Here and Everything In It

20 Months

Yesterday, Innis hit another month milestone but I was too busy sending death threats to put together a proper post.

Today, however, is a new day.

To begin: Innis is getting SO SMART. I know every mother probably says this about her kid(s), and it's partly due to the fact that I have no experience with humans this small, but I am blown away every single day by the sheer magnitude of stuff this little guy is absorbing and learning. Just amazing.

Recently, he's started to sing. And speak in little sentences (for example "Innie hit knee!" and "doggy bark!" and "Innie outside?").

He's also learning about choices. Yesterday I was trying (trying being the operative word here) to vacuum, and being the little (un)helper he is, Innis was trying to help me do it. Now usually I do the floors first and then break off the long hose, pass it to Innis, and vacuum the furniture with the hand thingy while he toodles around with the extension rod, hose, and floor cleaning part. He's generally pretty happy with this because the vacuum's running and he hasn't yet figured out that the hose has to be connected to the machine to actually be effective.

But this time, he didn't want to wait for me to finish the floors, and was whiny and cry-y and grabby -- so I offered him a choice. He could go sit in his highchair, or play with his toys. He looked at me, and then spun around to his toy box.  The next time he started complaining that I wouldn't just LET HIM CLEAN, I gave him the same choice, and he said "toy ... chair" and then grabbed his bulldozer. Ah, the onset of understanding ultimatums ...

The not so great thing to come along with his heightened ability to verbally communicate is being on the listening end of it ALL THE TIME. Don't get me wrong. I love having conversations with Innis while I'm peeing or trying to assemble living room furniture or attempting to talk on the phone. That goes with the territory. This is what tests my motherly calm:

Innis (from right behind me in the kitchen): MUM!

Me: Yes, Innis?

(Silence)

Me: Did you call me?

Innis: MUM! MUM! MUM! MUM!

Me: Yeee-eeessss?

Innis: MUM MUM MUM MUM MUMMMMMEEEEEEE!!!

Me: Yes, honey. I hear you. What would you like?

Innis: INNIE OUTSIDE? OUTSIDE? INNIE? OUTSIDE? OUUUUTSIIIIIIDE?

Me: Not right now, sweetheart. In a sec, when Mummy's finished doing the dishes.

Innis: MUM? OOOUUUTTSIIIIIDE??????? INNIE?? OUTSIDE? OUTSIDE? OUTSIDE?

Me: Yup, I hear you. Soon. Just be patient.

(Silence)

Innis: INNNNNNNIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE ... OUTSIDE?

And so on and so forth. This is often accompanied by crocodile tears and much throwing of himself dramatically against my legs. Patience is a skill we're both still working on in month 20.

And I quote, "POOL? POOL? INNIE? POOOOOL? INNNNNIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE?"

But oh my god, this kid makes me laugh.

And melt:

And write all those gushy things mums-with-blogs tend to gush about because they like to take advantage of their interwebs readership.

But to end off, here's some toddler speak, in live action. I had a second part where Innis continued to recite the names of everyone he knows, but Brad did something inappropriate during the recording, so I can't publish it. He is such a video bomber.

(Excuse the mouthful of food. What can I say? The boy likes to eat.)

Alright You Slimy, Hundred Legged Mothertruckers. It's ON.

Centipede #2:

This one apparently didn't make it up the stairs before succumbing to the killer instincts of Rex (I presume). It was already in its death throes by the time we came downstairs this morning. Pretty much near the end of its miserable, crunchy little life, rueing the moment it decided to squirm its way through whatever crevice allowed it access to the Inside World.

But this one, I killed. Cold heartedly. With very little remorse, and with only one relatively minor heebie jeebie seizure.

So bring it, bugs -- oh wait. NO. Please don't bring it, I don't want you in my house.

But be warned: if you ever DO happen to show your grody little selves within the boundaries of our rented property, KNOW THAT I WILL KILL YOU.

Ooooh, It Burns

I pretty much convince myself I'm going to die several times every week. Mostly from various types of obscure cell mutations, with some blood poisoning or toxic chemical exposure thrown in for good measure, and this is because I am unbalanced, with (sometimes often) unrestrained anxiety issues.

This is basically my experience on the internet, most days. If anything, it makes for an interesting existence -- and for Brad, too, since he has SO much fun living with me and all my ... quirks. I'm sure if I wasn't who I am, his life would be so BORING.

So I had this mole. This mole on my leg that to anyone else would just appear to be what it was. Nothing serious. Get it checked out, whatever. Don't stay up all night obsessing over it, losing sleep over this tiny little thing.

But I did, and I was tired. So Friday I went to a dermatologist. And people ... it was a WART.

A WART. ON MY SHIN.

I have suddenly become a scary, scary witch of unnattractiveness ...

(can people die from that?)

... but disregarding my hideousness, the dermatologist checked me all over with a magnifying glass to make sure none of my other freckles and skin flaws were causes for concern (I recommend this!) (and also, do you think she had a manic radar? I didn't even have to ask for the all-over exam, she just did it. I thanked her profusely for such consideration -- even if it was just protocol -- for the peace of mind and for not being made to feel like a crazy person ... even though I didn't really say that last part out loud, for fear that she would think that I was, in fact, a crazy person).

And then she burned a part of my leg off.

Ok, it was a just a little bit, and I didn't really want it anyway since it was all warty and whatnot, but still. IT HURT.

And now I have a black hole of charred nothingness demarking one of my lower extremities. It looks like this: ok no forget it, it's too gross.

But now I do not have a wart. Which is the upside of this searing of my flesh, and which is nice. Another upside is that I now know what I would smell like if someone decided to barbeque me. You know, because I wouldn't actually be around to smell it myself. It's like one of life's great questions, answered.

ANYWAY, thanks to modern medicine, when the ash clears and the charred skin sheds, there will be no obvious evidence remaining of my former toady self.

And Innis will never have to know about my sordid, warty past, which I'm sure will do wonders for our relationship down the road when he suddenly realizes I'm not the coolest person in the world after all and begins to look for any reason to justify why I'm just so embarrassing. I figure if I can keep the most detrimentally awkward stuff hidden -- like a certain person's wart history, for example -- we can make it through his teenage years relatively unscathed.

75% Confirmed: The Impending Spawn Is A ...

 

G I R L !!!!

Which is hilarious, because I'd already convinced myself this baby was a boy. And at exactly this time during my pregnancy with Innis, I had to get my head around the opposite, because I was convinced he was a girl.

Oh, maternal hormones, you liars!

It's not conclusive because the umbilical cord was in the way most of the time, although the doctor said the parts he saw looked like girl parts, and when I asked if little boys have anything that could look similar to what he was seeing, he said no. SO. I think he's just being safe with the 75%, and I'm at this point willing to bump that number up by at least 7 more percent to mitigate any caution on his part.

I guess we'll find out for sure at next month's scan. I don't mind, though. The more I bounce back and forth on this, the happier I am to realize that girl or boy, I'm equally over the moon.

The Cosmos, Like, KNOWS STUFF, You Know?

My friend Kathleen and her daughter Leona did some pendant magic on mah belly yesterday morning. It was the second attempt, but this time I brought my camera.

Let's see what the universe is saying:

Art In The Afternoon

Evangelical Cereal

It's biblically delicious!!

Battle Cat Saves Lives

Late last night, one of the worst things I can possibly imagine, one of my worst nightmares, played out in our upstairs hallway.

I was making some crafts and watching TV in bed and decided I'd go downstairs for a snack. Rex was outside in the hallway, hanging out by Innis's bedroom door, making those weird anxious meows cats sometimes make when they're on the hunt. Two things should have made me investigate further at this point, and in retrospect I think I'm possibly the dumbest person alive for having disregarded them so COMPLETELY. One, that Rex was upstairs, which he rarely is considering it's usually about 2-3 degrees hotter up here at night, and two, whatever he was hunting, he wasn't touching. His ears were up, his meow alert turned to full power, but he was keeping a respectiful distance from the thing he'd cornered behind our file box.

And me? I was all "HHIiiiii Rex! Whadderyou doing up here? Silly kitty! Are you chasing a mosquito? A little mosquito for Rexy? Good boy!!!! Anyway ... Cereal! Cereal! Yummy delicious cereal!" and skipped past him, down the stairs, like a complete and utter idiot.

AND LUCKILY, when I got to the bottom of the stairs, I realized that Brad had just mopped the floors, and desirous of not having chemical water adhere to the undersides of my bare feet, I turned around to go back upstairs to get some socks.

And when I got to the upper hallway, there was Rex, and there was the tail end of this HORRIBLE HORRIBLE HORRIBLE insect scrabbling around the side of the aforementioned file box --- the horrible horrible insect that I had previously and erroneously dismissed as something far more benign.

THIS:

This, says the internet, is a poisonous centipede. These centipedes, says the internet, pack enough venom and infection power to kill small children.

THIS CENTIPEDE WAS MERE INCHES FROM SLITHERING UNDERNEATH THE BEDROOM DOOR OF MY SLEEPING CHILD, AND MY CAT, MY AWESOME AWESOME AMAZING SWEET GRANDFATHERLY BATTLE STAR KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR CAT PREVENTED IT FROM DOING SO.

Oh. My. God.

As you can imagine, extreme panic ensued, and I grabbed Rex and ran back downstairs to get something to scoop the evil creature up with, but also to get Brad to come up come up oh my GOD there's a f*cking CENTIPEDE outside Innis's ROOM, a GODDAMN POISONOUS CENTIPEDE, a centipede that's bent on murdering our CHILD and he ran to the kitchen, got a tupperware, and we raced upstairs to entrap the nasty belegged monster.

Augh. AUGH. AAAuuuuuuugggghhhghghghghgghhgh.

And then I cried, and cried, and cried. From relief that the nasty thing didn't go into the baby's room, from the fact that I have NO control over these types of scenarios, considering I don't know how the centipede got into the house or up three flights of stairs in the first place (like seriously, WHAT THE HELL?), from the fact that we NEVER would have noticed it was inside the house if it wasn't for our ultra observant kitty, from the relief that Rex wasn't hurt in his staunch defense of his human ward, and because I love that damn cat so very very much for being such a hero.

So, shhhhhhh, the hero's sleeping (he had a hard day).

I Like This

 

Batabano, Innis's Face

We went to a street parade this weekend that seemed to us a cross between Mardi Gras, New Year's Eve, and a Disney musical, provided the Disney musical was very colourful and viewed while high on some kind of hallucinogen.

At the beginning, when we could hear the drums in the distance, Innis was rather interested:

But then we could see something coming around the corner ...

We could only just make it out ...

But soon enough, it became very clear what was headed our way:

Very, very, very clear:

AND THEN THEY DARED TO PUT BEADS ON HIM.

BEADS.

And then I noticed something interesting about the demographics of this particular gathering ...

Lotsa ladies in the parade, not so many following it.

But it was fun in the sun, nevertheless. And I'm 98% sure Innis's eyes and ears will eventually recover.

Baby Belly, Second Edition: Week 14

Round Two's first belly picture:

And while, admittedly, I don't have the best posture, I promise that this is my natural state -- no holding in or pushing out or deliberate slouching.

(And look! I fastened the button on my shorts!!! MIRACLES).

Just for comparison, I think I'm about as big now as I was with Innis at sixteen weeks, but having looked in my archives, it would seem that I don't have any pictures of that milestone. I think that around that time, I hadn't started taking profile shots because I was convinced I didn't look pregnant, just fat. It would appear that, this time, my sense of vanity has gone the way of my abdominal muscles.

Only two more weeks until my 16 week check up. I'll be taking bets on the he/she-ness until midnight the night before the appointment, so you've got some time to think about it and perform whatever kind of witchcraft you require to divine an accurate prediction.

Day Of Fail (With A Lot Of Win Thrown In At The End)

Today didn't go so well. Mostly it was a series of random, minor things that just didn't go right, which ultimately led to an overall feeling of grr.

This morning, I lost my sandals. Like, the only pair of shoes I can feasibly wear here, having recently said farewell to my beloved Birkenstocks and chosen to actively avoid closed-toed shoes because, well, no one likes sweaty toes.

And we had to go to an open house for one of the preschools we're thinking of sending Innis to when he's three or four (jury's still out on the timing, mostly because OUR BABYYYY), and so I had to go back on my promise and squinch my swollen, overheated hooves into these super uncomfortable ballet flats that I bought on a whim but may just be constructed from concrete and sandpaper.

(this was our second attempt to attend said open house, as yesterday morning, after we'd all primped and fussed and put on perfume and brushed our hair and piled into the car, the following conversation took place:

Me: So, when's the next open house appointment? For that other school?

Brad: On the second.

Me: Oh, so tomorrow?

Brad: No, Wednesday, the second.

Me: ?

Brad: Today's the thirtieth.

Me: Not the first?

Brad: Nope.

Me: But we're supposed to go to this open house on the first.

Brad: ...

Me: Alright. Guess we'll just turn around and ... go back home again).

Anyways.

So after today's open house (which was super cute, by the way, since every time we visited a classroom of small people, Innis would join them and sit down on their little reading rug, and when we went to see the library (the school campus also has a private elementary and high school), he plonked himself down in the middle of the senior study group and said "story?" (or more like, "stoowwweeee?")), we drove Brad to work and Innis and I went home to eat lunch and have a nap.

(Only I expected just Innis was going to nap ... but then the couch was so soft and cushy ... and the breeze coming in the window was so refreshing ... )

And then it was 2 o'clock already and I remembered I'd promised Innis we could go feed the turtles (not like I was really allowed to forget, what with the repeated requests for "Mummy? durdles? Innie? *pantomime of throwing crackers into the pond* DURDLES? Mummy? INNIE? INNIE?").

And then it was 3 o'clock and I packed us all up again to go pay the rent (because here, in this crazy place, one must withdraw cash from one's bank account, drive it over to the bank used by the landlord, and deposit the money accordingly. No post-dated cheques or automatic withdrawals. It's all about the old-fashioned leg work in these here parts of the world), but then didn't actually make it to the second bank before it closed at four o'clock in the afternoon, so now on top of having toe blisters, I am also a delinquent non-payer of rent.

And then all day, as we were driving around, I kept smelling this smell, like rotten everything, and at first I thought it was the banana peel that was still lying in the cupholder from yesterday, but then when I went grocery shopping and tried to load my bags into the back of the car, I realized that it wasn't the banana peel, but an entire bag of garbage that Brad had meant to drive to the dumpster that morning but had instead left in the car to rot and steam all day in the thirty degree temperature.

And also I'm tired. And pregnant. And generally overheated. And waking up fifty times a night for god knows what reasons (garbling nonsense, getting up to check that the lizards aren't out of their cages, shaking the spiders out of my pillow ... you know, the regular stuff) (although most of these I don't actually remember and are instead related to me with ill-suppressed glee in the morning by my husband, who believes my nocturnal ramblings are hilarious).

BUT (and there is a but, because I wouldn't leave you with such a downer of a post) then I get to hang out with this kid, and he's magic. Like, when Mummy's getting all huffy and puffy over losing her shoes (found, by the way, at the pool ... where I left them last night) and getting all overheated and bossy and grouchy, he just does something like this:

 

... and suddenly, I'm not grouchy anymore. In fact, funny thing, I don't even really remember what my problem was to begin with ...

Shark Attack!

Just kidding.

These are Brad's war wounds from his battle with the waves last week (I had the good sense to stay out of the unseasonably violent water on that particular afternoon).

Or maybe he was mauled by a many-fingered tiger. I don't ask too many questions.

Probably Better Than Their Previous Northern Vacations

Mum and Robert have been visiting us for the last few weeks, and as they fly out today, I thought I'd share with you some pictures of them enjoying every possible moment of Innis time during their trip:

I think there's a good chance they'll come back again.

Nineteen Months

Today, Innis is nineteen months old.

This month has been so ... funny. Not weird funny, but laugh out loud funny. He's learned to string a few words together, like "tuppa-tea?" for cup of tea, and is actually responding positively to my attempts to explain things (for example, that he has to have a bath before story time, because, well ... that's the routine, and um, mummy says so).

The not so funny part of this month has been Innis's relationship with poor old Rex. They're separated now, mostly because our kind old kitty is far too nice to defend himself beyond a few harmless nibbles and Innis has yet to unblock his ears to our protests. Here's a rare photo of Innis being nice to Rex, taken before they were isolated into their separate cells:

Poor kitty.

We've recently discovered an indoors gymnastics arena that opens up some mornings to parents and toddlers so they can all play on the trampolines and safely padded floors. Here's Innis with Nana and Bobo and our new friends Kristy and Tucker:

And here he is (in case you missed it), moving at the speed of light:

We've been working on Innis's social skills this month. Mostly sharing, and not throwing his weight around (one of his favourite things to do to his friend Tucker is to bear hug him, which sort of eventually (always) turns into a ground tackle. Today we actually found Innis standing on a prostrate Tucker's ribcage, but funnily enough, neither of them seemed to think this was weird at all). Innis has also become more independent this month. It's not all about Mummy anymore. There are other women suddenly on his radar. For example, he's very much in love with Tucker's Mum, Kristy, and whenever we ask him what Tucker's Mum's name is, he says "Pretty." This is, of course, incredibly cute.

Innis has also recently become a master manipulator of storytime. It's all about prolonging the books as long as possible, and if this means never actually finishing a single one and avoiding the book that (through habit) has become the last book of the night, then he's all for it. If he never lets us turn to that last page, he never has to go to bed, right?

19 has been a busy month, though. Innis has been utterly saturated with adult attention for the last few weeks, as Nana and Bobo have been visiting. When they leave this Thursday, we're going to have a bit of a time explaining to Innis why the number of doting adults circling his little self like so many eager servants has suddenly been reduced by half. But for now, until the very last minute, we'll let him enjoy every last nanabobo snuggle and cuddle on offer:

You're only nineteen months old once, I guess. You gotta take those grandparent shoulder rides whenever you can get 'em.