Sink or Swim

This picture is the most accurate representation of Declan's existence. I call it "Fight Club Baby". His shirt is filthy because he won't wear a bib, he has two massive horns on his head from 1. running straight into the bed post and 2. doing a double axle off of his arts and crafts table. Next, we have his bruised legs from incessant climbing, falling, bumping, and climbing over the dog.

But he's not always moving. Declan has an animal book that he loves. He points at the pictures, and we tell him the names of the animals. Sometimes we spend a few minutes saying the same name over and over again. One of those animals is the bunny. So this morning when I saw a bunny in our front garden, I scooped Dec up and pointed until he said "nuh nuh", which is Declan for bunny. Glowing with pride, I inched open the door and we went out to look at the bunny closer. Declan, of course, couldn't stop pointing and saying "nuh nuh" so the bunny hopped away. We went inside and I thought we had a moment and could now go back to our day.

"Nuh nuh"

Declan was at the door. I told him that there were no more bunnies because it had hopped away. Undeterred, Declan spent the next ten minutes at that door nuh nuhing away. So I took him outside to show him that there were no more bunnies. Except there was one. So we watched it and it watched us and eventually Declan pointed and shouted and the bunny hopped away. And then Declan went looking for it. Under the bushes "nuh nuh". Back to the garden "nuh nuh". Pointing in the trees. You get the picture. It took me a quite a few minutes to coax him back into the house. And I was foolish enough to think that this bunny business was over. But, no. Cut to a half hour later. Declan's "nuh nuh" cries have escalated to a feverish pitch and his red little face is contorted and tears are rolling down his cheeks. He had a bunny meltdown.

As he lay in his crib to calm himself down (but really to get him away from me because I couldn't take it anymore), I realized that I had vastly underestimated my son's tantrum abilities. And love for bunnies.

So we've established that my son is no blushing flower by now, right? But until now, I hadn't properly considered this affecting my life expectancy. Because he almost gave me a heart attack this week. And then he shattered my ear drums. And you wonder why I can't get it together enough to blow dry my hair on a regular basis.

Now, I've always, always wanted to have a pool. I have infuriated my husband with concepts for our hypothetical pool for years. It's one of those things that I'm convinced if I had, would change my quality of life. That, and the ability to wear skinny jeans. Or, more accurately, the ability to look great in skinny jeans.

So Dec and I were at my friend Whitney's on Wednesday. She has a pool. And would look great in skinny jeans... But back to the story. We went outside and were playing with chalk when Declan took off running, and I don't mean kind of sauntering, I mean a full blown zoom, toward the pool. He must share my love of water. But instead of stopping at the edge, he just kept going. And this is where my heart attack occurred. Because even though Whitney has a safety net (literally) on the pool, Declan fell onto the net, which lowered into the pool and got him sopping wet as I screamed and lunged after him.

I pulled him up so fast that I can't even remember doing it. And what had been a mischievous little one in the moments before became a blubbering mess. And I didn't have any other emotional reaction but to laugh. As he clung to me with new found trepidation, I couldn't help but hope that he'd learned his lesson.

Next week we start tumbling lessons. Hopefully he won't run off the balance beam.

Bluffin' with my muffin

I know when I left the house my pants were clean. But when I got to the library to meet up with all the other moms, there were a pile of grass clippings, a few smeared in bites of snack, and some sort of gooey substance on them. Not to mention that on the way home I spilled coffee on my shirt. Not that it's a special shirt, but it's one of the only ones that is baggy enough to cover my muffin. I have an eternal muffin. Kind of like an eternal flame, but hotter.

I did see a girl I hadn't seen in awhile who told me I looked exactly the same. But she was drunk and it was dark. She probably thought it was a charity compliment. Like her good deed for the day. Or maybe it was the Spanx. And the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol.

My sister told me about a mom she sees at the playground sometimes. This woman, she said, always looks fantastic. Like great outfit, make up, hair, the works. But she leaves her kids in pajamas. And it totally makes sense to me. There's really only room for one of us to look cute. And Declan doesn't really care what he looks like. Maybe I should take this woman's approach. I'd certainly look better...to myself. I think I might be the only one enjoying my new glamour. I'm certain that if people will hand out parenting advice in a public restroom after seeing you for a split second, they wouldn't hesitate to let you know how black your soul is for focusing on yourself instead of your kid.

But if I don't blowdry my hair, I look like Mandy Patinkin from Princess Bride. "My name is Lana Corcoran, stop staring at my dirty outfit or prepare to die."



So now I'm taking my precious daily free time to ponder how I can get these coffee stains out and whether or not I should wear this stained outfit the rest of the day. On the plus side, if I leave it on, less laundry. On the minus, people might think we live in the woods. Choices.