While blogging my way through the 30 Days of Truth, I find myself having little time left to write about my actual life. My love life. My life loves.
Colin has teeth. Lots of teeth. He likes to bite me and laugh when I wince. It's not one of his more endearing qualities, except that when he laughs, the sky opens up and jellybeans fall down while choirs of bunnies sing scat songs. In other words, his laugh is awesome. Wicked funny, and a little bit weird. Kind of throaty. Heh heh like.
He's moving. Crawling. Trying his best to pull up, but the girth on that boy has him firmly rooted to the ground. I can't say that I'm all that sorry about that. He's already making straight shots to whatever he shouldn't have. Electrical cords. Dog bowls. Trash cans. Toilet brushes. Shoes. And all of it, everything he touches, goes right into the mouth. Nasty.
That boy loves his family. For a little bit, it was just, "that boy loves his mama." Now? He claps when Kevin walks in the door. He crawls around after Christopher like a little puppy. And Mallory is the only other person beside Mama and Daddy that Colin ever reaches out for. He started this special head bobbing thing just for her at the dinner table. She smiles at him, and then he cocks his head over to the side and "heh heh's" at her while looking so stinking adorable that you want to sell him on Etsy.
Christopher is about to grow again. Rather, is growing already. His pants are getting shorter and I'm letting the adjustable waists out weekly. He finally out grew his sneakers. We bought new ones three months ago because I was sure he was about to out grow his, but he didn't. He just plateaued right where he was for awhile. Now it's game on. Boyfriend is going to sprout, I'm afraid. Just please don't out grow your winter clothes, Bird. I can't afford to buy you new ones, and I like the ones you have already.
The main battle with Christopher right now is the dinner table. He just won't eat what I cook for dinner. I feel like I've tried everything, and what I really want to settle into is that it's not a battle. Just let go, Mama. But some nights I get so frustrated that he isn't going to eat anything again, and I know he will wake up in the morning and eat a huge breakfast, and I lose it. I mean what kid doesn't like sweet potatoes? He used to love them. He used to love lots of things. Which makes me think that it's not about taste at all. That it's either about power or it's about texture. I'm leaning more towards power. Whatever it is, I know it's a phase. Deep breath, and this too will pass.
The big news is that we got a new fence across the front of the backyard today. It's not pretty, but at least the dogs won't get out now. I swear that Setter wants a new family something awful. Our leather sofa just isn't good enough for her anymore. I can't say that I blame her really. I shave her myself now instead of letting her show coat grow out and get groomed. It is so beneath her.
There is more. A baptism has finally happened. My parents have been here. My brother even. But that is a post for another day. I'm still savoring the visit for myself.
So not alone at dinner time. Ricky lives on turkey corn dogs and refuses to eat anything he has ever loved in the past.
ReplyDeleteI adore this photo! It's nice to here what you're up to too!
ReplyDeleteI adore this photo! It's nice to hear what you're up to too!
ReplyDelete(Let's pretend the typo above never happened, shall we?)
Love the picture! And we have the same dinner battles, which also include the power struggle over whether or not she will even stay seated. It can't last forever, right?
ReplyDeleteRE: the dinner table. OMG I feel your pain. The thing is, it's with my second daughter. My first ate everything and anything (still does). My second eats most forms of chicken, smoked sausage, steak, and other protein meats), and form of bread, rice, or noodle (as long as it isn't sauced), and broccoli. Seriously, broccoli is the only veggie she'll eat, and it drives me bonkers!! I've tried everything: cheese sauce, ranch dip, pureeing and sneaking it in...nada. So, my aunt told me a story about a childhoon friend of hers that I've now adopted as my own philospohy, because I refuse to be a short-order cook. Basically, if her friend didn't like what was being served, she could opt for a PB&J. That's it. The long story was that the friend ultimately outgrew the pickiness of the childhood, which actually has physiological reasons behind it (we have more tastebuds when we're born, and then we lose them as we age), but still didn't suffer or starve to death.
ReplyDeleteI didn't mean to hijack comments, but this one has been really difficult for me because I was raised with the "eat what's put on your plate" philosophy, and then I had such a good eater with my first child. This is the way I've avoided it being a power struggle or a daily struggle...that, and we eat lots of broccoli in our house :)
Such a cute photo.
ReplyDelete