"That's Not Food!"

My lap has become an increasingly uncomfortable place for Andy to sit.  It's a little uncomfortable for me- but it's very uncomfortable for him.  He's running out of room, and when he chooses to plop down on my lap, he basically has to precariously perch himself at the edge of my knees.  It's clear to everyone that our usual lap sitting arrangement is no longer working out so great, and the glint in his eyes when he looks up at me from the cliff of my knees is sharp with resentment and the inherent understanding that nothing can make this situation better, except for, of course, a cookie. Santa, waving good-bye to Lapland.  The other Lapland, not MY Lapland. I keep telling him that there's a baby in mama's belly, and that's why it's so big.  He seems to accept the idea, and yet I can't help but wonder if he isn't- on some level- completely terrified by the thought of a baby trapped inside mama's tummy.  It's a big concept for such...

A friend warned me that after about a week or so of not having had the pacifier, it would finally sink into Andy's head that it was gone for good, and he would have an absolutely awful night as he coped with the loss.  He would be up all night crying and asking for it, and I believe the word she used to describe this event was "hellish."  She was spot on, and we had that night last night.  Andy was wide awake at two a.m. begging for his binky and he didn't stop until after six in the morning, when he finally just passed out from sheer exhaustion, his mouth making little sucking motions around a ghost binky.  If tonight is anything like last night, I may start researching military schools for toddlers.  I just hope my own lack of sleep and crazy soup of pregnancy hormones doesn't lead to me do anything rash, like choosing a military school that is out of my budget. It's amazing how absolutely frustrating these children can be at times- but how you still f...

Day care has a way with transitions, and I will miss letting them do some of the dirty work after I become a stay at home mom. I had told day care on Wednesday night that I didn't want Andy having his binky at all during the day, not even for napping.  With the napping, I gave them some flexibility- if he NEEDS it and is really inconsolable, then, yeah, go ahead.  The teachers replied, "Okay, got it, no more binky," and we went home.  Andy had it for bed and a half hour or so before dinner time, but when he woke up, I made him trade it with me for his milk and then did not give it back after he had finished his drink and started asking, "My?  My!"  Instead, we kind of ignored the request and took him to day care, where- bless those women- he had a binky-free day, including for his nap. "How did he do?"  I asked the one teacher upon pick up time, expecting to hear the worst. "Fine," she said.  "Cold turkey's the way to...

These last ten weeks of pregnancy are going to be the hardest. I'm hoping that I actually only have nine weeks left, since I'm gunning for an elective induction the week before my due date.  I hate surprises.  I like to plan.  And doctors probably hate being woken up at two in the morning to come deliver some baby.  So, let's be civilized about this whole matter and just schedule it for a reasonable day and time just like one would a dental check-up. Ten weeks.  Nine weeks.  Who knows.... The pressure's on, though, both physically and emotionally.  Physically, I feel like my bathing suit area is going to crack open and expel an undercooked baby any day now.  I remember feeling pelvic discomfort the last time I was pregnant, but nothing like what I'm going through now.  I read that this is relatively common and that I should be doing kegels, but every time I start thinking about kegels, I immediately start thinki...

Lately, Andy has not wanted his pajamas taken off or his diaper changed first thing in the morning.  He lets me know his disinterest in this event by screaming as if having bamboo shoots eased under his fingernails and by, usually successfully, attempting to escape from our morning changing area.  He runs around the upstairs sobbing as I waddle after him, and once I'm able to grab him, I carry him back to his room and basically straddle my screaming, fighting son while I yank his pajamas off and swap out his diaper.  Carrying him is no fun at this time of the morning since his diaper is often soaked completely through, and I've learned to not put on my work clothes first thing in the morning since showing up at the office with a circle of pee on my blouse usually results in less invitations out to lunch.  I've been asking around as I tend to do (asking around is my not-so-secret parenting technique), and this tantrum throwing during the morning diaper change appear...

We bought Andy a little plastic table and chairs set. The poor kid has nowhere comfortable or ergonomically satisfying to sit when he colors or types up his monthly newsletter "Keeping It Dandy With Andy," and my efforts in setting him up with a breakfast tray as a makeshift desk have gone mostly unappreciated. "You expect me to sit on the carpet and bend over this tray while I crank out my manifestos?" Andy has spat in my face. "I may eagerly eat dirt and sand when we go to the park- but, please, I do have SOME dignity." I ordered him his table and chairs as a way to make things right between us, and they arrived yesterday. When Andy saw the giant box, he just about wet his pants. In fact, he did wet his pants, but that's unrelated to his level of excitement- it's just a thing he does. I got the box open and, slowly- with much fanfare- pulled out the table and two chairs- and watched as Andy shoved them aside and crawled into the box, squealing ...

Andy loves his binky, but we try not to give it to him too often, unless, of course, he wants it. When we are at home, Andy has his binky in his mouth basically all the time. When he can't find it, he wanders around the house moaning, "My! My!" We can only assume that this is Andy-shorthand for "My goddamn binky- where is it??" Sometimes, Andy becomes desperate and manages to fashion other items into a temporary binky. I've caught him with his Mickey Mouse doll, Mickey's round black nose jammed firmly into Andy's mouth as he tries his best to make do. The other day, Andy was walking around with a rubber ducky sticking out of his face, pathetically slurping on the head of the rubber ducky and looking up at me as if to say, "You. You drove me to this. Where. Is. My. BINKY?" Cleaning house, with binky. For the most part, though, I haven't forced Andy to rely on his inventiveness and find other acceptable sucking solutions. Part of ...