Sunday, June 26, 2011


Everyone who read my last post about how perfect my little boy is and said, "Oh, shut up, Lindsay..." Okay. I'll accept it. We've entered the terrible tantrum stage of his development.

The kid won't even talk yet, but he has no trouble communicating the fact that HE IS NOT HAPPY. Why is he not happy? NO ONE KNOWS. He doesn't even know.

So let this be a warning: If you have a nice vacation and are feeling all smug about how well-behaved and well-adjusted and well-whatever your little person was, it's the night after vacation that HELL BECOMES YOU in the form of big fat guilt-inducing tears and the kind of screams that make you wonder what the neighbors are thinking. Were they laughing at the bogusly cheerful, useless, one-sided dialogue I was having as I tried to out-shout the monster? Or were they going to call the police?

I've seen a few tantrums, but never like last night, and I know why that is. I've always focused on giving him what he wants. I do not regret this because the things he wants are awesome... I have a great husband who not only helps out when we're home together, but gets a lot done when he's alone with the boy. This allows me to fulfill Fletcher's most common tantrum inducing wish: to be held. And held. And held. And not ever put down.

I'm okay with this. The time is going to come and very soon that he will not want to be held and cuddled, so I'm going to grant this wish as often as intelligently possible now, while he wants it.

I watched an episode of Frasier the other night (hooray for crappy local television) where Frasier found that by talking things through out loud (in this case, to the dog, Eddie) he was able to discover what was bothering himself. I thought of this last night as I was babbling nonsense to a child who was so beside himself that the second coming of Christ would not have put a pause in his intense declaration of the horribleness that is life. (This epic tantrum began when he woke up crying immediately after I wrote the vacation blog post. It grew in size when I attempted feeding him dinner. It became a living nightmare when I gave him a bath.)

Thinking of Frasier, I babbled aloud, telling Fletcher how I wanted to fix the problem, but there were things that needed to be done, things I wouldn't sacrifice. I told him how I would hold him as soon as I could, how much it bothers me that he isn't happy 100 percent of the time, and how I know that's silly and even unfair.

Then it occurred to me. One of the things I hate most is how people -- all people -- want and expect you to be all smiles all the time. I hate not being allowed to be in a bad mood. I hate having to "get into it" and figure out the reason for the mood with those who I wish weren't so affected by it. Can't I just be unhappy and cranky for a little while without having to dissect it?

And here I am feeling upset and needlessly guilty when my son is having a mood meltdown.

I laughed then. It had no effect on him; the cries stayed desperate, maybe got even more ridiculous. I laughed at the thought of the neighbors hearing it now, his voice was so outrageous.

And when his dinner and his bath and requisite lotion job were finally complete, I picked him up and wiped his tears and accepted the desperation and complete unhappiness on his face as a necessary part of life.

After maybe a half hour of cuddling, he was willing to get down and I was treated to a famous Fletcher smile again. More tantrums ensued throughout the evening, and more of the cuddling that I love. I'll take whatever bad I have to take, for this.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

a trip in photos

 My 13 month old, growing up.

official 13 month photo


love a boy with attitude

Thanks to my mother-in-law, I get to appear in some photos and you all get to see how badly I over smile.

bungee adventure for grandpa, daddy, and aunt

By the end of the day, he was a little vacation-ed out, and only his grandpa (not pictured) could make him really smile in the hotel pool.

On sharing a hotel bed with a toddler

Though it has suffered from mild neglect, this blog is very important to me. As proof I offer the fact that I am here typing now when I could be sleeping after a night spent wide awake on a hard box of springs hotel bed with a squirmy monster toddler. I have to sit at the kitchen table to type because if I sit on the couch this post will read fjawneh578gfdngawr a 87ry err7yaw475njh vgjAWEI serthn5 hngbdMJY DFUV7 edrtyjhn5 RHT which is what my head would write when it landed, sound asleep, on the keyboard.

Evidence that I am crazy: I took my 13-month-old to a hotel and had hoped to sleep.

Evidence that I have the best little boy in the world: He had fun. His tantrums, so warranted, were shockingly brief. He took his naps. He slept all night to his usual, 6 a.m. He saved his poopy diapers for the hotel room only.

He loved all the new places and activities of the Wisconsin Dells. He loved waking up to not just mommy but a room full of family members. He ran and played and slept and ate pizza.

It was my first time spending the night in a bed hijacked by with my son. He fell asleep there, then stayed asleep when I moved him to a portable crib for two hours, which is when he woke up and made a pissed off "where the heck am I" whimper, which led to the sleeping arrangement between mommy and daddy. If anyone is concerned about the dangers of co-sleeping here, don't bother. I didn't sleep -- not even before, when he was in the crib. (Hello, I'm 28 years old and have the body pain of a 70-year-old with arthritis.) Certainly not after, when he was squirming and rolling and whimpering and digging his little feet into his daddy's back.

That's all the complaining I'll do, though, because the blessing of this little boy weighs the scales heavily in my favor. Plus, my very first period since conceiving Fletcher ended the day of the trip, and that's some awesome good luck.

The rest of the photos will have to wait because my little guy is waking up.

Saturday, June 11, 2011

In which I fit three weeks into one post

It turns out that there's a certain combination of busy and tired that makes it difficult to sit down and write what you want to write into your blog.

Our week of vacation for Fletcher's birthday (and a visit from Uncle Jeremy) went quickly. We didn't take any big trips or "do" anything memorable. Still, it was a turning point for the little person and much has happened for him. Since his birthday...

  • Birthday party
  • Trip to the zoo
  • Seriously walking, even if he looks like a smiling zombie 
  • Whole milk and several new foods
  • Climbed onto a coffee table
  • Played in the McDonald's play area
  • Pushed open the screen door and climbed down the concrete steps to get outside
  • Went to the pool with Daddy
  • Waited until we weren't looking to climb over the barrier to the stairs, which he then climbed and ran around the upstairs hallway by himself with the cats' water dish
I'm sure I'm forgetting things; it has all been a blur. I also had a first -- first time I spent all morning making (pureeing) fresh food for Fletcher, which he then refused to eat, and I could swear my mother was out there somewhere smiling as this justice was delivered.

At his doctor appointment he was still underweight at less than 20 pounds, and average for height. In the past week, however, he has shot up like a beanpole.

Since his birthday, he has only nursed once a day. Yesterday, June 10, was my last time breastfeeding. This ending is like cutting off a limb. Also? HORMONES SUCK.

Here comes a crap ton of photos.


Checking out Uncle Jeremy


Family photo with elephant ass


Scrambled eggs make excellent confetti

Wiped out

Climbing onto the diaper box

Climbing the table, finally capturing the iPod

Tuning up the lawn mower

First trip to the pool