That moment when you decide on a whim to cut your toddler’s hair for the first time because it’s so long you can practically put it in a ponytail and you just want the mullet to be gone…
The picture speaks for itself.
Sorry, Liam. In the process of setting up a real haircut for you…
Epic fail this morning.
While carrying Liam and my coffee and locking the front door, my high heel somehow got stuck in the storm door, pulling me backwards and off balance. In an attempt to save us, the hand holding the coffee scrapped HARD against the door frame. My efforts were futile. We still wiped out. Somehow I managed to land in a sitting position on the concrete steps, saving Liam and not tearing my pants (which is a good thing, because I currently own just one pair of dress pants). Whoop! The bad news: my wrist immediately bruised dark red with “pinch” marks and hurt like a biatch.
I took Liam’s boo-boo bag to work for my wrist. Yeah, this sucks. It’s going to look awesome for the formal wedding we’re going to this weekend.
Is it bad that after we fell, my first thought was “no one saw us, no one saw us.” My second wasn’t much better: “Are my shoes ok?”
Happy Mom-fail Monday.
So this little guy bit my stomach last night. That’s right, my stomach. My post c-section “flap” to be exact. Don’t raise your eyebrows at me… if you’ve had a c-section or are intimate with someone who has, you know what I’m talking about… I’m actually smaller than I was pre-baby, and more muscularly defined (thank you, kickboxing and running!) but that pesky flap remains, no matter how small I get. I’m over it.
However, it is now posing hazards to my health, in the way of razor-sharp toddler teeth. (And he didn’t bite me out of spite or anger. Just more of a toddler discovery of the many uses for his teeth.)
So, this incident has made me aware of two things:
1. Perhaps it is time to talk about appropriate uses for our mouths:
- Appropriate: Eating crackers.
- Not appropriate: Eating mom’s stomach fat.
- Appropriate: Giving kisses.
- Not appropriate: Seeing how many teeth indentations you can leave in mom’s memory-foam.
2. It might be time to push it harder at the gym and say ADIOS to my c-section flap. It will probably go away just in time for baby #2 (NO, I’m not hinting at anything), but hey, such is life.
Warning: this is another poop-post. So if you can’t handle it, or you’re eating lunch, probably best to just move on.
My potty-mouthed toddler problems are improving. The husband and I have made a greater effort to watch what we say. This, combined with not making a big deal out of it when “oh shit” comes from the mouth of our babe, has brought Liam’s swearing down from 20 times a day (I’m not kidding – daycare kept track) to 0! Yippy!
As shitty as I felt about my son’s fowl language, my experience with shit paled in comparison to one of my besties.
Last week, I got THE. BEST. TEXT. EVER. from her. “OMG – my daughter just pooped in my hands! LIKE IN MY HANDS! I CAUGHT THE POOP!”
Whhhhaaaaatttt!? I couldn’t help but laugh out.
Not only was my bestie’s situation literally super shitty, but (sorry, bestie) totally hilarious!
Lesson-learned from the bestie: be careful when letting a toddler air-dry after bath time. Silver lining: at least she has quick reflexes?
Liam has a new phrase (along with many new words) and I guarantee he picked it up last week during our wonderful stay-vacation at home together.
What’s the phrase, you might ask? “OH SHIT.” Yup – Oh, shit, indeed. And he even uses it correctly. He says it when he falls down.
Daaaaaaammmmnnnnnn ittttttt. Where on earth would my 16-month old pick up bad language from!? FUCK.
There were a lot of choice words said last week, by both me and my husband. Our awesome daycare provider had a week of much-deserved vacation, so I took the week off of work and hung out with the babe. It was a blast! We played outdoors when the weather was nice (huh, more on that coming up) played lots indoors, read books, snuggled, and I got to pay so much more attention to him than I normally do and realized what a big boy he has become. He likes to climb and run and dance,he loves to sing and loves saying “banana,” “up” as he climbs the stairs, and “sit down” as he mocks me when I ask him to please sit down in the tub. :)
Moving on to “oh shit” -
So, we live in the Midwest and last week, basically the entire middle region of the country got trounced with storms and RAIN. LOTS OF RAIN. I don’t know anyone in our area who escaped with a dry basement. Ours survived only because my husband is awesome and rigged a crack (that’s getting professionally filled next week!) with a ginormous Miller High Life beer can that drained the incoming water in a HUGE plastic storage container. But even though he’s a genius, there were many choice words through the torrential rainfall, severe thunderstorms and frickin’ tornado warnings.
Thus, my toddler now says “oh, shit.”
SHHHHIIIITTTTT! He’s still friggin’ cute, though.
That is the only way to describe the me-ness of this morning. Hubby got up at the butt-crack of dawn to go golfing with friends on his day off. Neat. I got up like normal and was actually in less of a rush to get out the door than usual, but as I was about to lock the front door, babe in arm, one thing flashed across my mind: TAMPONS.
EF. I needed to put more tampons in my purse.
Because I’m uber-organized in the morning and have a routine of baby in high chair, make breakfast, and run things we need out to the car so when it’s time to go, I literally just have my keys and the kid to carry out the door, my purse was already in the car. Liam was already in my arms. I didn’t want to start the routine all the way back over again. So I just ran from the front door to the bathroom and shoved four tampons in my cleavage. You heard me right – my cleavage. The girls are no longer nursing a baby, so they have to serve some purpose, right? Why not securing four cotton-tails for mommy’s monthly friend? Works for me.
So I run back to the front door, tampons-in-boob, lock it, and turn toward the car… Liam notices the tampons and grabs not one, but two and starts waving them around, squealing in delight. Said squeal alerts neighbors getting into their car next door. Oh, hey there, neighbors – don’t mind me – running to my car, carrying a kid, tampons erupting from the top of my dress, which are now being thrown on the ground by my child…
TOTAL. AWESOMENESS. Happy Thursday.
Over the weekend, I visited the bestie with Liam. We had a blast! Went to the zoo, played in water, ate his first Popsicle, and then… got a fever. Boo! I stayed home from work to be with him on Monday when we returned from our weekend getaway. Liam was like, border-line not feeling good. Slight fever, still playing, but super irritable. If the kid tripped over a toy, OMG – END OF THE WORLD. We had lots of hugs and snuggles.
Then, after nap, he just lost it. Like completely lost it. I had been attributing his slight fever and off-kilter attitude to teething, but holy shit kid, he threw an epic fit and screamed at me for 1.5 hours. I’m not kidding. Couldn’t put him down, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t drink, wouldn’t do anything but scream and cry. It was so sad! And not gonna lie, it was frustrating at the same time. I finally caved and called the doctor – made an appointment for later in the afternoon, just to make sure it wasn’t his ears or something more serious. Then I broke down and we watched Sesame Street together until it was time to go.
The doctor is 25 minutes away. He was not exactly a peach in the car. But when we got there, my child, who less than 30 minutes before could have been the stunt double for the shower chick in the movie Pyscho, was suddenly giggling and flirting with the nurses.
Yup. Totally fine. Glad we went to make sure, but THANKS, kid. Duped by a one-year-old.
I can just hear him singing happily, “Haha! Got you, mommy!”