The bigger JR gets, and as he becomes a bit of a “bruiser” as they say, he is reminding us more and more of, well, Tommy Boy.
Pictures like this kind of seal the deal:
“Lots of people go to college for seven years.”
(Also: What up, drooly?)
Remember when I used to post every day? Sometimes even twice a day? Well, now it seems that I’m struggling to write even once a week. I have no excuse other than my life, my kid, and way to much watching of Gilmore girls.
I don’t know what my deal is. I have plenty to say. Ask anyone who sees me in real life – I just won’t stop yammering. But then I go over here and it’s all “Hmmm… well I could… no… uhhhh” and so on.
I’m guessing it probably stems from my fears of being 1) boring and 2) obnoxious. I have a little boy who is very cute and, because of his age, also a major time suck. Who wants to hear about that all the time? I don’t, and I’m living it.
A few people made comments or sent emails shortly after JR was born saying things along the lines of “Yes, your baby is very cute, but ya got anything else to say?” And that sent my “Oh God, please don’t be mad at me” sense into high alert. It’s like Spidey-sense but full of much more furrowing and hand wringing.
So, I’m left being totally unsure of what to write about. Hopefully you’ll help me.
Which would you rather hear about?
A. Why Gilmore girls (see?) might be the secret to improving all relationships
B. The ridiculous conversation I had on the phone with the receptionist at the dermatologist
C. Why I even have to go see a dermatologist
D. My current fretting over the h1n1 vaccine
E. How bangs have changed my life, both for the better and worse
F. All of the above
G. None of the above, and jeez, woman, shut the hell up
H. Please no one pick option G because I will develop an ulcer (see aforementioned “Oh God, please don’t be mad at me” sense)
Two. Eight. Twenty-eight. I am twenty-eight today. Well, as of 2:41pm at least.
I fully understand that this isn’t old, but JEEZ.
I know a lot of people use their birthday as a time to wax poetic about what else they want to do with their lives and what not. I’m not going to do that. I’ve had one of the hardest and most wonderful years ever. Overall, things are good. Especially since this time last year I couldn’t even paint my own toenails.
Yes. Things are quite, quite good.
JR,
Remember how last month when I said that we’d keep up our nursing relationship until you showed me that you were 100% ready to stop? Well the very day after I wrote that, you let me know that you were for sure, totally, OMG-get-away-from-me-woman done. It’s been bottles ever since, and you haven’t looked back. I was a little sad, but the option of sleeping in now makes it sting a bit less.
When we left for vacation last month you were barely pulling up. By the time we left, you were cruising all over the place… and you haven’t really stopped since. You have very little interest in toys and would rather spend your time pulling yourself up on anything and everything, especially things that can’t so much hold your weight. Bumps and bruises are much more common these days, but you take it like a champ.
You babble constantly, which is pretty entertaining. The cutest thing you do, hands down, is when we ask you, “What does a doggie say?” and you respond with, “Oof!” You typically won’t do this if you have an audience, so I’m sure people think we’re lying, but you do it, and we love it.
While you won’t pay much attention to toys these days, you love, love, love books. You no longer chew on them (“Books are for reading, not eating” was said on a constant loop from the moment you were born, it seems) and seem at your happiest when you have several strewn about so you can crawl over to the one of your choice, take a look at the pictures, babble and point, and move on to the next one. It makes us very happy and proud that you do this. Your dad and I both love reading, and we hoped you would, too.
I suppose your biggest “baby book” memory of this month was getting your first haircut (just yesterday, actually). You were a bit nervous when the stylist tried to put the cape on you, so we ended up having your dad put it on you instead. It was smooth sailing from there. You were fidgety, of course, but the comb you were holding (and waving around triumphantly) seemed to keep you happy enough so she could shape things up.
Speaking of your dad, you guys are finally getting to be best buds. You actually give him some of your “kisses” these days, even if you do scrunch your face up afterward because of his scruffy face.
And now that we’re on the subject of kisses, your technique is interesting. Basically, if someone asks you for a kiss, you open your mouth wide, slightly stick out your tongue, and press your lips on his or her face. Not sure where you picked that up, but I imagine we’ll have to correct it soon. But oh well, it’s cute.
I can’t even understand how my next letter to you mark your first birthday. I’m having pretty of sappy thoughts about it right now, but I suppose I should save them for that special occasion.
Meanwhile, we love you. You’re so much fun and turning into such a wacky little boy. Thanks for being ours.
Love,
Mama
A couple weeks ago a reporter from one of our local TV stations contacted Ross and I to see if he could interview us about what we do over at RVANews.
After thinking, “What? Why?” and having a mild anxiety attack, I agreed. And then Ross agreed because he does what I tell him to.
Although my hair looks terrible (I got it cut mere hours after the interview), my desk makes it looks like I have a slight hoarding problem when it comes to beverages and cell phones (it’s a long story), and I apparently always speak like I’m asking? a question?, I think he portrayed us well.
But I can’t be sure because I still have to watch it through my fingers while going “Eeeeeeeeesh.”
I’m not one to ever get all Soap Boxy McRanterson, but I need to talk about something. Perhaps even yell about it a bit.
I have a SERIOUS problem with what’s happening on The Hills right now.
(Yes, I realize the absurdity of that statement. Of all the things I could be pissed about, I’m all worked up over MTV. I never claimed to be not crazy.)
Let me give you a little context…
I woke up at 10:30 this morning (I KNOW!) to find a baby still off living it up at grandma’s house and a husband gone to play flag football. So, I decided to make the most of my leeeeeeisurely morning and watch MTV. Because that’s what I do.
When I saw that The Hills was on (were on?) I thought, “Great! I’ll spend some time watching pretty girls with pretty hair and pretty clothes eat Pinkberry and fret over their internships at Elle or Vogue or whatever. It’ll be so fun and relaxing.”
Not so much.
I have to say, watching that show made me 1) embarrassed and 2) somewhat depressed. The shit that went down was ridiculous. Girls cussing each other out, fighting over dudes IN FRONT OF THE DUDES, actually whispering (sideways glances included) about other girls who were right across the table, etc. etc. oh gross. They all looked like a bunch of crazy harpies.
I realize that not all girls are like this. But I was a girl once. Sure, there was gossip and drama and general bullshit, but it never got to that level. What makes me so sad is that this amount of drama and insanity is probably going to be considered completely normal by the younger girls watching it. So sad to the point where I actually thought to myself, “Man, I’m so glad I had a boy.”
Please share your thoughts on this with me. I realize the The Hills isn’t (aren’t UGH ANNOYING) real, but it’s putting stuff out there that kind of makes my blood boil. Maybe yours, too?
