Reality’s just black and white, the sentimental things I’d write.

by statia on April 4, 2008

My days seem to fly by at such an alarming rate, that by the time I sit down to think about writing anything down, I’m just too fucking lazy. That’s pretty much the long and short of it. That and the only people who are captivated by what my kid is doing are me and the Meester. OK, and his grandparents. Otherwise, there’s not really much I can say that hasn’t already been said before. Most beautiful, smartest child on the planet, who by the way turns 13 months old tomorrow.

I could tell you how cheeky this kid is, and how he knows that he’s cheeky. Or that he throws wicked tantrums and whines instead of trying to communicate to me, what it is that he wants. Whining is much more fun apparently. I can’t wait until this kid can talk so that we can just get past this phase of me asking “do you want milk?” Only to hear incessant screaming and crying while hanging on my pant leg, because “wtf woman, why must you TEASE me like that?” Or how he can understand simple commands, but when I ask him to hand me something and then remove it from his hands, he gets PISSED off and starts to cry like I just killed his puppy. And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t laugh at him for that, because come ON, don’t tell me you didn’t see that coming.

The sharing thing is coming along swimmingly.

There are days where I think I can’t figure out a damn thing to do to engage this kid, and I’m doing him a complete disservice by being his mother, but then he goes and pets the dogs so nice and gentle, between the ears, just like they like, and they don’t cringe for fear that they may end up missing an ear. I caught him yesterday, handing one of Miss M’s toys to her, wanting to play, and then getting angry because she took it from him. And instead of comforting him, I laughed and made a mental note to blog about it.

He’s such a sensitive kid. Part of that is probably because I baby him, and he knows how to play me to a certain extent. He tries to fake the serious waterworks and hiccoughing, but so far, he can’t pull it over on me, and when he realizes it, he laughs. But he still gets upset and frustrated really easily. And I’m hoping that this is just a toddler thing, and not the inhertiance of ADD. I watch him like a hawk for sensory issues and I’ve put off getting his MMR vaccine, because while I try not to be paranoid, or let it show, well, I’m paranoid.

I’ve been quiet here as of late. I’m trying to come up with a new domain name. I need a change. I’ve been at this url now, for four years, and I’ve been blogging for six, which in the grand scheme of things, is ancient. Hell, I’ve never even been at a job longer than 3, in my entire career. I’m hoping it’ll spark some creativity, and maybe help me to relocate my funny bone.

In the meantime, I’m also blogging over at Safe Mama. I’m becoming more and more of a hippie. I won’t stop shaving my legs or anything, but at the end of the day, I just want our kids to be safe and for parents to not have to worry about whether or not their canned goods are lined with bisphenol, or their baby’s lotion is laden with phthalates. Which is much more important to me than any poop joke. And that’s saying something.

{ 4 comments }

suzanne April 6, 2008 at 6:23 am

If not shaving your legs is the entrance to hippiedom, I’m there. Not on purpose though.

Lisa April 7, 2008 at 4:14 am

You’ve been blogging for a really long time. I miss some of the other people who were blogging back then, but at least some post pictures regularly.

The kid sounds he’s keeping you busy and probably fills your days with stories, even if you don’t blog them all. :D

jesser April 7, 2008 at 8:25 pm

MiniPooper.com?

We’ve spaced out T’s vaccinations too. My uncle is autistic and it just felt better to do that. All this stuff to worry about. I vacillate between freaking out about it and ignoring it.

Deltus April 8, 2008 at 7:17 am

Isn’t it awesome when the wee ones are so gentle with animals and their dolls and such? Your heart just melts.

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