The first day of the new year. 2008. I wish I had something prophetic to write about, something filled with wit and wisdom...but alas, I'm sick and it's early, and my brain isn't willing to cooperate.
I'm trying to decide if I should have a resolution or two. I can't make the overused, underdone resolution of losing weight - I have a fetus to grow. I could do the whole "I'm going to stop swearing" thing - but whenever I've done that I've let the f-bomb slip several times before lunch, and really, what's the fun in having a completely clean mouth? If I feel the need to clean it up I'll brush my teeth and chew some Orbit. I could say that I'm going to try to become a better Christian, leading me to become a better wife and mother, but even after 12 years of
I could resolve to be the hell out of this apartment and into a nice neighborhood by the time the baby comes. I could resolve not to keep my mouth shut, just as a way of "keeping the peace," when people are phony and rude to my family.
I could do the dishes more often.
I've never really understood why people make resolutions. I get the whole "new year, new you" and starting fresh thing, but what is it about a date on a calendar that suddenly propels people into wanting to better themselves? Shouldn't we want to one-up ourselves each and every day?
How did my baby come to be 14 months old? How has he gone, seemingly overnight, from an infant who fit snuggly in the crook of my arm to this big pile of kid...who still likes to snuggle, but who doesn't fit quite as well? Surely I must be experiencing some kind of back-to-the-future phenomenon, and I'm only here in this moment for a short period of time. No? Well, it was worth a shot.
Progress is being made with walking. I thought for sure he'd do it for real at my parents' home during Christmas, but nothing more than 5 or 6 steps at a time. What have I been saying? Any day now!
Somehow, without our telling him, he has learned that there is a baby in my stomach. For the past few days he has become obsessed with lifting my shirt enough to see my stomach, pat my belly, blow it a kiss, and say "baby." I was floored the first time he did this. Neither my husband nor I ever explained to him or directly told him that there's a baby in there; it's a concept we figured he'd not quite be able to grasp yet. But in some odd, sibling/baby-intellect sort of way, he just knows. I find solace in that - I hope it's a sign of what will be a close relationship bewteen the two of them. Not incest-close, but friendship/protection/love-close. Just thought I'd clarify.
The word list is slowly growing. Mama, daddy, kitty, big, ball, banana, caca, car, Elmo (God help me), big caca (for the really gross diapers), uh-oh, book, meow, oh boy, oh man, good boy, bocky - his version of "broccoli," and I'm sure there one or two more that I've forgotten. Most days, he really does seem quite intelligent. I've witnessed or heard kids twice his age who can barely mumble something that slightly resembles a groan. Then there are his weird days - he'll crawl along and suddenly stop to strike a downward dog position, hold it for 30 seconds, and then sit up and shake his head and wobble around because, I'm assuming, he has made himself dizzy. He makes us laugh, that's for sure.
He loves to splash in the tub like a big boy. He has already become a picky eater - no leftovers, please. He growls every time he sees Cookie Monster in the store. He shows no interest in watching television, thank goodness. He'd rather be active. He has quite the personality, and I can definitely see both the Irish and Italian tempers already. I love him to pieces - I *still* don't know how it's going to be possible to love another one this much!