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Archive for July, 2013

Charlie-man

Charlie will be a year old this August 12th. This is the first time in many months I’ve had enough time to sit at my laptop and actually write about him without him climbing onto the keyboard or attempting some precarious feat into which I must intervene so that he makes it to a year. There are few waking moments I actually get to devote just to me these days, but that is well and good, as I prefer to devote them to Charlie.

Sometimes I come up with a novel parenting idea, such as: just letting Charlie feed himself on the kitchen floor! Which, at the time, seems a genius upgrade from his whiny grabbing at my every bite and two hands diving into steaming bowls and plates. After the facade of geniusness subsides, I am left with a disheveled kitchen floor, colorful trail across our living room carpet, and a child I can’t take anywhere until I disrobe, bathe, and re-robe him. It’s hard to decide which method is better in terms of total time and energy invested, but I really need to remind myself that we do own a high chair.

I’m not sure if he has a cold or if he’s just really into screaming this week. I picked him up from my mom’s house after work the other night and she and my sister said, “He was REALLY intense today. Just… non-stop… ALL day.” Lo and behold, it takes until my weekend for me to see exactly what was meant by this. Today he wouldn’t take a nap, but he was screaming because he was so tired. Then, at night, when we try to sleep, he wakes up a bajillion times and has to alternate between one boob and the other a million times while he nurses or he’ll cry if I try to reclaim my body and smack the bottle I offer him all over the bed. This is… intense.

It’s hard to gauge who your baby is when they’re a baby, because they all seem pretty low-key and mellow at first. It’s now that I realize, well, they didn’t really have full control over their bodies and agendas at that time, and maybe if they had, they’d have all been bigger tiny assholes.

I was thinking Charlie was this zen warrior guy… clearly an old soul with little tolerance for bullshit. He loved looking at trees on long walks, slept when I slept, stood out from the baby crowd as the more “mature” and “relaxed” one. Maybe he WAS mature in that he was SILENTLY PLOTTING ULTIMATE DOMINATION OF MY EVERY WAKING HOUR.

One of his new things, is he likes to use everything as a phone. I baked carrot muffins a few weeks ago, and he grabbed his carrot muffin and just squished the shit out of it in his tiny hand, and then smushed it into his ear with a nonsensical telephonic greeting, “Ababablah?” And I died from cute.

He also thinks its funny to mimic my laugh. So when I laugh at something (which is often,) he goes, “huh huh huh!” LIKE IT’S SOME KIND OF FUCKING JOKE.

What else does he do that is cute? What does he do that ISN’T cute? Seriously, I can only keep track of so many of these things. People come up to me at the grocery store and say something like “Oh my goodness he is just ADORABLE, and I’m just like, “Yeah, I know. It gets really old.”

It’s hard to get out of the house on our weekends because it’s just so much preparation and I inevitably always leave something behind that is essential to whatever trip we’ve embarked on. Charlie always loses at LEAST one shoe because he likes to pull just one of them off and then crawl around to make the other moms think I forgot to dress my kid all the way. Right now I have 4 of his shoes, all from different pairs, whose partners are all M.I.A. I kind of give up on shoes. He has a lot of very dirty socks.

That’s all I can think of for now. Thank god he’s sleeping. I keep trying to catch up on my sleep but then I get no weekend. It’s just run around after Charlie to make sure he doesn’t maim himself, sleep when he sleeps, wake up and realize it’s my Monday… have brief existential crisis… keep going because what else are you gonna do?

I hope that the bounty of super cute photos of Charlie help to make me feel like I was doing a good job when I look back on this time. It’s hard to FEEL like I’m doing a good job when I just barely keep my house, mind, and bank account together… but I guess if we’re both alive, I’m employed, and we’re eating well… heck, I AM doing a good job.

Phew.

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