"That's Not Food!"

Andy's been chatting up a storm lately.  He's very good at saying thank you, and says thank you all the time- even to himself. The other day, he came out of the bathroom after flushing the toilet (he doesn't use the toilet otherwise, except to flush) and said proudly, "Thank you, Andy!"  Chris looked at me, bewildered.  "Why did Andy just come out of the bathroom thanking himself?" he asked. "He's thanking himself for doing such a good job flushing the toilet," I responded.  "Duh." Andy thanks himself when he throws his sippy cup into the sink, when he fetches his shoes, and when he shares a toy.  He thanks me when I give him the kind of food that borders somewhere between processed and junk.  "Thank you, Mommy!" Andy exclaims when I give him a sugary raspberry cereal bar.  And if I don't reply right away, Andy will point frenetically down at his cereal bar and declare loudly, more forcefully, "THANK YOU MOM...

Andy turned two on the day Alex turned three weeks.  We decided to celebrate this event with a trip to Pirate's Cove, a super tiny theme park specifically for kids ages one to nine. I tried to find a theme park specifically for kids ages three weeks and up, but when I googled that, the only thing that came up was a list of pediatricians, and, for some reason, a map of bars in Alabama. The first ride Andy went on was the merry go round.  I think the pregnancy hormones may still be working their way out of my system, because I got all choked up and teary as the merry go round started up and my sweet little two year old clutched the pole of his pony and began his first solo trip on a merry go round.  The opening bars of "Sunrise, Sunset" began playing in my head, and I was thankful for my dark sunglasses, lest the other mothers label me some kind of unfit, weepy weirdo.  Suddenly, I just couldn't believe how big and grown up my little baby was.  ...

The heat wave is set to expire tonight at seven.  It's been a rough week (or more?) of triple digit temperatures and/or heat indexes.  I can't wait to be able to throw the baby in the stroller, throw the Andy in the stroller, and be able to take a walk to the park.  Alex has not left the house enough.  Of course Andy didn't leave the house until he was four weeks old, but that's the difference between your first baby and your second.  You shelter your first baby and worry about everything.  Your second?  It's different. Andy's bottles were washed and sterilized after every use. It was a time consuming process involving a product that plays upon every new mother's fears:  If your baby comes in contact with a single germ, he will implode.  Alex's bottles, however, are just washed.  No sterilization because this time around; it seems dumb and pointless.  So far, luckily, he has not imploded. I woke Andy after four hours if he h...

Well, they were right- having your second baby is a million times easier than having your first.  Andy was born after over three hours of pushing.  Alex (Alexander Christopher Berger, Esquire- figured I'd just add Esquire to his name now so that he doesn't have to bother with actually EARNING the title*) was born after three pushes.  And Alex, despite my best attempts to keep my weight down and NOT bear another monstrous eight pounder, weighed even more than Andy- a solid eight pounds, eight ounces.  If I'd have foregone my induction and made it to forty weeks, I would have had a nine pounder.  And that could have gotten ugly. I have been on a roller coaster of emotions since last Thursday.  I don't even know where to start.  I will say that, yes, you fall in love with your second baby just as quickly and deeply as you did your first.  Even if you spend their first two days** in existence constantly calling them by your first born's name....

Here it is- the day before the baby is set to arrive. I was afraid I wasn't going to make it to tomorrow, and now I'm hoping I made the right decision by deciding to do this whole thing via elective induction.  What a modern luxury, getting to choose when your child will be born. Getting to make this decision based on a host of reasons other than medical necessity.  Getting to say, "I want my baby born on this day because it won't interrupt my schedule as much."  This is said with very little regard to the baby's schedule.  He may have had a whole day planned for tomorrow, a little hiccuping and kicking followed by an amniotic nap and an hour or so of brain development.  Perhaps tomorrow he was planning on developing that part of the brain that will allow him to understand algebra.  And now I'm screwing that up! This kid was induced, and now he's failing Algebra. Eh.  I still want to be induced, algebra be damned.  It's not like knowing ma...

Andy loves buses.  If he sees a bus of any sort- school bus, party bus, charter bus- he is quick to point at it and announce, happily, "Bus."  If he ever came across a double decker bus, he'd probably pass out from the sheer joy of such a sight.  And if he were to receive a bus pass for his birthday, he'd be the happiest two year old alive.  Chris and I are seriously contemplating such a purchase, and then dropping him off at the Pace stop with a bus schedule, a juice box, and strict instructions on how to transfer buses safely so that we can meet him at the mall sometime the following afternoon.  Can you say best birthday ever?? The day care has a bus for the big kids' field trips.  The bus is parked in the lot, and every morning and afternoon, Andy calls out "Bus!" in greeting when he first glimpses the bus and then "Bye bye Bus!" when we either enter the day care or drive out of the lot.  He waves at the bus, staring longingly at it, as lo...

As we approach baby day, I'd like to tie up a few loose ends.  Here are two things I blogged about accomplishing with Andy before the baby came along: Switching him to a big boy bed. Potty training. Fail on both items.  It's easy to talk big when you're a sprightly twenty-three weeks along and can still comfortably get around, bend down, see your feet, and wear shirts that couldn't accurately be described as "muu-muus."  Then, however, things take a turn, and not only does your body start to expand and become essentially useless as anything other than a baby vessel and incinerator for cookies, but you also start to quickly lose motivation.  Potty training?  Nope.  Switching to a big boy bed?  Nope.  Shaving your legs?  Not so much. I realized quickly that the potty training just wasn't going to happen.  Andy's at day care five days a week where they do not work on potty training until the kids hit the tw...