Friday, December 31, 2010
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Just look, don't touch
Some people blog when they're avoiding homework; I blog when I'm avoiding cleaning up the kitchen.
Little Bubba has been living quite an adventurous life. Today he stood up on the seat of the grocery cart when I wasn't looking (yes, I should have buckled him in). On Christmas day he was standing on a kitchen chair and slipped but caught himself on his chin, biting the inside of his cheek in the process. Later that day he was trying to pet a cat outside and ended up falling on his face and got a bloody forehead and nose. And yesterday he washed his hands in poo.
He loves to open and close things, put things in, take things out. Drawers, bags, baskets, whatever. He often puts clean diapers into the diaper pail and wants to pull things out but I usually stop him before he succeeds. Well, yesterday he hit the jackpot. While I was in the kitchen taking food out of the oven he was pulling out, and opening up, the biggest, smelliest, creamiest (ha ha! sick!) diaper from earlier in the day. I heard his distress cry (it's distinctive and usually means he's stuck somewhere) and found him at the top of the stairs with arms outstretched. The pooey diaper was open-faced, face down on the floor (thankfully on the wood floor and not on the rug). His hands were covered in poo. Is it possible to be horrified to the point of laughter? Because that's what happened. I was laughing and howling and yelling "stop" over and over. I grabbed him by the elbows and ran to the tub, but for some reason didn't want all his clothes to get wet, so I just turned on the faucet to wash his hands. Well, that was the wrong move because it was awkward trying to turn the water on and get the soap and put his hands under the faucet without getting poo on me. I failed, and got poo on my hands, my sleeve and the side of the tub. Once we were both washed and his shirt was off, the poo hunt began. I kept saying very loudly "where's the poo?" and "don't touch that" and "I'm freaking out!" He was slapping his bare chest, probably because he was cold, but I wasn't ready to look for clothes - I was looking for poo. Finally got it all cleaned up, put a clean shirt on him and went into the kitchen to look for a piece of chocolate. That's why I'm the size I am - stress eater. (ok, and bored eater and over eater)
He's also been imitating everything we do, which is very cute, but sometimes frustrating because often I'm trying to get him to do something and not just copy me. For example, he got behind the couch where the new dehumidifier is, a place he's not supposed to be. When he's back there he messes with the machine, turns it on and off, fiddles with the outlet, tries to knock over the floor lamp, bangs on the thin, single pane windows. Not supposed to be there. A big fat NO. So I'm talking on the phone and see him peeking out from behind the couch, poised to turn off the dehumidifier. I make my I-mean-business-face (raised eyebrows, no smile), silently mouth 'no', and gesture/point that he needs to get out of there. He smiles and points his finger and starts waving his arm back and forth. Mocking me. Not yet 18 months and he's mocking me. I had to laugh - yes, mommy looks funny when she makes faces and waves her arms around.
But he's such a cute and fun baby. I love how he barks at pictures of dogs, how he talks to his stuffed animals in a tiny voice and wants the teddy bear to sit on his lap during story time. I love that he loves sitting on laps for book reading and backs up to sit on your lap even when you don't have one. I love that if you ask him where something is he puts his hands up and looks around, even if whatever it is you're looking for is right in front of him. I love that he claps every time he makes a basket in the Nerf basketball hoop, and likes to chase and tickle people, and pretends to put lotion on his face and my face, and still dances like a maniac.
Little Bubba has been living quite an adventurous life. Today he stood up on the seat of the grocery cart when I wasn't looking (yes, I should have buckled him in). On Christmas day he was standing on a kitchen chair and slipped but caught himself on his chin, biting the inside of his cheek in the process. Later that day he was trying to pet a cat outside and ended up falling on his face and got a bloody forehead and nose. And yesterday he washed his hands in poo.
He loves to open and close things, put things in, take things out. Drawers, bags, baskets, whatever. He often puts clean diapers into the diaper pail and wants to pull things out but I usually stop him before he succeeds. Well, yesterday he hit the jackpot. While I was in the kitchen taking food out of the oven he was pulling out, and opening up, the biggest, smelliest, creamiest (ha ha! sick!) diaper from earlier in the day. I heard his distress cry (it's distinctive and usually means he's stuck somewhere) and found him at the top of the stairs with arms outstretched. The pooey diaper was open-faced, face down on the floor (thankfully on the wood floor and not on the rug). His hands were covered in poo. Is it possible to be horrified to the point of laughter? Because that's what happened. I was laughing and howling and yelling "stop" over and over. I grabbed him by the elbows and ran to the tub, but for some reason didn't want all his clothes to get wet, so I just turned on the faucet to wash his hands. Well, that was the wrong move because it was awkward trying to turn the water on and get the soap and put his hands under the faucet without getting poo on me. I failed, and got poo on my hands, my sleeve and the side of the tub. Once we were both washed and his shirt was off, the poo hunt began. I kept saying very loudly "where's the poo?" and "don't touch that" and "I'm freaking out!" He was slapping his bare chest, probably because he was cold, but I wasn't ready to look for clothes - I was looking for poo. Finally got it all cleaned up, put a clean shirt on him and went into the kitchen to look for a piece of chocolate. That's why I'm the size I am - stress eater. (ok, and bored eater and over eater)
He's also been imitating everything we do, which is very cute, but sometimes frustrating because often I'm trying to get him to do something and not just copy me. For example, he got behind the couch where the new dehumidifier is, a place he's not supposed to be. When he's back there he messes with the machine, turns it on and off, fiddles with the outlet, tries to knock over the floor lamp, bangs on the thin, single pane windows. Not supposed to be there. A big fat NO. So I'm talking on the phone and see him peeking out from behind the couch, poised to turn off the dehumidifier. I make my I-mean-business-face (raised eyebrows, no smile), silently mouth 'no', and gesture/point that he needs to get out of there. He smiles and points his finger and starts waving his arm back and forth. Mocking me. Not yet 18 months and he's mocking me. I had to laugh - yes, mommy looks funny when she makes faces and waves her arms around.
But he's such a cute and fun baby. I love how he barks at pictures of dogs, how he talks to his stuffed animals in a tiny voice and wants the teddy bear to sit on his lap during story time. I love that he loves sitting on laps for book reading and backs up to sit on your lap even when you don't have one. I love that if you ask him where something is he puts his hands up and looks around, even if whatever it is you're looking for is right in front of him. I love that he claps every time he makes a basket in the Nerf basketball hoop, and likes to chase and tickle people, and pretends to put lotion on his face and my face, and still dances like a maniac.
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