Motherhood Uncensored

And so they grow

Drew - The Open Mouth Series

[Fake toddler surprise 1]



[Look at my teeth 1]



[Look at my teeth 2]

[Gargle 1]

 

[Home Alone 1]

You'll always be my baby

It only took my son just under 4 months to figure out that in order to get my attention, he should act like a baby.

I shouldn't really be that surprised, since every excuse I give him always has to do with Margot.

"I can't pick you up right now. I've got the baby." or "The baby is crying. I have to go get her."

I guess I should be a little disappointed that he didn't pick up on it sooner. What a slacker. A second born, obviously. (ha!)

But then, he figured it out.

"Feed ME milk, Mommy" he said, his little pointing finger precariously close to my nipple. It wasn't the first time he asked for a nibble.

"Well, that milk is only for babies, honey," I replied.

He paused for a few seconds.

And then he fake cried.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!!!!!!"

Smart ass.

At first I thought it was sort of cute, mainly because he's yet to actually pretend to be anything, except a annoyingly loud dog and a really bratty, defiant toddler. Well, that's what I tell myself when I'm chasing him to change his poop or when he's trying to take a chunk out of Quinlan's arm - "He's just pretending to be naughty. What a smart and creative boy."

Right.

But surprise! Since I thought it was sooooo cute, he does it all the time - "Wah, I'm a baby, mommy. Carry me. Hold me. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaah."

Part of me can't blame him since he really is still sort of a baby, and has had to share the latter part of toddlerdom with a baby sister. But most of me knows it's not the greatest way for him to get attention.

So I remind him that babies can't play with trucks or eat ice cream. And I try to reinforce his "big boy" behavior in an appropriate way.

Lord knows we don't need another dude getting what he wants by acting like a big old baby, right?

Redefining Motherhood

Just when I sort of kind of knew what I was doing, I had Drew. Maybe it's because he was my second child. Or maybe it's because he was my second child.

I guess I'll never really know.

I've never brushed it off as being his gender, his birth order, or the fact that I drank a few cups of coffee and a vodka tonic when I was pregnant with him. 

It was just like meeting someone new - you're taught how to say hello, shake hands, and offer them a tasty beverage, but what do you do when they speak Portuguese, perfer to slap you on the back side of the head, and drink with the cup completely upside down so everything ends up on your carpet?

It doesn't make for very smooth introductions.

I'm learning how to parent Drew just like I learned how to parent Quinlan. It's trial and error, celebrations and failures. It's opening a new book that you've never read or watching a new movie that you've never seen, and no matter how hard you try to get your friend to tell you what the hell happens, they can't.

Because they've never read or seen this one before.

I often get frustrated. It's hard not speaking the language sometimes. It's difficult to find a happy medium between head whacking and hand shaking.

We try to meet him somewhere in the middle. Most of the time, it's closer to my end of things, but I've discovered it's not so bad hopping over to his side of the fence every now and then.

He's making us read his book. And he's forcing us to watch the entire movie, even the uncomfortable parts, with the sound completely on. No heads buried under pillows.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Drew. You've certainly redefined the word "tantrum," taught me the difference between an excavator and a front loader, and offered us a new appreciation for toilet locks.

And for this I am thankful.

Here's to another year of new adventures.

I'm running a fun little contest in honor of Drew's big #2. Humor me and come play along.

Doin' the Hump

I never thought twice when I went in to get Drew out of his crib after nap time and found him crouched on his stomach with his favorite blanket balled up between his legs.

But then he started humping it.

And humping it. And humping it.

I finally asked him if he wanted to stay in bed and continue humping or if he wanted to come down for a snack (how's that for offering choices, huh?).

He chose food, but not before he fit in a few more mini humps.

I've yet to encounter the little boy erection, and the most Quinlan ever did was stick her hands down her pants while watching television.

Apparently Diego has that effect on her. Latino men do the same to me. It must be hereditary.

I'm not anti-humping or crotch grabbing (hello Mominatrix), not only because it's human and completely natural, but because growing up, the discussion of anything sex related was practically punishable by death, or really, that's what the embarrassment felt like when I was so rudely informed by my peers that oral sex was not when you talked about it. And that making a baby involved actual contact between a penis and a vagina.

It's not surprising that when I did find and figure it out (at the ripe young age of 16), I just wanted to do it over and over again.

Funny how that works.

So, we've taken a pro-humping stance in our household, so long as it's saved for bedrooms only. That caveat was added when we mistakenly allowed him to take his humping security blanket out of his crib and he decided to go at it in the middle of our family room.

"Why is he doing that?" my husband asked.

"Um, because I think it feels good, dear" I replied (and you wonder why I worry about my husband's sex drive).

But hell, if it keeps him in his crib longer in the morning and puts a smile on his face all day long, then you won't see me complaining.

C'mon, y'all. Do the Humpty Hump. If nothing else it'll make you feel ooooold as shit to listen to this.