Friday, March 6, 2009
When did I give birth to Little Lord Fauntleroy?
The time, seriously, where does it go? Whoosh, it's Friday. Whoosh, it's Wednesday. The weeks whiz by and the boy is 14 months old, practically a full-blown kid, and yet it seems like forever between Rock Of Love episodes...
Things are definitely yelly around these parts. At 14 months the boy has realized that he can do things his ownself, thankyouverymuch, and this whole "having a mother" thing is a serious killjoy. Take, for instance, snack time. Because I skew pretentious, I'm all about giving my child healthy, overcomplicated meals. One of his favorite snacks is organic plain yogurt with agave nectar, flax oil, and wheat germ. (My Midwestern mother is rolling her eyes right now.) He loves it. I love that he loves it. What I don't love is his newfound need to control the spoon while eating it. I know that if I don't let him poke himself in the eye and splatter yogurt like Jackson Pollock he'll never learn to feed himself but honestly, watching the kid dribble food all over himself (and the floor and the chair) so he can see what happens makes smoke pour out of my ears. It's great for brain development but terrible for my blood pressure. I've tried to compromise by offering two spoons - one he can "stir"with and one I can use to feed him which seems to help a bit. Sometimes. He also refuses to wear a bib which is just great for our laundry bill... (I tried to use one that snapped instead of velcroed; dude practically throttled himself trying to pull it off.) And have I mentioned the lack of patience? He gets absolutely FURIOUS if he feels like he doesn't wield control, screaming bloody frakking murder if I dare to clean his face. (How well does that go over with mama? Soooo well.) Unfortunately patience has to be taught so the kid is doomed. I'm known as Princess Me-Me for a reason, peeps. I try to stay all Soothing Reassurance ("Lunch is coming. Here I am, baby.") but it quickly escalates into Grumpy Acknowledgement ("It's coming! Hold your horses!") and lands somewhere around Bitchy McGrump ("DUDE! ENOUGH!"). I was really hoping I'd have a few more months before hitting the Twos...
Little Dude still isn't walking. I'm not terribly concerned - he's standing unassisted and creeping (toddling while holding on to things) like a freaking power walker. I took Missy's advice and got him a walker which immediately became his favorite toy - to play with on hands and knees. He tried to walk with it once but because there's no brake it zoomed forward, scaring the bejeezus out of him. (Yes, I've tried to hold it to keep it from rolling forward but he just wants to examine whatever part I'm touching, which means much great identifying - "screw", "seat", "red thing" - but not much walking.) Because he's a little late I've gotten a lot of unsoliticed advice from strangers, ranging from the offbeat ("Put your scarf under his armpits and hold him up") to the inane ("Stop letting him crawl so much"). I understand the desire to contribute - god knows how many new mothers I've annoyed with my spiel about "Happiest Baby On The Block" (that man SAVED us when Will was colicky) but it's hard not to bristle.
We're finally off the bottle. (Well he is. Me, not so much.) It's totally bittersweet, having to wean twice. It's much harder to get enough milk down him now that we're on the sippy. And man, does this kid EAT. I'm not sure what's normal for toddlers but he packs it away. Reassure me that this is typical:
Breakfast: 1 egg yolk, 1/2 english muffin with agave*, 2-3 soy sausage links, milk or green juice*
Snack: 1/2 apple, sesame butter*, milk
Lunch: 2 organic turkey hotdogs, broccoli, kamut puffs*, milk
Snack: yogurt (ARGH!), water
Dinner: palm-sized portion of fish (or 4-6 breaded fishies), green beans, sweet potato, milk
These are adult-sized meals. Maybe not grown man meals, but certainly healthy tween. Our grocery bills are huge and he hasn't even hit puberty! Speaking of, how much do you spend on groceries? I'm dying to see where we fall on the average. (Warning: crying may ensue.)
Oop - nap's over.
*Cue Grandma eyeball roll