As parents, we naturally compare our children to other children. Their shortcomings, advantages, height, abilites; everything. One of these constant comparisons for me was The Boy's speech issues. He didn't speak until almost three years of age, and I would compulsively revel in other children's ability to say Mama, Daddy, and all the other things a toddler will babble. I would cry night after night convinced he had some sort of brain damage from my Coca Cola binges when I was pregnant. And, my super supportive family and circle of friends (sarcasm noted) would say, "you just wait, he'll be fine and then you'll be telling him to shut up." Gasp! I thought, never! I thought to myself, I can't wait to hear his tiny voice and I will never tired of it.....until today.
The day he uttered Mom and Daddy was the day I'll never forget. But, its insertion into my hippocampus was merely not enough to make a lasting impression, because as times goes on that moment gets less and less cute. It's now a start date to the look inside the tiny, crazy mind of my four year old. The four year old who now says things like: Can I sleep in your bed? Can I watch Mamma Mia again? Why doesn't The Girl have a penis? The list goes on.
It's also the start date to a huge world of gibberish, constant mouth movement, and just noise. Yes, it's cute when he spouts off all 44 presidents, but it's not cute when he's screaming, "I don't like you anymore" in the middle of the library (see Thelma and Louise Post.)
Now, this next moment in time is what sealed the deal. I've seen this tactic used by children many, many times. And when I'd witness it, I'd think to myself...I would smack that kid, take his animal crackers, and munch on them in front of him. That will never happen to me! Then, it happened. "Mom, Mom, Mommy, Moooommmmmm, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mama, MOM, MOMMY,Mom, Mom, Mom, Mommy, Moooommmmmm, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mama, MOM, MOMMY,Mom" What happened next, well in historical documents it will say I politley turned to him and asked, 'What is it honey dumpling?" However, it was much different. Something in my brain snapped, litterally, I heard it. And I shouted, ever so slightly, "WWWWWHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAT DO YOU WWWWWAAAAAANNNNNNTTTTT????"
My voice was not only at a screeching, deafening level, but apparently my face must have been disgustingly distorted; because he looked at me with a fear and wonderment as he'd never before. Then he uttered, in a low, soft voice; as if a dove was cooing in my ear..."I Love You." Gooey Gooey Melting stuff was pouring over my cold heart. And I thought, I will never, ever yell at this child again. That lasted four minutes.
4.27.2010
4.23.2010
Holy Vomit Batman!
Just when I thought raising kids couldn't possible get any grosser, it happened. I've managed to duck and dive my way out of vomits' path, to much avail, in these past four years; however, today was the day vomit won.
The Boy announced a stomach ache after eating dinner, and we brushed it off as merely an attempt to score another popsicle and perhaps some Gatorade. After his repeated attempts for this tasty thirst quencher grew more and more loud and annoying; he was banished to the lavish loveseat for some TLC and Alvin and The Chipmunks (#2, we don't mess around in this house.) A groan here, a wimper there, and a tear shed finally got me thinking...Yikes, he really could be sick. Naaaahhhhh, just to much Wendy's Chicken Nuggets and Fries (nothing but the best for my kids!)
"Mommy, will you take me pee-pee" is the sound I hear faintly drifting over The Chipettes verion of Single Ladies. As my guilt kicked in for having doubted the severity of his illness, I obliged, and said, "anything for my wittle baby boy." He did his business, turned around and looked at me with a gaze that frightened me ever so much. If his face could have spoken at that moment it would've said, "uh oh, I think somethings gonna......BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
And, there we were in the tiny powder room, no where for me to duck or dive. I was covered with a fruit punch, chicken nugget, french fry mess. Holding back my gags and my need to now puke, I tried to turn him around to the toilet. Nope, missed again; this time, the sink and wall. Third times the charm, right? Nope, closet door, half the toilet, and toilet paper holder. So here we are, the bathroom, myself, and the boy covered in vomit. It was the grossest, most smelly, most notoriously memorable moment of the last four years and something I will not soon forget.
As I'm sure you're all wondering, he's fine. Just a few more projectile episodes into a bucket on Mommy and Daddy's bed and now he's fine. I was convinced he had West Nile Disease, Stomach Cancer, and EColi poisoning; however, the rational one in our relationship convinced me it was just a four year old with an upset stomach.
Not the first time we've encountered vomit in our house, not the last time, I just hope I can get out of the way fast enough next time. And, the little booger did get his popsicles and Gatorade after all.
The Boy announced a stomach ache after eating dinner, and we brushed it off as merely an attempt to score another popsicle and perhaps some Gatorade. After his repeated attempts for this tasty thirst quencher grew more and more loud and annoying; he was banished to the lavish loveseat for some TLC and Alvin and The Chipmunks (#2, we don't mess around in this house.) A groan here, a wimper there, and a tear shed finally got me thinking...Yikes, he really could be sick. Naaaahhhhh, just to much Wendy's Chicken Nuggets and Fries (nothing but the best for my kids!)
"Mommy, will you take me pee-pee" is the sound I hear faintly drifting over The Chipettes verion of Single Ladies. As my guilt kicked in for having doubted the severity of his illness, I obliged, and said, "anything for my wittle baby boy." He did his business, turned around and looked at me with a gaze that frightened me ever so much. If his face could have spoken at that moment it would've said, "uh oh, I think somethings gonna......BLAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
And, there we were in the tiny powder room, no where for me to duck or dive. I was covered with a fruit punch, chicken nugget, french fry mess. Holding back my gags and my need to now puke, I tried to turn him around to the toilet. Nope, missed again; this time, the sink and wall. Third times the charm, right? Nope, closet door, half the toilet, and toilet paper holder. So here we are, the bathroom, myself, and the boy covered in vomit. It was the grossest, most smelly, most notoriously memorable moment of the last four years and something I will not soon forget.
As I'm sure you're all wondering, he's fine. Just a few more projectile episodes into a bucket on Mommy and Daddy's bed and now he's fine. I was convinced he had West Nile Disease, Stomach Cancer, and EColi poisoning; however, the rational one in our relationship convinced me it was just a four year old with an upset stomach.
Not the first time we've encountered vomit in our house, not the last time, I just hope I can get out of the way fast enough next time. And, the little booger did get his popsicles and Gatorade after all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)