Update: 17 months

Dear A-man;

Taa-daah! You're 17 months old and for your 17-month-day you got an ear infection! Pretty crappy present, I know. This has not deterred you from playing outside in the 60 degree weather, or pointing out babies everywhere we go.

Your curiousity has become insatiable, nearly surpassing your need to climb things. You explore everything within arm's reach, and your dad has taught you a new phrase to apply to things that are suitably impressive: cool, dude.

Yesterday we went to the library for your first story hour. You were much more interested in arranging (and rearranging) the name tags than you were in the story. There were 2 other babies your age present and the three of you took turns passing markers and nametags back and forth, as well as pointing out the Sesame Street characters on one another's clothing. It was your first interaction with people your own size and I think it went well. I've also signed you up for a music class at the local Gymboree, and we have our first play date coming up on Sunday. (Which we may have to cancel depending on how you feel)
It's spring, and you and I need to get out and do things!
You've started singing on your own this month and I have to tell you that I love it. You sing for no reason and you sing no discernable tune, but it always involves a bit of sticking your tongue out and waving your arms around. The arm-waving you picked up from Harry Belefonte's performance on the Muppet Show...which you request by holding the DVD and saying "day"(for Day-Oh) over and over. You also enjoy watching John Denver sing "Inch by Inch", which you refer to as "by".
Now that the weather has started to warm up a bit, I try to take you outside twice a day. You dig in the dirt with sticks and your fingers, you roll the ball down the hill, open and close the garden gate to hear the squeak, and we play peek-a-boo by chasing each other around the tree in the back yard. You also try to walk yourself down to the park on occasion, and are really indignant when I won't let you go on your own.
You also have a new bed time as befitting your big-boy status. Seven o'clock is the new "nigh-nigh" time and it seems to be working--you actually sleep until 5:50 instead of 5:30. Those 20 minutes make a world of difference--to me. But the later bedtime makes cooking dinner a little more akward, as we are busy with your dinner, bath, and bed time ritual from 5-7. The upside is that you now get to see Dada on work nights, and he brushes your teeth and reads your bed time story. It's good for both of you.
And now my tired brain is winding down towards a nap. I love you, little boy.
Love,
Mama

Found you!

What with all of the snot and crankiness, you'd think we'd be virtual slugs around here--but no. Adrian has kept me busy, busy, busy while Aaron spends his days at work.
The little man has kept both of us entertained with his swank dancing skills and his new-found love of singing. He has also upped the activity level of peek-a-boo by turning it into a sort of hide-and-seek; he'll tell you "peek" and then run down the hall and into his room. At this point you're supposed to duck behind a piece of furniture, and when he comes toddling by yell "peek" and then catch him before he falls down from laughing.

And then there's the mastery of a new phrase : no no. He learned it from the KT Tunstall song "Black Horse and the Cherry Tree"; this means that he doesn't say it so much as sing it. Which has it's own charm.

And call me an unfit mother, but I let Adrian play in the cat food. He stirs it. Or he'll spoon it from one side of the bowl to the other--it's one of those double-feeders. I also let him play in the cat water...which he tries to drink using a measuring spoon. I'm not so keen on the ingesting of the cat-water, but you should see how very enthralled he is playing "kitchen" for the cats. The new plan is to get him a little play-stove so he can cook while I cook...rather than hang off my leg while I cook.

And I apologize for the lack of photos but I am through with using the video camera to get still shots. I finally bought a digital camera and it is scheduled to arrive next week. I've got ants in my pants over the excitement of it.
Although not actual ants in my pants because I've had that before and it's really quite awful. Especially when you're 19 and have to strip down to your underoos in front of a whole mess of boys who live in your dorm because you just can't stand the agony any longer. Pain and embarrassment--double score!

A bed time story

Adrian's bed time routine starts with a bath (or tubby, as it's known around here), then he gets dressed while watching Baby Einstein, then we brush his teeth (all 8 of them), say good night to the cats and Dada. At this point we go into his room, shut the door, turn on the white noise machine and Adrian picks out 2 books for me to read before he gets into bed.

As I was getting ready to read Adrian his bed time story tonight; he approached me with his book of choice, leaned in real close and whispered "pee pees".

I paused. This isn't something we normally discuss prior to bed, so I was momentarily confused.

Then aha! "Adrian, did you go pee-pees? Do you need me to change your diaper?"
He nods yes, the diaper is changed, and we go on with our routine.

Could it be time to talk about toilet training? Doesn't he seem young for that?

Big smiles

DSC00012
Originally uploaded by kdecarlo.

We're home, and a sick mucusy mess are we.

We flew in Sunday, and by Monday we were filling tissues and hacking up phlegm nuggets. (how's that for a mental image?)
The trip home was only slightly less scarring than the trip out. We got our bags checked in without a problem, then headed over to the security check point. While waiting in line--literally 2 people away from the metal detecor--Adrian peed on me. Twice. I had him sitting on my hip and all of a sudden, my side felt very very warm. And all I could think was "oh. no." Because in the diaper bag of doom I had a complete change of clothes for him, while I had to dry my shirt out as best I could under the hand dryer in the ladies room. And the pee-pee pants? I threw them out. I wasn't in the mood to haul around a zip-loc bag with urine soaked pants inside.
So we get on the plane and we're in a seat next to someone--in the window side, and I can not get the attention of the flight attendants to see if we can move to one of the very very empty rows in back. So the whole flight, Adrian is squirming and kicking the lady next to us, who was very understanding--bless her soul.
Then we land in Chicago--20 minutes early and there's no sign of Aaron. And Adrian is going "Dada? Dada? Da? da?" b/c I told him that when we got off the plane, we'd see Dada. Aaron shows up at the time we were supposed to land, and my suitcase doesn't show up at all. They've failed to put it on the plane. Ergo, United I quit you. That's 2 times out of the past 3 that you've deemed my belongings not important enough to put on the plane.
And now my nose needs a kleenex and I need some hot tea.
Travel has kicked me in the teeth.

Update: 16 months (and a few days)

It's not that I forgot, it's just that there's no February 29th.

Dear A,

This month has been full of the very many cute things you have decided to master: throwing things in the trash (by request), picking up after yourself, organizing your toys just so, kissing the cats goodnight, climbing up onto our bed to watch the trucks on the highway, and finding a new favorite movie (Harry Potter & the sorcerer's Stone). There's also been the not-so-cute things we have had to endure: the screaming, flailing fits (complete with self-induced head trauma!); the flinging food to the floor to indicate the end of a meal, grinding crackers into the carpet using your heels, your insistence on repeating a behavior after we have told you 'no'. And the be-all, end-all that has led to this month's weaning: biting my nipples and then laughing when I say "no". Injuring people is not funny, especially when people is me.

But for the most part you are a delightful little boy. You enjoy stomping around the house to find the spot that makes the most noise. You enjoy collecting sticks in the back yard, front yard, side walk, and pretty much anywhere sticks can be found.
You now have your own jewelry box and delight in putting on necklaces and bracelets and looking at yourself in the mirror. You enjoy hats--wearing them, putting them on us, other people in them--our trip through airport was a running tally on who had a hat and who didn't.
You love children and especially babies--I realize that's common at this age, but it's so darn cute to watch your face light up when you see other kids.

You're trying so hard to communicate with us, and for the most part we understand you, but every now and then you utter a long sting of single syllables and look at us expectantly. Sorry, but I didn't get that last part? Was it da bur dl gk or da bur dl tuk? Not that either means anything to me.

Right now we're visiting your grandparents in DC and they are loving every minute of it. Tonight at dinner you were in full dinner-theater mode and had your Grandma laughing out loud. You make me laugh at least once a day, and I love when I can do the same for you.

I am grateful to have you in my life you funny little man.

Love,
Mama

PS--thanks for finally saying Mama--it makes the tough times a little easier.

the gods must be crazy

Or I was past due.
Holee crap-today was the worst travel day I've ever had--worse that the time that I had to be re-booked and re-routed twice because I missed connecting flights. Worse than that time i drove back to Roanoke from Birmingham and someone peed in my car while we were sitting in Knoxville traffic. Worse than that time we went to the beach and got into a car accident on the side of the car where I was all curled up sleeping, peaceful-like. Worse than...
Okay. You get the idea.
I've traveled a lot. I like to travel--it's an excellent opportunity to test your comfort zone, try new things, and make lists (and boy-howdy do I love those lists!)
I take it as a given that with all of this travel, there will be a few rough trips. But today I found where the deep dark chasm of my patience ends. Today I thought "maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to leave Adrian on this plane"
Let's start our day at 6AM, per usual. Everyone gets up, gets dressed, Aaron makes coffee, changes & dresses Adrian, and I pack all of Adrian's sleepy-time possesions.

6:50AM-we're out the door. 5 minutes behind schedule, but nobody's sweating.
We manage to hit nearly every red light and fail to factor in going-to-work traffic. But that only adds 10 minutes to our journey.

7:35AM--we arrive at Midway, check in, check our bags, get boarding passes, blar-de-dar, easy peasy.

7:45AM--we go through security.

8AM--we get to our gate, and I troll Adrian down to the bathroom for a diaper change. He HATES diaper changes in public bathrooms. There needs to be a rehaul of diaper changing stations, complete with soft music, babycentric TVs nestled into the walls, and NO toilets that flush louder than Niagara Falls.

8:10AM--an announcement is made--the doom begins! Our plane has been diverted to O'Hare because of Fog conditions (damn you, fog), so we all need to make new arrangements. The lovely ticketing agents procure new flights, boarding passes and travel vouchers for us, so that we can take the shuttle from Midway to O'Hare. We have to go and procure our bags from the carousel and take them with us.

9AM--the shuttle leaves for O'Hare. Adrian quickly loses his interest in his carseatless journey and wants to wander about the van. As you can imagine, that was the biggest no-go ever.

9:45AM--arrive at O'Hare. I have to check this g-dforsaken suitcase because I cannot manage it and Adrian. I ask a ticket agent what do I do? I already have a boarding pass I just need to check this bag? I am directed to a self-check-in station. It doesn't work. I already have a boarding pass. I ask for help. I am told to try again. Meanwhile Adrian has decided to play: befriend the stranger. I yell at him to "COME! HERE!" in public. Without shame. I should mention at this point he's removed his shoes and socks and is a barefoot baby. I cannot get the accursed machine to help me. I give up and proceed to security, figuring I'll check the damned bag plane side. The security lady tells me they won't do that here and that I HAVE to check the suitcase. Back down the line I go, back around the corner, hauling Adrian who has decided that this is a good time to go limp. I am telling him that he has to help me and hold on when a service rep spots me and asks if I'd like a trolley. No, I tell her, I want to talk to a real person who can help me. I get my wish! I talk to Jeremy, who checks my bag lickety-split (I now harbor a secret crush on Jeremy for his can-do attitude and willingness to assist me).
Back through security we go, back through the diaper change routine, to our boarding area-where Adrian eats applesauce and charms old ladies and men in uniform.
10:54AM--we board the plane. For those of you familiar with Adrian's schedule, you'll realize that we are now 6 minutes away from nap time. Since he was not wearing a watch, Adrian mistook nap time for crazy-time. He fussed, fidgeted, pooped, screamed, and cried. Dee-lightful. And then, when we had landed, he rested his head against me and fell asleep. In that cute, super-exhausted way they do so that you can smell that little-kid smell wafting up from their hair and your heart melts and all is forgiven.
He slept until we walked through the doors at baggage claim. A total of 15 minutes.
ANd he was awake until he went to bed.
It was a looooong day.
ANd now I am going to bed.
please pardon all punctuationa nd spelling errors--I am too tired to proof.

This thing on my neck...

the, waddaya call it? head?
head!
right.
So, my head hasn't been functioning at 100% lately. Things keep falling out of it. More specifically, I can't remember who I've told and who I haven't told that Adrian and I will be in Northern Virginia next week.
Tuesday through Sunday. As in we leave Sunday.
So there it is, internets. The datebook is now open, and I will be scheduling fun at your leisure.

smell the domesticity

Aaron is upstairs cooking pulgoki...
(deep inhale)
mmmmmmmmm.

life, she is good!

Evil! and then not so evil...

Things I hate:
programs what install themselves on your computer and then refuse to be moved to the recycle bin.

Whoever is responsible for the abomination known as the search engine Zango should be drawn and quartered. Or at least made to stand in tapioca pudding on a hot day near a nest of quizzical bees.

Things I love:
Adrian's laugh. It comes all the way up from his toes.
The smell of peonies. (heaven)
New tubes of paint!
Lists. (see?)
Eating pappadums. (crunch-crunch-crunch)
Iced tea the way my mom makes it.
The smell of kittens...puppies, too.
Goofing up song lyrics by replacing one word for another (Example: Lords of Acid's Pussy. Replace pussy with puppy. Much funnier! )
Muppets. (even sell-out Pizza Hut Muppets)

Things what make me nervous:
Squealing tires
Bees
Running with pointy things (sticks, forks, knives, scissors)
packing for trips
airports

things you should do at least once before you die:
visit a foreign country
fly first class
climb a tree
watch the sun come up
hold the door for a stranger
bring your mom flowers
have cake for breakfast
cuddle a puppy

Faster than the speed of light

Adrian has begun to defy the laws of gravity and physics in one go.

How can someone so tiny be so fast, especially when it comes to scaling furniture or creating steps out of boxes to reach forbidden items?

I've come to recognize the deadly silence: the quiet that indicates that he is up to something and that what he is up to is no good. How he manages to flip a box over, climb into the rocking chair and proceed to lean waaay over the edge in hope of reaching the curtains in the time it takes me to fold a blanket in thirds and drape over his crib rail is beyond me. How he manages to do it silently while he is 3 feet away is even more baffling.

Clearly, I am raising a the next generation's Superman.

I don't wanna...

I don't wanna (fill in the blank).
I am experiencing another wave of apathy.
I don't want to get dressed. I don't want to cook dinner. I don't want to go online and buy those VERY NECESSARY plane tickets. I don't want finish my sewing projects, crochet projects, or any number of other projects staring me in the face. I don't even feel like sitting on the couch eating chocolate until my blood sugar skyrockets and leaves me in a jittery trance.
It's entirely possible that I'm experiencing that seasonal-affective-disorder or cabin-fever or whatever.
It's too cold to play outside and I don't even feel like getting into the car and driving the baby somewhere warm to play*.
So what am I doing instead? Piddling on the internet.
piddle...piddle...piddle.

*He's napping right now. I may have the blahs but I'm no baby abandoner.

The rash that would not die

Adrian has been suffering, off and on, from a rash in his diaper area since...July? And every time we'd point it out to a doctor they'd shrug and give us a prescription for some topical ointment. But after much sleuthing and close observation of the stubborn evil rash we came to the cause: milk. And milk products.
My son's body is vehemently opposed to any foodstuffs that originated from a cow's teat.
Do you know how much crap (that is to say food) contains milk these days? Forget the big, obvious, easy things like biscuits (butter), pancakes (milk and butter), cake (milk). I'm talking about things like...Original flavor Goldfish crackers. Ramen Noodles. Golden Grahams cereal.
I am now a box-reader. I have found myself sneaking off to the pantry in anticipation of meal times, furtively reading the ingredient listings on the side of boxes, trying to puzzle out what is safe and what is going to give Adrian 3 days of painful diaper-bum, which may or may not turn into open sores.
I have discovered that you can make pancakes with rice milk, and that fakey-butter-in-a-tub stuff is actually useful (although the idea of butter-by-science still grosses me out). I'm still looking for good tasting not-cheese, and I'm wondering if I could substitute kefir (made from camel's milk) for yogurt.

It's like having to do a grade-school science project with real-life implications. With more stress and no fancy blue ribbon at the end of it all.

Five days later

Adrian has been Captain Cranky Pants for the past 4 out of 5 days and I gotta tell you I'm not loving it.
I think it's no small coincidence that he's started saying Mama as well. See how I can't sell him to the gypsies now that he can tell authorities that I belong to him?
It also seems as though he's ready to give this whole talking thing a go. He's now repeating about 50% of what he hears, and whatever he doesn't get/can't say is replaced by babbling in the same cadence. You should hear him narrate A Close Shave (one of the Wallace and Gromit shorts):
Adrian: tuck (translation: truck)
A: wuuf (dog)
A: baa (sheep)
A: tuck (truck)
A: wuuf (dog)
A: (sign language for sleeping) (Wallace asleep)
A: tuck bye-bye (truck bye-bye)

The whole freaking movie gets commentary, interspersed with "'at?" (What's that?). It's pretty entertaining. His new favorite movie is now Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone...up until the kids actually get to Hogwarts, and then he wants to watch something else. He also enjoys the trailers that precede the movie Shark's Tale, but has no interest in the actual film.

He has grasped the concept of 'please' as well. After every request we get the sign language for 'please', and if we say no he gives us 'please' more adamantly. And occasionally, he'll tell us please while standing in the middle of the kitchen and then we have to figure out what he wants. Cheerios? Mighty Bites? Grahams? Flashlight? To look out the window?
It's like charades with a circus monkey.

Adrian's stats

We went to the doctor on Thursday, where Adrian received two vaccinations and a bucketful of terror.

We walk into the waiting room, sign in. There are 4 other children in the room, all boys, all older than Adrian. He's alternately fascinated and clinging to my leg for dear life. He seems fine, but unsure of himself around children.

Then we go into the exam room.

He looks around and his bottom lip starts to quiver a little bit. As soon as I begin to take off his clothes, he starts to cry. Real honest-to-god tears. He cries every time the nurse or the doctor look at him, let alone touch him. He was clinging so tightly to me that had he been able to hide under my clothing I have no doubt he would have.
But it was all over in 30 minutes, and this is what we have to report:
Height: 29 5/8"
Weight: 23 pounds.
Which puts him in the 25% for his age group.
I'm not too worried about the fact that he's "below average" for his size because he's right where he should be as far as his cognitive & motor skills are concerned.
To quote his Grandpa: he's small, but mighty!

(photo) Fresh from the runways of Paris--I give you: Adrian! 

Is this thing on?

Okay. Alright and fine.
After months of denial I'm admitting it.
I'm lonely.
Soooooooo lonely.
That's was the big benefit of a multi-generational household: there's always someone there to talk, or watch tv, or cook, or just sit quietly with you. Which isn't to say that Adrian hanging off of my body 2/3 of the time he's awake isn't companionship, it's just...
I came very late to the idea of girls-as-friends. Up until college I had three close girlfriends. All the rest of the people I spent my extra time with happened to be guys. And it's not 'cause I'm all into sports, or whatever--I happen to be a very specific kind of dork: the art-slash-theater variety of dork. And when I say theater, I don't mean acting--I'm a set-building, light-hanging, costumes-and-makeup kind of theater person. Because, let's be honest, I am a terrible actress. Seriously--I can't get past the fact that people are looking at me and it makes me self-conscious. By that token, most all of the back-stage crew in high school were boys, and I fit in well playing with power tools and hauling around heavy crap. But then I got to college and, first of all, the dorms are divided by sex, so that puts you in routine, close contact with other girls; and second of all I met a great number of like-minded really amazing women. And I miss them. Sure we talk on the phone and email, but that's nothing like the face-to-face, share a hunk of cake kind of companionship that you find when you see each other regularly.
Aaron's great, he's my best friend, I tell him everything and he makes me laugh so hard my sides hurt. But he's not a girl. He can't do girl-things with me, he won't go see girly movies (but I won't go see horror films so we're square), he can't help me color my hair or go shopping or talk about how sexy Heath Ledger is. (Those cheekbones, my god!)
So, yes. I'm lonely for some estrogen-related bonding time.
I have a spare bedroom and I'll cook you breakfast!

(photo) dress up baby! 

Update: 15 months

Dear Adrian;

First let me apologize for being remiss regarding the updates on your past two months of life. I have plenty of excuses, none of them are particularly good ones. Now, on to the good stuff!

If there was ever any doubt that you are a little boy, this past month will have put all of that aside. Our days consist of trucks, blocks, tractors, and making farting noises by blowing into our hands. That's the only thing I do that is regarded as consistently hilarious--and your laugh is so rewarding and contagious that I have no plans to stop. Farting noises aside, you still have a love for jewelry and dressing up. You've finally come around to wearing hats, so the 6 I picked up at the Halloween clearance are getting regular rotation. My favorite would have to be the construction helmet-diaper-socks ensemble you put together.

You still won't eat any green vegetables, but you're eating half your weight in fruit daily. You also have developed an affinity for pancakes, marshmallows, and anything off of my plate.

Oh! And the climbing! You've been caught scaling the microwave (which lives on the floor due to a lack of counter space), furniture, and the dining room chairs (but only if there's someone in them). All of this wouldn't be such a big deal, but you seem to have no concept of edges and have tumbled repeatedly to the ground. My favorite is when you're on the couch: you turn so you're facing the back of the couch and then proceed to hang your butt off of the front of the couch, which ultimately yields a surprised look as gravity takes over.

Every day is like a marathon as you are now taking only one nap a day and spend your waking hours alternately running all over the house or eating. At the end of each day I marvel that I've made it and try not to think about the fact that it starts all over at 6 the next morning. You wear me out--but I love you and I'd rather do this than have to leave you with someone else all day.

You're my favorite.

Love,
Mama

P.S.--You can start saying Mama any time now. Really.

Mark your calendars.

This was the first truly god-awful, miserable day that I've spent with Adrian since he came into the world nearly 15 months ago. I knew that they were coming, I just didn't know how exhausting they'd be. I spent ALL of my energy today trying to keep my cool. And I am drained. Sapped. I have no energy for any of the projects I was going to attempt tonight: run a set of block prints in the studio; cook dinner; clean the bathroom; mop the kitchen floor; upload, edit and post pictures to web.
I realize that half of today's awfulness stems from the fact that Adrian's a little under the weather with giant boogers of doom, but the other half I cannot account for. I just spent 15 minutes cleaning baby poop out of the bath tub (how glamorous the life I lead, no?), plus another 10 scrubbing his urine out of the living room carpet. When he runs free, he pees freely.

So I'm off to throw a frozen pizza in the oven, knock back a glass of wine, and stare blankly at the television. Maybe tomorrow I'll feel up to regaling you with cute stories of the boy wonder, like how he says 'cheese' but pronounces it 'chiss' or how he squints in anticipation of the camera's flash.

deaf or just stupid.

So I've been living in this state (Illinois) for 9 months and just yesterday I realized that our senator's name is Barack Obama.
Not Morocco Bama, as I had previously thought.
Sometimes my own ignorance really surprises me.