Frankly, I'm just too damn busy and too tired to bother typing this out in an amusing narrative format. Instead, I give you the text of a recent IM with the Mojo Man:
me: There is an old wives tale that says "Babies do not poop when immersed in water."
mojo: *laughs* Is it true?
me: I'm a-wanting to find that old wife and punch her right in the nose.
mojo: Heh
me: Wanna hear the funny part?
mojo: ok
me: I was in the bath with her.
mojo: *chuckles* It's funny because it's funny.
me: Poop floats.
mojo: Only if you aren't getting fiber
me: She must need more fiber in her diet then.
You should have seen me fly out of that bathtub.
There was a brief moment of..."Honey, did you poop?"
I looked behind for bubbles and there was nothing. All of a sudden she uttered a big relaxed sigh and POP right to the surface.
mojo: Like a half-eaten surfer
me: Ha ha ha ha...evil man. You are my delight.
After I jumped out of the tub I pulled her out and put her naked and wet on the bathmat.
Do you remember when we last laundered the bathmat?
Neither do I.
mojo: I imagine it will be getting washed soon.
me: She crawled across the bathroom while I attempted to drain the tub and catch the poop which was eluding me.
I had to get Monkey Boi to help.
He was not amused.
Then I had to wash all the hair and dust off the baby. From crawling on the floor.
And wash the tub.
Monkey Boi is in the shower now.
Probably wearing flip flops.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Our Fine Four Fendered Friend
On an utterly absurd and completely random note: I watched "Chitty Chitty Bang Bang" on Monday night for the umpteenth time. Despite the fact that the film is long overdue for a date with a superior editor armed with a sharp pair of scissors, it never fails to cheer me.
What stuck in my brain this viewing (among a few other things) was supreme admiration for the choristers forced to sing the "Toot Sweets" song. *YOU* try saying "the eatable, tweetable treat" three times fast, *THEN* try singing it. I hope they got hazard pay for that number.
That particular ditty apparently caused great upset in London while filming as, according to the trivia section of the website, the musical arranger included 22 flutes in his 85 piece orchestra. To fill the seats, he lured away every flautist from every symphony orchestra in London.
I bet *they* got hazard pay.
What stuck in my brain this viewing (among a few other things) was supreme admiration for the choristers forced to sing the "Toot Sweets" song. *YOU* try saying "the eatable, tweetable treat" three times fast, *THEN* try singing it. I hope they got hazard pay for that number.
That particular ditty apparently caused great upset in London while filming as, according to the trivia section of the website, the musical arranger included 22 flutes in his 85 piece orchestra. To fill the seats, he lured away every flautist from every symphony orchestra in London.
I bet *they* got hazard pay.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Number of the Day
SIX.
The Bit is cutting SIX teeth. One, two, three, four, five, SIX.
Just. Shoot. Me. Now.
Please?
The Bit is cutting SIX teeth. One, two, three, four, five, SIX.
Just. Shoot. Me. Now.
Please?
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Happy Birthday, Debbie!
I quickly want to wish many happy returns to the most wonderful step-mother a girl could have, my Maine Mama. The only woman in history (other than my grandmother) who could put up with my Dad for almost 30 years.
I love you!
I love you!
I Know Why the Teething Baby Screams (or Why My Baby is Channeling the Forces of Evil)
Bit is cutting five teeth.
May I repeat that?
FIVE TEETH. FIVE. All on top. She is attempting to push out the two in the middle, both canines and one bicuspid (she already has her two incisors).
Sigh. My little over-achiever. Of course, the fact that she's making Damien look like the recipient of a "My Child Was An Honor Student" bumper sticker is not lost on anyone right now.
In other news, she had her 12-month well-baby visit on Monday. The stats are as follows:
Weight: 20 pounds, 12 ounces (45th percentile)
Head Circumference: 46cm (80th percentile)
Height: 31 ½ inches (above the 97th percentile)
We also had a hemoglobin test (the dreaded finger prick) which she passed with flying colors (good iron, excellent blood according to the doctor).
Our doctor is absolutely thrilled with her progress. I was worried that she was too skinny, but was assured that she just looks that way because she is so tall.
"Most babies we see have the exact opposite height and weight of yours and *that* is a problem," she said. "You have one of the healthiest babies I see."
Woo hoo! I'm doing something right! I know that sounds silly, but I worry about these things, you know.
We were given the okay to make the switch to whole milk and have had great success. Bit had a taste of pasta for the first time and had quite a bit of fun with it (I think some actually got in her mouth, too). I also gave her some spinach off my plate last night which she seemed to enjoy. That pleased me as I adore spinach and she had turned her nose up at "baby food" spinach in the past.
She has also taken up to five unassisted steps at once, before either falling back on her bottom or grabbing hold of something for support. Her steps are strong, her legs straight and true. There is none of the bow-legged gunslinger stance of your average toddler.
I'm afraid this kid is going to be taller than I am by the time she's seven.
May I repeat that?
FIVE TEETH. FIVE. All on top. She is attempting to push out the two in the middle, both canines and one bicuspid (she already has her two incisors).
Sigh. My little over-achiever. Of course, the fact that she's making Damien look like the recipient of a "My Child Was An Honor Student" bumper sticker is not lost on anyone right now.
In other news, she had her 12-month well-baby visit on Monday. The stats are as follows:
Weight: 20 pounds, 12 ounces (45th percentile)
Head Circumference: 46cm (80th percentile)
Height: 31 ½ inches (above the 97th percentile)
We also had a hemoglobin test (the dreaded finger prick) which she passed with flying colors (good iron, excellent blood according to the doctor).
Our doctor is absolutely thrilled with her progress. I was worried that she was too skinny, but was assured that she just looks that way because she is so tall.
"Most babies we see have the exact opposite height and weight of yours and *that* is a problem," she said. "You have one of the healthiest babies I see."
Woo hoo! I'm doing something right! I know that sounds silly, but I worry about these things, you know.
We were given the okay to make the switch to whole milk and have had great success. Bit had a taste of pasta for the first time and had quite a bit of fun with it (I think some actually got in her mouth, too). I also gave her some spinach off my plate last night which she seemed to enjoy. That pleased me as I adore spinach and she had turned her nose up at "baby food" spinach in the past.
She has also taken up to five unassisted steps at once, before either falling back on her bottom or grabbing hold of something for support. Her steps are strong, her legs straight and true. There is none of the bow-legged gunslinger stance of your average toddler.
I'm afraid this kid is going to be taller than I am by the time she's seven.
Friday, June 16, 2006
Driving Lesson
While on the way to the airport to pick up Monkey Boi, Mojo's 12 year old son from Ohio, who will be spending the summer with us:
Mojo: You know you drive like a crazy person?
Me: How? How do I drive like a crazy person?
Mojo: I'd tell you, but I'm not allowed to talk to crazy people.
Me: My mother says I drive like a little old lady.
Mojo: Your mother drives like a homicidal maniac.
So, um, Mom...those performance race car driving classes when I was a teenager...scare my boyfriend. The fact that I've never had a ticket or an accident means in 24 years of driving mean nothing.
At least I'm keeping him on his toes!
Mojo: You know you drive like a crazy person?
Me: How? How do I drive like a crazy person?
Mojo: I'd tell you, but I'm not allowed to talk to crazy people.
Me: My mother says I drive like a little old lady.
Mojo: Your mother drives like a homicidal maniac.
So, um, Mom...those performance race car driving classes when I was a teenager...scare my boyfriend. The fact that I've never had a ticket or an accident means in 24 years of driving mean nothing.
At least I'm keeping him on his toes!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
My Guardians
Home from spending last night and today at my mother's house to give access to workers doing repairs on her flood damaged home and wanted to quickly recount two episodes before I forget.
My mother has a large (2'x3') framed photograph of my great-grandparents, my uncle Rousas at about age 9 and my grandmother at about age 7 (my uncle Haig hadn't been born). This picture was on the floor, leaning up against a small ledge behind the TV and out of sight.
Bit managed to crawl over there, find the picture, stood up and began eagerly kissing the faces of my Great-Grandmother Rushdoony and my grandmother. My mom called me over to see it. She ignored my uncle Rousas (he was a piece of work, but that is for another time) and my Great-Grandpa Bodvelli (the only one of my maternal great grandparents who I didn't have a personal relationship with as he died before I was born). I sat with my daughter while my mother watched and told her who the people were in the photo and a few stories about them.
When Bit and I got home about an hour ago, I changed her diaper, put on her pajamas and settled down with her to give her a bottle before bed. I tend to bury my nose in her hair when we nurse (yes, though I bottle feed, it is *still* nursing) and I started at the scent in her hair. It was my grandmother's scent. She had a very particular smell, of jasmine, roses and some unknown spice. It is a unique and unmistakable aroma. Nothing else smells like it. In the ten years since her death, I have smelled it at strange times, but I always know that she has been with me. Tonight, she came to my daughter as well. And this makes me smile. And cry. And miss her all the more.
I was lamenting the fact recently that Bit would never know her great-grandmothers like I did, but I'm wrong. She'll just have a different relationship with them.
My mother has a large (2'x3') framed photograph of my great-grandparents, my uncle Rousas at about age 9 and my grandmother at about age 7 (my uncle Haig hadn't been born). This picture was on the floor, leaning up against a small ledge behind the TV and out of sight.
Bit managed to crawl over there, find the picture, stood up and began eagerly kissing the faces of my Great-Grandmother Rushdoony and my grandmother. My mom called me over to see it. She ignored my uncle Rousas (he was a piece of work, but that is for another time) and my Great-Grandpa Bodvelli (the only one of my maternal great grandparents who I didn't have a personal relationship with as he died before I was born). I sat with my daughter while my mother watched and told her who the people were in the photo and a few stories about them.
When Bit and I got home about an hour ago, I changed her diaper, put on her pajamas and settled down with her to give her a bottle before bed. I tend to bury my nose in her hair when we nurse (yes, though I bottle feed, it is *still* nursing) and I started at the scent in her hair. It was my grandmother's scent. She had a very particular smell, of jasmine, roses and some unknown spice. It is a unique and unmistakable aroma. Nothing else smells like it. In the ten years since her death, I have smelled it at strange times, but I always know that she has been with me. Tonight, she came to my daughter as well. And this makes me smile. And cry. And miss her all the more.
I was lamenting the fact recently that Bit would never know her great-grandmothers like I did, but I'm wrong. She'll just have a different relationship with them.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Sneeze
Bit sneezed so hard her pacifier went flying across the room, causing me to giggle. She looked affronted. I mimicked her sneeze in a very drawn out and exaggerated way which made her throw her little head back and guffaw. I laughed back at her and did it again. Huge belly laughs erupted from the little girl.
We continued this for a long time, back and forth, until finally collapsing in a heap of exhausted giggles.
This. This is what makes it all worth while.
TGIFuck
I looked at the calendar this morning and thought, at least it's Friday. Before realizing that didn't mean a damned thing. I don't get weekends off. Weekends mean nothing special anymore.
I want to smoke, too. ALL. THE. TIME. I dream about smoking. However if I'm even near a cigarette I get repulsed. Even a clove. Even my brand of clove. But I *REALLY* want a smoke.
It's okay to want, I guess. Just not to indulge.
Mojo comes home on Sunday and will be all full of his adventures on the AIDS/Lifecycle and quite frankly I'm feeling like I don't really want to hear about it. I just want to hand him the baby, go to the bookstore and spend the rent money. When I come home, I'll expect the dishes and laundry done, a masseuse, a box of Godiva chocolates and a pitcher of fruity rum drinks.
I am a horrible person.
I'm really much nicer with sleep.
Time to go play with the baby now.
I want to smoke, too. ALL. THE. TIME. I dream about smoking. However if I'm even near a cigarette I get repulsed. Even a clove. Even my brand of clove. But I *REALLY* want a smoke.
It's okay to want, I guess. Just not to indulge.
Mojo comes home on Sunday and will be all full of his adventures on the AIDS/Lifecycle and quite frankly I'm feeling like I don't really want to hear about it. I just want to hand him the baby, go to the bookstore and spend the rent money. When I come home, I'll expect the dishes and laundry done, a masseuse, a box of Godiva chocolates and a pitcher of fruity rum drinks.
I am a horrible person.
I'm really much nicer with sleep.
Time to go play with the baby now.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
I Fell Off the World
I fell off the world for a couple of days. I know there are a few messages on my cell phone, but I haven't actually listened to them yet. I will tonight. I'm just not in the proper state right now. I'm sorry.
In good news, the tooth on the right *finally* broke through. The bad news was that it was a horrendous struggle that left us both battered and exhausted. Bit was so miserable and inconsolable. She would play for a while, then proceed to just fuss and throw herself around. This resulted in a bloody nose at one point in the afternoon.
Oh, it's the most painful thing to watch: the silent scream of the baby in pain. Her mouth opens, her eyes squeeze shut and her face slowly reddens. You can visibly see the shriek building from her toes, her body almost expanding as it works its way to the opening.
After I assessed that her nose wasn't broken and we probably didn't need to go to the emergency room, I cleaned her up and grabbed the bag of frozen corn to put on her nose. She, of course, instantly stuck it in her mouth. I eventually gave up trying to get anything on her nose and let her suck on the corn for about an hour until we both fell asleep exhausted. Oh, and I broke down in there too, after the point I knew the baby was, indeed, not permanently damaged. There is nothing more terrifying than watching your child bleed.
We woke in a pile of defrosted soggy corn and potato chips. It wasn't pretty.
I'm broken. I felt sure that this week I was going to get so much accomplished while Mojo was away on the AIDS/Lifecycle ride, but no luck. Oh, I managed to vacuum today and change the cover on the sofa, but other than that, nothing. I realized at lunch that I didn't even *eat* anything yesterday (other than an english muffin at breakfast and the potato chips for medicinal purposes).
I'm not even sure how exactly to safely take a shower since Bit has figured out, quite successfully, how to climb out of her Pack-N-Play. She hangs onto the top and walks her feet up the net side, then just flips over the rail.
My mother's curse has come true. I have a daughter who is just as much of a daredevil as I am.
She also took on unassisted step today, enroute from the recliner to the sofa. It was steady and true and done without any hesitation. I don't even think she realized she did it.
In Mojo's absence, I am realizing that things have got to change around here. I can't do this all by myself. I need help. I need time off. I need a life away from this house. I need sleep.
But mostly, right now, I need a shower.
In good news, the tooth on the right *finally* broke through. The bad news was that it was a horrendous struggle that left us both battered and exhausted. Bit was so miserable and inconsolable. She would play for a while, then proceed to just fuss and throw herself around. This resulted in a bloody nose at one point in the afternoon.
Oh, it's the most painful thing to watch: the silent scream of the baby in pain. Her mouth opens, her eyes squeeze shut and her face slowly reddens. You can visibly see the shriek building from her toes, her body almost expanding as it works its way to the opening.
After I assessed that her nose wasn't broken and we probably didn't need to go to the emergency room, I cleaned her up and grabbed the bag of frozen corn to put on her nose. She, of course, instantly stuck it in her mouth. I eventually gave up trying to get anything on her nose and let her suck on the corn for about an hour until we both fell asleep exhausted. Oh, and I broke down in there too, after the point I knew the baby was, indeed, not permanently damaged. There is nothing more terrifying than watching your child bleed.
We woke in a pile of defrosted soggy corn and potato chips. It wasn't pretty.
I'm broken. I felt sure that this week I was going to get so much accomplished while Mojo was away on the AIDS/Lifecycle ride, but no luck. Oh, I managed to vacuum today and change the cover on the sofa, but other than that, nothing. I realized at lunch that I didn't even *eat* anything yesterday (other than an english muffin at breakfast and the potato chips for medicinal purposes).
I'm not even sure how exactly to safely take a shower since Bit has figured out, quite successfully, how to climb out of her Pack-N-Play. She hangs onto the top and walks her feet up the net side, then just flips over the rail.
My mother's curse has come true. I have a daughter who is just as much of a daredevil as I am.
She also took on unassisted step today, enroute from the recliner to the sofa. It was steady and true and done without any hesitation. I don't even think she realized she did it.
In Mojo's absence, I am realizing that things have got to change around here. I can't do this all by myself. I need help. I need time off. I need a life away from this house. I need sleep.
But mostly, right now, I need a shower.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
The Baby in the Mirror
Bit is obsessed with her own reflection. She will spy herself in the dark screen of the TV, or in a pane of glass and become instantly entranced. Heaven forbid we should go by an actual mirror!
Her current mirror fetish is kissing. She loves kissing the baby staring back at her. Her eyes get droopy and heavy lidded, she sighs and leans in very close and then, BAM, just plants one right on the lips. She grins afterward, very proud of herself. If she is feeling particularly affectionate, she will come up for air only long enough to dive back for more. This makes her laugh and clap her hands.
For her birthday, my mother brought her a balloon with "Happy Birthday" on one side and the other plain mylar. Bit was fascinated. She sat in Papa's lap and very methodically, hand over hand on the ribbon, drew the balloon down to face level. She stared long and hard at the face gazing back, as if daring it to blink. Then the kissing began in earnest. Occasionally she would release the ribbon and the balloon would shoot back into the sky, anchored only by the green star tied to its base. Again, very slowly she would travel the length of the string, hand over hand, until the baby in the balloon would appear again.
When she got bored with that, she proceeded to suck all the mylar off the tail at the base.
Her current mirror fetish is kissing. She loves kissing the baby staring back at her. Her eyes get droopy and heavy lidded, she sighs and leans in very close and then, BAM, just plants one right on the lips. She grins afterward, very proud of herself. If she is feeling particularly affectionate, she will come up for air only long enough to dive back for more. This makes her laugh and clap her hands.
For her birthday, my mother brought her a balloon with "Happy Birthday" on one side and the other plain mylar. Bit was fascinated. She sat in Papa's lap and very methodically, hand over hand on the ribbon, drew the balloon down to face level. She stared long and hard at the face gazing back, as if daring it to blink. Then the kissing began in earnest. Occasionally she would release the ribbon and the balloon would shoot back into the sky, anchored only by the green star tied to its base. Again, very slowly she would travel the length of the string, hand over hand, until the baby in the balloon would appear again.
When she got bored with that, she proceeded to suck all the mylar off the tail at the base.
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