It Sucks.

Week Twelve/Fifty-Two

"A portrait of my child(ren) once a week every week in 2014"

 



You guys. This is not right. This can’t be happening. My baby, my little ten month old chunk of chub is taking steps. He. Is. Taking. Steps. And I’m not nearly ready to have a walker. He is my baby. My serenity, the peace maker and happiness bringer, and glue that currently most strongly binds the family (save for at nap and bedtime of course).

 

He is still tiny enough where I willingly smell him, burying my nose into the sticky crevices of his neck rolls. I still carry him around and snuggle him and think his farts are adorable and blow raspberries on his belly and the bottoms of his tiny, sweaty, stinky feet. He still seeks my fingers when he nurses. He still sticks his fingers in my mouth. He tries to feed whoever is sitting next to him at the dinner table. He giggles. He gurgles. He drools. He is my baby. And he is taking steps.

I didn’t believe it at first. Out of the corner of my eye I had seen a step here and there over the past couple of days, but really, a step, or half a step, hardly qualifies. And I was in denial. Then on Saturday my husband insisted he counted four. Four steps. And the kids are watching him like a hawk. Stalking him with the camera. Screaming when he even so much as leans in to move in the upright position. This of course startles the crap out of him and he falls, which I secretly love.

But last night, March 29^th it happened. I saw it with my own tired and teary eyes. Three steps. My little guy. The one who needs me most right now; the one who needs me for virtually everything still, is rapidly becoming a walker. And I hate it. I don’t know why…but I do.

(He has been practicing by pushing this toy & anything that isn't bolted to the floor all over the house...including any one of his siblings)

 

I really don’t want to concede that he’s my last baby, especially here…because my husband reads and watches and jumps on ANY chance to remind me that I SAID that our current baby is our last baby. I’m beginning to think that he pays attention to the posts where I claim we’re done, and flat out ignores the posts where I proclaim that there’s room for just one more.

But I digress. I’m late in including this post, these pictures, in The 52 Project, as they’re onto next week already. But I had to take a minute to write down how I feel about this new found skill…and really it’s quite simple. It sucks. I feel like it sucks. It sucks because of everything walking symbolizes, and it sucks because I’m going to seriously miss the way this little bugger crawls.  I’ve got to get the crawl on video before he abandons it all together. And I’ve tried to snap some pictures of it here and there, but I always fail in capturing the true essence of his plump bum in the air, legs wide and angular, whizzing around on his toes like a little sand crab.

And to my sweet, patient, quiet and strong husband. This is your fair warning. It’s only going to get worse for you from here. With each big boy thing the baby boy accomplishes…I’m ramping up the ‘nother baby nag. Except on those days when I want to rip out my fingernails, set my eyebrows on fire, eat toenails or…even take some glow stick goo to the eye (read about that fun here). On those days I’ll be perfectly content with four. For now, I suggest you start helping me push the baby down whenever he tries to take a step.

 

(For now, we savor the moments he's not taking steps!)

 

(Do you know how hard it is to photograph a crawling, or newly walking baby)

 

(Love how he's on all fours here!)
 

And here's the video proof. Though I refuse to watch it. Cause what I don't see isn't real!

 

 

(My) Parenting Truth: It Burns. A Lot

Let’s just say it’s Saturday night. You’re down one kid to a weekend sleepover, and it is a couple days into Spring. You thought it was supposed to snow today, but really…it was rather lovely instead. You lolled around all day, putting off groceries and strangely enough, when five o’clock rolled around you had beer, but not anything to make for dinner.

The request for tacos for dinner finds you at Chipolte, which no one eight and under enjoyed (surprisingly, even their tortilla chips are “spicy”). A quick run to Dairy Queen, and several brain freezes later you’re back home, riding the kind of high moms ride when an outing goes unexpectedly well.  

You decide to up the ante a little bit, perhaps ease the sting of a no-movie-night, and hang a glow stick from the shower head while your boy showers. Showering in the dark with a pink glow stick dangling above his head is right up his ally. Unfortunately earlier in the day you prematurely activated the glow stick, so it loses its glowiness by showers end.

Yet there’s your daughter. She wants in on the glowing tub action. Of course. And she’s not happy with only a half glowing glow stick. Still, you’ve got your “outing-went-well-mom-high” going on, and you fill the tub with water remembering that there are leftover glow bracelets in the cabinet. Leftover, from like three camping seasons ago.

Squeals of excitement and crack-shake-crack-shake. Crack. Holy EFFING shit. Crack and the mother-effing-poisony, juicy, goopy glow shit squirts out and penetrates your helpless eyes. You saw the light. And it was frigging purple. And it was frigging shooting straight towards your face.

So there’s screaming. There is lots of screaming: “Marc! Marc!! Maaaarrrrrc!!!” And “Gills get out of the tub baby. Get out of the poison water in the tub.” Because in all of your confused pain you, like a good and protective Mama, you throw the broken glow stick into the bathtub. With. Your. Daughter. She’s not emotionally scarred for life at all. Nope.  So the screaming. It’s coupled with rubbing. And spitting. Because spitting always helps.

Instinctively you throw your head under the faucet and start flushing your eyes. Pleading with your stunned and maybe-not-so-good-in-a-crisis husband to find the empty container and read what it says to do in case this mother-flucking-shit gets in your eyes.

You know what it says? It says one may experience “temporary discomfort.” You know what. That’s bullshit. Discomfort doesn’t cover it. Temporary…as in my eyes still sting almost three hours later.

And the truth? Parenting highs are fricking stupid. And dangerous. At least for me. Tonight reminded me that when I am on a parenting high, I do stupid things. Like remember some fancy idea from Pinterest (I assume) on how to make bathwater glow in the dark. If only one of the kids had thrown a tantrum while we were out. Bath time would have been so much less painful.

(Pure, burning, evil)

 

(Mother frickers are STILL glowing in the trash)



Baby Steps

Week Eleven/Fifty-Two

"A portrait of my child(ren) once a week, every week, in 2014"

 

Here we are again. This project surely does highlight how quickly the weeks do in fact pass. I feel like I was just here posting an entry! And now, it's time to post another one.

(So curious about everything!)

 

I feel like this has been a big week for the little man. I can feel him ready to walk. I feel like he feels ready to walk. He's taking bigger risks with standing alone. Stretching his little arms to the max to get from one object to the next. I will be incredibly sad when he takes his first steps. I should be joyful, but this will definitely be bitter sweet for me. Do I say that every week?

(He's perfected the squat)

 

This week is also the week we think he may have uttered his first word. I'm not ready to make it official just yet...cause it's kinda not the word Mumma...which is what I really want his first word to be. But we hear "up" from him all the time. We say it, he says it. With extra emphasis on the "p". It is adorable.

 

Screeching and maxing out the high pitchy-ness of his voice has also been high on his list of things to master this week. He certainly loves the sound of his own voice...yet don't we all?

 

And of course....more teeth, less sleep.

You are a happy, growing baby. You are moving towards toddler status faster than is acceptable. Of course I am so thankful for the happy part, and have resigned myself, once again...and one week at a time...to the growing part.

 

Also...first pair of sneaks!

 

 I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com 



(My) Parenting Truth

One afternoon you'll be sitting at your kitchen counter. It will have been a crazy morning. But by now the baby will be napping and you'll be writing about your oldest son, shaping your love and worry into words. You will be distracted by your nervousness; both anxious and worried about documenting your feelings surrounding his behavior.

You will, once again, be only half paying attention to your third child. The one who is, by now, accustomed to only ever having half of your attention. Which is a post for another time. Guilt to chew on later. A whole 'nother set of anxiety and worry.

You will be typing and playing, which is by now, something you're accustomed to doing if you ever want to get a blessed word written.

In your peripheral vision you will see your little girl climb up onto the kitchen counter and drag two over sized Halloween plates out of the cabinet, clank two forks out of the silverware drawer and slam them down in front of you, giving you your salad. With peanut butter sauce. And vanilla ice cream made of glued together cotton balls. The game of the moment is restaurant. And you'll click clack away on the keyboard and take air bites and uh-huh and yup and I love you too sweetie through the next ten minutes.

Then your four year old will ask you, perhaps sensing your exasperation, perhaps wanting to draw you further in to her game..."Mom, do you want me to get you a glass of wine? I know you like wine." And you will twist your face to find hers, search her beautiful chocolate eyes, full of hope and wonder, and consider a few things.

1. You love this child.

2. You know she can reach the plastic cups, she can scale rock climbing walls with astonishing ease.

3. There is half a bottle of white wine in the fridge. You checked while packing lunches.

4. It is on a low shelf.

5. She can open the fridge door by herself. You've seen her do it in order to get to her beloved Dora yogurts.

6. You are kind of thirsty.

7. It is Monday.

8. It is after Noon.

9. She really wants to help you.

10.Who are you to deny this child the opportunity to make her Mama smile?

11.You buy bottles of wine with screw on caps for a reason.

12.You are an average mother. It is entirely possible that your kids will end up in therapy for something you denied them; a slight or oversight somewhere along the way. Isn't becoming your mother's bartender at the ripe old age of four as good a reason for therapy as any?

13. You love this child.

Cheers!!



Stand Alone

Week Ten/Fifty-Two

 "A portrait of my child(ren), once a week, every week, in 2014" 

 

Okay, so I'll concede. This whole picture taking, with my big girl camera, thing is proving more difficult than I had ever imagined it would be. I remember thinking, how difficult can it be to take a minute to snap a few (good) photos of my kids? As it turns out...very. Part of the problem is that my primary subject is constantly on the move these days. Part of the problem is that I am sick of photographing said subject in the same spot (read: indoors because Maine in February. And now because Maine in March). Part of the problem is that every single time I think to snap a photo, my subject is wearing the same thing that he was wearing the last time I posted a 52 Week Project picture. So you see...several problems.

 

And already I've missed the Week Ten deadline, but I definitely wanted to document the following. Even though I took the pictures on my phone. But for some reason, this is a big deal to me. I've been denying my baby's growing up. But now. Now he stands. Which means soon he walks. Which means...it's over. Done. Babyhood is gone and I've lost the battle to keep him snugly and tiny and babyish forever. And since I know my husband will dutifully read this post, I'll dare to say...standing means it's time for another. What's one more when you've already got four?

 

My baby turned ten months old on Friday. The same day that my oldest daughter and I lost our minds and subsequently forgot to get the dslr out to take real pictures of THIS:

 

  I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com 

Spring Please

Week Nine/Fifty-Two

 "A portrait of my child(ren), once a week, every week, in 2014"
 

 Even this guy knows. It is March. It needs to warm up. The snow needs to melt. We are even anxiously awaiting Mud Season. This winter has been way too long. Way to cold. We want to get outside, instead of smearing grimy hands on doors and windows...we want to make mud pies.

 

 Loving this stage with my little one, who is growing up so fast. He is getting closer and closer to walking. He has worked up the courage this week to let go of whatever he is holding on to and stand unassisted for a few seconds. Of course usually we clap and make a fuss and scare him and he falls to the ground...but still. I feel as though he'll be walking sooner rather than later.

 

I think he's working on cutting more teeth as well. We've had a bit of a sleep regression...if there's even a way to regress from already crappy sleep. He has made huge strides in eating though. This boy who gagged and spit out and avoided food at all costs has discovered chicken, and ham steak, and carrots, and homemade chicken and rice soup, (and part of a McDonald's chicken nugget that his sister snuck him) just this week. Yay!

In other news. I attended a Kindergarten orientation for this love bug this week. We are both so excited for fall. Praying for all day K to finally be approved in our district.
 I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com