Hercules, urine fountains, baby curses, ANTBM and other full disclosures on motherhood.

My son is strong.  Like ridiculously strong.  Like big men trying to hold him say “wow, he’s really strong!”.  And that was when he was sick (he’s been sick since we’ve been home—long story—not going into it here).  Now he is feeling ass cheek kicking awesome.  I don’t have a problem with having a strong son other than I am not sure how I will keep him contained once he reaches, oh 10 months, because I have big plans for him.  The next time I move, he’s helping.

As a result of being so strong I have experienced my very first purple nurple and can I just say, oh my God, that hurt.  The first one might have been an accident, but the ones since?  Not a freakin’ chance.  Talk about spine paralyzing pain.  I’m surprised I haven’t dropped him while  he’s doing that.  So, here is the question…what the heck do I do to discourage this?  At what age does a child understand what ‘get the hell off me’ NO means?  At this point I scream in pain at such a high octave he looks at me stunned—but still pinching.  Yowza.  I’ve already started putting mittens on his hands during bottle feedings so he can’t pull my hair (he used to stroke it so nicely).  If he keeps this up he will be wearing those stupid mittens like socks—24/7. 

Seriously, he is that strong.  And since he is a male he won’t likely know his own strength until he nearly 45 years old.  I’m not sure I’ll be around long enough to notice.

Some of you have seen my attempt to diaper my child (or laughed your cheeks off while watching).  He doesn’t cry, but he loves to wrestle.  There have been more than a few diaper changes that have taken place while standing on his head (the pediatrician is aware), while I pin him to the floor with an arm or on bad days, my legs.  I didn’t buy a changing table before I came home and thank God I didn’t.  I can just see him flying right off of it. 

When people ask how I am adjusting (really well, thank you for asking) the only issue I ever mention is diapering.  The only thing more difficult than diapering him is getting him dressed after a bath.  He loves bath time and gets all riled up.  Well, today I decided to let him play naked for a few minutes before dressing him because I needed to catch my breath before round 2 he is so cute.  He looked so stinkin’ cute I ran to get my camera.  Twenty seconds later I return to find him standing up holding on to the jumperoo peeing on my carpet with a huge grin on his face.  Somehow I managed to cover him up with a diaper while I proceeded to laugh myself stupid.  The kicker wasn’t really the urine fountain, it was the absolute joy and pleasure on his face while he stood there watering the carpet.  Seriously, I think potty training is going to be a breeze…as long as I teach him to pee on a wall and poop at the table. 

I have been known to use a few curses in my life, I am not proud, but after working with nurses and doctors for the better part of 13 years I have picked up some of their poor language choices.  Obviously with a child in the home I need to correct that so I looked at the words I typically use (believe it or not, there are only a few).  I’ve started using ‘cheeks’ to replace ass.  It’s a shame because whether I see it in writing or hear it used out loud ASSHAT is still the funniest word I have ever heard/seen.  And, yes, I am aware that my sense of humor is in line with what you would typically see among 12 year-old boys.  Unfortunately referring to someone as a ‘cheekhead’ does not have near enough zing.  Given the number of “oh shit” moments I had in Vietnam, my biggest fear is that shit will indeed be his first word.  Seriously, walking down the narrow, wet steps around the mountain when we were in Halong Bay I repeated “ohshitohshitohshit” more frequently than my heart beat (and believe me, my heart was racing double time).  I have found a couple of fillers “oh doggies” or just putting in the name of someone I dislike.  Unfortunately that one only works if they aren’t standing in front of you.

After our fountain incident earlier today I decided we needed to get out of the house (I wanted to know if the living room still smelled like pee pee after smelling it with a fresh nose—thankfully, it doesn’t).  I was in desperate need of an oil change and while I was there a woman approached me and started chatting (hey, she had 3 kids, one of them a blonde and Spud likes himself some blonde).  Anyway, Spud has just been discovered!  Evidently a leading baby formula company is looking for baby models, especially “ethnic” babies.  She thought he looked cute (well, duh) and photogenic so we are hoping to set up a shoot soon.  Obviously it’s not definite that they will use him, but I thought that would be pretty freakin’ funny to see his face in the advertisements I am suddenly swimming in.          

This is so totally unrelated to anything else this post, but Spud got his Certificate of Citizenship last Friday (I have a “single and loving it” shirt that I need to pose him wearing while holding up his CoC since they identified him as single—what the heck?).  Anyway, we filed for a social security number on Monday when Kris and Cate were here and it arrived today.  After all the issues I have had with adoption related paperwork over the last 2+ years I was expecting it would take 14 weeks and then because they lost it (because you know they would) it would take 14 more.  But then I realized, my name isn’t anywhere associated with his SSN.  He is working with a fresh, clean slate.  Wow, so jealous of that. 

And because I am letting it all hang out today I am going to try to post next time on our little blow out at a Mexican restaurant last week.  Yeah, cliche, I know.  And by our, I mean Spud’s.  I don’t want anyone thinking I ‘oh doggied’ myself at a Mexican restaurant.