(Formal & Belated) Introduction of Chunkasaurus

Well, um, he's here!
(6 months, 2 weeks, and 4 days of being here, actually... but, hey, LIFE HAPPENS. Move on, people. Move on.)

I've gone back and forth on whether I should write out his full "labor story", but ultimately decided that, yes, it should be committed to (cyber)paper just like his big brother's (The Squish) was. Fair is fair... and, honestly, I don't want to emotionally scar one and not the other.

The PrequelOn Monday, May 23rd, I reported to my OB's office for the mind-numbing procedure known as the "non-stress test" (NST), which I had been partaking in twice a week for the previous four weeks. Upon checking in, the receptionist promptly congratulated me on my impending c-section!
... I wasn't going to... have... a... huh?!
Thinking that it's what my OB wanted/recommended (giving the CRAPTASTICAL way the pregnancy was progressing), I went ahead and scheduled it for that next Saturday, May 28th and started telling friends and family about the development.
That Wednesday, the 25th, I went to Valley Medical for an amniocentesis to determine whether Little Dude's lungs were mature enough to handle the Anti-Womb Zone. My OB was there, thankfully, but gave me the weirdest look as she walked into the room; I figured I had spilt coffee down the front of my shirt (again) or something along those lines, and shrugged it off. The procedure went well, save for the whole sticking-a-huge-effing-needle-into-my-uterus-through-my-side part... or when Mini-Man reached out and grabbed the needle. He GRABBED the needle. HEGRABBEDTHENEEDLE. I tell you, folks, sometimes you just don't want to see what's happening on the ultrasound. Suffice it to say, we all yelped.
Afterwards, my OB walked me to the maternity ward to make sure Chunker and I didn't have a bad reaction to the procedure. On the way, she dropped this little bombshell: "Um... I didn't say to have you scheduled for a c-section. I said "induction" - they must not have heard me correctly." Kind of explained the funny look, huh?

The Show
After waiting at home all day, Man-Mate and I reported to Valley Medical's Birth Center around 7:30 p.m. on Friday, May 27th to begin the induction. The nurses tried a couple of different options before we switched to a pitocin drip early Saturday morning... and that definitely got things started. By about 12:00 p.m., we had turned the drip up a few notches, and I was ready to get an epidural.
**Moment of silence for the wonder that is modern medicine, and Dr. John Bonica - inventer of this particular slice of heaven.**
When the anesthesiologist showed up to start the epidural, The Husband and I joked with him about the doctor who gave me the epidural I had with The Squish; how the meter is only made for women 5'10'' and under, and how he gave me too much medication so that my blood pressure dropped down to something low enough to have a nurse rush in with a crash cart (not needed - a shot of epinephrine was enough to bring me back to Happyville). Yeah, well, turns out it was THE SAME DOC. I would never have known, if it wasn't for The Husband telling me after he left the room.
When the nurse checked me around 1:00, I was 7cm and about 90%... so we figured it was time to call Man-Mate's mom and have her come down for the birth. Well... an hour later, I'm feeling awholelotofpressuredownthere and convinced that a baby (or a small rhinocerous) was going to come flying out any second, and Mom wasn't there yet, as she was taking care of The Squish. Man-Mate went to get a nurse (WHERE WAS SHE??) and, sure enough, the nurse delivered the age-old advice of "Don't push... just hold it in..." before she (wisely) fled the room to find the doctor.
Right as the doctor was suiting up and nurses were adjusting the bed, Mom came in carrying The Squish! I didn't have the time - or the care - to worry about whether seeing his brother emerge from his mother's nether-regions was something that would haunt him into perpetuity... but The Husband took Bubba and kept him up near my head, and having Mom at my side enabled me to focus and not let fly with a string of especially creative curses. With only a couple of pushes, our new little guy was born.

The After Party
Ugh.
Okay, so he was an amazingly cute newborn; no funky-shaped head, bright blue eyes, and pink all over, but I. Was. DONE. Bubba asked to cuddle with me, so I got to spend the first few minutes of Baby 2.0's life with both boys snuggled next to me, and I tell you this: I have discovered what Heaven will be like. It was amazing.
Mom spent the night with me so that Man-Mate could get some rest, and we all went home the next day.

So, how's that?

Life with our little Chunkasaurus has been amazing. The Squish loves him, and acts as if he has been in our family as long as The Squish himself... and even our cats have accepted him, bless their furry little hearts. So far, his favorite things in life are watching his brother (do anything - seriously), farting, attempting to clap, watching someone else clap, holding their hands while they clap (sensing a pattern?), snuggling, taking baths, chewing on his fingers/other people's fingers/burp rags/anything he can reach, and farting some more.

... he's perfect.



"Uh-HYUCK!"



An open letter from The Squish to his Parents...

Dear Mama and Dada,

As I'm approaching the big two-point-five years of life, I thought it might be time for a little progress report. I overhear you talking about all of my accomplishments (of which, of course, there are MANY), and airing your frustrations (are you INSANE?)... so I think it's only fair that I, your benevolent Little Dictator, chime in at least once.

Here are some things I want you to take note of:

1. When I say "down", but am pointing 'up', don't be an ass. You know what I want, so why correct me? You're just embarrassing me in front of Bobo the monkey and the rest of my toys. Not cool.

2. Why must you call me out when I am pooping? I picked that corner of the room for a reason; it allows me the best view of the television while just hiding me from your sight so that I might do my thing. If I really wanted to learn how to use a potty, I'd ask you. Have you heard me asking you? No? Then back off and let a boy soil his shorts in peace. (P.S. - That potty, you know, the one with the duck face on it? IT CREEPS ME OUT. Not gonna use it.)

3. Mama, I know something is changing. Your belly is fat, it kicks at me when I'm sitting on your (increasingly smaller) lap, and you're eating more ice cream than ever. But whatever is going on, I don't believe you for one second when you point to your belly and say "There's a baby brother in there for you, Bubba...!" Oh, there's something in there, sure, but it sure as hell ain't for me. If I don't like it, I'm sending it back.

4. So what if I like crackers and chips? So what if that's all I want to eat? Maybe I'm proteinphobic... ever thought of that? You keep telling me that eating chicken and fish and that loafed meat stuff will make me grow big and strong like Dada... but have you ever stopped and LOOKED at Dada? The man's a hairy beast! Sure, I want to look like Dada one day, but I also want to enjoy my few years of hair-free bliss, thanks... and for all I know, he's hairy because he eats his protein.

5. Dada, tickle me more. I love it.

6. Dada, if you don't laugh when I punch you in the nuts, I'll stop doing it.

7. Dada, I think I love you the most... don't tell Mama.

8. Why am I allowed to color on my desk, table, and body, but not on the refrigerator, the floor, the couches or the cats? Is my skin less important to you than the food-cooler??

9. It's cute how you think you'll get me to sleep in my own bed when the "baby" comes. You're stuck with me, guys.

10. Have you noticed that I no longer scream bloody murder when you attempt to trim my nails, dislodge a booger, or change my poopy diaper? A little praise would go a LONG way.

11. Mama, I know I'm really independent right now... but I still love it when you squat down, throw open your arms, smile and say "MY BABY!" so that I can run to you. I think I love you the most... don't tell Dada.

12. I know that Granny is "Granny" or "Granmama", not "This"... but she's so fun to tease. I think I love her the most... don't tell Graddy.

13. You know why I'm not hungry for dinner? Graddy sneaks me cookies when you're not looking. I think I love him the most... don't tell Granny/Granmama/This.

14. I'd never tell you this to your face, but I kind of like signing things while I talk. Can we do more of that, please?

I love you both, even though I can't always show it. Then again, if you allow me to have a popsicle for dinner every night, I could be convinced to show it a liiiiittle more...

Mwah,
The Squish/Bubba/Dookiedoo/SquishFaceButtNugget

Your Loving Little Dictator...

 

My, what a big brain you have!

As the Mother o' The Squish, I have never felt anything other than pride and acceptance towards my sweet son's ability to assimilate into this world and learn as he goes. Okay, maybe there have been times of worry, awe, fear, uncertainty, elation, bewilderment, terror, surprise, and sheer blankness... but, mostly, pride and acceptance.

Over the course of the last week, however, we've moved into what can only be described as "Toddler Brain Hyper Speed", with my silly Dookie-Doo at the helm.

It all started last Friday, when Bruiser woke up (from his Mama's incessant tickling and kisses)... and here is the conversation that resulted:
Bruiser: Dada?
Mama: Dada went bye-bye, sweet love.
B: Where Dada go?
M: Um... Dada is at work. He took the bus.
B: No, Dada wow-wow.
M: Nope - Dada rode the bus to work today, so Mama can have the car. What does the bus say, Bubba?
B: Bus... bus... bus beep beep!
M: That's right! The bus says "beep beep"! Good job.
B: Mama?
M: Yes, buddy?
B: Dada no wow-wow, Dada go a bus. Beep beep! Bye, Dada bus!

This may not seem epic and/or post-worthy to some, but to the Mother o' The Squish? I was elated! Stoked! Impressed! And, most startlingly, terrified that I might screw up his newly emerging language skills! I mean, here is this little guy, finally stringing more than two words together, trying to communicate an entire, complex thought to another human being. How amazing is that? I just felt like the tides were turning... and I was right.

As I said, this has been a week of insane brain growth. It's like our Little Dictator has been saving up all of these lessons and observations of the English language, and finally decided to put them to use. Case-in-point, here are some of the new words/word combinations he has started saying:
1. "gicky at" (kitty cat)
2. "m'ow" (meow)
3. "guh ACK" (come back), or usually just "ACK"
4. "ick" (um... ick)
5. "wuv" (love)
6. "I want dis" (I want this)
7. "I a me" (I am me)
8. "Who's dis?" (Who is this?)
9. "Dada a bye-bye a bus a beep beep!" (Dada goes bye-bye on the bus that goes beep-beep!)
10. "Dada a door, guh ACK" (Dada went out the door, come back)
11. "Bye-bye, Mama/Dada!" (Duh.)
12. "I want a MINE" (I want it, it's mine.)
These are only the ones I can remember off the top of my 7 1/2 months pregnant, sleep-deprived, work-stressed head.

He has also started counting things out loud... even if every number is the number '9'. Going down the stairs... ("9... 9... 9..."), repeating back to me how many minutes he has left with a toy before it's someone else's turn... ("Mama, 9")... it's adorable and, although we are sure to use the correct numbers immediately afterwards, I really don't mind if thinks every number is the number 9. Go right ahead, Love Bug. Go right ahead.

Finally, he has started incorporating head nods and smiles when he agrees/understands/wants to say 'yes' to something. Up until this point, Man-Mate and I have been laughingly trying to expand his vocabulary assent of "please" to include "yes", "yeah", or "ok"... or something along those lines. Again, within the last week, Bubba-Gumpy has started this new skill and I love it! He's adorable already, but when he smiles... well, let's just say that I can see signs of a future in Not So Little Dictator-ship. The kid has charisma up the chasba.

Um... you need to eat, kid.

It has become embarrassingly apparent these last few months ("few" meaning "six-plus") that Man-Mate and I are, in fact, raising a little dictator.

No, he doesn't make numerous demands regarding the state of his playroom upon arrival, or require Evian water before making an appearance at church, but he has certainly developed preferences - very distinct, well-vocalized preferences - on what food is good enough to enter his system. Thankfully, our Little Dictator's Mama has found out that she is not alone... and just in the nick of time.

Oh, sure, everyone has heard the story about the kid who would only eat chicken nuggets or peanut butter and jelly at every meal. As parents, I'm sure most of us started off on this journey with the mantra of "N'uh-uh... not MY baby", armed with a foodie arsenal sure to appease the pickiest of pallets. Yeah, well, our arsenal now consists of the following (given in Bubba-isms first, with translations immediately following):
1. "Gack-gr" - Crackers
2. "Fiffef" - Goldfish crackers
3. "Az-zah" or "Ass-zah" - Applesauce
4. "Go-gurk" - Yogurt
5. "Tettup" - Ketchup (Hey, he's my kid... ketchup is practically one of our food groups... even if I don't serve it on its own).
6. "This" - Popsicle
7. "Muh" - More... of anything that he has had in the last few days that he feels we should remember and have in ready supply if not already have presented him with or else burn in the fires of Mordor.

... and that's just the list of things that our sweet Bubba-Squish can vocalize by name. Also add to it peanut butter and pretzels, chicken nuggets, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and french fries.

We're hoping that, one day (SOON), our little man will eat more like a, um, little man... instead of a finicky squirrel. He's not at risk for malnutrition; at 35 lbs and 36'' tall, I'd say he's doing just fine - but all those self-imposed dietary staples are interfering with Girly's Goal of Gastronomical Gusto! Is it really time to employ sneak tactics? Must I resort to "hiding" healthy foods in his everyday favorites? Do I really, really have to make an avacado smoothie and tell him that it's just like the nummy milkshake he's occasionally allowed?? *sigh*

Son #2, due in late May/early June of this year, is going to have some hiiiiiiiiigh expectations to live up to, if his brother has any say in the matter.