Friday, October 31, 2008
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Name: Tiny Man Ourlastname
Aliases: Baby Brother, Ruler of the Universe
Hair: Some, but will probably lose it. Currently brown, but may be a future hot blonde.
Eyes: Very dark blue.
Best features: Butt, when it's not shooting poop at Mama's hand; ear hair; kissable lips.
Heroes: Little Man and the inventor of the pacifier.
Hobbies: Nursing, sleeping, throwing gang signs, snuggling with my Mama, watching my brother play sports.
Interested In: Women who like to eat a lot, someone to take naps with, someone who'll hold the pacifier in my mouth so it stops falling out.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Here are some excerpts from Tiny Man's full horoscope. I know some people don't believe in this stuff, and I'm not one to read my daily horoscope in the paper, but Little Man's full horoscope, that takes all planets into place is actually very accurate. And so it's nice to get a peek into Tiny Man's potential personality. Either way, the point is, I'm screwed.
Exhibit A: "You are also very magnetic, especially to members of the opposite sex."
Exhibit B: "You have penetrating insight into people and a keen eye and ear for the hidden, unspoken, behind-the-scenes elements in life."
Exhibit C: "There is also a sexual quality in your manner which can be quite alluring, in a subtle way."
Exhibit D: "You express a spirit of cooperation and compromise and often achieve through charm and discretion what would have been impossible to achieve by a direct, forceful approach."
Considering that only 8 days after his birth, he's already got me wrapped around his little finger, because, and don't any of you dare say that it's gas, Tiny Man actually smiles at me. He looks me right in the eye and smiles when I make noises at him. And I end up throwing things at him that I think he might want, like chocolate, Ferraris and strippers.
I thought Little Man had me figured out, but I suspect that he's been giving his little brother lessons when they're in the backseat of my Liberty and I'm in the front rocking out to Pink's new song, completely oblivious to thir plotting.
And now, the horoscope tells me that in 14 years, I'll be fighting girls off with a stick all freaking day. Which will seriously cut into my scrapbooking and drinking time, damn it.
I guess I shouldn't be too surprised, since he also has this face, besides the animal magnetism.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
A week ago, my doctor slit me open like a fish, pushed on my ginormous stomach, and out popped this amazing tiny human being.
Yet, I've only felt like a mother of two since Friday afternoon, when I left the cocoon of my hospital and came home to reality.
The weekend was rough, I won't lie. Tiny Man, who was brought to me only twice a night for feedings by the nursery nurses, suddenly decided that he. must. eat. all. night. long.
I couldn't put the kid down. Seriously, the second I did, he'd rouse, root and want to feed again. I suddenly became a human Las Vegas buffet. Except I didn't even charge $2.99 for all-you-can-eat shrimp cocktail. I fell asleep nursing more than once, and by Sunday afternoon, I was already so exhausted that during a diaper change, I put the dirty diaper back on Tiny Man, complete with dirty wipes in it, and didn't notice that suddenly Tiny Man had some serious bootyliciousness going on, until I noticed the new diaper still sitting on the changing table.
Yesterday, Tiny Man had a pediatrician's visit to get weighed, as he'd dropped more than 10 ounces during his first three days, bringing him right around the acceptable 10 percent limit that they like to see weight drop. For the record? I would have killed to lose 10 percent of my body weight in three days, but alas, my doctor ignored my pleas for a tummy tuck while she was stitching me up.
But this is about Tiny Man. Ends up that my non-stop feeder? Only gained an ounce in three days. So we're back at the pediatrician on Friday.
It's funny, I always thought that I'd be less stressed with baby number two, and about a number of things, I am. But when it comes to health stuff? I'm even more neurotic than with Little Man, because when your first baby is perfectly healthy, you almost think you're more likely to have something wrong with the second one. So when I noticed a lump on the bottom of Tiny Man's rib cage, I was convinced that the weight loss was a sign that he had something seriously wrong, the 'c'-word even entered my mind and I sobbed for a while.
Apparently? All newborns have that lump and apparently I was just too euphoric/sick with Little Man to notice his.
After the pediatrician's appointment, Tiny Man and I went back to the hospital for a follow-up visit with the lactation consultant. And that's where I came to find out that my master latcher? Is actually a pretty inefficient eater. And so when he's nursing for an hour? He's actually only taking in maybe an ounce of milk total, which means he's expanding as many calories as he's taking in, and by nighttime, he's starving.
So Tiny Man is now in breastfeeding bootcamp, I get to manhandle my boobs in ways that should mean that when I reach the six-week mark all husbands count down to, nipple clamps will no longer seem terrifying to me, because seriously, they've got to hurt less than the way I'm beating the shit out of my boobies.
Tiny Man is now cut off at the 40-minute mark and gets a bottle of pumped breast milk with some formula after every nursing session. We spent all of yesterday doing this and last night, Tiny Man went down at 10 p.m. At 2 a.m., I woke up because I had to pee and nearly peed myself right there and then, realizing that I'd gotten a full four-hours of sleep.
One good feeding later, Tiny Man was back down, and had to be woken up at 7:30 a.m. so that I could change him, feed him and get him in the car to take his big brother to school.
I woke up one freaking time. Do you know how momentous this is? Do you know how much of a skip in my step I have today? Do you know how if it wasn't for the fact that I'm not allowed to exercise and the fact that I don't know how to do a backflip, I would totally be doing backflips right now.
Don't get me wrong, my hormones aren't completely normal, like there was an incident yesterday afternoon, where I sobbed next to my sleeping newborn for an hour, because I couldn't figure out how to put the new shields that my lactation consultant had sold me on my breast pump. And I knew the whole time that I was being psycho, but I still continued to sob into my pillow, like the time I was 14 and Sebastian, who I was madly in love with, told me I looked like a monkey.
But today is a new day, my breast pump works, Tiny Man should have put on a decent amount of weight by Friday and when I weighed myself at the pediatrician's office, I'd already lost 13 pounds. Considering that I was 30 pounds overweight when I got pregnant, this means that I'm now 40 pounds away from where I want to be. One pound at a time, baby.
All is good. Because look what I get to stare at all day.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Ever since he attended his big brother class, Little Man has been dying for the opportunity to give Little Man a bottle. Almost every day for the past month, he'd ask me "can I give baby brother a bottle today?" Which would put me in an awkward place and have me explain that Tiny Man was actually not born yet.
With nursing working out so great, Little Man watched me breastfeed his baby brother for the first couple of days, which led to many inquisitive questions from my favorite three-year old that basically meant "what the hell are you doing to my brother?"
On Wednesday night, after a day that was filled with way too much nursing, Tiny Man had literally sucked me dry and was angry because the gas pump was empty. I asked the nursery to bring me a little formula to supplement him, and figured that at the same time, I would let Little Man give him a small bottle the next day, thinking this would make him very excited and involved.
Little Man showed up yesterday and was excited to see me and Tiny Man and asked right away to hold him. I turned to him and said "guess what! You can feed Baby Brother today, if you want to!"
Little Man froze, stared at me, perturbed, and said quietly "I don't think he'll like my boobies."
Since I was waiting for my pain killers to be brought to me at that time, I can't even explain to you how painful that laughter was.
Once I stopped laughing hysterically, I told him that he'd in fact be using a bottle. Little Man's whole face flooded with relief and he simply said "oh, that's a good idea."
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
So I did it. Yesterday, Sweetie Pie drove me to the hospital, we walked in as a family of three and now, I sit here just two doors from the nursery that contains my new man. He's gorgeous and perfect and the most incredible newborn there ever was. And I know you might think I'm biased here, just a little bit, but I swear to you, if you could meet this kid, you too would think to yourself "man, these newborns are pretty freaking cool."
I guess things are different this time. I mean, first of all, I didn't get sick like I did with my first pregnancy, we successfully kept the HELLP Syndrome at bay, which makes me feel like a freaking superhero, because that bitch of a HELLP Syndrome is mean and evil and hard to avoid once you've had it before.
But Tiny Man and I did. We avoided it, and I got to be awake during my c-section, even though I was so tired from being up since 3 in the morning from the excitement, that I almost fell asleep a couple of times. Yes, only I would find a c-section relaxing...
Tiny Man came out pissed off and had no issues telling the nurses that he did not appreciate being ripped out of his warm and comfy womb without being asked.
And then the rest of the day just rolled on by, choreographed so perfectly that my only issue was that I couldn't connect to the Internet from my room, and so had to take a quickie picture with my iPhone to send to my folks and to the fantastic
AFF who was awesome and posted for me yesterday so that you guys would know the news quickly.
So what is there to say about this little guy?
He's literally the best baby that was ever born. You guys know me, you know how much I love Little Man. I'm sure that the fact that I know what I'm doing as a mother helps this time, but this kid? Freaking does everything by himself. I swear, right now, he just went downstairs to have a cigarette, and he didn't even ask for my help in figuring out the lighter's childproofing.
I've talked about my breastfeeding issues with Little Man. He and I were a disaster together. We tried, oh how we tried, but he didn't know how to latch, and I wasn't producing and he and I would end in tears every two hours and despite hours spent with many lactation consultants, I was forced to pump and bottle feed and after 8 weeks, I dried up and that was the end of that miserable experience. And I was fine with it, because I had tried, and that was all I could do.
This time, I was ready to try again and I hoped I'd be successful, but I wasn't going to beat myself up if I wasn't.
When it came time to feed Tiny Man for the first time, I demanded the presence of a lactation consultant, after all, I had no clue what I was doing, really. But my new son, he scoffed at me, called me ridiculous and latched himself on, no effort, like a marine who'd been fighting battles for years.
So even though I continue to fumble and worry that I'm not holding him in the right position, my Tiny Man doesn't care. "Just get me near that boob, lady," he tells me. "And I'll take care of business."
He makes me look good. He makes me feel like I'm Angelina Jolie and like I'm a natural at this and should be on the cover of W Magazine. He makes me feel like I can take on the world, that I can do anything. He makes me want to work even harder at being the best mother I can be.
He's got my fingernails, his dad's chin and hair so straight, it looks like we've been electrocuting him for entertainment in between feedings. His eyes are so dark blue, that we thought they were brown originally. He's got a double chin, thighs that demand to be devoured whole and toes the length of fingers.
He's enraptured all of us, and now, 40 minutes shy of his one-day birthday, I can barely remember life before him.
Little Man came to visit us yesterday afternoon and the staff had given us great advice on handling the introduction. Little Man got to go fetch his baby brother from the nursery and push him down the hall to our room, after visiting with me alone for a while.
Little Man declared his brother was small and pretty cute. He then agreed that we should keep him. When Tiny Man began to cry, Little Man petted his head and told him not to cry, that everything would be ok. He then offered him his new Matchbox tractor. I know it won't always go that well, but for a first visit, I couldn't have imagined it going any better.
Today, I sit in a hospital bed, but it might as well be cloud nine, because life? It's pretty freaking awesome. And this little guy?
Gets to come home with us in a few days. If that doesn't make me the luckiest woman in the world, than I don't know what does.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Hi. It's AFF here, and I'm pleased as punch to share my dear IRL friend Catwoman's exciting news: He's here!
I actually just got off the phone with Catwoman herself (She sounded damn good for having just had a c-section - lemme tell ya!) & she was very put out with the craptacular hospital internet service. The only picture she was able to use was the one from her iPhone, apparently. I will be heading up to the hospital tomorrow to check on mom & boy personally, and I will be sure to take some serious baby shots. Cause although I take crap for pictures, Mr Canon makes them seem Vogue-a-licious.
Congratulations to the Catpeople! And, especially to the new big brother. Little Man, you so have got this one.
Name: Tiny Man Catperson
DOB: October 21, 2008
Time: 7:54 am (CST)
Weight: 7 pounds
Length: 20 inches
If you want to compare the newborn boys, Little Man's is HERE.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Ever since moving to the bigger kids' class in early September, Little Man has taken to talking in a baby voice at times. We're guessing this is his way of regressing, that he's hoping that people will go "oh, this kid talks like a baby, he must belong in the smaller class", letting him be moved back with his old teacher who he was totally infatuated with.
This baby talk has driven Sweetie Pie and I bonkers, and we've done everything from ignoring it, to threatening him, to dunk his head in the toilet. We actually haven't tried to last tactic, we're saving it for other behaviors that will drive us nuts, like when he decides he wants to be a white rapper.
This morning, we went to the local monthly market, where people sell all sorts of crap and puppy mills are out in mass trying to convince people that buying a six-week old puppy for $300 that sits miserably in a cage with chicken wire on the bottom is a great idea. I'm now stepping off the soap box.
Anyway, Little Man got tired of walking around and asked to be picked up, so Sweetie Pie carried him on his shoulders for a few minutes, until Little Man spotted a stand with all sorts of toddler-appealing junk in it and demanded to be put down.
Little Man: "Abajo!"
Sweetie Pie: "Little Man, I swear to you, I'm not going to tolerate this baby talk any longer, use real words."
Me: "Uhm, he said 'abajo.' That's Spanish for down. You just yelled at your son for using his Spanish correctly."
Little Man, looking at me: "Can I get abajo now?"
The look in his eyes said "dude, why the hell would you keep procreating with this man who doesn't even know the Spanish word for down?"
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
So I've now been on maternity leave for 8 days now. Which is crazy, because people, do you know how much it's flown by already? Some of you have accused me of being a bad blogger, and that's true, I have, but if you knew how hectic work has been for the last few months, you'd totally cut me some slack. Oh wait, I'm forgetting who I'm talking to, I should know that blogging should always come before anything else.
I thought that once I'd go on maternity leave, I'd have all the time in the world for blogging again, but this is literally the first day that I have time to just sit on the couch and do nothing.
And when I say do nothing, I mean that I'm ignoring the fact that the cleaning lady will be here in exactly 2 hours, and I haven't picked up the arsenal of toys in the living room, haven't hidden the arsenal of adult toys in the bedroom and haven't moved the four boxes of Little Man's clothes I packed up yesterday into the attic so that the hallway can actually be vaccuumed. Oh, and I also have a load of laundry that needs to be put into the dryer (which needs to be emptied) before it sours. And the dishwasher needs emptying. And the kitchen needs to be cleaned. Also? I've got important papers that need to be faxed from Sweetie Pie's office, the chicken needs to be cut up and marinated for tonight (tandoori chicken, YUM!) and I'll need to check work emails again, because so far, in 8 days, they have proven that they can't live without me, which I admit, makes my ego very, very happy, although it annoys the crap out of the rest of me, since I spent almost a full-day writing hand-off documents that thoroughly documented every little thing I do, including important tasks like silently passing gas in my cube and fanning it so it smells like it's coming from somewhere else.
I have, however accomplished quite a bit during the past 8 days. I've now spent more than $500 worth of gift cards given to me at my work baby shower, which can I tell you? The only thing more fun than a shopping spree is one paid for with gift cards given to you, oh the thrill, the fun, the no guilt! It saddens me that I'll probably never get to do that again. I've installed the infant seat and the mirror that allows me to
obsessively occasionally check on the new addition while I'm driving. I ordered and have now received two Britax Marathons for when the new addition outgrows the infant seat. I've washed about 350,000 infant outfits, receiving blankets, swaddlers, spit up pads, bibs and other things I'd forgotten were even needed, all which have been boxed up in the attic for three years now. I washed the bassinette cover. I've gotten my eyebrows done, part one of my six-part plan to look hawt in the pictures right after my c-section, my revenge for looking so almost-dead in the pics after Little Man's birth. The next parts will be occuring during the next few days, where I will be getting a hair cut, a manicure, a pedicure, a prenatal massage and having many more McDonald's lunches so that I may win the million dollars at their highly addictive Monopoly game (now with online game so that I can be even more obsessed!)
Sweetie Pie is highly annoyed with me. He likes to remind me that due to my regular spotting, I'm supposed to practically be on bedrest, per my doctor, but seriously, people, this is me hardly doing anything. If I did anything less, I'd be dead. I don't know how to sit still. It's like when I'm at the doctor's office and they take my blood pressure and they always tell me to relax my arm and I have to tell them that this is me relaxed. Is is just me? I think that if I were ever put on bed rest, I'd probably die of shock. I mean, seriously, I'm a little bit like Speedy Gonzales, where my idea of sitting still is your idea of running a marathon. I guess this is why they always call me high energy at work. Which always amuses me, because to me, this is normal. My entire family is like this. Hell, I'm actually the most relaxed one in the family, the one who's least high strung. They call me the zen one.
When I'm not busy doing everything that needs to be done, I'm busy having mild heart attacks at the realization that in exactly six days, I will be cradling a newborn baby in my arms. No longer will I watch my belly ripple as I type blog entries from my couch. No longer will I watch a small tiny butt push itself through my belly button, so that I become this lobsided beach ball.
Can I just say right now how much I love to be pregnant. A part of me knows that more than likely, this is the last time I will ever experience the magic of pregnancy. This saddens me tremendously, because for the most part (you know, except for that part at the end where my body goes fuck this and shuts down my liver and stops forming blood platelets) my body can do two things very well: grow fantastic boobs (it only had to do this once, don't let me fool you into thinking its something I do regularly, like a lizard re-generating a tail) and pregnancy.
I'm a really lucky pregnant woman. I did have some morning sickness at the beginning of this pregnancy, but nothing debilitating. I was able to do my job. Sure I was dead tired at times, but what mother isn't tired? But even now, at 37.5 weeks, I'm still super comfortable. I can still move swiftly from place to place, I feel like I'm 30 pounds lighter than I am. I still can sleep comfortably for the most part and wake up to pee only once a night. I'm happy, I've got this awesome glow to me, and I feel like I have this aura that shines a block away from me, lighting my path everywhere I go. I'm happy, I'm loving life and even the odd comment about how big I am make me giggle. Life is good, life is brilliant, and I get to enjoy this whole process and get a freaking cool prize in the end. How fantastic is that?
If you had to step away from the screen halfway through that post to throw up from the overly sickening sweetness of it all, I don't blame you. I think I would too if I weren't me.
Monday, October 13, 2008
I've never been a girlie girl. Not growing up, where despite my attempts at ballet, where I had the grace of a tutued hippo, not now where my idea of full make up is pressed powder, some mascara and some light lipstic. I was a guys girl growing up, and it's only recently, when I became a mom, that I began to have more girl friends than guy friends.
So I would think that I understand men better than most women, and yet? I'm realizing that I really, really don't know anything at all. And now that I have one son and another one arriving only 8 days from now? I'm thinking that I'm going to find out even more regularly how little I know.
Here are the latest things I will never understand about men:
How poop can become so entertaining at such a young age. Yesterday, I was playing play-doh with Little Man, and I was playing with the brown play-doh. He promptly decided that my creation was a piece of poop. And then laughed hysterically. Because poop is funny, duh. And even funnier than poop? Is 15 minutes of poop talk until your Maman threatens to throw out all of the brown play-doh, not just in the house, but the entire world's brown play-doh stock.
Every woman knows that men are physically unable to hear any sentence that comes out of our mouth, unless they involve "you wanna have sex?", "I'm so drunk right now and I think I forgot to put panties on" and "I grilled you a steak and also, I'm naked." This is nothing any woman who's been within 1,500 feet of a man at any point in her life doesn't already know. But it seems that this sensory inability affects other senses as well. Like take last night. Little Man wakes up at 2:30 in the morning, crying. Natch, make that hysterically sobbing. This is not an unheard of incident in our house, Little Man tends to have bad dreams, he is the child who can no longer go to any restaurant where "happy birthday" is sung, because OMG! The singing! And the clapping! It's freaking frightening. No? That's just my kid? Huh.
Anyway, back to the point. So Little Man? Was crying. It was 2:30 in the morning. Sweetie Pie gets up, because you know what? I'm 37 weeks pregnant with a belly that sticks out front far enough to deserve it's own zip code (and my ass still looks great, thank you very much) and the man weighs 25 pounds less than I do. He can get his freaking ass up. Sweetie Pie comes back to bed two minutes later, and no sound emanates from upstairs. Until right before 5 a.m. where Little Man begins screaming again and this time he says he needs his Mama. I get up and when I get to the bottom of the stairs, this horrible stench hits my nostrils. Despite being half asleep, my brain begins right away praying that I'm not really smelling poop. As I
glide gracefully up the stairs grunt all the way up the stairs, the smell keeps strengthening, until I feel like the lack of clean air is putting my unborn child in harm's way.
I bravely make my way to Little Man's room and as he looks at me, I ask the question that I've never thought I'd ever need to ask: "Did you poop yourself?" And even in the dark night, I can see the very distinct nodding of a little blonde head. The underwear goes straight to the trash on the curb, because that ain't getting anywhere near my washing machine. As I begin to clean up my child's poop-smeared bottom, it becomes very clear that a lot of it is dried solid and that my poor child has been made to sleep with diarrea for a few hours.
How can anyone not smell a diarrhea filled pajama pant? I don't care that it's two in the morning and that you're not awake yet, I'd literally smelled landfills that didn't make my eyes water as much as this kid did last night. But when I lividly asked my husband about it the next morning, he said he didn't notice anything. I wonder if he'd notice if I beat him to a pulp with a baseball bat.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
So apparently? I've freaked a few of you out. Because I've been kind of missing for a week or so.
And I really, really apologize sincerely, because I've read blogs where people disappeared at inopportune times and I worried that they were dead or something bad had happened, or I wondered if they'd had the baby and when I'd get to find out.
Somehow, I've become one of those people. And I apologize for that, my faithful readers. I've been on maternity leave for two days now. You'd think I'd have nothing better to do than write blog posts. But somehow, life has been even more hectic than at work.
Which, by the way, I'm sitting in my cube right now as we speak. I really know how to re-define maternity leave, don't I? But see, I had two hours to kill in between dropping off Little Man and a lunch appoinment and work was the most convenient place to go. So I'm checking emails and working to wrap up my two projects that I refuse to let go off.
And I wonder why my VP told me on Monday when I mentioned to him that I'd be swinging by the office fo an hour on Friday in between dropping off Little Man at school and my doctor's appointment that I seriously need a hobby.
Which, maybe I do. But I figure in 12 days (oh dear God... Twelve freaking days, how did this HAPPEN???) I guess I will have a hobby.
So in conclusion, everything is good. My belly's got its own zip code, but I've still got the energy of a toddler hyped up on caffeine and sugar. The baby is still growing safely inside my tummy. Little Man has not had to wear anymore pink shirts, although he is convinced that once upon a time, he was a brown baby, not a white one. Because he's decided brown babies are cuter.
I will post more if not tomorrow, than over the weekend.
Life will slow down enough for me to become a good little blogger again.
Hopefully you'll be here when I do that.
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Even though this monthly letter isn't on an official birthday, it feels very momentous to me, simply because this is the last time I'm doing this when you are still an only child.
By the time you reach 38 months, your baby brother will be here. And associated with that comes a flurry of emotions for me, including excitement, of course, because it will be so great for you to have a buddy. But then I feel like I am betraying you, I worry you will think that you weren't enough for us and that we wanted another baby. The guilt I feel is tremendous, even though I know that in the end, your brother will be a blessing for all of us.
This month, you began a baseball class on the weekends, and this is the first time I've been able to watch you in a class setting. I thought it would take you a few classes to warm up to the coach and the other kids in the class, but you took to it like a fish to water. I sat on the sidelines and watched you and my heart practically burst during the entire 45 minutes.
You've definitely inherited my eager-beaver attitude. Your coach barely had a chance to introduce herself, that you jumped out of your skin and yelled at her "I'M LITTLE MAN OURLASTNAME!" Whenever she'd ask the group a question, you'd practically jump into her arms and yell your response. I laughed harder during that class than I had all week and as excited as you are about going back next week, no one is as excited as I am, because once again, I'll get to watch you do what you do when I'm usually not around. And it's like discovering this whole other side of you. And I can't think of anything cooler than seeing new facets of this little human being I know better than just about anyone else, this little human that I helped create.
I went on a business trip for five days last week, which has never been an issue in the past, but for some reason, you took my leaving extremely hard this time. Your school called me on my second day, when I was in a hotel room half-way across the country to tell me they thought you were sick, because you'd been asking for me and sobbing all day.
My heart broke and the little fun the trip involved was completely sucked out right there and then. I asked your principal to put you on the phone and I talked to you for a while, telling you that I would be coming back soon and that I needed you to be brave and that I wanted you to have fun while I was gone, my words only punctuated by your sobs and sniffles. After I hung up with you, I cried so hard. And once again, I worried about your brother's pending arrival and the fact that I would be turning your entire world upside down. I'm going to be telling you this many times for many weeks, months or years to come. I love you. You'll always be my favorite first-born. You're my big boy, my rock, my fashion adviser and my huggable monkey.
You're my sweet, sweet boy, the one who laughs with me when the dog does something stupid. The one who gets the hiccups because he laughs too hard when the dog does something stupid.
My love for you won't change in 19 days. Just like my love for you won't change in 19 years.
I love you. You represent the best parts of me. You amaze me every single day. Even when you won't sleep through the night, I love waking up to you sleeping next to me. Your little face so peaceful, your soft breathing the only sound in the room, it's the most peaceful feeling in the world.
And no one, not even your brother can ever take that away.
I love you, my Little Man,
Wednesday, October 01, 2008
I showed up to pick up Little Man at school yesterday and found him in the library reading a book. Nothing unusual there. Little Man loves library time. What was unusual is that instead of finding my son in his school uniform, which consists of navy blue shorts and a white polo, I found him in his emergency powder blue cotton shorts (no idea where they came from, but there's a reason why they've been relegated to school emergency shorts) with an inside-out fushia shirt.
I give you Evidence A:
I'm thinking lipstick lesbian though, because otherwise, she'd never be caught wearing pink.
I did appreciate the school at least trying to keep his manhood a little intact by turning it inside out, since when I went to wash the shirt so that I could return it clean today, I nearly peed myself when I read the caption (in glitter!!!):
It's no wonder he gives such fantastic fashion advice.
And to anyone who thinks I'm cruel for taking his picture in this garb (cough, cough, Sweetie Pie), I would like to point out that he is smiling.
Today, Little Man went to school with emergency shorts, shirt, underwear and socks. The good news is, he promised to not get distracted by puzzles and forget to go pee, since he's now convinced he'll be forced to wear the pink shirt any time he has an accident. For those of you wondering how to get your boys potty trained, may I recommend the humiliation route as enforcement?