She saw the pediatrician today for her two month checkup, and he fondly referred to her hair as "duck fuzz". Heh heh. Payne gave her a Thomas sticker after she got her shots.
On to things I wasn't so sure about doing but did without hesitation under the pressure of caring for two kids by myself:
Eh, they can send me the bill for the therapy if I've damaged them. They both loved having a bath buddy, actually. See her grinning at him? I'm jealous! She doesn't smile for me that readily and I've never beaned her with a toy, unlike someone. Harumph.
It seems that baby gear is either completely boring (think solid black diaper bag or stroller), covered in licensed characters (it sort of looks like Whinney the Pooh exploded in at least one aisle in every baby store), or covered in some variation of a modern, slightly feminine, print that could pass off as potentially home made.
It has recently become very apparent to me that when I am given these three options, I go for door #3. Always.
Thus, when in public I sort of look like the dorm room decor aisle of Target threw up all over me. It's going to be really great looking back in 30 years or so, when damask is the twenty teens equivalent of bell bottoms and shag carpeting.
I'll toss in some cute Payneisms:
- Dan always ruffles Payne's hair and bats Payne's butt when he gets home from work. The other day, mid butt pat, Payne yelled "Daddy 'top it! My not a dog!".
- As I was getting him out of the car recently, I groaned "Ugh, Mama is draggin" (as in, I was tired) and he corrected me "Mommy, you not a dragon!". Silly Mommy...
- He was at Chick Fil A with his friend J.P. last week. As Aimee and I were talking Payne kept running up to me just crushed. His face was all crumpled up and he was sobbing, but he'd quickly recover and run off to play again. After the second time this happened we paid attention to see what was upsetting him. He walked over to J.P., who was actually eating his food like a good child, asked J.P. to play, and when J.P. very nicely said "No" (because he was busy eating at a restaurant) Payne was devastated, and repeated the sobfest for a third time. The boy can take all kinds of rough housing, but a polite "No" breaks his heart. Heh.
When Payne was a baby I tried to get a good photo for every month of age during his first year, which I put in his baby book. I'm trying to do the same with Genevieve, but I always seem to have the time a couple of days early.
We went "offroad" for these photos. Wild, I know.
This one is my favorite.
And here is big brother. How is he almost three? HOW?!
This was a cute idea, which I screwed up. I wanted her lying in the grass, but was anxious about murderous fire ants, so I was all antsy to pick her up. In my hurry, I neglected to notice that I needed to cuff her overalls. We ended up with a lovely collection of pictures of what appears to be the world's cutest amputee.
I wasn't ready to give up being anywhere but my own family room after dinner tonight, so I went and scored some crack (i.e. Chick Fil A milkshakes) for Payne and myself and decided we'd have a lovely impromptu front yard picnic. I am FUN damnit!
I grabbed a blanket and my camera once we got home:
"Ok, that last face you made in a desperate attempt to make me smile was sort of pitifully amusing"
"You so fuuuuunny!"
I LOVE little baby smiles. They make you feel like the countless hours you've spent feeding, burping, soothing a little screaming person, and wiping someone else's butt have been appreciated. She really cares! She really likes me! And then she looks past me and smiles at the ceiling fan. Poop.
He was trying to think of something to do...
The answer? Petty theft! I was feeding the baby and trying to keep him out of trouble, so I sent him to retrieve all of our neighbors old newspapers. He ate it up. Heh heh.
What a "simple" spur of the moment trip to the freaking yard with my two kids ends up looking like. As as a result, Payne's next "game" was to throw all of the garbage into the trash can in the garage, one piece at a time.
Then Genevieve blew out her diaper, so I changed her...in the yard.
Then it became apparent that Payne had also done something pretty horrible to his own diaper. At this point I gave up and went in for the night.
I really, really enjoy the fatty fatness that is a baby from knee to hip. That adorable bit of chub sort of makes up for the fact that babies are pretty much a vocal digestive system for the first couple of months post birth. Well, the tiny clothes help too, I must admit.
I used to snuggle with Payne on the couch after his nap and massage (cough...squish...cough) his legs while we watched the local news. This ritual was far more for me than for him. I mourned the loss, when at around two years of age his legs thinned out and became cellulite and roll free; more muscle than squish.
When Genevieve was born I sighed at her little chicken legs and waited patiently. And now (Oh Blessed Day!) I have been rewarded!
I see rolls!
I squish her legs about 300 times per day. No joke. I'm a freak.
Genevieve wishes her Mommy wasn't a weirdo. Too bad Girlie! You're stuck with me now! (cackle)
Yesterday Payne was playing with this stone coaster and handed it to me. He warned me "Dis very shark (sharp)" and I agreed, since we had a chipped one for awhile that was indeed sharp. Then he told me "You go time out. You hurt 'self."
I did some quick talking and managed to avoid hard time. I'm putting money on the Batman shirt instilling some deep sense of civic duty, thus triggering the safety moment.
About 14 hours ago. Man, it feels like three days ago. Heh.
Some interesting thoughts, in no particular order:
It miiiight be time to start contemplating potty training when one is changing one's son's diaper, pulls out three wipes, and is interrupted by the diaper changee pulling another wipe out of the package while spouting "My need FOUR wipes". Mathematical ability is probably lower down the list of life skills than, like, not pooping oneself.
Another baby outfit of the day (and an itty bitty yawn): I'm quickly developing an obsession with tiny cardigans.
The Beaker hair is alive and well. Actually, her hairline has receded, so now she looks even MORE like Beaker. I'm reeeaaally tempted to just put her in a lab coat and follow her around with a squeaker for Halloween, but I'm pretty sure she'd never forgive me.
Payne has gifted the congregation of Sacred Heart with more in-mass entertainment.
I was on my own with them this week (Dan was shooting a wedding in flipping Cabo San Lucas. So jealous!), so we spent mass in the cry room. Payne was fairly good, mostly perusing the children's book selection. I was quite pleased! However, when we left the forgiving (and sound proofed) confines of the room to get in line for the Eucharist, all...um...all...Hades? broke loose. We were the very last people in line, so we were essentially on display. And then Payne lost function of this lower legs, poor thing. Spontaneous below the knee paralysis; it's such a common affliction in toddlers. I should start up a foundation for research on its behalf.
I had Genevieve in one arm, and I simply can't pick Payne up or carry him with a single arm anymore, so my options were to drag him by one of his arms (a valid option at McDonald's, not so much at our present location) or bluff, say "bye" and pray he gives a flip.
I bluffed. He crawled after me. He crawled down the aisle. He crawled up to the Deacon for his blessing. He crawled away.
There's potentially nothing more embarrassing than hearing the sound of a collective chuckle produced by hundreds in honor of one's offspring.
And now for something entirely unrelated...
This is Genevieve's car seat glower. "I am tolerating this. I shall not scream because I'm getting a sort of road bump massage, but I shall not relax because I don't want to be in this damn bucket."
And this is Payne's car seat demeanor. (As usual, the blur is a side effect of toddler vibration)
The soundtrack goes something like "Mommy! What daaaaat? O'er dare? Mommy! I see Gnee Gnee and Pappy? I see Ganmom and Pop Pop? I go paaaaay? Mommy! Mine some coc-oh-at miowk? Mommy!"
Last night Payne played hard in my parents' backyard. Wildfire smoke be damned; it was too beautiful to stay inside! My parents have recently started putting out hummingbird feeders because the drought is apparently presenting a food shortage for the little guys; who knew? So now there is a veritable hummingbird nature preserve going on back there. The yard is swarming with pint sized birds, or "baby dirps" as Payne calls them.
So Payne got ahold of a butterfly net and was determined to catch a baby dirp. He was running around like a mad man yelling "Baby dirps I get you! My coming!". Of course, they were across the yard before he made three steps in their general direction. My poor weeblet got frustrated after awhile and sighed "Is too hard". He was looking a little teary, so I kindly offered up the resident dachshund as a sacrifice. I'm so mean. I tried to talk up "catching" leaves in the net first, but Payne remained unimpressed after a few swats at a less than fortunate fern. So I let him chase Hannah around for a little bit and then helped him put the net over her head for a second.
No dachshunds were harmed in the entertainment of my toddler. Scouts honor.
Meanwhile, Genevieve happily stared at the sky while looking fab in her BBOOTD (baby outfit of the day). Heh.
This was an inspired choice. I think it'll start a new "Coniferous Head Wear" movement.
Oh, and that t-shirt is the. most. random. thing. A fairly realistic tiger wearing sunglasses? And a self esteem boosting little label for the kiddo there? Okaaaay. But the weird thing is I really love it and put it on him all the time. HE loves it because there's a tiger on it, which has been his favorite since we started taking him to the zoo. He asks to "See tigers? See wines? (lions)" constantly. He also likes to tell us there are "Tigers in da boodezz (bushes)" regularly, regardless of the presence of bushes...or tigers, at the time.
And an unconscious baby, you say? Incorrect! She is actually shutting her eyes and throwing her fists towards the heavens (or, um, the back of the couch) in pure rapture at the prospect of wearing itty bitty dragonflies for the rest of the day. Yep.