Sorry Ari

But this gives new meaning to "up to your elbows"...

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Woof

I ask the question, "What does a dog say?", I answer the question, "Woof woof woof.", and Ari laughs.  Every time.  So, I ask.  I answer.  He laughs.  Repeat.

But, I think I may have played the woof game a few too many times, because, well, Ari has turned into a puppy. 

How do I know? 

For starters, he follows me around the house.  I walk into the kitchen, he enters right behind me.  I sit down at the table.  He crawls underneath and sits at my feet.  I go to the bathroom.  He scratches at the door until I let him in. (And then, he sits on the tile and watches me.)  He is truly man's Mom's best friend.

Ari pants and he drools and usually he does both at the same time.  Tongue hanging out and saliva dripping on the floor, Ari makes a quick, breathy, heh-heh-heh sound.  I do it back to him.  He laughs.  And then pants some more.

When I'm eating, Ari sits at my feet and begs for my food.  Often, he pulls himself up on my leg, stares at me with sad puppy-dog eyes, and whines until I give him some of whatever I'm eating.  Gazpacho.  Lox.  Dog sh*t.  It really doesn't matter.  If I'm eating it, he wants it. 

He eats grass.  And then he pukes.

We love to play fetch together.  I can throw car keys or a paper bag or a hair clip (wait, you mean none of those are toys?! Oops.) and he brings them all back to me.  Good boy.

He squats when he poops.

And, he licks my hands, he rolls around on the ground, he chases balls, he digs in the dirt, and he likes to have his tummy scratched.  He hasn't started smelling butts yet.  But, at this point, it wouldn't surprise me.  If only he could master "sit" and "stay".

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Colorblind

My brother is severely colorblind.  He has been known to wear a red shirt and green undershirt and when asked why he's dressed for Christmas, he replies, "What do you mean?  I'm wearing black with blue."  I sent him the figure below and asked him to tell me what number he sees. 



He said "there's no number in there."  I see a 2, what about you?

When Ari was born, we gave him lots of black and white toys because the high contrast of colors is the most visible and attractive to infants.  He had black and white books, rattles, pictures, and even outfits.  And I could tell the theory was accurate because he loved to stare at the different patterns.  Now-a-days, he likes bold colors and bright prints but we won't know for at least a year or two if his color perception is the same as his parents or his Uncle Jeff's.

But there is one thing we know for sure.  When it comes to people, Ari is not colorblind. 

We have a Jamaican nanny on Tuesdays named Dee and she has an abundance of melanin in her skin.  You know what I mean, right?  And Ari can spot her a mile away.  When he sees her, he starts humping the floor (should I be worried?) and laughing out loud.  She is all fun, all the time.

The only catch is...he thinks everyone with a dark skin tone (ahem, again, I'm trying very hard here not to say anything that crosses the line.  Well, that line.) is the nanny.  Recently, Ari was taking a nap and I was catching up on old shows on the DVR.  Ari woke up and I brought him downstairs, forgetting the TV was still turned on.  Next thing I know, the kid is out of control - giddy, jumpy, drooling, reaching for the TV. 

What was on?  Oprah. 

If you come over and I'm watching BET, you'll know why.  Plus, I love Mo'Nique. 

Little guy's learning pretty early that once you go black...

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Baby Bio 101

When I was a kid, I loved watching Mr. Wizard on Nickelodeon.  It was no surprise that as I got older, I became obsessed with science projects.  My mom would want me to point out that she I won the State Science Fair in 7th grade when I injected cancerous tumors in plants and treated them with beta carotene.  It worked.  Fo' real.  Eat your carrots.

And then I entered high school and the wonderful world of Biology.  (As an aside, my teacher, Mrs. Ishee, could not pronounce my name.  Tongue-tied, she always called me Suley Jew.  Hmm thinking back, this was the South.  Did she do it on purpose?!)

Bio proved to be awesome. In 9th grade we dissected the frog, in 10th the fetal pig, and then, as a Senior, the ultimate in butchering deconstruction, the cat!  Yup, we shaved it, skinned it, and studied its insides for a whole semester.  And I loved it. 

(Side note - For those of you who use Keratin hair treatments, the ones that actually work are made with formaldehyde.  If you dissected a cat in high school, you would know why I take my tresses elsewhere.)

With the exception of Geology 101 (Rocks for Jocks) in college (we didn't learn about the 4 C's in that class...what-a-waste), I haven't taken a science class since high school.  But having a kid gives me endless opportunities for science experiments.

Like, how much liquid can a diaper hold?  How much milk can a baby drink before he spits up?  Will Ari cry if I send him face down on the playground slide?  What happens if I don't burp the baby?  Does the sound of running water make a baby pee?  (9 pounds of water, not much, oh yeah, he hurls, yes - every time!) 

I could go on and on. 

But nothing beats my latest fascination - food experiments. 

A few highlights thus far:

#1. Corn:  One word. Yes. 
#2. Turkey meatballs:  After consumption, Ari expels gas from both the digestive track and the anal sphincter and both smell exactly the same! 
#3 Sand.  (Same as corn)
And then there's #4. Asparagus.  You know where I'm going with this one.  The result?  Of course!

Next up?  Tart frozen yogurt.  And Chinese food.  (Is it just me?!)

Einstein.  Mr. Wizard.  Bill Nye the Science Guy.  And me.  Raising a baby ain't (rocket) science.  But it sure is entertaining.

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What do you mean?

Being a daddy is hard work.  There's no manual for how to take care of a kid.  (Good thing there are mommies!)

Here's a recent mind-numbing conversation with my baby's daddy (aka my hubbie Matt):

Me: Matt, will you please change his diaper?
Matt: #1 or #2?
Me: Just pee
Matt: Ok
Me: Here's a diaper and wipes, you can do it right here.
Matt: Why do I need wipes?
Me: What do you mean?
Matt: Why do I need wipes?
Me: What do you mean? To wipe him.
Matt: I've never done that before.
Me: What do you mean?
Matt: I've never done that before.
Me: You mean, in the last 8 1/2 months, you've never wiped him when you changed his diaper?
Matt: I didn't think I needed to.  He's not dirty.  I don't wipe myself.
Me: He's been sitting in his own pee.
Matt: What do you mean?
Me: He's been sitting in his own pee!
Matt: I've never done that before.
Me: I think you should start.  He's dirty.  You need to wipe his tushie and his weinie.
Matt: What do you mean?
Me: I'm losing my mind.
Matt: What do you mean?
Me: Just wipe him and put on a clean diaper.
Matt: Ok.

Matt?!  What do YOU mean? 

Better late than never. 

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A letter to flight 1252

To the passengers of flight 1252 from Washington Dulles to Boston,

On behalf of my 8 month old son, I want to apologize for the sh*t/spit combo on the flight Saturday morning.  When someone once told me baby poop defies gravity, I chuckled and thought they were being dramatic.  But as it turns out, Isaac Newton must have never had kids, because as you all witnessed, when a baby goes #2 on an airplane, it ends up everywhere except in the diaper.

Thank you to those who offered to help.  I know you were just being polite.  To those of you who rolled your eyes and mouthed "oh my god do you smell that?" as I walked by, I appreciate your sense-itivity.

I can't figure out what caused such an enormous crap.  What did he eat the day before?  It must have been the hamburger, salmon, egg yolks, yogurt, waffles, chicken, beef kabob, blueberries, cantaloupe, cheese.  Same thing happens to his mommy.

And to the unlucky passenger in seat 22B on the flight after us, I hope you were wearing a dark color. 

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masturb-asana

I recently had the pleasure opportunity to participate in a 1-on-1 yoga session.  I've taken a few yoga classes in the past.  I'm the one laughing my yoga pants off when someone in the class farts and trying my hardest not to queef during the foot-behind-the-head pose.  But, I decided it would be good for my fupa to do a little yoga.

I procrastinated at the gym for as long as possible and then made my way to the treadmill to warm-up.  Tree-hugging yoga instructor walks over to me.  Conversation and yoga practice narrated below (just the note worthy points):

Yogie: (Introductions, small talk, etc.) Today you are going to work on massaging yourself.
Me: Like masturbation?
Yogie: (Straight face. Perhaps one audible grunt-like giggle) Nobody's ever said that before.  Not exactly.
Me: Too bad.
Yogie: (Motions me to follow him into personal training studio. I follow.) Have you ever worked with balls?
Me: I'm a pro!
Yogie: Great.  Use this medium-sized ball.  It's very firm.
Me: Nobody likes squishy balls.
Yogie: Right. Lay down with your pelvis on the top of the ball.
Me: (Laying down) Will you please turn the lights off?
Yogie: (No reaction) Walk your hands out and balance your solar plexus on the ball.
Me: Oh yeah. This feels good.
Yogie: Good! Massage yourself. You're really good at this.  Now, walk back and plant your feet firmly on the earth.
Me: I'm not finished.
Yogie: Take your time.
Me: Thanks for being so selfless. 
Yogie: Yoga is all about you.
Me: What's next?
Yogie: Lay with your back on the ball.  Grasp the earth firmly with your hands.  Your fingers are the roots to the earth.
Me: Where do you buy your pot?
Yogie: (No reaction)
Me: No, really?
Yogie: (No reaction. Leads me in a few more stretches.) Time is up for the day.  I hope you enjoyed the practice.
Me: It was good for me.  Was it good for you?
Yogie: I enjoyed it.  Thank you.
Me: Maybe I'll try it again some time.
Yogie: You can do this practice at home. You have balls there?
Me: I sure do!

I left the studio, scooped up my kid from babysitting, and rushed home to practice.

Namaste.

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Turning Tricks

I can imagine being a baby can get pretty frustrating.  You can't explain (in words) what you want or don't want, you can't move around as freely as you would like, and in my kid's case, you can't even sleep without big brother mother watching you. 

The video monitor.  God's gift to Jewish over-bearing mothers. 

I take this thing everywhere I go.  I hold it outside while sunbathing, set it up at Grandma & Grandpa's house, place it on the dashboard in the car when I make a quick trip to CVS, and turn it on as loud as possible when I take a shower. 

Come on JulieSue.  We're talking about a 20 pound baby who can't crawl or walk.  Confined to a crib.  In a home where every noise is audible. Nothing can happen. 

Is a video monitor really necessary? 

Heck yeah it is!

Ari has learned a new skill.  He can sit up on his tushie from the crawling position.  This may not sound like rocket science, but to him, it's a cool new trick.  He practices it all day.  And now, all night.  The catch?  He gets stuck in the sitting-up position at night.  And cries.

Last night, this happened 3 times.  When I decided I would not go in and lay him down, (he would have to learn to do this on his own) he hollered in a language only I can understand, "Mom, if you're not gonna help me out, I'm just gonna sleep with my head in my lap!"

He showed me. 

But alas, I moved him.  Poor little guy would have had a stiff neck in the morning!

Morning came, no stiff neck.  But probably time to remove the mobile. 

I'm sure he'll have more tricks in the coming days, months, and years.  And nothing will get by me.  I'll be monitoring him til he's 18.

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Free Sh*t Fridays winner

Congratulations to NoobMommy for winning last week's give-a-way.  I may have dropped out of your Fitness Challenge, but I'm glad you can represent as a skinny girl. 

(This give-a-way thing makes me feel a little sad and guilty.  I wanted all of you to win.  For those of you in the area, I'm happy to host a Skinnygirl Margarita drinking party.)

Next week, there will be an incredible package of goodies.  Get excited.  Happy 4th!

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