The Mess. And the Rest (Plus One Swear)

Week Thirty-Nine/Fifty Two

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

 

So he's my baby. He's the last (yes, I concede defeat and there will be no more littles running around underfoot) and so ya know...I'm still shoving pacifiers into his mouth even though he hates to use them. I'm still trying to get him to take a bottle when I'm not around, even though he's been drinking out of a straw/sippy cup for months. I still rock him to sleep. I still hold him while he sleeps. I still awkwardly smell his head and try to rub my face with the back of his hand. I've made up his "toddler bed" but know damn well he's sleeping with me for a good long while. Like years. I am  decidedly happy to coast ever so slowly towards true toddlerhood. I'm clinging to the words infant and baby, and when someone asks how old he is and I tell them...sweet sausage on a stick help them if they tell me he's big. Cause he's not. He's my baby.

 

However. The eating. It took him forever how to figure out how to, I don't know...swallow food. For months he balked at baby food. Then for months after that he balked at regular food. He didn't start eating until late in the game. I've had to pull over on more than one occasion to scoop bagel out of his throat cause he just can not figure out how to bite, chew, swallow. Food is still cut into tiny bits for him. Generally he eats with his fingers (holy Moses save me from the mess) and usually almost never ever spoons food into his own mouth. Developmentally I have no idea where that puts him, and I could give precisely no fucks. But for the love of Christmas Cats it would be so effing sweet if I could just hand the kid a cheese stick. Or a banana. Or a French frigging toast stick. Or I don't know, something that gets squirted out of a pouch. I've got other mouths to feed, my own being one of them. So when it comes to food...I'm pushing. I'm hoping. I'm praying that sooner rather than later he'll be mixing drinks and baking pies. But for now...bananas. This is pretty much how he does bananas.

 {the mess}

The good thing about bananas for lunch...is they happen right before nap. Something else I will be clinging to by the way. Because sanity.

{the rest}
 

  *Also, he figured out how to climb out of his highchair this week. Good thing he figured it out while I was paying attention to him. Back to buckles.

**Also again. Five times. Five different times he has gotten out of the bath and we haven't put a diaper on him right away. And five different times he's peed on the floor. How many times before his father and I learn? More than five I guess.



Best Baby In The World

Week Twenty-Eight/Fifty-Two

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

 

So I knew I'd blow this whole weekly photo taking/blog posting thing...frankly I'm impressed that I held up for as long as I did. All it took was a little end of school madness, a momentous head-shaving event, a fifth birthday, and a seriously fun but beyond exhausting road trip vacation to throw me off course. And so be it. Will try to get back on track for the rest of the year. Try to. Hopefully. Maybe.

 

For now, back to this guy. Just over fourteen months. Renowned nurser. Professional night-waker. Well versed in fighting sleep. Non-verbal (thankfully?) pointer who has a grunt or whine for just about everything. And officially the most amazing road-tripper in all of the land...as far as I can tell!

 

Vacation was a blast. Vacation was exhausting. Maine to Richmond to Myrtle Beach to Hershey to Maine was an idea that caused great excitement, but also a lot of worry. But once again, little man rolled with the changes, the heat, the hotel, the miles, the car, more miles and a shifted schedule like a freaking boss. So proud of him, and already planning our next adventure (in my head, because I think Marc's head would explode if I voiced my readiness for another road trip any time soon!)

My throat tightens as I look at this picture, because here he seems decidedly less baby, and significantly more little boy. Heart. Broken.

 I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity  http://www.practisingsimplicity.com  

 Ha. Had I remembered to link to her site, I would be joining Jodi. But alas. Crazy week.

 

Field Trip Fun

The other day was field trip day for my preschooler. We went to a farm. In the seemingly never ending drizzle.

My daughter loved the field trip. A real live field trip like the ones she has seen her older brother and sister go on. So really, to her, that’s all that mattered. A field trip complete with a water bottle and a picnic lunch and a day away from the school she loves doing something with the friends she adores under the direction of the teacher she idolizes. So to her it was all good. And to me it was mostly good too. It would have been way better if I had been able to feel my toes, but feeling all parts of ones feet is such a minor detail when you kid is having fun. (Cough-bullshit-cough).

The farm was adorable, if not a wee bit…boring. Situated on beautiful grounds (by farm standards) there was a gorgeous English (or was it French?) barn strung with globe lights and full of rustic tables. The chickens were perfectly clucky, the rooster appropriately aggressive and loud. There were even soft chicks to be held and petted. Near the picnicking spot there was an idyllic cast iron tub nestled under majestic trees. Even the outhouses were adorable; the soap for washing salmonella off of our hands smelled divine.

I mean, yes, the sheep looked ratty, like fleece falling off ratty. And the cows, all two of them…they were in the most run down, cobwebby, rusty nailed barn that a pack of four year olds were ever allowed to trod through. And there was a “protector” dog the kids weren’t allowed to touch. And in all honesty some chickens, two cows, a sheep, some piglets and a pair of dogs, in the grand scheme of things, does not in my mind equate a bustling farm. But I am an adult, so I had to find my own fun.

For example, I thoroughly enjoyed the guy driving the tractor who talked to the kids about compost while showing them the 150 degree pile of shit. There was a chorus of oohing and ahhhing when he talked worms and bugs and how you could cook a hard-boiled egg in the pile of compost. There were screams of shock and awe when he actually moved a hunk of the pile and the steam rose from the ground like…like something holy. Yes, that was good. So good because that guy…man did he know his shit. And boy did he love his shit too. And that right there is the kind of shit that I can appreciate. For real.

Another highlight for me, which I am embarrassed to admit because it paints me in a much crueler light than I like to think of myself, is when the farm dog, who was driving me INSANE with her happiness, her enthusiasm for life and her incessant need to herd children, got a leeetle too close to the live electric fence. Man did that dog yelp when she got zapped, and sorry, but man did I giggle. Take that you happy fucking dog. The kids were appropriately horrified and worried for the dog, and then distracted by the piglets. Apparently through a child’s eyes, squealing piglets trump electrocuted dog. Good to know I think.

Finally and not surprisingly on these field trips to farms in the rain, the parents get to talking while the kids take turns holding freshly laid eggs. And sometimes the talking turns from crazy sports schedules to sons deciding underwear are non-essential.  And sometimes when you’re ambling about you find yourself talking fifth grade health class at about the time the field trip turns toward discussing whether or not there are baby chicks inside the eggs the children are holding. And sometimes as a parent your mind consequently conversation, automatically shifts to discussing how ten year old girls gag when talking about having to diagram gross “boy parts” for health class.

So when your mind is on “the puberty talk”, and gagging little girls horrified by what they have been subjected to through the fifth grade health,  sometimes after  joking with parents about all of these things, you end up holding a chicken. And you’re holding that sweet little ten weeker, and you crouch over, hoping you neither pee nor split your pants in the process, and encourage your daughter and her friends to gently pat the back of the chicken. And it pecks at a kid. So you take your finger and push the chicken’s neck towards your body to gently keep its beak from tiny little hands. And in doing so, your chicken loving daughter (who frigging knew?) says in her most condescending voice…”Momma, stop it. You’re choking the chicken.”  And you say, “No sweetie, I’m not. I’m holding his head away from you so he won’t bite you.” But she insists that I’m choking the chicken. And because you’re crouched down in front of a bunch of kids, praying your kegel exercises don’t fail you now, shallowly breathing so that you’re fat pants don’t fail you either, and perhaps a tiny part of your subconscious is replaying the puberty talk you bark, “I AM NOT CHOKING THE CHICKEN.”

And you’ll hear distant laughter. And you’ll think, why yes, yes I did. And thank you very much. And you’ll save your pants peeing for when you get back into the car and start sneezing…from the cold.

 

Not a chicken, but in fact a cat about to be choked.

Rain Baby

Week Nineteen/Fifty-Two

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

The week he turned one. I'm sure several years down the road I'll write about how it felt when my last baby turned one. But for now...for now I just want to remember this. I don't want to think about all of the "lasts" (i.e. milestones) we've achieved in the past year. I don't want to think about him growing into a more independent toddler. Because what I want to do, when it rains and the baby loves the outdoors, is this.

Happy Birthday to my sweet, funny, loving, adorable, chubby, curious, heart-melting, little man. What a year it has been.

 

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity  http://www.practisingsimplicity.com 

(Well, not this week I'm not. Cause I missed the deadline AGAIN. Who frickin' knew?)



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!

 

 

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 



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 

Man-ish

While I realize my little guy still has a vast amount of “growing up” to do (don’t they all really?), I’ve noticed recently that there are a few things that indicate he’s well on his way to becoming a man. For better or worse.

Don’t get me wrong; I love men. I married a good natured one who thankfully doesn’t mind the occasional blog post portraying him in slightly unfavorable light. Also, I’m tasked with raising two. And while I feel ultimately I’ll do a pretty good job, transforming my baby boys into men is also a undertaking that scares me to death. Cause God forbid either of them end up with a wife like me.

At the ripe old age of nine months my little baby boy-cub is becoming more man-ish. For instance:

1.   We don't nurse snuggled up and cozy belly to belly anymore. No. Now he sprawls out like a man on the couch. Feet up, arms askew, slugging a beer...straight from the tap.

2.   He whines. Of course all babies do. My girls did too. Still do in fact. But this little dude turns on the whiny voice. Just for effect and a little bit of attention. I hope he figures out that whiny men are never endearing to women. Neither are men that fake cough, drool excessively, or crap their pants. But for now, we’ll focus on the whine.

 

3.   He flips me off. A lot.

 

      

4.   His feet stink. Holy hell baby boy. I shudder thinking about future sneakers and gym socks and boy specific sports equipment.

 

5.   He tries to make himself fart (and is alarmingly successful). And he laughs when he succeeds. Actually he laughs even if he doesn’t fart on demand…cause farts are just funny. For a while now he’s been trying to make himself poop when he nurses, but he’s definitely upped his game with the flatulence.

6.   He sweats. Ick. And there goes the sweet smell of a newborn baby. Right. Out. The Window.

7.   He has attitude. And according to his pediatrician, he is a sleep manipulator. Apparently because I will do anything to get and keep my little to sleep, said little is a manipulator. Perhaps this is why I am the Mom, and not the pediatrician.

 

8.   He has a favorite chair, and likes to push it from room to room with him.

 

      9.  He is a terrible driver. It is inevitable I suppose.  Zero hands on the wheel. Looking around. Talking to himself. Drooling. Utterly unable to parallel park. Or get from Point A to Point B without me reminding him how to get there.

 

 (Can we pause for a sec and admire the chub!)

  

    10. He has no idea what to do with the laundry.

    11.  I don't even want to tell you what his favorite tub toy is...(hint: he's looking for it!)

Chubby Toes and Fast Fingers

Toes-Week Seven/Fifty-Two

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 

 

Baby toes that curl and scrunch and squish. Baby toes that provide entertainment, and sometimes a quick snack. Baby toes that propel him forward, so quickly. Moving everywhere and growing so big. Chubby fingers that always find the naughtiest things to play with: iPod chargers, tiny toys left scattered by his older siblings, rolls and rolls of toilet paper. The trash.

Soon he will be walking. He may be the earliest walker I've had, yet. At only nine months old already so close. Honestly it is both a relief (because he's getting so heavy to lug around!) and sad at the same time; bittersweet I suppose. He's really becoming less like a baby, and more like a toddler. But for now, there are still the baby toes. And chubby fingers. And tiny things on the floor that he tries to eat (a stage which I welcome to pass quickly)!

 

As time passes, and my baby grows, and I submit my weekly pictures of the kids (which, really, will likely end up being just pictures of the baby!) I am reminded how mornings, afternoons, days...weeks get away from me. Sometimes it seems insurmountable to just get one good snapshot of my children. To freeze just one moment in time. A moment in time when there are not tears, or attitudes, or chaos. And while oftentimes I feel rushed and hurried to simply submit something...I am constantly reminding myself that a little something is better than nothing.



 

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com

 

 

For the Love of Hair

For the Love of Hair-Week Five/Fifty-Two
"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 

It is so easy to miss the details, the subtle changes. To get caught up in the hurry-upness of every day life with kids. But this week I noticed something about the baby. I noticed his hair.

It’s growing. Becoming wispy and curly and thicker. And less red. And I realize he’s growing, and it makes me sad. Because while I am excited for this next phase of his babyhood, I’m also infinitely sad to think that he is the last baby that I will ever call my own. Bittersweet this business of growing up…

Just one week shy of nine months

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com