The littlest man around here is almost 14 months old. I swear he grows and changes everytime I look away from him and look back. One thing that hasn't changed -- that saccharin-sweet spirit.
So, why the title of this post, then?
Turns out, Mr. Wonderful has a chink in his ooey-gooey, perfectly delightful, anti-baby armor.
He can't talk.
And he knows it.
And he's pissed.
Of late, he has become a blossoming little extrovert. He makes friends with everyone. He reaches up for strangers to hold him at the park, the petting zoo, and the San Antonio Riverwalk. He shows off for anybody that will watch him. He falls down laughing from shaking his booty too hard in the living room. He bravely initiates sneak-up dog-pile attacks upon his big brother...and giggles when he gets thrown off and rolled upon by same. He loves all of us in the family in a cuddly, head-burying, must-not-break-the-physical-contact sort of way. He taught himself how to blow bubbles in the bathtub...looking up each time he tried it out to ensure his audience was as delighted as he was with the new trick.
But no words.
The audio accompaniment to his every move is always some variation of 'the most annoying sound in the whole world' from Dumb and Dumber. Who remembers that scene? Sometimes, the sound is short and repeating and sounds like squawking...that's the 'urgent, watch-me' call. Other times, it's long and drawn out...that's the 'whiny, brother is taking my toys' call. There's an entire spectrum of pitch and repetition of the exact same sound. It's remarkable...and surprisingly easy to understand.
But it's not talking. It requires much trial and error. It brings about great frustration for our littlest. As the attempts to squawk out his heart's desire fall on daft parents who didn't seem to hear him the first time, the squawks get more forceful and irritated. I think it's reminiscent of being in a foreign country and subconciously believing that if you only talk LOUDER and more enunciated that the hearer will know what you're saying.
And so it goes with our little angry bird...who I think I hear calling to me from his bed...SQUAWWWWWWKKKK!!!
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I just wanna dance.
I am not a dancer. Gracefulness is not my forte. But, I confess, I'll make a fool of myself six ways to Sunday if it means my hiney will look better in my blue jeans.
This is the blog post where I finally tell you about my love affair with my exercise class.
The first time I ever heard of Zumba was when my friend, J, invited me to try it with her at the club sometime. Henry was 9 months old, I was feeling pretty good about myself, and I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud and politely declined the invitation.
Fast-forward one year.
I'm sitting in my living room with a 1- and 21-month old, I'm getting approximately 1 hour of sleep per day (no, that is not an exaggeration), a perpetual state of overwhelmed has settled in, and my hiney may or may not be looking pretty out-of-control in my blue jeans. Everybody's hiney looks this way 1-month pp, I realize.
The idea of a group fitness class seemed like a good one to me at this point. On every level, I thought I could benefit from that type of set-up. So, I set my mind to finding a group fitness sort of thing as soon as I got the 'clear' from my doc. At six weeks, I got my go-ahead, but truthfully, I didn't feel like my body was ready. Specifically, my c-sec left me feeling pretty fragile, so I decided to start looking into it as soon as I could do a crunch without feeling like I was going to pull something. It took about 3 more weeks.
My mom and I signed up for the gym together. We decided to do the Zumba class together. We looked like idiots for the better part of three weeks together. I almost fell down trying to shimmy my shoulders one time. Not from laughing, people...from lack of coordination. It was seriously the most ridiculously awkward fun I've ever had, and like many things in my life, I can honestly say that having my mom there is what got me through. After those agonizing three weeks, we stopped tripping over our feet and started getting the hang of some of the routines.
At this point, I've been going to Zumba for about 11 months, and I am proud to say that's the longest I've ever stuck with any voluntary exercise program. I go for the fun of being there. I go for the friendships I've made with the women in my class. These ladies are wonderful and downright inspiring! I go because my instructor may be the most uplifting person I've ever met. I go for the sanity break from my long days in Toddlerville. I go because I love the little belly-dancer skirt you get to wear over your boring workout clothes. And, you know what, I'm not gonna lie, I go because the hiney isn't lookin' too bad in blue jeans these days at all...if I do say so myself.
So, ladies (and gents, if there are any reading), if you're looking for a totally do-able exercise program...if you are needing to 'get out' for a little time for yourself a few hours a week...if you like to shake what your mama gave ya (come on...you remember college, don't you?!)...if you need a little setsy in your world of stinky (diapers, that is), go find a Zumba class. If you live by me, come with me to mine. Skirts are provided at the door. Trust me...you want to ditch the workout and join this party.
Note to preggy friend who is not public yet: I'm so sorry my first blog post after you reminded me to update my blog is about fitness!! I've just been meaning to hit publish for awhile. You, dear, should not worry your pretty little head with any of this. No, you should only eat whatever makes you feel good, exercise whenever you feel like it (or never if you don't), and proudly flip off anyone rockin' a hot body for the next 9 months (give or take 6-12). Love you and congratulations, again!!
This is the blog post where I finally tell you about my love affair with my exercise class.
The first time I ever heard of Zumba was when my friend, J, invited me to try it with her at the club sometime. Henry was 9 months old, I was feeling pretty good about myself, and I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud and politely declined the invitation.
Fast-forward one year.
I'm sitting in my living room with a 1- and 21-month old, I'm getting approximately 1 hour of sleep per day (no, that is not an exaggeration), a perpetual state of overwhelmed has settled in, and my hiney may or may not be looking pretty out-of-control in my blue jeans. Everybody's hiney looks this way 1-month pp, I realize.
The idea of a group fitness class seemed like a good one to me at this point. On every level, I thought I could benefit from that type of set-up. So, I set my mind to finding a group fitness sort of thing as soon as I got the 'clear' from my doc. At six weeks, I got my go-ahead, but truthfully, I didn't feel like my body was ready. Specifically, my c-sec left me feeling pretty fragile, so I decided to start looking into it as soon as I could do a crunch without feeling like I was going to pull something. It took about 3 more weeks.
My mom and I signed up for the gym together. We decided to do the Zumba class together. We looked like idiots for the better part of three weeks together. I almost fell down trying to shimmy my shoulders one time. Not from laughing, people...from lack of coordination. It was seriously the most ridiculously awkward fun I've ever had, and like many things in my life, I can honestly say that having my mom there is what got me through. After those agonizing three weeks, we stopped tripping over our feet and started getting the hang of some of the routines.
At this point, I've been going to Zumba for about 11 months, and I am proud to say that's the longest I've ever stuck with any voluntary exercise program. I go for the fun of being there. I go for the friendships I've made with the women in my class. These ladies are wonderful and downright inspiring! I go because my instructor may be the most uplifting person I've ever met. I go for the sanity break from my long days in Toddlerville. I go because I love the little belly-dancer skirt you get to wear over your boring workout clothes. And, you know what, I'm not gonna lie, I go because the hiney isn't lookin' too bad in blue jeans these days at all...if I do say so myself.
So, ladies (and gents, if there are any reading), if you're looking for a totally do-able exercise program...if you are needing to 'get out' for a little time for yourself a few hours a week...if you like to shake what your mama gave ya (come on...you remember college, don't you?!)...if you need a little setsy in your world of stinky (diapers, that is), go find a Zumba class. If you live by me, come with me to mine. Skirts are provided at the door. Trust me...you want to ditch the workout and join this party.
Note to preggy friend who is not public yet: I'm so sorry my first blog post after you reminded me to update my blog is about fitness!! I've just been meaning to hit publish for awhile. You, dear, should not worry your pretty little head with any of this. No, you should only eat whatever makes you feel good, exercise whenever you feel like it (or never if you don't), and proudly flip off anyone rockin' a hot body for the next 9 months (give or take 6-12). Love you and congratulations, again!!
Monday, April 11, 2011
stats
We finally made it to the pediatrician for James' well-child, 1-year old check up. I just love the boys' doctor. She is so thorough and explains things to me just the way I need her to. She's also an excellent encourager of moms of toddlers...yes, please.
This visit, we discussed James' eczema a lot. Now that he's a year old, we have a few more options for the drug artillery that we launch at him everyday. After weighing out pros and cons and considering the severity of his case, we opted to add Singulair granules and replace our current steroid regime with steroids-on-steroids a.k.a. Locoid cream. He will remain on daily Allegra and nightly Benadryl (not for sleeping......for itching, bad mom police), and in another year or so, we can have him tested for specific allergies. We could test him now, but at a year, the testing isn't very accurate. So, we'd rather wait a year before we give him the delightful experience of being pricked into oblivion. :)
His stats were as follows: weight: 23.5 pounds (that's down a 1/2 pound since last month...sigh), height: 31 1/2 inches, head: 19 1/2 inches. This puts him in the 25-50th percentile for weight, 75th percentile for height, and once again, off the charts for head hugeness.
This visit, we discussed James' eczema a lot. Now that he's a year old, we have a few more options for the drug artillery that we launch at him everyday. After weighing out pros and cons and considering the severity of his case, we opted to add Singulair granules and replace our current steroid regime with steroids-on-steroids a.k.a. Locoid cream. He will remain on daily Allegra and nightly Benadryl (not for sleeping......for itching, bad mom police), and in another year or so, we can have him tested for specific allergies. We could test him now, but at a year, the testing isn't very accurate. So, we'd rather wait a year before we give him the delightful experience of being pricked into oblivion. :)
His stats were as follows: weight: 23.5 pounds (that's down a 1/2 pound since last month...sigh), height: 31 1/2 inches, head: 19 1/2 inches. This puts him in the 25-50th percentile for weight, 75th percentile for height, and once again, off the charts for head hugeness.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Boys in the Bluebonnets
Remember how last year I tried to do this with a friend, her two kiddos, and my own 3-week old and 18-month old?? Yeah, it's amazing the difference one year AND hiring a professional photographer will make.
Note: this was supposed to be a photo shoot for just James...his 1-year old pictures. However, Henry quickly fell in love with our friend/photographer and wanted to show off for her camera too. As a result, she caught a few shots of H actually smiling...and being nice to his brother...at the same time. That's what we here in the Chess-house call a miracle.
Please disregard big brother's scratched up face....boys will be boys, you know? I left it in to maintain the integrity of the shot...it can be edited out for printing.
Photo Credit: Amanda Adams of Day-Z Photography
Please disregard big brother's scratched up face....boys will be boys, you know? I left it in to maintain the integrity of the shot...it can be edited out for printing.
Photo Credit: Amanda Adams of Day-Z Photography