It IS a beautiful week

Going a week past my due date is not easy.

People have expectations that I have not met.
They have schedules that I have complicated.
It's hard to walk.



When the delivery person asked if I was Amy and handed this to me, I was surprised and delighted. There was no name on the card, but the message was optimistic and happy and comforting. It is the most beautiful bouquet I've ever seen.

Thank you, secret-flower-sender.

Diaper Cream Does Double Duty

Parental Pride Inhibits Safety

Yesterday Jett pushed his chair into the kitchen and then picked it up and set it on the rug in front of the kitchen sink. It took him about five minutes to arrange the chair exactly how he wanted it.

Instead of stopping him, I ran to get my camera, because, look how smart my baby is! Look at his motor control! His climbing ability! His problem solving!



Then he did this, and instead of stopping him, I just stood there, impressed.



You have to wonder if I'm going to be smarter with the next one.

Cha-cha-cha

Is he running towards me or dancing to me? Doesn't matter, I'm game for either one.

Twenty-three Months

Happy Birthday, Jett! Yesterday you turned twenty-three months old.

(and now you pick out your own clothes)

What obsessions do you have this month, you ask? Oh the usual....

Elmo. What is it with Elmo and toddlers? You loved Elmo before you ever saw him on TV. You've never had an Elmo toy. You have two books where Elmo makes an appearance, and one Elmo sweatshirt, and that was enough to seal the addiction. Maybe it has something to do with that name. Elmo. It's so easy to say. And thanks to Tivo, Elmo is easy to watch.

(You also love playing with spoons - and water. But maybe the tongs aren't such a good idea).

Pushing the stroller. Or as you like to say, "Jett's car." You will push your umbrella stroller everywhere. Anywhere. In the grass, on the sidewalk, down the center of the street. Ironically, the only time you stop pushing the stroller is when we cross the street and cars are waiting for us. Then you stop half way across, look up at the car's fender, and are struck still - mesmerized by the shiny metal, I guess. Of course if we try to hurry you along by pushing the stroller ourselves, you throw a fit. If we pick you up, you throw a fit. As a result, we try to stay off the busy streets.



My favorite - jumping! You're jumping now! Jumping with two feet off the ground at the same time! You are so proud about it, you jump all over the place now - from your bedroom to the bathroom to your highchair, out of your highchair, to the couch, back to your bedroom. And the look on your face - one big, proud grin. I love it. You love it. On with the jumping!

(This isn't a picture of you jumping, just standing, but I love your wrinkly jeans, t-shirt, and shoes).

Jett, I could go on and on and on. You are a terrific kid. You keep up the fantasticness, and we'll keep trying to just keep up. Love you, happy kid!

Don't ask.

If you go out to dinner with your friends, and you come home to an exhausted and frustrated husband, you should not ask him how his night was, because you will not want to hear the answer.

You will not want to know that your child went to bed at 9:30 pm, after eating dinner at 8:00 pm, after refusing to come inside, after pushing his stroller all over the neighborhood, after the dad had to clean off the child's hand with the dad's own spit, after the child put his hand in somebody else's puke on the playground.

Thankfully this did not happen on Mother's Day.

Evening Conversation

Worth 399 pennies

This afternoon Jett and I walked to the drug store to buy some last-minute supplies for the baby. Translated, this means diaper cream for the baby, and handful of toys to keep Jett occupied for at least the first fifteen minutes after we bring the baby home.

At the drug store, in on of my many lapses of judgement, I bought Jett this.



If you would have seen his face, you would have bought it for him too. He tossed the Elmo coloring book out of the stroller for this. He asked for it nicely. His face lit up. He said something about Daddy. He clutched it in his hands the entire walk home.

It's a complete choking hazard, and both the reclining seat-back and the movable kickstand have fallen off already. It was a foolish purchase.

After dinner Jett and I sat down on the kitchen floor to take a careful look at the motorcycle. We spent ten minutes looking at it from every angle. Jett talked about it the entire time - I just wish I knew what he was saying. I don't think we've ever had a conversation as long as this one, and never a conversation as serious. I swear he was pointing out every part of the motorcycle to me. The spinning tires, the movable handlebars, the kickstand, the taillight, the headlight, the engine, the everything. We talked about the color, we ran it over the floor and over our legs and up the side of the trash can. We took it to the bathroom with us to brush our teeth, and he held on to it through his diaper change, his change in to his pajamas, and through his bedtime stories.

Through the four bedtime stories we read (actually, we read the same book four times, at Jett's request), I kept reminding him that he couldn't take the motorcycle to bed, he can only take books to bed. Whenever I said that, Jett would pick up the motocycle, tilt his chin down, and look over his eyelashes at me with a little sly smile. I was steeling myself for an argument.

Finally when it was time for Jett to get in his crib, I suggested that he say good night to the motorcycle and put it away. He smiled at me and didn't move. So I suggested that he give the motorcycle a good night kiss and then put it away. That's when he surpassed my wildest expectations and gave me something to brag about.

Oh the sweet kiss he gave his motorcycle, barely there. Then the way he looked at me, like the three of us - Jett, the motorcycle, and I - were sharing a sweet secret.

I couldn't have asked for more. He got up, opened his bedroom door, and set the motorcycle on the floor outside of his room. He took two steps back, waved his hand at the motorcycle, and said "Bye-bye, Mo."

Then I put him in his crib, he went right to sleep, and once again, despite my poor decision making, I get to feel like the best mom in the world.

What All the Stay-At-Home-Moms Know

No baby yet, but I've started my maternity leave. Even though I've always had my Fridays off to spend with Jett, there's something about having Monday and Tuesday off that really makes you feel like a stay at home mom. Or maybe it's the lessons I've learned in the last two days:

1. If you leave the house, there will be less mess to clean up at the end of the day.

2. If you go to the park after 4:00, it is going to be chaotic. This is because the park will be over run by eight and nine year olds in after-school programs. These eight and nine year olds will think nothing of running in to your almost two year old.

3. When there are that many unsupervised older kids at the park, parents of the little kids get nervous. Parents will take your child's hand and hurry him across the draw-bridge, even though you are standing right there, next to your child. They will also scold their own two-year-old for not saying "excuse me". It's just better to go to the park during school hours.

4. It it's 80 degrees out and your child wants to wear his winter cap outside, you might as well let him, because it's so darn cute. He'll take it off after 5 minutes anyway.

5. Bringing chalk to the playground is a great way to make friends, as long as you aren't particular about getting all of your chalk back.

What's for Dinner When Mom is Sick

cereal in a pot and a banana



It looks like Jett is enjoying this about as much as he'd enjoy a meal of asparagus and mushrooms, but actually he had fun stirring the cereal in the pot and pealing the banana by himself - which he did for the very first time. Elmo taught him that.

Recap

Or: What Can Happen When You are in Your Last Three Weeks of Pregnancy

1. You can get trapped under ground.
2. You can get inappropriately oggled.
3. Your stroller can get stolen.
4. You can get the flu.

Ok, I'm done complaining, that was the end of it.

Future posts will be all about Jett. Happiness coming soon.

Stolen

Last weekend we bought a double stroller. It has a lot of bells and whistles and is kind of an indulgence, so it took a long time for us to decide to buy it. Hours of internet research and then three hours in the store, to be exact.

The store we bought it from is a toy store in a fancy mall on Michigan Ave. They have great customer service there, and tons of strollers set up for you to try out and push around. Still, we didn't think it would take that long to decide which one to buy. I had resigned myself to a much less-expensive stroller - but thank goodness the less expensive stroller wouldn't fit a newborn. Then I had an excuse to look at the higher-end strollers.

So Charlie manages Jett in the store while I start quizzing the stroller guy on the strollers - weight, width, which can hold both a newborn and a toddler, how easy they are to fold, etc. After about 45 minutes, Charlie and I switch. I occupy Jett at the train table and Charlie test drives all of the strollers.

I'm telling you, it is insane how much time you can spend picking out a stroller.

It's also insane that there is no perfect stroller out there. The one that is narrowest (so it can fit through a doorway) might have the most useless sunshade. The lightest stroller is the hardest to fold. So even before you've purchased a stroller, you're already prioritizing some crucial stroller feature over another equally crucial feature. I know, I know, this sounds insane. I think we spent less time agonizing over our car.

Anyway, after we had both checked out the strollers we eat lunch at Potbelly's to mull it all over. Then again we take turns - one of us rides up and down the escalators with Jett while the other one checks out our top choices. The rest of our decision making process happens in 30 second intervals, between the time that Jett steps off the down escalator and steps on to the up escalator. I think we spent 30 minutes talking in 30 second intervals.

The stroller is fab. It's easy to fold. It will carry two toddlers or a toddler and a newborn. But it's no bigger than a single stroller. Which means when we went to the zoo the next day, we fit through the doors of the primate house with hardly any effort. Steering is dreamy. It floats over small boulders and dances around corners and Jett likes it.

I spent the weekend visualizing my summer with this stroller. The baby laying down, sleeping peacefully, Jett up front, rocking his favorite outfit: pajama shirt, diaper, and shoes, and me, glam mom, walking to the park with my babes in my practical yet glam urban stroller.

Then yesterday, in the middle of the day, I parked my daydreamy stroller behind a closed gate, on my sister-in-law's porch, for 45 minutes, and somebody stole it.

I think the CTA stole my stroller. It was making them look bad.

Head Banging the Baby

Book Lover

First Picnic of the Year

In the school yard, across the street.

Inappropriate Response

Tuesday morning on the way to work I was trapped underground for two hours. It was hot, dirty, and dark. You may have heard about it. Mechanical problems on a train in front of ours.

Thankfully I had a seat, a magazine, and cell phone reception. Actually, a number of people on my train car were thankful for my cell phone reception. Most importantly, I thank god that I didn't have to pee.

When they finally told us we could leave the train we had to walk along a narrow walkway about 6 feet above the train tracks - but still underground. It was flithy. And dark. And there was debris on the walkway. And I'm 36 weeks pregnant, which meant that someone carried my backpack for me and less people complained when my back-pack carrying friend insisted that I cut in front of most people standing in line, waiting to get out of the train tunnel. Pregnancy has it's privelages.

We had to climb up a winding, wet, dirty, staircase. Then we had to climb up a ladder and through a hole in the sidewalk that is usually covered by a grate that requires the fire department to open.

So Tuesday morning I got on the bus at say 7:50 or 8:00 and made it through the hole that opened up onto the side walk at 10:15. I got to work by 10:45, after walking the rest of the way there.

Then the president of the CTA blamed the riders for the fact that it took so long to rescue us from a sealed capsule in the middle of the earth. Classy.

At the end of the day a friend and I got home by sharing a cab.

Wednesday morning I got back on the train and surprise, surprise, it was practically empty compared to rush hour standards. How the rest of the usual train riders got to work I do not know, but I should have been with them. I sit down in an aisle seat facing forward, about 3 rows back from a door, in the middle of the train. This guy gets on at the third stop and still, no one is standing in the aisles, there is still lots of room on the train. But this dude walks up to my seat, kneels down next to it, rests his forearm on my chair, wraps his other arm around his knees so that his fingers are almost touching my bare legs (I'm wearing a skirt today, of course) and looks at me. I am completely pissed because I already had to deal with the CTA yesterday and now this? Are you kidding me? Two days in a row of feeling unsafe on the CTA?

I scoot over in my seat away from the kneeling dude, which means I'm totally invading the space of the guy next to me who is just trying to read his book. I apologize, he sees what's going on, says it's ok, and goes back to reading. Apparently I have to handle this one by myself, which doesn't phase me. I'm so angry now I'm pretty sure I could handle anything thrown at me. I look at the kneeling creep and ask him to stand up please and he just looks at me. I ask him again, all stern and scolding like an angry school marm, and he looks at me like he can kneel wherever he wants, but then he gets up and walks away. No one around me gives any indication that they even saw what transpired, but how could they not? I don't turn around to watch him walk away, and don't see him again on the train or the platform, when I get off two stops later. The rest of the ride I'm silently fuming because as angry and mighty as I am I've had enough of feeling threatened on the CTA.

Then that afternoon a guy from the claims department at the CTA called to get my address so they can send me a claim form to get my coat cleaned. They had noticed the dirty pregnant woman climbing up the ladder and on to the sidewalk and stopped long enough to get my name and phone number. They wanted my address too, but since the CTA employee didn't introduce himself or tell me why he wanted my information, I initially refused to give it to him. Seriously, do they think I'm going to give a stranger my address? Anyway, they were more professional on the phone. They also asked if the baby is ok, which he is as far as I can tell. Nice follow through, I guess. But I'm still pissed.

Wednesday evening I take the bus home from work. I remember when I get home that I had told Jett that I would take him for a ride on the bus. So we head back into the beautiful day to give the Chicago Transit Authority one more chance.

We wait at the corner. And wait at the corner. And wait at the corner, and no bus shows up, although about 542 buses pass us going the other way, which drives Jett crazy because he can't understand why we aren't getting on those buses. But those buses don't lead to the park.

We finally walk west to the nearest major cross road and get on a bus there. Jett is so excited. He hops up onto the bus, I pay our fare, and the bus goes one block before Jett starts panicking and wants to get off. He slides off of his seat, still holding my hand, and drags me to the door, making his panic noises the entire time. I don't know why he is so panicked all of a sudden, but I don't blame him. How could I argue with him?

We get off the bus one block later and walk three blocks home in relative peace, shaking the CTA boogey-monsters off our shoulders.

It's a beautiful day. We enjoy the fresh air and the feel of our feet on the sidewalk. When we get home we'll eat dinner and sit on the couch together and watch Sesame Street. We'll brush our teeth and put on pajamas and fall asleep to the glow of nightlights and the sound of the dishwasher.

Tomorrow we'll wake up and we won't go anywhere that isn't in walking distance.

Twenty-two Months

Happy Birthday, Jett. Yesterday you turned 22 months old.

You are so brave now.
This weekend you wanted to ride your toy truck, which was not meant to be ridden but you somehow manage it, off the couch and I almost let you. If you could have seen the adventurous look in your eyes, you would understand why. Your gleaming eyes are hypnotizing and they make me want to indulge your every desire.

But it is still so hard.
You say so many words and you know a good handful of signs, but still half the time we don't know what you want. That makes for a lot of little cranky moments throughout each day, and some major meltdowns. But sometimes, sometimes everything clicks. And when things click while we have guests over, well that is especially delicious.

Tonight we had friends over for dinner and your behavior was fabulous. You ate all of your peas - you haven't done that in weeks. You had seconds of corn. You ate cottage cheese without throwing any on the floor. You drank your water without asking for milk, and you didn't whine to get our of your chair when you were finished. Then you brushed your teeth when I asked, gave everyone a good night kiss, let me change your diaper, put on your pajamas, and just hopped in to your crib without even taking a book to bed with you. And all in front of company! Oh, I felt like the best momma ever.

I think I'm catching on.
So...so maybe you don't want to change your diaper now. Or brush your teeth now. Or take a bath now. But if I just give you 10 minutes...and am willing to change your diaper while you stand up, and let you brush your teeth yourself, and put bubbles in the bath...you'll come around.

And maybe you don't want a hug right now...but if we play blocks for a few minutes, and build a big tower, you'll jump in to it to knock it over and lay in my lap, and rest your head on my legs, and let me build a tower on your belly.

I'm catching on to you, my sweet little enigma. You and me, we've got a good thing going.

Happy Birthday. We love you.

Happy Birthday Charlie

This post is a few days late...sorry Charlie.

Charlie's birthday was a good day from the start. We ventured out to the park for a picnic lunch. When we were done eating, Jett took Charlie's hand and led him off to the jungle gym for some serious climbing and sliding.



The boys in repose.



I think later Jett had a melt down because we let him skip his nap, so we had to put him to bed at 6pm. But then Charlie's mom came over and did our laundry while Jett slept and Charlie and I went out to eat. I ordered rootbeer at the bar and the bartender cracked up and asked, "You mean, the regular good old fashioned rootbeer?" I said, "Yeah, like the one listed on your menu?" Obviously the bar was blocking his view of my belly. Then we walked home and ate angel food cake, which Charlie's mom frosted in chocolate for us. It was a good day.

Where the Air is Sweet

I remember watching Sesame Street when I was kid and thinking that I was missing out because pigeons never came to sit on my windowsill like they did for Bert. I don't think I ever even saw pigeons unless we were on vacation.

Today Jett and I walked around the neighborhood (sans stroller) for about 45 minutes. The only way I got him to walk in the direction I wanted was to tell him that if he walked this way we would see some pigeons. He's so lucky - he has all the pigeons he could ever want. Unfortunately that means that I'm soon going to have to come up with a new tactic for getting him to walk in the direction I want.



Later I needed Jett to get in the car, but he only wanted to stand on the sidewalk and look at the car. Then an older couple passed us on the sidewalk and I had the good sense to ask them to ask Jett to get in the car. From the sidewalk the man pointed at my open car door and in Spanish, politely told Jett to get in. Jett looked stunned, but followed directions.

What I Learned Last Weekend

1. Not swearing can make you feel like a hero.

Sunday Jett and I hit the park at 9:00 am. After a while Jett came back to his favorite activity from last summer: pushing the stroller (which he calls "car"). I made the mistake of letting him push the stroller out of the park and on towards home. The mistake was obvious immediately, when he wanted to push the stroller on to the street with all of the other cars.

He pushed and pushed his stroller, but the poor kid couldn't get it past me. He cried, he whined, he slumped down on the sidewalk, sweaty, winded, and angry. I suggested that he sit in the stroller, but with that threat he hopped up, and I, fearing that he would bolt in to traffic, scooped him up and slam dunked him into the seat of the umbrella stroller.

Those stupid, useless restraining straps on the stroller. They were nice and relaxed - all pulled out perfectly for a nice and relaxed Jett, who doesn't need any restraining because he is so pleased to sit pretty in the stroller. Those stupid straps weren't doing their job. It was their time to shine and they didn't even know it, hanging all limp and lifeless around Jett's flailing legs and wriggling waist. Jett had half his body out from under them in no time.

As I wrestled him back in the stroller I could feel parents looking at me, and I didn't blame them. We were a sight to behold and a noise to avoid. Jett was a mess of tears, sweat, and snot. I had one forearm across his chest, pressing him in to the stroller, one foot searching for the brakes on the rear wheels to keep the stroller from moving, and both hands slowly, ever so slowly, feeding the buckles of the stroller straps back towards the seat of the stroller, one little nylon ripple at a time....

2. Tantrums can start and stop without warning.

As soon as I got the straps just tight enough to keep Jett from sliding out of the stroller to a dangerous degree, I kissed Jett on the head and started pushing my sweaty, red-faced, snot-covered, tear-stained baby home. Two steps in to this walk Jett cheerily announces "all done!" and chats with me all the way home. As if two seconds ago he wasn't tearfully announcing to every parent and child on the playground that I was preventing him from fulfilling his reasonable and otherwise attainable lifelong dream of playing Frogger on Damen Avenue.

Is he kidding me?

3. No, he is not kidding.

He will walk an entire mile, while pushing a stroller, two days in a row - as long as you let him dictate exactly where he will walk.



Now if only I could fit in the stroller....