MommyBlog

We took Kenny to another Orioles game today… against the Yankees, no less.   (This little guy is starting off his second year of life well!)   I have to admit that my biggest concern going into the ballpark today was that he might hear a few new words… words that I am in no way ready for his tender ears to hear.   But all of the  Yankee fans  around us were perfectly civil about the fact they were kicking Oriole heiney (the score was 1-7 when we left at the seventh inning stretch).

As I’ve written before, Kenny  loves the major league baseball experience, and today was no exception.   There were two minor issues we had to get past first, though:

1. The sun was very strong and very warm.   (Casey and I realized that we had only previously been to evening and night games and our seats,which are on the field just past third base,  are not exactly in the shade at 1:30  in the afternoon.   I ended up walking Kenny up into the shade a couple of times to cool him off.)   and,

2. The Giant Oriole Bird is scary.

There we were, in our seats on the aisle, Kenny in full Oriole  outfit with matching  hat, when the incredibly energetic and incredibly HUGE Oriole mascot appears right next to me, nearly on top of us, to lead our section in a cheering contest.   I was so excited at the potential photo-op that I jumped up with Kenny in my arms and started cheering right along with the big Bird.   I held Kenny up, sure that he would share in the enthusiasm, when all of the sudden I caught the look of utter terror on his face.   I quickly sat down and looked squarely at him and watched his little face crumple.   In that instant,  he buried his face in my armpit and howled.  

The last time he cried like that, we were in a pub in Maui watching Pittsburg vs. Colts playoff game,  and the crowd roared in disbelief at the Jerome Bettis fumble and ensuing mayhem.   Four-month-old Kenny was shocked out of his booties at the sound of Mommy and Daddy joining in the cry of “Oh no!” and shreiked like a banshee.   It took almost twenty minutes to calm him down, and we  decided  that maybe  he wasn’t quite ready for the sports bar experience.

Now he’s absolutely loved the cheering crowd at the games we’ve been to so far this year.   Kenny actually looks like he follows the game, and seems to enjoy rooting the home team on.   So this had nothing to do with noise; this was all about the fact  that this giant furry beast in his personal space  bore no resemblence to the sweet chirping birds he delights in  in the backyard.     This was all about a bird with a head the size of our kitchen table, wings flapping on top of his head and a tail that could easily take out Dudley with one fell swoop.  

The poor little guy took half an inning to venture his gaze past my shoulder.   All the fear was forgotten soon enough, though.   One extra-large soft pretzel later, along with some shady clouds to break the heat, and our future left-handed pitcher was happy as a lark once again.   He bounced in Casey’s arms, smiled and clapped, laughed and wiggled his little body to the beat of the music.  

 

He snuggled with me, played peek-a-boo with our hats, and drank enough water to fill a small camel.   By the time we got back into the car, he was exhausted and content.  

Thoughts of giant, gyrating birds long forgotten, and once again in love with baseball.

 

Happy Birthday, Kenny!  

I can’t believe you are one year old today.   You have brought your Dad and me so much joy and have made our lives rich beyond measure.     You have shown me a side of myself that I never knew existed, and a side of your Dad that makes my heart melt!

We had so much fun  celebrating your day today.  We spent the morning downtown (where Dudley still got all the attention).   We walked around the historic district, had lunch at a favorite ourdoor table at the city dock (you ate almost a third of Mommy’s salmon, and who knews how much of Daddy’s fish and chips), then stolled in for some  ice cream (sorry kiddo – you slept through that one!),  walked around the Naval Academy, and then drove home singing and laughing.   And when we got home, we opened presents!

     TV Remotes and Cell Phones GALORE!                                … how did you know what to do with the remote??

Then you helped Mommy make  a “barely chocolate” cake…    

(and helped test the icing!)

And we capped it off with  a steak dinner out on the deck.   You put away a lot of steak for a little guy, but somehow the corn on the cob took the prize…

And the cake, though you thought it was a little icky at first, turned out to be a hit!

My sweetest little guy, I love you so much.   This year has flown by… there’s got to be a way to slow it down!   I want to savor each moment.   You are a wonder.   Thanks for being who you are and for letting me be your Mommy.

My little boy is turning one tomorrow.   Actually,   he’s turning one at 1:52 AM… this time last year, I was tearfully giving up my hopes of having a nice, earthy, yoga-pose aided natural childbirth, and submitting with exhausted reluctance to the epidural Casey was begging me to take.   After 20 hours of labor at that point, I was in agony and the thought of the pain going away was starting to sound better and better.   Good thing, too.   My “very small, maybe no more than 7 pounds” bundle of joy turned out to be an 8 pound, 10 ounce bruiser with a head circumference that was off the charts.   When I look at the scar from the c-section, and look at Kenny, my heart bursts with pride that something so miraculous actually happened to me.

And here I am, one year later, one thousand years wiser, and a million times fuller than I ever thought I could be.   And yes, I’m ready for another one.

Isn’t that the question on everyone’s lips these days?   You date someone, and everyone wants to know if he’s the one.   You get engaged, and everyone wants to know the date.   You get married, and people start winking at you and asking when you’re going to start putting buns in the oven.   And your first turns one, and everyone starts saying things like, “so.. are you ready for the next one?”

In good time, people, in good time.   I wrote a few weeks back about wanting to have another little wonder as close in age to Kenny as possible… so we’ll just have to see what the Good Lord has in mind.   Casey and I get together with a group every Friday night, in which three of the other women are currently pregnant – all three with their third child.   Suddenly, my circus of a boy Kenny looks like a picnic.   These women all manage to comb their hair and match their shoes… surely I can manage that with only ONE!   But these things aren’t really up to us, are they?   Oh we can try, we can plan, we can dream.  

But in reality, all we really can do is look at what we’ve got right now, and thank God for it.   And I’m so thankful for little Kenny.   He is a dream come true.   He’s never had more than a sniffle, never been hurt more than a little bruise on the forehead from learning to walk, never given me more than the average sleeplessness or worry.   I am so blessed.   The last thing I want to do is miss a second of his precious life by wishing there was another one on the way.   I want to enjoy every bit of this perfect, tiny miracle.

We’re going to get his first haircut tomorrow.   I took him to get some pictures made today for his birthday.   We have a pile of presents on the dining room table (mostly wrapped up old TV remotes and cell phones… hey – you gotta give the kid what he really wants!).   I think I’ll make pancakes  sprinkled with  cheerios for our breakfast tomorrow.   And a cake that looks like a giant cheerio.   And take lots of pictures.   Kenny will only be ONE once!

Casey just asked what I was writing about, and I said, “I want to have another kid.”   His eyebrows shot up, and he ran out of the room.   Was it something I said?   Maybe I’d better wrap this up…

But first, thank you to all who emailed and commented on yesterday’s post.   It was so heartening to hear so many who think the same thoughts, struggle with the same things and dream the same dreams.   We need to encourage each other to give this art of mothering our all, while still remaining the whole people we were created to be!  

Here’s to truly being who we are  ~ all that we are.

 

I’ve been a little introspective today.  

This morning, Casey and I took the boys (meaning Kenny and Dudley… Dudley is the weimaraner, for any new readers out there… Kenny is the only real  child in the house…   so far) down to the Naval Academy (which is not at all close to our house) for a walk.   Back in the day (that is, the days when I was single, ran 5 or 6 miles every morning and actually folded the laundry that came out of the dryer when it buzzed) I ran there most mornings.   I usually timed my run so that I rounded a certain corner on mile four at the same moment the sun crested over the water.   (This was tricky, assuming that the earth’s rotation and the seasons make the sun rise at a slightly different time each day, but I was pretty good at catching it in the  autumn and spring.)   But all this pretty prose and over-use of parathesis are merely to state that my life is a little different now than it was then.

I have to admit that I got a little melancholy as we walked past that corner of the sea wall (only we were on mile one… let’s just say we took the shorter route…).   The sun had long since risen, but the view was as gorgeous as ever.   I started thinking about who I was before I got married and had Kenny.   Rather, I should say, what I did before I got married and had Kenny.   I’m still that same woman, aren’t I?   Just because I groggily wake up to the sounds of “MAAAAAAMAAAAAA!” at obscenely early hours, instead of purposefully waking up at obscenely early hours to run obscenely long distances before going to work, doesn’t mean that I’ve lost a precious piece of me, does it?  

In that introspective and melancholy state, I took a long hard look in the mirror today.   I took in the wiggly skin around my middle, the lack of muscle on my legs, the odd tan lines from walking every morning behind a stroller and next to a dog (truly – only one side of one leg is tanned) and the new lines around my eyes and on my forehead.   I started to sigh, but then I heard a little peep…   Kenny was trying to play peek-a-boo with Dudley, and flashing an impish smile at me, as if to say, “Don’t tell Dudley where I’m hiding!”

 

  So I took another look at myself in the mirror.    Would  I trade one second of this past year for  all I had in those free, simple and in-shape  single days?   Not on your life!   But that got me thinking even deeper.    Am I really layering onto my personality, or am I sacrificing some qualities and traits for the sake of new ones?    Am I losing sight of all that I am  and have been,  in exchange for this life as a wife and mom?  

I am still a runner… I just haven’t made the effort to be disciplined about it.   I am still a singer and an actress, I’ve just been lazy about doing it, using the excuse that I’m just too busy with Kenny to get involved.   I am still an interesting friend, I’ve just put off getting together with girlfriends because I feel obligated to focus on my relationship with Casey when Kenny is asleep, instead of going out to a “girl’s night.”

It’s hard to write what I just did, because I know that the reasons I haven’t kept up with those things started from a pure motivation.   Kenny takes up a lot of time (news flash, right?), and when he is asleep, I feel like it’s finally time for Casey and I to spend those precious and few hours together.   But tonight, he is off at Starbucks doing some work (home is too distracting… another news flash!), and I am here with sleeping boy and dog, after eating way too much ice cream (now what am I blaming the flabby abs on??), contemplating the fact that I haven’t gone out ONCE with girlfriends since Kenny was born.   I’ve gone out with Casey.   I’ve gone out alone (thanks to a few trips to the spa from Casey).   I’m not complaining; it’s more of a revelation of sorts.   A realization that I need to continue to cultivate who I am as a whole, not just who I am as a wife and mom.   I need friends who I don’t see only at a playgroup or at church, but who I can be girly and giggle with.   I need a day of shopping with another female who will talk me into the slightly racy dress or really impractical shoes.

I need to remember to be who I was before.

That’s all part of this story, isn’t it?   What kind of wife and mom will I be if all I do is be a wife and mom?    I owe it to Casey and Kenny to get out there and still be me.   Now the only challenge will  be…  how.   Any words of wisdom out there?  

Yesterday was a tough day for those of us who stay at home here.   Come to think of it, it was tough for the hard-workin’ man who had to come home to  a cranky kid, a horribly cranky Mamma and a dog who was seconds away from being bonked over the head with a frying pan by that horribly cranky Mamma.  

You see, there was a monsoon going on outside.   Dudley won’t go outside in a drizzle, much less a downpour, and I don’t  even think he did his morning  pee  until about noon.   I wouldn’t know, because Kenny and I left the house at 10 to meet my sister and I left him to his “I really gotta go” tap dancing and access to the soggy dog door.

 

When we returned a few hours later, Dudley was a wreck.   A whirling dervish.   A destroyer of all things sweet and cute and Kenny’s.   A rammer of noses into crotches.   A pirate of contents of purses and trashcans.   And that was all just the first ten minutes after we arrived at the door.

Needless to say, this frustrated me, which made me frustrated that No Nap Joe didn’t want to take a nap, much less spend 20 seconds alone in his playpen so that I could use the bathroom by myself, which made him frustrated with me for being red-faced and snappy, which made Dudley frustrated at me and Kenny for being loud and antsy, which made him do backflips and paw all the cushions off the couch, which enraged me because they landed within inches of Kenny’s precious cranium and endangered his drunken-sailor walking, which confused Kenny because it looked like a kind-of fun obstacle course, Mommy!, which encouraged Dudley into bumping Kenny over and jumping into his pile of leggos, which made Kenny really angry, which made me…

Oh, you know where I’m going with all this.   By the time Casey got home, I was a commercial for remaining a Mommy to an only child who may not grow up with a dog after all.

This morning dawned rain-free, and all was once again right with the household.   Besides, this morning Kenny and I attended our very first MOPS meeting!   (www.mops.org)   My sister is the coordinator for a new chapter in our area, and I am on the steering team.   I had no idea what to expect, but it was fantastic.   Just the part about turning Kenny over to a warm, capable nursery care-giver (ok, it was my Mom) in a safe environment with other kiddos his age for two hours while I ate Krispe Kreme donuts and talked baby-free with other Moms was gratifying enough for me.   When I picked Kenny up, he was happy, hungry and exhausted.   After some warm milk in the church nursing room, he was asleep in the car before we left the parking lot.  

I was scheduled for an oil change, so we drove leisurely to the dealership while Kenny slept.   Once inside the waiting room, where we happened to be the only customers, Kenny was thrilled to find a whole alcove full of toys and books.   He toddled all over, kicking a ball as he went, then found a little push car like we have at home.   Then it was Mario Andretti in miniature… he zoomed all over the show room, the parts department, the waiting  room, the reception area  and back again, circle after circle.    Did I mention we were the only customers there?   The employees were entertained, Kenny was happy and I was relieved that  an oil change  only takes an hour.  

When we got home, happy and tired, Dudley was equally happy and tired, as he must have spent the bulk of the day playing outside in the sun.   We all went for a walk, Kenny in the backpack, Dudley strutting like his usual self again.   And as if the day couldn’t get any better, within minutes of returning home, Casey pulled into the garage to surprise us.   That was the best part of the day.   Kenny was thrilled to see DA DA! and I was as flustered as a schoolgirl at the unexpected arrival of my handsome man.

Now, bellies full of fish tacos and crab nachos, Kenny is sleeping soundly, and  Casey and I are each writing and relaxing after savoring some well-deserved wine on the back porch.  

Dudley is sprawled peacefully on the floor, grateful that the rain went away, and all of his family is back to normal.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned it in any of my posts so far, but due to the fact that Casey and I were not expecting to have a baby so soon when we rennovated the house that we live in, Kenny actually sleeps in an alcove of Casey’s office, so that we can all be on the same floor.   Oh, he has a room… it’s just on the other side of the house, as far away as it could be without trying.   So I keep finding myself writing while he’s asleep at night, with only a folding screen to separate us.   (I think I type really loud.   I always hear him shift and sigh while I’m writing.)  

But today we met with a builder to talk about doing another rennovation that would rearrange the living, sleeping and working situations.   This new adventure (which we swore, after the last contruction FIASCO that we would never again attempt in this lifetime) will hopefully leave us with a room for Kenny right down the hall from us before he starts sleeping in a big boy bed, or at least before he leaves for college.

Until then, I’m afraid that the pitter-patter of Mommy’s typing fingers will pepper his sleep, and in addition to our ritual “Goodnight Dudley; Goodnight water, Goodnight boats, Goodnight ducks  (looking out the window); Goodnight outside (closing the curtains); Goodnight teddy; Bedtime for Baby!”   There will have to remain, for a little longer, “Goodnight computer…   Goodnight printer…   Goodnight bills that are still sitting on the desk that Mommy keeps forgetting to open…   Goodnight fax that Mommy still hasn’t sent to the pet insurance people from Dudley’s last unexpected visit…   Goodnight…”  

At least we can be thankful that his crib isn’t parked in the laundry room.   It would take hours to say goodnight.

             

Today we celebrated Kenny’s First Birthday (even though it’s not until next Saturday) with some close friends, family, several bottles of wine and lots of fun hors d’oeuvres and oysters.   Kenny was charming to the hilt.   In fact, the only time he cried was when we tried to get him to eat birthday cake.   Go figure.

He was thrilled to have doting grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and neighbors all vying for his attentions, and all delighted to watch his antics and applaud him on.   I think the only thing that could have made it better for him would have been if we let him put a saddle on Dudley and go for a birthday ride!   He ran around the deck with his little push-car for over an hour, laughing and singing “DA DA DAAAAAAAAAAAA!” like a mini punk rocker.   He  played  “hey, let’s dump  everything in my room  including the diapers  onto the floor”  with his cousins.   He ate corn on the cob until he was exhausted from the shear effort required and then relaxed in various pairs of arms until it was time for goodnight kisses.   And then he fell asleep so quickly in the rocking chair with me that  I needed to wake him up to finish nursing.   I think we can call the party a success!

We really did it for us, of course.   Oh sure, all the adults had to eat off of jungle animal plates, but I did bring out the real crystal wine glasses, and there were no life-sized characters singing songs or piles of presents to be ripped though.   We had the party to celebrate this precious year we’ve just lived through.   To celebrate this little life that we have the awesome honor of raising up, and to honor all of those who have stood by us and helped us along the way.   Kenny was just happy to have people watching him, clapping for him, and letting him get away with running around like a little rascal for a few hours.   He knew that something special was in the air, but most important, he knew that everyone there really loved him.   He doesn’t care about toys or decorated cakes; all he wants is for people to pay attention to him, to hug him and to sing his crazy songs right along with him.

It was a great day.   Next week, we’ll do something quiet, he, Casey and I.   We’ll spend the whole day playing in the floor, going for walks, tickling and singing silly songs.   We’ll all eat Cheerios for all three meals  and maybe read “Swim Duck, Swim!” 40 times in a row, with no stiffled yawns or lack of enthusiasm.   I can’t believe how fast this year has gone.   I can’t believe my little boy is walking, and starting to talk, and starting to act up on purpose to get a laugh.   I can’t believe we’re going to have to give him a haircut.   I can’t believe how this one tiny guy has changed my life so much – and to so much greater good than I ever expected.

Here’s to you, kiddo.   You’re the best present there ever was.   My sweetest little guy is turning ONE!

 

PS:   Thanks for the emails and comments on our bathtime dramas.   I think we are going to try one of the toddler seats.   Otherwise, we may move to “showers with Daddy!”

 

We are having a small, early First Birthday (!) Party for Kenny this Sunday.   His birthday is really next Saturday, but my parents are committed to an out-of-town wedding, and celebrating Baby’s First Birthday (!) without one set of grandparents would be like celebrating your wedding anniversary solo  while your spouse was out playing golf.   (Or something like that.)  

So facts being as they are, I began a tornado of housecleaning today, in preparation for Casey’s parents’ arrival this evening.   No matter that there is a hurricane outside our window,  with at least one foot waves crashing over our bulkhead (very unusual, even for a stormy day) and bringing an inevitable load of debris into our yard, a dog that absolutely will not go out and do his business in this monsoon and is instead playing the role of Howling Wolf for the morning, and a baby that does not like his playpen anymore, now that Mommy is doing that funny waltz with the vacuum cleaner and not letting him out to chase it  along.

I crawled on my hands and knees and pulled the spider webs out from under the couch, polished the stainless steel appliances and scrubbed the guest bathtub.   Kenny finally decided that enough was enough, and he asked me politely to at least put him down for a nap if I was going to ignore him in my cleaning frenzy.   After he fell asleep, and my frantic pace continued with painting over the scuff marks on the walls, I started musing over what I was doing.   Aside from the obvious fact that, yes, I need to clean the house every week so that there is not mold and germs and allergenic dog hairs polluting up the place, and for the simple reason that I enjoy a clean house, and I believe that Casey deserves to come home to one, what exactly was I out to prove with my microscopic analysis of my interior?   Was I really thinking that my in-laws, who visit here often, and certainly know what our house looks like both clean and dirty, would arrive with a white-glove inspection?   Was I worried that one of the party-goers on Sunday would assess my abilities as wife and mother on the sole matter of whether or not there were finger prints on the pergo?   Was I secretly afraid that one of the other kids would drop a Cheerio, which would roll under the couch, prompting a Mommy to get down on her knees to retrieve it and see the dust bunnies under there?  

Or am I falling into the inevitable trap of treating Mommyhood as a competitive sport?   “See, my kid lives in a squeeky-clean house so I must be a Mommy that has it all together.”   That’s even worse than those smug, insinuating comments that other Moms drive me crazy with, like, “Oh,  poor little Jerry just has so many activities because he’s so good at so many things and we hate to keep him from  living up to his potential!”   Why do we do this to ourselves?   How do you find the balance between doing the best you can with what you’ve got, and going crazy trying to be perfect?

While  Kenny was asleep, Casey came home and now the two of them are playing happily downstairs, amidst the very clean, though still not-yet-mopped house.   Their laughter is contagious.   I need to go join them.   I declare the rest of the day a playday!

But first, one more thing: I have neglected to mention in any of my posts this week about the very unusual reaction Kenny has been having to bathtime.   (“Very Unusual” to be translated as “Please please PLEASE don’t put me in there, Mommy don’t you love me anymore, I hate baths, they are too scary!!!!”)   Last night I actually put on a swimsuit and got into the tub with him.   He was fine after a few minutes of clinging to my neck.   This is the kid who used to crawl on his own to the bathroom as soon as I said, “bathtime!”   I have no idea what happened.   Maybe the little rubber elephant I put over the spout to keep him from cracking open his head if he fell forward?   Maybe he didn’t like the way he was scrub-a-dubbed at some point last week and resolved to go on bath-stike?   Has this happened to anyone else?   I love baths as much as the next gal, but I don’t want to have to get in there everytime, just to get his little body clean.   Any ideas out there?

I think Casey and I are going to have to venture into the dreaded realm of “talking about discipline” in regards to Kenny. My Happiest Baby Ever is starting to think that Mommy’s mad face is a funny one, and that the N-word (that is, “No”) is something more of a challenge or a test of wills than the law of the land.

He’s also starting to get into a pattern of staying happy as a clam as long as we are doing exactly what he wants to do, playing with what he wants to play with, in the room he wants to be in. Alter any of the parameters, and a red-faced little munchkin with a very loud scolding, “Neh neh neh neh!” complete with pointed finger and screwed eyebrows, emerges.

Where on earth did he learn that? He didn’t see it on TV because we don’t watch TV in front of him, save for my occasional Food Network fix when I can’t decide what to make for dinner, and the total of 10 times that I’ve turned on either Baby Einstein or Sesame Street while he’s in the playpen so I can take a shower. (Seriously, it’s truly been about ten times in the whole year that the little guy has been alive!) We certainly don’t scold each other like that. He doesn’t have any older siblings to show him, nor is he in any kind of daycare where he’s exposed to the disciplinary shenanigans of other kids. Could it be that he learned it from Dudley? I know – I’m possibly giving our weimaraner too much credit here, but Dudley is a bit unusual to say the least. In fact, many are the days that I’m quite certain I’m going to arrive home unexpectedly early from an absence and find him either scrambling up some eggs for a snack, or kicking back in the easy chair, one paw around a young, pretty boxer, smoking a camel and pouring out his heart about the injustices of playing second banana to a 22 pound human boy.

Back to the discipline, my main issue is that I am so in love with that kid, my heart melts when he smiles and breaks when he wails. I know, all you seasoned Mommies out there are rolling your eyes and itching to tell me all about the rebel-nightmare he’s going to turn into if I don’t start ruling the roost now. But he’s not even One, yet! How aware is he of the riot he’s causing? Is he even capable of manipulation at this stage in his cranial development?

More likely, he’s just now becoming aware of his preferences, and that if he wants to get what he wants, he has to fight for it. It’s a big world out there, people. The little guy doesn’t have a whole lot of rights – no say in getting dragged to the grocery store for the third time in one week, no negotiation regarding why he always has to ride backwards in the car, no defense when Mommy says, “Time to go!” after only 20 minutes of crawling wild in the play area at the mall. Isn’t it natural that he will voice his opinion where he can? Is it bad to let him win sometimes?

Seriously, I do work to maintain at least some sense of sanity in our household – Kenny doesn’t really run the show. If I let him, he’d spend the day crawling into the cabinet where we keep the Raid, banging butcher knives against the pots and pans instead of wooden spoons, and only eating food that had been taste-tested by Dudley first. He’d never have to sleep, he could eat all his meals off the floor, and he would have already lost at least one finger by insisting on playing Dentist with Dudley. His crib wouldn’t have rails, the stairs wouldn’t have gates, and he would regularly re-test gravity by diving headfirst off of whatever piece of furniture I’m holding him on.

Come to think of it, I’m doing pretty well by enforcing my reign in the castle here. Now if I could only figure out how to get Dudley to make me breakfast.

Not one minute after I hit “publish” on last night’s post, Kenny was awake and stayed that way for more than two hours.   He was perfectly happy as long as we were all playing, but absolutely adamant against being put back to bed.   It finally took nearly 45 minutes of rocking and bouncing from Casey, and even that only lasted a few hours before he was up again.   Oh if only a baby could get all their teeth at once!   Sure it would be a week or so of hell, but then it would be DONE.   And don’t get me started on the injustice of an infant getting mosquito bites…

As I write, I am sitting in the office floor with our wireless keyboard, and Kenny is crawling across my legs, pulling up my shirt, patting my bottom and intermittently emptying the bookshelf.   Why I am  writing under these conditions, you ask?   Because he’s too tired to take a nap (I will never understand that logic), too cranky for the playpen (which he’s hardly ever in anyway, because I am a SUCKER for his little “Mommy don’t you love me enough to play with me?” look), and I’m too wiped out to think of anything else to do with him.   I just need ten minutes of respite.  

Hey!   He just walked across the room!   Cool.   Now he just bit me in the rear.   Ok.   The ten minutes are up.