I could clearly see the future down the timeline where we decided to have an open bucket of water in a bathroom with two little house monkeys running around. So we didn't do it. But then one day I was throwing out an empty gallon plastic jug; and I had a brainwave! So now we catch the water in jugs, with lids, and I put it on my plants. I don't pretend that a gallon or so a day will make a difference to the drought; but, it makes a difference to my plants.
metaphortunate: (Default)
1. If the Junebug ever gets comfortable enough with you to tease you, he will call you an eyeball. Or diaper cream. "Hi eyeball!" he will beam. "Hi, diaper cream!" He knows he is being silly and he loves it. I don't know where "diaper cream" comes from, other than that obviously it's a thing we use around the house. Now you might think that "eyeball" grows out of his toddler obsession with eyes. I remember one time L and I took him around the small local aquarium and he helpfully and loudly pointed out the eyes on every fish that had eyes (Spoiler: every single freaking fish in that aquarium had eyes.) That eye interest I think was because he had made the connection that eyes meant alive, as in, if he saw a drawing of a plane that had eyes, it meant that it was a character - "an alive plane" as he says - and a drawing of a plane without eyes is an inert vehicle. So fish that had eyes he knew were alive, and that was very important to him, and he needed to share that information a lot. But this eyeball thing is different. This he picked up at daycare. He came home upset one day and questioning elicited the fact that some kid had called him "one eyeball;" despite the fact that, as he shakily insisted to me, "I am NOT one eyeball." But they grow up so fast; he got over himself and made the weapon his own, and now you are an eyeball and so am I and so is everyone. Hi, eyeball!


2. One day during pickup, as usual, I was crankily chivvying the Junebug through the routine of pee and then are you done? Answer me in words. Are you done? Pull up your underwear. I said stand up. Pull up your underwear and your pants -

"If you don't stop saying that I will show you my butt!"

Then he turned around, bent over, and waggled his naked butt at me.

I lost it. Oh my god, I laughed until I had to sit down. Even though I knew you can't laugh at these things or they will never end. I couldn't help it. Dude. How many times do you think I've seen your naked butt? I still wipe your butt! I could probably draw your asshole from memory! I think the shock value has been lost. Incidentally, I love your tiny adorable butt to pieces, and possibly never more so than when you are waving it at me and cracking up at your own amusingness.


3. When Rocket is very tired and sitting on my lap he will just let his head fall forward into my sternum with a thump. And then of course he has to be hugged very tight and snuggled and have his head stroked. He used to do this all the time as a baby. Constantly. It hurt! Baby heads are big and solid and heavy! And yet….it was his way of asking for hugs. So I loved it. And I had not quite realized that he had stopped doing it. Until this past weekend, when his schedule was all messed up, and he was too tired to fall asleep, and I was holding him on my lap, and…thump. And I realized that it hadn't happened in a long time. So I hugged him very tight and snuggled him and stroked his little head. And I want to write it down before I forget it. Because he is leaving babyhood behind so fast, and I'm not sure it's going to happen again.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Rocket has started walking!

…and about half an hour after he started taking his shaky little toddling steps, we got the email from the daycare saying that his cohort is moving up to the next class. He was the very last one to walk. I think they were waiting for him. *facepalm* I feel kind of bad, several kids in the group were clearly ready to move up to more advanced toys and more adventurous activities a while ago. But kids gonna do what kids gonna do, you can't rush them.

Speaking of which, the Junebug was very seriously told to "Be yourself." by one of the extremely friendly homeless guys on the bus this morning. Which I thought was pretty funny. Of course a three-year-old is going to be himself. There is absolutely no one else he can be. Also, however, I don't WANT him to be himself. I want him to be someone who understands that if you accidentally poop a little bit in your underwear you should tell someone right away.

The homeless guys also gave him a lollipop. I was extremely conflicted about this. He was having a great time talking to them - they wanted to show him their rap sheets, and he wanted to point out that there was a "Police! That says police!" badge at the top and tell them about how Curious George got in trouble one time. And I want him to feel okay about talking to people. I mean, he lives in a city, he'd better. And I didn't want to be all AAAH DON'T TOUCH STUFF FROM PEOPLE WHO ARE WEARING HOUSE SLIPPERS CAMPING AND CUTTING EACH OTHER'S HAIR ON THE FREAKING BUS. I certainly didn't want to insult them. And, I mean, a wrapped lollipop. What's the harm? And yet if he should happen to get sick at all I can just so clearly see myself in the pediatrician's office going "Gosh, do you think maybe I shouldn't have let him eat the lollipop from the homeless guy on the bus?"

He's been told he can have it at the weekend. Possibly I will dead goldfish it before then.

Have been doing way too much Cannibal Corpse voice at the Junebug recently. :/ Trying to cut back.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Rocket is so close to being a toddler. He's basically got standing down. He goes ahead with the controlled fall forward. But then he fails to put out a foot to catch himself so he just goes back down to hands and knees. And from there he crawls to wherever he's going.

I swear to god his ears smell like sweet alyssum. We have some in the backyard, I would know. I'm sure that fragrant earwax or whatever is going to turn out to be the symptom of some horrible disease, but in the meantime, the one bright spot of the teething midnight wakings is that when I cuddle him I get to smell his little head. Why are babies so delicious.

Rocket himself has chosen to cope with his teething via cannibalism. You laugh, but he has all eight needle-sharp little front teeth, bottom and top, already, and he opens his mouth like a shark and lets his entire ten pound head fall directly on your chin. Or arm. Or his brother's back. Ow.

He can say and/or sign: no, milk, more, water, all done, Mama, Dada, book, & ball.

The Junebug was so punchy tonight, I nearly killed him trying to get ready for bed, and then I had a stroke of what I will modestly describe as genius. After potty, he announced that he was a duck, instead of pulling his trousers up and moving on to handwashing and so forth; and, sick of arguing, I started quacking at him. Well, this was the funniest goddamn thing that had ever happened, and he started laughing too hard to fight me anymore, and as long as we communicated via quacking and hand gestures, it went smoothly from then.

I posted that thing and suddenly the Junebug has become a hug monster. He is ASKING FOR HUGS. He is spontaneously giving hugs and kisses! I don't know what's happening, but it's wonderful.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Ah, parenting small children on this particular Thanksgiving morning. Lazing about in bed, cuddling, being a wrestling referee ("NO BITING!") explaining that people want to shut down the Thanksgiving parade because the police keep killing black guys, explaining that their parents are sad and what death means. Relaxing!

And Rocket is cutting FOUR molars, poor little thing. No wonder he's been so fussy and demanding. I keep trying to tell myself that there will come a day when no one wants any of my time, and I probably won't be happy about that either, so I should try to enjoy this while I got it. True, I don't really want two or three decades of that, but could I have like a weekend of it right now, though?

The Junebug verbally asked me for a hug the other night, for the first time ever, though. It was wonderful, although also pretty funny, because I think the cunning little bugger played me. We were out getting burgers for dinner, and he went to grab my arm with his greasy little hands, and I said "DON'T touch my sweater with your greasy hands, you know the rule!" And he said "Mama, can I have a hug?" And I knew this was manipulation and you know what, it didn't matter. When they offer you the bait you want just that much, you see the hook and you take it anyway. Because it's worth it. Didn't even hesitate; hugged the crap out of him and he hugged me right back and I'm pretty sure I got grease and ketchup all over my sweater and in my hair and I didn't even care.

To be fair, it's not that he doesn't ask for cuddles. It's that the way he does it is, he says "I'm the lobster and you are the shark that ate me." - or the lion that ate him, or whatever. This means he will curl up on my lap in a little ball and I will wrap my arms around him and tell him that he's in my tummy and he was delicious. This is because no matter how Freudian my life gets, parenting is one long streak of the universe telling me it's just not Freudian enough yet.

Got to see some friends last weekend that I don't get to see nearly often enough, which was wonderful. Why is distance? :(

Rocket got his first haircut and I held him on my lap and he did not even cry once. He's a hero!
metaphortunate: (wonderful)
Rocket knows words!

- He makes the sign for "milk", and he uses it both for nursing and for cow milk
- He makes the sign for "more"
- Yesterday, he held up a book and said "buh"

Communication!!!

best mom

Oct. 3rd, 2014 08:21 pm
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
Well, today was great. By some miracle, Rocket let us sleep until my alarm went off, instead of going off like an air raid siren at 4:30 am like he has done the rest of the week. Like, I am so fucking exhausted that yesterday on my way to work after dropping the kids off I actually hallucinated a green light and walked out into traffic.

Luckily, the drivers in the neighborhood around my work are well used to looking out for people staggering out into the street to messages from street lights that only they can see, so nothing bad happened, but still. It was not good. I'll be asleep within the hour if I can possibly help it, because I can think of no better use for this Friday night.

This morning while we were waiting for the bus the Junebug got the bright idea to back up a few steps and take a running headbutt at my legs. While I was wearing Rocket in the Ergo, incidentally. "Ow," I said. "I don't like that. It hurts. Please don't do it again."

The Junebug, obviously, laughed. "That's funny!" he said. Then he took another headfirst run at my legs, at which point I did a smooth aikido pivot and let him run right past my knees and fall on the sidewalk. You know, they say three-year-olds are too young for natural consequences, but I dunno - he didn't try it again!
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
Last week was a hard week. Traffic gets worse as it gets later, and it takes us longer to get home, so I've arranged my schedule so that I only need to pick the kids up lateish from daycare one day a week. Except that last week, for various reasons, it was four days. So we were getting home late, having a long exhausting commute, eating dinner late, going to bed late, still getting up early. And one late afternoon, having already picked up Rocket and carrying him on my front, and my backpack with all his gear and milk and so on on my back, I was trudging up the stairs on my way to get the Junebug. And I love the Junebug, I do. But I got passed by one of his little classmates' mothers, and I saw little A. beyond the glass doors jumping up and down and waving at her mother, and just for a second, I had this momentary passionate wish that I were on my way to pick up a kid who was going to be happy to see me. Instead of what the Junebug does, which is see me, shriek, and run away, sometimes hiding.

It's not that he doesn't like me - I swear. It's honestly for a very good reason, which is that the last thing of the day is outdoor free play, which he adores, and he loves his daycare, and whenever I pick him up he is busy playing legos or digging sand or playing doggie with his friends or something like that. And I am there to interrupt his game, take him away from his friends, make him use the potty and then make him go commute. So he's not happy to see me.

It's also just his personality, though. He's always been this way. Remember "oh no! Why are all these smooches happening to the baby?" Then we had Rocket, and I was shocked to discover that some babies kiss you back! Rocket loves snuggles and kisses! The Junebug would rather eat a bug! That is just the way he is, and I do a lot of gritting my teeth and remembering that I need to love my kid for who he is, not who I want him to be, and accepting that he expresses affection with headbutts and asking us to pretend to be "stingrazors" with him. (Stingrays. But I must admit that his version is cooler.)

FUCK, though, this week my mom is here, and she is not at all on board with this accepting people for who they are. She thinks the lack of hugs is my fault, because apparently I haven't taught him how to show affection. I.e. I say "You don't have to hug if you don't want to." And I thought that she was coming to spend time with the kids? But she hasn't volunteered to keep either of them home from daycare with her any days, and finally Mr. E and I said why doesn't the Junebug stay with her tomorrow and they can go to the zoo, but this afternoon she was saying that if he doesn't like her anymore (i.e., won't accept hugs) maybe she shouldn't. So, fuck, I don't know. How much of this is her sulking because the Junebug doesn't hug, and how much of this is because we suggested it and there's her thing where she would donate both her kidneys plus her liver to me as long as I don't ask but if I ask for anything then I'm being difficult and she doesn't want to do it.

Fuuuuuuck. Hey, guess what? Rocket has his first sign! Guess what it is?

Yeah, he shakes his head "no". Way to live up to the stereotype, kid. Still. Exciting!

SLEEEEEEEEP

Sep. 8th, 2014 05:47 am
metaphortunate: (wonderful)
Last night, for the very first time ever, Rocket slept through the night without a snack! We got to bed late, but 10 1/2 hours without nursing!

Me, I woke up in the middle of the night to go throw up because apparently life will have its little joke (probably food poisoning NOT pregnancy), but still. STILL. A new vista of sleep stretches before us.
metaphortunate: (Default)
1) Is someone trying to put something in your mouth? Stop them. They’re not the boss of your mouth. Grab whatever it is, especially if it’s greasy, drippy or sticky.

2) Huh, that looks okay. All right, open mouth. Shove it in there.

3) DO NOT SWALLOW. That’s what they want you to do. Just shove it all in there. Be like the noble hamster. You don’t know what a hamster is, but somewhere in your soul is hamster ambition. Maybe you were a hamster in a past life. You are hamsterous. Is there more food? There is! Find it all. Shove it all in your mouth.

4) Now look vaguely worried and periodically make little retching motions. Do not, under any circumstances, swallow. Keep packing in the food.

5) If you run out of room in your mouth, tuck the food in between your chins for safekeeping.

6) If you run out of room in your chins, hide it in your pants. Knock it onto the floor. Just make sure your parents can’t find it, at least until they step on it barefoot.

7) DO NOT SWALLOW. Occasionally, if you feel your parents are becoming complacent, barf up a half a cup of milk or so. Do NOT allow any of the food to escape. Be the hamster you want to see in the world.

8) When your parents finally freak out and dig three pieces of bacon and half a strawberry out of your mouth, on the changing table, fifteen minutes later, cry and cry. Those were your slimy, half-decomposed pieces of bacon! You might have swallowed them later, if you felt like it! You’ve been robbed! Those cheating parents.
metaphortunate: (Default)
It's the life of Riley at our house, man, until you turn seven months old. But then your troubles begin. You have to sleep in a crib. You have to start on solid food - and that means... THE WIPENING. And then there's the night weaning.

But at the age of eight months, 20 days after the beginning of sleep training/night weaning, it is reasonable for us to expect that:
- Rocket can be put down in his crib at around 7:15 pm and will go to sleep with no more than a minute or two of crying, IF ANY
- He will sleep till at least 6 am, maybe 6:30, with only one night feeding, which I wake him up for and which he will go right back to sleep after
- My boobs have adjusted to the night weaning and I no longer wake up in pain & soaked in milk. (I could have night weaned more gradually & given my boobs longer to adjust. I was so desperate for more sleep & fewer wakeups that I chose not to.)

Not every night goes this smoothly, but enough do that at this point it is what I plan on.

I'm keeping the one night feeding because my understanding is that night weaning cuts down on your daytime milk production as well (and indeed I have unfortunately seen a drop already.) So I plan to keep doing the 1 am feeding until Rocket is eating more solid food or until I just can't goddamn stand it anymore, whichever comes first.

Rocket has 4 teeth and he wants to crawl but he can't and he loves kisses and tickles and his brother and there is a very outside chance that he's learned the ASL sign for milk but a much bigger chance that he just likes to practice opening and closing his hand and he is in all ways a big bag of squishy adorableness. This has been your State Of The Baby Report.
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
Update: OH MY GOD.

So the idea here is that you don't feed the kid when it cries in the night. BUT, you're not gonna leave your kid to cry from hunger either. So the scheme is, you figure out when it usually wakes in the night, and then you set an alarm & go and feed them an hour BEFORE that time. Then hunger doesn't wake them. If you mistimed it & the kid isn't hungry, you try again in an hour, cause it's important to get to the kid before it wakes up on its own.

This worked great with the Junebug.

Tonight I have discovered 3 things:

1) if the kid refuses to eat all night, you wake yourself up every hour all night, wake the kid up, then feel like an exhausted asshole as it cries itself back to sleep.

2) Rocket does not need to eat in the night NEARLY as much as he has been claiming.

3) Holy shit. I guess he really HADN'T been sleeping as well as he could have. He's just peacefully down. Jesus, maybe he might have slept through the night weeks ago if we'd moved him to the crib.
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
So. This is the first night of sleep training for Rocket. Pretty much the Platonic ideal of an illustration of the idea that it has to get worse before it gets better.

I feel extra bad about it because our book (The Sleepeasy Solution) comfortingly assures you that the baby will be happier after he or she is no longer short on sleep, but the thing is, Rocket hasn’t been short on sleep. Rocket wriggles in his sleep from 3 am onwards, and he has been sleeping in my armpit, so I am blisteringly short on sleep, and Mr. E and I really desperately need more time alone in our marriage, but Rocket is fine. So I feel selfish and horrible.

Despite the fact that he is actually asleep right now.

Alone. In a dark room. By himself. Without me.

I have been telling myself that we sleep trained the Junebug at this age and after two days he was totally fine - seriously, after two days we all slept better than we had since about the third trimester and as Mr. E says if we hadn’t sleep trained he would have been an only child. But now I find myself wondering if training him to sleep in a room all by himself is why he is such a profoundly unsnuggly child.

Well. Anyway. Rocket. Rocket is sitting up now, and it is everything I dreamed it would be. He can play with toys! He has his own high chair now! He can start to eat food! We are now two for two on experimentally verifying that if you hand a baby a whole strawberry, even if that baby had previously been unfamiliar with food, the baby will jam it in their mouth and then, despite not being able to talk, manage to communicate “I see where you’re going with this, and I like the way you think.” And then gnaw it into sticky red oblivion. He’s also had some carrot, some meat, some saag - that was actually great, last night he was sitting on my lap, happily mouthing tiny bites of saag, and then suddenly he flopped backwards and tried to latch onto my arm. He could not have more clearly communicated “that was fun, but now it’s time for some serious milk.” I love communication! I love understanding what’s going on!

He’s also flopping forward from sitting, and pushing up from his belly; crawling is clearly less than a month away. Exciting! Whole new worlds to babyproof.

Okay. Christ, I’ve got to try to go to bed. Or at least lie down for the 15 minutes before I have to try to feed him again. Worse before it gets better. Right.
metaphortunate: (Junebug)
Thinking about this because my body has decided to let me know that we are ready! To try for another baby! In other words, this is your periodic reminder that the natural wisdom of the body is frequently an enormous load of horseshit. No more babies. Rocket is my last baby. And yes I am sad about that, but sad in that way that anything you do or have for the last time always has a bit of a breath from the grave. It’s me I’m mourning, and the narrowing of possibilities in my life, not hypothetical future babies. Because I love my guys but they are enough. I’m good.

However, one thing I am truly savoring about my last baby is something I did not know enough to know was a special joy of the baby phase when I had it with the Junebug. See, when the Junebug was a tiny baby I wanted to kiss him basically just all the time. He was always covered in lipstick. But, see, what I didn’t know is that that urge to kiss him all the time, it wouldn’t be going away. It’s still there.

From something Mr. E’s mom said once, it may not go away when he’s in his thirties, either.

But people who are nearly three, they don’t want to be kissed all the time. There are logs to climb and songs to yell and trucks to push around and scooters to ride and racecars to vroom and who’s got time to stand around and be kissed all the time? Hell no. So - while I cannot precisely say that I am enjoying every moment - at midnight, 3 am, and 5 am you will hear me murmuring in a soothing voice that this is exactly why nobody likes babies, you tiny jerk - I can say that I am delighting in every moment that I kiss Rocket’s fat little cheeks or soft little belly or tiny toes or delicate little fingers or squishy little elbows, and he beams all over his face or even breaks into laughter of joy. Me kissing him is the highlight of his whole day. Oh man, if I zerbert his face, it is the funniest and funnest thing that has ever happened to a baby. I want to kiss him all the time, and he wants to be kissed all the time, and for this brief brief moment, I hug him and kiss him, and we are one in our delight.
metaphortunate: (Default)
Okay, this is why parenting is terrifying.

Elodie Glass lays out 85% of interpersonal problems ever:



For the non-image-enabled: basically, if you don't like a thing that someone does, and you have already asked them to stop, and they don't stop, you can either live with it or peace out. You cannot make them stop doing the thing.

Except when you're parenting, you HAVE TO. YOU HAVE TO. All the time! Like, you HAVE to teach them not to shit their pants, and you have to keep them from setting the cat on fire, and so on. You can't just live with them shitting their pants forever, and you can't go away from them. You have to repeat "ask them not to do the thing" like one million times, and then move on to

bribe them with M&Ms? -> Do they still do the thing?
showers -> Do they still do the thing?
time outs -> Do they still do the thing?
loss of privileges -> Do they still do the thing?
cute underwear with Elmo on it -> Do they still do the thing?
long term bribery -> Do they still do the thing?
long explanations -> Do they still do the thing?
????????? -> Do they still do the thing?

CAN'T YOU JUST MAKE THEM NOT DO THE THING? No! You cannot - there is nothing on the chart that leads to "make them stop doing the thing!" And yet WE HAVE TO. We are literally off the chart of human interaction here! strange geometries surround us - losing san points as we speak…

-------

AND ROCKET HAS A TINY LITTLE POINTY THING IN HIS MOUTH. What even is this week, oh my God!
metaphortunate: (Default)
ETA: and now, possibly mastitis. FML

---------

Last Sunday night. A week ago. Mr. E and I were lying next to each other, in bed, during one of the five minute breaks between Rocket's inexplicable bouts of screaming.

I stared blankly at the ceiling. "Today…has not been a good day."

Long pause.

"No," Mr. E agreed. Long pause. "Too much explosive feces."

At which point I lost it, because, yes. Any day that you can sum up with "Too much explosive feces" is not a good day. We both spent that day repeatedly cleaning shit off the toddler, the floor, the underpants, the trousers, the tub, the bucket…what is clean? You soak the underpants in the bucket, but then you have to wash the bucket, and the gloves, and then you have to clean the floor, but did you get all the floor? Do you need to clean the stairs? Did you accidentally walk through it before noticing, and do you have time to clean your slippers downstairs while the toddler is upstairs with the bleach which is out because you were using it? I asked Mr. E "What counts as clean?" and he said "I don't know, it's been too long since I've seen it."

Also Rocket has been having an enormous developmental spurt. Suddenly he can roll over from his front to his back! In both directions! He has learned to blow a zerbert with no substrate! He has discovered his feet, and grabs them all the time! He grabs rattles with both hands, and can get them in his mouth 9 times out of 10! Today, he threw his rattle - twice! Like two feet away! It's incredibly exciting! This has all happened this week, he wasn't doing any of this ten days ago!

…and, of course, one of the things that happens with developmental spurts is that it really gives them a hard time sleeping. So, inexplicable bouts of screaming. And finally I just gave up and decided to give in to terrorism. The tiny asshole sleeps in our bed now. I give up. My shoulder is stiff in the morning, but fuck it: we have all slept. And he's probably not going to die. At least, less likely than that I would drive us all into a truck if I didn't start getting more sleep than I had been. It would probably even have been accidental.

But, so, luckily no one else got the stomach issue till I did on Friday night. No, really. That is luck. I didn't have to miss any work, and I didn't have to clean up shit while feeling terrible. You really want to trade off, with illnesses.

And the cherry on the top of the whole shit-and-magical-wonder-of-childhood-developmental-miracle sundae that has been this week, was also last Sunday night, when I was making my zombie-like way up the stairs, after a day of cleaning up shit, and turned the corner to find: the Junebug. Standing in front of me. Beaming, and announcing, "Mama, I climbed out of my crib by myself!"

("The curse is come upon me, cried the Lady of Shalott.")

Seriously, I nearly broke down crying. As I type, he is meant to be napping, and I have put him back in his bed three times. We are meant to be going to a neighborhood get-together in the afternoon, and if he doesn't nap, he's going to be a beast. I guess we'd better go get him a real bed next weekend.

ETA: It's not a sundae, right? It's a parfait. Because it has layers. Layers of shit, amazing miracles of growth and development, work, frustration, adorableness, and stomach pain.

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metaphortunate son

February 2017

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