Genevieve is 9 months old today!

And for five easy payments of $19.99 you too can enjoy this precious little addition!

How do I deal with my last “little” baby hauling booty around my house in an army crawl, socially waving, having two teeth, babbling up a storm, and in general acting like she wants to be big?

I dress her like a doll that you order out of the back of a magazine.

Yep.

Like a 20 pound doll.

In an outfit that is a size 12-18 months from a store that runs large.

I’m already trying to prep myself to resist blurting out “Are you sure you don’t want to wear flats to prom?”.

I’m afraid I’m going to be the lone midget of the house. Oh well.

Obviously I’m clinging desperately to the “baby” clothes now. She looked so freakin adorable for church today though:

After her lunch, we snapped a few more “birthday” pics.


“What’s my bro doing over there?”


“He so fuuuunny!”

“I heart hairbrush.”

Except, you know, she doesn’t heart hairbrush.

I think she chews it to hurry it’s inevitable decline in the hopes that once it’s trashed we won’t do her hair anymore.

I need to stop time. Just for a month or fourteen…

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Why mothers of young children are thin:
– 2 minutes of being stationary is “down time” when the little monsters are conscious.
– Junior will invariably wait until you’re eating  a lunch of, say, left over red beans and rice, to decide to poop.
– The mean little sprites always want what you’re eating, even when its the only thing to eat in the car, they’ve already had their breakfast, and you haven’t.  Avoiding the “Mommy you’re starving your own CHILD” melt down is worth going hungry.
– Similarly, unless you want your kid to eat crap, you cannot eat wonderful delicious deep fried crap either.
– Pushing 50 pounds worth of kid around in a 30 pound stroller at the zoo/museum/mall for half of the day certainly feels akin to a half marathon.
– We can also throw in some “weight training” by carrying around the infant that refuses to hold on at all. And what’s really cool, is one can start out with a 7 pound weight and be up to nearly effortless 30 pound exercises in roughly 2.5 years!
– Tending to children as they are eating often takes long enough that one’s own food goes stone cold, and french fries just ain’t worth eating that way.
Why mothers of young children aren’t thin:
– Every restaurant that offers a play area employs roughly eight deep fryers.
– Kids never finish their food, and chicken nuggets are tasty.
– Kids don’t eat sandwich crusts, and throwing away a crust of grilled cheese is a crime against humanity.

– Nap time and post bed time are for sitting completely still in silence.  Ask a Mother to get off of the couch at these hours and you are asking for death.

 
 
– Sometimes when you want to scream/throw up/cry, potato chips will make it all go away.
– When Junior finally succeeds in not crapping his pants for a day the only natural thing to do is celebrate with ice cream.
– After the kids are in bed at night, it’s not always advisable to drink oneself into a stupor, but dessert has never been known to incapacitate a person, right?

A few things about my children…

Genevieve eats in a rodential fashion.
She also lounges in the manner of a swimsuit model.
A lot.

 

Payne frequently falls asleep in the car. Then he wakes up when we get home and refuses to nap, so I’ve developed a fool proof method of keeping him awake. I feed him on the way home!
(shakes fist at Murphy AND his law)

Good evening!

A message from your friendly neighborhood serial killer. (waving)

Ok, so not really, but it does sort of look like an intro scene for CSI or something.

My children have maimed me.

Since Genevieve was born and Payne started potty training I found myself having to wash my hands a truly insane number of times during the day. This resulted in some seriously bad dry skin on my hands. Like, cracking and sloughing off dry skin. And let me tell you, when the tips of your fingers crack and peel it is curse word inducingly painful. Alrightly, who wants some freshly grated parmesan served by yours truly?! (I kid, I kid…)

So I’ve been dealing with my leperosy (and wiggling my “freak hands” menacingly at Dan) for, oh, eight months or so and finally went back to the doctor this week. He prescribed a new cream and told me to layer Aquaphor (yes, the dreaded aquaphor) over it to keep it soaking in for longer.

So now I put the kids to bed, slather on my medicated lotion, goop over it with aquaphor, and slip into some rockin bright blue latex free gloves. Oh yeah. Then I hide in the corner and read for a couple of hours because Dan can’t look at me without laughing.

Yet another example of the jet setting life of a parent to young children…

Swimming.

One of the major benefits of living in a region of the country that is akin to the seventh circle of hell in August, is that one can swim in Apri!

We decided to take our first dip on Saturday:

This is the best picture I got of my son. He is impossible to photograph right now. I fear that one day he’s going to accuse me of favoring the baby as a result of the complete lack of decent photos of him from the age of three to God knows when.

Also, I know you won’t believe me, but for once their color coordination was accidental. I promise!

Genevieve’s swimsuit has a bit of a story. Before Dan and I were even contemplating a second child, my Mom and I saw this little collection in a store. It was all blue with white polka dots and little goldfish appliques. We died. We contemplated buying some of it for my hypothetical daughter but I decided that would be counting my hypothetical chickens, so to speak. As it turns out, I became pregnant with a daughter within a year, and I happened to know the release pattern at this brand’s outlet (because I’m a freak), AND the adorable little goldfish stuff could be expected to come out at the outlet during the summer of 2011.

I stalked the outlet. Nothing. I was perplexed. I googled the line. Get this. Pepperidge farm (the makers of goldfish crackers) SUED Gymboree over the line, because the ridiculously simple goldfish outline sort of resembled their crackers. My mind = blown. I’m guessing this is why the line didn’t get reproduced for the outlets.

I’LL GET YOU PEPPERIDGE FARM AND YOUR FRIVOLOUS LAWSUIT TOO!

I was saddened, but then a friend very generously sent me her little goldfish swimsuit when she heard of my plight. How awesome is she?

So I was determined to get a frameable photo yesterday, as Genevieve is big for her age. I sort of had to wrestle her into the 6-12 month size suit and the odds are not good that she’ll ever wear it again.

I set her up in a pretty little spot:

I get this. Stone cold baby.

Me: “Genevieve! GENEVIEVE! GENEVIEVE!

Nothing

“Look! French fries!”

“Aaaagh! Baby girl!”

(Genevieve glances distainfully just beyond my left toe)

“Smiiiiile! Please?”

Nothing.

(My father happens to walk behind me on his way from the garage to the house)

(My father disappears into the house)

I see where he and I are respectively on the totem pole of Genevieve’s affections….

And then I let her actually hit the water for about an hour. She loved it, as did Payne. Yay!

Ooh, here’s another story. One of those parenting moments that brings intense humility.

So we’ve always been sort of anti-flotation device for Payne. Dan was a life guard and swim instructor in high school and we both felt like “Swimmies” and the like brought a false sense of security that could be dangerous. So for the last three years taking him swimming alone was kind of a full contact sport involving a string of minor heart attacks on my part. When it came time to fathom taking them both to the pool by myself I might have wanted to die.

I was talking to my sister in law recently and she mentioned that Puddle Jumpers had sort of saved her life with her very adventurous four year old. I’d heard of these before, and with summer looming ahead, began to consider this potentially sanity saving possibility.

Then I ran across the single non-pink Puddle Jumper left at Target and grabbed it like it was a gallon of milk on the eve of a Hurrican landfall. Dude. Parental ideals be damned, I’m so jazzed at the virtual guarantee of entering and exiting the pool with two living children. He did really well with it yesterday, so yay for sanity saving flotation devices!

My boy.

He is currently obsessed with his cowboy hat:


(It’s not a home photo without an inside out dachshund ear)

He has taken an interest in “howping” around the house again:

He will NOT pose for a picture. Ever.

His language has really exploded recently. Some of his new favorite phrases are

1) I can’t bewieve dis!

2) Dis is how we do it!

3) Oh God. (We’re not too proud of this one. Whoops. He knows it’s bad, but I think that’s the allure.)

4) Yeah! My did it! My a big boy!

5) I eat all my food, so my gwow big and stwong!”

The other night, my Mom told him that she couldn’t get up from her chair and he asked “Is your butt stuck?”.

He was using an emery board as a pretend tongue depressor recently, and he asked my sister (who had just eaten a thin mint cookie) to open up. She obliged, and he said “Hmm. Well, dere’s some poop in dere.”. Ha! Poor Becca…

Last week he pointed at my stomach and said “Dat’s your bewwy.” and I agreed. Then he pointed at my chest and said “Dose are your milk makers”. Aaaand now I’m worried that I’ve messed him up for life, since he hasn’t seen me nurse a baby in four months and still remembers. But hey, it could be worse, right? Nobody said “Dose are dollar bihw holders”…

Like she owned the place…

This morning I was at a playdate with a friend.  The restaurant we chose had a patio (yay!) and a sandbox (oh Dear God no). 

After our food arrived I left Genevieve in her highchair and went down to retrieve Payne (and wade through stupid effing sand) so he could eat his lunch (while covered in gritty effing sand).

When I returned to our table, Genevieve was calmly holding a basket partially overturned in her lap and snarfing her brother’s french fry.

Alrighty then.