We are family

I know you're going to find this hard to believe, but here goes...

We are related to Elmo. 

Crazy, right? 

I just came to this conclusion recently, but now that I'm aware of Elmo's genetic composition, it's easy to understand why Ari loves Elmo...and why Ari loves my dad (his Pa-Pa).  As it turns out, Elmo's Dad and my Dad are long lost brothers!!  We're all freaking out!  This means...I have a new Uncle.  And Ari has a great Uncle.  And best of all, Ari and Elmo are first cousins!!

PROOF:

Elmo's Dad:

My Dad:

There's no denying the resemblance!  We must take a trip to Sesame Street for a family reunion.  Maybe we'll be invited for Thanksgiving. 

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Wax on

I love to clean out my ears.  If I could rub a q-tip inside my ear canal all day, I would.  Now, I understand that ear wax is there for a reason, but I choose to ignore medical advice and scoop and scrape until my ears are free of that yellow so-called good-for-me gunk.  I did learn the hard way once that, if I accidentally go too far inside my ear, I can disturb my equilibrium.  Since then, I am careful not to indulge too much.  I'd rather be waxy than dizzy.

Where am I going this?  Here...

Ari has had insane amounts of ear wax since he was a baby.  So much wax, in fact, that I could just use my pinky finger and gently remove globs from his ears...daily. As he got older, we started using the safety q-tip swabs after his bath and only removed the gooey goodness that had escaped his ear canal and was calling my name from the outer ear. 

I'm still amused by his overabundance of earwax.  This is last night's catch:

And as it turns out, Ari greatly enjoys the nightly ear ritual.  Every time I clean his ears, his entire body relaxes and he turns to the side until I finish.  He enjoys it so much that he doesn't want it to stop.  He gazes at me and signs for "more."  So I wasn't a bit surprised when he took the q-tip from me so he could do it himself. 

Talented, right?

I'm happy that my little guy and I share a fondness for the stress-relieving, massaging abilities that a simple q-tip in the ear can provide.  Life sure does have some simple pleasures.

Thanks for letting me wax poetic.

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R.I.P.

Brookline resident Toy Ferret, 3 months, died April 24th, 2012 at his home in Brookline, Massachusetts.

Toy ferret was born in China to parents with the same names.  He moved to an orphanage in Chestnut Hill, Massachusetts as a newborn and was adopted soon thereafter.

 

Toy lived a short but vivacious life.  He had boundless energy and a true joie de vivre.  He loved to roll around the house and buzz around the hardwood floors.  His big brother Ari spent hours chasing Toy and trying to pick him up and hold him.  Toy never complained, rather, seemed to revel in the attention.  The two were best friends.

 

Toy suffered a tragic end to his short life when Toy's mother, plagued with a splitting headache, was heard yelling, "I can no longer deal with this annoying Toy.  He never stops.  I can't take it anymore."  And with that, she tried to give Toy a short rest but accidentally injured Toy's internal organs making it impossible for Toy to regain his strength.  The family determined it would be in Toy's best interests to keep him out of medical care and simply pull the plug battery. 

 

 

 

He is survived by his brother Ari, his parents, and his many fellow annoying battery-operated toddler toys.

 

Condolences may be sent to Big Brother Ari.

 

A private burial was held at home.

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Private parts

Towards the very end of my 18 week ultrasound, the radiologist asked if we wanted to find out the gender of the fetus.  I told him we already knew it was a girl because we had CVS testing due to our genetic genes. 

With that, the doc said...

Doc: ...Okay, then if you look right there, you can see the labia.

Matt: (quivering) Labi-what?

Doc: Yes, the labia, it's part of the vagina.

Matt: But I don't want my baby to have labia.

Doc:: If she doesn't have labia, her vagina will be abnormal...deformed.

Matt: (Muttering) Oh. I didn't think about that.  Wait.  You mean, she's going to have a vaa...vaa...?

Doc: Vagina.

(Matt stopped talking and looked away from the ultrasound monitor.  He became eerily quiet and withdrawn.  I collected the print-out pictures, pulled up my stretchy pants, poked him to signal it was time to leave, and we walked out of the room.)

(Outside)

ME: Matt, you understand she will have a vagina?

Matt: Does she have to?

Me: What do you mean?  Yes, she has to.  That's what makes her a girl.

Matt: I don't want her to have a vaaa...vaaa...

Me: Gina. Vagina.

Matt: I don't want to talk about it.

Me: Okay, but Ari has a penis, right?  Boys have penises and girls have vagina's. 

Matt: I don't want to talk any more about it.

Me: Are you joking?

Matt: And I'm not going to touch it.

Me: Incorrect.  You will change her diaper.

Matt: That's fine, but I won't touch it. And I won't look at it. 

Me: I touch Ari's penis multiple times a day.  I put vaseline on it for a week after his circumcision.  I clean poop off of it on a regular basis!

Matt: That's really nice of you.  I am just letting you know I won't be touching her... her... her...

Me: Vagina?

Matt: I don't want to talk any more about it.

(Matt gets in his car and drives away)

I went home and googled "dad afraid of baby girl" and I found this list of 10 common dad fears.  What's on the list?  Concerns included are the baby's health, lack of sleep, not being a good dad, and having to grow up (examples include drink less beer and play fewer video games).  It seems anxiety over a baby girl's vagina is not so common.

There's also gynophobia, defined as an abnormal fear of women.  This could be the diagnosis, except we all know Matt doesn't have that (or else we wouldn't have conceived this little issue in the first place).

So, I guess I'm just going to have to wait and hope Matt gets over this fear as soon as the baby arrives.  I'll hold off from teaching him about front-to-back wiping for now.  That may put him over the edge.

And, I can't believe he's really freaked out about this. 

What a pussy!

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Sh*t my Nanny says (part 2)

I once blogged about my Jamaican Nanny D.  That post was such a hit that people always ask for new D stories.

So, I'm going to humor all of you.  But let me preface this all by saying that she's the racist, not me.  I am simply re-stating the things she says. No hate mail.  OK?

Soooo...

On a warm day, Matt and I go to the park to find Ari running around without any shoes. 

Me: D, where are his shoes?
D: He doesn't need shoes.
Me: Why not?
Do: He's West Indian.
Me: He is?
Do: Yeah, he loves spicy food, he listens to Bob Marley, and he doesn't wear shoes.  He's West Indian.
Me: Okay, but he could get hurt.
D: You crazy. West Indians are tough.
(Me: How can I argue with that?  She's obviously right.  My kid must be West Indian?  His skin tone is just deceiving.)

Then a week later, I hand D an outfit for Ari.  The conversation continues as follows:

Do: I'm not putting my baby in this.
Me: Why not?
Do: It's mitchmatched.
Me: No it's not.
D: Yes it is.  You always dress him mitchmatched.
Me: It's not mismatched.
D: It is mitchmatched.  The colors don't go.  He looks like an Asian.
Me: Excuse me? 
D: Yeah, you always dress him like an Asian.
Me: First of all, he is dressed well.  Second of all, so are the Asians.
D: Not an Asian, an Asian.
Me: Come again?
D: Not an Asian, an Asian.
Me: Like Chinese?  Korean?  What?  I don't understand.
D: ASIAN!!!  Not Asian!
Me: Why are you yelling at me?  The Asians I see are always in designer outfits.
D: NOT ASIAN...ASIAN!!!  AAAAYYYSHHHHHAN!
Me: Calm down D.  Will you please spell that?
D: ASIAN! spelled H-A-I-T-I-A-N!
ME: Oh, Hhhhhatian.
D: You crazy. What did you think I was saying?
Me: Well this makes sense now.  I dress Ari like a Haitian...since he's West Indian.
D: Girl, you crazy.

Whatever you say D.

(If you're interested, you can watch my little West Indian jamming to Bob Marley here.)

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Cool as a Cucumber

Most kids are picky eaters.  They mainly like carbs and candy.  Not my kid.  He likes green vegetables.  No joke.  So much, in fact, that I called the pediatrician to ask her what to do since there were a few weeks when he would only ingest broccoli and green beans and brussel sprouts.  Her response?  Take advantage of it.

His all-time favorite green veggie... the cucumber.  He'll take it raw or pickled.  Sliced thin or thick or speared.  Peeled or unpeeled.  And most commonly, in full form.  He'll just suck and slurp all day long.  (I know what you're thinking.  And no, he didn't get that from me.  That's why girls get married.)

Exhibit A:

It took him the entire shopping trip, but he successfully swallowed every bit of that Persian cucumber. 

He also likes to hold his cucumber while lounging.  (This he may, in fact, get from his daddy.)

Exhibit B:

Pretty good form, eh?

And finally, we have the little boy who thinks he's Moses.

Exhibit C: Check out my rod.  Go that way!

An old man stopped us to say, "that's a mighty fine cucumber you've got little boy."  (Sick-o.)  Ari giggled and offered the man a bite.  (Sick-o.)

I've learned to relish in the fact that Ari loves his veggies.  But maybe I should introduce him to celery instead?

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How do you feel??

It's the question of the hour 9 months.

Friends, neighbors, and family (and strangers) all want to know.  JulieSue, how are you feeling?!  And they expect the standard answer.  So I oblige.  "I feel pretty well."

But, do you really want to know how I feel?  Like, really and truly? 

Alright, then I'll tell ya.

I'm constipated.

My nipples could cut glass. 

I am a discharge factory.

I have to pee.  Oh wait, I have to pee again.

I am awake at night more than I am asleep.

I fart all day long.  And the smell is nauseating.  Well okay, I like it, but you don't. 

I have zits.

My ass has already doubled in size.

I am a hairy beast.

I can smell your breath from here.

My gums bleed when I brush my teeth.

I sweat through my sheets at night.

I'm glowing. My skin is so dry it is flaking off.

I look fat, not pregnant.  Stop lying.  (And I hate when you glance at my gut and tell me I look good.) 

Oh, and the hemorrhoids are back.  Lovely.

So how am I feeling?  Thank you so much for asking.  I'm feeling great!

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Perv

Ari is a chatterbox.  He's been vocal for many months, and he carries on lengthy conversations with me (and with himself), yet his English vocabulary is still a bit, well, ineffective.  I'm pretty good at deciphering his broken English, but the residents of Brookline are often taken aback by his word choice.

You see, he uses the same two words to point out the following items: Clock, Train, Tree, Rooster (or any bird), Truck, Sock, Tickle, Toes, Cloud, Carrot, and many other "c" and "t" words.

And what, you ask, are the two words he shouts every single time he sees or hears any of these things?

"COCK!"  "TITTY!"

Usually, it's like this (pointing) to one tree after another, "titty titty titty titty titty titty."  And when he sees a bird, he runs after it screaming "cock!!! cock!! cock!!" 

(We won't be teaching the next kid the sound a rooster makes.)

So now you understand my problem.  There are a lot of trees in the neighborhood.  And he's obsessed with trucks.  And on cloudy days, I really should just stay inside.

There's not much I can do except say the full name of the object and hope he catches on.  (And try not to laugh.  Too much.  Other moms don't find it funny.) 

And until then, I'm the Mom with the potty mouth child.

(And I couldn't be prouder.)

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Potty Training part 1

Now that the cat's out of the bag  fetus is out of the sack  enough JulieSue, we you know what you're saying word is out, I feel a bit more authentic blogging about my life.  It also helps to feel much better and have the energy to sit down and type.

And boy-oh-boy do I have a lot to tell you. 

Oh wait, first and most importantly, I should have said GIRL-OH-GIRL do I have some funny sh*t going on these days.  (Yeah!  Catch my not-so-subtle baby making drift?)

So here's my first of many upcoming posts. 

I decided to start potty training my not-yet-ready toddler.  Now, if you were to ask me which training approach sounds most effective and least painful and time consuming, it's this 1 week plan.  The gist?  It's like tearing off a band aid, err, or a diaper.  One wet week and then you're diaper free.  However, listening to the the voice from above Nanny and not my instincts, we purchased a potty seat and continue to let Ari sit on the toilet when we think he needs to pee...or poop...or, whenever he wants to sit on it.

The good news?  He loves the potty.  In fact, he can now remove his diaper all by himself!  He doesn't even need to remove the adhesives, he just shimmies and yanks and...

...there it goes.

He walks to the toilet, points and says "up", and...

...he sits patiently, makes a grunting sound like he's pushing (he must have learned that from his daddy, he definitely did not learn that from me over the last 4 months since I simply don't go anymore), and sometimes he even has a snack as he hangs out at the toilet.

But the bad news?  There's no action.  It's like waiting for Godot...or, more fittingly, for Ari to go.

And then, when we're both sufficiently bored and convinced nothing is ever going to happen, he hops off his baby throne, I take out a clean diaper, and...

...he does his business. On the floor.  Pretty often. (I can already hear our playdates calling to cancel.)

Crap!  Where did I go wrong?!

It's good to be back,

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Oh SHOO-T

I often dream about what Ari will be like when he gets older.  Since he's already very athletic, and he loves to be the center of attention, and he's constantly doing silly things to make people laugh, I can imagine him playing on a sports field, speaking at a podium, and joking with a group of friends.  He's going to be one very cool guy.

But there's another trait that has me a tad concerned.  I first noticed this strange behavior a few months ago when Ari went from crawling to walking.  Whenever I would attempt to put his shoes on his feet, he would squirm and kick and run away as fast as possible.  And, after I would corner him, pin him down, and velcro on his kicks, he would, almost immediately, kick/pull/maneuver just right and set his feet free. 

Has this Houdini-like shoe behavior gotten any better?  Nope.  In fact, while I have become more efficient at getting the shoes on, he is just as proficient at removing them (particularly in the car).

I know what you're thinking... the kid doesn't like to wear his shoes.  Normal toddler behavior.  No big deal. 

But wait.  There's a catch.

As it turns out, he does like to wear shoes.  He wants to wear them all day long.  In fact, he is happy taking them on and off and on and off.  And sometimes, he puts a pair on his hands and a pair on his feet.  He just can't get enough shoe.

So what's the issue?

Well, it's not these trendy, perfectly fitting, little boy sneakers that he likes to wear:

Nope.  Rather, he likes to wear these:

And these:

And, well, yeah, these:

He's like the naked cowboy.  Or something.

Since Ari refuses to wear his own shoes, and prefers to raid my closet, there's really only one thing to do about it...

Hey Matt - Mama needs a new pair of shoes!

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Scratch my back Elmo.

There was Tickle Me Elmo.

 Then Birthday Elmo.

And now, thanks to Aunt Courtney and the 7th night of Chanukah, Ari is a proud owner of the newest red furry fad: Lets Rock Elmo:

Like every other kid, Ari loves Elmo.  He sings with him, he dances with him, and he even eats with him.  No, really. Ari gave up a cookie so that Elmo could enjoy it.  (But after 45 minutes, Ari must have assumed Elmo was choking on the cookie because he removed it from Elmo's mouth and proceeded to eat it himself.  Sorry E.) 

But, I'm about to tell you something pretty shocking.  You may not believe me, but I figured out why the little people like Elmo.  Here it is... Elmo is real.  !!!   He has a personality.  (He cracks jokes and laughs at himself.  Sorta like me.)  He has likes and dislikes ("Elmo likes to sing acapella."  Whoopdeedoo.)   He even makes demands and tells us what to do.  ("Bring me my drums, touch my foot, hand me the tambourine."  You mean the $60+ dollar price tag doesn't include instrument retrieval?  Elmo, can you say "Rip off"?)

But here's the coup de grace.

Elmo has feelings.  Seriously.  When Ari no longer wants to play with him, Elmo gets testy.  And sorta annoying.  And then he makes me Ari feel guilty, tells him he's taking a break, and ultimately gives him the silent treatment when Ari diverts his attention elsewhere.   

I'm not sure I can take much more of this.  Elmo is freaking me out.  And, this whole 'Sesame Street character has emotions' thing makes me worried... and nervous... and scared. 

And overwhelmoed.



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Swapping spit part 2

You may remember my original post on this topic when I admitted that I enjoyed didn't mind swapping spit with my then 4-month old.  There was something so pure about Ari's saliva.  He never had morning breath.  He had no signs of gingivitis.  He didn't even have teeth for goodness sake.  If he wanted to drip a little drool in my mouth, I would be happy to swallow it. 

Gagging yet?  Just wait.

The french kissing with my baby did come to an end and life went back to (spit-free) normal...or so I thought.

The very quick background: Our bathroom isn't huge so Matt and I take turns in the a.m. and p.m. performing our hygienic rituals.  While he's brushing and flossing, I'm getting dressed or undressed, and then we switch. 

Here's a photo of our bathroom vanity.

Notice the back right - Matt and I use the same make and model of vibrating toothbrush.  Mine is in front.  Matt's is in back.

Oh wait, actually, scratch that.  I was just informed that mine is in back.

The conversation went like this:

Me (brushing my teeth): Brushhhh
Matt (enters the bathroom to grab a q-tip): Why are you using my toothbrush?
Me: This is my toothbrush
Matt: Nope, that's my toothbrush
Me: Your toothbrush is that one in the back.
Matt: Incorrect.  That's your toothbrush.
Me: You've been using my toothbrush.
Matt: You've been using my tootbrush.

It took me a few minutes to get the gag reflex under control, swish with mouthwash, and then re-brush my teeth with my toothbrush.

And then, from the bedroom, I heard:

Matt: Wait, maybe that's my toothbrush.  Who really knows.

Dental damn-it! As soon as Ari wakes up, we're going to CVS to buy me a new toothbrush. 

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scapegOAT

Just when I think I have run out of blog material, I have this mind boggling discussion with my husband yesterday morning.

ME: I'm making oatmeal.  Do you want me to make some for you?
MATT: No thanks.
ME: What will you eat?
MATT: I'll find something
(2 minutes later)
MATT: (hovering) That looks good.
ME: I made a lot.  Let me know if you want any.
MATT: I'm fine.
ME: (Stirring)
MATT: Smells good too.
ME: I'll give you some!
MATT: No, there isn't enough.
ME: (Said with sarcasm) Fine, there isn't enough.
MATT: I don't want any anyway.
ME: (Scooping oatmeal in a bowl.)
MATT: Mmmmm
ME: Here, I'm putting the rest in a bowl for you.
MATT: I really don't want it.  I won't eat it.
ME: OK. I'm not going to beg you. (I put the pot and extra oatmeal in the sink, fill with soap and water, and sit down to eat my oatmeal.)
MATT: (Making some noise in the kitchen)
ME: (Enter kitchen, find Matt filling up a pot to make oatmeal.)
MATT: I'm making oatmeal.  You didn't make enough.

Here's hoping Ari doesn't have the stubborn gene.

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What's your name?

Ari is a chatterbox.  Though 97% of his babbling is incomprehensible, the other 3% is both fascinating and thrilling to hear!  He picks up new words every day and repeats things said to him.  Now, to be accurate, none of his words sound...well...accurate, but I know what he's saying.  He points to a zipper and says "zzzz", he looks at a light and say "iiiit", and whenever Matt is around, he wants to be near "Da."  And, I have to admit, hearing him call for "Ma...Ma" when I walk out of the room makes my heart swell with happiness.

But a few days ago, he said something that sounded very familiar.  He said it over and over again.  I listened carefully, but couldn't quite decipher his slurred speech.  What was he trying to say?  Hardy?  Party?  Malawi?

Or wait a sec, could he be saying what I think he's saying?

(Watch this video with an open ear mind.  Humor me.)

Uh huh.  He's saying ARI.  That's my boy.

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Doing IT

Yesterday, Matt and I commemorated 6 years of wedded bliss.  And how, you ask, did we celebrate?  Did we have a romantic dinner?  Get a couples massage?  Take a leisurly hand-in-hand stroll through the neighborhood?

Nope.

Instead, we stayed home and did the nasty all weekend long!

Yup.  We did it in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night.  We did it standing up and we did it laying down.  We did it on the floor and in the chair and in the bed.  We did it so much we had to do multiple loads of laundry and change the sheets two times!   

We even cancelled our dinner reservation to stay home and do it.  In fact, I am so exhausted I can barely move this morning. 

Happy Anniversary to us!

And, you know what... I do not want to do it ever again!

That's right.  I'm over cleaning up Ari's puke.  I hope he gets better very very soon.

Wait.  What did you think I was talking about? 

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Therapee

I love Las Vegas.

I love the food, the shopping, the pools, the poker, and the escape from reality.  So, to celebrate Ari's first birthday, we gave him a gift of 4 days with his grandparents and we forced ourselves to get out of town.  Happy Birthday to us!  Err, I mean, happy b-day Ari! 

And hello Sin City!  Oh how I missed you.

But little Ari, I missed you too!  So, to help me relax and stop sending check-in text messages to my mom, I booked a treatment at the spa.  I arrived early to take advantage of the hot tub and sauna and the 8 different rooms with water features, temperature changes, heated chairs, light shows, aromatherapy, and more.  And in each room, I sampled a different iced beverage.  I had a cup of pineapple tea, raspberry tea, cucumber water, lemon-lime water, fresh squeezed orange juice, and finally, I ended my hydration vacation with a cup of warm chamomile tea.  And then I sat and waited for my treatment.

As my therapist led me into the room where I would receive my scrub and rub, I realized I may need to pee.  Nah, I thought, I can hold it.  So I undressed and lay on the massage table.  The masseuse came in and began to exfoliate my skin with a mango-scented scrub.  Half-way through the best back scratch of my life, the masseuse walked over to the jacuzzi tub in the room and turned on the water to fill it for my soak.  The sound of the running water made my bladder ache.  I suddenly regretted the 6 cups of water I had consumed (plus the large coffee earlier in the day).

But what should I do?  I could tell her I needed to go to the bathroom.  It would surely only take a minute.  But right as I was about to say something, she said, "Okay, time to get out and go sit in the tub for 10 minutes."  My lips were suddenly paralyzed.  I need to pee.  Like, badly.  But, for whatever reason, I kept my mouth shut.  I stepped inside the warm bath water, lay on my back, put my head down, and tried to enjoy the strong bubbles enveloping my body.  As my bladder continued to fill, I realized I had only 1 option.  I would get out of the tub, dry off, go outside, find my therapist, and ask to use the bathroom.

Or, I thought, this probably isn't an option, but maybe I could tinkle in the tub?  Would she know?  Is that against the rules?  Would the water change color?  Are they going to laugh at me? 

The heck with it, I thought, I paid good money for this, and I'm going to pee! 

I inhaled and pussshhhed.... (and the strength of the bubbles made this very difficult, plus who knows when the last time I tried to pee in the water was, not to mention laying down, this is hard work) and I pushed...there it goes I think I'm peeing...and pushed some more...and I half peed.  I felt a bit of relief.  I looked down, no change in color, and no way could she tell what I had done. 

Because that went well, I figured, maybe I can get the rest out?  (Repeat above actions.  And...success!)  Wow, my bladder was empty and I felt good.  I laid back, put a cool compress on my forehead, and chuckled.  I may be laying in a pool of my own urine, but at least I can now enjoy it.

After the therapist returned, I dried off and lay back down for the massage.  And it was relaxing and wonderful.  I thought about my beautiful boy and all of my worries disappeared.  I could truly relax.

I left the spa feeling refreshed and renewed, calm and content.

And happee.

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