MommyBlog

Four days ago, Casey and I had our pastor and his wife over to our house for dinner and a small service for the babies we have lost over these past four months.   I can only begin to describe what an incredible beginning to healing that time was.     Just to have two other people weep with us was such a comfort; they both had thoughtful and compassionate things to say, and both offered prayers that lifted my heart.

One of the things our pastor suggested to me was to find a quiet time and sit in the chair I would have sat in to nurse the babies, and close my eyes and imagine all their attributes – what they looked like, their personalities, and their faces, and then allow myself to really feel all the love I had for them.   Then, when I was ready, to physically lift my arms up and imagine that I was giving them back to God, to keep in Heaven until the day I will see them again.   As I was praying the next morning, I did that.   What I saw in my mind’s eye was three young men (of course I imagine the babies as boys – since I have a little boy, it’s all I know!), standing at a bridge, looking over the wall and down below at me.   They were all radiant and smiling, even exuberantly joyful, and they waved at me and I could feel their affection wash over me.     As I looked at them and they at me, I understood that where they were was far more wonderful than where I was.   And I knew that they had no sorrow, no regret, and no loss.   I could almost hear one of them say, “Buck up, Mom.   We’ll see you soon!”   And then they turned to go.   I have been replaying that little scene over and over in my mind, and though I’m not claiming it as prophetic or clairvoyant, I do feel better having imagined it.

Another friend sent us this verse, which has been running through my mind… Isaiah 49:18: “…all your sons gather and come to you.   ‘As surely as I live,’ declares the Lord, “You will wear them all as ornaments; you will put them on, like a bride.”  

This weekend has been a good one.   Yesterday Casey and I ran in a 5K race to support the Annapolis area Friends of Sudan project.   The course was impossibly hilly, and I, being the superwoman that I am, ran the race with Kenny in the jogging stroller.   My superwoman friend Kimberly did the same with her daughter in the jogger, who is five weeks younger than Kenny, and would have skunked me, if not for the fact that Sarah kept throwing her sippy cup and snacks out onto the street.   I made like a bandit and snaked past her, sneaky friend that I am!   We had to start in the back of the pack, due to our accessories, and yet both of us managed to pass at least half the runners to end in good time.   Casey, in his second only road race, and with no training on hills, managed a finish time of 28:30, and I, with my 40 pound push-cart, came in at a respectable (so I say) 29:12.     It was the hills that killed me… but I was decently pleased, and even more so that Casey and I went out to do it together.   Next year, he gets the stroller, though…

We are both scheduled to run in the Annapolis 10 Miler this August 27th: it is cited as one of the most difficult non-marathon races in the country.   It is brutally hot (averaging 90 with humidity at race time), and the course is entirely hills… hills as in straight up and straight down. We ran it together the first summer we were married (five months before I found out we were having Kenny), and we are training hard for it again.   I am a little worried about my post-pregnancy bladder-control.   And the fact that my abdominal muscles are non-existent.   Thank goodness strollers are verbotten for this one… but it does become a great training tool.

This morning was a rough one.   Kenny got up an hour too early, Dudley ate the last Eggo right out of Kenny’s hand as I put him in the stroller, the air outside during our 6 AM walk was already hot and sticky, Dudley pulled on his leash the whole time, wanting to run, and then when we got home, Kenny was peevish and cranky.  

It got worse when I got in the shower.   He knows how to brush his teeth by climing up on a stool and turning on the water (“Slow water” is what he calls it, because I always remind him to let it run slowly…), and  so he climbed up there while I was in the middle of washing my hair  and started splashing water all over the place.   I quickly got out and pulled him down, but he started screaming “Brush Kenny’s teeth!!” and crying and kicking and on and on and suddenly I was sobbing, holding onto him and crumpled in the floor.

Kenny was a little freaked out by the sight of his normally happy Mommy in a weeping, wet  heap on the floor and decided to distract me by walking over to my dresser and pulling all of my clothes out of the drawers.     I  wasted no time getting dressed  and got us downstairs.   But  that’s when he pulled out  the big guns.   First he refused to get into his highchair for breakfast.   He kicked me and screeched and cried, “Big chair!   Table!   Kaitie and Tistin in the big chairs!”   I had lost the fight in me, so I let him “sit” (more like kneel) in one of the dining room chairs, and not a minute passed before he flipped his cereal bowl over, milk and soggy cornflakes all over us and the floor.   I took a deep breath and as I cleaned it up, I  said, “Ok, into the highchair.   I’m in charge here” and lifted him up.   He kicked me again, howling and twisting.   I sat him down on the dining room chair again, gave his highchair a not-so-nice shove, walked out of the room and  yelled as loud as I could.

I still can’t believe I did that.   I screamed so loud the air seemed to vibrate when I was done.    My throat was ripped raw and instead of feeling relief, I felt worse than before.   I walked back into the kitchen and Kenny was sitting unusually and perfectly still in the dining room chair.   He looked up  and said, “Mama?”   I started crying a little again then and pulled him onto my lap.   “I’m ok, honey.   I’m so sorry for making so much noise and scaring you.   I love you, baby.”   We finished our breakfast quietly and got into the car to go to his gymnastics class.

After his class, I stopped at Office Depot, and he must have  decided it was time to test me out again, because he was a holy terror.   Casey called in the middle of the maddness (he was out of town last night and on his way back in) and I broke down on the phone.   It’s funny, though.   Kenny seemed to sense right there that Mommy had hit the end of her proverbial rope, because in the quickest snap of your fingers, he turned back into The Sweetest Boy in the World (his honorary title 85% of the time… ha ha…)   He nuzzled into my neck as we got back in the car, then we sang songs and he giggled the whole way home.   Lunchtime was without a hitch and he went down perfectly for a nap.   This afternoon was fine; nothing noteworthy… Oh, unless you count the event that was the arrival of a small piece of furniture that I ordered from Pottery Barn…

It was “some assembly required”  which should infact instead be listed as, “Under no circumstances open this box in a room where a toddler and a dog are present,” because there were about 95 pieces, all of which were swaddled in styrofoam.   I’ve written before that Kenny calls styrofoam “Sakes!” because the first time he ever saw it, I had opened  a giant gift  box filled with styrofoam popcorn, and declared, “Oh, for goodness sakes!”   Anyway, Kenny was thrilled when he saw the layers and layers of sakes floating about, and immediately set to work throwing them in the air, breaking them apart and showering Dudley with them.   I promptly gave him a dustpan and sweeper, just in case he wanted to be contructive…

                               

… but then we pulled out the vacuum to conquor the sakes together (Kenny is still in love with the art of vacuuming)…

Talk about a 180 from this morning’s tantrums and mishaps.   We celebrated our victory over our “easy to assemble… aslong as a one-year-old is not helping you” new furniture and  went out on a “date night” tonight for cheese pizza and giant ice cream cones, since Casey wouldn’t be home until late.   We read books and cuddled before bed, and now he’s sawing z’s.

I must admit though, in the quietness of the house, I am ashamed of my behavior this morning.     I know that sometimes parents loose their cool or cry in front of their kids.   But it’s more what caused the escaping emotions than what I actually did.    It was  because of  me, feeling so fragile, so frustrated, so inadequate, so miserably sad over the loss of my babies.   It was me, needing to get out some of this anger that’s pent up inside because of what happened during these past two pregnancies.   It was me, desperate to let go of all that’s churning up inside me.     I  know that I need to find someone to talk to.   These feelings aren’t just going to go away with time, as so many people seem to tell me they will.   As much as I want to “be strong” and move on, I know that being strong really means to admit that I need help with this.

All this to say… I’ve gotten many comments and emails from others out there who have suffered the loss of a pregnancy… how did you heal?   Did you find a support group?   A counselor?   A friend who had been through it as well?   Your advice will be welcomed.

My sister and her sweeties came over today to play with Kenny so that I could go get my hair done.   I think if Kenny had his way, his cousins would  be here all the time.   His affection for them is wrapped up in adoration and awe; he thinks they are the coolest things since string cheese was invented.   We tried to talk them into spending the night, but my sister is so darn practical about the whole going back home because they need to take care of their dog thing.   (Just kidding, Kim!)

Here’s another picture, taken a few weeks ago at my birthday party…

 

He was the happiest I’ve seen him in  a week today, and the glow even held after they left and through until bedtime.   We snuggled in his room and read twenty books at least, and he even wanted to sit in my lap, which he hasn’t done in months.   Such a precious time.

I am feeling physically drained today.   I think the roller-coaster of emotions is starting to take a toll.     I am stunned by the outpouring of love and sympathy from friends and aquaintences, and amazed at how many people have been through this horrible thing.   I have to rest in the knowledge that God never makes a mistake; that all of this, no mater how painful, is part of the bigger script He has written for the Story  our family.   It’s so hard to grasp that sometimes, but I have to believe it.   Our pastor and his wife are coming to our house on Thursday to do a small memorial service for our to honor our babies.   We need that, Casey as much as me.   We need it not to “move on,” but to remember.

Thanks again to all of you (strangers even some of you!) who have written with well-wishes and kind words.   You all are part of the Story, too.

As C.S. Lewis’ wife came near the end of her life, she told him one day that their joy would soon end; that she was close to dying.   When he replied that he didn’t want to think about it, she said, “The pain is part of the happiness; That’s the deal.”

We spent this weekend as a little family, playing at home and going on small, fun  outings.   Kenny, my sweet boy, knows nothing of the baby (or babies) we have lost this week.      Casey and I  are doing our best not to let our grief permeate our days, and instead find the quiet times to cry and wrap ourselves in each other’s arms.     The other times are filled with tickle-fests and made-from-scratch chocolate cakes and endless readings of Kenny’s current favorite, Everybody Poops.   I think that he knows that something has happened, though; I think that little kids are much more perceptive than we give them credit for.

Today at church we were ten minutes late picking him up from his  Sunday school class, and there was a tiny panic in his eyes as the last nursery worker held him in the coffee area, looking for us.   We had gone to our pastor’s office to pray with him and his wife after the service, and though we are usually among the first parents there to retrieve a little one, we were, by yards, the last today.   I looked him sincerely in the eyes and said, “Mommy and Daddy are really sorry we were late to get you; we will always be there to get you, ok?   We will never leave you.”   He was quiet for a few minutes, but was quick to forgive and move on.   He seemed to understand that whatever it was that made us late was necessary.   He’s been extra-generous with the hugs this weekend too.

I find myself wrestling with things when I think about all that has happened.   I have wept and clenched my fists and cried all the usual cries.     I have also shaken in fear with the thoughts that something worse might happen.   I think of so many others who have lost so much more, of children taken from their parents by cancer or illness or accident; of whole  families dying of famine or disease.   I weep, then wonder what right I have to weep when there are tragedies beyond my comprehension occurring right beyond my sight-line.   I struggle with getting through this, and moving on, yet not wanting to forget or failing to honor the lives I have carried, even for such a short time,  and lost.   I find myself praying, then running a grocery list through my head – or  anything mundane that can distract me from the pain I’m feeling.

I am so grateful for Casey.   And Kenny.   Traipsing through an over-sized LL Bean store this afternoon, chasing Kenny through the rows of Crocs and camouflage,  hounding Casey to buy us another kayak (ours was stolen a few summers back), and all settling for moutains of Chinese food was enough for today, just to feel ok for a few hours.   Tonight, Casey and I sat in our “chair and a half” and read A Promise Kept, by Robertson McQuilkin together, and we remembered what it means to love each other through the wonderful and the horrible, and everything in between.   He is my best friend, that man, and the best man God could have ever created for me.   Kenny is so sweet it makes my heart ache sometimes, with his earnest bedtime kisses and his facination with anything to do with poop.   Even Dudley has sought to comfort, in his own canine way.     He sighes and leans on me with such weight it nearly knocks me over when he sees me crying.

I am so grateful to those of you who have commented on the last post,  and for those who have emailed.   Thank you for the support, the stories and the prayers.   Please keep them coming.  

When peace like a river attendeth my way, When sorrows like sea billows roll… Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say, “It is well, it is well, with my soul”

That hymn has been running through my head for the last two days… I had another miscarriage on the fourth of July.   I was seven weeks pregnant (I’d known about the baby for about four weeks) and Casey and I were waiting until my eight-week check-up to start telling our family and friends the glorious news.   At two in the morning on the fourth, I started spotting a little, and since I’d lost a baby just four months ago, we went to the ER first thing in the morning to get checked out.   We were told by the sonographer that there were two gestational sacks (meaning that there were possibly twins) but no fetal poles (meaning that either the dates were wrong, or that I had a blighted ovum).   We were supposed to go in Thursday morning to look again and talk to the OB about what might be going on, but as the fireworks started that night, the bleeding and cramping got much worse.   I spent most of the night in the ER, then returned the next morning (yesterday) for a D&C.   The doctors are hoping that some of the placenta can be analyzed to determine what may have caused two miscarriages so close together.

I feel like I’ve been beaten up.   Physically, I am sore and exhausted.   Emotionally I feel like my heart has been shredded.   I am alternately numb and disbelieving, then angry and shaking, then weeping uncontrollably for the babies I will never hold on this earth.   I look at Kenny and grieve for the brothers or sisters he’ll never know.     My heart aches to see Casey with cirles under his eyes and tears welling up.   I don’t understand why, how this has happened again.   I was so hopeful.   Each moment of morning sickness, each little physical reminder that my body was pregnant, and I rejoiced, sure that this was going to work out perfectly; that  I would be happy and fat at Christmas and deliver a healthy little one (or ones) around Valentine’s Day.   My body still thinks it’s pregnant, and the nausea that wells up in my throat is like a knife twisting in my heart.  

I don’t know what else to say, or even what to think.   I look at Kenny and once again I am stunned by the miracle that he is, by the incredible gift that God has given us in this little boy.   I look at Casey and marvel at the man that he is; the husband and father he has grown into in the last few years, and I rejoice that God has blessed me with this family.   And yet the ache in my heart is still throbbing.  

Before this happened, even in the excitement over another pregancy, I still found tears welling up as I thought of the precious little baby we lost in March.   I was still grieving over that, and now this new loss has ripped the wound open again.   We are waiting on a pathology report to confirm whether or not it was twins.   Either way, the hurt is the same.

And Lord, haste the day, when the faith shall be sight; The clouds be rolled back as a scroll.   The trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend, Even so, It is well with my soul…

Kenny and I got a late start on our afternoon errands today; he napped for a little over two hours, though, so I didn’t mind too much!   But by the time we got to the grocery store, we hit the after-work-pre-Fourth of July party-purchasing rush – and in our neighborhood that means people pushing double carts of burgers, dogs and cases of baked beans, with a few dozen bags of cheetos shoved in.   We stood in line at the checkout for twenty minutes, then barely navigated the parking lot as I held Kenny and balanced loads of party-supplies teetering in the cart.

Kenny was in great spirits throughout.   We laughed and made up funny songs about the things we were putting in the cart, and the pinacle hit when I tossed a bottle of Casey’s aftershave in the cart.   Kenny said, “Daddy’s lotion!” and I said, “That’s right, Daddy’s lotion!” and he said, “Daddy put it on after shower!” and ” said, “Yes he does,” and Kenny said (at full volume in the uber-crowded store) “DADDY NAKED IN THE SHOWER!” I laughed so hard I doubled over and he crowed with comic-pleasure, “NAKED!   DADDY GETS NAKED!”   You can imagine the looks we got.

When we got home, we faced the constant dilema of how to get the groceries from the car in our garage 75 feet downhill to the house.   When Kenny was tiny, I would take him down in his carseat and leave him just inside the door and sprint.   Later, it was the bouncy seat.   Sometimes as he got older, I put him in his highchair, but he’s learning to climb out of that, so it’s no longer a safe option.   These days I generally leave him locked on the screened porch where I can see him (except for the moments I’m in the garage) and run the bags down to the door, then carry them in from the porch as he folloes me.   But today he wanted to “help” so sincerely, then tried to unlock the porch himself when I left him the first time, that I realized that the only way to be safe was to let him walk back and forth each time with me.   Now Kenny can run really fast when he wants to, but he was hungry and tired and in the sauntering mood.  

It took us forty-five minutes to get the groceries in the house, and that’s not counting the stuff for our party, which I left in the fridge in the garage.   Each trip he insisted that he carry something, so he shuttled bags of chips, paper plates and a few blocks of cheese into the house while I struggled with twenty-five pound bags at the pace of a one-year-old.   But he was intent, he was diligent and he worked really hard to carefully carry each item into the house with me in tow.   Dudley was also in tow for each back-and-forth, and that only added to the staggeringly slow pace of our venture.   Ah, but my sweet boy has a heart of gold and he was so proud of himself when we finished our task!

That’s when things got interesting.   I settled Kenny in with a little snack (trying not to spoil his dinner) and starting putting things away.   Because the day was gorgeous, I left the front door open and closed the screen door on the porch to get a breeze in the house.   Our next door neighbors came over to retrieve a grill that we just sold to them and Dudley ran out to say hello.   Except that he missed that the screen door was shut.   And ripped it right open.   Kenny, who was playing in the doorway let out a scream of hysterical laughter.   I had my head in the fridge putting lettuce in the drawer, and the scream sounded like one of intense terror and pain.  

What my heart did I have never before experienced, and I can only imagine that it must have been the sensation of my heart stopping for a minute, because the pain was fierce.   I dropped everything and ran the ten feet around the corner and saw Kenny giggling and pointing at the screen.   I felt my knees buckle and I crumpled to the floor to embrace him.   I can’t remember a time when I was so scared.   I actually thought, for a split second, that Dudley had crushed Kenny on his way out the door, or clawed him, or worse.   When Dudley came pracing back in I grabbed him by the scruff and threw him on his back and growled at him.   Kenny thought that was funny, too, but Dudley understood… somehow he knew that leaping over Kenny and through a screen door was not the right thing to do, though it was the putting Kenny in danger part that I cared about.   The screen is no big deal.

I am still a little shaky, an hour later, I must confess.   I think I need a bubble bath and a big glass of something with a really high proof…

We have  a giant Blue Heron that has taken up residence for the past few summers on the land by our dock.   He struts around the dock for at least an hour every morning, taking inventory of the crabs in our traps, and hanging around long enough to taunt Dudley.

I finally got some good shots of him this morning, when Kenny and I were out enjoying the sunrise… it set the tone for  the day, and my little dude was as happy and content as he’s ever been.   No more boo-hoo’s…

Enjoy!   (click on the pictures for the best view)

 

… I like the comparison of his size next to the picnic table…   Kenny calls him “Big Heron Bird!”

Kenny is generally the happiest kid you will ever meet.   He is good-natured and patient, persistant, funny, rascally and genuine.   But the last week or so, he has had moments of Dr Jeckle and Mr Hyde that make my head want to spin around.   It’s like he becomes possessed for an hour or two a day, and it’s nearly impossible to shake.   Then, as soon as it begins, he’s done and back to his normal, cheery self.

Here is an example from today:

We got home from his gymnastics class and a few post-class errands at 11:15… I usually give him lunch at about 11, and since he started whining in the car , I let him eat a muffin on the way home.   As the car pulled into the garage, his face got red and tears started to streak, “LUUNCH!” he wailed.   I got him out of the car, leaving the groceries in the fridge up there (our garage is about 70 feet uphill from the house), and we walked down the sidewalk together in the 95 degree humidity to the house.   At the front door, he lurched the other way, and screamed, “Play OUTSIDE!” and ran away from me into the yard.   Now I was sweaty, hungry and really had to use the loo, so I scooped him up, calmly said, “no” and carried him inside, where he kicked and screamed on the floor and howled “OUTSIDE!” over and over again.

I ignored him and went in the kitchen to make lunch.   He stopped briefly, then stomped over to the stereo and started crying loudly, “Music ON!   OOOOONNNNN!” and hitting the stereo.   I barely lifted an eyebrow and turned the stereo on by remote, and continued to make lunch.   He wailed again, “Different SONG!” and started banging his arm on the coffee table.

Now let me pause for a minute, lest anyone chastise me for “ignoring” his outbursts.   The same thing happened yesterday, and I took the opposite response, cuddling him and trying to understand how I could help him.   He pushed me away and yelled, “No Mama, No!”

Anyway, lunch was ready, and I told him to go to his chair and we’d eat together.   He started that way, then detoured to play trains.   I picked him up and plunked him into his highchair, where he took one bite of the leftover spinach pizza and cried, “Pieces!” (meaning that he wanted me to cut it up for him, which I did.)   As soon as he saw the bites of pizza on his tray, he screamed, “WHOLE THING!” (meaning that he wanted the piece intact).   I picked him up, kissed him lightly on the forehead and said, “All done, lunch!   Naptime!” and he was asleep in thirty seconds.

Ah, but sleepiness is only a part of it, because the same scenario repeated itself for a full two hours after him nap.   Nothing made him happy; anything and everything I did made him wail.   Then we left the house to go to the bookstore (I had to get out of there) and from the moment we got into the car until bedtime tonight, he was his normal, charming and sweet self.

What gives?   Is this an early onset of the terrible twos?   Some toddler form of puberty?   Low blood-sugar?   Ok, you moms of one and two-year-old boys out there….. HELP!

 

This site began one year ago, as a 32nd birthday gift from my husband, Casey.   I can hardly believe that I have been writing here for a full year!   Kenny was just shy of ten months old and I was starting to feel the brain freeze that can crop up in a person who’s primary social interaction is with someone who can’t talk yet.   Casey bought the domain name and hired a web designer to create the site to get me started, and had encouraged me constantly to write often and “think big.”   Thank you, Boo!

Though this past weekend, I have spent many moments thinking about the act of writing, the venue of a blog and the reason that I do it.   I know that the primary focus of this online journal is to chronical my life as a woman, a wife and a mother.   Ok, maybe mostly just the Mommy part.   I want to be able to give this to Kenny someday when he has kids and let him read about his own antics, and the crazy/fun life we had when he was little.   It’s like a baby book (which I haven’t had a chance to make for him) on steroids.

But I have also wondered if there is a way to incorporate all the other things I think about and want to write about.     Because I’m really not just a mommy, for all of you loyal readers out there.   I started thinking more clearly about this when that awful writer from that horrible site picked my blog to feature in his weekly “worst on the web” column.   Though his mockery at what he claims is the ridiculous trend in woman blogging about their kids as a last ditch effort in attention-getting was juvenile at best, I have no illusions that “mommy blogging” has any claim to literary or newsworthy genious.   I write here for many reasons,

• To journal.  
• To blow off steam at the end of the day.
• To share a story, or a question, with other moms.   Afterall, our society doesn’t exactly revolve around a town square anymore, nor are the neighborhood wives gathering for bridge or quilting circles these days.   This is a community, annonymous or not, and weren’t we created to live in a community?
• To share pictures with the grandparents and relatives that don’t live close enough to see Kenny very often.
• To create something that will one day be a gift to Kenny.
• To practice writing, and challenge myself to write in a way that is worth reading.

To be frank, I write because I like doing it.   And I happen to really love my life and love writing about it.   Journaling can be tedious, yet blogging is invigorating.   And I can turn the worst day in the week into the funniest story to tell.   Kenny is hilarious; he’s mysterious and maddning; he’s loving and sweet, funny and smart and writing about him is a real kick.  

And let’s not forget Dudley…

… I still think I could write a whole blog on him.     Maybe I should designate a “Dudley Day” in the week, and wrap up his weekly antics…

Lest I close this post without mentioning my MVP, let me take a few lines to say that Casey is the rockin’-est husband ever made.   For my birthday yesterday, he arranged to have my parents take Kenny for the night (his first “sleep-over” without us!   And he did great!), then took me downtown where we were all checked into a beautiful bed and breakfast, then to one of the top spots in town for dinner (where there were a dozen looooong stem roses on the table), and an evening to stroll hand in hand without interruption or split-focus.   This morning we went for a run and a long walk together by the water, had breakfast, and returned to my parent’s house to get Kenny and Dudley, who were happy and exhausted, and who are now both well into their second hour of napping.   What a gift!!

So here’s to the next year of MommyBlog… and who knows what may next be in store…

I have decided that someone on Dateline should run a serious on the mysterious innerworkings of a toddler’s mind.  

For instance, Kenny eats three or four bananas a day.   One as soon as we come downstairs in the morning, one before climbing into his crib for naptime, an occasional one in the car, and one just before he climbs into the crib at bedtime.   I think I buy bananas every three days.   I actually begin to panic when I see that we are down to one in the fruit basket.   I’ve noticed though, today and yesterday, that he’s eating a little less than the whole banana… and begining to look at it suspiciously, as if perhaps a new fruit is about to take over.

Then there is the “Zero to Sixty” phenomenon.   By that I mean that he can be playing as content as can be with his blocks in the floor, then look up, his face crumpling into misery and yell, “Juice?   Juice?” and begin frantically looking around for his sippy cup (which is usually in arms length).   Or we will walk into a room and he will begin a shrill cry, then beg “Music on?   MUSIC!”   I am usually taken aback, wondering, “Why didn’t you just ask?”   It’s not like I said no to a previous request, or that I frequently deny him anything.     But the hysteria that insues is enough to make me feel like his head is about to do a 180.

My favorite is the car rides that cut it close to lunchtime.   We will be driving merrily along, and then Kenny will start his litany:   “Food!   Lunch!   ‘Nacktime!   Sand-witch!   FOOOOOODDDD!”   I will zoom us safely into the garage, release him from the entrapment of his carseat, and he’ll run down the sidewalk to the house.   Where he’ll immediately start playing with the toys on the porch, and refuse to come inside to have lunch.   “Play outSIDE!” he’ll explain, as if I’m a little thick these days.   That’s when I have to drag him, arms flailing and tears streaming, into his highchair where he will take two bites and proclaim, “All done!”

Not that all the mysteries are maddening ones.   There are the moments when he’ll stop playing to run over and say, “Mama kiss!” then run back to his business of trundling trains around their tracks.   Or the moments when he’ll come over to me with a book in hand and say, “Mama, read books.” and we sit and snuggle on the couch for a half hour or more and read and giggle and talk.   Then there is his facination with our next door neighbor, Bob, who is probably in his late sixties.   Kenny looks for him everytime we are outside, saying, “Where’s Mr. Bob?” or “Mr. Bob’s outside!” or “Tooties for Mr. Bob?” meaning that he wants to take a cookie over to him.  

Such a sweet and loving heart touches me everyday.   I am so grateful for my baby boy.   Even when he’s a baby maniac!