four words:

labial.
repair.
fucking.
hurts.

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Happy Easter!

Here’s hoping YOUR Easter eggs aren’t head lice nits.

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[omg]LICE(!) update:

motherfuckers:annihilated.

h&i? nit-free. we checked each other like monkeys last night and this morning. zig is fine too.

jude sat with the patience of a blues clues-watching saint whilst h nitpicked. she eventually nodded off on h’s lap. and she stood with eyes closed and a tiny smile of pleasure as i blew her hair dry on the hottest setting possible.

poor baby. she was so itchy, and we had no idea.
those bastards better not come back. but if they do, we’ve got an arsenal of nix. that shit is awesome, although its oddest warning is not to use it if you are allergic to chrysanthemums. glad we dodged that bullet…

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two & five sixths.

dear jude,

the other day, you rounded yet another corner toward Three. or maybe you jumped another hurdle. possibly, you landed a triple axle. the point is: time is chugging forward like so many of your beloved trains–faster faster–and you hit every milestone with huge physicality and intensity. it’s what you do. nothing about you is subtle, subdued, implied: you are jude. judif. and you pronounce your name thusly: judif mawgweet uh’coffee. when you say it like that, i find myself very tempted to change our last name in a permanent homage to caffeine.

oh my girl, every day you grow lither, more confident in your body. gone are the michelin baby legs; they’ve been replaced with rock hard quads and defined calves. you have the strong body of a kid. you jump and climb and dance and run and spin and fall and bruise your self silly. and as ever, you are tough as nails when injured. you prefer to nurse your own wounds. when you are overwhelmed by pain or embarrassment, you excuse yourself to another room while you find composure, and then you reenact the drama with all the flair of a soap opera actress.

i’m so excited to see glimpses of what our lives will be like as you continue to find your way into the art of conversation. you ask thoughtful questions now, can stay on topic for minutes at a time, and purposely crack jokes. you even have a new, somehow more mature, silly face you pull when you know you’re being funny. i thought i knew your face so well…

your grasp of language is more tenable every day. you are very colorful in your responses.
example–
us: jude, please go pick up your trains.
you: no chanks, i’m busy right now.

us: jude! be careful! you just knocked over your milk/juice/water/brother!
you: i’m SO sorry! it’s ALL my FAULT.

oh the cheek. oh the drama. to be fair, you’ve been exposed to a lot of thomas and his whiny, impetuous friends. you now ask if we are cross with you. it’s only right that you are becoming so anglo in your speech, since you’re named after the best brit of them all: big jude.

however quickly your linguistic prowess develops, you still use some wonderful judeisms on a daily basis. your aunt shannon once told me about how her daughter used to call “sausages” “hostages”. and she was so very sad when that hilarious mixup passed. i feel the same way, honestly, and i don’t correct you at all.

instead of “i am”, you say “i mem”. you usually answer yes/no questions with “i do/i do not”, or “i mem/i mem not”, so we hear it all the time, and it never gets old.

you still call privacy “pie-seats”.
[…you are completely potty trained now, by the way. last week, i accidentally left you in big girl panties overnight, and you woke up dry. thus endeth the era of pullups! glory.]

you say “yours” instead of “your”. ie: “can i have some of yours coffee?”

you confuse peacocks and flamingoes.

you constantly ask if you can pet ziggy.
in short, you are adorable.

however, you are not tame.
do you remember your moms reading you the chronicles of narnia when you were a baby? yes? good. so you’ll remember the line about aslan: he is not safe, but he is good.

the same applies to you, kiddo, for you still struggle mightily with Impulse Control. one moment we will be snuggling together on the couch, and a second later–without warning–you will jump on my head, head-butt me in the tailbone, accidentally punch me in the jaw. unless you are asleep, in your bed, upstairs, my body is not safe. you can take me down. and you know it. sometimes, you offer the courtesy of “hey mom, i jump on you?” but before i can answer, you have jumped on me. we are tigger and eeyore, you and i.

so yes. here are we are on the cusp of three. savor the two, jude. it’s the only time you’ll ever experience it.

i love you more than you love all the cgi thomas movies.

mommy

blurry with spinach from the garden:

being your brother’s spotter

another season of nekkid backyard shenanigans has begun

first fun dip experience

haircut day

eating cake with your face

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three words:

jude.
fucking.
lice.

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glimpse into jude’s head:

h:  “jude, this morning, we’re going someplace extra special.  we’re going to yoga class with [j’s friend] poppy!”

j: “let me eat’em!”

me:  “sorry kiddo, you can’t eat yoga.”

j:  *shrug*

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meet my midwife.

KUT did a fabulous video story about my midwife and dear friend, michele fitzgerald.

watch and listen, and understand more fully how hallowed my birth-giving experiences were.

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silly.er

what sleep deprived weekends with sick baby and energetic child look like:

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so this happened.

dear internet,

guess what? after quite the long, drawn out david vs goliath battle, i just convinced my insurance company to overturn their decision to deny the claim for ziggy’s homebirth. they have issued a check in full. jaw.floor.

I WON.

just thought you’d like to know.

love,
me

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six months.

dear ziggy,

two weeks ago, you turned six months old, which is difficult for your sentimental moms to say out loud. you celebrated such a milestone with all kinds of developmental changes, the most dramatic of which being that you are no longer a horizontal baby. no, sir. one day, some major shift happened; you simply said “hey y’all? i’m done lying down. i’ma sit up now.” and you’ve been sitting up, with minimal assistance, ever since. see?

(also, one of your favorite toys is this plate, which is kind of adorable. and yes, i know that the flash on my iphone is all kinds of intense. and entertaining.)

last week, you and i headed over the the pediatrician’s office for your six month well check. want some stats? here you go:

you weigh about 19 1/2 lbs.
you are 28 1/4 inches tall.
these measurements make you officially long and lean. the 12-18 month clothes you wear clearly back up such an assessment.

so yeah, you are a fast-growing baby, and i confess that sometimes i want to squeeze you (ahem, gently) and keep you small. because already, you’ve got your eye on doing kid things. if jude and i are playing thomastrains, you must also hold a train. when jude does something reckless and/or funny, you laugh a kid laugh, deep from your belly. your eyes glinmer with the desire to crawl, to run, to climb. you drool in anticipation.

and you flaunt your talents. you offer a flirty smile as you lift your hands in a “so big!” gesture on command. you expertly pass toys from hand to hand. you throw back a sippy cup full of water like it’s an ice cold brew. you sign “milk” and “more”. and i am convinced you say “mama” with intent. also, EC continues to work like a charm with you. i don’t even remember the last time you had a load in your diaper.

you understand so much, my son. you are a kid in a baby’s body.

i wish i could find some pithy, cliche-free way of describing how much i adore you, and i apologize that everything i say drips with sentimentality, but that’s all i gots; i’m learning to simply own my sappiness.

you continue to be a jolly, mellow boy. your smiles and giggles are delicious. you laugh when we laugh, and then you snort and cough. oh, but your temper has definitely begun to show itself. seriously. if jude takes a toy away from you, you let her have it with the yelling and the coughing and the yelling. so far, your kvetching has been enough to prompt her to return whatever she stole.

oh, and oy. the damned teething. when, oh when will those horrible bottom teeth cut through? your mouth is full of raging, swollen nubs of awfulness. the boob definitely brings great comfort, but when i’m at work? mama has to keep you medicated to keep you happy. we’ve thought about giving you whiskey (shots, not just on the gums), but we’ll wait until your adoption is finalized before engaging in such risky behaviors. also, you’ve given up alcohol for lent by default.

speaking of your adoption, your too-busy mommy JUST sent off the travis county-required FBI background checks: the last bit of frustrating paperwork necessary to get you properly adopted by your mama. once those are back–6 weeks? 12 weeks?–we’ll go before the judge and make it official. also, hopefully by the time you’re an adult, mama’s name will legally be on your birth certificate. if not, get the hell out of texas, zig. and take us with you. while you’re at it, buy us a house with lots of land and a porch swing. and fully fund our trips to italy.
we thank you in advance.

i love you, my isaac silas. you most certainly did, in fact, hang the moon.

mommy

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