Table For Four!

And then there's Alex, suddenly and abruptly asserting that, at five months old, he's his own little person and HE WON'T BE IGNORED.  Used to be I could just stick him in the swing while the three of us- me, Daddy, Andy- scarfed down our chicken nuggets and corn for dinner.  He'd sit in the swing (which no longer swings thanks to Andy's heavy assed flops into the swing seat) and either nod off or just stare down at whatever doll or baby toy I'd tossed into his lap.  It worked, and it was fine.  But now, oh now Alex is not even remotely okay being dumped into the swing while the three of us eat.  He stares mournfully at us from across the room, moaning and reaching out and making sad eyes at me while I wipe ranch dressing from Andy's face.  He's calling out for me, and he seems to be saying, "How come you're not wiping anything off of MY face?"

It's time to bring Alex to the table.  He's not sitting up super great yet, though, and I am anxious about letting him have the high chair and doing the one hundred percent transition from high chair to just regular chair for Andy.  Will Alex be okay wedged into the high chair, his little body bent to one side as he struggles to remain up?  And will I be able to keep myself from all out slapping Andy, who manages to provoke me the absolute worst during meal times when he's not in the high chair, proclaiming "All done" and dismissing himself from the regular chair (even with booster) after just half a bite of food and a fifteen second mess resulting in hands so sticky that I almost believe I should call the patent office, since he's clearly perfected a sort of glue that could rival Elmer's?

I can't go on leaving out little Alex, though.  He's clearly upset about his exclusion, and it yanks at my heart strings.  It's all so very pathetic, his super excitement when I finally go fetch him after my own relaxing six minutes of shoveling food into my face.  He grins and flails his arms, kicks his legs and leans forward for me, ready and eager to be lifted out of his broken swing and back into the world.  It's all so endearing, even when he decides to thank me for picking him up by immediately pooping through his diaper and outfit directly onto my arms.  And, hey, who remembers a time when being pooped on was kind of gross?  Not me.  The longer I have children, the more bodily waste becomes just another mess, like juice on the coffee table or a set of perfectly stamped hand prints on the wall near the kitchen table by a little boy who had just proclaimed "All done.  Bye bye, Mommy."

It's not just Alex who is upset about Alex not being included in everything, though.  It's Andy, too, who is also quick to notice when Alex is not a part of things.  Today I took just Andy to the library, leaving Alex at home with Chris.  The whole car ride to the library, Andy asked, "Where Alex go?" and demanded "Alex library, too!"  I tried to tell Andy, "Alex is with Daddy at home.  Just Mommy and Andy are going to the library."  This was not satisfactory to Andy, who replied, "No home with Daddy.  Alex library.  Mommy back.  Get Alex."  This went on for the whole ride, and then even at the library, Andy would ask, "Where Alex?" at random times when, I assume, it hit him that it was just me standing there, me minus stroller.  Of course, this is all very good, that Andy misses his brother and wants him with us at all times.  And yet, as anyone who has ever met Andy knows, it's also deeply annoying, since Andy is incapable of letting a topic go.  Ever drive past a McDonalds with this kid?

Happy meal.  Happy meal.  Playplace.  Playplace.  Happy meal.  Happy meal.  Playplace.  Apple juice.  Happy meal.  Playplace.  Playplace.  Happy meal.  Happy meal.  Playyyyyplace.

Or, if Andy sees a TV:

Caillou.  Caillou.  Caillou on?  Caillou.  Caillou's mommy.  Caillou's daddy.  Caillou.  Caillou's papa.  Caillou.  Caillou.  Where Caillou go?  More Caillou.  Caillou on TV.  Caillou's mommy?  Caillou.  Caillou?  Caillou.  Andy watch Caillou.  Caillou.  Caillou.  Alex watch Caillou, too?  Caillou on?  More Caillou.  Mommy Caillou please?  Caillou.  Caillou?  Caillou.

Gee, I wish I had better examples other than fast food and television, but I guess that's just the kind of lives we lead.  But, hey, at least I take him to the library, too.

So, Alex is ready to be promoted during meal times, and Andy is going to be one thousand percent okay with it, because he loves his brother.  Yes, I know, these are fundamentally good developments around here.  Hey, maybe the four of us at the table together will give Andy more of a reason to stay seated with us while we eat since he'll have his little buddy there.  Or maybe, in about two years, both little bastards will be running around like animals during dinner, thus increasing my meal time rage to a solid eleven.  Mommy needs to eat.  She needs to sit for at least ten minutes and have at least three sips of water and let's say seven bites of food.  So let's just keep it classy for that short amount of time, and then everyone can poop on me and I won't even blink.