No It All

I am a personal cradle.
A mommy treehouse, a bed railing, a custom pillow.
I am a human elevator.
A pack mule, A lunch wagon, a jungle gym.
I am a deluxe chair.
An electric toothbrush, a waste management specialist, a personal assistant.
I am not a horsey.
I’m not.

I’m behind on my produce blogging… and who can believe that as I write about little Baby Jicama, they have little baby hiccups.  Jicamups?

I’d say it’s been six weeks, at most, since we introduced the concept of Santa.  This is truly a nanosecond in comparison to other concepts such as not hitting, not throwing, and go back to sleep.

Jacob sees Santa ev-ree-where.  He can spot him a mile away.  He sees miniature Santa ornaments on “frisfris frees.”  He spots teenagers sporting Old Navy outfits, topped by Santa hats.  On TV, in catalogs, on neighborhood lawns… it seems Santa is the most recognizable man in Jakey’s life.

Frankly, James is genuinely incensed that Jake frequently gets the answer wrong when presented with a picture of his daddy.

Last night we had Melissa, Nate and Baby Charlotte over for dinner.  Charlotte is just 10 weeks old and absolutely beautiful.  Jake was doing really well saying her name, “Charlotte, Baby Charlotte.”  It was really cute.

Then toward the end of dinner, he’s looking at me and he says, “Charlotte, Charlet, toilet.  Toilet.  Potty.  Potty, Mama.”  I could see where this was going… redirect.  Redirect.

Last night during bath time we were playing with the “numbers, numbers.”  He shows me the “L”.

“Shoe, Mama, shoe.”  Huh.  That serif type font does look like a leg with a shoe.  I definitely need to work on my creativity.

In October I noticed Jake was starting to get a little pushy.  I mean, pushier than usual.  Perhaps physically ambitious is a better descriptor.

On the airplane to DC, he took my hand and used it to make the window shade go up and down.  Then he started grabbing my arms and pulling me toward whatever object he wanted me to manipulate.  He physically attempts to push my entire body across the room, off my (“his”) chair, out of his way in the shower.  Even with my new found baby heft, he’s surprisingly strong, and painfully persistent.

I’ve spent most of my Christmas vacation on the floor… playing, wrestling, tickling, reading.  “Sit here, sit here, Mama.”  As he pats the spot where I’m supposed to sit.   “Reach it, reach it.”  “Get it, get it.”  He likes to take my face and turn it, “Look, Mama, look.”  I am supposed to carry him around while he points out our intended destination, “This way, this way.”  I’m really just a big life size doll for him to maneuver.

Over the last few days I mostly hear, “Pay, Mama, pay.”  Then he  pats the floor or pulls me off the couch toward his toys.

At this stage, hoisting the little puppeteer around and spending the majority of the day playing on the floor is beginning to take its toll…

“OK, Mama can pay.  How much for a nap?  One for you and one for me?”

We’ve encountered a strange phenomenon with our little Chatty Cathy (not sure what the boy version would be… Chatty Chester?)  In any case, words that were perfectly pronounced in the beginning, have transformed, sometimes in dramatically (and potentially offensive) ways.

A sampling of the vocabulary metamorphosis:

ball -> baseball -> balls (now always plural)
doggie -> goggie
cookie -> kooky (long o’s)
chicken -> cheeken (Maybe influenced by his Spanish speaking teachers?)
yummy -> nummy
ducky -> cocky
kee kat -> tee tat
dada -> da-ya -> grandma -> damn-a (this means both grandma & granddad)
truck -> f*@k

That last one is becoming increasingly problematic… as someone now likes to yell it at the top of his lungs at every passing vehicle.

Speaking of navels… in Spanish they have the best saying, “El piensa que es el ombligo del mundo.”  He thinks he’s the bellybutton of the world.  So much better than our “center of the universe.”

Poor little Jakey is definitely the bellybutton of our world at this point… I’d forgotten that at 30 weeks you essentially stop counting up, and start counting down.  Just a few more weeks before our little bellybutton’s big wake-up call.

I’ve recently been reminded of how traumatic the loss of my bellybutton was the first time around.  At that time it seemed like the worst thing about pregnancy.  Then I got it back.  Not really in quite the same shape as I had loaned it out in, but not terribly different.

And now it’s gone, again.  No belly button divot.  Though this time Cillo has done a pretty good job of not making it pop out, requiring me to spend outrageous amounts of money on the most amazing invention ever: popper stoppers (http://missoops.com/miss-oops/popper-stopper).  I am not a fan of any kind of comments along the lines of pop-up turkey timers, Turkey.

I’ll take navel oranges given that in less than two weeks, Cillo hits the melons.  Trying.  Not.  To.  Panic.

I recently had a great bus conversation with a respected director at work.  She shared with me her philosophy on the time her husband spends with her son when she is traveling for work.  Essentially, she stated that she can’t be upset about anything they do when she’s gone, even if she comes home and finds them “watching porn and eating lollipops.”  Her son is six.

Her point: Being a single parent and taking care of the entire daily routine, alone, is exhausting and challenging… So, I’ve tried to adjust my perspective on Daddy’s evening entertainment: an episode or two of Handy Manny cartoons, sticky strawberry Nutrigrain bars and tennis shoes… on my tan couch.  A far cry from porn and lollipops.

Jakey learns all sorts of interesting things when spending quality time with his Daddy.  For example, one day I came home and they showed me a new game Daddy had invented: Kiss the Fly.  There was a slow fly, nearing its eventual demise, buzzing back and forth along our big living room picture window.  It was still too fast for Jake, but it did bring me pause as Jacob chased it with an open mouth, back and forth, back and forth.  Apparently this was endlessly fun for Jake, and equally funny to his dad.

Jacob has also been practicing the splits.  Both side and center.

During bath time, JJ now knows how to use the rubber ducky to make fart noises against his own chest.

And finally, this quality time leads to all sorts of new, useful vocabulary such as “armpit” and “uncle.”  Apparently there are lots of reasons to say armpit on a daily basis.  “Uncle” is another dad vocab word that a one-year-old should know in the likely event of an impromptu wrestling match.

Fortunately, my son hasn’t uttered anything that sounds like “porn” or “lollipops.”  I’ll keep you posted.

A few weeks ago, James remembered that we had some unused bath toys in the closet– a whole bag of colorful foam letters and numbers that stick to the tub when they’re wet.  Thank you again Rene!  We feel you smiling down on us at bath time.

Jakey loves his “numbers.”  The concept that there are both letters and numbers is currently irrelevant.  We’ve been counting to 10 for several weeks.  He almost always skips 1 and tends to prefer the even digits.  Jake’s favorite number is 2.  It is the answer to everything.

“Jakey, how many birdies are there?”
“Twooo.”

“Jacob, what color is it?”
“Twooo.”

“JJ, how old will you be?”
“Twooo.”  (I like to throw that one in… he always gets it right.)

The other night it was bath time and he was surrounded by his 36 numbers (26 letters plus 0 through 9).

“Hammer.  Hammer.”

Hmmmm.  I’m not sure, but I don’t think the toy company is selling “Alphabet letters AND your favorite household tools!  In a convenient bath time package.”

He then picks up the “T” and starts hammering me with it.  Why didn’t I think of that?

Part way through bath time tonight he says to me, “Cut it.  Cut it.”  And then starts using the “X” like a pair of scissors.  It’s a bit like gazing at clouds…