These are my Turkey Burgers posing in Mamaw's jungle gym
Meet Mr. Spanish Inquisition.
In the past two days, Isaac has entered the infamous "why" phase of toddlerhood. Everything that comes out of my mouth apparently deserves further explanation. A sample conversation from this morning when the babysitter left:
Isaac: Where's Meghan?
Me: She's going home.
Isaac: Why?
Me: Because she has to go to school.
Isaac: Why?
Me: Um... because she wants to get her diploma.
Isaac: Why does she want to get a poma?
Me: So she can get a job.
Isaac: Why does she want a job?
Me: So she can make money.
Isaac: Why?
Me: So she can buy toys.
Isaac: Oh!
While this phase has a horrible reputation, I find that I am (so far) enjoying the constant "why" onslaught. Perhaps it is the inner grad student in me who likes being put on the spot. Perhaps it's that we have actual back-and-forth conversation through the entire day. Or perhaps it's that, at the end of his lines of questioning, you can tell he has a eureka-type moment where he really gets it and is learning more about the world. In any case, it is way cool.
Meet Mr. Daredevil Dingleberry.
He had the misfortune to inherit my horse teeth, as you can now plainly see. Jacob enjoys inventing new and exciting ways to kill himself daily. His new favorite is that he refuses to eat from his high chair. Why should he be the odd man out, sitting on this piddly chair for babies, when everyone else sits in a normal Big Boy chair? He will sit in his high chair while his food is being dished out, but then he will take a bite or two and suddenly realize that he is being slighted. Of course when you move him to sit in a Big Person chair on his own, he tries to stand up or climb on the table or scoot around or otherwise fall off and concuss himself. So far this has not happened, thank the sweet Lord. But between that and his equal insistence that sippy cups are for losers (and his brother's Ghandi-like attempts to subsist solely on air), mealtime is enough to make me lose my mind.
Jacob is also a psycho clinger monkey Mama's boy. That is changing at least in part today, because I am weaning him as we speak. You heard me, no more boobie. As I write this it has been 22 hours since his last nursing, and he really didn't care that much about it. For probably the last three or four months, I have been only nursing him to sleep. Last night I realized how hard he was playing me in that respect when he woke up at 11, nursed, and then wouldn't return to Baby Slumberville. Because that wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, and because he slept 7 straight hours after I did get him to sleep (by snuggling up with him in the Big People bed -- some morbid fascination with all things Big People for him going on here), and because it's Friday and if there's lots of screaming in the middle of the night no one will have to suffer at work from lack of sleep -- all these things together mean NO MORE BOOBIE, yo. And though my left boob feels like a hot grenade, I am a tough lady and I realize that I am ready to reclaim my body for the first time since, oh, 2003.
In the past two days, Isaac has entered the infamous "why" phase of toddlerhood. Everything that comes out of my mouth apparently deserves further explanation. A sample conversation from this morning when the babysitter left:
Isaac: Where's Meghan?
Me: She's going home.
Isaac: Why?
Me: Because she has to go to school.
Isaac: Why?
Me: Um... because she wants to get her diploma.
Isaac: Why does she want to get a poma?
Me: So she can get a job.
Isaac: Why does she want a job?
Me: So she can make money.
Isaac: Why?
Me: So she can buy toys.
Isaac: Oh!
While this phase has a horrible reputation, I find that I am (so far) enjoying the constant "why" onslaught. Perhaps it is the inner grad student in me who likes being put on the spot. Perhaps it's that we have actual back-and-forth conversation through the entire day. Or perhaps it's that, at the end of his lines of questioning, you can tell he has a eureka-type moment where he really gets it and is learning more about the world. In any case, it is way cool.
Meet Mr. Daredevil Dingleberry.
He had the misfortune to inherit my horse teeth, as you can now plainly see. Jacob enjoys inventing new and exciting ways to kill himself daily. His new favorite is that he refuses to eat from his high chair. Why should he be the odd man out, sitting on this piddly chair for babies, when everyone else sits in a normal Big Boy chair? He will sit in his high chair while his food is being dished out, but then he will take a bite or two and suddenly realize that he is being slighted. Of course when you move him to sit in a Big Person chair on his own, he tries to stand up or climb on the table or scoot around or otherwise fall off and concuss himself. So far this has not happened, thank the sweet Lord. But between that and his equal insistence that sippy cups are for losers (and his brother's Ghandi-like attempts to subsist solely on air), mealtime is enough to make me lose my mind.
Jacob is also a psycho clinger monkey Mama's boy. That is changing at least in part today, because I am weaning him as we speak. You heard me, no more boobie. As I write this it has been 22 hours since his last nursing, and he really didn't care that much about it. For probably the last three or four months, I have been only nursing him to sleep. Last night I realized how hard he was playing me in that respect when he woke up at 11, nursed, and then wouldn't return to Baby Slumberville. Because that wasn't the first time such a thing had happened, and because he slept 7 straight hours after I did get him to sleep (by snuggling up with him in the Big People bed -- some morbid fascination with all things Big People for him going on here), and because it's Friday and if there's lots of screaming in the middle of the night no one will have to suffer at work from lack of sleep -- all these things together mean NO MORE BOOBIE, yo. And though my left boob feels like a hot grenade, I am a tough lady and I realize that I am ready to reclaim my body for the first time since, oh, 2003.
posted by Claire at 9:34 PM
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Happy Mothers Day!
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