Thursday, July 24, 2014

Soon we will not be able to afford him

Science tells me that Mr. Man's stomach is roughly the size of his fist. However, in this particular instance, science has more work to do. Either my child is supporting a thriving colony of tapeworms or he has a small black hole in his abdomen...maybe it is the size of his fist.

You see, Mr. Man is a medical marvel. He seems to be able to eat half his weight in a single sitting.

I recently received a weekly email update that informed me not to panic if my toddler hardly seems to be eating anything. That's normal. And I laughed and laughed.

Though he had nursed only an hour before (yes, we are still doing that, but that's another post), Mr. Man ate this breakfast today:
Cheerios...chubby handful and chubby handful
Several (adult-sized) handfuls of blueberries
Some cherries
A whole banana
A couple (adult-sized) handfuls of toddler puffs
At least 1/2 a piece of his parents' plates
1/2 a sippy of milk

There were tears when we cut him off because dude, you might explode!

And did I mention he eats every two to three hours?? We've taken to buying Cheerios from Costco, you know the two-box special.

 Last night at dinner he ate an adult-sized serving of meatloaf, green beans, and bread.

Of course, this means he fills his diaper with adult-sized craps. So maybe that black hole hypothesis is totally off base.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

BAM, I have a toddler

Time is moving so fast and I've been swept away in an endless parade of moments. That's my excuse for not telling you about my baby turning 1. Or why you haven't heard about the construction of a mudroom or the summer-of-endless-painting that is currently occurring in my home. Similarly, I didn't tell you about my 11 month old's first steps (see, I can't even give you a half-hearted apology in chronological order), or his increasing (though largely incomprehensible) vocabulary. I didn't even have time to tell you about the Great Pipe Leak of June 2014, which cost $1000 and is responsible for the still existent two-foot hole in the concrete floor of my laundry room.

What can I say? It's almost the end of July and some part of my brain is insisting that's impossible. Where did May disappear to? How could June have flown by??

Damn physics, what with its continuous matter and energy and whatnot.

Anyway, we took our 1 year old on a trip to see all my husband's relatives. I'll skip right over the nearly 1700 miles spent in a car (did I mention we had a 1 year old with us???). It was a whirl-wind tour of some of America's least childproofed places on Earth. Also, there were relatives.*

*I joke. My husband's family is awesome and we had fun. Also, they owe me approximately 1 1/2 weeks worth of sleep and nearly 2 years of my life, which were stolen from me when Mr. Man nearly grabbed a cactus/ate a screw/touched live wires/etc.etc.

Mr. Man got to meet several cousins. He loved chasing his two year old cousin around using his little walking cart (yeah, he can walk, he just chooses not to most of the time and mommy is FINE with it) and was in awe of his older boy cousins, who blew me away with their gentle inclusion of him in their games.

Then we came home, but without our baby. Our baby had been replaced with a willful, opinionated toddler. Here are some examples:

Discipline prior to our trip: 
Baby crawls toward the dog's water bowl, stops, sits, points at it and says firmly, "no, don't!" Baby crawls away from water bowl. Parents smugly pat one another on back.

Discipline after our trip:
Baby crawls toward the dog's water bowl, shoves hand in bowl, and slaps water gleefully. Parents remove baby from area, firmly reminding said baby why we don't play with the dog's water. Baby immediately makes a beeline toward water bowl again. Parents use firm voice. Baby Boy-child looks back at parents while grinning, then moves twice as fast to water bowl and thrusts hands in water. Repeat.

Eating prior to our trip:
Baby eats everything given to him on his highchair tray. Requests more. Upset tone is occasionally used if parents do not put food on tray or in baby's mouth in a fast enough manner.

Eating after our trip:
Baby Boy-child is not satisfied with the food given to him. He eats it and insists on eating whatever his parents are eating. He makes his food preferences clear by spitting out a given food when he tires of it, pointing and using sign-language (why did we ever teach him this??) to indicate exactly what he wants more of. Increasingly loud protests are made if parents A) do not let him use the spoon, B) try to make him use the spoon, C) do not give him the food straight off their plates, D) do not let him use the napkin himself to wipe his own face, E) try to actually eat their own food, thereby neglecting said boy-child who is obviously starving to death in front of them, F) do not give him the sippy cup immediately when it is requested, or G) try to prevent him from flinging the sippy cup to the ground after each drink.

Additionally, food that is deemed not acceptable is put through the following ritual:
Step 1) Food is tasted and deemed unacceptable (note scrunched facial expression)
Step 2) Eye contact with parent is made
Step 3) Food is slowly thrust out of the mouth with tongue
Step 4) Similar food is picked up from tray with grubby fingers
Step 5) While maintaining eye contact, said food is held out above the floor
Step 6) Parents gently but firmly remind boy-child that we do not drop our food on the floor
Step 7) While maintaining eye contact, said food is slowly released from aforementioned grubby fingers and dropped ceremoniously to the floor
Step 8) Food floor must be pointed to no less than 10 times while uttering "no" and signing "more," astonished expression that food remains on the floor is optional

There are more examples, but I think you get the point. I don't know if it was the multiple near-death experiences or if he just had time for a good long think during our endless hours in the car, but Mr. Man has matured much faster than I ever dreamed possible. Unfortunately, the maturation process from baby to adulthood requires traveling through the carnival-mirror maze of toddlerhood. Of course, it brings a lot of intentional silliness, lots of kisses, a fascinating leap in reasoning**, and other adorable moments that keep you from wanting to abandon them on a desolate mountain peak.

**For those of you who have not been around a toddler, this is akin to a tiger learning to pick locks.

But speaking of moments, this one is up and I need to get back to the hectic pace of a working mother. Hopefully I have time to stop in and tell you about our experiences again before Mr. Man graduates from high school.

Monday, June 16, 2014

Airing my clean, if rather well-used, laundry

So. I have a problem. With my underwear.

You still there? Then let's dive in shall we...yeah, that just isn't an okay thing to say about my underwear. It's VIP down in those skivvies, but I digress.

My underwear are falling apart. The whole set (is that what you call your underwear collection?) is popping its elastic and basically disintegrating before my very eyes.

I know what you are thinking. Go buy some new underwear you weirdo. That totally makes sense, but I can't.

You see, YEARS ago I bought some underwear from Target and they were the. best. underwear. ever.

They were so comfortable. So barely-there-I-don't-even-notice-them that I immediately went and bought more.

Then time passed. The seasons changed. Laundry was laundered, again and again. Inevitably my underwear reached that stage when it needed to be replaced. So, I went to Target and, you guessed it, no such underwear were for sale.

No big deal, I thought to myself. I'll order more online. BUT (or butt, if you prefer), one of the reasons these underwear are so comfortable is that all the info is printed on them rather than on a tag. And (some of you already know where this is going, the rest of you are still wondering how I can write a whole post about my underwear) the print had mostly been laundered away. There is, of course, just enough of the print there that I have spent much too much time trying to decipher it. That's right. I sit on my bed and stare at my underwear. What??

I have tried to wear other underwear. The end result is that I have an underwear drawer full of underwear I only wear if my good (falling apart) underwear are all dirty.*

*Note: I use the word dirty here to mean in need of washing, not, you know, dirty. I'm fully potty trained. Promise.

I don't know what to do. I really, really,really want more of these same underwear. After years of comfort I can't go back to wearing wedgie-prone, twisting, slipping, uncomfortable undergarments. I CAN'T DO IT! 

You might think I'm being ridiculous. That just goes to show that you are clearly wearing sub-par underwear. If you'd slipped these babies on, you'd be right there with me (In attitude, not in my underwear, because I would not risk stretching these things out, which would surely happen if you climbed in them with me. Also, that would be really awkward.). I don't know what to do. It's not like a favorite pair of jeans that you can just launder less frequently so that they last longer.

I'm not so crazy that I'm going to re-wear my underwear before I wash them. But I am crazy enough that I've let this go on so long my husband has pointed out that I need to replace my underwear. If a man says an article of clothing needs replaced you know you've let it go too far; after all, most of the men I know own at least one article of clothing that meets the technical definition of rags.**

**Usually that article of clothing has a beer logo on it.

There really isn't any solution that I can think of. Unless one of you has a time machine I could borrow? I would almost kill to go back in time and buy a lifetime supply from that long-ago Target. If you do have a time machine and a person you need taken out, go ahead and give me a call. I'd consider it.