(photo) Makin' faces. 

Dis and Dat

Aaron is back on day shift, which means that for four consecutive days he will leave before Adrian is out of bed and return after the wee one has gone to sleep. It's like a vacation! Except he's at work.

So that means that we get to see exactly how long it takes for Adrian to become bored with my antics. We've already reached the stage where anything-that-is-not-a-hat-but-is-worn-as-one is no longer funny. The humor has also drained out of Mummy-wearing-Adrian's-clothes....

One thing that Adrian is doing that I find entertaining is demanding to know the names for things. Specifically while in the bath. Specifically body parts. He knows every part in order to do the head, shoulders, knees and toes rigmarole. He knows ankles, elbows, belly button. And he knows penis. He knows exactly where it is whether he's in the tub or fully clothed. You can ask him "hey, where's your penis?" and he'll point right at it. No hesitation, no thought required. It's the kind of party trick that's funny now, but won't be so charming when he's 6. Or 16. Or 26.

This is why parents pay for therapy, isn't it?

In which Good Sense wins.

Lately Adrian has taken to exploring the drawers in the bathroom under the sink. I've already had to move my drawer full of essential bathroom goodies (make up, waxing strips, sunglasses with rhinestones) into the bedroom because I'd rather suffer the inconvenience than baby-proof the bathroom. Also, he still feels the need to follow me into the bathroom and I need something to distract him from the toilet paper and flush-handle. So, on occasion when his toys have lost their luster, we wander down the hall to the bathroom where we play the game: hand things to Mommy. He opens a drawer, picks an item at random and hands it to me. I say 'thank you'. Repeat until drawer is empty.
This morning, we wandered into the bathroom opened the drawer full of band-aids and medical tape, opened a box of band-aids and put every.single.one.on.the.floor. Then he picked up each band-aid, examined it carefully, and placed it either in the box or in the drawer. I'm not sure what his criteria for placement was, but he was picking up his own mess! And enjoying it! Half way through, he discovered a band-aid of smaller size nestled in the box with the standards and handed it to me, puzzled. I took the band-aid in my hand, separated the pull-tabs, and had a flash back to 1984: I was sitting on the floor of my parents bathroom, opening an entire box of band-aids, one by one, and placing them upon my skin until I ran out of empty space.
I slid the tiny band aid into my pocket and declared "all gone".
Disaster.
Narrowly averted.

(photo) A bite for you. 

Challenge accepted

Here's to Sarah, for passing along the meme wherein I tell you 5 ways in which Adrian is weird.

Number one: He loves to share. I know that you're thinking "aw, how sweet", but the things he loves to share are usually half-eaten food bits covered in drool and other half-eaten food bits. Not so much sweet as incredibly messy. Well-intentioned, but messy.

Number two: He loves to take a bath. He will sit in an empty bathtub after the water has drained out he enjoys it so much. It's not the bath toys, which he ignores; or the actual washing, which he tolerates. It's the water and the big white bathtub.

Number three: His fashion sense (which I'm fairly sure he inherited from me). Adrian's favorite outfit consists of :the pumpkin costume from Halloween, snow boots, and a headband with cat ears on it--also from the Halloween bin. He enjoys his pumpkin suit so much that I can't just put it in the dirty laundry hamper because he fishes it out and demands (as much as a 13 month old can demand) to wear it the next day.

Number four: His favorite movie is "Elf", starring Will Ferrell. He asks for it by name...although he calls it "Alf". I'm not sure what about the movie appeals to him, but he'll watch the first 45 minutes straight through and then he comes back when the characters sing.

Number five: He has an obsession with buttons. If there is a button on an object he will point to it and declare "buh" (I keep hoping it will turn into "butt"). He will then proceed to push the button 50 million times per second to see if anything will happen. He got a hold of the remote control the other day and nearly deafened the entire neighborhood--first with the volume up button, then with his wails of protest when I wrenched the magical plinth of buttony goodness from his chubby determined hands. This fascination has led him to "call" people on my cell phone...so if you got a heavy breathing call the other day, sorry about that.

So there you have it: five reasons why Adrian is weird and why I wouldn't trade him in for anything.

Pass the Kleenex

It's a house full of sickies! (Not to be confused with sickos)

Aaron and I have a bizarre mucusy ailment and Adrian is running a small fever and requesting to go to bed. If the fever didn't give it away, the near constant sleep and desire to return to sleep are a sure tip off.

Other than being puny and feverish, Adrian has developed a brand! new! skill! Which he will use ad infinitum to drive me mad.
He rolls his eyes.
It first surfaced when we were in the car on the way home from the grocery store. He was getting fussy so I turned around and said that we were nearly home and he looked at me, rolled his eyes up into his head and sighed. It was like he was the worlds tiniest 13 year old. Comical, but at the same time sounding the gong of doom.

(photo) It's not a parachute, that's for sure. 

Now paging...

Teeth 5 and 6 are scheduled to make an appearance any day now. They're sitting on either side of his two top teeth and they're driving him mad. Bang-his-face-into-the-floor-crazy.
Making him almost as crazy as me. Why the insanity you ask? Because my baby still doesn't say Mama. He'll say Dada, baboo (balloon), appem (apple), crak kur, ba nanm, and cak (cat). But not Mama. And it's not because I don't refer to myself in the third person. I do it all the time. So much so that it's often hard to stop once Adrian's in bed for the night.
What gives?
Do I not need a name? Am I merely one step closer to enlightenment now? Next objective: relinquish all worldly possessions...

(photo) Ahoy to Uncle Austin! 

(photo) An Adrian-sized tree. 

Blah

I have a case of the blahs.
A specific case of I'd-rather-waste-my-time-in-front-of-the-TV-than-do-anything-else inertia.
Maybe it's the weather.
Maybe I'm lazy.
Maybe I'm rebelling against self-imposed deadlines...You are not the boss of me! I am the boss of me and the boss says "chill, Winston".

There's also this thing where I dislike it when Aaron works nights and I'm here with out anyone to talk to...or at...or whatever. I get lonely and then I get punchy and kind of freaked out. I'm that lady who's always whipping the curtains open to glare at whomever is on the other side. Because something could happen!

This is why I do not partake in any activity that is designed to be scary. I stay scared much longer than necessary. Years, sometimes. I'm sure this is all indicative of some malfunctioning coping mechanism, but that doesn't help me stop doing the nervous dance.

Shuffle--shuffle-sliiiiiiiide.
*Jazz hands*

Sleigh bells ring...

Holy crap--is it cold outside! My little fingers and toes protest muchly.
It snowed here Wednesday (Thursday?), and I took Adrian outside to muck about in the snow. He was wearing many layers, plus snowsuit, hat, and mittens. I was wearing my jammies, ski jacket and a hat. It was one of those days where I was going to shower but then I realized that my other bra was dirty and I was supposed to wash it but never really got around to it. I've been wearing the same two nursing bras for over a year now, and I keep saying I'm going to get another one, but clearly that hasn't happened. The plan is wear one, wash one, but sometimes I forget and it seems silly to go out and buy another one when I'm going to start weaning Adrian any day now. Really. Okay, so maybe not any day now, but definitely sooner rather than later because I have a drawer full of perfectly good non-nursing bras that I could wear in a variety of colors (none of which match the no-longer-white of the bras I am currently sporting). Advice to moms the world over: buy more than two nursing bras. And if you happen to be buxom, good luck finding one that fits properly. Who's the yahoo that decided that only small-chested women need nursing bras? It's bad enough that we have to carry around 5 pounds of chest before we're pregnant, but at least then there are undergarments to hold things in place and offer proper support (with reinforcing and space-age technology); but then we have to carry around leaky milk-machines and there isn't a nursing bra that can keep them covered and supported at the same time. I've been slouching for a full 13 months and I fear I may be permanently shorter because of it.
Stand up straight, you say? Okay, but then I'm in danger of toppling over backwards from the weight perched awkwardly on my chest.

Maybe I'll just lay on my back and scootch around that way. I won't be able to reach the cupboards, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

(photo) Thanksgiving fun