Posts from — August 2008

Bug is now closing out Hour Two of a not-too-often-seen-around-
these-parts afternoon nap, which is simultaneously awesome and disconcerting. Awesome because it let me lie motionless on the couch and watch Disc 2 of the eight hour Thorn Birds miniseries I checked out of the library (Summary: Forbidden love! Tragedies! Fake accents! Sheep!) and disconcerting because Bug was born with a daily sleep quota, and once it’s reached he is NOT going over that total, yo. So my evening lying motionless on the couch crossword puzzle/giant bowl of ice cream time is being severely compromised as we speak. Oh, the THRILLING WHIRLWIND that is my daily schedule.

Methinks he is going through a growth spurt however, because he has been something of a klutz lately, tripping over his own feet and knocking about more than usual, and also (and more telling): he’s been eating the crusts of his peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I don’t know if you’ve been around many young children, but if they eat the crusts of their sandwich, it’s pretty definite that either A) they’re growing and therefore are simply eating anything put before them or B) end times are nigh.

Also we may have had some idea about Growth Spurt ‘08 because of, um, this:

True, there are five months in between the last two marks, but that’s because we kept standing him up next to the doorjamb every couple of weeks, convinced he’d grown, but he was still hovering right around that 3/20 mark. This went on into the summer, I’m pretty sure. And then the klutzy-ness and chowing down and sleeping began and KABLAM he’s Wilt Chamberlain, Jr. Uh, minus the sexual conquests thing.

So I’m going to let him keep on sleeping, cookies and cream be damned. What with the Olympics grooming I’m doing with him for nine golds in 2024, we need all the inches we can get. And with the height well under way we can get to tackling that pesky terror of water thing.

Details.

Stage 1: Before I was pregnant stage.

Noticed women who were pregnant and women with small babies. Not so much at fever pitch, but just casually aware of them existing.

Felt: a small urge to have that again.

Stage 2: Right after finding out I was pregnant stage.

Noticed that the pregnant woman population had apparently quadrupled overnight.

Felt: weirded out.

Stage 3: After discovering it was a girl stage.

Noticed the make up of every single family I passed on the street, saw in a magazine, stood behind in line at the grocery store, etc. you get the picture. Especially two children families with different gendered children. Was the boy older or the girl? How far apart were they? How frazzled did that woman look? Is the girl wearing boy hand me downs? Seriously does she look like she ever sleeps?

Felt: voyeuristic.

Stage 4: Getting big as Montana stage.

Noticed all the recently de-babied women with teeny sleeping babes in arms. Noticed the ease with which those women could walk. The slim ankles! The rings back on their fingers!

Felt: mildly jealous and bitchy.

Stage 5: Permanent waddling, hips dislocated, sausage fingers, unable to put on my own shoes unless they are slip-on stage.

Noticing all the non pregnant women with their skinny bellies and regular clothes and light beers and 10Ks and one chin.

Feeling: elephantine and murderous.

Stage 6: The deflated stage (i.e. the baby is OUT).

Will notice…no one. Will be too sleep deprived.

And anyway, the skinny girls will fade into oblivion. Days will be too filled with a different kind of girl. A girl with a round belly and rolly ankles and a couple of chins and no hopes of walking any time soon.

Have a hunch I’ll feel: like she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

InTErneTZ:

Wee haZ RaChel hostiGE. If yu wAntZ to sEe weLL thoUt owt oR tiMely posTz evuR aGin, yOu muSt deeLivEr ONE MEELION DOLLURS* in uNmaRKd biLLs to tHe sHady aNd dArk doCk doWN bY tHe riVeR.

NoN-cUmPlyEnce WiLL reeSulT iN mORe oF thiS CRAP bEEing pUblisheD, aNd wEE KNOW yoU do noT Wantz to be reeSpOnsibLe foR thAt traGedEE.

YOU HAVE TWENTEE FOR OWWERRS.

SinSeERLy,

DA AFTERNOON NAPZ.

*AlSo aCcePtaBle: dEEliVerEE of ONE (1) heAlTHy bAbEE guRl. (mUsT cOmE aBlE tO sLeep thRu tHe nITe.)

*Instead of blogging at a reasonable time today, I took a nap. Or more accurately, a nap took me. Then Bug and I took a quick jaunt to the local thrift store for some afternoon entertainment. We were not disappointed. As a matter of fact, this may become a regular feature on Yestertime.

Behold, the Last Chance Thrift Store Jewels of the Day!

Bag O’ BFF Jesus:

WTF Tin:

Mr. Potato Dead Candle:

I was skeptical about this one, but the picture on the front convinced me that it was indeed ALL I EVER WANTED IN A FROSTY DRINK (for only $2.99!) Pumpkin Slush Maker:

Can’t decide which cover is more awesome, but pretty sure I read them both:

And of course:

Thursday night, I lay on the couch totally spent from the day’s hystronics (which according to my Mac dictionary is not a word, but it SURE AS HELL WAS A WORD ON THURSDAY) (ed. note: **lightbulb** HISTRIONICS. I knew it existed.) and watched Bug and Lorso eat a meager sandwich dinner from afar. If ever there was an indication that I had a V. Bad Day it is disinterest in food that is in my vicinity.

But Bug, seemingly unaffected by the events of the day munched away at his peanut butter and banana sandwich and caught Lorso up on crucial issues such as what color cars he saw that day and which underwear he was going to pick out after his bath that night.

I was only barely listening, eyes closed, half-dozing. Then out of the blue I felt hot peanut butter breath on my face and two arms around my neck. I opened my eyes to find Bug’s two dark brown ones peering right at me. He gave me a soft squeeze and then, still gazing at me, walked slowly back to the table trailing his fingers down my legs all the way to my feet.

He walked back to Lorso’s chair and casting furtive glances back in my direction said “Daddy, I have a secret.”

Lorso leaned down close to Bug’s sticky mouth and stayed there listening intently for what seemed like a long time for a three-year-old sized revelation. I watched, amused, because Bug’s secrets usually go something like “MOMMY’S A SILLY GOOSE.” or “BUGAWKY SHOOPY.” But when Lorso sat up again he just looked at me and smiled, and I knew that sneaky kid was about to get me again, unexpectedly and heart-wrenchingly as he is wont to do.

Lorso put his hand on Bug and said “Is that a secret from Mommy, or can I tell her?” Bug, mouth already full again, nodded shyly and pointed over at me and I waited.

“He said he loved his Mom all the way to the tips of her toes,” Lorso informed me.

And the craziest part was that even after that awful terrible day of shouts and slammed doors and tears, I knew he meant it.

Sometimes it’s the smallest redemptions that can help move the heaviest weights from our shoulders.