"That's Not Food!"

If I hear one more person call out, "See you next year!" and chuckle like it's the most original thing they've said in weeks, someone's getting punched in the face. But not by me, my fists are small and weak, like the paws of a handicapped kitten. That might be the kind of thing little Andy will find funny in a couple years (kids have such unsophisticated senses of humor), but it's wearing on me a little thin. With the calendar flipping to 2012 in about 36 hours, I thought this would be a good time to discuss some of Andy's resolutions for the new year. I could write out my own resolutions, but who's really interested in hearing me talk about my fiber needs or the intimate details of my checking account? Everyone, that's who. But this blog isn't supposed to necessarily be about me. I'm just a supporting character here, the teller of tales revolving around a toddler who would gladly drink from the toilet if only we would just allow him h...

And so Christmas is over. After this past week or so of non-stop celebrating, I've come to the conclusion that having this new baby in 2012 is the best possible thing I can do for Andy's ego, which, by now, has basically inflated to the size of a volleyball. (Note: I've decided that standard ego size is approximately tennis ball sized, with more modest people hovering more in the golf ball range.) If Andy receives one more iota of love and affection or one more wrapped gift, I can only assume that his head will burst, creating the kind of tragic mess that will require five jugs of Resolve and ten years of therapy before things are even a little better. This holiday was truly all about Andy. Which is fine- it would kind of lame if we spent all weekend lavishing gifts and praise on, let's just say, me (although, I'll admit that might have been kind of nice), but, at this point, enough is enough. Andy, we all love you- nobody more than me- but at the tender age of 17...

I am done with my first trimester and charging full speed ahead into my second. That's it- a third of this pregnancy is already over. According to the "What Kind Of Food Is Your Fetus If Your Fetus Were A Food?" website, the baby is the size of a peach. A juicy, farm stand fresh Georgia peach. This peach of mine is in the process of forming teeth and vocal cords. I find it incredible that all this magical forming and growing and whatnot is going on somewhere not too deep inside me while I sit here and do something as inane as pick at my cuticles or daydream about Bradley Cooper. Wait, did you say something? Sorry, I was thinking about... cuticles. Due Date This first trimester has been so much different than my first trimester with Andy. The experience of previously giving birth to a textbook perfect, diaper-box adorable little boy has given me a more laid-back perspective this time around. Hey, I did it once, I can totally do it again. When I was pregnant with A...

Let me preface this blog entry by stating that if you are the parent of a toddler, you need to always know where they are, keep the bathroom door closed at all times, or, if for some reason you can't manage to do these first two items, at the very least, always put the toilet lid down. Some of you may see where I'm going. That's called foreshadowing. Good writers use foreshadowing. However, great writers use misdirection, so perhaps you DON'T know where I'm going with this. Nah. I'm a good writer, not a great writer. Andy loves the toilet. He likes to stick his fist in the toilet water and splash happily around. Many days, he's walking around the house with a wet, drippy sleeve of toilet water. The toilet makes him happy, and he'll do whatever he can to get his hand in there- even if I'm already sitting on it, making good use of it. He's recently discovered throwing toilet paper in there, which is a deed I am cautiously encouraging. ...

Andy's going to be a big brother. He's a little boy, practically still a baby, and he's going to be somebody's big brother. He will be just shy of 2 years old when this new baby is born, which raises the question, what the hell was I thinking???? And considering Andy's two greatest interests are biting and hair pulling, I'm pretty sure he's going to be a shitty big brother. Maybe I'm wrong. "We" (as if Chris gets to deal with the weight gain, hormones, sacrifice of wine, birthing process, and then the three solid weeks of wearing a maxi pad the size of a phone book) got pregnant on purpose, but at times it still feels like an accident. Here I am at just over 11 weeks, excited and happy to be pregnant, but also feeling pretty intense pangs of fear at times. I know I'm a pretty rock solid, awesome mother of one, but I feel like the transition of parenting one child to parenting two children is going to be trying. I am worried that I wi...

Bye-bye baba. The pediatrician warned that I had to get Andy completely off bottles by 18 months, otherwise he would grow up to be a lunatic with funky teeth. The pediatrician is very good at making blanket demands without any advice on how to get from point A to point B. When Andy, as a baby, refused to eat his cereals and purees (he basically didn't eat any solids until he was 9 months old), the doctor's wise advice was "Keep trying." As a new parent, this is not what I was looking to hear. Alas, Andy did eventually get the hang of eating, but I wish the doctor had said something like, "Have you tried cheese? This kid looks like he's going to love cheese. Take two tablespoons of Cheez Whiz and call us in the morning." Now that, that would have been some solid doctoring. The doctor made the bottle proclamation at Andy's fifteen month appointment, when I admitted that he still had two bottles, one in the morning and one before bed time. Perhap...