She Likes Purple

Would like you to know

Kyle would like you to know his hand is the most delicious thing he's ever tasted. Or he's teething. Or he's just a regular baby. Basically, Kyle wants to confuse the hell out of you until you throw your hands up in despair. Then he'd like you to know you can't possibly stay frustrated with him. BECAUSE HE'S TOO MUNCHABLE FOR GRUDGES!

I would like my husband to know I need an iPhone. This BlackBerry crap ain't cutting it anymore. I may look better fuzzy and in poor lighting, but my boy doesn't.

And Molly would like you to know she was sitting just across the room when this photo was taken and no one even bothered to ask her if she'd like to be in the frame. No one even bothered to look in her direction. Not even the one who screams a lot. (Not sure who she's referring to. We all scream a lot in this family.)

I would like you to know we're about to head out to Wal-Mart, which would kill my soul if the Wal-Mart in our new town wasn't pretty OK. I KNOW. THAT'S CRAZY TALK. But, the lighting doesn't make me want to hurt myself and everyone seems to keep their shirt and shoes on.

Finally, we'd all like you to have a really great weekend, soaked in wine and sleep and reality television. We would like our weekend to be soaked in the same things.

See you Monday! Or on Twitter! Or at Wal-Mart!

Perfect post

For those of you who know nothing about the blogging community, this may sound like jibberish, but sometimes it surprises me who is considered a "bigger" or "more popular" blogger. (Of course sometimes it just plain doesn't.) Sure, It's a matter of taste -- when it comes to writing, tastes vary wildly; you still can't convince me Dickens isn't anything but boring garbage, but my eighth grade English teacher disagreed with me pretty strongly -- but, still, there are times when I see someone's Twitter followers number or the amount of regular comments they get, and I think, Huh, I must be missing something. And, sometimes I stumble upon someone who is so ridiculously talented and inspiring and honest, I simply can't believe they're not being offered a respectable salary by anyone with a brain to continue putting their thoughts on the Internet day in and day out.

Elizabeth is in the latter group.

From her post today:

"This was the week you gave your first spanking – quick as lightning, without thought, as glass shattered everywhere and your son headed for the thick of it, and then the instant afterwards, his face crumpled and you saw his dream of you change, right there, right before your eyes, and it made you hate yourself so very much. . . . and that night you sleep curled into a C, wrapped around your son, and you listen for his breathing, and you think as hard as you can that you want so much to take it all back, all the yelling and complaining and declaring 'I have had enough from you!' and it’s all you can feel, all you can think, that you take it all back, as hard as you can."

Confession: When I first had Kyle, I had to stop reading a few blogs. I was having a hard go of it, and I would get even sadder when I'd read about other people's perfect, shiny lives with children who never screamed, who slept all the time, who never forced their moms into the closet to cry. Thankfully, life is pretty sweet again, and I see the shine on a daily basis, but I'm still not inspired much by perfection. 

I not only kept reading Elizabeth during those early weeks, I inhaled her archives and read certain posts over and over. Not because her life isn't bright -- it's blinding, I'd say -- but because she's brave and fearless and real.

Sometimes I don't get a blogger's appeal. Other times, I want everyone I've ever known to click on a certain link, so they too can be changed by a few simple words.

(And her boy really is that adorable; I've met him myself.)

Adorable regression

He was sleeping solidly for a week and then the last two nights he's been up screaming at various points. (1 a.m., 3 a.m., 5 a.m.) Not just regular, don't-want-to-sleep screams, but painful, awful screams. I think maybe he's had a bad dream (is this even possible?), but, regardless, he's pretty damn inconsolable for an hour or so. Then, out of nowhere, he's asleep again, almost immediately back in that heavy breathing, deep baby sleep. Don't know what's going on. (Thoughts?) I hope it's just a bump in the road. That it's just one of those normal, expected one-step-back phases of parenthood/babyhood that reminds me how futile the goal of progress is in this new life of ours. We take things as they come. Regression is almost a definite guarantee.

Another guarantee? That I'll do my best to keep him well-documented. I can't remember every moment, so, thank god, I'll have all these pictures to jog my foggy, mom memory.

 

 

He's starting to reach for everything and anything. It makes meals especially interesting. "No, no, love, you can't have daddy's beer until you're 16 and are sneaking them in the backyard with your girlfriend." He's also started grabbing faces and pulling them towards his open mouth. It's adorable, really, although Molly would whole-heartedly disagree.

Here's Ky and his girlfriend, Payton (my friend Crystal's 10-month old baby girl who is, my god, the same size as Kyle; thankfully she likes her boyfriends strapping and beefcakey). As Crystal captioned this photo, "She can't keep her hands off him!" He's irresistible, I can't disagree.

At the July Fourth BBQ we went to this past Saturday. Kyle took another dip in the pool and was caught grabbing hands with Payton. Who says arranged marriages are a thing of the past!

For those not following the rocking chair series on flickr, here's week twenty-one.

85 toys to choose from, and he'd prefer munching on his hands.

Just try not to love a sleeping baby. It's impossible. For many, many reasons.

Happy Wednesday to you. Wish for us a scream-free night tonight!