The Smarter One

I discovered Noah can rhyme today.

Me: Let's read cat in the hat!
Noah: Cat and hat rhyme mommy.
Me: WHAT?!?! You know what rhyming is?!
Noah: Yeah
Me: Does dog and frog rhyme?
Noah: Yeah!
Me: Does feet and broccoli rhyme?
Noah: No
Me: WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO RHYME?
Noah [points at me]
Me: No I didn't!
Me: Wow, I think you're smarter than Judah. Shhhh, don't tell him.

Us Now

OMG this blog post is LONG overdue!

Cuz let's be real...I haven't written a "real" blog post in months (those little short conversation snippets don't count for nothin')

So there's no way to do this except for a quick and dirty...

It's everyone's favorite - Bullet Update Time!

'Sup with Judah:

• For the last 4-5 weeks Judah has been deathly afraid of sleeping at night. He's afraid to close his eyes, afraid of the dark, and afraid of bad dreams. Every night he prays that God will protect him from (and I quote) goblins, zombies, ghosts, and skeletons - yes those and those only. This all started when our neighbor (9 year old boy) told Judah all about zombies and how Noah might turn into a zombie at night. Ever since then Judah has been asking me to fervently pray for him each night. At first he asked to be prayed for 3 times a night. And then a week later he upped it to 4 times a night. And then in a few days, it was 5 times a night. And now, I'm happy to share that I am asked to pray for him 10x a night, but it seems to be capped at that good and fullsome number. All this means that one parent has to be with Judah at ALL TIMES until his eyelids get so heavy with sleep they force him to do the one thing on earth he fights with all his might - go to sleep. We are not amused.

• Judah has been going through a very sweet phase. He often says the most flattering things to me - Mommy, you're so beautiful. You're more beautiful than all the princesses in the world. Mommy, you're so stylish (I know, so weird because all I wear are sweatpants and ratty flannels, seriously). Mommy, your smile makes my heart warm like the sun. (awwwww). And my favorite quote from him - Mommy, you're more beautiful than an angel. Not really though. You're not more beautiful than an angel. That's just an expression.

• Just last week Judah has gotten into legos. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. Did you hear that? That's the sound of my heart leaping for joy and doing the happy dance. I was told this happens around age 5 and *bing!* right on cue - finally, it's happened to me, right in front of my face and I just can not hide it. I envision countless hours of Judah completely immersed in his technicolor brick world while I lounge leisurely on a couch and read a WHOLE ENTIRE PARAGRAPH without interruption. Unless Noah's around, darn it.

'Sup with Noah:

Update on Noah - still cute!

• Noah remains the cutest thing since sliced bread.

• Noah is slowly loosing his pot belly. Sad face.

• Noah is still nursing (solely for comfort cuz remember, I'm all dried up).

• Noah likes to tell me - Mommy, you have big nipples! (especially in a room full of quiet people. And no, I really don't. I think he just means in comparison to the other people in our family).

• Noah is completely offended if anyone refers to him as a baby. "I not baby! I big boy! Mommy, he call me a baby! I NOT BABY!!!!!"

• Noah talks A LOT but no one understands what he's saying. And most of the time it sounds like he's on some acid trip. Recently heard in the car - Mommy, I ride in the sun boat. And you not there. Judah not there. Daddy not there. But a cow in the sun boat. And a sun man in the sun boat. (rinse and repeat for 15 minutes. Seriously).

'Sup with the Spouse:

Update on Spouse - more "quality" time with the kids.

• He remains a devoted, loving, and long-suffering husband and father. Who visibly wilts after spending just 30 minutes with the kids. The man has good intentions though.

• We're looking forward to his 3 month sabbatical from work starting in June! This will be the first giant chunk of free time he's had since the kids were born and he's actually really excited to be more involved in their day to day lives. My tasks for him to accomplish on the sabbatical - teach Judah how to wipe his own butt and how to pee standing up without wetting his pulled-down pants. Exciting plans!

'Sup with me:

Update on me - still alive, but barely!

• I've been toying with the idea of going back to work. It's hard to find a job that lets me feel professionally satisfied AND allows me to work only 5-15 hours a week, but I think doing something in trusts and estates might do the trick. All I know is I genuinely, truly miss work. And the days I'm with the kids all day by myself are the absolute worst. I was never cut out to be with the kids all day every day and now, after scarring myself and them for 2 years - I've learned that! Yay self-awareness. Sarcastic face.

• This Summer we are FINALLY upgrading to a smartphone. Yes, we are the last people on earth with dumb phones - who aren't grandparents. To be honest, I've always hated the idea of being "connected" all the time. And I've been scared. Like totally freaked out, holy fear scared that I'll lose my ability to be bored for long periods of time if I have a smartphone. I think feeling sad and bored is a discipline and a great gift. And kind of impossible if you're always just a swipe away from every form of electronic entertainment imaginable. But what can you do. Progress marches on.

My Pleasure

Now that Judah has lost all his baby-ness, I'm realizing how quickly this hard early phase disappears. And I'm pretty sure the thing I'll miss most is his voice - the mispronunciations, the cute made-up and almost correct but not quite phrases, the way "purple Hershey's kiss" sounds like "puh-pull huh-see kiss."

Currently, I'm enjoying Judah mangling up the phrase "your pleasure." As in...

Me: Judah, thank you so much for drawing this beautiful picture for me!

Judah: [beaming] Your pleasure!

What a charming conflation of "you're welcome" and "my pleasure."

Completely unrelated picture of Judah wearing a "diaper hat" - your pleasure.

And yes, I refuse to correct him because it is my pleasure.

We Could Be Heroes

Judah and Noah both love superheroes and all their TV shows throw the word "hero" around like confetti at Mardi Gras. Creepy steam engines with faces, curious monkeys, Hispanic toddlers with talking backpacks - these are all regularly declared 'heroes' for doing relatively nothing.

This is our lives - ALWAYS.

But even so, my heart felt a flutter tonight when Judah said - Mom, you're my hero - as I kissed him goodnight. He's never called me that before.

Who knows if he knows what he's saying...but I swear there was something in his voice - softer, sweeter, even shy...

Philadelphia

Today in the car I heard Judah and Noah's first hypothetical conversation with each other. Amazing.

Noah: Judah, if there was a bear in a cave, it going to eat you.

Judah: No, I would fight it! [throws some air punches and kicks] Or I would zap it [sticks out his finger as if a laser would shoot out of it.]

Noah: You need a sword to fight it! You need a sword!

Judah: No, I don't need a sword. I could just...[does punching motions] or use nunchucks...

Noah: Yeah!

Of course I was sitting there, just dumbstruck that my kids ARE HAVING A HYPOTHETICAL CONVERSATION WITH EACH OTHER as if they are real human beings and not babies!

And I was basking in the glow of brotherly camaraderie, which actually has been pleasantly abundant between these guys since the earliest days.

Greater love has no one than this - a brother (or sister).

Noah admires and copies Judah. Judah loves being the hero/guru/big-guy on campus. Noah respects Judah's limits and actually obeys when Judah tells him not to touch his 'spaceship' or 'Hotwheel'.

Noah never fails to give Judah the response he was looking for when he shows Noah something special. Noah faithfully and genuinely says "Whoah Judah, that's awesome! Can I see that?! Whoah." Mission accomplished. Ego stroked.

And mom pleased.

As a mother, there is nothing I desire more than that my kids genuinely like and care for each other. Nothing gives me more pleasure and so far, we appear to be on the right track.

Last week we were at Macy's and the store clerk had a revealing conversation with Judah.

Clerk: You're so cute! How old are you?
Judah: Four...and a half!
Clerk: Do you go to school?
Judah: I go to preschool!
Clerk: That's great! Do you have lots of friends there? Who's your best friend?
Judah: My best friend is Noah. He's my brother.

[Camera pans around to me, grinning from ear-to-ear and beaming with joy.]

And I think the feeling is mutual because the other day Judah asked Noah - Noah, do you love me more than mommy? And Noah, to all of our surprise, said "yeah."

[Camera pans around to Judah and me exchanging a wondrous look and grinning from ear-to-ear and beaming with joy.]

Let It Go

Many moons after the hit release of Disney's Frozen, Noah is still obsessed with the movie and the theme song.

Most days end with him twirling around (I spin like Elsa, Mommy!) belting out - Let it go! Let it go! Don't hold it back anymore!

When he feels like branching out he'll belt out - SUM-UH!

He informed me last week that for his next birthday, he wants Elsa and Anna. I don't really know what that means. Mini-figurines? Or the actual people?

One of my favorite Noah-Frozen moments is when he changed up the lyrics and sang - Let it go! Let it go! Go away, close the door! Don't come back anymore!

Brilliant lyricist, this one.

Noah singing his favorite song before bed - Let it go!

Every parent on Earth is sick of this song by now, but I still love it. Probably because I still need it.

Motherhood so often feels like a call to death. A call to let things go.

Let the clean house go.
Let the organized files go.
Let seeming put-together and in-control go.
Let the interesting articles in your newsfeed go.
Let the trips to Napa and Chicago and Europe and Thailand and Greece and...and...and...
Let the hobbies (knitting) go.
Let the kick-ass career go.
Let feeling important and accomplished go.
Let the big city life go.
Let the shows and movies and fine dining experiences go.
Let the abs go.

Let the idea that you can just have one freaking moment to yourself to enjoy your day without a bunch of kids or chores clamoring for your attention go.

Let it go. Let it go.

The old is gone. It's resurrection or bust.

Actually, Or Else

Noah continues to impress me with his ever-growing language skills.

My baby who's not a baby.

A few weeks ago he demonstrated his grasp of the word "actually". Unfortunately he used it in the context of nursing (yes, we're still nursing, sort of, whole long story, no time for it now...), but whatever. He said:

Mommy, I want nurse boo-boo. [pause] Actually, I just want touch it.

(ew, gross, that's where I draw the line)

And then a couple weeks ago he demonstrated his grasp of the phrase "or else". As in:

Mommy, give me chocolate, or else I gonna cry.

How thoughtful of him to tell me how he's going to torture me, before he does it.

What He Said

Today Judah came in from the backyard soaking wet with colored chalk marks all over his hands.

He informed me that he and Noah had been taking our sidewalk chalk, grinding it down with their feet and pouring rain water on it. And when they ran out of rain water, Judah turned on the hose and let 'er rip.

I made a mess Mommy!

Yeah, I can see that Judah.

But it was a beautiful mess, Mommy.

Oh my heart. Me too. Life is messy. Relationships are messy. Parenting is messy. Figuring out how to not crash your boat between the Scylla of a mother's need for her OWN space and life and the Charybdis of a child's need for his mother's space and life is messy.

And by grace, beautiful too.

At least the pics were nice...

Some lovely photog friends took pictures of us and the kids on Easter.

Noah, as always, didn't get the memo to look at the camera. Toddlers, ugh.

Baby bow-ties = +50 cuteness points

Judah and Noah were beyond excited when they feasted their eyes on 500+ plastic eggs scattered across the church grounds just waiting to be scooped up into their baskets. I daresay they would consider this one of their happiest experiences ever.

Greedy little horders.

What these pictures don't show is how harried I felt trying to get everyone and everything ready for service. The stress culminated in a moment of weakness when I did what I would normally condemn.

As I handed the kids their Easter baskets from last year there was immediate bickering. Noah wanted Judah's bigger basket and Judah would sooner die than reliquish it. I SHOULD have told one or both kids to suck it up.

You should be thankful you get a basket at all.
I'm not going to get you new baskets because you can't learn to be content with your perfectly good old ones.

Except, I caved. I swung by the store and bought them new IDENTICAL baskets instead of teaching them to be content with their perfectly good old ones.

Terrorists - 1
Mom - 0

Sigh, happy Easter.

Order and Space

Having kids made me realize that I have a high need for order and space.

Much higher than a lot of other moms I know.

Said "other moms" seem to cruise through their day taking a lot of chaos and disruption in stride. They don't mind being touched and crowded from morning to night and are always up for some more snuggling.

Not. Me.

This is fun...for about the first 90 seconds.

I have always felt like such a mom-failure until I started to accept this. Ok, I still feel like a mom-failure but whatever. I need order. I need space. Things go very badly if I don't get enough. I start doing things like the following:

--Judah randomly put his feet on me while we were sitting on the couch. I don't understand why, but I recoiled and screamed something like - GET YOUR FEET OFF OF ME!!!! It was completely involuntary, I swear.

--I was bending over, putting something in the car and Judah stood behind me and put a roly-poly on my lower back (where my shirt had lifted above my pants). I freaking screamed and lost it again.

--Noah wants to be held and cuddled for 3 hours a day. I hate it. I try to bribe him with all kinds of toys and candy to get off of me and GO PLAY for the love of goodness.

--I hate crumbs (and spills, and stickiness, and greasiness, and randomness) with an unholy passion.

--I'm so tired of always having 'company' when I'm trying to poop. Seriously. This one has GOT to stop.

From morning to night, night to morning, little people are in my face and up in my business. Imma bout to go crazy up in here. So. I need to find some more babysitting.

End rant.

All That and a Bag of Chips

I blog a lot about the frustrations and trials of parenting little people. Because it's the truth and I want to encourage other moms out there - YOU ARE NOT ALONE! If you just want to park under the shade of a tree on your way back from Rite Aid and ugly cry because you feel exhausted and defeated, you are not alone. Been there, done that.

But I don't want my gentle (child-free) readers to get the wrong idea. Parenting little people is not all pain and suffering--ok, it is mostly pain and suffering. But there is another facet that I often completely ignore - transcendent joy. Truly.

There is nothing like parenting and the joy it brings. Just as I could never adequately describe the hell, I also can never do justice to the ecstasy.

But gosh darn it if I don't try, just a little.

To a little person, you are the world.

You are the sun, moon and stars.

You are all that and a bag of chips. A rock star. THE rock star. The one and only greatest rock star in the history of the world.

When you are there, smiling at them, you give off more light than the sun.

When you leave, they lose their mooring for a while.

And when you return, they are over-the-moon delighted.

It brings me so much joy to know that all Judah needs in order to be okay is my hugs and kisses. When he gets rejected by his friends. When he gets scrapes and bruises. When he comes down with fevers and rashes. When he loses his favorite objects. When he is sad and offers no explanation. All he needs is "some huggle snuggle time with Mommy."

And I wasn't even the one who figured that out. Judah taught me that.

I would offer candy, new toys, fun diversions, like a magician frantically pulling things out of his hat, but Judah would reject them all for just a few minutes of hugging on the couch.

Not a day goes by without my kids telling me they love me. Or picking a flower for me (sorry neighbors!). Or drawing/writing me love notes. (Even Noah scribbles on paper and says - This say, I yayu Mommy!)

Two of the gazillion love notes Judah churns out like a factory.

How many people (without kids) can say they get to drown in such bottomless oceans of love? When was the last time you got a handwritten love note, just because?

And when, if ever, did you have the power to make someone feel fully loved, unconditionally secure, and wholly sated with your mere attentive presence?

I'm sure that will slowly change as children age, but such is the gift of parenting the wee ones.

Babies, Boys and Boredom

I hate playing with my kids.

There, I said it.

Yes, I'm a horrible mother.

Possibly even a horrible human being.

But very few things make me want to stick a fork in my eye like playing with my kids.

I hate reading board books (really, they should just call them 'bored' books) and pointing out that that's a dog! There's a cat! There's a mouse! There's Elmo! *yawn*

I hate building block towers. And knocking them down again. And building it up again. And knocking them down again. And building it up again... *yawn*

I hate walking around a park slower than a snail in the direction one might take if one were extremely inebriated.

I hate chasing someone for 2 steps. And then having them chase me for 2 steps. And then chasing them again. And then having them chase me again. And chasing them again...

I hate repeating myself more than 4 times in answer to the same exact question. Constantly. All day long. Otherwise known as, toddler conversation.

All of this is what "playtime" is like with someone under age 3. And it's fine for 20 minutes. Maybe even an hour. But when it drags into the 3 hour range, each and every day, for YEARS, you start to want to cry. And I KNOW I'm not alone.

Checking out any kiddie park or museum, you'll see nannies, babysitters, and parents alike all on their smart phones, trying like heck not to die of boredom. No judgment from me. Or Louis CK. He has a hilarious sketch about being bored to death by playing with his kids, with the great punch line - Sorry, I'm bored more than I love you.

But just as kids start to become more interesting at age 3 and up, I'm discovering a new kind of boredom: Boy play.

Boy play typically involves everything that I (as a classic and lifelong girly-girl) have always avoided out of sheer disinterest.

Superheros and villains *yawn*, construction vehicles *yawn*, fighting and swordplay *ugh*, and, most recently for Judah - hotwheels.

Just a tiny fraction of Judah's beloved car collection.

It's all he wants to do now. Every time we go to Target he spends every single hard-earned dollar of his on hotwheel cars. He literally has over 50 that he hordes in his backpack and all he wants to do all day every day is "play cars."

I have no idea what I'm doing, but wheelies are always good, right?

See, that very concept is foreign to me. What does that even mean - play cars? Zoom them around? Roll them back and forth? Spin them on their backs? Pretend they are on good teams and bad teams and fight each other? I just really don't get it.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down my desire to NOT be bored to tears.

I should know better because Judah begs me to "play cars" with him all day long and sometimes I even comply. But honestly, I just sit there with a blank look on my face and Judah eventually gets lost in a world of his own (or thankfully Noah needs a diaper change or something else "urgent" whisks me away, to my enormous relief).

But I do feel bad.

I feel bad that one of the things I dread the most is hearing Judah say - Mommy, can you play cars with me?

I dread it. I dread it with every fiber of my being. Because it presents the catch-22 choice between life-sucking boredom when I say yes or crushing mom-guilt when I say no.

Some days I'm bored more than I love him.

And some days I love him more than I'm bored.

But every day, I'm dying just a little bit either way.

Hilarity

Today I jokingly called Judah "Hilarious" and Judah jokingly acted offended.

Noah instantly jumped to his brother's defense and spurted out an amazing speech for a 25 month old.

Hey! My...big...brother...not...hilarious!
Why...you...say...he...hilarious?!

Two full sentences! Whoah!

I always feel like Noah is my "bonus" baby. With Judah, I was so caring and attentive - always trying to make sure I was "developing" him well, reading to him, labeling things, eating all my prenatal vitamins. But I let everything slide with Noah. Too busy. Too tired.

If results correlated with effort, Noah should be a mute little toadstool. But he's just as talkative if not more so than Judah was at that age.

I call him my little Grumplestilskin.

And more importantly, he's hilarious too.

A Dream Deferred

I have a dream.

That one day, my house will not have random crap on every surface.
That I will get rid of all the "baby" stuff.
That I will have a cleaning caddy with a sponge, gloves, and detergent under each sink.
That my files will make sense.
And in short, that everything will be ORGANIZED.

After 2+ years of pining and wishing, and hoping, and desperately wanting, this dream was supposed to start becoming reality this week. This was supposed to be the beginning of the 2-week period I set aside for EPIC CLEANUP 2015. I even told the Spouse that I refuse to cook for 2 weeks so I can finally get a grip on the clutter.

So OF COURSE, this is the week my car chose to break down. OF COURSE the check engine light would go on and the car would stutter like a panicked cat. And OF COURSE the mechanic would tell me he fixed it and then I would drive it home the next day, only to find the problem wasn't fixed and I'd have to drive it back and leave it there again and then drive it home again.

All my kid-free time for this entire week has now been taken up with fixing the car.

Story of my life (with kids).

No, it's not their fault the car broke down. But it's typical. The frustration. The constant, unending, frustration. The fact that it takes unbelievable will and grit and determination to move one tiny pebble of fate, only to have an avalanche crash down on you the next day.

It is impossible to get much done with little kids. Just to "maintain" feels like an uphill pipe dream. No sooner have I washed the dishes then someone's spilled and crumbed all over the floor. And no sooner have I swiffered the floors then someone's decided to dump all the crayons and bristle blocks and puzzle pieces all over the house. And no sooner have I cleaned up all that then someone's peed all over the bathroom. Et cetera. Et cetera. Ad nauseum.

But they are cute.

Everyone's favorite time of day - TV time!

 And they love each other.

Brothers

And they are growing up alarmingly fast.

Best buds

Which is how I console myself each and every day I see hundreds of things out of place and cluttered.

Breathe. Focus. Perspective. Repeat.

Mommy Pub

One day I will write about how and why being a mom of babies/young kids is SO FREAKING HARD. But until then, dear child-less readers and older readers who may have forgotten, just take my word for it.

I have never pondered and truly appreciated the therapeutic mellowing effects of a glass of wine UNTIL I had kids, but now, its like a sweet nectar of the gods - restorative, heart-rate stabilizing, courage buttressing, sweet sweet goodness.

Which kinda makes me want to open up a chain of pubs devoted solely to the beleaguered mom crowd - an after the kids' bedtime come and unwind kinda place.

And I've already thought of the perfect name - The Furrowed Brow.

And the name of a regular cover band playing live music would be - Nipple Confusion (which I totally stole from one of the best unwatched movies of the decade, Young Adult).

WHAT THE F?!

One day I will get back to blogging about my kids and motherhood, but today I have to interrupt our regular programming for a very special my-head-is-exploding-with-wonder-and-horror announcement - a little episode I like to call WTF* Gap?

I was browsing their Spring dress line up and came across this horrific little number:

Uh...WTF Gap? My 80's childhood just called - it wants its dress back.

But, the crack Gap designer didn't stop with that. He/she went on to yet another abomination - you know, for when you feel real fancy - denim "color" block!

This one made me laugh too, though it's the least offensive of the bunch. I call it, pillowcase with a waist.

And the denim piece de resistance:

It's like Snoop Dogg meets ladies' medium security prison. Meets low end budget department store.

Seriously Gap, WTF?! Seriously. Seriously?!

p.s. If you actually like any of these designs and I've just offended your tastes, sorry! (Not sorry).

*of course WTF means Why The Frumpery? This is a family friendly blog.

Two Year Olds are (precious, miraculous, angel blessing) Jerks

Noah, having just turned 2 last month, is in the prime of his "jerk" stage, better known as the Terrible Twos.

I've been through this with Judah, but I now realize I had it pretty easy with the first one. Sure Judah was oppositional and prone to meltdowns, but more often than not, counting to 3 worked like magic and Judah would stop screaming after about 90 seconds.

Noah NEVER stops.

Noah, master of death and destruction, aka, your typical strong-willed two-year old.

So when he asks for a random jelly bean right before lunch, I am fraught with indecision.

If I don't give it to him, he will scream and not stop.

If I give him just one, he will ask for another. And another. And another. But after about 4 he is usually appeased and then can go on to eat a decent lunch.

On principle, I should not give him any, but in all practicality, I acquiesce.

This is life with Noah. Full of compromise on my part and oppositional demands on his. I feel like I'm constantly negotiating with a terrorist. And losing.

I've learned one thing - motherhood is NOT good for those who don't have good firm healthy boundaries, aka, me.

I am a weak-willed sheep and my two-year old happily steamrolls right over me.

Almost everything is a battlefield from the minute he wakes to the final closing of his eyes at night.
Let's change your diaper - NOOOOOOOOO!
Let's put on a shirt - NOOOOOOOO!
Let's put on pants - NOOOOOOO!
Let's eat breakfast - NOOOOOOO! CANDY!!!!!!!
Let's put your socks and shoes on - NOOOOOOOO!
Let's get in your carseat - NOOOOOOOOOO!

This is why it's not even 9 am and I'm already worn out every day.

Sometimes I give up on fully dressing Noah. Just pants is a victory.

Noah is also getting into his super jealous phase. He won't let me hug Judah or talk to anyone but Noah. "No talk! No talk! You no talk to Daddy. Only Noah." is something I hear a lot.

Another common phrase is "I do it myself. Nobody help me." Oh independence. I hate you.

And then there's just downright b*tchy behavior. Like last weekend when we were at Cosco and Noah slowly and deliberately picked his nose and wiped his booger on my cheek - all without breaking eye contact with me.

Clearly he was teaching me an object lesson - puny slave woman, you serve at my pleasure. Do not displease me or worse things will I wrought upon your sanity and hygiene.

And to underscore just how far I've sunk, I didn't even flinch.

Grit

This is my body, broken for you.

That's the phrase I recite in my mind every time I lift Noah's bulk weight.

My back aches. My shoulders are tight. My neck is stiff.

He's a heavy toddler but demands to be held constantly like a much younger baby when he's not feeling well. And it happens often now that flu season is upon us.

Also, it doesn't count if your biceps aren't burning. Noah accepts nothing but the toughest workouts (for his mother) - none of that sitting on the couch and holding him. Woman, you are standing up! I need to feel the full weight of gravity!

Sometimes I can't hold him anymore and I just have to sit.

He wails in protest. Angry hot tears streaming down his face.

I endure his screams for as long as I can. And then I gird my loins and endure his weight again, for as long as I can. This is how we pass the hours. The days, weeks. Another season.

This is my body, broken for you.

This is my life, poured out for you.

These are my best years of productivity, set aside for you.

Go ahead and take it all my child.

Stumbling around with you, I am growing into a version of myself that I like much better than the person who was here before you.

Reverse Weaning, if there even is such a thing

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but hey, if it helps another mom out there, all the better.

I'm not sure, but I wouldn't be surprised to learn that I am the only mom in the history of motherhood to have this "situation" happen.

About 3 months ago Noah stopped nursing after he got terrible sores all over his mouth. It was sudden and abrupt, but I was fine with it seeing as how he was already 21 months anyway. And because I love and miss wearing high-neck clothing.

But about 3 weeks ago, he started asking for "boo-boo" again. At first I thought it was just a joke and played along with it, lifting my shirt up. But his funny 5 minute joke turned into 15 minutes and then 30 minutes. And before I knew it, he was asking for it multiple times a day - especially when he needed some extra comfort - before and after waking up, when he had major meltdowns, etc.

And now we are back to square one. It's as if he never weaned in the first place!

Funny enough, Noah looked up at me once and said "There's no milk mommy." Yep, that's right son. I explained that "All mommy's milk is gone! All gone!"

And then he chuckled and kept right on nursing.

And then asked for "regular milk" from the fridge.

Obviously I feel conflicted about this. Happy to provide an easy form of comfort to Noah (it's a thousand times easier to soothe him with the boob than holding a 30 pound kid and walking him around for 30 min). Unhappy to go through the inconvenience of "nursing again". Happy to keep "bonding" with my kid. Unhappy to lose some bodily independence.

And then there's the fact that he's my last baby.

But then there's the fact that he's not really a baby anymore.

But most non-modern cultures don't wean until age 3 or 4.

But it just feels weird/wrong to be going backwards.

Ugh.

I Yayu Noah

I've tried and I've failed, again and again.

How can I possibly write a blog post about you, Noah?

To do it justice I would have to fill volumes of books and spill oceans of ink. You have only just turned 2 this week, but already you inspire in me a universe of new worlds ranging from the goofy to the glorious.

As poor and paltry as this attempt is, I must record something before the mists of time dissolve it all.

My sweet Tenders - words fail me when it comes to you.

At about 15 months you learned to say "I yayu (love you) mommy."

At about 18 months you learned to tease "I yayu this much mommy! Big!" [arms open wide] "I yayu this much mommy! Little!" [stingy fingers pinched close together]

Around that same time you liked to ask "Wha wrong mommy?" when I frowned (which was very frequently - at crums, at spills, at disobedience, etc.)

You also picked up the expression "Gotta go!" and "Ready...go!"

When I asked if you were a baby or a big boy you'd look at me coyly and say "I big boy!" and waited for me to fake cry until you said "I baby!"

You cry the hardest and loudest when I scold you for blatant and deliberate disobedience (throwing food on the floor, wiggling around to avoid diaper changes, running through the house with your shoes on, etc). In those times you rebuff any offer of comfort from me, but cry loudly for Judah.

If I tell you that a babysitter is coming, you always ask "Judah be with me?" His presence is as good as ours.

Around 19 months you learned (from Judah) how to pout. When I force you to take turns with a toy, you sit down in a huff and scowl "Oh! I get nothing!" It's pretty much the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Your most frequent phrase to me used to be "Eat me mommy! Tickle me mommy!" but recently it's been "Count to 3!" because you want to play hide-and-seek.

The first time I told you a story I made up, you loved it. And then did something your brother never did even though I've told him close to ten thousand tales by now. You said "My turn! I tell you story Mommy." And then you proceeded to tell my story back to me.

And now it's your go-to story, the only one you tell, and you tell it to me almost every day. "One day...Noah a ("and") Judah...a Mommy...a Daddy...go to park. See the goat. A feed the goat a carrot! Goodbye!" (For the record, there really is a goat at our park and we do feed it carrots).

Around 22 months you surprised me when I picked you up from daycare one day. As I buckled you in, you spontaneously said "I happy...for...you come Mommy!"

And since that day, you've been a wellspring of emotional expression.

"I sad for you not come Mommy."
"I angry at you Mommy!"
"I sad. I cry for you in my crib Mommy."

And my favorite one that I first heard the very day you turned 2 "I mad at you Mommy! I want...a other mommy! I no want you!"

Is it strange that your most hostile expressions are the ones that charm me the most? To be honest I don't know why it amuses me so much to watch you ball up in anger towards me as I deny you freedoms for your own well being. No more candy Noah. No more scissors Noah. No putting batteries in your mouth!

I guess I love that you're secure enough in my love to display all your hateful rage.

Because I love you so much Noah. And the greatest joy you can give me is to truly understand that.