So 2010 was my first full calendar year as a mom. I guess there's no turning back now. I'm in it for the long haul.
And since Mr. Long Haul will no doubt get up at 6:00 tomorrow morning (or, if we're lucky, a little earlier), I'm going to bed. Happy New Year!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
December 28, 2010: Pump up the jams
Gavin's doctor's appointment yesterday went well. He's healthy and happy. He was in a really good mood for the most part and was very smiley with his doctor. At one point she went after his "piggies," which are, of course, his toes, but that isn't something we ever call them. However, when she said, "Where are your piggies?" he responded by holding up his bare foot (having taken his socks off moments before since socks are something he seems to have ideological problems with). Perhaps "piggies" is part of the vernacular babies are born with. In any case, he's now about 26 and a half pounds (last time I took him to the doctor he weighed in at 28. I don't think he's dieting or anything, though he does get pickier and pickier every day. He was sick and thus clingy when I took him in last and he didn't stand on the scale for very long and the time he was on there he wasn't especially still) and about 33 inches tall. He's in the upper percentile for height and the 70-90 percentile for weight and head circumference. So he's a big guy, but not freaky-big.
Everything was great at the doctor's until the shots. He got four, which he did not like for some reason. Stacy held his legs, I was up by his head. All up in his face, actually, in a loving way. I wanted to distract him from what was going on with his adorably chubby and impossibly soft baby thighs. This means I got to see the exact moment the pain of being stabbed registered on his face. The grimace followed by screaming and tears. It was hard. For both of us. More so for him, I'm sure. But after the shots Stacy scooped him up and he quieted down right away.
On our way out the receptionist gave him stickers, one of a kitty and one of some puppies, which she stuck on his jacket and he liked very much. But then he turned and tripped and face planted on the industrial unpadded carpet. So he'll probably have a complex surrounding stickers on his clothing for the rest of his life. I can relate since I hate wearing name tags at events. I often don't put it on at all and because I am a grown up and name tag-wearing events are typically grown up affairs, rarely does someone ever call me out about it. When I was little I loved stickers. I remember skunk-scented Berenstain Bears stickers that were affixed to the ladder of the bunk bed I shared with my twin sister. First question: Why did anyone ever make skunk-scented Berenstain Bears scratch and sniff stickers? Second question: Why did anyone ever buy such a thing for a child (as I was much too young to buy them for myself)? Third question: Why did I think it was a good idea to stick skunk-scented stickers on my bunk bed, where I slept? Later in life I didn't like to stick stickers so much as collect them obsessively, although I never amassed a collection like our babysitter who would sometimes let my sister and I each have a sticker. (I hasten to add that some one with a sticker collection is probably too young to be trusted with your children.) In high school I would go on to put a small fingernail-sized sticker on the brown leather collar of my beloved jean jacket and later I would remove that sticker only to also remove the soft brown layer or leather beneath it. This would make me very disappointed, but I would grow up to become an adult who could look back at pictures of myself in that jean jacket and think, "Seriously? No one knew I was gay?"
In the late afternoon we went to a birthday party at what Gavin would probably deem the most funnest place in the world, Pump It Up: The Inflatable Party Zone. We had to sign a form saying we were cool if our son suffered "contusions, fractures, scrapes, cuts, bumps, paralysis, or death" there. I am, of course, totally not cool with that and to even sign such a thing seems unconscionable, but we did (or Stacy did, at least) and Gavin had so much fun there I'm sure he thought he'd already died and gone to heaven, as if heaven would be a building located in an industrial park filled with inflatable bounce houses and slides decorated in a hideously garish color scheme (and seeing as Gavin has no concept of death or heaven, this is a stretch). For a kid who got four shots yesterday, Gavin was tearing all over the place. He loved all of it. Bouncing in the bounce house, going through the obstacle course, climbing on the benches (these weren't part of the Pump It Up experience as they are metal and not filled with air. He just has a thing for benches). He was delirious with joy. In fact, he loved it so much that I even suggested to Stacy that we might want to think about having his 2nd birthday party there. Who knows? Crazier shit has happened. And anyway his birthday is toward the end of July and although it's summer it's really hot outside. For his first birthday it was super hot and rainy. Our house is just too small for big parties. Anyway, it's something I'm considering even though part of me fears that Pump It Up is just a giant inflatable staph infection waiting to happen. With that many people bouncing on and jumping in and touching everything I have to doubt how they can possibly keep the place disinfected. I hope Gavin doesn't wake up with pink eye.
Everything was great at the doctor's until the shots. He got four, which he did not like for some reason. Stacy held his legs, I was up by his head. All up in his face, actually, in a loving way. I wanted to distract him from what was going on with his adorably chubby and impossibly soft baby thighs. This means I got to see the exact moment the pain of being stabbed registered on his face. The grimace followed by screaming and tears. It was hard. For both of us. More so for him, I'm sure. But after the shots Stacy scooped him up and he quieted down right away.
On our way out the receptionist gave him stickers, one of a kitty and one of some puppies, which she stuck on his jacket and he liked very much. But then he turned and tripped and face planted on the industrial unpadded carpet. So he'll probably have a complex surrounding stickers on his clothing for the rest of his life. I can relate since I hate wearing name tags at events. I often don't put it on at all and because I am a grown up and name tag-wearing events are typically grown up affairs, rarely does someone ever call me out about it. When I was little I loved stickers. I remember skunk-scented Berenstain Bears stickers that were affixed to the ladder of the bunk bed I shared with my twin sister. First question: Why did anyone ever make skunk-scented Berenstain Bears scratch and sniff stickers? Second question: Why did anyone ever buy such a thing for a child (as I was much too young to buy them for myself)? Third question: Why did I think it was a good idea to stick skunk-scented stickers on my bunk bed, where I slept? Later in life I didn't like to stick stickers so much as collect them obsessively, although I never amassed a collection like our babysitter who would sometimes let my sister and I each have a sticker. (I hasten to add that some one with a sticker collection is probably too young to be trusted with your children.) In high school I would go on to put a small fingernail-sized sticker on the brown leather collar of my beloved jean jacket and later I would remove that sticker only to also remove the soft brown layer or leather beneath it. This would make me very disappointed, but I would grow up to become an adult who could look back at pictures of myself in that jean jacket and think, "Seriously? No one knew I was gay?"
Monday, December 27, 2010
December 27, 2010: Christmas is so over
Well, we made it back to Michigan safe and sound. Mostly sound. On our last day in Florida I developed a sore throat. And now Gavin has a runny nose and is being especially clingy. The airplane was fine. Gavin was squirmy and got pissed off at one point because we put his sweater back on him, but other than that he's a model airplane citizen. On the way to Florida was a bit easier since he did sleep at least part of the way.
Gavin's favorite part of our Florida experience was the golf car. Marilyn (his granny) and Paul live in The Villages. It's a golf car community, which means that just about everyone tools around in golf cars. There are regular cars, too, but golf cars are just as prevalent. The Wal-Mart even has a golf car lot with tiny parking spaces. I knew that Marilyn would want to take Gavin in the golf car and I was initially against this until I saw that her golf car has seat belts. He sat on my lap or Stacy's lap and we put the belt over both of us. I mean, yeah, if we got hit by a car we'd probably all die, but at least he wouldn't fall out while it was moving, which was my main worry. But he LOVED it. After the first time he rode in it, every time he saw a golf car (and this was a very frequent occurrence) he would point and say, "Ungh, ungh" (which is his multi-purpose grunt at the moment, usually used to call your attention to something he finds particularly interesting). When we got in the car to go to the airport on our last day there he cried because we weren't getting in the golf car. Since The Villages is about an hour and a half away from the airport, I am very glad we didn't take the golf car there.
Gavin also got to feed and pet horses while we were there. I was not there for this experience as I was on my way back from Clearwater with Amanda. But Stacy took lots of pictures and videos, which I will one day upload once I get a new computer cord because mine is, sadly, melting (I'm using my sister's computer right now. Thanks, Christine!). No doubt next year he'll be asking us for a pony and a golf car for Christmas.
For this Christmas I gave Gavin a toy vacuum. Huge hit. My mom gave him a toy mop, which came with little lady gloves (which he will probably never wear. Sorry, Mom). Also a hit. What can I say, my son has a thing for cleaning. To say he got lots of stuff is an understatement. Puzzles, books, toy cars, stuffed animals, and a djembe. Laura is hell bent on making him a drummer. Truth be told, he likes to drum.
Throwing toys, etc. has become a problem. He likes to clear off shelves of books by sweeping them to the floor, some time selecting individual titles to chuck more purposefully to the floor. I took his puzzles away this morning because he was trying to sweep them all off the side table in the living room and onto the floor. So he knocked my water bottle onto the floor instead. It's like he instinctively knows how to be a brat. This goes hand in hand with his toddler resistance tactics, which he no doubt learned by watching YouTube videos of the WTO meetings in Seattle. This morning he reached out and swatted at Emma, more smacking than petting, all the while looking right at me like, "I know what I'm doing is not okay and am waiting for your reaction." I took his hand and guided it along her side saying, "Gentle, gentle. We are gentle with animals." This is something he already knows. But limits are so much fun to test.
Yesterday at my dad's every member of our family was in the same room at the same time which rarely happens any more since Christine lives in LA and Brian lives in Arizona. All of us together is quite cacophonous (i.e. insane) and he did very well amidst all of the noise and confusion and dogs (my dad's, Louie the pug and Rocket and Chihuahua mix, and Amanda's pug-mix Charlie). While we were opening gifts I managed to hit Gavin in the face with a box of stuff from my dad. Gavin was on my lap and I pulled the box closer to us and misjudged the depth between Gavin and the box. He wasn't managed or anything, but he did cry. Not the best way to endear him to Grandpa Mike. Or me. My dad was hell bent on Gavin playing with this sound block puzzle he gave him as soon as Gavin opened it but Gavin was busy playing with these little trucks my dad gave him so I had to deny my dad this one joy in life. I think my dad sometimes forgets that Gavin isn't even two years old and just doesn't have the ability to take on some many things at once. He's easily distracted even when people aren't shoving brightly colored boxes at him filled with toys. That he was upright (meaning not curled up in Stacy's arms sucking his thumb, one of his preferred states of being) and having fun was a miracle in itself. Let's not push it.
Gavin has a doctor's appointment this morning. I don't know if he'll get more shots or not. I should probably know this. I know he'll be weighed and measured, though. My estimate is that he'll be three feet tall and somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 lbs. And then we're going on Jerry Springer.
Gavin's favorite part of our Florida experience was the golf car. Marilyn (his granny) and Paul live in The Villages. It's a golf car community, which means that just about everyone tools around in golf cars. There are regular cars, too, but golf cars are just as prevalent. The Wal-Mart even has a golf car lot with tiny parking spaces. I knew that Marilyn would want to take Gavin in the golf car and I was initially against this until I saw that her golf car has seat belts. He sat on my lap or Stacy's lap and we put the belt over both of us. I mean, yeah, if we got hit by a car we'd probably all die, but at least he wouldn't fall out while it was moving, which was my main worry. But he LOVED it. After the first time he rode in it, every time he saw a golf car (and this was a very frequent occurrence) he would point and say, "Ungh, ungh" (which is his multi-purpose grunt at the moment, usually used to call your attention to something he finds particularly interesting). When we got in the car to go to the airport on our last day there he cried because we weren't getting in the golf car. Since The Villages is about an hour and a half away from the airport, I am very glad we didn't take the golf car there.
Gavin also got to feed and pet horses while we were there. I was not there for this experience as I was on my way back from Clearwater with Amanda. But Stacy took lots of pictures and videos, which I will one day upload once I get a new computer cord because mine is, sadly, melting (I'm using my sister's computer right now. Thanks, Christine!). No doubt next year he'll be asking us for a pony and a golf car for Christmas.
For this Christmas I gave Gavin a toy vacuum. Huge hit. My mom gave him a toy mop, which came with little lady gloves (which he will probably never wear. Sorry, Mom). Also a hit. What can I say, my son has a thing for cleaning. To say he got lots of stuff is an understatement. Puzzles, books, toy cars, stuffed animals, and a djembe. Laura is hell bent on making him a drummer. Truth be told, he likes to drum.
Throwing toys, etc. has become a problem. He likes to clear off shelves of books by sweeping them to the floor, some time selecting individual titles to chuck more purposefully to the floor. I took his puzzles away this morning because he was trying to sweep them all off the side table in the living room and onto the floor. So he knocked my water bottle onto the floor instead. It's like he instinctively knows how to be a brat. This goes hand in hand with his toddler resistance tactics, which he no doubt learned by watching YouTube videos of the WTO meetings in Seattle. This morning he reached out and swatted at Emma, more smacking than petting, all the while looking right at me like, "I know what I'm doing is not okay and am waiting for your reaction." I took his hand and guided it along her side saying, "Gentle, gentle. We are gentle with animals." This is something he already knows. But limits are so much fun to test.
Yesterday at my dad's every member of our family was in the same room at the same time which rarely happens any more since Christine lives in LA and Brian lives in Arizona. All of us together is quite cacophonous (i.e. insane) and he did very well amidst all of the noise and confusion and dogs (my dad's, Louie the pug and Rocket and Chihuahua mix, and Amanda's pug-mix Charlie). While we were opening gifts I managed to hit Gavin in the face with a box of stuff from my dad. Gavin was on my lap and I pulled the box closer to us and misjudged the depth between Gavin and the box. He wasn't managed or anything, but he did cry. Not the best way to endear him to Grandpa Mike. Or me. My dad was hell bent on Gavin playing with this sound block puzzle he gave him as soon as Gavin opened it but Gavin was busy playing with these little trucks my dad gave him so I had to deny my dad this one joy in life. I think my dad sometimes forgets that Gavin isn't even two years old and just doesn't have the ability to take on some many things at once. He's easily distracted even when people aren't shoving brightly colored boxes at him filled with toys. That he was upright (meaning not curled up in Stacy's arms sucking his thumb, one of his preferred states of being) and having fun was a miracle in itself. Let's not push it.
Gavin has a doctor's appointment this morning. I don't know if he'll get more shots or not. I should probably know this. I know he'll be weighed and measured, though. My estimate is that he'll be three feet tall and somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 lbs. And then we're going on Jerry Springer.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Wednesday, Dec. 22, 2010: Away Bear
I am at Amanda Carver's house in Clearwater, Florida. My son is a couple of hours away in The Villages with Stacy and his Granny Marilyn and her husband Paul. He's in good hands. I am sure of it. But this is the furthest away from him I've ever been. I wonder what he's doing right now. Surely something cute.
Stacy got over her illness in about 24 hours just like Gavin, though it took her several days to get her appetite back. I never got the bug, thank god, but I did pass a kidney stone. It hurt, but not that badly all things considered. It must have been right there, teetering on the edge, ready to dive into my bladder. I am not complaining. I am glad I didn't have to go to the hospital in The Villages. They don't even let anyone under 30 into the swimming pools. I can only imagine what the age requirement is for the emergency room.
Gavin went on a golf car ride with Stacy and his Granny yesterday. This was originally something I was against, but Marilyn and Paul's new golf car has seatbelts, so Stacy was able to sit Gavin on her lap and belt them both in. Apparently he loved it. I didn't go because I needed to get work done for school. Getting my grades in and ordering textbooks for next term.
Paul's been showing Gavin various tools and stuff in the garage. Gavin seems to be digging it. Yesterday he took Gavin up into the attic. It made me a little nervous, but I trusted that Paul wouldn't let him fall. Paul was on the ladder the whole time with his torso above the ceiling and his legs below, so there was never a chance that Gavin would stumble through the opening or anything. Paul also showed Gavin how to sommersault yesterday (not related to the attic in any way, thank god), and watching Gavin try to do it was pretty much the cutest thing ever.
Amanda is hollering at me to get in the shower so we can go to lunch and Big Lots. You know what they say, "When in Clearwater, go to the Clearwater Big Lots." I am happy to be here. Will be happy to see my Bear again tomorrow though, too.
Stacy got over her illness in about 24 hours just like Gavin, though it took her several days to get her appetite back. I never got the bug, thank god, but I did pass a kidney stone. It hurt, but not that badly all things considered. It must have been right there, teetering on the edge, ready to dive into my bladder. I am not complaining. I am glad I didn't have to go to the hospital in The Villages. They don't even let anyone under 30 into the swimming pools. I can only imagine what the age requirement is for the emergency room.
Gavin went on a golf car ride with Stacy and his Granny yesterday. This was originally something I was against, but Marilyn and Paul's new golf car has seatbelts, so Stacy was able to sit Gavin on her lap and belt them both in. Apparently he loved it. I didn't go because I needed to get work done for school. Getting my grades in and ordering textbooks for next term.
Paul's been showing Gavin various tools and stuff in the garage. Gavin seems to be digging it. Yesterday he took Gavin up into the attic. It made me a little nervous, but I trusted that Paul wouldn't let him fall. Paul was on the ladder the whole time with his torso above the ceiling and his legs below, so there was never a chance that Gavin would stumble through the opening or anything. Paul also showed Gavin how to sommersault yesterday (not related to the attic in any way, thank god), and watching Gavin try to do it was pretty much the cutest thing ever.
Amanda is hollering at me to get in the shower so we can go to lunch and Big Lots. You know what they say, "When in Clearwater, go to the Clearwater Big Lots." I am happy to be here. Will be happy to see my Bear again tomorrow though, too.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010: Florida bug
We made it to Florida. Gavin was miraculously better yesterday. No more puking. He was tired and a little weak and took a three hour nap, but he was by all indications good to go. So on a plane we went. He loved being on the plane. He was looking out the window at all of the equipment trucks and the airplane next to ours. It was a Frontier plane with a big bear on the tail. Very appropriate. He was very animated and excited. When we took off Stacy nursed him. We figured that he'd fall asleep after that. But he was awake for the majority of the flight. Once he did fall asleep he was curled up koala style against Stacy's chest where he became a 28 lb. sweat lodge.
But the good news is we're here safely. The bad news? When I woke up this morning the first thing Stacy said to me was, "I've got it."
"You've got what?" I asked foggily.
"What Gavin had. I've got it."
Oh, Jesus. She spent the day today completely miserable alternately wrapped up in blankets and bathrobes like we were in Michigan and running to the bathroom.
Gavin spent today playing with a toy golf club set his Granny borrowed from a friend who has grand kids of her own. He had a pretty good day today. He was happy and adorable. And of course he wanted Mommy, who wanted to die (figuratively, of course).
So far I don't have it. And I want very much to keep it that way. Cross my heart and hope to live.
But the good news is we're here safely. The bad news? When I woke up this morning the first thing Stacy said to me was, "I've got it."
"You've got what?" I asked foggily.
"What Gavin had. I've got it."
Oh, Jesus. She spent the day today completely miserable alternately wrapped up in blankets and bathrobes like we were in Michigan and running to the bathroom.
Gavin spent today playing with a toy golf club set his Granny borrowed from a friend who has grand kids of her own. He had a pretty good day today. He was happy and adorable. And of course he wanted Mommy, who wanted to die (figuratively, of course).
So far I don't have it. And I want very much to keep it that way. Cross my heart and hope to live.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Friday December 17, 2010: Pukey McPukerton
Puke. So much puke today. So much sad "Mama why is this happening to me and why can't I wrap my arms around your neck while it's happening?"
I should begin by saying that I am not okay with puke. And by "not okay" I don't mean I have some kind of moral misgivings like, "I am not okay with kidnapping" or "I'm not okay with Sarah Palin." Now, no one likes vomit. Wait, I take that back. There are some people who like vomit very, very much. I learned about them in my undergrad human sexuality class. But most people who do not have some kind of weird vomit fetish do not like vomit. I have, ever since I was little, had a particular aversion to the stuff, specifically other people's. Not that I've ever liked puking myself, mind you. But I can't even begin to describe the level of anxiety that vomit has caused me my entire life. When I was in elementary school I had nightmares about it. Actually, that was all through grade school. Great. Now that I'm writing this I'm totally going to have vomit nightmares again.
So. Today I went to visit Gavin at daycare because I didn't have to work today and they were throwing (no pun intended!) a little party for the kids and Santa was coming. I got there right about the time Santa did. Gavin was very happy to see me. Much less happy to see Santa (there are no pictures with Santa). He was very clingy while I was there but seemed to be in good spirits. I had him give gifts to Ms. Shelly, Ms. Beth, and Ms. Debbie and then I went on my way. He cried when I left, but Shelly assured me that she'd distract him and get him to calm down after I was gone and I had no doubt this was true. They are good to him there. In fact, before I left Shelly told me that she loved watching Gavin because he was a really easy kid.
I was home for maybe an hour or two when my phone rang and it was Debbie. "Gavin threw up," she said. I am fairly certain that I said, "Oh, no."
"I'm going to need you to come get him," she said. "You're going to want to give him a bath. We cleaned him up as best we could."
So I quickly got the tub ready (meaning that I made sure there wasn't a headful of hair in it and that the rubber bath mat was down and towels were nearby) and set out his pumpkin sweatsuit to dress him in after his bath. On my way out the door my phone rang again. It was Shelly. "Are you still at home?" she asked. "Bring him a change of clothes. He threw up again." I grabbed the pumpkin sweats and headed out, feeling pretty freaked out.
When I got there he was sitting in the high chair table with a white plastic bowl in front of him. Shelly was sitting right by him. He'd puked three times, the first time while he was in his cot napping. (Shelly warned me that the clothes he was wearing and the sheet he was using were probably not even worth saving. Stacy, however, scrubbed them and washed them later and made them okay. If it had been up to me they would have been pitched because there's no way I could handle that.) The room smelled very strongly of "some one just threw up in here" cleaning agents. Gavin was wearing his skelesweats (black sweats with a skeleton design on them. Clearly for Halloween. As are his pumpkin sweats. So sue me), which were his back up day care clothes. The skelesweats were covered in puke. Real, human puke. Not spit up, which I always thought was gross but for which, at that moment, I longed. To make things worse, he'd eaten pizza for lunch. Honestly, I might never be able to eat pizza again.
When he saw me he started to cry. Shelly lifted him out of his seat and kind of held him up hovering above the table so that I could peel his pants off of him. Only that didn't really register at first so I didn't move to do so until she did, struggling with one hand to hold my son and the other to take off his puke sweats. I grabbed the cuff of his pants between my thumb and forefinger and tugged. They were wet. Thank God the lights were dim in there since kids were sleeping and I didn't have to see Gavin covered in puke under fluorescent lighting. I don't know that I would have been able to make it.
We eased him into his clean pumpkin sweats and into his coat. I apologized. Shelly said that it was okay and Debbie wished me a Merry Christmas. Another kid was sick there, too, I think, being picked up by her dad. I don't know in what way she was sick, but she wasn't covered in puke. "My kids are dropping like flies," I heard Shelly say. Shelly warned me that Gavin's puking was coming on suddenly and indicated that I probably wouldn't make it home before he puked again. I had feared this so I brought some baby blankets and put one over him in the car seat and one on the seat beside him. He smelled terrible. His hair. Oh, God. His beautiful blonde curly hair was one of the circles of Hell. They did a really good job cleaning him up. There wasn't any visible puke on him, but the smell. Oh, the smell.
The good news: we made it home without puking. He fell asleep in the car which apparently turned off his vomit sensor. But as soon as we got in the door he started to hurk. Hurking, of course, is not throwing up, but the sound someone makes immediately prior to throwing up. I hustled him into the bathroom and positioned him face first over the bath tub, which he didn't like at all. See, puking is scary and Gavin clearly wanted me to be holding him and hugging him and telling him everything was okay, not restricting his head movement and pushing his body away from mine while saying, "Lean forward, lean forward" (thanks for the tip, MSNBC). I'm sure I've shattered his sense of trust and safety and messed up his attachment patterns for life. Especially when I screamed after he was done puking. "Screamed" isn't the right word. Neither is yelled. But I did make some kind of fairly primal sounding, "Aarrrrrrggggg" sound. Because as I mentioned, I am not good with vomit. And no, not even my own child's. The child I love more than anything and anyone ever. The child whose stinky feet I can't get enough of, whose lip smacking sounds while he eats peanut butter are like music to me. No. Puke is another thing all together.
Thankfully he got most of it in the tub, a little bit on his winter jacket, which I made a mental note to set fire to later on. I wiped his mouth and took him into the kitchen where I paced and then placed him in his highchair so I could decide what to do. I was freaking out a little. I figured his highchair was a place that would be relatively easy to clean and the kitchen didn't have any rugs or carpeting of any concern to worry about. I called my mom. She told me not to give him anything to eat or drink and wait until it'd been awhile since he'd puked and give him some water. I wanted Stacy to come home. Now. I called her at work and thankfully she was able to leave. I needed back up. Am I am bad mom for needing back up while on puke patrol? Perhaps. But I didn't want to be doing this alone. For one thing, I didn't know what was wrong with my son who was clearly very sick. And for another thing, puke. Gavin started to hurk again. I positioned him over the sink, repeating the previously mentioned bath tub nightmare.
By the time Stacy came home he'd puked three more times. Once in the tub, once in the kitchen sink, and once in a metal mixing bowl I'd brought into his bedroom for this purpose. By that time he was so tired that while he was hurking he was trying to lay his head down inside the bowl, and I would say, firmly but gently, "Lift your face!" and he would for a moment before putting his chubby cheek down again on the cool metal bowl. It was the saddest thing on earth. Thankfully he raised his head in time to hurl.
Now, I am not a cold unfeeling person. I realize I am portraying myself as a monster incapable of loving and comforting her son while he's sick. Not true. I loved him and comforted him. There was a lot of cuddling and hugs and back patting and, "You're okay, Bear. You're going to be okay." But I am incapable of looking past puke. So it was hard on both of us. Harder on him, yes. For sure. No doubt.
When Stacy got home she took over the comforting. He puked at least another four times. We were worried about him getting dehydrated since he hadn't had a wet diaper in hours and couldn't keep any liquids down. We were about to take him to the after hours pediatricians clinic at Beaumont when I said to Stacy, "Try one more time. One more sip. Let's see if he can keep it down. If he can't, then we'll go." I didn't want to have to take him. I didn't want to see an I.V. in his arm. He was so tired and had been through enough. So Stacy gave him another sip. And we waited. He kept it down. She gave him another one. We waited. He kept it down. We repeated this several times. Then Stacy decided to nurse him and put him to bed. Fingers are crossed.
Did I mention that we're supposed to leave for Florida tomorrow?
I should begin by saying that I am not okay with puke. And by "not okay" I don't mean I have some kind of moral misgivings like, "I am not okay with kidnapping" or "I'm not okay with Sarah Palin." Now, no one likes vomit. Wait, I take that back. There are some people who like vomit very, very much. I learned about them in my undergrad human sexuality class. But most people who do not have some kind of weird vomit fetish do not like vomit. I have, ever since I was little, had a particular aversion to the stuff, specifically other people's. Not that I've ever liked puking myself, mind you. But I can't even begin to describe the level of anxiety that vomit has caused me my entire life. When I was in elementary school I had nightmares about it. Actually, that was all through grade school. Great. Now that I'm writing this I'm totally going to have vomit nightmares again.
So. Today I went to visit Gavin at daycare because I didn't have to work today and they were throwing (no pun intended!) a little party for the kids and Santa was coming. I got there right about the time Santa did. Gavin was very happy to see me. Much less happy to see Santa (there are no pictures with Santa). He was very clingy while I was there but seemed to be in good spirits. I had him give gifts to Ms. Shelly, Ms. Beth, and Ms. Debbie and then I went on my way. He cried when I left, but Shelly assured me that she'd distract him and get him to calm down after I was gone and I had no doubt this was true. They are good to him there. In fact, before I left Shelly told me that she loved watching Gavin because he was a really easy kid.
I was home for maybe an hour or two when my phone rang and it was Debbie. "Gavin threw up," she said. I am fairly certain that I said, "Oh, no."
"I'm going to need you to come get him," she said. "You're going to want to give him a bath. We cleaned him up as best we could."
So I quickly got the tub ready (meaning that I made sure there wasn't a headful of hair in it and that the rubber bath mat was down and towels were nearby) and set out his pumpkin sweatsuit to dress him in after his bath. On my way out the door my phone rang again. It was Shelly. "Are you still at home?" she asked. "Bring him a change of clothes. He threw up again." I grabbed the pumpkin sweats and headed out, feeling pretty freaked out.
When I got there he was sitting in the high chair table with a white plastic bowl in front of him. Shelly was sitting right by him. He'd puked three times, the first time while he was in his cot napping. (Shelly warned me that the clothes he was wearing and the sheet he was using were probably not even worth saving. Stacy, however, scrubbed them and washed them later and made them okay. If it had been up to me they would have been pitched because there's no way I could handle that.) The room smelled very strongly of "some one just threw up in here" cleaning agents. Gavin was wearing his skelesweats (black sweats with a skeleton design on them. Clearly for Halloween. As are his pumpkin sweats. So sue me), which were his back up day care clothes. The skelesweats were covered in puke. Real, human puke. Not spit up, which I always thought was gross but for which, at that moment, I longed. To make things worse, he'd eaten pizza for lunch. Honestly, I might never be able to eat pizza again.
When he saw me he started to cry. Shelly lifted him out of his seat and kind of held him up hovering above the table so that I could peel his pants off of him. Only that didn't really register at first so I didn't move to do so until she did, struggling with one hand to hold my son and the other to take off his puke sweats. I grabbed the cuff of his pants between my thumb and forefinger and tugged. They were wet. Thank God the lights were dim in there since kids were sleeping and I didn't have to see Gavin covered in puke under fluorescent lighting. I don't know that I would have been able to make it.
We eased him into his clean pumpkin sweats and into his coat. I apologized. Shelly said that it was okay and Debbie wished me a Merry Christmas. Another kid was sick there, too, I think, being picked up by her dad. I don't know in what way she was sick, but she wasn't covered in puke. "My kids are dropping like flies," I heard Shelly say. Shelly warned me that Gavin's puking was coming on suddenly and indicated that I probably wouldn't make it home before he puked again. I had feared this so I brought some baby blankets and put one over him in the car seat and one on the seat beside him. He smelled terrible. His hair. Oh, God. His beautiful blonde curly hair was one of the circles of Hell. They did a really good job cleaning him up. There wasn't any visible puke on him, but the smell. Oh, the smell.
The good news: we made it home without puking. He fell asleep in the car which apparently turned off his vomit sensor. But as soon as we got in the door he started to hurk. Hurking, of course, is not throwing up, but the sound someone makes immediately prior to throwing up. I hustled him into the bathroom and positioned him face first over the bath tub, which he didn't like at all. See, puking is scary and Gavin clearly wanted me to be holding him and hugging him and telling him everything was okay, not restricting his head movement and pushing his body away from mine while saying, "Lean forward, lean forward" (thanks for the tip, MSNBC). I'm sure I've shattered his sense of trust and safety and messed up his attachment patterns for life. Especially when I screamed after he was done puking. "Screamed" isn't the right word. Neither is yelled. But I did make some kind of fairly primal sounding, "Aarrrrrrggggg" sound. Because as I mentioned, I am not good with vomit. And no, not even my own child's. The child I love more than anything and anyone ever. The child whose stinky feet I can't get enough of, whose lip smacking sounds while he eats peanut butter are like music to me. No. Puke is another thing all together.
Thankfully he got most of it in the tub, a little bit on his winter jacket, which I made a mental note to set fire to later on. I wiped his mouth and took him into the kitchen where I paced and then placed him in his highchair so I could decide what to do. I was freaking out a little. I figured his highchair was a place that would be relatively easy to clean and the kitchen didn't have any rugs or carpeting of any concern to worry about. I called my mom. She told me not to give him anything to eat or drink and wait until it'd been awhile since he'd puked and give him some water. I wanted Stacy to come home. Now. I called her at work and thankfully she was able to leave. I needed back up. Am I am bad mom for needing back up while on puke patrol? Perhaps. But I didn't want to be doing this alone. For one thing, I didn't know what was wrong with my son who was clearly very sick. And for another thing, puke. Gavin started to hurk again. I positioned him over the sink, repeating the previously mentioned bath tub nightmare.
By the time Stacy came home he'd puked three more times. Once in the tub, once in the kitchen sink, and once in a metal mixing bowl I'd brought into his bedroom for this purpose. By that time he was so tired that while he was hurking he was trying to lay his head down inside the bowl, and I would say, firmly but gently, "Lift your face!" and he would for a moment before putting his chubby cheek down again on the cool metal bowl. It was the saddest thing on earth. Thankfully he raised his head in time to hurl.
Now, I am not a cold unfeeling person. I realize I am portraying myself as a monster incapable of loving and comforting her son while he's sick. Not true. I loved him and comforted him. There was a lot of cuddling and hugs and back patting and, "You're okay, Bear. You're going to be okay." But I am incapable of looking past puke. So it was hard on both of us. Harder on him, yes. For sure. No doubt.
When Stacy got home she took over the comforting. He puked at least another four times. We were worried about him getting dehydrated since he hadn't had a wet diaper in hours and couldn't keep any liquids down. We were about to take him to the after hours pediatricians clinic at Beaumont when I said to Stacy, "Try one more time. One more sip. Let's see if he can keep it down. If he can't, then we'll go." I didn't want to have to take him. I didn't want to see an I.V. in his arm. He was so tired and had been through enough. So Stacy gave him another sip. And we waited. He kept it down. She gave him another one. We waited. He kept it down. We repeated this several times. Then Stacy decided to nurse him and put him to bed. Fingers are crossed.
Did I mention that we're supposed to leave for Florida tomorrow?
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010: Another snow day
We tried to take advantage of the snow and the daylight and the time off to get a photo of Gavin in his Christmas sweater yesterday and today. No luck. He wasn't having it. I can't blame him. It was really cold outside. We got a few shots before he told us to shut it down. Mind you, they're cute, but they're not Christmas card cute. Because you're supposed to have the perfect photo to send out to show your friends and family, some of which hardly even remember that you had a baby let alone that you now have a toddler, because sending just any old snapshot is proof that you're a terrible parent.
We were supposed to go to his daycare holiday party tonight, but it was canceled because of the snow day. They're going to have a little pizza party on Friday for the kids during the day. Since I don't have to work I'm going to see if I can stop by. Santa is supposed to be there and everything. Maybe I can get some good photos.
Oh, and I got a job today. A last minute surprise appointment from the UofM. So I'll be teaching in the Winter. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. So we're going to see if we can switch his day care around. I would like to have him home with me on Fridays. In any case, this is ultimately good news for us, though for those of you who were hoping I'd get laid off so I could post here more often, I'm sorry. Also, don't be so selfish. Also, I'm doing the best I can.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Sunday, December 12, 2010: Bear with a shovel
I bought my son pink snow boots. It was an accident. They looked red and orange online. Instead they're more dark pink and light pink. No wonder they were on sale. Why can't companies just use regular color names like "pink and pink" instead of "persimmon and coral?" I'm not an interior designer or something. I just wanted to save $10 on a pair of boots. In any case, they're going back. I've ordered black ones instead. So that he can grow up and be a real man, which obviously would have been impossible after wearing pink boots for the winter he was one and a half, a winter he won't even remember when he's older.
On Wednesday Gavin got a bad day care report. His first. Usually, Shelly, his teacher, writes little notes like, "Great day today!" or "Went to the playground today and had a lot of fun" with a little smiley face beside it. But on his Wednesday report it said, "Gavin was very hurtful to another child today" complete with a frowning face. I can't even really begin to describe what it felt like to read that, but it was a lot like when you're eating something and you're liking it well enough and all of a sudden you just kerchunk a bite out of the inside of your cheek like your cheek just jumped in there between your molars for some reason and now you can't chew anything without re-biting your cheek because it's all lacerated and swollen. It was just like that, only substitute "heart" for "cheek." And scrap the eating metaphor because this isn't like a Hannibal Lecter thing. Anyway, it was intense.
So what did Gavin do, you ask? Well, he apparently pulled a teether out of a younger baby's mouth and then proceeded to hit the baby repeatedly in the face with it. Later, when that same baby was sucking on a pacifier, Gavin began smacking the pacifier with the palm of his hand while it was in the baby's face. Picture someone frantically testing a microphone by tapping it and you get the idea. At least that's what I think he did. I was getting the information from Stacy who got it from Shelly. Still. My son's a bully. I have clearly failed as a parent. It was probably the pink boots.
Actually, I don't believe Gavin is a bully. I think he's impulsive and curious and interested in testing boundaries, for better or worse. In this case, worse. He's getting interested in other kids, though he doesn't always know what to do with them. He's testing physical boundaries with us, too. And the toddler resistance tactics have begun in earnest: going limp, falling to the floor, arching his back, kicking his surprisingly powerful legs as hard as he can. Man, some days it feels like pulling a pair of sweatpants on another, much smaller, human being should be an Olympic sport. A sport I am forced to participate in and am judged by how well I complete the task at hand while keeping both myself and the tantrum thrower free of injury.
I am glad to report, however, that he had a good day care report on Friday and am keeping my fingers crossed for next week.
Gavin is actually a very giving kid who loves to help (did I mention that I bought in a vacuum for Christmas? I totally bought him a vacuum for Christmas. I know it sounds like something a terrible husband would buy for his wife, but Gavin is going to love it. I am sure of this). In fact, he helped out at the families in need program at Stacy's school yesterday even if he doesn't know that it was for the greater good. I was not there, but Stacy said he had a blast. The job involved a lot of putting canned goods in boxes and pushing around a utility cart. These are his big skillz right now, so he was all about it. Apparently the cart he and Stacy were using would get quite full and, no duh, canned goods are heavy, but Gavin was just huffin' and puffin' and pushing his cart down the line. And he didn't even hit anyone in the face while he was there.
As I mentioned, Gavin's been saying new words. Yesterday he said "bib" as he pulled his bib off. Then later on I heard him say, "Hi" to Jota (the cat). He also says down, up, drop, jump, and woo-woo when he hears a dog. Here's a video from two days ago of Gavin "jumping" on a manhole cover while saying, "Jump, jump." Stacy took this video and without her translation I don't think I would have understood what he was saying. Especially since he isn't really jumping (but don't tell him that).
Today's big adventure was shoveling snow. We shoveled our walk and then headed down to our elderly neighbor's house and helped shovel her driveway. Her husband died recently and while helping her shovel snow was helpful, Gavin was the best part, I think. She really likes him. I mean, who wouldn't? He didn't do a lot of shoveling at her house. He mostly walked up and down the driveway between Stacy, who was at the bottom, and me, at the top shoveling away. But we were all outside for quite some time. Definitely his longest time being out in the snow ever in his life. And certainly his first time in the snow with a shovel.
On Wednesday Gavin got a bad day care report. His first. Usually, Shelly, his teacher, writes little notes like, "Great day today!" or "Went to the playground today and had a lot of fun" with a little smiley face beside it. But on his Wednesday report it said, "Gavin was very hurtful to another child today" complete with a frowning face. I can't even really begin to describe what it felt like to read that, but it was a lot like when you're eating something and you're liking it well enough and all of a sudden you just kerchunk a bite out of the inside of your cheek like your cheek just jumped in there between your molars for some reason and now you can't chew anything without re-biting your cheek because it's all lacerated and swollen. It was just like that, only substitute "heart" for "cheek." And scrap the eating metaphor because this isn't like a Hannibal Lecter thing. Anyway, it was intense.
So what did Gavin do, you ask? Well, he apparently pulled a teether out of a younger baby's mouth and then proceeded to hit the baby repeatedly in the face with it. Later, when that same baby was sucking on a pacifier, Gavin began smacking the pacifier with the palm of his hand while it was in the baby's face. Picture someone frantically testing a microphone by tapping it and you get the idea. At least that's what I think he did. I was getting the information from Stacy who got it from Shelly. Still. My son's a bully. I have clearly failed as a parent. It was probably the pink boots.
Actually, I don't believe Gavin is a bully. I think he's impulsive and curious and interested in testing boundaries, for better or worse. In this case, worse. He's getting interested in other kids, though he doesn't always know what to do with them. He's testing physical boundaries with us, too. And the toddler resistance tactics have begun in earnest: going limp, falling to the floor, arching his back, kicking his surprisingly powerful legs as hard as he can. Man, some days it feels like pulling a pair of sweatpants on another, much smaller, human being should be an Olympic sport. A sport I am forced to participate in and am judged by how well I complete the task at hand while keeping both myself and the tantrum thrower free of injury.
I am glad to report, however, that he had a good day care report on Friday and am keeping my fingers crossed for next week.
Gavin is actually a very giving kid who loves to help (did I mention that I bought in a vacuum for Christmas? I totally bought him a vacuum for Christmas. I know it sounds like something a terrible husband would buy for his wife, but Gavin is going to love it. I am sure of this). In fact, he helped out at the families in need program at Stacy's school yesterday even if he doesn't know that it was for the greater good. I was not there, but Stacy said he had a blast. The job involved a lot of putting canned goods in boxes and pushing around a utility cart. These are his big skillz right now, so he was all about it. Apparently the cart he and Stacy were using would get quite full and, no duh, canned goods are heavy, but Gavin was just huffin' and puffin' and pushing his cart down the line. And he didn't even hit anyone in the face while he was there.
As I mentioned, Gavin's been saying new words. Yesterday he said "bib" as he pulled his bib off. Then later on I heard him say, "Hi" to Jota (the cat). He also says down, up, drop, jump, and woo-woo when he hears a dog. Here's a video from two days ago of Gavin "jumping" on a manhole cover while saying, "Jump, jump." Stacy took this video and without her translation I don't think I would have understood what he was saying. Especially since he isn't really jumping (but don't tell him that).
Today's big adventure was shoveling snow. We shoveled our walk and then headed down to our elderly neighbor's house and helped shovel her driveway. Her husband died recently and while helping her shovel snow was helpful, Gavin was the best part, I think. She really likes him. I mean, who wouldn't? He didn't do a lot of shoveling at her house. He mostly walked up and down the driveway between Stacy, who was at the bottom, and me, at the top shoveling away. But we were all outside for quite some time. Definitely his longest time being out in the snow ever in his life. And certainly his first time in the snow with a shovel.
Tuesday, Dec. 7: Chatty Cathy (or Garrulous Gavin, anyway)
Gavin's starting to talk up a storm. Okay, that's actually not accurate. But he's beginning to work some words into his speech. I wrote awhile back about how he used to say a few words (dog, diaper, glasses, and he'd make a "meow" sound when he saw the cat), but he's since stopped using them. But now, thanks to those little books I mentioned (complained about?) the last time I posted, he's building up his vocabulary powers again. I, unfortunately, have not had the pleasure of hearing him point to a picture in the book and say the word, but Stacy and Laura are both witnesses. For Stacy he said "clock" and for Laura he's said "cat" and "bed." I did, however, see him do baby sign language for the first time today while I was feeding him his a.m. meal ("breakfast, lunch, and dinner" aren't really accurate terms for his feeding times since they don't really coincide with when regular people eat). He wanted more puffs and when I asked him if he wanted more, I also signed it like I always do (Stacy and I had grand ambitions re: baby sign language before he was born, but I'm sad to report that I only ever use the signs for "more" and "drink." I think I might also know the sign for "all done" but I don't really use it). Then when he was finished with the puffs I gave him I asked him if he was all done and he started to whine a little because he didn't want to be all done, but I'd decided he'd had enough puffs and it was time to get out of the high chair and on with our lives, but he shook his head "no" and then he signed to me that he wanted more. It was very exciting for all of us. And even though I hadn't planned on giving him more puffs, I did anyway since how can you say no to something like that? You can't. Which is why I'm destined to one day be on Maury Povich crying because my 2 and a half year old is morbidly obese and the camera will cut to footage of 70 lb. my child eating French fries and chocolate cupcakes while wearing an ill-fitting bikini top (because in this scenario my kid is a girl and also because thank god this scenario is not my life by the grace of Duncan Hines go I). So am I blaming childhood obesity on baby sign language? You bet I am. The moment you can ask for what you want you're bound to ask for something that isn't good for you. If Gavin could speak in complete sentences he would no doubt be saying things like, "I want to fling myself into the empty bathtub" and "I want to headbutt our mentally unstable dog" and "I want to put this pebble in my mouth" and "I want to try walking down the stairs head first." And "I don't want to eat baked tofu today even though I loved it yesterday because I know it frustrates you and it is my job to push you to your breaking point or at least to the point where you're about to break but are still able to safely take care of me because p.s. it's all about me now here's a book I want you to read to me and here's a pair of sandals that no longer even come close to fitting me that I insist you put on over my sweatsocks and failure to do so will result in complete meltdown starting in 5, 4, 3, 2..."
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Thursday, Dec. 2, 2010: Kewpie Bear
There comes a time in every mother's life when she has to make an agonizing decision: update her blog or watch more episodes of Teen Mom season one? It's a tough choice! But someone's got to make it. For the children, I'm sure.
But just because I'm writing this, don't think that I didn't watch myself any Teen Mom. I did, after all, watch season one of 16 and Pregnant, so it only makes sense that I would want to continue to follow Farrah, Amber, Catelynn, and Kaci. I watched an episode while Gavin was taking his nap -- a three hour nap! (not to be confused with a "three hour tour") -- and when he woke up he started to cry as he sometimes does. I've learned not to go to him at these times because sometimes he's crying because he doesn't want to be awake and is pissed off about it and soon goes back to sleep. Soon after he started crying, Laura poked her head into the living room and said, "He's probably waking from a night terror in which one of those girls is his mom."
Do I watch Teen Mom because it makes me feel good about the job I'm doing as a mom? Yes. Obviously my skills should always be measured by comparing myself to teenagers performing badly something they shouldn't be doing in the first place and are far too immature to handle. By using these standards I am very excellent at many things, especially being a mom.
I took Gavin to Romp and Stomp today at the Kulick Community Center. We went on Tuesday, too. He had so much fun. Watching him in the bounce house was one of the best things ever. At first he was in it by himself, but then two other kids, ages 3ish and 4, climbed in and started jumping. As you can imagine, Gavin went flying and fell on his butt and had a hell of a time staying upright. I braced myself for the tears and was fully prepared to say to the older kids, "All right you guys, please stop jumping for a minute so I can get him out." But Gavin LOVED it, gravity problems and all. He was literally squealing with joy. I'm totally buying Gavin a bounce house for Christmas and renting a 3 and 4-year old to jump in it with him.
Today we played in the Kids Korner, which is across the hall from Romp and Stomp (I noticed today that Kulick Kids Korner has a most unfortunate acronym). He got all of the trucks off of the shelves and pushed them around. By far his favorite toy was the vacuum, which I knew he would love. He loves our vacuum. Sure enough, he spent an inordinate amount of time vacuuming the corner of the room where the chalk easel is. Granted, the only chalk dust he actually picked up was with his socks and pants, but I assure you that corner had less chalk dust in it after Gavin left. I'm totally planning on buying him a toy vacuum for Christmas. He's going to love it. And the one I'm looking at really picks stuff up. Mind you, it's not going to replace our grown-up vacuum, but every little bit helps.
Gavin's hair is so curly. He's got some ringlet-style curls on the back of his head and the longer his hair gets the curlier it gets. It's crazy adorable. For so long he had no hair. Just fuzz, really. Now his little curls stick out from behind on either side of his head. Today his hair was all Kewpie doll style, with a big wave of curl on top his head. I took some pictures, but I just don't think I captured it right. You had to be there. Luckily I was. :)
When we're at home one of Gavin's favorite things to do is to read books. Specifically to have us read books to him. It's something I love because he sits on my lap which means I get to snuggle with him. I only wish his tastes in books was a little more varied, if not advanced. Last year for Christmas (or it could have been Gavin's birthday, I don't remember), my dad gave him this little set of board books. He wasn't that into them at first but now he's in love with them and it's all he wants to read. Each page has a photo of an object and the word for that object. That's it. It's perfect for babies, but a little mind-numbing for grownups, especially those of us who like narrative. But Gavin loves them beyond all reason and I have read each one to him maybe 100 times now. Except for one particular title: Food, a paragon of children's literature. That one I've read maybe 1,000 times. I can practically recite the text by heart: "Apple, orange, banana, strawberry, watermelon, gingerbread man, jam tart, corn, orange juice, bread, cookies, soup, pasta, donut, cheese, milk, tomato, candy." Obviously not a primer for a low-carb diet. I totally understand why he loves these books, and though Stacy encouraged me to "change it up" when I read them to him, and though I do often include the color of the food, doubling the book's instructive dollar, I like to be pretty consistent. I'm hoping that one day he'll be walking around the house and just spontaneously say, "Jam tart, corn, orange juice."
Stacy always reads these and all other books to Gavin in Spanish. So he's got quite the vocabulary, just that the bulk of it is in understanding rather than saying. He's not big on words right now, and while I guess that might worry some parents, I think he's fine. I mean, he did, after all, say word in the past. Dog, glasses, and diaper, for example. But now he's working on other things, I guess. And since he has such a wide vocabulary of understanding, in Spanish and English, no less, I'm not worried. I'm amazed by him every day. Eventually he'll be smarter than I am. It's just a matter of months.
But just because I'm writing this, don't think that I didn't watch myself any Teen Mom. I did, after all, watch season one of 16 and Pregnant, so it only makes sense that I would want to continue to follow Farrah, Amber, Catelynn, and Kaci. I watched an episode while Gavin was taking his nap -- a three hour nap! (not to be confused with a "three hour tour") -- and when he woke up he started to cry as he sometimes does. I've learned not to go to him at these times because sometimes he's crying because he doesn't want to be awake and is pissed off about it and soon goes back to sleep. Soon after he started crying, Laura poked her head into the living room and said, "He's probably waking from a night terror in which one of those girls is his mom."
Do I watch Teen Mom because it makes me feel good about the job I'm doing as a mom? Yes. Obviously my skills should always be measured by comparing myself to teenagers performing badly something they shouldn't be doing in the first place and are far too immature to handle. By using these standards I am very excellent at many things, especially being a mom.
I took Gavin to Romp and Stomp today at the Kulick Community Center. We went on Tuesday, too. He had so much fun. Watching him in the bounce house was one of the best things ever. At first he was in it by himself, but then two other kids, ages 3ish and 4, climbed in and started jumping. As you can imagine, Gavin went flying and fell on his butt and had a hell of a time staying upright. I braced myself for the tears and was fully prepared to say to the older kids, "All right you guys, please stop jumping for a minute so I can get him out." But Gavin LOVED it, gravity problems and all. He was literally squealing with joy. I'm totally buying Gavin a bounce house for Christmas and renting a 3 and 4-year old to jump in it with him.
Today we played in the Kids Korner, which is across the hall from Romp and Stomp (I noticed today that Kulick Kids Korner has a most unfortunate acronym). He got all of the trucks off of the shelves and pushed them around. By far his favorite toy was the vacuum, which I knew he would love. He loves our vacuum. Sure enough, he spent an inordinate amount of time vacuuming the corner of the room where the chalk easel is. Granted, the only chalk dust he actually picked up was with his socks and pants, but I assure you that corner had less chalk dust in it after Gavin left. I'm totally planning on buying him a toy vacuum for Christmas. He's going to love it. And the one I'm looking at really picks stuff up. Mind you, it's not going to replace our grown-up vacuum, but every little bit helps.
Gavin's hair is so curly. He's got some ringlet-style curls on the back of his head and the longer his hair gets the curlier it gets. It's crazy adorable. For so long he had no hair. Just fuzz, really. Now his little curls stick out from behind on either side of his head. Today his hair was all Kewpie doll style, with a big wave of curl on top his head. I took some pictures, but I just don't think I captured it right. You had to be there. Luckily I was. :)
When we're at home one of Gavin's favorite things to do is to read books. Specifically to have us read books to him. It's something I love because he sits on my lap which means I get to snuggle with him. I only wish his tastes in books was a little more varied, if not advanced. Last year for Christmas (or it could have been Gavin's birthday, I don't remember), my dad gave him this little set of board books. He wasn't that into them at first but now he's in love with them and it's all he wants to read. Each page has a photo of an object and the word for that object. That's it. It's perfect for babies, but a little mind-numbing for grownups, especially those of us who like narrative. But Gavin loves them beyond all reason and I have read each one to him maybe 100 times now. Except for one particular title: Food, a paragon of children's literature. That one I've read maybe 1,000 times. I can practically recite the text by heart: "Apple, orange, banana, strawberry, watermelon, gingerbread man, jam tart, corn, orange juice, bread, cookies, soup, pasta, donut, cheese, milk, tomato, candy." Obviously not a primer for a low-carb diet. I totally understand why he loves these books, and though Stacy encouraged me to "change it up" when I read them to him, and though I do often include the color of the food, doubling the book's instructive dollar, I like to be pretty consistent. I'm hoping that one day he'll be walking around the house and just spontaneously say, "Jam tart, corn, orange juice."
Stacy always reads these and all other books to Gavin in Spanish. So he's got quite the vocabulary, just that the bulk of it is in understanding rather than saying. He's not big on words right now, and while I guess that might worry some parents, I think he's fine. I mean, he did, after all, say word in the past. Dog, glasses, and diaper, for example. But now he's working on other things, I guess. And since he has such a wide vocabulary of understanding, in Spanish and English, no less, I'm not worried. I'm amazed by him every day. Eventually he'll be smarter than I am. It's just a matter of months.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Saturday, Nov. 27, 2010: Thanks a lot
Gavin and Stacy are in the bathroom giggling. He's getting a bath. She might be in the bathtub with him. I don't know, because I'm in the living room not grading essays. I have a hole in my sock. I am tired. These are the things I do know.
Gavin can do so much for himself now. Well, he wants to do more than he can actually do, but even when he can't actually do something, he gets it. He's also a total monkey these days, climbing on and over and under everything. Stacy's taken to putting the kitchen chairs sideways on the floor to keep him from climbing up onto them. He likes to sit at the kitchen table and draw. Scribble, I guess. Still, he's got an artistic streak. But he wants to sit at the table all of the time and he can't be trusted not to chair surf, i.e. stand on the chair. "Chairs are for sitting" and "Sitting please," are very common phrases around these parts. Gavin's response is to either sit down, pretend like he's going to sit down and laugh maniacally, or to ignore us all together opting for a physical correction by default. And by "physical correction" I don't mean we beat him or something (although yesterday my dad was over and he saw the book Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline on the kitchen table and asked, "Are you going to smack him around?" Um, no, Dad. We aren't. Anyway, he was kidding, I think). I just mean we have to pick him up and take him off of the chair or gently encourage him to sit.
I took Gavin to the doctor on Tuesday because he'd had a cold for about three weeks. She gave him some antibiotics - nasty cherry-flavored pink goo that I can barely stand the smell of but that Gavin sucks down like it's candy. He doesn't know any better. And that's really to our benefit when it comes to giving him medicine, I guess. We've never given him anything besides baby acetaminophen before, so this was Gavin's first prescription. Unfortunately, his cold seems to be going on four weeks now, since it doesn't seem to have cleared up by now. I don't know if it should be cleared up by now or not, though. Stacy called the doctor this morning and left a message asking if we should give him another dose of the meds since we have enough left for one more. So we shall see.
Gavin's first Thanksgiving as a conscious being went really well. I mean, he was conscious last year, too, but not eating anything besides boobie milk and the occasional helping of cereal. Last year we were at Grandpa Gary's where Gavin got to cruise around in Great Grandma Mary's wheelchair. This year we went to Grandma Kathy's new place (see photo at left, taken by Laura's girlfriend at Grandma's), but had we gone to Grandpa Gary's no doubt he would have been pushing the wheelchair around the house rather than riding in it. Grandma Kathy has no wheelchairs, but she does have a piano and a harp and Gavin played solos on each. It took him awhile to get comfortable over there since he hasn't been very often, but once he was acclimated and could detach himself from Stacy he was very confident and curious.
Stacy made apple pie and Gavin got to have some. He was a very enthusiastic apple pie eater. He never gets to eat stuff like this since we are terribly mean moms. Stacy makes a damn good apple pie, too. Part of me wishes she would make it every day, but another part of me, the part that doesn't want to spend my life confined to a motor scooter to cart around my girth, is glad she doesn't.
Gavin can do so much for himself now. Well, he wants to do more than he can actually do, but even when he can't actually do something, he gets it. He's also a total monkey these days, climbing on and over and under everything. Stacy's taken to putting the kitchen chairs sideways on the floor to keep him from climbing up onto them. He likes to sit at the kitchen table and draw. Scribble, I guess. Still, he's got an artistic streak. But he wants to sit at the table all of the time and he can't be trusted not to chair surf, i.e. stand on the chair. "Chairs are for sitting" and "Sitting please," are very common phrases around these parts. Gavin's response is to either sit down, pretend like he's going to sit down and laugh maniacally, or to ignore us all together opting for a physical correction by default. And by "physical correction" I don't mean we beat him or something (although yesterday my dad was over and he saw the book Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline on the kitchen table and asked, "Are you going to smack him around?" Um, no, Dad. We aren't. Anyway, he was kidding, I think). I just mean we have to pick him up and take him off of the chair or gently encourage him to sit.
I took Gavin to the doctor on Tuesday because he'd had a cold for about three weeks. She gave him some antibiotics - nasty cherry-flavored pink goo that I can barely stand the smell of but that Gavin sucks down like it's candy. He doesn't know any better. And that's really to our benefit when it comes to giving him medicine, I guess. We've never given him anything besides baby acetaminophen before, so this was Gavin's first prescription. Unfortunately, his cold seems to be going on four weeks now, since it doesn't seem to have cleared up by now. I don't know if it should be cleared up by now or not, though. Stacy called the doctor this morning and left a message asking if we should give him another dose of the meds since we have enough left for one more. So we shall see.
Stacy made apple pie and Gavin got to have some. He was a very enthusiastic apple pie eater. He never gets to eat stuff like this since we are terribly mean moms. Stacy makes a damn good apple pie, too. Part of me wishes she would make it every day, but another part of me, the part that doesn't want to spend my life confined to a motor scooter to cart around my girth, is glad she doesn't.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010: Look out! Flying babies!
"Ohshh, ohshh," is one of Gavin's new favorite sayings. He says it whenever he, say, drops something, or knocks something down when he didn't intend to, or falls on his butt. I am, of course, worried that what he's actually saying is, "Oh shit, oh shit," and, if so, that I am definitely to blame. Recently another mother told me about when her daughter was about three and one day blurted out, "Shit, shit, shit!" She went right to her husband and said, "You've got to stop swearing in the house! Did you hear what she said?" And then, a few days later, upset about something, she heard herself say, "Shit, shit, shit!" It was, in fact, her all along. I, myself, need no revelation. I am under no illusion that I have a clean mouth. And I do try not to swear in front of Gavin. But "Oh, shit" has been one of my go-to phrases for years. It's a hard habit to break.
Speaking of swearing in front of children, my friend Lisa and her son Brenden (he's six weeks older than Gavin and Gavin just turned 16 months -- I almost wrote 16 weeks. Not quite -- yesterday) were on a plane last weekend headed from Los Angeles to Oregon. She had him on her lap in the window seat and a woman came down the aisle -- an older woman, a grandma type, Lisa said, "The kind of woman you'd expect to love the shit out of kids" -- and found she was seated next to them. Now keep in mind that Brenden was being really good, he wasn't crying, he hadn't shit his pants or anything. He was excited to be on the plane and was looking out the window. This woman sat down and was seated for maybe two seconds when she sprung up and went to talk to the flight attendant. "I want a new seat," she said. "I am not sitting next to a fucking baby. I paid over $300 fucking dollars for this ticket and I can't believe this..." And on and on. Now, keep in mind, it's not a big plane and she's only a few rows away making no real effort to be discrete. Lisa was mortified. She said all eyes in the plane alternated between this woman and her. The flight attendant informed the woman that it was a full flight and there were no other seats available and I don't know what she would have done if some man up near the front didn't spring up and say, "You can have my seat. I'd love to sit next to the baby." And thus Lisa sat next to a man who told Lisa he had four kids and apologized on the woman's behalf calling her, "Pure evil." So thank goodness for this guy.
Now, Lisa's experience is not a common one, I don't think. I have never seen anyone raise a fuss about sitting next to a baby on a plane before. Gavin has been on a plane twice, once to Florida last year at Christmas time, and once to California. No one gave us any problems. I've heard plenty of people say they inwardly groan when they get on a plane and are seated near a baby, but no one ever go ape shit out loud about it. But try telling that to Lisa. Because the woman on the plane to Oregon was the second time this kind of thing has happened to her. On a flight from Los Angeles to Detroit another grandmotherly-looking woman asked to change seats so she wouldn't have to sit next to Lisa and Brenden. This woman didn't drop F-bombs all over the plane, but she still was rude and insistent. Luckily there was another available seat and Lisa and Brenden ended up having the whole row to themselves. And Brenden slept like an angel the entire flight.
So considering Lisa's travails, it was with much interest that I read the New York Times article "Passengers Push for Child-Free Flights." Apparently there's a vocal minority who claim they'd "gladly pay more" for flights sans children. I have a couple of responses to this. First of all, never tell airlines that you'd "gladly pay more" for anything because they are already gladly charging more for everything. Want to bring luggage? Open your wallet. Want something to drink, even water? Get out your credit card. Hell, Spirit even charges you for carry on bags. Pretty soon they'll charge you to use the restrooms and add an extra fee if you want to actually sit in a seat as opposed to standing in the aisle holding onto a goddamn strap like you're on a city bus.
As far as proposals go, child-free flights really aren't feasible. It would make traveling more of a logistical nightmare than it already is. The NYT article mentions a Facebook group called "Airlines Should Have Kid-Free Flights" (over 400 members now) where people kvetch and moan about kids kicking their seats and babies screaming and children throwing temper tantrums from one side of the globe to the other. I guess I've just been lucky, but I've never been on a flight with one of these terror-babies that folks are describing. Most of the posts on the Facebook group's wall blame the parents, which is probably fair in many instances (although it's important to point out that sometimes kids freak the fuck out for reasons even the best parent can't figure out or fix right away). Of course, it would be even more impractical to bar bad parents from flights because babies and toddlers flying alone are notorious for missing their connecting flights, never mind the barely comprehensible directions they give to cab drivers once they've reached their destination.
For the record I think Stacy and I are fairly good parents, though that doesn't mean I'm not nervous about our upcoming flight to Florida at Christmas time (I'm going to check out Jet With Kids before we fly and hopefully find something useful). Last year Gavin couldn't even sit up by himself, let alone walk and talk. But we're bringing a totally different kid this time. Last year he was a baby, now he's a toddler. And toddlers are capable of a lot more havoc on a plane. I mean, I don't know exactly what's going to happen, but I think he'll be pretty good. I hope so, anyway. I plan to be armed to the teeth with snacks, toys, and other diversions and can only do the best I can. Still, it's possible that my son might annoy some of his fellow travelers. Especially if we have Lisa's luck and end up sitting next to child-hating grannies from hell. But you know, fuck those kinds of people. I've got enough to worry about with the TSA insisting on either zapping my body in a microwave or rooting around in my ass crack before I board the plane.
Speaking of swearing in front of children, my friend Lisa and her son Brenden (he's six weeks older than Gavin and Gavin just turned 16 months -- I almost wrote 16 weeks. Not quite -- yesterday) were on a plane last weekend headed from Los Angeles to Oregon. She had him on her lap in the window seat and a woman came down the aisle -- an older woman, a grandma type, Lisa said, "The kind of woman you'd expect to love the shit out of kids" -- and found she was seated next to them. Now keep in mind that Brenden was being really good, he wasn't crying, he hadn't shit his pants or anything. He was excited to be on the plane and was looking out the window. This woman sat down and was seated for maybe two seconds when she sprung up and went to talk to the flight attendant. "I want a new seat," she said. "I am not sitting next to a fucking baby. I paid over $300 fucking dollars for this ticket and I can't believe this..." And on and on. Now, keep in mind, it's not a big plane and she's only a few rows away making no real effort to be discrete. Lisa was mortified. She said all eyes in the plane alternated between this woman and her. The flight attendant informed the woman that it was a full flight and there were no other seats available and I don't know what she would have done if some man up near the front didn't spring up and say, "You can have my seat. I'd love to sit next to the baby." And thus Lisa sat next to a man who told Lisa he had four kids and apologized on the woman's behalf calling her, "Pure evil." So thank goodness for this guy.
Now, Lisa's experience is not a common one, I don't think. I have never seen anyone raise a fuss about sitting next to a baby on a plane before. Gavin has been on a plane twice, once to Florida last year at Christmas time, and once to California. No one gave us any problems. I've heard plenty of people say they inwardly groan when they get on a plane and are seated near a baby, but no one ever go ape shit out loud about it. But try telling that to Lisa. Because the woman on the plane to Oregon was the second time this kind of thing has happened to her. On a flight from Los Angeles to Detroit another grandmotherly-looking woman asked to change seats so she wouldn't have to sit next to Lisa and Brenden. This woman didn't drop F-bombs all over the plane, but she still was rude and insistent. Luckily there was another available seat and Lisa and Brenden ended up having the whole row to themselves. And Brenden slept like an angel the entire flight.
So considering Lisa's travails, it was with much interest that I read the New York Times article "Passengers Push for Child-Free Flights." Apparently there's a vocal minority who claim they'd "gladly pay more" for flights sans children. I have a couple of responses to this. First of all, never tell airlines that you'd "gladly pay more" for anything because they are already gladly charging more for everything. Want to bring luggage? Open your wallet. Want something to drink, even water? Get out your credit card. Hell, Spirit even charges you for carry on bags. Pretty soon they'll charge you to use the restrooms and add an extra fee if you want to actually sit in a seat as opposed to standing in the aisle holding onto a goddamn strap like you're on a city bus.
As far as proposals go, child-free flights really aren't feasible. It would make traveling more of a logistical nightmare than it already is. The NYT article mentions a Facebook group called "Airlines Should Have Kid-Free Flights" (over 400 members now) where people kvetch and moan about kids kicking their seats and babies screaming and children throwing temper tantrums from one side of the globe to the other. I guess I've just been lucky, but I've never been on a flight with one of these terror-babies that folks are describing. Most of the posts on the Facebook group's wall blame the parents, which is probably fair in many instances (although it's important to point out that sometimes kids freak the fuck out for reasons even the best parent can't figure out or fix right away). Of course, it would be even more impractical to bar bad parents from flights because babies and toddlers flying alone are notorious for missing their connecting flights, never mind the barely comprehensible directions they give to cab drivers once they've reached their destination.
For the record I think Stacy and I are fairly good parents, though that doesn't mean I'm not nervous about our upcoming flight to Florida at Christmas time (I'm going to check out Jet With Kids before we fly and hopefully find something useful). Last year Gavin couldn't even sit up by himself, let alone walk and talk. But we're bringing a totally different kid this time. Last year he was a baby, now he's a toddler. And toddlers are capable of a lot more havoc on a plane. I mean, I don't know exactly what's going to happen, but I think he'll be pretty good. I hope so, anyway. I plan to be armed to the teeth with snacks, toys, and other diversions and can only do the best I can. Still, it's possible that my son might annoy some of his fellow travelers. Especially if we have Lisa's luck and end up sitting next to child-hating grannies from hell. But you know, fuck those kinds of people. I've got enough to worry about with the TSA insisting on either zapping my body in a microwave or rooting around in my ass crack before I board the plane.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010: Gavin on my back
Gavin is sick. Lots of snot and coughing. He did go to daycare yesterday (you're welcome, parents of Gavin's friends!), but in our defense we thought he was better. He sure acted like he was. He woke up on Friday morning in such a good mood I half expected him to start singing "Zippity Do Dah" and clicking his heels together. Truth be told, that would have really freaked me out.
Last night while I was waiting for the bus to take me from campus to the commuter lot I was reading Slate.com on my Blackberry, which I so often do, and I came across Shankar Vedantam's "Parents Are Junkies: If parenthood sucks, why do we love it? Because we're addicted." He talks about recent studies that found becoming parents doesn't make people happier. If anything, having kids makes you less happy. But, of course, people still do it. And some people do it more than once (I am one of 5 kids, by the way. WTF Mom and Dad?). He argues that the highs of parenting are like a drug and, like a lab rat receiving a reward for pushing a lever, we endure an awful lot of unpleasantness in between highs. It's totally true. So much of being a mom sucks. I do not like interacting with snot, poop, urine, and spit on a never-ending rotation. I don't like crying and screaming and whining. I do not like the ever-lengthening TO DO list of parenting-related chores. Like right now, for example. Gavin's shoes are out on the deck because while we were playing in the yard he managed to step in dog shit. I need to clean them or throw them away. Those are my options (I'm still weighing them).
But then there's the times when he nuzzles his head into my shoulder and wraps his arms around my neck. Or looks up at me while he's nursing in the morning and smile and wave. Or waking up to his beaming face over mine. There's this voice mail message I have saved where he apparently called my cell phone (he loves to play with the phone). The bulk of the message is just noise, Gavin running around with the phone or whatever. But at the very end before he hangs up, he puts the phone up to his mouth and says, very briefly, "Ah." And I LOVE this message. I play it all the time. It's just this second of my son's voice and I get all warm and fuzzy every time I hear it. So, yeah, addict sounds about right.
Alas, it sounds like Gavin is up from his nap. He sounds very unhappy. I don't think he slept well at all. Coughing kept waking him up. Poor little dude. I suppose it's possible he'll go back to sleep. But I doubt it. God, I would love a nap. Maybe that's what I'll request for Christmas.
Oh, did I mention that the other day he napped for THREE AND A HALF HOURS? This, of course, happened while I wasn't home. Heaven forbid he should sleep even two full hours while I'm watching him. When I got home I was shocked when Stacy said he was still sleeping. "Are you sure he's alive?" I asked. She looked at me in horror. "Don't even say that," she said. "That's not even funny." I responded, "I'm not trying to be funny. Just paranoid and reactionary." And jealous. Definitely jealous. I mean, I love spending time with Gavin, but it's nice to get a break. Especially since that's so rarely an option. I've been exhausted for a few days shy of 16 months now with no end in sight (and, really, thank God for that).
Last night while I was waiting for the bus to take me from campus to the commuter lot I was reading Slate.com on my Blackberry, which I so often do, and I came across Shankar Vedantam's "Parents Are Junkies: If parenthood sucks, why do we love it? Because we're addicted." He talks about recent studies that found becoming parents doesn't make people happier. If anything, having kids makes you less happy. But, of course, people still do it. And some people do it more than once (I am one of 5 kids, by the way. WTF Mom and Dad?). He argues that the highs of parenting are like a drug and, like a lab rat receiving a reward for pushing a lever, we endure an awful lot of unpleasantness in between highs. It's totally true. So much of being a mom sucks. I do not like interacting with snot, poop, urine, and spit on a never-ending rotation. I don't like crying and screaming and whining. I do not like the ever-lengthening TO DO list of parenting-related chores. Like right now, for example. Gavin's shoes are out on the deck because while we were playing in the yard he managed to step in dog shit. I need to clean them or throw them away. Those are my options (I'm still weighing them).
But then there's the times when he nuzzles his head into my shoulder and wraps his arms around my neck. Or looks up at me while he's nursing in the morning and smile and wave. Or waking up to his beaming face over mine. There's this voice mail message I have saved where he apparently called my cell phone (he loves to play with the phone). The bulk of the message is just noise, Gavin running around with the phone or whatever. But at the very end before he hangs up, he puts the phone up to his mouth and says, very briefly, "Ah." And I LOVE this message. I play it all the time. It's just this second of my son's voice and I get all warm and fuzzy every time I hear it. So, yeah, addict sounds about right.
Alas, it sounds like Gavin is up from his nap. He sounds very unhappy. I don't think he slept well at all. Coughing kept waking him up. Poor little dude. I suppose it's possible he'll go back to sleep. But I doubt it. God, I would love a nap. Maybe that's what I'll request for Christmas.
Oh, did I mention that the other day he napped for THREE AND A HALF HOURS? This, of course, happened while I wasn't home. Heaven forbid he should sleep even two full hours while I'm watching him. When I got home I was shocked when Stacy said he was still sleeping. "Are you sure he's alive?" I asked. She looked at me in horror. "Don't even say that," she said. "That's not even funny." I responded, "I'm not trying to be funny. Just paranoid and reactionary." And jealous. Definitely jealous. I mean, I love spending time with Gavin, but it's nice to get a break. Especially since that's so rarely an option. I've been exhausted for a few days shy of 16 months now with no end in sight (and, really, thank God for that).
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Thursday, November 11: Sandpaper covered slide
So, yeah, I've been wanting to write about all of the amazing things happening IRL (in real life), but I have been swamped with work, which is what pays the VRB (very real bills. Though soon Gavin's Initech salary will take care of that). Obviously a mother's love is measured by how much she blogs about her son -- so I would like to make clear that I have been BLOGGING IN MY MIND and yes, that counts.
Emma the greyhound, living large at 14-years-old, has been having a harder and harder time getting down the deck steps to go potty in the backyard. So the other night I bought her a ramp. It came via UPS today and she and Gavin both tried it out. Both ended up with bleeding feet. Emma had a difficult time grasping the concept of going up the ramp (going down was no problem) and slipped off the side near the bottom, scraping her paw. And Gavin thought it was a slide and tried to slide down it. The ramp has some pretty heavy duty grip surface and so his sliding ended up being more like a pants-shredding scooting. He was barefoot (yes, it's a little chilly today, but we were outside very briefly, I swear) and ended up scraping his heel and toes up. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that he wouldn't get the "ramp" concept and just walk down it considering he'd never really seen or interacted with a ramp before. Apparently that's not a concept kids have from birth like wiping your dirty hands on your shirt or letting your body go all limp when you're throwing a tantrum making it physically impossible to be picked up. In any case, he was wearing these black leggings during the ramp incident (usually reserved for wearing under other things, like long johns, but Aunt Laura dressed him today after a Red Bull incident whereupon Gavin took her Red Bull and proceeded to dump it down the front of his chest while attempting to "get wings") and the crotch of his pants now looks like Swiss cheese. Oh well, they were ugly anyway. My dad called them his Peter Pan tights. Then again, they'd be really useful in the winter. Alas.
Gavin has a cold right now. Poor guy. It's time to bust out the humidifier. He's taking a nap right now -- although he did just start crying. Shit. I hope it passes. He really needs the rest. The last couple of nights he woke up late cry-screaming briefly before going back to bed. Night terrors, I guess, though I don't know what's causing them. He and Aunt Laura have been listening to a lot of Morrissey lately. That's probably it.
Dancing is still one of Gavin's latest and greatest tricks and he's only getting better. As I said, he and Laura have been listening to a lot of Morrissey. But he dances to good music, too. He will actually ask us to put music on. He'll go up to the cabinet the CD player is in and pull on the handle and look at us and bounce up and down a little bit. It's pretty much the most adorable thing ever.
"Dog" has seemingly left his vocabulary. In fact, most words have. He was racking up quite the little lexicon and now he's pretty mum. Well, at least in terms of actual decipherable English words. He babbles a lot. But he's apparently tucked his previous vocab away somewhere while he's busy working on other stuff. Like dancing and art. He's quite the artist, in fact. Here's a picture he and Aunt Laura drew while I was at the gym:
Laura drew the bird, cat, person and sun and Gavin drew their, um, environment. Laura said that the kitty is peeing all over everything, which she claims was Gavin's idea. Who am I to question my son's artistic intentions? Also, thank God for washable markers. Except Laura didn't have him use the washable ones. So that grey marker on his foot will be there awhile.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sunday, October 31, 2010: Boo
I hate Halloween. Okay, that's not actually true. I love candy and so I am legally obligated to appreciate any holiday with candy as its centerpiece. Also I'm a sucker for cute kids in costumes. I, however, decline to dress up for Halloween. The older I get the less into it I am. The first year we lived in this house I was so excited to pass out candy on Halloween. I cued up "spooky" music (Metallica, maybe? I can't even remember. It might have even been Múm, for ambiance, I guess) and stood by with a big heaping bowl full of empty calories. I'd say it was about half kids and half teenagers without costumes who shove a pillow case at you/grown ass adults holding out a bag "for the baby." For the baby, my ass. It's for you. And anyway, babies shouldn't eat candy. So either way I'm shaking my head, sad at it all.
But now that I have a kid things are different. We didn't take him trick-or-treating (see above comment re: babies and candy), but he did help me pass out candy to the kids (and grown-ups) and that was awesome. Perhaps a little frustrating to the sweatsuit clad "kids" who wouldn't even need a fake I.D. to buy a pack of cigarettes. But with real, actual kids he was a hit. I'd give him something from the candy bowl and he'd drop it in the bag. He caught on to this really quickly and took his job very seriously. In between bursts of kids he'd wait at the window, sometimes pounding his Tootsie Roll-filled fists against the glass when he saw kids on the other side of the street, trying to get their attention.
Gavin's candy handing out skills aren't surprising since he's all about the preposition "in" these days (also I think it helped that he has never eaten candy and thus didn't really recognize the items he was handling as edible so much. Otherwise I don't think he'd be so keen to let them fall from his grasp). He likes to put things away. In fact, the other day he actually corrected me, though he didn't know that's what he was doing. I was putting dishes away and there were a couple of Tupperware (except, not Tupperware since I don't think we own anything that brand, I just can't think of what to call it) lids that needed to be put away in the drawer where we keep such lids. Only that drawer is a pain in the ass and always has too many lids in it and to put anything away in there you often have to rearrange everything and I was just not in the mood. So I put the lids in the cupboard with the containers themselves, which is the cupboard Gavin is allowed to get into. Later in the day he decided to pull stuff out of the cupboard (a favorite pastime) and while he was engaged with that I turned my back for a second to let the dogs inside. When I turned around he was pulling at the lid drawer, which does not open easily. "Do you want to open that?" I asked him. Since it's just a bunch of lids I thought, sure, why not? And as I reached for the drawer I saw he had the two lids I'd put in the cupboard in his hand. Sure enough, when I opened the drawer he put them both in. This pretty much blew my mind.
On Thursday Gavin's day care had a Halloween party. Gavin went as a dog. His Granny Marilyn bought him the costume. He looked very cute, needless to say. He did not leave his costume on long and I can't really blame him. He had playing to do and couldn't be weighed down by his canine persona. There were so many adorable kids in costumes. One baby, a few months younger than Gavin, was dressed as Yoda and it was pretty much the cutest baby costume I've ever seen (well, besides this). I really loved getting to watch Gavin in action at day care. Granted, the room was crowded with kids decked out in costume and their parents so it wasn't exactly a picture of the day-to-day operations. But I got to see where he eats lunch. In fact, Stacy even gave him a little angel food cake that he ate sitting at his little table. It's clear that his day care teachers like him quite a bit. He seems to like them, too, though was a little shy because of all the commotion and didn't give Shelly his customary high-five. We'd also kept him up late so we could go to the party, so that probably didn't help his disposition. Even so, he was happy and perfectly content to push a walker and then a pink toy umbrella stroller around the room, seemingly oblivious to all of the long legs all around him. "He loves that stroller," Debbie said. So now when I picture him at day care I picture him pushing that around, talking to himself. Not unlike a homeless person with a shopping cart.
Yesterday morning and the morning before that I was greeted first thing with a big sloppy Gavin kiss. Open mouth, always. In fact, he sucker-clamped onto my face with no warning and managed to lick my teeth. Super gross. I'm a very big supporter of brushing and gargling in the morning before I do anything else with my mouth. Still, it was adorable in that it sure beats him jetting out of bed without even acknowledging I exist, which is how it's been for a long time now. (For the record, he does not sleep with us, but Stacy brings him in the bed in the morning to nurse. Then we all get to cuddle. And it is very nice.) In fact the other day he actually clung to me when Stacy tried to take him. Because I am a kind and caring wife I did not say, "See how it feels?" Actually I did. That's exactly what I said.
But now that I have a kid things are different. We didn't take him trick-or-treating (see above comment re: babies and candy), but he did help me pass out candy to the kids (and grown-ups) and that was awesome. Perhaps a little frustrating to the sweatsuit clad "kids" who wouldn't even need a fake I.D. to buy a pack of cigarettes. But with real, actual kids he was a hit. I'd give him something from the candy bowl and he'd drop it in the bag. He caught on to this really quickly and took his job very seriously. In between bursts of kids he'd wait at the window, sometimes pounding his Tootsie Roll-filled fists against the glass when he saw kids on the other side of the street, trying to get their attention.
Gavin's candy handing out skills aren't surprising since he's all about the preposition "in" these days (also I think it helped that he has never eaten candy and thus didn't really recognize the items he was handling as edible so much. Otherwise I don't think he'd be so keen to let them fall from his grasp). He likes to put things away. In fact, the other day he actually corrected me, though he didn't know that's what he was doing. I was putting dishes away and there were a couple of Tupperware (except, not Tupperware since I don't think we own anything that brand, I just can't think of what to call it) lids that needed to be put away in the drawer where we keep such lids. Only that drawer is a pain in the ass and always has too many lids in it and to put anything away in there you often have to rearrange everything and I was just not in the mood. So I put the lids in the cupboard with the containers themselves, which is the cupboard Gavin is allowed to get into. Later in the day he decided to pull stuff out of the cupboard (a favorite pastime) and while he was engaged with that I turned my back for a second to let the dogs inside. When I turned around he was pulling at the lid drawer, which does not open easily. "Do you want to open that?" I asked him. Since it's just a bunch of lids I thought, sure, why not? And as I reached for the drawer I saw he had the two lids I'd put in the cupboard in his hand. Sure enough, when I opened the drawer he put them both in. This pretty much blew my mind.
Yesterday morning and the morning before that I was greeted first thing with a big sloppy Gavin kiss. Open mouth, always. In fact, he sucker-clamped onto my face with no warning and managed to lick my teeth. Super gross. I'm a very big supporter of brushing and gargling in the morning before I do anything else with my mouth. Still, it was adorable in that it sure beats him jetting out of bed without even acknowledging I exist, which is how it's been for a long time now. (For the record, he does not sleep with us, but Stacy brings him in the bed in the morning to nurse. Then we all get to cuddle. And it is very nice.) In fact the other day he actually clung to me when Stacy tried to take him. Because I am a kind and caring wife I did not say, "See how it feels?" Actually I did. That's exactly what I said.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Monster mash for Aiden
For more about Aiden visit his blog. You can also find him on Facebook.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Tuesday, Oct. 26: Dancing Bear
Gavin is, at long last, dancing. This is pretty much a dream come true for me. I don't know that there is anything cuter than a baby dancing, nor a more perfect picture of uninhibited movement. Gavin is, of course, not a good dancer, and by "good" I mean he knows no moves besides movement itself and rhythm is periphery. However, I argue that he is a perfect dancer, unburdened by self-consciousness and the shackles of rhythmic expectation. And did I mention how cute it is? I have been waiting for Gavin to dance for what seems like forever. Lisa's son has been dancing since before his first birthday. He's six weeks older than Gavin so for the past several months I figured that any day now Gavin would shake his groove thing. (Cue Etta James here.) The first song I saw him dance to was one of the tunes from his Chicco rucksack toy (a toy that I think is dumb, but I got on mega-clearance at Borders last year and he likes it okay). I wasn't quite sure if what I saw him doing was dancing or if he'd just momentarily lost his balance. So I brought him out in the living room and played Huey Lewis and the News "I Want a New Drug." Sure enough, that was dancing. Mind you he was at all times preoccupied with something else when he was shakin' what his mamas gave him, but I just take that to mean he's a multitasker and the music's in him. Today he danced to several Robyn songs and a little Saint Etienne that Laura put on.
Gavin does not sing yet, however. I assure you that when he does part of my heart and brain will simultaneously implode. Unless, of course, I have some kind of cuteness overload relief valve -- and come to think of it I must otherwise I would have imploded a long time ago.
Waving is still Gavin's favorite skill of choice. He waves at everyone (unless prompted. Then he won't. He has to feel it. Waving can't be forced). Today he even waved at Jon Stewart. Yes, of the Daily Show fame. No, Jon Stewart wasn't in our home nor are we letting Gavin watch TV. However, Laura was sitting on the couch watching a clip from The Daily Show on the computer. Gavin and Stacy were also on the couch, though Gavin was preoccupied with Stacy on the other end. At some point the computer screen caught his eye and he ended up right next to Laura and he started to wave at Jon Stewart. More than once. Laura also said that he waved at some Fox News commentator who was also on the screen briefly (and let's be honest, he probably didn't deserve it). Stacy surmised that perhaps since Gavin Skypes with his Granny Marilyn that's where he got the idea that moving images on the computer of people talking equals an interactive experience. In any case, Laura swears it was adorable and I have no doubt. None.
Speaking of adorable, Gavin had his school picture taken yesterday. We sent him to day care with a long sleeved button down shirt and a neck tie. Shelly, his day care teacher, reported that he looked very handsome. She also told Stacy that she almost had to be in our son's picture because Gavin wasn't all that wild about picture day and didn't want her to put him down. Probably if he could have had time to acclimate he would have been fine, but school photo day waits for no one. They've got a lot of kids to cycle through there. In any case, she said she managed to not only put him down long enough for a photo to be taken, but she also got a tiny smile out of him. I can't wait to see that picture.
I'm proud to report that Gavin has not peed through his clothes for the past two nights. The week before that was another, sadder, story. Basically he had a cold and so was drinking a lot and peeing. A lot. And his diapers (at the time Pampers Baby Dry, which are supposed to last 12 hours but do not) just couldn't handle it. One of the things I was making him were Baby Arnold Palmers, which is half water, half white grape juice (Stacy read somewhere that white grape juice is more nutritional or something than the standard kiddie choice, apple juice. I honestly can't remember why). He likes those a lot. He doesn't get a lot of sugar. So when he, say, eats bananas, he goes nuts. I have to slice up and quarter bananas and then slowly dole the pieces out or he will shove fistful after fistful into his maw like a savage animal. It's both fascinating and obscene.
And now I must go make Gavin's lunch even though it is part 9 p.m. and I am exhausted already. I'll probably just throw some snack-size Butterfingers and juice box in his lunch bag and call it a night. I'm beat.
Gavin does not sing yet, however. I assure you that when he does part of my heart and brain will simultaneously implode. Unless, of course, I have some kind of cuteness overload relief valve -- and come to think of it I must otherwise I would have imploded a long time ago.
Waving is still Gavin's favorite skill of choice. He waves at everyone (unless prompted. Then he won't. He has to feel it. Waving can't be forced). Today he even waved at Jon Stewart. Yes, of the Daily Show fame. No, Jon Stewart wasn't in our home nor are we letting Gavin watch TV. However, Laura was sitting on the couch watching a clip from The Daily Show on the computer. Gavin and Stacy were also on the couch, though Gavin was preoccupied with Stacy on the other end. At some point the computer screen caught his eye and he ended up right next to Laura and he started to wave at Jon Stewart. More than once. Laura also said that he waved at some Fox News commentator who was also on the screen briefly (and let's be honest, he probably didn't deserve it). Stacy surmised that perhaps since Gavin Skypes with his Granny Marilyn that's where he got the idea that moving images on the computer of people talking equals an interactive experience. In any case, Laura swears it was adorable and I have no doubt. None.
Speaking of adorable, Gavin had his school picture taken yesterday. We sent him to day care with a long sleeved button down shirt and a neck tie. Shelly, his day care teacher, reported that he looked very handsome. She also told Stacy that she almost had to be in our son's picture because Gavin wasn't all that wild about picture day and didn't want her to put him down. Probably if he could have had time to acclimate he would have been fine, but school photo day waits for no one. They've got a lot of kids to cycle through there. In any case, she said she managed to not only put him down long enough for a photo to be taken, but she also got a tiny smile out of him. I can't wait to see that picture.
I'm proud to report that Gavin has not peed through his clothes for the past two nights. The week before that was another, sadder, story. Basically he had a cold and so was drinking a lot and peeing. A lot. And his diapers (at the time Pampers Baby Dry, which are supposed to last 12 hours but do not) just couldn't handle it. One of the things I was making him were Baby Arnold Palmers, which is half water, half white grape juice (Stacy read somewhere that white grape juice is more nutritional or something than the standard kiddie choice, apple juice. I honestly can't remember why). He likes those a lot. He doesn't get a lot of sugar. So when he, say, eats bananas, he goes nuts. I have to slice up and quarter bananas and then slowly dole the pieces out or he will shove fistful after fistful into his maw like a savage animal. It's both fascinating and obscene.
And now I must go make Gavin's lunch even though it is part 9 p.m. and I am exhausted already. I'll probably just throw some snack-size Butterfingers and juice box in his lunch bag and call it a night. I'm beat.
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Saturday, Oct. 23, 2010: 8:15 on a Saturday night
The problem with writing a parenting blog is that the actual parenting part makes it really hard to write. Not only finding time, but also finding enough brain functioning left over to string letters into words into sentences into semi-coherent ramblings. Take last night, for instance, when I sat staring at the computer screen after what felt like the super-longest week in which Stacy was sick, Gavin was sick, and I was sick (we are now all almost over our colds, thank you for your concern). I managed to write: "I took Gavin to daycare today." And that's about it.
And so here I am ready to take a chance again, as Barry Manilow would croon. So.
I took Gavin to daycare yesterday. Usually Stacy does this but she went to a conference in Lansing today. Shelly, his day care lady (I am not sure what to call her. Care giver? But that makes it sound like Gavin is an old man. And day care provider makes it sound like she's an HMO), was happy to see him. He didn't go to day care Monday or Wednesday since he was sick. She tried to get a hug but he sidestepped her. "Uh, you missed," she said, and crawled after him, much to his delight. It didn't take long before he was ready for me to go. I gave him a hug and went to work and when I left he was standing in the middle of the room like, "Hmm, it's been a few days and I'm way behind on my playing. What should I tackle first?" Do I need to mention how handsome he looked? I do not. But I will. He looked super handsome and very much in his element. He's the mayor of day care.
In case you were wondering how the Mama D vs. Aunt Laura Gavin Love World Championship is going, I still have to beg him for hugs. He brushes Laura's hair, even ("It's like being at a salon," Laura said the other morning. "A salon that hires babies"). I'm lucky if he even notices I have hair to yank. Laura taught him a new game while babysitting him: Loud Sound Blocks, in which you sweep your hands repeatedly through a pile of Duplo blocks while yelling, "Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrgghh!" Thanks, Aunt Laura.
We took Gavin to a mom-2-mom sale at a local high school gym. We'd never been to one before but I really dug it. Gavin absconded with a Whinnie the Pooh push/ride on toy and was tearing around the floor. The woman selling it told us it was all right, he could play with it after he'd taken it and we'd returned it several times. We should have paid her a rental fee at least. He wheeled around like he was totally the mayor of the mom-2-mom sale. After that we went to the gym and he played at Kids Klub. After Stacy and I were done I peeked in at him and saw him climb up the slide and then go down it by himself (the attendant was actually right near by, but he essentially was unaided). He looked pretty surprised and looked up at the attendant like, "Was that supposed to happen?" I don't know what she said, but it must have been encouraging because he turned right around and did it again and seemed to be having a lot of fun.
The other day I was heading out the door and Stacy was holding him as they waved at me. I blew kisses to Gavin and made kissing sounds and then he made kissing sounds right back. Instead of using both of his lips he kind of sucks his bottom lip with his top teeth so it's very much like a rabbit air kiss with those big chompers of his.
Gavin is obsessed with the phone. On the way home from Meijer this evening he was gabbing away on a toy cell phone. I'm not sure who he was talking to but he was super chatty and happy (probably his Aunt Laura). He loves all phones and doesn't have any problem differentiating between the home phone or a flip cell phone or my Blackberry or, as I've mentioned before, even a handheld calculator. If it's phone-like he's putting it up to his ear (the back of his head, really, with the mouthpiece ending up somewhat near his ear) and talking into it. So when I read this article in the New York Times warning about the dangers of toddlers and iPhones, I was a little worried that maybe we were somehow teaching Gavin to become a 13-year-old girl (get it? Because of how they are always talking on the phone?) way before his time. By far the most disturbing thing reported was the existence of the "new iGo Potty app (sponsored by Kimberly-Clark, maker of Huggies training pants), with automated phone calls reminding toddlers that it’s time to 'go.'" I thought the whole point of potty training was learning to listen to signals from your body that it's time to "go." Gives a whole new dimension to the term "butt dial." Thanks, Huggies! In any case, the article basically warns that giving your kid an iPhone to play with, even if you are using "educational" apps, is the same thing as plopping him in front of the TV. As long as you're okay with your child remaining immobile as they while away their childhood engaged in an activity that does nothing to help their brains grow, go for it. But Jesus, don't act like just because you can also call Grandma with it that your kid isn't playing video games or watching TV in the car. They're not cramming for Li'l Mensa with their Baby Einstein app.
We don't let Gavin watch TV (and saying "don't let" him sounds weird, since it's not like he asks to watch it and we say no. He doesn't really even know that TV exists in our house at all. It's never on when he's up and it's closed up in the cabinet all the time. He's seen some TV: parts of a football game on in the background at his Grandpa Gary's, some cartoon movie on in the background at a house we were visiting, and a South Park cartoon on the computer when his Aunt Amanda was babysitting (that was not cleared by us, BTW). But it's so not a part of his life. He's a very active dude who likes to move and DO. Which, you know, is good for his developing brain. So we encourage that kind of thing. The only TV he watches are occasional viewings of videos of himself on the computer while he gets his nails cut. Otherwise he won't sit still. But put on a video of him -- and it has to be him, he's not interested in videos of other people, not even other babies -- and he's mesmerized. Often smiling and laughing even. He cracks himself up.
I was alerted to the NYT iPhone piece via Wonkette, a blog I don't read nearly as often as I should. Wonkette's Sara K. Smith wrote about the iPhone controversy, "It had honestly not occurred to [me] to keep [my] kid occupied with something so expensive." Amen. I don't let Gavin play with my Blackberry for this very reason. Not because I am afraid it will rot his brain (he has yet to figure out how to thwart the keyboard lock function. In fact, he doesn't even know it exists to try to thwart), but because I sure as hell don't want to pay for another one. All good parenting decisions are usually driven by thrift in some way.
And so here I am ready to take a chance again, as Barry Manilow would croon. So.
I took Gavin to daycare yesterday. Usually Stacy does this but she went to a conference in Lansing today. Shelly, his day care lady (I am not sure what to call her. Care giver? But that makes it sound like Gavin is an old man. And day care provider makes it sound like she's an HMO), was happy to see him. He didn't go to day care Monday or Wednesday since he was sick. She tried to get a hug but he sidestepped her. "Uh, you missed," she said, and crawled after him, much to his delight. It didn't take long before he was ready for me to go. I gave him a hug and went to work and when I left he was standing in the middle of the room like, "Hmm, it's been a few days and I'm way behind on my playing. What should I tackle first?" Do I need to mention how handsome he looked? I do not. But I will. He looked super handsome and very much in his element. He's the mayor of day care.
In case you were wondering how the Mama D vs. Aunt Laura Gavin Love World Championship is going, I still have to beg him for hugs. He brushes Laura's hair, even ("It's like being at a salon," Laura said the other morning. "A salon that hires babies"). I'm lucky if he even notices I have hair to yank. Laura taught him a new game while babysitting him: Loud Sound Blocks, in which you sweep your hands repeatedly through a pile of Duplo blocks while yelling, "Aaaaaaaarrrrrrrgghh!" Thanks, Aunt Laura.
We took Gavin to a mom-2-mom sale at a local high school gym. We'd never been to one before but I really dug it. Gavin absconded with a Whinnie the Pooh push/ride on toy and was tearing around the floor. The woman selling it told us it was all right, he could play with it after he'd taken it and we'd returned it several times. We should have paid her a rental fee at least. He wheeled around like he was totally the mayor of the mom-2-mom sale. After that we went to the gym and he played at Kids Klub. After Stacy and I were done I peeked in at him and saw him climb up the slide and then go down it by himself (the attendant was actually right near by, but he essentially was unaided). He looked pretty surprised and looked up at the attendant like, "Was that supposed to happen?" I don't know what she said, but it must have been encouraging because he turned right around and did it again and seemed to be having a lot of fun.
The other day I was heading out the door and Stacy was holding him as they waved at me. I blew kisses to Gavin and made kissing sounds and then he made kissing sounds right back. Instead of using both of his lips he kind of sucks his bottom lip with his top teeth so it's very much like a rabbit air kiss with those big chompers of his.
Gavin is obsessed with the phone. On the way home from Meijer this evening he was gabbing away on a toy cell phone. I'm not sure who he was talking to but he was super chatty and happy (probably his Aunt Laura). He loves all phones and doesn't have any problem differentiating between the home phone or a flip cell phone or my Blackberry or, as I've mentioned before, even a handheld calculator. If it's phone-like he's putting it up to his ear (the back of his head, really, with the mouthpiece ending up somewhat near his ear) and talking into it. So when I read this article in the New York Times warning about the dangers of toddlers and iPhones, I was a little worried that maybe we were somehow teaching Gavin to become a 13-year-old girl (get it? Because of how they are always talking on the phone?) way before his time. By far the most disturbing thing reported was the existence of the "new iGo Potty app (sponsored by Kimberly-Clark, maker of Huggies training pants), with automated phone calls reminding toddlers that it’s time to 'go.'" I thought the whole point of potty training was learning to listen to signals from your body that it's time to "go." Gives a whole new dimension to the term "butt dial." Thanks, Huggies! In any case, the article basically warns that giving your kid an iPhone to play with, even if you are using "educational" apps, is the same thing as plopping him in front of the TV. As long as you're okay with your child remaining immobile as they while away their childhood engaged in an activity that does nothing to help their brains grow, go for it. But Jesus, don't act like just because you can also call Grandma with it that your kid isn't playing video games or watching TV in the car. They're not cramming for Li'l Mensa with their Baby Einstein app.
We don't let Gavin watch TV (and saying "don't let" him sounds weird, since it's not like he asks to watch it and we say no. He doesn't really even know that TV exists in our house at all. It's never on when he's up and it's closed up in the cabinet all the time. He's seen some TV: parts of a football game on in the background at his Grandpa Gary's, some cartoon movie on in the background at a house we were visiting, and a South Park cartoon on the computer when his Aunt Amanda was babysitting (that was not cleared by us, BTW). But it's so not a part of his life. He's a very active dude who likes to move and DO. Which, you know, is good for his developing brain. So we encourage that kind of thing. The only TV he watches are occasional viewings of videos of himself on the computer while he gets his nails cut. Otherwise he won't sit still. But put on a video of him -- and it has to be him, he's not interested in videos of other people, not even other babies -- and he's mesmerized. Often smiling and laughing even. He cracks himself up.
I was alerted to the NYT iPhone piece via Wonkette, a blog I don't read nearly as often as I should. Wonkette's Sara K. Smith wrote about the iPhone controversy, "It had honestly not occurred to [me] to keep [my] kid occupied with something so expensive." Amen. I don't let Gavin play with my Blackberry for this very reason. Not because I am afraid it will rot his brain (he has yet to figure out how to thwart the keyboard lock function. In fact, he doesn't even know it exists to try to thwart), but because I sure as hell don't want to pay for another one. All good parenting decisions are usually driven by thrift in some way.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Friday, Oct. 15: Sick soy sausage snacker son
On Yahoo's homepage there's a story about "What Baby Jessica Is Doing Today." Now, I honestly don't care what she's doing. I do vaguely remember the news sensation that was the baby in the well. But I never knew much about it. In fact, over the years I've always pictured the "well" in question to be of the "wishing" variety, not an 8 inch hole in the ground. In any case, Yahoo's "Where Are They Now" headline led be back to the original story and I of course can't help but imagine Gavin stuck in there and now I feel all claustrophobic and queasy and stuff. Basically Gavin is never leaving the house again, I've decided. Shit. I just remembered that a large percentage of accidents and injuries happen at home. Maybe I can just get every conceivable opening sealed shut. Opening windows and doors is overrated. Also dangerous. Isn't that what they believed in olden times? You had to keep windows shut all the time so that the child doesn't get wind or something?
Then again, it's too late for that. Gavin and Stacy are both sick. This is, of course, not surprising since Gavin swaps germs constantly with the kids in day care and Stacy teaches in elementary and jr. high schools. GermFactories.com. I thought mothers weren't supposed to get sick? Like, there was some kind of force field that made sickness virtually impossible so that she could continue to nurse babies, mop floors, and plow fields? I hope I don't get sick. I've already put in my time this fall. In fact, when I had my fall cold Gavin and Stacy didn't get sick. So let's hope they return the favor. Meaning that they don't get me sick.
Speaking of sicklies, they're both sitting next to me eating oatmeal out of a big glass bowl, each with own spoon. Gavin's getting really good at feeding himself. Though sometimes silverware can be too limiting and a dude's got to attack his grub with his hands.
"It's amazing how strong the drive for independence is." Stacy just said this. I agree. Gavin is learning so much so fast. He's a marvel.
He's got more new tricks. The first one is play-pretend eating. Imaginative play is a big step noggin-wise for babies, so this was a pretty exciting thing to witness. Yesterday he was carrying around an empty box of Morningstar Farms soy sausage patties (his mommy eats some just about every morning. Aunt Laura also likes these. I do not. I've never been a big sausage fan even when I ate meat). The box was headed for the recycling but it had a coupon inside and I hadn't gotten around to cutting it out yet and then Gavin got ahold of it. He reached his hand into the empty box and then put his hand to his mouth as if he were eating directly from the box (not recommended for most frozen food). See for yourself:
He can also climb up on the couch now. He likes to climb up and onto just about everything. Gone are the days where keeping something out of his reach was as easy as putting it on the back of the couch. No longer. This was always my trick for Kleenex. He has an ongoing love for Kleenex. It has evolved from merely shredding tissue after tissue to now wiping his nose and mouth himself, doing an especially careful job wiping the inside of his mouth. This might also be seen as "eating" the Kleenex, though less "play-pretend," more "you will find this in my diaper if you don't take it away from me."
Then again, it's too late for that. Gavin and Stacy are both sick. This is, of course, not surprising since Gavin swaps germs constantly with the kids in day care and Stacy teaches in elementary and jr. high schools. GermFactories.com. I thought mothers weren't supposed to get sick? Like, there was some kind of force field that made sickness virtually impossible so that she could continue to nurse babies, mop floors, and plow fields? I hope I don't get sick. I've already put in my time this fall. In fact, when I had my fall cold Gavin and Stacy didn't get sick. So let's hope they return the favor. Meaning that they don't get me sick.
Speaking of sicklies, they're both sitting next to me eating oatmeal out of a big glass bowl, each with own spoon. Gavin's getting really good at feeding himself. Though sometimes silverware can be too limiting and a dude's got to attack his grub with his hands.
"It's amazing how strong the drive for independence is." Stacy just said this. I agree. Gavin is learning so much so fast. He's a marvel.
He's got more new tricks. The first one is play-pretend eating. Imaginative play is a big step noggin-wise for babies, so this was a pretty exciting thing to witness. Yesterday he was carrying around an empty box of Morningstar Farms soy sausage patties (his mommy eats some just about every morning. Aunt Laura also likes these. I do not. I've never been a big sausage fan even when I ate meat). The box was headed for the recycling but it had a coupon inside and I hadn't gotten around to cutting it out yet and then Gavin got ahold of it. He reached his hand into the empty box and then put his hand to his mouth as if he were eating directly from the box (not recommended for most frozen food). See for yourself:
He can also climb up on the couch now. He likes to climb up and onto just about everything. Gone are the days where keeping something out of his reach was as easy as putting it on the back of the couch. No longer. This was always my trick for Kleenex. He has an ongoing love for Kleenex. It has evolved from merely shredding tissue after tissue to now wiping his nose and mouth himself, doing an especially careful job wiping the inside of his mouth. This might also be seen as "eating" the Kleenex, though less "play-pretend," more "you will find this in my diaper if you don't take it away from me."
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Tuesday, Oct. 12: Mr. No Hugs
So it's pretty much official: Gavin likes just about everybody else more than me. This is especially true when it comes to Tia Laura (not to be confused with Tila Tequila, most of the time anyway. "Tia" means "aunt" in Spanish. Since Stacy teaches Spanish she speaks to Gavin in Spanish a lot. In fact, I'm learning quite a bit as well. Not enough that I'd be able to get by in Mexico or anything. Unless I stumbled upon a town populated by babies. In that case I probably would know more Spanish than them).
In any case, yesterday after his bath Stacy sent him streaking into the living room to show off his clean nekkid self to me and Laura. He went straight to Laura who scooped him up, only to put him back down when I made a joke about him peeing on her. Even still he gave her a great big hug once they were both on the ground with Laura kneeling to be at his level. When I, also kneeling, requested a hug Gavin not only refused, but he physically recoiled, retreating to the safety of Tia Laura who gave him another hug. I tried this several times, each yielding the same result. Stacy also witnessed this. So, yeah, I've got witnesses. Although I don't really want witnesses because it's embarrassing. But I guess it is nice to know that this isn't all in my head. Yeah. It's a total relief to know that my son hating me is IRL (that's "in real life." Try to keep up).
Okay, okay, I know he doesn't hate me. Still, I'm starting to get a complex. It's hard not to take personally. I mean, it was bad enough when it was just Stacy. But Laura, too? As Lisa has assured me, it's not that Gavin likes Laura better, it's just that she's novel. After all, Gavin has never had anyone living in our basement before. He never really goes in the basement so maybe Laura seems to emerge from and retreat to a very mysterious place. Plus with Laura comes Emma, the world's most beautiful and sweet dog (sorry, Henri. I still love you the best, though). Emma is a 14-year-old greyhound and she has lived here before immediately prior to Gavin's birth. While Stacy was pregnant she would sometimes go sleep on the couch because she couldn't get comfortable in our bed and Emma would sleep on the end of the couch, keeping Stacy's feet warm. Emma's really the only reason Laura's currently living with us. Without Emma I would have given Laura a rain poncho, driven her to the nearest bus shelter and said, "Have a nice life." But I could never do such a thing to Emma.
Laura was telling my mom (her mom, too, actually) about how she's Gavin's #1 true love and Mom said, "Maybe he thinks you're D'Anne." She was, according to Laura, "Totally kidding." She came by the house today and Gavin didn't want to go to her, either. So maybe there's one person I outrank in the Gavin Love Hierarchy. In my mom's defense, she was not here for very long so Gavin didn't really get a chance to warm up to her. Plus she doesn't live in our basement, which, as we know, gives a person a real status bump with Gavin.
I mentioned that Stacy was teaching Gavin Spanish. While he doesn't say anything in Spanish, he can tell what she's saying a lot of the time. Like when she asks him if he's hungry he'll go to his high chair. I've joked that I will probably be responsible for teaching him swears since I still swear far too much. But I really have gotten much better. At the same time I think Stacy may have gotten worse. The other day Gavin was pitching a fit on the changing table, really wailing. From the other room I called to Stacy, "Why is he crying so much?" And she yelled to me, "Because I won't let him touch his shit-covered penis!" Hopefully he was screaming too loudly to hear her. Although I totally understand her frustration. Babies are completely unreasonable. As are toddlers. It's just that the more toddler they get the stronger and more wiley they get. And he's no exception, except he's not even a year and a half yet and he's already six feet tall and 275 lbs. (this may be a slight exaggeration).
I need to go make Gavin's lunch for daycare tomorrow. I am really tired and quickly losing steam. The first couple of times Stacy and I made his lunch together it was really fun and exciting. Now it's exhausting. Don't get me wrong, the reason it's exhausting is because I can't exactly just throw a pack of Little Debbie's Zebra Cakes, some Handi-Snaks and a Capri Sun in a paper bag and call it a day (I really could not possibly tell you the exact number of times that some variation of this was actually my lunch. But not until high school when I started packing it myself). We're really careful that he gets a balanced meal spread throughout three meal times during the day. It's a labor of love, really. And love is really exhausting.
In any case, yesterday after his bath Stacy sent him streaking into the living room to show off his clean nekkid self to me and Laura. He went straight to Laura who scooped him up, only to put him back down when I made a joke about him peeing on her. Even still he gave her a great big hug once they were both on the ground with Laura kneeling to be at his level. When I, also kneeling, requested a hug Gavin not only refused, but he physically recoiled, retreating to the safety of Tia Laura who gave him another hug. I tried this several times, each yielding the same result. Stacy also witnessed this. So, yeah, I've got witnesses. Although I don't really want witnesses because it's embarrassing. But I guess it is nice to know that this isn't all in my head. Yeah. It's a total relief to know that my son hating me is IRL (that's "in real life." Try to keep up).
Okay, okay, I know he doesn't hate me. Still, I'm starting to get a complex. It's hard not to take personally. I mean, it was bad enough when it was just Stacy. But Laura, too? As Lisa has assured me, it's not that Gavin likes Laura better, it's just that she's novel. After all, Gavin has never had anyone living in our basement before. He never really goes in the basement so maybe Laura seems to emerge from and retreat to a very mysterious place. Plus with Laura comes Emma, the world's most beautiful and sweet dog (sorry, Henri. I still love you the best, though). Emma is a 14-year-old greyhound and she has lived here before immediately prior to Gavin's birth. While Stacy was pregnant she would sometimes go sleep on the couch because she couldn't get comfortable in our bed and Emma would sleep on the end of the couch, keeping Stacy's feet warm. Emma's really the only reason Laura's currently living with us. Without Emma I would have given Laura a rain poncho, driven her to the nearest bus shelter and said, "Have a nice life." But I could never do such a thing to Emma.
Laura was telling my mom (her mom, too, actually) about how she's Gavin's #1 true love and Mom said, "Maybe he thinks you're D'Anne." She was, according to Laura, "Totally kidding." She came by the house today and Gavin didn't want to go to her, either. So maybe there's one person I outrank in the Gavin Love Hierarchy. In my mom's defense, she was not here for very long so Gavin didn't really get a chance to warm up to her. Plus she doesn't live in our basement, which, as we know, gives a person a real status bump with Gavin.
I mentioned that Stacy was teaching Gavin Spanish. While he doesn't say anything in Spanish, he can tell what she's saying a lot of the time. Like when she asks him if he's hungry he'll go to his high chair. I've joked that I will probably be responsible for teaching him swears since I still swear far too much. But I really have gotten much better. At the same time I think Stacy may have gotten worse. The other day Gavin was pitching a fit on the changing table, really wailing. From the other room I called to Stacy, "Why is he crying so much?" And she yelled to me, "Because I won't let him touch his shit-covered penis!" Hopefully he was screaming too loudly to hear her. Although I totally understand her frustration. Babies are completely unreasonable. As are toddlers. It's just that the more toddler they get the stronger and more wiley they get. And he's no exception, except he's not even a year and a half yet and he's already six feet tall and 275 lbs. (this may be a slight exaggeration).
I need to go make Gavin's lunch for daycare tomorrow. I am really tired and quickly losing steam. The first couple of times Stacy and I made his lunch together it was really fun and exciting. Now it's exhausting. Don't get me wrong, the reason it's exhausting is because I can't exactly just throw a pack of Little Debbie's Zebra Cakes, some Handi-Snaks and a Capri Sun in a paper bag and call it a day (I really could not possibly tell you the exact number of times that some variation of this was actually my lunch. But not until high school when I started packing it myself). We're really careful that he gets a balanced meal spread throughout three meal times during the day. It's a labor of love, really. And love is really exhausting.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Thursday, Oct. 7, 2010: Gavin, phone home
It's been awhile since I posted. You're all like, "Wait, you're still a mom? We thought you'd quit." Ha. Easier said than done. Seriously. Being a mom is the kind of job that people look down on you for quitting. Blogging, not so much. But I haven't quit. I'M WORKING ON IT. I mean, here I am, right now, writing while Gavin hollers from his crib. So give me a break. I'm doing the best I can.
And by "hollering" I don't mean I'm ignoring him. Well, I guess I am ignoring him, but it's not neglect-level ignoring. It's "you've only been in your crib for 15 minutes and you were hard-core rubbing your eyes and crabbing like crazy so, no, I am not going to get you up right now. Parenting. It's a balance act between their desires and your sanity. I'll let you know which one ultimately wins in about 18 years.
Gavin fell and hit his lip yesterday at day care. He's got a black and blue lip now. It's quite sad. Poor guy. He doesn't care at this point. He's fine, but it looks pretty ouchy. He chomps his bottom lip a lot, actually. Maybe because he's got such huge teeth. Or maybe they aren't huge so much as they just take up a lot of the real estate in his mouth. I don't know. I'm not a teeth scientist. I just hope he doesn't ever have to get stitches in his lip like his Aunt Laura did when we were kids. I don't know how old she was, but she was pretty young. I would say four at the most. They stitched her up at the hospital and on the way out the door she chewed the stitches out. My parents had to turn around and take her right back in. Dumb Laura. I kid Laura. She's not dumb. But, man. That must have hurt. Maybe her lip was still numb or something. I don't know. Thinking about it is kind of making me want to pass out.
Waving is Gavin's new thing. And for those of you thinking, "Isn't 14 months a little late to be waving? Don't sign your kid up for MENSA or anything," I'll have you know that he used to wave back before he could even walk. They one day he just stopped. He was all, "I'm so over waving. Waving is so two months ago." But he's waving again now all of a sudden. His technique has changed a lot. Instead of just sticking his arm out and flopping it around in a rough approximation of a greeting or farewell, he now uses only his hand, twisting at the wrist pageant style. See for yourself.
Talking on the phone is another new trick. He's always loved the phone but up until recently it was all button pushing all the time. Now he holds the phone up to his ear as if he's actually talking and listening. Well, he IS actually talking. Usually very seriously. He makes really important calls. At daycare Shelly plays "phone" with the kids. In fact, the other day when Stacy went to pick Gavin up he was sitting on the floor with her and a little girl and Shelly held the phone out to the girl said, "It's your daddy." Then she held it out to him and said, "Gavin, it's Mama D." Pretty much one of my favorite day care stories ever. So, yeah, talking on the phone is my new teenage son's hobby. Calculators, too, will do in a pinch. He was walking around this morning with a pocket calculator up to his head yammering away. It took me a minute to realize that he thought it was a phone. Which makes sense since it's roughly the same size as my Blackberry and has a bunch of buttons on the front. He's also very fond of Aunt Laura's phone since she often leaves it in her unzipped purse.
I'm jealous because Gavin likes Aunt Laura better than he likes his Mama D, always giving her hugs and kisses. As Lisa pointed out, that's probably because she's still new and having her here is novel. "You," she said, "he expects to be there." This makes sense and is somewhat comforting.
Gavin and I have a big adventure planned for today: going to buy a new microwave since ours caught on fire last night. The enamel wore off and started to rust in this tiny spot on the inside of the door and what do you know, it was a blue spark light show. I suppose getting a new microwave is long overdue. I mean, for years we've only been able to use the "one touch cook" button, which basically means you can heat something for as long as you want so long as it's in 30 second increments and not longer than 4 minutes. A few of the number buttons still worked, but power outages were always a pain in the ass because we couldn't reset the clock until it was 5:55 or 8:55. We'd set the over timer to let us know when we were getting close. I mean, it was a lot of suspense and all, but that's all in the past now. It's time to move on. Oh, and did I mention that Stacy accidentally ground up a glass baby food jar in our garbage disposal? So that doesn't work any more, either. Actually, I take that back. It might work. But the fact that rotting-food-infested water now leaks out of the bottom via several different holes, we are choosing not to use it.
Gavin's been quiet for awhile now. I think he's actually asleep. Tuesday he took a morning nap but his afternoon nap was for shit. Hopefully today will be a good nap day. Man, I'd like to take one or two of those myself.
And by "hollering" I don't mean I'm ignoring him. Well, I guess I am ignoring him, but it's not neglect-level ignoring. It's "you've only been in your crib for 15 minutes and you were hard-core rubbing your eyes and crabbing like crazy so, no, I am not going to get you up right now. Parenting. It's a balance act between their desires and your sanity. I'll let you know which one ultimately wins in about 18 years.
Gavin fell and hit his lip yesterday at day care. He's got a black and blue lip now. It's quite sad. Poor guy. He doesn't care at this point. He's fine, but it looks pretty ouchy. He chomps his bottom lip a lot, actually. Maybe because he's got such huge teeth. Or maybe they aren't huge so much as they just take up a lot of the real estate in his mouth. I don't know. I'm not a teeth scientist. I just hope he doesn't ever have to get stitches in his lip like his Aunt Laura did when we were kids. I don't know how old she was, but she was pretty young. I would say four at the most. They stitched her up at the hospital and on the way out the door she chewed the stitches out. My parents had to turn around and take her right back in. Dumb Laura. I kid Laura. She's not dumb. But, man. That must have hurt. Maybe her lip was still numb or something. I don't know. Thinking about it is kind of making me want to pass out.
Waving is Gavin's new thing. And for those of you thinking, "Isn't 14 months a little late to be waving? Don't sign your kid up for MENSA or anything," I'll have you know that he used to wave back before he could even walk. They one day he just stopped. He was all, "I'm so over waving. Waving is so two months ago." But he's waving again now all of a sudden. His technique has changed a lot. Instead of just sticking his arm out and flopping it around in a rough approximation of a greeting or farewell, he now uses only his hand, twisting at the wrist pageant style. See for yourself.
Talking on the phone is another new trick. He's always loved the phone but up until recently it was all button pushing all the time. Now he holds the phone up to his ear as if he's actually talking and listening. Well, he IS actually talking. Usually very seriously. He makes really important calls. At daycare Shelly plays "phone" with the kids. In fact, the other day when Stacy went to pick Gavin up he was sitting on the floor with her and a little girl and Shelly held the phone out to the girl said, "It's your daddy." Then she held it out to him and said, "Gavin, it's Mama D." Pretty much one of my favorite day care stories ever. So, yeah, talking on the phone is my new teenage son's hobby. Calculators, too, will do in a pinch. He was walking around this morning with a pocket calculator up to his head yammering away. It took me a minute to realize that he thought it was a phone. Which makes sense since it's roughly the same size as my Blackberry and has a bunch of buttons on the front. He's also very fond of Aunt Laura's phone since she often leaves it in her unzipped purse.
I'm jealous because Gavin likes Aunt Laura better than he likes his Mama D, always giving her hugs and kisses. As Lisa pointed out, that's probably because she's still new and having her here is novel. "You," she said, "he expects to be there." This makes sense and is somewhat comforting.
Gavin and I have a big adventure planned for today: going to buy a new microwave since ours caught on fire last night. The enamel wore off and started to rust in this tiny spot on the inside of the door and what do you know, it was a blue spark light show. I suppose getting a new microwave is long overdue. I mean, for years we've only been able to use the "one touch cook" button, which basically means you can heat something for as long as you want so long as it's in 30 second increments and not longer than 4 minutes. A few of the number buttons still worked, but power outages were always a pain in the ass because we couldn't reset the clock until it was 5:55 or 8:55. We'd set the over timer to let us know when we were getting close. I mean, it was a lot of suspense and all, but that's all in the past now. It's time to move on. Oh, and did I mention that Stacy accidentally ground up a glass baby food jar in our garbage disposal? So that doesn't work any more, either. Actually, I take that back. It might work. But the fact that rotting-food-infested water now leaks out of the bottom via several different holes, we are choosing not to use it.
Gavin's been quiet for awhile now. I think he's actually asleep. Tuesday he took a morning nap but his afternoon nap was for shit. Hopefully today will be a good nap day. Man, I'd like to take one or two of those myself.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Thursday, Sept. 30, 2010: No way
Things I should never say to my son #43: "Honey, you're making Mama want to kill herself." Stacy also says I'm not allowed to say that to her. Fair enough! Point made. Let's move on and KEEP ON LIVING!
So, yeah, it was a rough day. Gavin, bless his heart (who ever says that re: someone they're not just about to complain about?), is growing like a mad man and his personality is getting bigger as his legs get longer and his mouth gets toothier. So when he's happy it's much more vibrant and intense. He's much more expressive. But when he's pissed, oh my, watch out. Happy Gavin is to a fireworks display what Angry Gavin is to a gas station on fire. And he has so much to get angry about now. For one thing, he's developing preferences. Take bananas, for instance. If there are bananas in the house and you want him to eat anything else you'd better hide the bananas. And hide them good. Putting them anywhere he can even think he sees a banana and it's scream city until you're slicing and quartering a Chiquita for him.
Another thing that drives him to the brink is The Art of the Possible. Specifically being aware of his limitations. Now when he wants to do something that he is not, say, tall or strong or coordinated enough to do he throws a fit. Not each and every time, mind you. If he's in a good mood he might just make some growling sounds and go about his day. But if he's tired or hungry, watch out. If he's tired and hungry, wear a helmet because it's going to be a bumpy ride. And speaking of bumpy, one of his new things is to bump his head against the wall or his crib rail or any other hard surface. Mostly he does it gently enough so that it doesn't seem to hurt, but other times he kicks it up a notch. I think he's just testing things out, figuring out what he can and can't control. Hitting his head is not new territory for my little bruiser, but it's always been something that's happened to him, not something he could make happen. So maybe that's an exciting discovery in baby world.
And then there's "No." A word he's hearing an awful lot of these days and liking less and less every time he hears it. "No," obviously, doesn't effectively communicate, "Don't put the computer cord in your mouth or you'll electrocute yourself and die and Mama will have to go to jail and/or an insane asylum and then who will take care of Henri?" Not that he would understand that. Still, "no" to Gavin just means "I don't want you to have any fun." He's got x-ray vision for any and all potential hazards in a room and heads straight for them. Exposed electrical socket? "No, Gavin, no touch." Crazy miniature poodle in a crate that's oh so fun to bang on? "No, Gavin, that's Henri's crate. He's resting." Paperclip on the floor? "No, Gavin, not for mouths" (or, if he's picked it up but is not putting in his mouth, "Oh, thank you, Gavin. Can you give that to me?" with a big smile and an outstretched palm. He likes this game a lot. For now). Most of these are followed by "the redirect," which currently consists of physically moving him somewhere else and attempting to get his attention focused on something else. "Let's play with your truck," or "Here's your walker, Gavin, run for your life."
I took Gavin to Kids Club at the gym today for the first time. I used the elliptical machine for a half hour while he played. Or at least I presume he played. When we arrived, three other kids, two sitting at a table coloring and one toddling around next to them, were there with one attendant. She did not volunteer her name and so I asked her and she told me but it wasn't a name familiar to me and I forgot it almost as soon as she said it. While she was checking Gavin in, the oldest girl, who was maybe 4 at the most, gave the youngest girl a crayon. Now, the youngest girl was about Gavin's age at most, though she seemed a little younger. She was clearly too young to have crayons. The attendant wasn't paying attention to her because she was busy with me, so I kept my eye on the girl in case she started to put the crayon in her mouth. I saw her write on the chair, but I didn't care about that. Thankfully the attendant turned and saw the contraband crayon and took it away. Gavin was kind of shy at first, not wanting to go in the door. I had to pick him up and step in with him. The attendant offered him a couple of trucks and he took one in each hand. When I got there to pick him up a half hour later he still had the trucks in his hands. He was the last kid out (Kids Club closes at noon and doesn't reopen again until 4. The hours aren't very convenient). The attendant was sitting on the carpet with him. He was really happy to see me and seemed happy in general. I think he had fun. But my faith in Kids Club is, at best, shaky.
So, yeah, it was a rough day. Gavin, bless his heart (who ever says that re: someone they're not just about to complain about?), is growing like a mad man and his personality is getting bigger as his legs get longer and his mouth gets toothier. So when he's happy it's much more vibrant and intense. He's much more expressive. But when he's pissed, oh my, watch out. Happy Gavin is to a fireworks display what Angry Gavin is to a gas station on fire. And he has so much to get angry about now. For one thing, he's developing preferences. Take bananas, for instance. If there are bananas in the house and you want him to eat anything else you'd better hide the bananas. And hide them good. Putting them anywhere he can even think he sees a banana and it's scream city until you're slicing and quartering a Chiquita for him.
Another thing that drives him to the brink is The Art of the Possible. Specifically being aware of his limitations. Now when he wants to do something that he is not, say, tall or strong or coordinated enough to do he throws a fit. Not each and every time, mind you. If he's in a good mood he might just make some growling sounds and go about his day. But if he's tired or hungry, watch out. If he's tired and hungry, wear a helmet because it's going to be a bumpy ride. And speaking of bumpy, one of his new things is to bump his head against the wall or his crib rail or any other hard surface. Mostly he does it gently enough so that it doesn't seem to hurt, but other times he kicks it up a notch. I think he's just testing things out, figuring out what he can and can't control. Hitting his head is not new territory for my little bruiser, but it's always been something that's happened to him, not something he could make happen. So maybe that's an exciting discovery in baby world.
And then there's "No." A word he's hearing an awful lot of these days and liking less and less every time he hears it. "No," obviously, doesn't effectively communicate, "Don't put the computer cord in your mouth or you'll electrocute yourself and die and Mama will have to go to jail and/or an insane asylum and then who will take care of Henri?" Not that he would understand that. Still, "no" to Gavin just means "I don't want you to have any fun." He's got x-ray vision for any and all potential hazards in a room and heads straight for them. Exposed electrical socket? "No, Gavin, no touch." Crazy miniature poodle in a crate that's oh so fun to bang on? "No, Gavin, that's Henri's crate. He's resting." Paperclip on the floor? "No, Gavin, not for mouths" (or, if he's picked it up but is not putting in his mouth, "Oh, thank you, Gavin. Can you give that to me?" with a big smile and an outstretched palm. He likes this game a lot. For now). Most of these are followed by "the redirect," which currently consists of physically moving him somewhere else and attempting to get his attention focused on something else. "Let's play with your truck," or "Here's your walker, Gavin, run for your life."
I took Gavin to Kids Club at the gym today for the first time. I used the elliptical machine for a half hour while he played. Or at least I presume he played. When we arrived, three other kids, two sitting at a table coloring and one toddling around next to them, were there with one attendant. She did not volunteer her name and so I asked her and she told me but it wasn't a name familiar to me and I forgot it almost as soon as she said it. While she was checking Gavin in, the oldest girl, who was maybe 4 at the most, gave the youngest girl a crayon. Now, the youngest girl was about Gavin's age at most, though she seemed a little younger. She was clearly too young to have crayons. The attendant wasn't paying attention to her because she was busy with me, so I kept my eye on the girl in case she started to put the crayon in her mouth. I saw her write on the chair, but I didn't care about that. Thankfully the attendant turned and saw the contraband crayon and took it away. Gavin was kind of shy at first, not wanting to go in the door. I had to pick him up and step in with him. The attendant offered him a couple of trucks and he took one in each hand. When I got there to pick him up a half hour later he still had the trucks in his hands. He was the last kid out (Kids Club closes at noon and doesn't reopen again until 4. The hours aren't very convenient). The attendant was sitting on the carpet with him. He was really happy to see me and seemed happy in general. I think he had fun. But my faith in Kids Club is, at best, shaky.
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