Sunday, January 29, 2012

Oh no.

Shepherd learned how to take his pants off a couple of months ago. He learned how to take his shirt off this evening. We are in a world of trouble. Suffice it to say that for the next five years or so, my kid will be the naked one.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

"All done" my foot

Late Sunday evening, BJ, Shepherd, and I returned from a week long trip visiting BJ's family in Northern Indiana. I would like to say is was a lovely trip, and it was in that we got to spend time with family, but other than that, it was a disaster in every way. I'm talking delayed flights, flying all over the country, lost luggage, and lots and lots of vomiting. I'll leave out the gore-y details and stop there.

Suffice it to say, Shepherd was still fighting the Gensic Stomach Bug of 2012 when we arrived home. After a week of periodically being thrown up on and just plain hurting for my son who had been sick for a week, I've been extremely strict about his diet over the past two days. Small amounts of bland food every few hours. That's it. Shepherd, who has always had a healthy appetite, has just about had enough. He is starting to communicate his frustration.

Tuesday morning, I prepared a small bowl of oatmeal. After Shepherd had consumed two thirds of it, I decided he should probably step on the brakes. After I declared, "All done," and put down the spoon, Shepherd stretched as tall as he could in his high chair, peeked over the edge of the bowl, saw the remaining oatmeal, looked up at me, and pointed quite clearly. His look was nothing if not accusatory. I ended up feeding him the rest of the oatmeal, and thankfully, he managed to keep it down.

Despite the general disaster of our vacation, there were some fun times. It snowed significantly while we were up there, so Shepherd got to play in the snow for a while. In closing, here is a picture of my little guy in the snow. Maybe it will erase the image of so very many people up-chucking.

Friday, January 06, 2012


Here are some of the things my brother did to me when I was a child:

1. Throw me across the living room.

2. Stand me between two trees and kick soccer balls at me as hard as he possible could.

3. Built a house out of couch cushions, put me in it, and jump on it with as much force as he could possibly muster.

4. Leave me outside in a wheel barrel I could not get out of while he ran to the bathroom (aka watched a Cubs game).

5. Lock me in our bathroom during my favorite cartoons with the entirely nonsensical outside lock on our bathroom door.

6. Pelt me with pecans anytime I ventured outdoors.

I could go on, but we'll leave it at that. Suffice it to say, payback has come to greet my brother. This payback comes in the form of a cute little boy who has no concept of personal space. It comes in the form of my son.

So after years and years of torture, justice has been served. As I have mentioned before, my son doesn't exactly smell good, so trust me, my brother is in a world of hurt in that second photo. And as for me, I'm just sitting back enjoy the view of all thing being put right by mamma's little boy.

Monday, January 02, 2012

Who is this toddler, and what did he do with my sweet baby?

It is becoming increasingly more evident that I'm no longer dealing with a baby. Somewhere along the way in these past 14-1/2 months, my baby became a toddler. It is a terrifying development, but it is impossible to deny. Here are just a handful of things that babies don't do that my son does, and thus, leads me to the conclusion that he is now a toddler:

1. Babies don't run as fast as they can from their mothers when they have acquired some little treasure they don't won't to relinquish, such as chokeable-sized rocks or dried dog poop.

2. Babies don't lift the lid on the toilet and splash the water or drop toys in it to save for later.

3. Babies don't smell this bad. What is it about little boys that they smell so bad?

4. Babies don't scream, "Da!" and try to wiggle out of their mothers grasp in the middle of church because they just discovered their dad is the preacher.

5. Babies don't demand that you read the same 4 or 5 books 5 or 20 times a day every day. And reading a book to your son isn't exactly something you can say no to.

Given that babies do none of these things and my son does all of these things, I'd say I have a toddler on my hands. I really don't know when he grew up. But the good news is, despite all the ornery behavior, he has somehow managed to become cuter than ever. Also, babies don't run up to you and give you tight hugs and wet kisses about every half hour, which is food for my nauseated, exhausted, first-trimester-of-pregnancy soul. Overall, I guess I can learn to live with this particular development.