Monday, October 20, 2008
Electriclady, the TONY Kids subscription is yours!
I had so many things I wanted to talk about - bedtime routines, sippy cup wars, 10-month-olds with excessive button pushing abilities - but then I stumbled upon "The Pick-Up Artist" on VH-1 and it's game over, folks. HOW HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS? I, who am on a first-name basis with every washed up rocker, wanna be model, and former child star this side of Chateau Marmont, have somehow missed out on the worst of the worst: "Mystery", a Criss Angel-ish mindfreak with a penchant for chin piercings and pimp hats. O to the M to the G, people. I will never get anything done.
I've turned off the TV. I was starting to talk back to it and that's never a good sign.
Speaking of pushing my buttons, is anyone else's kid driving them to drink? I love my boy more than life but I will sell him to the gypsies if he doesn't stop taking off his socks. The kid haaaaates having anything on his feet. Around the house that's fine - it gives him more traction for crawling, lets me know where I need to sweep (if he spends more than 2 minutes examining the floor, it's time to break out the broom) - but now that we're into overcoat weather, footwear needs to stay ON. Unfortunately someone's cankle situation makes wearing shoes almost impossible, making socks easily accessible and very, very tempting. It's like a ballet, our outings these days. He grabs a sock, starts to pull. I warn him not to pull, he pulls some more. I stop the stroller, put the sock back on, continue walking. He grabs a sock, starts to pull. I stop the stroller, put the sock back on. He grabs a sock, starts to pull. I ignore pulling, continue walking. He grabs other sock, starts to pull. I grit teeth, continue walking. He drops sock on NYC sidewalk, puts other sock in mouth. I grab dirty sidewalk sock, put back on foot. Remove clean sock from mouth, put back on other foot. He grabs dirty sidewalk sock, puts in mouth. I yank sock from mouth, shove back on foot. He grabs other sock, drops on sidewalk. I grab both socks, throw them in back of stroller, and announce that he will now have cold feet. Ignore "bad mother" stares from passers-by. Lather, rinse, repeat with bibs, diapers, washcloths, hats, spoons, and sippy cups.
We're full-on into the "You're Not The Boss of Me's" and I'm DONE, peeps. I thought that shit didn't start until the Twos. 12 hours of back labor! 45 minutes of reconstructive surgery! I'M THE BOSS! (Stop trying to flip over on the changing table and listen to me for a minute, dammit!)
Uh-oh, we have crying...
I'm back. Poor kid, his body is doing a number on him. Not only does he have 5 new teeth coming in but, having just mastered crawling, his body is now pushing him to stand. Which means we've gone from up-on-all-fours-in-his-sleep to up-on-his-knees-clutching-the-crib-for-dear-life-in-his-sleep, which means no sleep. Dude, I am done with no sleep. And to all those strangers who natter on about how one day he'll be a teenager and sleep for days - BRING IT. Ba-RING it. Mama needs a nap.
I was planning on launching a commiserate-a-thon about how he was refusing to be rocked - straightening his arms and legs against me like a cat avoiding the vet - but today I stumbled upon a sure-fire sleep inducer: "The Wheels On The Bus". By the time I got to the parents on the bus, Baby Boy was making snoozy noises against my chest. The drawback? The song will never leave your brain.
The wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round
'Round and 'round
'Round and 'round...
At least I've stopped thinking about the TV.