sueeeus

before

small child, big mind, loud

dropped food, dropped dish, unhappy

tired, patience long worn

after

time out, minutes pass

words spoken, young mind meets old

until the next time

almost four

boundaries tested

it’s not easy being four

how I love that boy

I have so very much to be thankful for, but this…  …this lights up my life and fills my cup to overflowing.

Bliss.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Maybe I should be calling you GB instead of LB, my Giggle Box, Gorgeous Boy, Googlie Bear.  You are just so darned adorable, especially when you giggle.  And I hate to stifle you in any way, but when I have an international teleconference discussing very important work matters, it would certainly help my fragile semblance of professionalism if you could, ummmmm, keep it down a bit?

It’s a very good thing that I have a mute button on my headset.  It’s also a good thing that I didn’t need to contribute much to the discussion.

You are so much more active during the day than your brother was.  I recall he slept most of the time during my working hours, up until he was five months old.   You, on the other hand, are a GIGGLE BOX!!  Which I love.  Absolutely adore.  However.  I think I will be sending you to daycare after we herald in the new year.  Because, how can I concentrate on the serious matters of Corporate America when I’ve got a Googlie Bear Giggle Box bouncing away in his bouncy chair at my feet?  I ask you!  So I’ve just perused my work calendar, and it looks like I have between 10 to 14 working days until the new work year begins, depending on how many vacation days I take.  I think we’ll be able to make it.

I’m sure going to miss you, but that will just make the moments when I do see you all the more sweet.  Prepare to be covered in kisses!

The things a not-quite-four-year-old says are something, aren’t they?

The other day I mused to BB, “I wonder what you’re going to be when you grow up…”

And his reply?  “A GROWNUP!”  (Duhhhhh, Mommy.  What else would I be?)

After a little further clarification of what I meant, he promptly said, “I’m going to work in dirty jobs where I can get muddy all over.”

~*~*~*~

On election day, he pointed to the TV and asked who that was.  “It’s Barack Obama,” I said, surprised that it even got his attention.

“What’s a rocko bomma?”

He went on to ask about what a president was, but I was soon in over my head.

~*~*~*~

We’re working on the concept of lying.  We’ve got a long way to go.  If I say, “No Lying!” he thinks I’m saying something that makes very little sense about tawny colored beasts with sharp claws that roar.

He’s taken to claiming that “it was a accident” in order to avoid further trouble, but I say “I know it was on purpose, and if you say it was an accident, you’re lying.”  And then he’s off thinking of tawny colored roaring beasts again.  What I need to say is “if you say it’s an accident when it’s not an accident, that is a LIE, and that’s not nice.”  Or something like that.  Lions and tigers and bears, oh my.

~*~*~*~

We still get the discussions about forbidden words.  Out of the blue.  “Mommy, I’m not allowed to say dammit, because it’s a bad word, so I don’t say dammit, just Daddy does sometimes when he’s mad, he can say dammit, because he’s a grown up, but I can’t say dammit, so I don’t say dammit.”

~*~*~*~

Sitting with the baby while I was in the kitchen, “Are you happy I made a cup of me so he wouldn’t cry?”  That one took me a moment to figure out what he was saying.  “Yes, I’m very happy you kept him company so he wouldn’t cry.  Thank you.”

~*~*~*~

Here’s another conversation that we sometimes have.

“Mommy, do you like ___________s (insert wild animal)?”

“Yes.”

“NO!  No, no, no you don’t, because they’re dane-jrus and they will BITE you!”

“Well, you’re right, they ARE dangerous, but I like to see them in a safe place like the zoo, or watch them on TV.  Then I like them very much.”

~*~*~*~

He likes to recount the birth story:

When I was really little, I’d say “Whahhh, whahhhh, whahhhh” and I was little little in your tummy but I got bigg-o and bigg-o and went to the hostibo and the doktor cut your tummy and put staples in and I went “Whahhhh, whahhh, whahhh” and I hurt your boobies and you had to pump.

~*~*~*~

Any time in the past is “last day”…

“Last day, when we were sitting on the couch and I was being not nice and you hurted me and scratched-ded me like this (scratches his hand) and I was in trouble… ”

“That was an ACCIDENT, that I scratched you, even though you WERE acting up at the time.”

“Yes, oh yah, you wight, you wight, it was a accident, it wasn’t on purpose.”

~*~*~*~

Just this morning, while reaching in the pantry for a cereal box, I dropped a plastic canister and caused a loud commotion.

“What the hell are you DOING?”

“Okay, you know those words aren’t for you.  Sometimes Daddy says that, but we don’t say that.  Do you understand?”

“Why does Daddy say that?”

And these are conversations for which I don’t have a good and reasonable answer.  And kids, they’re so sharp, they pick up on everything.  Everything.

Finally!  I was beginning to worry (only slightly) when all the other babies were giggling and gurgling and being charming and engaging at six weeks, and mine was only sleeping and flatulating (and screaming).

He smiles!  And his eyes twinkle.  And I’m smitten more and more.  He glows in the dark, too.

Happy Halloween!

Look at you, seven weeks old, in your six month snuggly and your brother, 3-3/4 years old in his size 6 jeans.  The two of you are giants.  Giants, I say!  I’m a bit sad having to put away your 3 month clothes already.

BB is much more excited by the appearance of the jungle, at this point.  But you will surely like it soon.  It has so many fun and interesting things to explore.  It’s a gift from your auntie C and uncle D, and it sure is neat!

You remind me of Kramer, from Seinfeld, in this picture.  Your hair cracks me up, and I mean that in the nicest way.

Have I told you lately that I think you’re gorgeous and I want to gobble you up?  Oh?  I did?  Well, I’m going to cover those cheeks in kisses, then.  Right NOW!!

p.s. I’m sorry I called you Mister Screams A Lot today when I didn’t hear the phone ring and missed an important message from my work by nearly three hours.  I’m still going to gobble you up!

Hello there, gorgeous!  How I wish I knew what made you cry so.  Your poor little tummy must hurt hurt hurt.  Only six or eight weeks more and that digestive tract should be stronger and hopefully you won’t spend so many hours of each day screaming and all worked up.  Poor little guy.

I’ve spent a fortune on bottles, hoping the fancy air vents and contraptions do something to help ease your discomfort.  You have such a hard time eating, even from a bottle.  You get so worked up, and even though you’re hungry (I know you are, even if you shake your head), you’re too worked up to take it.  We have to wait until you’ve calmed down, and then, gently, carefully, finally, you’ll eat. If we’re ever so careful, that is, and if you don’t get all worked up again.  You’d starve to death if you had to suckle me, and I’d be a frayed and frazzled mess.  Even more so than I am.  It’s all we can do to keep you fed with the bottle!

Your brother had colic, and he screamed inconsolably for several hours.  Every. Single. Day.  Well, late afternoon and into the evening.  And then he turned three months old, and became a happy boy.

You’re not nearly so inconsolable as your brother was.  Inconsolable, yes, but you go in bouts of only an hour or two.  And you spread them out all through the day.  It makes me sad that you have so many minutes of unhappiness.

Even when you cry, I love the sound of your voice, and I can’t wait for you to turn into a happy happy boy.  I’m looking forward to hearing you coo and gurgle and giggle and seeing the sparkle in your eyes.

I don’t want to rush through your infancy, but it would be nice to fast forward past the rough stuff.  Only the rough stuff though.  I want to treasure and savor all your baby goodness, and gobble you up, my beautiful, beautiful boy!

• What happened to my emailed blog comments?  Why are they not being sent?  Did they stop before or after the WordPress update?  Before, I think, but I can’t be sure.
• When one is strapped to a breast pump every so many hours, one has time to do things like upgrade blog software, fiddle with graphics software and design birth announcements.  In half hour increments.
• Heavens, I’m tired.
• Feeling happy after a percoset a few days ago, I noted to Gadget that I’ve not noticed any real post partum depression yet.  He replied that he likes it when I’m depressed, because then I like to spend money and buy things.
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was (mostly) serious.
• Every now and then I gently bring up the topic of the snip.  Most recently, Gadget said, “Tell you what, I get the snip, and you get me that motorcycle.”
• Ha Ha Ha
• He was serious.  (I’m fairly certain.  He really wants that stupid bike.)
• If I were five years younger, I might want to consider having another child.  I’ve always wanted three, or at least for as long as I can remember.  Two boys and a girl.  But now that I’m 43, and have this most beautiful and wonderful baby, I’m feeling my age and can’t imagine how I could possibly go through the newborn days again.
• I can’t fathom how mothers of three and more do it.
• My mother had nine, and I’m finally beginning to cut her a bit of slack for how lackadaisical I perceived her mothering to be (back then).
• Is it just mine, or do all three- going on four- year olds have serious obedience and defiance issues?
• How does one teach a three- going on four- year old what a lie is, and why not to do it?
• Today he played outside and got covered in mud.  As boys do.  Then he took a shower, all by himself.  He even remembered to take his socks off, and he set the water temperature correctly, and he even lathered himself up with soap.  I’m so proud of him!  It’s the most grown up thing he’s done so far.
• Pumping isn’t so bad, really, but it certainly forces a particular structure into one’s life, for which there is very little latitude.

LB had his follow up appointment yesterday, at two weeks and two days old.  He’s eating like a champion and weighed in at 11lbs 0.5 oz, a full eleven ounces more than his birth weight, which is great, considering he lost over a full pound before leaving the hospital.

I also bit the bullet and mustered the courage and resolve to properly peel back the skin and expose his little turtle, and though he cried passionately, I persevered, and we both lived through it.  After the fact, I have to say that most of his crying was no different than the display he provides any time his diaper is changed.  He really doesn’t like having his diaper changed, or being on his back, or being naked.  Funny kid.  So many kids are completely opposite, loving to be naked and free.  Anyhow, after that initial peel-back-exposure, all has been well — no major swelling, no bleeding, no screaming at the liberal application of neosporin.  It would appear that my earlier freak out was mostly unwarranted.  Not much of a surprise there.

The pediatrician gave him flying colors all around.  Good feeding, good color, good head control, good eye tracking, good circ site, good umbilical site.  All good.  Hooray for my little champion.  My little dream boat.