Stuck in Reverse
In case you thought I was kidding…
Dibs
This article comes just hours after Steve and I had a great debate about the validity and relevance of the word Hesher.
As in: Only a hesher would attempt to explain to their 3-year-old daughter why Pyromania is better than Hysteria.
I now know what I will be getting Steve for Christmas. (Yes, Celene, you can buy one for Thad too.)
Sleep Journal: Day 209
Poor little McGoo. He has been teething for going on eleventeen weeks now. The bottom front two came in with little fanfare, however he is on the 10-year plan in getting those heinous two top fronts and their side-by-sides. It started weeks ago and just seems to be dragging on, and on, and on. And on. Not only is he carrying a consistent dosage of some variety of pain reliever in his system at all times (we are thinking it would be more efficient to just switch to a Tylenol patch), but he is still holding out on this whole sleep thing. As in, he won’t. Throw in the time-change, and a house with bad acoustics, and you have a reason to drink. A lot. As I explained to my mother-in-law, there is a moment each evening, wherein I have to either drink alcohol or caffeine, or I’ll die.
Aside from the whole teeth-and-sleep thing, otherwise known as the OBVIOUS IMPLICATIONS UNDERTAKEN WHEN PROCREATING, there is the fact that he is this close to crawling in a direction other than backward or sideways. Right now, his best trick is getting himself wedged under things. Where’s Porter? Oh, under the couch again. Hear Porter crying in the next room? No biggie, he has probably just scooted himself under an open drawer again. Oh, you left him in his crib to play for a while? That’s fine, except he has most-likely wriggled both of his legs through the slats – ultimately pinning himself, yet again. One might call it his super-power – being able to wedge himself in the most unlikely of places…which should come in handy as he tries to flee future abuses at the hands of his n’er-do-well older sister.
Add to this scenario a snot-clogging, wheeze-making, even-less-sleep-getting cold, and I have no choice but to blog about it.
But here’s the thing: Through all of this insanity, and chaos, and potential for me to rue the day I ever considered having unprotected sex, I can still manage to break a genuine smile when it is 4:30 in the morning and I see Porter’s little profile in shadow, hear him make that funny Frankenstein noise and realize that I am, indeed, up for the day. Again.
The Ibuprofin Brigade
And, I’m back. With back-to-back grandparent visits squarely behind us I am delighted to say that my children have not required stays at the post-grandparent-visit rehab center. You know, the one where children are de-programmed of the delusions that life exists for no other reason than to serve their every whim.
Each grandparent visit took on a slightly different strategic plan. My mother’s decision was to divide and conquer, taking on one kid each day she was here, and letting the other go to their respective care facility while I was at work. The grandparents Walston approach (being that there were 2 of them) opted to go full monty, taking on both Walstonlings for the duration of their visit – even throwing in an all-nighter. The word glutton springs immediately to mind. The sum total of each visit however, had the same outcome: a granddaughter who has started to realize the gravity of good-bye.
During each visit, there was a moment wherein Stella calmly, yet with the power of an emotional wrecking ball, asked each grandparent to stay. With my mom, it was the morning they were playing together in the yard, and out of nowhere Stella asked, “Grandma, will you stay?” To which, my mother could only respond, “I’m not going anywhere. We can play all day.” “No, Grandma. I want you to stay.” With the grandparents Walston, it came right as they were saying their good-byes on Sunday night to head back to their trailer. No matter how delicately and logically they tried explaining their departure, Stella could only reply with one response, “Don’t go.”
I swear, there are moments when I’m absolutely certain that her honesty and innocence is going to make my heart explode within my chest and ooze out of my ears. I just wish I could conjure these feelings right about the moment I am ready to dangle her by her feet for refusing to sleep past 5:00am.
Alas, even with all of these heartwrenching moments, it took her about 32 seconds to settle right back into her old routines, like insisting on working some form of the word poop into every sentence that leaves her mouth.