Dear. Lord.

"Dear. Lord."

That's the response I got from my gorgeous sister in law, G. We had an email exchange this morning and she told me that B had started to walk while pushing things! Just in time to turn 1.

And, while G is proud of her little girl, she's mourning the loss of her baby. Because really, once they are walking? They shed that "baby" aspect and become a toddler. Which we love! We do! But the baby? That innocent, sweet baby stage? It goes away.

I comiserated with G by telling her what hijinks Jellybean's been into lately:

Yesterday she jumped and actually got BOTH feet off the ground. Isn’t that something they’re supposed to be able to do by – oh, I don’t know – THREE?? Oy. I also found her standing on the toilet yesterday. She got up without a stepstool – not sure how she got up there, but she did. She was ransacking the shelves above the toilet…nothing is safe from her, these days! (not sure why I’d expect anything less…the kid walked at 10.5 months!)

I turned around (because I was literally right there in the (teeny) bathroom with her) and my jaw dropped. I think she climbed on the edge of the tub and then scooted onto the toilet, then stood up. Otherwise I’ve no clue how she could get up there, the toilet is almost up to the middle of her chest.


She also dragged the overturned laundry basket across the living room, so she could get on it, then get onto this rattan cube we have, so she could get on top of our media cabinet, so that she could kneel there and try to pry our TV off the wall. No joke. Thank g*d we paid some professionals to install that thing, or she’d have had 200+ pounds of TV squishing her….

If there was ever a kid that prompted the invention of a baby jail? She’s that kid - reincarnated.

Yup. I think G's response just 'bout sums it up: Dear. Lord.

What's mine is yours?

Jellybean is a trip. At 13.5 months I think she weighs 18, maybe 18.5 pounds. But she doesn't know she's small. She thinks she's MIGHTY.

And, recently, she got her very first time- out. Yup, she got in trouble, BIG trouble.

Because she smacked her big sister in the face...on purpose.

Jellybean's pretty mellow about sharing. Monkey takes her books, her toys, even her food...and she's pretty OK with that.

But the other morning, Monkey tried to get on daddy's lap at the same time (M was reading to Jellybean). And that, that? That was NOT OK with Jellybean.

So, being a pre-verbal, 13 month old, she did what she could to demonstrate her displeasure with sharing her daddy: she smacked her sister in the face.

For a long time, I've thought that I would need to protect Jellybean from Monkey, especially with Monkey's liberal interpretation of "sharing" (which is to mean that everything that's Monkey's is Monkey's....and everything that's Jellybeans is ALSO Monkey's....).

Maybe it's the other way around.

Talent, redux

Each child is as different as a snowflake.

The second time around it is different.

Everything old is new again.

Dear g*d, this again? Seriously?

So, when Jellybean arrived, everyone told me it would be different. That I would be able to rely upon the things I had learned, so yes, it would be easier, but that I shouldn't expect #2 to be the same as #1. That I would need to be patient, and see where Jellybean's talents lie....to not expect her to take after her sister.

Which is why I really had to laugh when, at the library this morning, my friend T watched Jellybean move around and try to climb EVERYTHING in sight and blurted out "oh dear g*d, you got another one?"

Yes, dear reader - I do. I have another monkey.

Jellybean learned how to crawl a mere 6 weeks ago. Three days ago she dragged a chair across the floor at school, stood up on the chair, and then tried to hoist herself into the sink. That same day, she climbed up on top of a table at school, and then - sans support - stood up. (Needless to say she's freaking her teachers out and they are watching her like a hawk)

Yesterday, she was balancing on the stablization bar underneath her highchair. And today? Today she screamed like a banshee (rage and disbelief) when I wouldn't let her balance on her toes on top of a Radio Flyer "bike."

I have packed bandaids and Neosporin in my purse. Again.

Playing Favorites

So I have a confession to make. I suspect that Jellybean is one of her teacher's favorites. And I can't help but think - OF COURSE she is!

When I dropped her off at school yesterday morning (yes, the day I had POOP on me), she had fallen asleep in the Ergo baby carrier. She was snuggled in and snoring gently. Ah, so cute.

But everyone knows how cranky a baby can be if you wake them up. So, I slipped my shoes off, walked quietly into her room, and attempted to extricate Jellybean from the Ergo in order to gently place her on her napping spot. And....she woke up.

In a great mood! She rubbbed her eyes, looked around the room, and smiled her toothy little grin. And then waved! Like - hi teachers! Howdy!

Now, mind you, at that moment in time every other baby in the room was crying. Or screaming. Take your pick.

One of the teachers looked at Jellybean, looked at the other little ones (the bright red in the face SCREAMING little ones), and said - "oh, she's so easy." With more than a little bit of relief in her voice.

Mind you, they are too kind (and professional) to ever say anything that would indicate they have a favorite.

But in my mind, I think they do. Just a little bit. Because she's just so damn happy, my 'lil bean.

A few firsts to list!

1) Monkey got her face painted at a picnic. It was her first time. Perhaps that is why, when the artist asked what she wanted painted on her face, she said "a pigeon."



2) Jellybean crawled forward. Only one little bit, but we all cheered! She has also developed this perplexingly adorable habit of trying to crawl on her hands and toes...not her knees. It is quite silly, and she flops onto the carpet 99% of the time.

3) First Yankee's game for Jellybean! That is, if she ever wakes up from her nap.

Phew.

Her inner Tarzan

A few weekends ago, back when we were still familiar with that giant yellow ball of gas in the sky known as the sun (it's been raining here a lot. A LOT), we spent some quality family time in Riverside Park.

We had wandered over to dinner at the Hudson Beach Cafe, which overlooks/is adjacent to a manmade beach wtih a volleyball court and gymnast rings.

Kids were swinging back and forth, back and forth, moving from one ring to the next with the casual confidence of olympic gymnasts. They made it look easy.

Monkey was enthralled. So, without thinking about it too hard, M brought Monkey over and stood in line with her. When it was her turn, he lifted her up to hold a ring, and swung her back and forth. My only objection was that she was swinging over the upturned garbage can used as a launching point. (you know, if she dropped on it that would hurt more than the sand)

So when it was her turn again, M brought her out to the second ring, and she swung back and forth there. And I do mean swing. She was making it look easy.

Until she let go. And dropped 5 feet down, onto the hard packed sand. Ow. She cried, we comforted her, and she got over it. Home we went for a good bath before bedtime.

Only then, during the bath, did I realize just how hard she had hit the sand. She still had sand shoved up into her nose.

She is one tough toddler.

Hmm, where to start

Dear reader, it's been a week since I've posted. Forgive me....it's been a tad bit busy at the Insane household.

So, where to start.

Thanksgiving came and went. Still eating leftovers. Still thinking they are yummy!

My sinus infection came and went. After three hours at the doctor's office (and no, I am NOT kidding about this one. I was there so long I fell freakin' asleep on the examination table. Boo - long wait. Wahoo - nap!) and after much dithering about whether or not to give me antibiotics, I blew my nose and showed off the spectacular color of the contents of my kleenex. Antibiotics were prescribed immediately. Next time I'm blowin' and showin' faster.

I think M has been to Target every other day, stocking up on 'stuff' we need for Jellybean. Diapers and wipes and pacifier clips and lions and tigers and bears oh my. He keeps muttering how a shower woulda' been nice. You know, so he wouldn't have to schlep every single baby item on earth home after work each night and could start his dinner before 8:30pm....but don't mind him. He is nesting as much as I am, and can't wait to meet his daughter!

And, well, thank g*d for this one - our beloved cat Ollie has started to eat again. I know that sounds as boring as can be. But when your beloved cat (FIRST BORN! HRM!!!) stops eating and starts to waste away for no good reason, your heart breaks. And breaks. And breaks. I am profoundly grateful that she is getting better. I want her to be around long enough for Jellybean to get to know her, and claim her as "her Ollie cat" the same way Monkey does.

I am also profoundly grateful that A) Monkey did break her neck when she fell off of the swing onto her face and then rolled over, the hard way, onto her back and B) I did not lose her (literally, not figuratively) when she got onto the elevator by herself at school and went on up to the 8th floor without me. Yes, while she was under my supervision. I SO am qualified to raise two kids, considering how well I'm minding one. I'd post more about losing Monkey at school but it still makes me sick to my stomach. Let's just say that those were worst 3 minutes of my life, ever. And be done with it.

I feel the need, the need for speed....

Monkey wipes out a fair amount on the playground. Not because she is a klutz, but because she is a daredevil. She outruns kids twice her age....and has a seemingly endless reservoir of energy to hurtle from one side of the playground to the other. Even after a full day of school! (and did you know that it is virtually impossible to catch a screaming, energetic, running toddler while in heels or any shoe other than sneakers? all my "pretty" shoes are lonely....)

When she is on a set of steps, she'll yell "jump" and fling herself off into space. When you push her on the swing she alternates between "faster!" and "higher!" When we run on the sidewalk (as she holds my hand, under the new regime) she exhorts you to go "faster faster higher" as if the two words are interchangeable. She feels the need, the need for speed.

And, under the law of averages, she wipes out a lot. Again, not because she is a klutz, but because she runs and jumps and kamikazes so many times that eventually, one of her efforts to land that dismount is going to go astray.

Last night was one such night. She clambered on top of a cement toad with a sprinkler on its back....and rolled off. Hitting all the cement bumps of the toad's back, sides, and legs before hitting the ground and rolling into a puddle of standing water and sand.

I ran to get her, to comfort her and assess the damage. And, while she was littered with small cuts, scrapes, and swollen bruises (those nice little white welts you get on your skin before the real purple bruise shows...), with blood dribbling down her neck from a cut on her chin, and liberally covered in wet, filthy sand, she was OK! One minute later she was laughing again, running across the playground and having a grand old time.

Four hours later I was in the bathtub, cleaning off the grime from the day, including a layer of sand that had gotten inside my dress and my bra (shudder) and clung to my skin all night long. Ew.

It's not just me

This thing with my absolutely fearless child running away from me on the sidewalks of New York really worries me.

On top of the normal "I don't want her to die" fears and anxieties, there was this small, niggling little fear that maybe it was just me.

That maybe she was acting out against me because I'm pregnant, or because I'm not doing an effective job of monitoring her, or you know, that I was just failing as a mom.

And yes, these are the worries that creep into my brain and keep it busy at night when I can't sleep because: A) it is too freakin' hot out; 2) my geriatric cat likes to paw my face and nuzzle my eyes for attention at 1,2,3,4 and 5am; and finally)because at 19 weeks pregnant my bump has started to interfere with my sleep. And yes, I realize that my 3am fears tend to be a (ahem) wee bit melodramatic. Give me a break, it's 3am! (btw I can see your eyelids twitching, dear readers who notice lapses in grammer and punctuation. I did that A 1 finally thing just for you. You're welcome)

Therefore, I confess that I felt a little bit better last night when I picked my insane toddler up from her Montessori school and they told me that Monkey was running away from them, too! And had received a stern lecture about not running away! They even let the entire class walk into the park without her, to emphasize the point that if she didn't hold either the rope or a teacher's hand, she could not go to the park. For an almost-two year old, that's hardcore.

Monkey's sidewalk privileges have been revoked until further notice. And it's going down on her permanent record.

Thud (that's the sound of me, the scornful mighty, hitting the earth)

Years ago I saw a frazzled parent following their child through a crowded amusement park, holding onto that child's leash. You know, the kind attached to a harness that wraps around the little one's torso and makes it look like you've highjacked a terrier's doggie leash for the day.

I thought that putting your child on a leash was at best, hilarious, and at worst, abusive.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

Last night, I took Monkey outside our apartment building for one last gasp of fun - drawing on the sidewalk with chalk. It was hot outside, but hotter in the apartment, so out we went to get chalky and dusty and giggle a bit before bathtime and bed.

And, becase I'm now at 19 weeks, I'm a little thick (ahem! ok, friggin' big already) and therefore slow to get off the ground.

Monkey was standing next to me as I drew on the ground. And as a family walked past, she decided it would be a fine time to take off running. While laughing. As I struggled to catch up (she's FAST) and hollered STOP at the top of my lungs.

See, she was running towards a street that should be quiet - but cars whiz down it, and they are coming around a curve and likely wouldn't see a small toddler darting out in the twilight.

I thought I was going to watch my daughter get hit by a car, that she could die in front of me, if I didn't catch her in time.

My heart was pounding from the anxiety when I caught up with her, and let me tell you, we went straight upstairs for a 5 minute timeout. Longest one she's had in her life.

She's fearless and testing her boundaries. I'm fearful and thinking about making her wear a wrist tether when we're walking outside.

Seems I just got a refresher course on judging others.

Fearless

So for everyone that wonders why I call Monkey's daycare "school"? Well, for one, since they held "parent teacher conferences" recently.

We showed up, not sure what to expect, and both inwardly groaned when the "teacher" opened up the conversation with "How can we describe our Monkey"....pause, smile, laugh....."she's fearless." Um, yeah. We noticed.

The teacher (whom we adore) used that word over and over again, describing how Monkey will leap or engage in some other acrobatic behavior, narrowly make her landing, then turn and smile at her teachers....who are hurtling across the room attempting to prevent this lapse in decorum. Um, yeah, welcome to our world.

We learned several other things. Monkey is the "queen bee" and likes to sit on the rocker and just admire her subjects (I mean classmates). She is fearless. She loves to read books. And she's fearless. Oh, and she speaks Spanish - knows that agua means water. I doubted this until yesterday, when both Dad and I heard Monkey say agua - clear as a bell!

So she's a bilingual EvilKenival. Woot!

Monkey see, monkey do

A new friend of mine has a child that is one month younger than Monkey. We have made plans to go hang out at AMNH in about a month...and got to talking (ok, "typing") about whether or not her son would be walking solo by then. He's about 14 months old, and content to walk with a helping hand from mom and dad. My friend commented that she loves getting together with us, and seeing what the older and "wiser" child is doing...a preview, if you will, of what her son will do soon.

Somehow I doubt the term "wiser" applies to Monkey. I'm thinking "dare-devil" is more like it.

To wit: last night I found her hanging almost upside down off of her pack n play! She gripped the top like she was on a monkey bar, and then somehow she worked her feet up to well past her waist...and was happy as a clam! Literally hanging off of the bar, dangling in the breeze.

Did I grab her and protext her from harm, prevent gravity from having its way with her noggin? Nope, I was busy trying to dislodge my heart from my throat.

And, before I could even flinch, she nonchalantly dropped her feet down and went on her merry way.

Her nickname IS Monkey for a reason. Somehow I don't think this is what my friend wants her kid to do.

I am SO not sending her the link to my blog. Nope, no can do. Monkey needs her playdates, and I'll drive away enough of her friends later on in life....sooo, I'll just let my friend (and her son) learn the hard way, when he starts keeping up with Monkey and does a triple lindy into my friend's startled arms. Heh.