From the Mouth of a Potty-Trained Babe

She's scratching her tummy, so I ask, "Whacha up to, Claudia?"

"I'm buttoning myself," she replies, tapping her belly button as if to show I should have surmised this much.

Seen & Heard

My husband and I recently served on a panel for an Engaged Retreat. We sat and offered expertise on marriage based on our accumulated 19 months.

One of the anonymously submitted questions:

"Why is it wrong to watch porn together if you are both OK with it?"

We didn't have time to answer all the questions, and this one somehow slipped through the cracks. Any answers?

Hypo-optimac

(Noun) Grandma who breaks her glasses in an effort to gain attention from the optical staff

True Story

And we're running through the department store as she yells, "I'm pooping! I'm pooping!" and I yell, "Don't poop! Don't poop!" and then finally we're there in the bathroom and there's no accident and we're both so proud.

Talk about job satisfaction!

10 Months Old

Dear Tommy,

You're 10 months + 5 days old today, and to celebrate, I'm looking back at a picture of you from near-birth. You're snuggling up with Miss Kate, undoubtedly looking for a bit of nursing from the wrong Ma. This is a habit you've embraced throughout your infancy, although now you're a bit more overt----instead of just snuggling, you ferociously bite whomever holds you. It's a little alarming, my love.



Despite your sharp snappers, you're growing into such an loveable, alert, brilliant, and humorous young man. Each morning, you rise at 5:30 AM and I groan in exhaustion. Can't I just sleep in until 6, Tommy? I can't be mad, though: you climb into bed with me and lounge around until you decide it's time for your first daily ritual---climbing over our mound of pillows towards the blinds in the bedroom. The blinds give you such great joy, Tommy. You pull them forward and they SNAP back at the windowpane with a tremendous noise. You laugh and laugh and laugh. Sometimes I think this activity could last for hours, but it's time for breakfast.



Speaking of breakfast, you've really moved onto the Big Kid stuff lately. You usually either eat oatmeal or Cheerios with milk and bananas. Some of your other eating habits are not quite as mature: at dinner last night, you decided you didn't want to eat the tortilla we'd ripped up for you, so you steathily took the pieces and snuck your hand into your lap. We saw you dropping those pieces onto the floor, Tommy. We're onto you. You Love Milk. Anything dairy, actually. Lately, you are consumed by such great thirst that just seeing anyone POUR liquid into a glass transforms you into an insatiable roaring lion. Your curl your tiny fingers into fists and literally growl until a cup is brought to your lips. It's endearing.

Your attention span is growing such that a toy now occupies you for about 2 minutes at max. (Prior to this month, it was maybe 20 seconds.) You like to investigate the manufacturer tags on items.

You like to investigate everything.

You are mobile in a way I couldn't have believe until I saw it unfold. We construct impediments all over the house so you can't get into dangerous things, and you pull, push, or wiggle your way through any obstruction. In Grandma M's living room, we've used large tupperware bins to block off dangerous outlets and corners in the seating area. If I leave you in there for 60 seconds, you've discovered one TINY crevice big enough to scuttle 1/2 your body through. You wriggle yourself in there and are promptly stuck between couches til I return.

I can see that your mobility is about to explode into a new level even beyond this, though, as you have recently stood---first with my help, and now on your own. You smile that big, dimpled grin and your eyes just light up with pride.



It seems like the list could go on and on this month, my kiddo. In the springtime sunshine, we're constantly exploring new terrain. It's as if a new world has opened up for you this month....what is grass? What are leaves? Do they taste good? Can I eat your shoe? I know these are the burning questions in your mind.



Among your many talents, you're now clapping and waving and kissing and...well, now I'm just turning into a bragging mom. I love you, Tommy. I can't believe my love as a mom is growing faster than even you are.

Yours to the moon and back,
Mom

Nature or Nurture? My Son, the Coquette

At the tender age of about 4 months, Tommy started exhibiting Fear of Strangers. Initially, I was mortified. Sure, I want my kids to be who they are and everything like that, but I have to admit that I really want Tommy to be friendly and a great conversationalist with others. (Does that make me a bad mom?)

Anyway, as you might surmise, I feared Tommy's shyness doomed him to a fate of eternal shyness. To counter this, I'd tickle him when he met strangers, so he'd smile* and they'd think, "Wow, what an outgoing boy."

I'm not sure if it was nature or nurture, but Tommy the Introverted has been outed. That is, he's now an Extrovert. While shopping at an unnamed outlet mall today, I noted my son flirting with no less than 20 women. He's pretty coy about it, actually: he snuggles his chin and face into me as if to FEIGN shyness, but then he pops out his head with the most adorably flirtatious grin.

And the grin keeps coming.

Tommy is visibly upset when we are forced to move on to a new store, as it means diverting eye contact from his ladies.

I think I've created a monster.

*Some might read this and misconstrue it as a manipulative effort to force personality traits upon my son. It was.

First Day Standing

First Day Standing 41106
Originally uploaded by xuarrac.

Public Bathrooms

I had to get a little distance from this topic before I could write about it. It's one of those.

Last week, the Gkids came over for a round o' fun, except that Claudia is on the post-potty training brink. I was suspicious about how much fun would be had, but my concerns were assuaged when Claudia announced immediately upon arriving, "I have to go pee on the potty!" Dutifully, I took Claudia upstairs and granted her some privacy so she could use the toilet and admire her Cinderella underwear.

Hours later, the novelty of Grandma's potty had worn off. I caught a whiff of something potently offensive, and naively assumed it was my own child. "I'm going to change Tommy's diaper," I told Claudia. "He's poopy."

"Poopy?" Claudia repeated. She seemed to be considering that as I walked away.

When I got to the changing station, I found Tommy wasn't in need of a diaper change, but---still way too naively---I assumed he'd just passed some gas. Moments later, Claudia was rushing towards me, pulling her pants and Cinderella underpants down in a state of complete panic. "Poop in the pants!! Poop in the pants!!! Aaaaaaaaahhh!"

Check that. I still don't think I have enough distance to make the 'ol remove-poop-from-the-pants-sterilize-the-bathroom-bathe-the-niece-while-anticipating-more-poop-in-the-bathtub-and-a-later-episode-of-seven-pee-puddles-in-the-bedroom entirely comical.

More better, though:

Yesterday, I was on the phone with my sister when she started in with a serious scolding. Scolding while on the phone is common in the mom club, so I didn't think too much of it until her tone was really rising, "William James!!! What are you doing!!!? Get back in here!!! Pull your pants up!!!"

Apparently, Will had decided it was too nice of a day to waste a second of sunshine. He'd taken a potty break on the front porch.

And It's Gonna Be Bright and Sunny Today!

Tommy has a toy remote control (how manly) that you can flip to the weather station. A man with an annoyingly high-pitched voice says, without fail, "And it's gonna be bright and sunny today!"

Yesterday, and today, it's true.

Except that Tommy and I are sick like dogs. I hate to be a whiner, but I am the youngest child. Isn't it officially spring? Doesn't that mean the cold and flu season is Over? When I signed up for the 2am shift, why didn't I consider the possibility that I might be coughing uncontrollably and dying for sleep-recovery of my own?

Poor Tommy. He's having the scary-high baby fevers and he rests his head heavily on my shoulder. That always indicates a problem, since he'd usually rather be scooting towards the nearest outlet. Or pulling Grandma's tablecloth off the table so the huge vase comes crashing down.*


*Grandchild in a Disaster Zone coming to theatres near you soon.

She-S-P

While shoe shopping recently, I spotted a clearance pair of serious spunk.

"I noticed those, too, except for one thing..." My friend replied. I nodded.

"Toe cleavage."