Hi, my Poot!
My dedication to writing has taken a serious back seat as you can see, but I am pledged to get back on track, because you are doing so many funny ass things that to miss out on them and not get them down to remember for years to come is a huge disservice. So here I be.
You are eating like a champ. You like a ton of veggies. In fact, I really can’t think of any one veg that you don’t gum down in glee. Fruit? Notsomuch. Meat? You literally gagged. Granted, today was your first go round with any sort of animal product, so perhaps it was just a lil rich for your taste, so of course, we will give it another whirl, but you seriously had a look on your face that was equal to the stench coming out of that jar. Truth be told, baby meat smells like ass. I’m not shocked that you don’t love it. However, it’s protein, son. It’s either that or I start ‘roiding you up. We need girth. We need power. We need…..the signing bonus.
You are sitting up by yourself beautifully. In fact, the only time you really fall over is due to your own shenanigans when you are being a butthead and do. not. want. to. bend. to. sit. You do this thing occasionally when you would prefer we hold you up, wherein you rigid up that little body of yours and flat out refuse to bend at the waist in order to cop a squat. It’s so damn stubborn and yet…..I laugh at you. The look of sheer determination on your face is priceless. It’s part “I’m not bending so just quit messing with me” and part “Isn’t my face just cute? Why on earth would you not want to go on holding me up so I can bounce bounce bounce?” It’s this wide eyed look you give that I am thinking will get you out of many a detentions for years to come. Luckily, I am made of steel and such looks are powerless against my super powers.
Shut up.
Your sense of humor is a kick. I spend so much time laughing at you and with you now. Just recently, you are sorta like getting the joke. For months, you would watch us laugh at something funny you did and you were always very curious. Now, you occasionally join in. I doubt you have a clue what is so funny, but it’s cute as shit that you are trying to be a part of it. My favorite is when I point at you, sometimes from all the way across the room and say “You…..are a rotten little boy.” This tickles you to no end. It’s hilarious because not only do you laugh, but it’s this ornery, badass laugh like you know exactly what I’m saying and not only am I right, but holy hell, won’t I just see how right I am in just a few short years. It’s hilarious.
Because of my obsession with your toes, (TOOOOEEEES!!!!!) you now have a foot fetish. Sigh. I really hope you don’t end up being this freak of a man in your later years who runs a web site devoted to men drinking wine out of women’s shoes and such things all because I was a slave to your scrumptious toes. You are transfixed by our toes now too. We sometimes sit outside with you and put you in your bouncer to burn off that last little bit of late evening energy before bathtime. During the hour or so we sit out, occasionally, you will stop bouncing (which is a rarity) and stare down and we know you have found one of our feet and are checking out our toes. I wonder if you look at ours, then at yours and are like “I don’t get it” or if you thinking “You know, mine really are sort of superior, huh?” And bounce bounce bounce. You go back to your activities.
You still get a truly insane amount of attention anywhere we go. I mean, I obviously know just how friggin cute you are and how much personality you have in that little face, but clearly I am not alone in this assertion. Older women particularly seem to be in love with the chunkalicious thighs you currently possess. Normally, I’d skeeve right out at some random stranger touching you (dear God, the germs…..shudder), but it’s cute. I mean, how do I get annoyed at that? They clearly are as transfixed by the rolls of thigh fat that calls to your daddy and me to pinch and tickle, so how do I fault them? Their hearts are in the right place and let’s face it, how does one not grab a handful of baby lovin? I just don’t know.
Let’s talk about the elephant in the room. The really sleepy elephant in the room. You are STILL not sleeping through the night. Sigh. You win. Daddy wins. I held up my fight, son. I quoted book after book and study after study from pediatricians, baby psychologists, random moms who write books (who are experts in the way that I am with my possession of the online MD) wherein they stated that of COURSE small babies could not manipulate. You tiny little creatures do not have the sophistication to know how to work a situation to your advantage. I waged a war, son. I stood firm. I held my head high with a book in one hand and the Dr. Sears website at the ready in the other hand. I would prevail. My son would sleep through the night when he was ready, damn it, and not a moment sooner. I would not abandon my son. No, sir. Not I. I….was ready to martyr myself out for my boy if need be. I……would get up at night and see to his needs. I……would do all of this with a smile.
I……am tired.
Sigh. THEY WIN. I sorta quietly let your six month birthday go by quietly knowing that the same books I held fast to, the studies, the articles…..oh, son, the ARTICLES….page after page of information that I crammed crammed crammed into my skill…..those books never mentioned what happened after six months. Hmmmm. That’s interesting. I consulted other books. Surely. SURELY, there are children who have wonky sleep past six months, right? RIGHT? Yeah, sick babies. (You are healthy as the proverbial horse) Malnourished babies. (Let’s just not even go there). Premies (Um, again….no). The books would have the answers!!!!
They did not. And why? Because, and I love you son, I do….but you are a manipulative little shit. You want to hang out at 2 AM. You wake yourself up because, well, surely mama is having a party in her room, and son of a BITCH if you are going to miss it. There is no earthly way you are hungry, yet you get up and slurp down that bottle like if we did not give it to you, surely your tiny body would wither away and you’d be a mere shell of your former self. Manipulation, son, not only did you write the book, but I think you are manning the lecture circuit. You are the expert. I have met my match and he is, as it says above, two feet tall and bulletproof. You may as well stand up in your crib, toss the Boppy on the floor and go “Booyah, bitches, how you like me now? Now go fix me a bottle.”
Sigh. I really thought you’d like, oh I don’t know, back me up or something. Is that too much to ask, really? I carried you for 40 long weeks, son. You were BIG. You loved to stretch and poke your tiny, stabby extremities into my bladder and lungs. You made me give up my formerly perfect figure (shut it) to accommodate your incubation period. I now have giant purple marks across my used-to-be flat abs (seriously, shut it)…..all for you, son. And this is my repayment? You prove me WRONG? Would it have killed you at say 20-24 weeks, to blissfully start sleeping through the night so that I could smugly look at your daddy and go “See, dear….I know my son…and he is wonderful and perfect and would never EVER manipulate us if he did not just need our love in the wee hours of the morning.” You COULD NOT GIVE ME THAT BIT OF GLEE????? Well, damn it.
So it’s game on, little boy. For the next couple of weeks, we are tweaking your diet a tiny bit (hopefully you will grow accustomed to the gross meat, but due to that smell, I completely get why you wouldn’t….seriously…HORK), but then when grandma goes out of town, your dad and I are buckling down….bringing in supplies…..battoning down the hatches and we are taking you on. We are no longer Poland to your Hitler. We are no longer Pearl Harbor to your Japan. Oh no. WE are the parents. YOU, while oh-so-cute, are the child. And frankly? Mama needs sleep, buddy. I love you and could look at that face all the livelong day, but NOT at 2 AM, 3 AM or any AM before 6, ok? O’dark thirty is not a time to wake up and come visit. It is not.
So this is allllll over for you, buddy. Enjoy the next couple of weeks because your little nocturnal trips across the hall are coming to a rapid close.
Oh, and that puddle in the corner? That….will be me. Sigh.
Ok, throwing down the boppy wiht the booyah, might have been the funniest thing – I can totally see the victory grin!
I was cracking up at the boppy thing too! You are a riot and of course he’s got your fab personality. I wish there was some magic answer for the sleep thing. Hang in there. One day you will look back on this and it will be a faint memory. But perhaps that will be from all the lack of sleep… Just kidding!