Before I became a parent, I never thought I would __________.
Me: Fish hot dog slices from under the table with my toes. Blech.
What about you?
Bean's 24 Month Newsletter available to the right or here.
Update: Chris' 2 Month here.
I have to stop watching Fox News in the mornings while I feed Bean breakfast...I caught her muttering "douchebags" under her breath.
Like mother, like daughter.
He giggled for the first time on Mothers Day.
Everyone together now: AWWWWWWWWW.
I don't normally discuss politics here, because I have friends and relatives whose views differ wildly from my own who read this site regularly, and I'd rather alienate them by discussing the size of my frighteningly gargantuan nursing bras than alienate them by pointing out that they are WRONG and TERRIBLY ILL-INFORMED and QUITE POSSIBLY COMATOSE.
But-
This has me gobsmacked. Our illustrious, intellectual, and well-read leader* has decided to eliminate the Reading is Fundamental program in its entirety. I remember getting to take home RIF books as a kid. I LOVED it. It was like Christmas. It's probably one of the reasons that I enjoyed reading to the point that I got a relatively useless but hard-earned college degree in English.
It's the program that let me read Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH. RIF was awesome. And now it's getting the axe.
The irony is, Our Fearless Leader's mother and his wife worked for RIF, on boards and advisory counsels. This is the guy that can say with a straight face that he wants to leave no child left behind, but kneecaps a program that, since the 1960s, has been putting good books in the hands of kids who need them at no cost to the kids.
Stupid Jackass.
*I know, I threw up in my mouth just then, too.
Dear Chris,
Today you are two months old, congratulations! The cat hasn’t managed to have you rubbed out. Yet. You’ve settled into our family groove surprisingly easily. You have a very relaxed and easygoing way about you. I think it’s all the Reggae that I listened to in the last bit of my pregnancy (which lasted forever, by the way. You’ll hear about this again and again on your birthdays, so be ready to apologize.)
You showed up two weeks late, son, which speaks to your father’s sense of punctuality. You also inherited your father’s eyes, for which I’m glad. The only things that I prayed for with you and your sister was that you two be both healthy and have your father’s blue eyes. My eyes are sometimes-blue-sometimes-green; they’re non-committal and ordinary. Your father’s eyes, though, are the most beautiful, deep blue eyes I’ve ever seen. They look like clear, tropical ocean water running over smooth pebbles. I love staring into them, and to know that you have his eyes makes me pleased, because I know that someone else will love staring into them when you grow up.
But I’m jumping ahead of things a bit, aren’t I?
It’s been an adjustment having a baby boy around the house. Without being vulgar, it makes for some interesting Google searches on my computer: “Cleaning urine from walls” and “Cleaning urine from toothbrushes” to name but two. I didn’t realize that you wanted to begin target practice before your eyes could see further than a foot. I set you in a bath basin on the bathroom counter, and before I realized what was going on, you had already peed across the counter and onto our toothbrushes. Good show, little man. Your aim is already better than mine, and you haven’t even learned to throw yet.
You like playing what’s become known as the beep game. Your father and I lean in and touch our noses to yours, and it excites you. You jerk your arms and your legs and start panting. If you had a tail, you’d wag it, I’m sure. It’s the simple pleasures in life that are the most satisfying, I think: there’s nothing better than the smell of a rainstorm, summer popsicles, the crinkle of Christmas wrap, and dad’s nose on yours.
The arm-jerking happens at night, too. We try to get you settled down, but your arms and legs start jerking and won’t let you relax. There have been a few times when you settle down for a nap, but the Jimmy Arms start flailing and smack you in the face. We manage to contain the Jimmies by swaddling you tightly, but it’s only a matter of time before your arms ninja their way out of the blanket to strike again.
We’re so over-the-moon in love with you, little man. Your father and I couldn’t be happier to have you here. Your sister will come around eventually, don’t worry. You’re stuck with us, pal. I hope that you like it here.
Love,
Mama
I threw my back out last night.
I don't know how. One minute I was fine, the next minute I was bending over to put Chris in his swing and POW! The pain is excruciating.
I can't stand. I can't sit. I can't lay down. Craaaaaaaap.
Dr. Internet says the course of treatment is bed rest and pain meds, the two things I CAN'T do. I have a two year old and a nursling, so staying still and pain meds are both out of the equation.
Craaaaaaaaaap.
I'm trying not to let on (especially around the Bean) how much pain I'm feeling, but it's obvious that it's bad when just sitting up in bed with Dim's help had me sobbing.
Keep my back in your good thoughts. I'll just be over here fighting back the sobs.