Almost 3

Um, Harry's turning 3 next week, and I am baffled-- where the heck did the time go? I realize this is the most cliched of cliched questions, but seriously. He was just mah baby, and now? Now so babyish (except, you know, for the pants pooping and the chubby little satin cheeks). His babysitter came over last night, and he said in a delightfully conversational manner, "Oh, Jamie. How was your frisbee game? Did you wear your contacts so you could see?"

I guess it is because we had another baby right away, but Ben and I are just now getting back into the swing of seeing movies in theaters and having wine-filled grown up dinners and having time to maintain our hair and nails (okay-- that one is more me than him). And we like it. A lot. Life with a kid and a baby is easier than life with 2 babies-- and if we allow ourselves to think about the future of life with 2 kids-- bring it, Disney World; we're ready for you!

3 is easy in terms of birthdays, too. He tells us what he wants (which is everything he sees on TV. Check). He picked out his own cake (Batman from Dairy Queen). We invited his class (and cousins and a few more friends) to the Little Gym because that's what he wanted (and because they say all I have to bring is the kid and the camera. Score.)

One tiny little thing that sucks a little about our almost-3-year-old right now though (because I don't want you to think it;s all roses-- my life is haaaaaaaaaaard, remember?) is that he's kind of a jerkface if he is not getting 100% of our attention at all times. When we look at Jack (or speak to him or god forbid tend to him in any way), he freaks out and turns into a toy-throwing, milk-flinging, insult-screaming menace.

Other than that (and the pants pooping), 3 looks pretty d (I was going to write "darn good," but I was interrupted mid-stroke to stop Harry from climbing in the Pack n Play, then to stop him from sticking his fingers in my coffee, then to ask him again to stay out of the Pack n Ply, then to yell at him to be a good listener as he lunged for my coffee again).

Karma.

How to eat yogurt when you lack the manual dexterity needed to use a spoon, by Jack age 13.5 months

Merry Medical Thursday

From the time he could roll over, Jack was a bad co-sleeper, preferring to burrow his way through a row of suffocate-y pillows, nearly flinging his little body off the side of the bed not wedged up against the pack and play, and deciding that 3 am was the perfect time to play a rousing game of "got your nose."

Last night was no exception.

In the 6 or so months since Jack and I last slept together, he has just about doubled in size, making him an even more obtrusive bedfellow. He has also developed a penchant for sleeping horizontally, on his tummy, with his butt in the air and his arms stretched backwards-- which, now that I think about it, is perfect child's pose. Hmmmm. Maybe the yogis are onto somethin'.

As an added bonus, last night, he was oozing virus from all of his sweaty little pores and orifices, so lucky freaking me on that score, as well. That's why we slept together-- because he had a 102 degree fever all day that would not come down despite Motrin and Tylenol in 3-hour intervals.

(We went to urgent care to be talked down to by a busy doctor who said maybe fifth's disease, definitely a virus, but what the hell, let's swab him for strep and make you all hang out in our germ covered waiting room for like 30 extra minutes playing with sick kids and terrorizing the fish in the aquarium until a busy nurse can finally come out and tell you to go home-- it's just a virus. Then the harried nurse started to launch into a speech about how a virus means that antibiotics won't help, and the doctor won't be writing a prescription-- I smiled at this through my hatred of the urgent care waiting room and the 22 pounds of limp, rashy, hot baby on my shoulder because I think people who demand antibiotics for colds/flus are freaking morons, and I appreciated the nurse's preemptive efforts. )

Anywho, it's always a bummer when kids are sick, but I think it's even more of a bummer when an eternally happy kid like Jack is under the weather (and also, he's my wittle bitty Mr. Preshus). He so obviously felt terrible with his peeling, rashy, scarlet cheeks, and his chills, and his glassy, feverish eyes, but he was trying to be his jolly old self-- only his smiles looked like they might actually hurt. He slept most of the day, but by bedtime, his temp rose back to 102 (from the 100.5 it had been hovering around), and he wanted to do nothing but drink a bottle of cherry Pedialyte, be wrapped up in a fleece blanket on my chest, and moan.

We had a tossy, turny night, but Ben let us sleep until 8:30 (would have let us sleep longer, but I saw the clock and bolted out of bed because Ben usually goes to work at 7:20-ish), and now Jack is fever free but down again for a morning nap, the poor little guy.

I didn't know Jack was sick yesterday until I called Ben on my way home from taking Harry to the dentist for the first time, and Ben said Jack fell asleep on the bathroom floor while Ben was showering-- so pathetic, huh? (and my first thought was like oh crap-- the babysitter can't come today, and I really needed a pedicure and some new shampoo because I SUCK AS A PERSON)

But Harry and the dentist? Amazing!
He was so good while I got my teeth cleaned. He let his action figures invade the dentist's office Fisher Price farm set and didn't even notice when the hygienist stuck her pointy rake thing into a sensitive spot on my gum and I squealed a little. When it was his turn, he was happy to wear some cool sunglasses to protect his eyes from the bright lights.

He listened with rapt attention while the hygienist showed him all her tools and instruments, and he was very happy to hear the result of his tooth count (20-- just like his Teeth Are Not Biting book told him there'd be). The ride up and down in the cool chair was just an extra awesome bonus.

Look at him-- just like a twee adult (he loved the water squirter and teeny mouth vacuum-- his words -- the most, of course.

Then she told him he got a toothbrush and something from the treasure chest in the waiting room, and his head exploded from delight.

No Sleep for the Weary

I have insomnia again.

I had it when Harry was 4 months old-- it lasted months and was horrible. A living nightmare I couldn't escape because I couldn't find refuge in my bed anymore. It was awful-- can't even express how awful it was. My doctor wrote me a prescription for sleeping pills, but I never took them because I was afraid if I did and they didn't work, I would have no relief ever again. I got off the mini pill, and that helped. Eventually, I started to sleep again, and I read stack after stack of crappy thrillers between the hours of 11 pm and 4 am while I waited for sleep to come and regarded my sleeping baby as a ticking time bomb of need.

I lost some sleep when Jack was a few months old, too, and I saw a nice therapist who forced me to take my panicky what-ifs to their logical conclusions and suggested I try yoga. I did, and by the time Jack's colic went away, so did my stress, and sleep came again. We've all been sleeping wonderfully for months now, so imagine my surprise, shock, dismay, horror, etc when that douche bag insomnia popped in for a visit a little over a week ago. And the good for nothing asshole has been here ever since. And I have no idea WHY-- the other times I could easily blame post partum hormones, but what about now? This is the least stressed and most well rested I have been in YEARS.

I always sleep eventually, but the time between hitting the pillow and cosing my eyes gets longer and more horrible every night. (I am not a drama queen? Why would you go and say a thing like that?)

I am just a ray of sunshine today, huh? Be lucky you don't live with me.

So, I have been completely worthless these days. I am not working per se, but I still have a babysitter. While she's with the boys, I stroll the mall alone. Or go to the library. Get my nails done. Sit in my office and check the tiniest, most insignificant items off my to-do list. Complain about how hard it is to be me to my husband who is actually at work doing work things and getting paid for them and who might think that I am sort of a pain in the ass-- can you ever imagine why?

Jack and Harry looking stony in their wagon

Who doesn't like frozen pizza and ice cream for dinner?

On Sunday, we purged all of our closets, and Jack and I had fun playing in the refuse. I kept both of these hats because I am a bad purger.

Harry was playing happily in my room while Jack napped and I lolled around on the internet (my life is haaaaaaard), and I looked up to find this odd assortment of guys.

Including this one, whom I love so much but could probably love even more if I could just close my eyes and go to sleep.

Cupcakes for the cupcake

Sometime in the past couple of weeks, Jack has become an actual person who walks upright, can express his desires and preferences, and understands us when we talk to him. I am not sure exactly when that happened-- I could have told you the precise second Harry did all these things.

But Jack-- I just sort of rubbed my eyes and there he was-- a teeny chunk of humanity,with the fattest toes and the widest little foot slabs, who raises his little head from the Ugly Doll on which it lays and says "Night night" when we leave his room after reading his bedtime stories.

Jack, the wobbly zombie who runs away when we say we're going to get him, can retrieve Harry's pants from the next room when asked, makes the silliest little noise when we tell him to blow his nose, and thinks all animals say "Roar."

In the morning, if we ask him how he slept, he will lay his head on the floor and pretend to snore (he is very literal, that kid). When asked how HE slept, Harry always shakes his head sadly and says"I didn't sleep good, guys." Jack's optimism, though, is unbridled. He loves when Harry kisses him; when the garage door opens at the end of the day signaling Ben's return, he claps his fat hands and screams "DADA" while toddling as fast as he can to the top-of-stairs gate. He also gives the wettest open mouthed kisses when we request them complete with little lip smacking noises.

Everyday he gathers new words and figures out how to use them. He's happiest when we're reading to him, and at night, he still likes to be cradled in our arms while we hold his bottle for him, and he sticks his fingers in our mouths.

Trust me when I tell you he is sweeter than chocolate cake and stickier, too.

Zoo-- it was so fun we could be like official spokespeople

Except we only took 2 pictures of animals:

the sleepy tiger

and the free-range peacock. There were peafowl everywhere. By the time we got to the playground and one hopped through the fence, Harry was all annoyed and said, "That peacock is in my way."

This animal only got in the picture because Harry was riding it, and Ben was standing next to it. Jack did not get a pony ride because I did not want to walk in a slow circle dodging pygmy horse crap. Been there; done that.

The rest of the time, we just took pictures of ourselves because we are conceited like that.

We were not shocked to learn that Jack loves chicken strips-- that kid is processed food's biggest fan

Harry was cool with his Sponge Bob popsicle.

We waited in a massive line for the train


and were glad we did because the train ride was awesome


Moments after this happy shot,

disaster almost came to the carousel:

Panic makes the merry go round from sarah on Vimeo.

(ben almost fell off the carousel because he was unfamiliar, apparently, with the up and down motion of the ostrich. tricky merry-go-round. that's harry in the background urging his horse to ride like the wind).

The boys slept the whole way home, and we grilled a ton of pork product upon our arrival. Then we threw Harry and Jack in the tub, where they had a playful scuffle.


and now they are sleeping, and I hope we will be soon.

Deja Vu

Remember this guy?

Little barely 2 year old Harry on his first day of preschool.

His backpack (decidedly unacademic containing only an extra Pull-up, some wipes, and a spare pair of jeans-- in size 18 months) was so heavy, he couldn't walk while wearing it because he toppled right over (to reveal a pretty freaky looking baby who crapped through that little hedgehog outfit on the way to school, something I didn't notice until I took him out of his infant seat and carried him into class in my quest to be the perfect mother whose baby will never have a flat head but instead was the frazzled lady holding the dirty kid).


Today was his last day of school, and he is all grown up at almost 3 and can carry his own bag (which still holds the same teeny jeans-- good thing his love for his teachers makes him too nervous to crap his pants at school because those dungarees would be worthless). He was super excited about his end-of-year picnic even though I stalled getting cookies and ended up swinging by Whole Foods and grabbing some pre-packaged ones instead of ordering the elaborate pirate cookies he requested from our favorite bakery. Arrrgh, I suck.

Good thing the baby got cuter

Harry loves juice in dixie cups. Thanks, school, for effing up our juice-free zone.

Between the Cheetos (again, great healthy snack influence), the melty cookies, and the sand on the playground, Harry and Jack were filthy, so I figured what the hell and took them to the park.

At home, they had a bath that left a ring around the tub and so much sand I could have panned for fool's gold. For a minute, I thought I was going to enjoy the phantom simul-nap, but Harry never slept.


While looking for old pictures for this post, I noticed that we celebrated Harry's first day of school with a trip to that same park. Trippy.