Life Lately: Our Big Boy / Girl Pants

When I took Blaine to his one-year appointment at the pediatrician’s office in March, our doctor was overjoyed to hear that we were expecting another baby. (She knows how hard we tried for Blaine.) At some point in the conversation, though, she urged me not to force Blaine to be a “big boy” too soon. Even though he’ll be a big brother, he’s still a baby, too.

Say what?

Mama can only handle one baby at a time. Literally. For six weeks after my scheduled C-section in October (joy), I won’t be able to pick up my little quarter-pounder. I need him to grow up a little…just a little. Since that appointment, he’s learned to walk on his own, which has been a tremendous help. But I still need him to learn to be a little more independent. Time at home in California has taught me that I maaaayyyyy just coddle him a little too much. I let him pull me to my feet to help him with something that I know he can do by himself. I hold / carry him at the drop of a hat. (Obviously, when things get rough or he needs a hug, I will be there. But when he gets mad at me for saying “no” and then wants me to hold him…not so much.) And I’m quick to give him his pacifier when he’s upset or grumpy. (It’s in almost every photo of our trip.)

Old Trusty.

Old Trusty.

So lately, we (and I do mean “we” – I’m training myself to not give in as often) have been weaning off of two things: a.) being held when he could walk or explore, and b.) using his pacifier instead of observing, relaxing, and engaging in a situation. So far, I give us both a B+. Except for naps and when he first wakes up, he hasn’t really missed the paci. (Side note: he’s also babbling a lot more with his free mouth, which is good!)  And he’s learning to accept my hand as an alternative to my entire upper-torso. Much more convenient.

A paci, a cracker, and Mr. Monkeybritches. One of these things has to go...

A pacifier, a cracker, and Mr. Monkeybritches (a sock monkey whose leg can be barely seen). One of these comfort items has to go…

 

I don’t want him to grow up too early, but I do want us all to be happy, healthy, and well-adjusted by the time Baby Brother arrives in the fall. That gives us 8 more weeks of practice for the day when I’m so exhausted from sleep deprivation and 3 a.m. feedings that I can’t pick up anyone but myself, let alone locate a missing pacifier. (It’s under the couch.)

Linking up with ‘Wild and Precious’ today – check out some other fun stuff going on in their lives!

A Little Something

Do you ever sit down at the end of a hard day and think to yourself, “I deserve a little something for all that hard work I did today. I mean, I essentially did a P90X workout (over the course of a day) by picking up my 25-pound son 766 times, carrying 8 bags of groceries in on two trips, doing 112 squats (with said toddler) to pick up a cup /snack / book / Mr. Monkeybritches; I did the grocery shopping all by myself and only got tinkled on as a thank-you; made dinner and a potluck dessert; kept the kidlett from eating / stepping in / throwing doggie doo; and managed to feed everyone healthy food despite my cravings for all things fried and sugary.”

Well, I’m sure the actual tasks vary, but the idea is there: we do a LOT as mommies, and the reward is essentially intrinsic.

My job pays in smiles and giggles, which is an amazing bounty, to be sure. But sometimes, just sometimes, I want this instead:

Bern_Helmet

 

I saw it over at The Kubly Girl, and I am green with envy. Stylish and functional? Yes, please! My husband is so forgiving about my need for “things” every once in a while, and I try to be self-governing for the most part. I’m actually a little bit embarrassed to ask him if I can buy this for myself. (He never buys anything material that doesn’t go in his stomach or under the hood of his truck. He’s just minimalist like that.) Aaaand, I may or may not have just bought a super-cute Sherpani purse that was on mega-sale at a little shop in Breckenridge for only $20. Soooo…that may have been my allowance. Sigh. Maybe I’ll sleep on it…

Don’t Report Me

Please notice how hot and tired even HE looks.

Please notice how hot and tired even HE looks.

Or, rather, don’t report B: He’s a thief. A kelpto. A fugitive of the law.

And I’m his accomplice.

I let him steal a pen from Walgreens. You know those two stores that are at opposite ends of the giant parking lot? The ones that are too close to drive to separately, but far enough away that you feel as though your arm is going to slowly detach itself from your shoulder by the time you reach the blissful air conditioning of the entryway? For me, that’s Walgreens and my grocery store. I had to go to both yesterday, so I parked in between the two and headed over to Walgreens to pick up my pictures. I really need to search for a better carrier (a sling, maybe?) because the Ergo is a Nogo thanks to this belly, but B is too heavy to cart around like a sack of potatoes. Nevetheless, I cart. When no one showed up at the photo counter for the better part of 10 minutes (ages in baby time), I let B play with a pen on the counter just to keep him happy. It worked, and after someone finally deigned it appropriate to saunter over to the counter to help us, we were on our merry way….with the pen, which I didn’t notice until we were already back at the car.

It was hot, people. My arm was tired. We still had there-and-back to go for errand number two.

I let him keep the pen, and then I photographed the evidence. Bad mommy, indeed.