Bubbly & Babble

Move over E-Trade Baby. We've got Bath-y Hour at hour house.

Maximillian James. 9 months. 6 teeth. 4 bath toys. 2 bottle of suds (of the Aveeno variety). 1 "nanny" scottie-dog carefully observing the ordeal. 0 tolerance for bedtime.

And...action!!!

Got your washcloth! (What do you "sink" of that, Mom?!)

Hey - can we get some toys here? Maybe some bubbly? (Bubbles, that is. Aveeno -- straight up.)

That's more like it. Got some cleanup to do wtih my washcloth ... gotta get to those toes.

Pwooooh!!! (Making my "phhhwooh" sounds.) I'm so funny! Seriously. Move over Tosh.0. I'm  your succession plan.

Hey - did you hear the one about Bubbles? (Ha! I've got a million of them!) Guys, seriously, can we get some more toys. More bubbly? Turn up the heat a little in here, maybe? Just a tad?

DONE!!!! O.K. Enough of this business. What's next?!

Mama!

Max will do anything to avoid a nap...but he can repeat this trick-of-the-day anytime (and I've been waiting for it!).

After a brisk walk with the dog, a round in the jumper, some floor time and chilling on my lap while I managed some work emails, I decided it was time for Max to take a short snooze. It was past time. I set him in his crib with his lovie, a yellow blanket with ribbon tabs that he loves to rub between his tiny fingers. The textures are each different and interesting. He toyed around for a minute, lying on his back. Then he stiffened, and I stood there and watched his eyes widen and his lips form a tiny, pursed frown. He let out a whimper, as if to say, "Please - no nap..."

"Max, time for a nap...goodnight," I said to him softly with encouragement. 

Then, he looked me in the eye, and I looked at him. He spoke: "Mama. Mama." (!!!!!)
He said it twice, enunciating, even. There was no other babble, just "Mama. Mama." (Don't leave.)

My heart skipped and I lifted him out of the crib and gave him a big hug! "Mama!" I repeated, on the verge of waterworks.

Did he know he was calling for me, or was it a baby sound? Because of his expression, I have to believe it was genuine...and he might have even known that he wouldn't have to stay in his crib long if he simply called out, "Mama."

I've been waiting for your first word, little man. And that one (even if it was baby noise) was oh, so very sweet. I'm still melting.

Now, say it again Mr. Max...this time, with a smile.

Going Bananas!

Max has an appetite like a monkey. At least tonight... The fare? Pureed bananas. (Zoo monkeys would be jealous, you know.) Watch this YoutTube clip as Max opens his mouth like a baby bird, "Oooo, Ooo, mooore, mooore!") He's a foodie. And if smashed 'naners are exciting, wait until we can eat cookies at the mall!

And, speaking of bananas, here's a photo of Max Man rocking out his Baby Einstein exersaucer. He finds the plush star especially tasty, and Mayzie (remember...our Scottie-dog Manager) is amused by the Mooooo sounds from the farm animals sound buttons. Other than that, things are really normal around here. Ha!

Tummy Tub

It was the most expensive bucket I’ll ever buy. And it doesn’t even have handles. But Tummy Tub—a euro bathing tool that is an alternative to the stick-it-in-a-sink tubby—was worth every penny. And now that Max has outgrown the bath bucket, I’m really appreciating how easy it was to pop him in, dunk-tank style, and give him a quick scrub-a-dub. He would sit up in the T.T. like a little blonde Buddha, and once he got used to water, he began to enjoy tubby time. 

            Now, we have a typical (still plastic) oval tub that pops into the adult bathtub. I used it for the second time this morning, and Max and I were both bummed about the experience. He lays there on this stretcher that fits into the tub. I think he misses being submerged from the midriff down in the T.T. Oh, well. He laid their patiently while I craned over the tub and sudsed up his hair. When we were done, I awkwardly lifted his wet body out of the tub, wrapping him in towels that he tried to eat. (These days, he tries to eat everything.) Oh, my knees! (That ceramic floor is not very forgiving.) My back! The bathroom is a mess! I miss the T.T.

            But wait, here’s an idea. We have a vat-sized bucket in the garage—one made from super-sturdy plastic with thick rope handles. We used it as a beer cooler, but why not a tub? Could Max sit cross-legged in the beer cooler with his tub toys, splash around and get clean? Well, sure! The only problem: Not sure if that bucket will fit into our closet-sized bathroom.

            Stay tuned…

Wanted: Exersaucer

After trolling the Toys ‘R Us website earlier this week for an exersaucer (sounds like a space-age treadmill, doesn’t it?), and finding a nice selection of hundred-dollar jumpy toys, I decided to take my shopping elsewhere: to Craig’s List.

            I typed in “exersaucer”—not jumper, toy, kids games or other general search terms you’d figure would rile up a laundry list of offers. Just exersaucer. And a page full of listings confirmed I could pick up this bad boy for less than $40. In fact, I wouldn’t have to drive as far as Toys ‘R Us to get it either.

            Score. Craig’s List is my kind of garage sale-ing. No rummaging. No early Saturday mornings. No crowds.

            My first foray into Craig’s World was this summer when I needed to buy a $300 milk extractor (yes, breast pump) and a friend assured me that no, it’s not gross to buy a used one. You’re basically purchasing a motor. She was right, and I landed on a Medela for $75 that had been used only a few times. I met the seller in front of a Wal-Mart, traded cash for the boob sucker, and left feeling proud of my bargain. It was, by far, the strangest transaction I’ve ever participated in. It felt like mom mafia: Meet me in front of the big box store and I’ll trade you my lactation device for cold, hard cash!

            On the drive home, I contemplated what I could sell on Craig’s List...

            So, today we pick up the exersaucer, which should be as thrilling for a five-month old as being let loose in an amusement park—without mom! (The nice thing about the jumper is I’ve finally found something he enjoys sitting in so I can check email. With the addition of exersaucer, now I can shower, too. Ha!)

            The shelf life on these toys is so short that shelling out top dollar seems ridiculous. And, if he hates it, I won’t feel like I was duped. I’ll just rely on good, old Craig again.

They Really Didn't Know?!

"I didn’t know I was pregnant..."

I thought it was all that fast-food I had been eating.

I blamed it on pre-wedding stress.

I figured the heartburn was because of all the ice cream I was noshing on before bed. (Bad idea.)

I didn’t have any symptoms at all!

I thought the discomfort was because of my back problem—I had surgery a few years ago.

I woke up with terrible pain and went to the bathroom and…HAD A BABY!

Seriously? (By the way, I’m not, NOT, NO WAY talking about ME here.)

            This is the TLC show, I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant, and every time I flip on the tube when Max needs a bottle, I catch 10-minute spurts of this cable drama. It’s ridiculous, unbelievable. It’s on par with the free US Weekly subscription I was getting for a while. (Oh, US, how I miss your red carpet photo spreads. I do.) I hesitated to admit in writing that I have been watching this show…but why not? The drama sucks me in every time. And while half tuning in, half babbling to Max as he gulps, I catch myself reasoning: “O.K. So, maybe this is possible…I can see that…sure, seems like that could happen.”

            But really, you had no idea you were with child?!

            Hmm. Well, I guess I’m just very tuned into my body. Heartburn isn’t normal. Stomach tightening á la Braxton Hicks is not normal. Blimp-like swelling of my appendages, not normal. Looking down at your tummy and actually seeing baby’s elbow jut out as he shifts to get more comfortable in his bed-womb…I wouldn’t exactly call that indigestion.

            The thing is, in each of these women’s very unique cases—unique except for the fact that birthing au toilette is a common theme—I sort of can see why they thought their body changes were not pregnancy. I mean, who knows? We all respond so differently to having a little one grow inside us for the better part of a year. I, for one, would catch on to that basketball shape that gradually emerged and rendered leg-shaving impossible, but packing on a few pounds in the middle isn’t that abnormal for many.

            So, who am I to judge? And believe me, as I tune in (yes, almost daily), I’m not thinking, “Girl, you’re crazy!” I’m just hoping to God the couple gets that baby out of the toilet in time.

            Curious? Just turn on TLC some time today. Chances are, you’ll catch an episode.

Trick-or-Treat!

Max got to visit his Dad's work last week -- he checked in to Fairview Hospital as a Quack! The chicken suit got lots of wear, and why not? It's warm, it's cheerful and there's no reason why Halloween is the only dress-up day. Besides, I'm not sure how many years Max will let me get away with dressing him up as farm animals. (See Exhibit A: chicken suit; and Exhibit B: Moo hat).

Exhibit A: chicken suit

Exhibit B: Moo Man