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Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
What To Expect.....
Do you ever get those emails that say, "Your baby is x months old! Now, he should be eating rack of lamb, doing advanced algebra, and leaping tall buildings in a single bound"?
Instead of an interesting read about early childhood development, they become a little panic-inducing.
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Grayson is usually doing the things he should be doing, according to these updates. I think, yeah, he's walking/running/climbing/jumping and he can build a tower of 6 blocks on his own, and he can say and wave bye-bye by opening and closing his hand, he can even point to what he wants with his index finger. He has about 4 or 5 words that he uses daily, er weekly.
But, he does NOT drink from a cup. I haven't even thought about letting him drink from a cup on a day-to-day basis without a lid or a spout and I wonder, briefly, am I holding him back? Should he be serving up some lemonade and cookies? Should I call the doctor????
I don't.
But as a parent, we are always trying to one up other kids.
"Oh, Susie can count to 13?? My Billy could sing the Star Spangled Banner at 13 months! Ha! Beat that!!"
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Every kid develops at a different rate. Grayson may not be singing his ABC's, but he can use a spoon for his morning Cheerios and he can throw a ball overhand at least 3-4 feet. He's not interested in precise words, he just assumes calling everything "ehh". He can't be bothered to respond to, "Grayson, do you need to go potty?" or to sit still long enough for me to read half a sentence in his story books, but he can hoist himself around, through, and over furniture like he's training to be America's tiniest gladiator.
I remember reading the "at eleven months my baby should be able to respond to simple questions like, "Where's your mouth?" by pointing to his mouth, and should understand the word "no"."
Ummm, okay. He definitely knows where his body parts are and he understands the word "no" but I still have never heard him say it. I ask him where his mouth is all the time, and he just looks at me like I'm nuts. Either he's thinking, "Obviously it's on my face, where it's been every other time you've asked this week," or "Why are you so obsessed with my mouth, lady?" Maybe he just hears the Charlie Brown-type "wah wah wah wah wah," which is also what he hears when I tell him not to touch the remote control or push the X-BOX buttons. And if I ask him where his belly button is, he lifts up MY shirt and crams his sticky little finger in My belly button. When asked where his nose is, he automatically sniffs his nose. So he's getting there.
I don't think he's way off track by any means, I just think he does things on his own time.........Moody time. It's what Kevin used to say to people when we were late......."We're on Moody time". (It's my maiden name, people......the Moody's are notorious for being late.)
We had his 18 month check up today and Dr. Nail was very impressed.
He walked in the exam room as Grayson was blowing bubbles. He looked kinda shocked and asked me, "Has he been doing this very long?" "What? Blow bubbles? I guess for a few weeks now......should he not be...." "No, that's great! I've just never seen an 18 month old actually blow bubbles through one of those bubble makers before."
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"Oh...... well he's got skills, doc!"
It made me proud. My son doesn't speak English but he can blow bubbles and jump and play pretend and give kisses and that's ok.
The things Grayson's doing usually aren't in the updates.
It never says,
"Congratulations! Your baby is now 248 weeks old! He should be smiling and laughing at every bird he sees, rearranging lightweight furniture, and wedging himself in small places he can't figure out how to get out of.
He's probably extremely skilled at removing toilet paper from the roll, and making fart noises on the edge of the bath tub. He makes weird, wonderful noises by doing some sort of nasal-y hum in the back of his throat that may remind you of Chewbaca from Star Wars. He probably likes to throw himself at you, tackle you, then crawl back and forth across you while laughing. He gives out endless hugs and likes to turn off all the light switches before bed. He may call out "Mammmmmmma" when he can't find you. He may even get really, really mad when you don't let him have pens/scissors/bank statements/hot drinks/and toilet bowl plungers.
In the next few weeks you should be planning ways to keep him from hysterically throwing tantrums, giving poop as presents, and jumping off coffee tables without bean bags being there to catch his fall. Yeh, I'm not even kidding. He seriously thinks he's Evil Canieval.
Whatever, if the name fits........evil.
I think it's time to pay a little less attention to the update emails, before they start telling me that, by two, he should be counting to 350 and writing his name.
I've got a feeling that my kid just might be the sort who will write his first initial in pee in the snow before he scrawls his name with crayon on a piece of paper.
And that's not going to be in any child development newsletter.
Instead of an interesting read about early childhood development, they become a little panic-inducing.
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
Grayson is usually doing the things he should be doing, according to these updates. I think, yeah, he's walking/running/climbing/jumping and he can build a tower of 6 blocks on his own, and he can say and wave bye-bye by opening and closing his hand, he can even point to what he wants with his index finger. He has about 4 or 5 words that he uses daily, er weekly.
But, he does NOT drink from a cup. I haven't even thought about letting him drink from a cup on a day-to-day basis without a lid or a spout and I wonder, briefly, am I holding him back? Should he be serving up some lemonade and cookies? Should I call the doctor????
I don't.
But as a parent, we are always trying to one up other kids.
"Oh, Susie can count to 13?? My Billy could sing the Star Spangled Banner at 13 months! Ha! Beat that!!"
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
Every kid develops at a different rate. Grayson may not be singing his ABC's, but he can use a spoon for his morning Cheerios and he can throw a ball overhand at least 3-4 feet. He's not interested in precise words, he just assumes calling everything "ehh". He can't be bothered to respond to, "Grayson, do you need to go potty?" or to sit still long enough for me to read half a sentence in his story books, but he can hoist himself around, through, and over furniture like he's training to be America's tiniest gladiator.
I remember reading the "at eleven months my baby should be able to respond to simple questions like, "Where's your mouth?" by pointing to his mouth, and should understand the word "no"."
Ummm, okay. He definitely knows where his body parts are and he understands the word "no" but I still have never heard him say it. I ask him where his mouth is all the time, and he just looks at me like I'm nuts. Either he's thinking, "Obviously it's on my face, where it's been every other time you've asked this week," or "Why are you so obsessed with my mouth, lady?" Maybe he just hears the Charlie Brown-type "wah wah wah wah wah," which is also what he hears when I tell him not to touch the remote control or push the X-BOX buttons. And if I ask him where his belly button is, he lifts up MY shirt and crams his sticky little finger in My belly button. When asked where his nose is, he automatically sniffs his nose. So he's getting there.
I don't think he's way off track by any means, I just think he does things on his own time.........Moody time. It's what Kevin used to say to people when we were late......."We're on Moody time". (It's my maiden name, people......the Moody's are notorious for being late.)
We had his 18 month check up today and Dr. Nail was very impressed.
He walked in the exam room as Grayson was blowing bubbles. He looked kinda shocked and asked me, "Has he been doing this very long?" "What? Blow bubbles? I guess for a few weeks now......should he not be...." "No, that's great! I've just never seen an 18 month old actually blow bubbles through one of those bubble makers before."
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
"Oh...... well he's got skills, doc!"
It made me proud. My son doesn't speak English but he can blow bubbles and jump and play pretend and give kisses and that's ok.
The things Grayson's doing usually aren't in the updates.
It never says,
"Congratulations! Your baby is now 248 weeks old! He should be smiling and laughing at every bird he sees, rearranging lightweight furniture, and wedging himself in small places he can't figure out how to get out of.
He's probably extremely skilled at removing toilet paper from the roll, and making fart noises on the edge of the bath tub. He makes weird, wonderful noises by doing some sort of nasal-y hum in the back of his throat that may remind you of Chewbaca from Star Wars. He probably likes to throw himself at you, tackle you, then crawl back and forth across you while laughing. He gives out endless hugs and likes to turn off all the light switches before bed. He may call out "Mammmmmmma" when he can't find you. He may even get really, really mad when you don't let him have pens/scissors/bank statements/hot drinks/and toilet bowl plungers.
In the next few weeks you should be planning ways to keep him from hysterically throwing tantrums, giving poop as presents, and jumping off coffee tables without bean bags being there to catch his fall. Yeh, I'm not even kidding. He seriously thinks he's Evil Canieval.
Whatever, if the name fits........evil.
I think it's time to pay a little less attention to the update emails, before they start telling me that, by two, he should be counting to 350 and writing his name.
I've got a feeling that my kid just might be the sort who will write his first initial in pee in the snow before he scrawls his name with crayon on a piece of paper.
And that's not going to be in any child development newsletter.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
18
Grayson,
You are eighteen-months old today. Happy "half" birthday!! A year and a half, 1.5 - and although I realize that 1/2 is only 1/2 as meaningful as a 1/whole, I have a soft spot for half-birthdays as it doesn't feel like so long ago that I introduced myself in halves and three quarters and thirds.
"How old are you?"
"I'm ten and a half. How old are you?"
"Eight and three quarters."
And as children we understood perfectly.
And as adults, or should I say, parents, we still do:
"How old is your child?"
"Sixteen weeks" or "Seventeen months" or "forty-seven months..." (which is when I have to do the math on my fingers.)
Before I had a child I was always annoyed with the parents who rattled off their children's ages in months like I was supposed to know the difference between thirteen months and twenty-six months and thirty-three months and so on. Why couldn't she just say "my kid is two or almost four?" I always found it to be some strange parent-language but now that I have you, I get it. I do.
Because when you have a baby, every DAY counts. Every WEEK matters. Every MONTH is a revelation, a collection of milestones so broad, it is easy to forget that they have even happened.
Grayson, you have suddenly, over the course of several weeks,turned into a little boy. And sometimes when I look at you, my heart melts. I fall between the floor cracks in gooey strands. Those eyes. That little belly-laugh. Those ever-cold hands and toes like chubby berries. Can I eat them? Baby toes. Delicious!
Today I was describing you to an old friend on the phone and I got teary-eyed trying to explain the emotion I felt looking at this photo.
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How in heavens could something so perfect come from me? How is it possible that this tiny beam of light didn't used to exist?
And I felt suddenly blindsided by love. Bumping into everything and skipping down the sidewalk and over-tipping the hostess who isn't even allowed to accept tips--in love.
And so I went to you, asleep in your crib, with your legs tucked up under your chest and I just stood there like a fool, staring with my mouth open, shaking my head like, "who are you?"
Seriously. Who are you?
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Who is this little boy walking across the street, not wanting to hold my hand, with his little eyes taking in everything around him? How is it that you can be walking toward me, with your little shadow tripping beside you? You want ME to pick you up. You want ME to love on you and hold you and suck the yummy Cheeto's stains from your fingers. You want ME to fall asleep on in the shower, with water on our faces and rubber duckies on our heads. Me. ME??? But I'm just me.
But to you......I'm me x infinity. Super-me. Like my mother is to me and hers to her and so on.
And sometimes I watch you for clues. For expressions that look like mine, raised eyebrows, cockeyed glances, crooked smiles.
When I saw this photo I thought. "Yup, he's mine."
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The posed look I always have in photographs, and your face making the same expression. I laughed. And then I cried because it's hard to believe you are my baby sometimes.
And then there are those times that I just see me. In you. Like this one. Little emotional roller coasters, we are.
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
Then of course there are the days when parenthood is like trying to rescue bees from a swimming pool (knowing right well you'll probably get stung) but that's for another day.
Parenthood. Bees. Little boys with great big eyes who walk on two feet and fall down and laugh and scream and wipe their eyes when they're sleepy and lie down on their backs in the middle of the street and play peek-a-boo.
A half birthday may not be much, but to me, the mother of a 1.5 year old, a half birthday is huge. Eighteen months. So fast.
One day I won't count months anymore. Soon it will be years. Something I can't even begin to imagine. But even as the months fly by and the weeks and the days practically disintegrate, I am grateful. And thankful. And in love. More in love than ever. Looking forward to tomorrow morning when I get to wake up to you standing in your crib yelling, "Mamamamamamamama"....."MAMAMAMAMAMA" and your open-mouthed kiss on my cheek and fingernails clawing at my face like stingers. Always my little bumble bee. My little boy.
You are eighteen-months old today. Happy "half" birthday!! A year and a half, 1.5 - and although I realize that 1/2 is only 1/2 as meaningful as a 1/whole, I have a soft spot for half-birthdays as it doesn't feel like so long ago that I introduced myself in halves and three quarters and thirds.
"How old are you?"
"I'm ten and a half. How old are you?"
"Eight and three quarters."
And as children we understood perfectly.
And as adults, or should I say, parents, we still do:
"How old is your child?"
"Sixteen weeks" or "Seventeen months" or "forty-seven months..." (which is when I have to do the math on my fingers.)
Before I had a child I was always annoyed with the parents who rattled off their children's ages in months like I was supposed to know the difference between thirteen months and twenty-six months and thirty-three months and so on. Why couldn't she just say "my kid is two or almost four?" I always found it to be some strange parent-language but now that I have you, I get it. I do.
Because when you have a baby, every DAY counts. Every WEEK matters. Every MONTH is a revelation, a collection of milestones so broad, it is easy to forget that they have even happened.
Grayson, you have suddenly, over the course of several weeks,turned into a little boy. And sometimes when I look at you, my heart melts. I fall between the floor cracks in gooey strands. Those eyes. That little belly-laugh. Those ever-cold hands and toes like chubby berries. Can I eat them? Baby toes. Delicious!
Today I was describing you to an old friend on the phone and I got teary-eyed trying to explain the emotion I felt looking at this photo.
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
How in heavens could something so perfect come from me? How is it possible that this tiny beam of light didn't used to exist?
And I felt suddenly blindsided by love. Bumping into everything and skipping down the sidewalk and over-tipping the hostess who isn't even allowed to accept tips--in love.
And so I went to you, asleep in your crib, with your legs tucked up under your chest and I just stood there like a fool, staring with my mouth open, shaking my head like, "who are you?"
Seriously. Who are you?
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
Who is this little boy walking across the street, not wanting to hold my hand, with his little eyes taking in everything around him? How is it that you can be walking toward me, with your little shadow tripping beside you? You want ME to pick you up. You want ME to love on you and hold you and suck the yummy Cheeto's stains from your fingers. You want ME to fall asleep on in the shower, with water on our faces and rubber duckies on our heads. Me. ME??? But I'm just me.
But to you......I'm me x infinity. Super-me. Like my mother is to me and hers to her and so on.
And sometimes I watch you for clues. For expressions that look like mine, raised eyebrows, cockeyed glances, crooked smiles.
When I saw this photo I thought. "Yup, he's mine."
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
The posed look I always have in photographs, and your face making the same expression. I laughed. And then I cried because it's hard to believe you are my baby sometimes.
And then there are those times that I just see me. In you. Like this one. Little emotional roller coasters, we are.
Photo Sharing - Video Sharing - Photo Printing
Then of course there are the days when parenthood is like trying to rescue bees from a swimming pool (knowing right well you'll probably get stung) but that's for another day.
Parenthood. Bees. Little boys with great big eyes who walk on two feet and fall down and laugh and scream and wipe their eyes when they're sleepy and lie down on their backs in the middle of the street and play peek-a-boo.
A half birthday may not be much, but to me, the mother of a 1.5 year old, a half birthday is huge. Eighteen months. So fast.
One day I won't count months anymore. Soon it will be years. Something I can't even begin to imagine. But even as the months fly by and the weeks and the days practically disintegrate, I am grateful. And thankful. And in love. More in love than ever. Looking forward to tomorrow morning when I get to wake up to you standing in your crib yelling, "Mamamamamamamama"....."MAMAMAMAMAMA" and your open-mouthed kiss on my cheek and fingernails clawing at my face like stingers. Always my little bumble bee. My little boy.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Flashback Friday
February 6th, 2008
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You are my heart and soul, little man!
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You are my heart and soul, little man!
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
2 - 1
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The terrible twos have arrived with a vengeance. This is depressing beyond belief because not only is Grayson only 18 months (6 months left, people!) but I have been emotionally unprepared for tantrum-fest 2009. It wouldn't be a big deal if the craziness happened in the privacy of our own home, but the moment the front door opens, the devil horns push through Grayson's forehead and the raarrrrrrrghhhh-ing begins.
Rarrrrgghhhhhhhh: (n) Pushing, kicking, screaming, terrorizing, screaming, being crazy, screaming, dropping to the pavement/carpet/asphalt while arching back and screaming. Did I mention anything about screaming?
But the worst was a week ago today when, determined to enforce the you-must-hold-my-hand-when-you-cross-the-street rule, against Grayson's rarrrrrghhhh-ing, we ended up stopping traffic as a tantrum erupted on the crosswalk of a somewhat busy, library parking lot.
It was one of those moments when as a parent you have two choices:
1. Succumb to the Rarrrrghhhhh-ing and let the kid have his way.
2. Fight it out and to heck with the line of honking cars.
This is one of the toughest decisions to make and there have been plenty of times when I have gone with option #1, but in this case I decided to go with option #2 and fight the darkness.
The cars collected as I stood over Grayson who was Rarrrrrrggggghhhing in the street until the honking started. I panicked, grabbed him by the hand and dragged him across the street as he kicked and screamed.
"You HAVE to hold my hand," I said.
"Rarrrrrghhhhhhh"
(Honk! Honk!)
"We're almost there! Come on dude."
(Honk! Honk)
"Rarrrrrggghhhhhh"
"Duuuuuude!"
I was mortified. Grayson was pissed off. And the motorists were totally annoyed but at least I had won. I had won!
"I am the master!" I screamed aloud at the heavens, "The MAAAAAAASTER!"
And then today, the same exact thing happened: tantrum in the middle of the Target crosswalk, annoyed motorists, refusal to hold my hand.
Except this time, I gave in. I went with option #1.
I am soooo not the master, dude.
And for that, I feel like Rarrrrghhhhhhing.
Current Score:
Grayson - 2
Mom - 1
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