ohmygod!

Owen likes to scare the bejeezus out of me. He thinks it is hilarious when I suck in my breath and screech "ohmygod! what are you doing?!"

I don't think it's as funny as he does.

I especially didn't think it was very funny when today, while we were playing outside with Nefi and the new nanny Chelsey, he decided it would be fun to not only squeeze his head through the bars of the gate to the pool in our apartment complex, but it would be even more fun to squeeze his whole body through and run towards the pool.

This wouldn't have been quite so terrifying if that particular gate had been unlocked, and if I hadn't had to sprint at mach speeds to the other gate all the way on the other side and frantically try to remember the code, open the gate, and rush to my child before he dove headfirst into a giant pool with no floatie and no one else nearby to save his butt.

My heart pounds even now, hours later, remembering my terror and his glee.

I know this isn't the last time he's gonna do stuff like this to me. But I will document it all, so when he's older and I need him to do things like fix my back porch or weed my garden I will have some material to pull from in case he needs a good guilt trip to get the work started.

:)

Away

I have been away from the blog...it's hard to write a decent blog post when you're puking your guts up because the new baby that has lodged itself in your uterine wall is making you feel like you ate a lot of really bad shrimp salad from a vending machine.

Hopefully I will be back at it soon :)

For now, wish me luck. And hand me a cold washcloth.

Love and Like are NOT the same...

I love my child. I think I may have mentioned this once or twice. A day. For the last 17 months.

But I do not always like him. (It is possible I have mentioned this already, too. But I am allowed to repeat myself! So there!)

He has lately been a sinking ship of emotional insanity. And it's not only quite ridiculous, it's making our time together much less enjoyable.

I refill his sippy cup? He sobs hysterically. I put on his socks? He weeps. I take away a knife he managed to grab off the counter while I was chopping and he was on his tippy toes? He throws himself on the floor and wails. I shut the door to the bathroom? He beats it with his tiny fat fists and cries his eyes out. He drops something soft and not at all painful on his foot? He sheds massive crocodile tears and moans.

EVERYthing is making him cry. Or yell. Or both. Usually, lately, it has been both. He is becoming prone to fits of hysteria, and I don't understand it at all. He can't have PMS, he's a boy. And he can't be depressed, he's never even been in love. He hasn't lost a job, no one has died, and his best friend most certainly has not been spreading awful rumors about him at school.

So what gives?!

It's too early for the terrible twos. He's too young for hormones. And I am too tired to accept that this is the way it's just going to be forever.

Sigh.

I have to remind myself that he's little, and being little is frustrating and hard, especially when you don't know enough words to ask for what you want or understand why you can't have it. Imagine being just over 2 feet tall in a foreign country and speaking 4 words of the language. Yuck, right?

Right.

So I love him, and I feel bad for him, but I am also not enjoying him right now.