Month 10 - Recap

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Yep.  That about sums up this month.  You are so NOISY, dude.  Holy cow.

Baths.  Yep, you still hate 'em.

Your favorite thing this month has been playing with (ie: terrorizing) Natalie's doll house.  And God bless that girl because she's completely fine with it.  You crawl to her dollhouse, go all Chuck-zilla on it, and Natalie just sits beside you, queitly setting back up what you destroyed.  It's not uncommon for me to hear Natalie say "Whatcha doing, Charlie Bear?  Oh, you're chewing on Dora's mommy?  Aww, you're such a funny little bear!"  She's immensely patient with you, and it does my heart so much good to see you two playing together.

You had your nine-month well-baby appointment this month.  Your head is in the 98th percentile (big shocker); your height is in the 78th percentile (another shocker).  But your weight?  In the 24th percentile.  Twenty-fourth!!!  I swear the scale had to be wrong because you look nothing if not chunky and well-fed.  Daddy takes this '24th percentile problem' as his personal mission to bulk you up.  He's ready to introduce you to the wonderful world of Krispy Kreme, fried chicken, and milkshakes.  Daddy's so silly.

You're a champion crawler now.  No more Army Crawl for you, my boy.  Oh no, you're on all fours now and DUDE are you fast.  I turn my back for a second and you're halfway down the hall, looking for something to stuff in your mouth.  Natalie and I like to get on either end of the hall and have you crawl back and forth between us.  You think it's a fabulous game.  Some of your other favorite games?  Rip Mommy's Glasses of Her Face.  Pull Mommy's Barette Out Of Her Hair.  Wipe Your Icky Nose on Mommy's Shirt.  Scream Like a Loony Tune When Mommy Puts You Down on the Floor.

Based on that last game, it's safe to say that separation anxiety has totally kicked in.  Before, you were all too happy to be left in the church nursery or the YMCA nursery.  As long as someone was interacting with you, you didn't care who it was.  But now?  It must be Mommy.  At all times.  And if I'm NOT there, you poke out your pitiful bottom lip and fly headfirst into the Depths of Despair.  I know it's completely normal for your age, so it doesn't surprise me.  Overwhelm me, yes.  Surprise me, no.

Speaking of overwhelming ... congratulations, my sweet bear.  You made it 10 months before I wanted to sell you to the circus.  This month has definitely been the most trying one so far; to say I'm weary is an understatement.  So your sister threw up all over me all the time and had horrible colic.  But was a great sleeper.  And you?  You're a mellow little dude (for the most part ...).  But your sleep schedule leaves a lot to be desired.  Go figure, right?  I put you to bed around 7:30pm and you wake up at 5:30am.  Ready for the day.  At 5:30.  Five.  Thirty.  In the morning.  Ready to go.  Okay, so here's the thing.  I don't mind getting up at 5:30am.  If I had my preference, I'd get up at 5am or 5:30am every day so I'd have time to eat my breakfast, drink my coffee, and do my morning devotion in peace and quiet.  But you think that idea is ridiculous.  And you make it verrrrrry known.  Now I understand that having a baby who sleeps 10 hours at night is nothing to complain about.  I would just prefer that your 10 hours occurred between 8:30pm and 6:30am.  The other problem with your sleep schedule is your naps (or lack thereof).  You get up at the crack of dawn (actually, I take that back.  Dawn has yet to crack at 5:30am.  Even DAWN thinks 5am is too early.  Take the hint, kid.) so you need a morning nap pretty early in the day.  I don't mean to compare you and Natalie (but here I go), but I distinctly remember her taking three-hour naps in the morning.  But you?  You rarely sleep longer than an hour.  You (and Natalie) take an afternoon at 1pm.  You rarely sleep more than an hour-and-a-half.  So because you wake up so early and refuse to take decent naps, you become a PILL by about 6pm.  I would so put you to bed then except then you'd probably wake up at 4am.  And I've even endured the misery of keeping you up until 8 in the hopes you'll sleep in, but alas, no.  You still wake up at 5:30.  Except then, you've only had 9 hours of sleep, so you become an even BIGGER pill by that evening.  I've tried to put you down for a third, late afternoon nap but you've totally vetoed that idea.  So to summarize, yes, I'm happy you sleep 10 hours at night.  I'm not even that bent out of shape that you get up at 5:30 (I'm a little bent, though).  What I take issue with is that you're a horrible nap taker.  I love naps.  Daddy loves naps.  Natalie won't admit it, but she loves naps too.  So hop on the bandwagon, kid.  Because if you don't, you might be the latest thing that Ringling Brothers shoots out of a cannon.  And I mean that in the nicest, most loving way possible.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for September 9, 2012:

• Chicago teachers to strike for first time in 25 years
• Obama motorcade cop hit by pickup truck, killed
• Broncos close strong, make Manning's debut a win
• Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively get married
• West Nile cases climb 25 percent in a week
• The biggest gas guzzlers on the road

August 2012 - Recap

I'm no doctor but I'd be willing to bet you'd be diagnosed as having highly sensitive hearing.  Loud noises seem to really REALLY bother you, especially public toilets.  You're fine with using them but you ask no fewer than 10 times that I wait until you're off the toilet and have your ears covered before I flush it.  Despite my constant reassuring, you still ask over and over.  Granted, I know I'm scatterbrained at times, but I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you'll dive headfirst into Panic Meltdown Mode of the Highest Order if I flush the toilet and you don't have your ears covered.  Thankfully you don't require that everyone in the adjacent stalls warn you as well before they flush - except if you know them.  If you know the person, you'd like for them to warn you before they flush.  And if it's an automatically flushing toilet, you start getting really nervous until I reassure you that I'll cover the sensor and keep it covered until your ears are properly covered.  Despite hating the noise from public restrooms, you have no fear about walking into them.  As soon as we walk in, you want to know if the flushing is going to be loud and if it's going to do it automatically.  Once your ears are properly covered and the toilet is properly flushed, it's time to wash your hands.  All right all you Tree Huggers out there, I get why you like the hot air hand dryers.  It saves on waste, it's more cost effective, I understand all that.  But do you know what ELSE they do?  They freak the living DAYlights out of my girl.  And don't even get me started on that horrible XLERATOR dryer that sounds like a jet engine.  It freaks ME out and I have average hearing.  If there aren't any paper towels, I won't turn on the hot air dryer for you - I'll go back into a stall and pull off a handful of toilet paper or have you wipe your wet hands on your shirt before I turn on the dryer.  I say all that to say this: for someone who appears to have highly sensitive hearing, you sure seem to have a hard time hearing me when tell you it's time for bed.  You goober.

You ask questions to Daddy and me verrrrry differently.  Let me paint you a picture.

You: Mommy, why are the windshield wipers going really fast?
Me: Because it's raining really hard.  (Seriously, Florida Summer, ENOUGH with the rain.)
You: Why?
Me: Well, because there's lots of rain in the clouds and it needs to fall somewhere
You: But why is it not raining really really REALLY hard?
Me: Because there's not a super duper lot of rain in the sky, just a regular lot of rain in the sky.
You: (smiling, because you SO know what you're doing ...) What are windshield wipers?  What's rain?  What's the sky?  What's 'regular'?
Me: *brain exploding*
Daddy: *giggling like a little girl*

Same scenario, different parent.

You: Daddy, why are the windshield wipers going really fast?
Daddy: Because it's raining really hard.
You: Oh, ok!
Daddy: *gives me a smug look*
Me: *glares at Daddy*

Either you feel Daddy has a more authoritative voice or you just like hearing me scramble for answers (because I really, really try to give thoughtful answers and not 'because I said so' ones), but seriously. These are what conversations are like in our house.  It's a wonder I'm not in a padded room somewhere.

You also want to know about future conversations.  Again, I'll paint you a picture.

You: Momma, how come I can't run when I'm holding a fork?
Me: Because if you fall, you'll get poked with the fork.
You: And what will I say?
Me: Probably something along the lines of 'OWWWWWWW!'
You: And then what will YOU say?
Me: Um, probably "Oh sweetie, I'm so sorry you're hurt'
You: Will I cry?
Me: Yes, probably.
You: Why?
Me: Because getting poked with a fork hurts!
You: Will I cry a lot or a little bit?
Me: Probably a lot.
You: Why won't I cry a little bit?
Me: Well, you might.  But I bet you'll cry a lot.
You: A LOT lot or just a little lot?
Me: A lot lot.
You: What will you say when I cry?
Me: I'll say 'Oh sweetie, I know that must have hurt.'
You: What will I say?
*this line of questioning continues ad nauseum*

Again, same scenario, different parent.

You: Daddy, how come I can't run when I'm holding a fork?
Daddy: Because if you fall, you'll get hurt by the fork.
You: Oooh yeah, I don't want to get hurt.
Daddy: *again with the smugness*
Me: *again with the glare-ness*

On more than one occasion this month, you've gone over to Charlie and said "Hey Charlie Bear, come to my room for some 'Nattie-Charlie Time'!"  It is so, so adorable.  Charlie would like nothing else than to play in your room.  I can't wait for the time to come where I don't have to come supervise, but for right now, I do.  Because there are approximately 14,000 things in your room that are the exact size of his trachea.

You had your first day of preschool this month - and you did GREAT! You weren't necessarily thrilled to walk into the classroom, but that didn't surprise me.  I don't think you'll be the kid who's ever super jazzed about being dropped off - whether it's Sunday School, preschool, or medical school, I think you'll always be a little hesitant. But your teacher said you were awesome.  You participated in everything except playing at the playground ... you told me "I just wanted to check it out today.  I'll play another day."  I so hope preschool will be good for you.  My prayer is that you'll become more confident in yourself and make some new friends.  I wish you were as confident in yourself as I am.  Because you fascinate me.  With your grown-up words, your never-ending curiosity (incidentally, I won the Neverending Curiosity award when I was in 1st Grade.  Boo yah.), and your fantastical imagination.  I find myself thinking about the future, and wishing I could just catch a glimpse of what you'll be like when you're older.  I pray often that Daddy and I will raise you to be the woman that God created you to be.  I so can't wait to see what the Lord has planned for you, because, listen up, my girl. With the combination of your hilarious sense of humor (you're welcome for that, by the way ...), your sensitive heart, and your sharp mind, you'll be quite a force to be reckoned with.

You gave me one of your few, unprompted "I love you, Momma"s this month.  You're more than willing to reply with an "I love you, too", but rarely do you go first.  And you did this month.  Several times.  And of course, I had to inform you that I loved you more.  And you, of course, had to inform me that no, you loved ME more.  And then I had to inform you that no, I loved YOU more.  Ahhh ... if only this was ever the extent of our 'arguing' in your lifetime.  Please know that when you're driving me loony tunes, when you're a gigantic Bossy McSassyPants, when you won't take a nap, when you pitch a fit in the middle of Target, when you tell me that you don't like the food I cook, I still love you more.  Always.

Hugs and smooches,
Mommy & Daddy

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Headlines for September 1, 2012:

• Flood threat at troubled La. canal lock eases
• Melting glacier reveals World War I ammunition
• College Football Talk: Alabama shows it is still the best
• Monster truck mishap: 3 in Ore. hospital
• Even after chair skit, Obama says he's a 'huge Clint Eastwood fan'