If I can summarize this month in two words, it'd be drool and screaming.
The drool was yours. And continues to be. You have drooled so much this past month, that I think they've called an end to the drought, despite the fact it's rained maybe twice in 2009. You could have filled all of the pools of North Texas with all that drool, but instead you chose to smear it on me, your father, your brother and anyone else willing to get close enough to your drooliness.
All that drool is clearly caused by your teething, and I swear to you, if those freaking teeth don't show up in the coming days, I'm going to get in there and yank them out myself, because dear Lord, how cruel can teeth be that they've been causing you to shove your fist in your mouth with the force of a hundred gladiators for almost two months now.
Yet, you remain in good spirits, smiling at anyone who remotely makes eye contact with you. You charm everyone who has the pleasure to be graced with your presence. Last Friday, I took you into the office, since your freaking teeth caused you to have a fever. If you look this up, the Internet will tell you that teething does not cause fevers. Tiny Man, there's a lot of things the Internet is useful for. It's great for finding coupons and porn, for example. However, it is very, very wrong about teething and fevers, because your brother always had a fever right before his teeth came in, and you seem to follow suit. So the Internet can shove it.
Because you had a fever, you couldn't go to school, since they have rules about this sort of thing, teething or no teething, so we dropped off your brother at school and I dragged you into the office, figuring I'd get some work done while you napped in my cubicle. You always fall asleep in the car on the way to school. ALWAYS. But that day, you decided to make an exception, because why wouldn't you make my life a little more exciting? So I brought you into the office wide awake, running late and half listening to a conference call. As soon as one of my coworkers spotted you, she literally kidnapped you and proceeded to take you around the building.
For the next hour and a half, I was stuck at my desk on a conference call, your empty car seat the only reminder that I'd brought you into the office. Ever so often, I could hear your excited squeals down the hall, but I was unable to fetch you due to the damn conference calls. When I finally came to get you, you were surrounded by a legion of fans, all of them having bestowed gifts of stuffed animals, makeshift rattles and other toys upon you and when you spotted me, you smiled at me with a "hey! There you are! Have you met my new friends?" look on your face.
I dragged your feverish ass back to my cubicle to change your diaper, give you a bottle and let everyone get back to work, and after doing so, you finally fell asleep, more than two hours later than you usually nap. A mere 45 minutes later, a couple of coworkers who'd heard through the grapevine you were in the building came to see you. As we chatted, you opened your eyes with a "what? there's a party going on and no one told me" look and you proceeded to go to Act Two of the Tiny Man charm act, smearing drooly fists all over their faces while giving them the world's biggest gummy smiles.
Where do you come from, little one? I'm sociable, but you? You? You have future president of the United States charisma. You've never met someone you didn't like and you're the kind of person who walks into a room and people think "thank God! The party can get started now!" You have an aura about you, an energy that make people do things for you. There's this curmudgeon at work who hates children. But the story goes that he met you, you smiled at him and he reached out to hold you. If you can make children haters change their minds, could you bring world peace? The end of racism? Or maybe you can just continue to make our lives a little brighter, as you have for six months now.
Your squeals of joy at everything sound like a teenager's screams at a Jonas brothers concert. No longer can I do conference calls with you in the room when I'm at home, as you squeal the entire time, which honestly, I'm good at my job, but not good enough to deserve squeals for hours at a time.
I spoke of screaming earlier, and you probably are assuming that I mean your squeals, but you'd be wrong. Because as much as I love you, as much as I think that you might be the best thing I've done since your big brother, you do have one fault.
The flipping over to your stomach. Dear lord child, you will make me go insane with your flipping over. It started a month or so ago. I put you on your back for floor time with your brother, went to get myself a kleenex and walked in to find you on your stomach grunting. I assumed your brother had flipped you over, but he denied it, and since you seemed to be unable to flip over to your back, I helped you.
Since then? I've helped you approximately 8,000 times. Because you can't seem to remember how to roll over from front to back, even though you reached that milestone three months ago and it's the easier way to roll over.
But you? You seem to have forgotten this skill and no matter how many times I've tried to re-teach you, you get a 'tude like "whoah lady, you can't teach an old dog new tricks!" And really? If you're this set in your ways at this age, I'm really hoping I won't be around when you're 80 years old.
The whole rolling over fiasco is especially annoying when I put you down in your crib. And you decide you're unhappy to be there and you roll over. And then you proceed to scream while you flop around like a fish out of water. But if I give in and go up to flip you over, I barely have time to close the door before you've flipped onto your stomach again. And really, life is short, I'm not willing to spend it flipping you over for the next 18 years, so can you please figure this out and soon before you drive me to insanity?
We play tag with your brother all the time on my bed and it's a favorite game for both of you. I basically hold your little body under your armpits and make you "run" after your brother and swing your body up so that you tag him with your feet. You both always end up in hysterics and during those times, as I watch the two of you together, I always think that I could literally be struck by lightning at that moment and killed, and I would die perfectly happy. The joy of watching the two of you together and the bond you're developing makes the pounds I still have to lose totally worth it.
You can now sit up fairly well with a little support, so the other day I let you ride in your brother's 'train' which is really just the pillows in our bed put in a row. You sat behind your brother, holding on to the wall to support yourself. And as he made choo choo noises, you sat behind him the entire time grinning ear to ear, like you couldn't believe that you were finally big enough to participate in his crazy imagination games, rather than just be an observer.
Soon, you'll be able to crawl and you'll grab things from your brother and the fighting will begin. I just hope that during those times, when I'm ready to sell both of you to the gypsies if I have to listen to fighting for one more minute, that I'll remember this period in your lives where everything was perfect and at peace.
Yet, I can't believe you're already six months old. I feel time is slipping away from us, your babyhood running away from me and already you seem so big when I hold you, your feet laying past the arm of the rocking chair where I hold you a little too long every night, futively trying to hold on to your infancy a little longer. You're my baby, and yet, already you're more than two-and-a-half times bigger than the day you were born. Your wispy hair is longer and I love to feel it against my neck when you're burying your head against me when I pick you up at school, in your version of a hug.
You're growing up too fast little one, and some nights, when I hold you, tears prick my eyes, as I'm already missing the baby that I still get to hold, knowing that before too long, you too will be a gangly toddler, your thigh rolls erased by the cruel hand of time, your gums filled with teeth, your baby cheeks replaced by the face of a boy. And despite the fact that I will love the boy you will soon become, I will miss the baby I currently hold.
Stay little for me just a little longer, will you? Let me continue to rock you too long in the silent night, the darkness that envelop us broken only by the softness of your night light, while the craziness of the world seems so far away. Those are the moments that I know I'll look back on when I'm taking my last breaths, and I will know then, as I do now, that you and your brother will have been my greatest joys.
I love you, my Tiny Man,
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Tuesday, April 21, 2009
If I can summarize this month in two words, it'd be drool and screaming.