Stop the Mall Madness

On Sunday we hosted a combined birthday party for my seventeen-year-old stepson and my husband's niece, who just turned nine. Harrison received a stack of cards which held cash inside, if his stealthy hand movements of card to pocket can be any indication.

Sydney also received cards with cash from her grandpa and us. From her aunt and adult cousin she got two games: Mystery Date and Mall Madness.

Kind of makes me wish Henry were a girl so I could make a point of NOT letting him play those kinds of games.

Sacral Dimple

I'm having my first freak-out as a parent.

The other day, while Henry was having some naked time, I noticed a tiny hole between his butt cheeks right at the base of his tailbone, above his anus. I don't know how we got to almost four months without noticing this, but I guess I never felt the need to spread 'em before.

I immediately started doing some online research and found out that it could be something called a sacral dimple...or spina bifida occulta.

Yes, spina bifida. Hence the freak-out.

I also posted a question about it on the forums at Mothering, expecting to get one or two responses. Instead, a whole bunch of women replied, saying they, their kids, or their spouses had something like this, and for the most part it was no big deal. Some of them even jokingly referred to the dimple as a "poop collector."

Henry has his four-month check-up at the pediatrician soon, so I'll be bringing it up then, but I'm feeling a bit better. Isn't the internet a wonderful thing?

Happy Thanksgiving!

I like to hang out naked on national holidays.

"Maybe Hungry"

When I was pregnant I kept reading about how a mother becomes so in tune with her baby that she quickly learns to interpret its cries.

Ummm, not so much.

Me, in the middle of the night: "What's wrong? Are you hungry? Did you soak your diaper? Do you have gas pains? Why are you crying?"

After Henry was born my twelve-year-old stepdaughter, who has Down syndrome, asked why he cried so much. We explained to her that babies can't talk so they cry to let us know that something is wrong. He could be hungry, wet, in pain, tired, or overstimulated. So now every time Henry cries Madeleine offers up a reason.

"Maybe hungry," she'll say.

"No, I just fed him half an hour ago," I'll tell her. "I'm not sure what's wrong with him."

As he continues to cry, with nothing I do working to soothe him, I'll hear her muttering under her breath as she walks away, "Maybe hungry."

The funny thing is she's often right. And I'm left to wonder...did Henry's cognitively disabled adolescent half-sister end up with my mama instincts?

Don't Quit Your Day Job, Dear

So my husband's bright ideas haven't been coming quite as fast and furious since he went back to work, but here are two he's mentioned recently:

• Putting a cup holder on the back of baby clothes, for those times you simultaneously have to hold the baby and drink a beer.
• Dressing Henry up for Halloween as...drumroll please...a fetus.

I'll let you know when inspiration strikes him again.

In the Tradition of The Family Circus...

...(a comic strip I find really annoying), I'm turning today's blog entry over to Henry, who lately seems to be paying really close attention to everything I do.


Currently reading:

• Goodnight Moon
• Pat the Bunny
  
• Big Red Barn
• Touch and Feel Baby Animals
  
• One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish
• Baby Einstein: Mirror Me! (a personal fav)
  

Currently spinning (on the Mommy or Daddy turntable):

• Shortnin' Bread
• You Are My Sunshine
• Bumping Up and Down
• Going to the Zoo
  
• The Mockingbird Song

Dislikes:

• Loud noises
• Having my nails cut
• Being by myself

Likes:

• A tummy full of mommy milk
• Being held
  
• Naked time (but a risky proposition for Mommy and Daddy)
  
• Sucking my thumb
  

But enough about me...what do you think of me?

MILF

I'll admit it: I wanna be a MILF. (And I'm not talking about the Moro Islamic Liberation Front.) I love my husband, and I don't want anyone else but him, but that doesn't mean I don't want other men to want me.

My own mother was 35 when she had me, a year older than I am now. And (sorry, Mom) she was not a MILF. No mothers were when I was growing up. I very distinctly remember thinking that when you grow up and have kids you become overweight and matronly. The few moms who didn't were blessed with super-charged metabolism, and obviously that didn't run in my family.

This is honestly what I believed.

Of course, I no longer accepted this as fact by the time I was pregnant with Henry, but I did think it would take me a year or more to lose the pregnancy weight. So don't throw virtual rocks at me when I confess that I'm currently seven pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight.

I still have a way to go before being a candidate for MILF-dom, though. Who has time for make-up with a new baby in the house? What's the point of pulling together a great outfit when you get spit up on several times a day? And any attention I might pay to my hair is wasted when I have to lay down with Henry to get him to nap during the day.

Still, a woman can dream.

So, if you're a single man and you see a harried mother with a new baby in the grocery store, be charitable and give her a little smile. She could be hot...if she could only find the time.

"Knows Your Name Elmo"

Shouldn't the good people at Mattel have released this in time for Halloween? I mean, Elmo...knows...your...name...

What's next, "Stalks Your Mom Elmo?" Do they really need to make Elmo any scarier than he already is?