Sidamo thinks the absolute funniest thing in the world is when we take off his socks and hold our noses and wave our hands while saying, "Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-yew! Stinky!!"
Yesterday morning I had him on the changing table atop his dresser, and I was bending down to get some clothes out of the drawer. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to kick me in the head and laugh hysterically. I was not in the mood (did I mention it was morning?), so I said, "Sidamo, do not kick your mommy in the head! That is not funny!"
This morning when I put him on the changing table he said, "Kick mommy head, not funny! Pee-yew socks, funny!" And repeated it about 50 times, very seriously, as though he was really working hard on memorizing just what constitutes a good joke so he'll know in the future.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Sidamologic
As I’m cleaning his face after breakfast this morning:
Sidamo: All done?
Me: Nope, I still have to get the Weetabix off your face. Are you supposed to put your Weetabix on your face or in your mouth?
Sidamo: In hair?
Lo and behold, there’s cereal in his hair.
Me, pulling stuff out of his hair: Sidamo, we don’t put cereal in our hair. Where do we put cereal?
Sidamo: In ears?
You guessed it—two ears full of Weetabix. Mmm.
Sidamo: All done?
Me: Nope, I still have to get the Weetabix off your face. Are you supposed to put your Weetabix on your face or in your mouth?
Sidamo: In hair?
Lo and behold, there’s cereal in his hair.
Me, pulling stuff out of his hair: Sidamo, we don’t put cereal in our hair. Where do we put cereal?
Sidamo: In ears?
You guessed it—two ears full of Weetabix. Mmm.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Fun in a box (and elsewhere)
I know every parent asks it, but really, why do we buy toys?
Yes, that last one is of Greg in the box. What a sport. And here's a photo from a weekend trip to the Children's Museum with Sidamo's newest friend, S, just home from China. She's a natural climber!
Yes, that last one is of Greg in the box. What a sport. And here's a photo from a weekend trip to the Children's Museum with Sidamo's newest friend, S, just home from China. She's a natural climber!
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Crazy people make for long days
I am so, so ready for a nap (what I'm really ready for is half a bottle of wine, but I'm going the responsible mama route).
Here's my day so far, told in three crazy-person acts:
Crazy Person Number One
The plan for the morning was to apply for Sidamo's passport so we can get his social security number and file taxes. I gathered all of his citizenship documents last night, filled out the application and found the nearest application location, which also happens to be a post office (maybe they all are?). Bonus: I had to mail out some boxes of stuff I just sold on ebay, so two birds, one stone.
I get Sidamo, all his accouterments, the packages, and the passport stuff loaded up in the car (no small feat). As I'm driving and wondering how on earth I'm going to get into the post office with all this stuff (plus a high-energy toddler), I think, "Maybe some nice gentleman will see me struggling and offer to help." Unfortunately when I got to the parking lot, instead of meeting some nice gentleman, I met Crazy Person Number One (CP1 for short).
I park my car, get out, and walk around to the other side to take Sidamo out of his car seat. As I'm going to the passenger side, CP1 gets into his car, just to my right. I'm unbuckling Sidamo and I notice CP1 pulling out. No problem; plenty of room. But then my car door hits me, and I turn around to see CP1 stopping his car, getting out, and slamming his door.
I wasn't quite sure what happened, so I said, "Oops. Did your car mirror bump the door?"
To which he just muttered. I figured he was annoyed with himself for running into my car, so I just took a quick look at the door and said, "Don't worry, no damage done."
He pushed past me and started thoroughly examining his mirror (on his beat-up pick-up, mind you) and still muttering under his breath.
I should have left it alone, but instead I said, "I'm sorry, but did I do something?"
"You left your door hanging open!" he screamed.
"Yes, my door is open. I'm taking my son out of the car."
"Well you need to watch what you're doing!"
"I'm taking my son out of the car. Do you have any suggestions on how to do that with the door closed?"
More screaming on his part about how irresponsible I am; more bewilderment on my part.
He gets in his car and starts to drive off. I say (apparently not quite under my breath), "Moron."
He stops his car. "What did you say?"
"I said you're behaving like a moron."
More screaming about how I had no right to have my door open so wide. Side note: It's a Honda Element, not a Cadillac. The doors don't open very wide at all.
I say, "Sir, my car door was open before you even started your car. I was standing still, you were driving your car and hit my car. How on earth could this possibly be my fault?" He mutters something else and drives off. I'm shaking with anger, and people are staring at me.
Sidamo and I make it into the post office (with no help from kindly gentlemen) and realize the passport line is a mile long. We mail our packages and leave so I can drop the kid off at Grandma's and get to my appointment with CP2.
Crazy Person Number 2
A little background: I've had a pretty good pregnancy so far, and I'm actually really enjoying all the bizarre changes, the growing belly, the constant kicks. My only complaint has been that I've developed a condition called Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. It's about at pleasant as it sounds. I won't get into all the details, but it basically causes the two bones that join to form the pubic bone to separate, grind against each other, and create lots of pain. I've talked to my doctor about it, tried acupuncture, physical therapy, chiropractic, and so on. I don't want to take any medications during pregnancy (and my doctors know this), so I've just been trying natural remedies. No luck so far, so recently my doctor suggested I see another doctor who she said specializes in pain during pregnancy and uses acupressure, acupuncture, and trigger point therapy to treat it. I asked my chiropractor about this doctor, and he also thought I should go see him. He mentioned that sometimes he'll do lidocaine injections into the pelvic muscles if the pain is really bad. Not my bag, but I figured some of his other remedies might be of use.
So I go to my appointment, which I figure will be an over-the-clothes type of affair (I'm not really comfortable with getting below-the-belt care from male doctors). After a brief introduction, he tells me to disrobe from the waist down. "Underwear too?" I ask. "Yes, underwear too."
Warning: People uncomfortable with gynecological discussions should skip to the next act.
He proceeds to do a full pelvic exam, pushing on different, very sensitive, areas and asking, "Does this hurt?" Umm, yeah. Apparently he was locating trigger points.
So after he's all done, he explains his therapy: He would use a needle to inject lidocaine AND steroids into each of those very sensitive, very internal areas. He'd be happy to do it for me today if I'd like. There haven't been any studies done on it, but he's relatively sure injectable steroids are safe during pregnancy.
No thanks, I'll deal with the pain.
Now here's my question: Why on earth would I refuse so much as a Tylenol but let you inject local anesthetic and STEROIDS into my body, about three inches away from my baby? And also, a needle? There? You've just earned yourself the title of CP2.
Crazy Person Number Three
Sidamo and I get home from all these adventures a little crabbier for the wear. I put him down for his nap and check my email. More background: I write a monthly e-newsletter for a magazine, and as part of the newsletter we have a calendar of events people can contribute to. I ask for people to have their submissions to me by the 15th of every month for the following month's newsletter, formatted very specifically.
There's one woman who never formats it at all (instead sends me a link to a web page from which I'm supposed to cull the information), and never sends it on time. Still, I include her because she's a friend of the magazine. She didn't send anything for the past couple months, but she did have an event she submitted a few months ago that wasn't occurring until this month. As a courtesy, I included it in the December and January newsletters even though she didn't resubmit it, but I forgot to include it in February.
She emailed my editor to point out my oversight and say she never plans to work with the magazine again as a result. A little over the top? Maybe. So I send her a very prompt and very sincere apology. She didn't respond for about a week, and then today (a day already chock full of crazies), I get a reply.
It's not really worth summarizing, so I'll just cut to the chase: She called me a pansy! Literally, she used the word pansy to describe me. The email was four lines long, and that was the punchline. I'm a pansy.
I was really, really tempted to respond with the same thing I wanted to respond to CP1, which is, "Look, I'm pregnant, my pelvis is falling apart, and I'm exhausted from chasing an overly energized toddler all day. And beyond that, I'm a human being. Can you dig real deep and find a drop of compassion in your soul before addressing me?"
But I didn't. I'm blogging about it instead, which I guess is better than swallowing it altogether, right?
Here's my day so far, told in three crazy-person acts:
Crazy Person Number One
The plan for the morning was to apply for Sidamo's passport so we can get his social security number and file taxes. I gathered all of his citizenship documents last night, filled out the application and found the nearest application location, which also happens to be a post office (maybe they all are?). Bonus: I had to mail out some boxes of stuff I just sold on ebay, so two birds, one stone.
I get Sidamo, all his accouterments, the packages, and the passport stuff loaded up in the car (no small feat). As I'm driving and wondering how on earth I'm going to get into the post office with all this stuff (plus a high-energy toddler), I think, "Maybe some nice gentleman will see me struggling and offer to help." Unfortunately when I got to the parking lot, instead of meeting some nice gentleman, I met Crazy Person Number One (CP1 for short).
I park my car, get out, and walk around to the other side to take Sidamo out of his car seat. As I'm going to the passenger side, CP1 gets into his car, just to my right. I'm unbuckling Sidamo and I notice CP1 pulling out. No problem; plenty of room. But then my car door hits me, and I turn around to see CP1 stopping his car, getting out, and slamming his door.
I wasn't quite sure what happened, so I said, "Oops. Did your car mirror bump the door?"
To which he just muttered. I figured he was annoyed with himself for running into my car, so I just took a quick look at the door and said, "Don't worry, no damage done."
He pushed past me and started thoroughly examining his mirror (on his beat-up pick-up, mind you) and still muttering under his breath.
I should have left it alone, but instead I said, "I'm sorry, but did I do something?"
"You left your door hanging open!" he screamed.
"Yes, my door is open. I'm taking my son out of the car."
"Well you need to watch what you're doing!"
"I'm taking my son out of the car. Do you have any suggestions on how to do that with the door closed?"
More screaming on his part about how irresponsible I am; more bewilderment on my part.
He gets in his car and starts to drive off. I say (apparently not quite under my breath), "Moron."
He stops his car. "What did you say?"
"I said you're behaving like a moron."
More screaming about how I had no right to have my door open so wide. Side note: It's a Honda Element, not a Cadillac. The doors don't open very wide at all.
I say, "Sir, my car door was open before you even started your car. I was standing still, you were driving your car and hit my car. How on earth could this possibly be my fault?" He mutters something else and drives off. I'm shaking with anger, and people are staring at me.
Sidamo and I make it into the post office (with no help from kindly gentlemen) and realize the passport line is a mile long. We mail our packages and leave so I can drop the kid off at Grandma's and get to my appointment with CP2.
Crazy Person Number 2
A little background: I've had a pretty good pregnancy so far, and I'm actually really enjoying all the bizarre changes, the growing belly, the constant kicks. My only complaint has been that I've developed a condition called Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. It's about at pleasant as it sounds. I won't get into all the details, but it basically causes the two bones that join to form the pubic bone to separate, grind against each other, and create lots of pain. I've talked to my doctor about it, tried acupuncture, physical therapy, chiropractic, and so on. I don't want to take any medications during pregnancy (and my doctors know this), so I've just been trying natural remedies. No luck so far, so recently my doctor suggested I see another doctor who she said specializes in pain during pregnancy and uses acupressure, acupuncture, and trigger point therapy to treat it. I asked my chiropractor about this doctor, and he also thought I should go see him. He mentioned that sometimes he'll do lidocaine injections into the pelvic muscles if the pain is really bad. Not my bag, but I figured some of his other remedies might be of use.
So I go to my appointment, which I figure will be an over-the-clothes type of affair (I'm not really comfortable with getting below-the-belt care from male doctors). After a brief introduction, he tells me to disrobe from the waist down. "Underwear too?" I ask. "Yes, underwear too."
Warning: People uncomfortable with gynecological discussions should skip to the next act.
He proceeds to do a full pelvic exam, pushing on different, very sensitive, areas and asking, "Does this hurt?" Umm, yeah. Apparently he was locating trigger points.
So after he's all done, he explains his therapy: He would use a needle to inject lidocaine AND steroids into each of those very sensitive, very internal areas. He'd be happy to do it for me today if I'd like. There haven't been any studies done on it, but he's relatively sure injectable steroids are safe during pregnancy.
No thanks, I'll deal with the pain.
Now here's my question: Why on earth would I refuse so much as a Tylenol but let you inject local anesthetic and STEROIDS into my body, about three inches away from my baby? And also, a needle? There? You've just earned yourself the title of CP2.
Crazy Person Number Three
Sidamo and I get home from all these adventures a little crabbier for the wear. I put him down for his nap and check my email. More background: I write a monthly e-newsletter for a magazine, and as part of the newsletter we have a calendar of events people can contribute to. I ask for people to have their submissions to me by the 15th of every month for the following month's newsletter, formatted very specifically.
There's one woman who never formats it at all (instead sends me a link to a web page from which I'm supposed to cull the information), and never sends it on time. Still, I include her because she's a friend of the magazine. She didn't send anything for the past couple months, but she did have an event she submitted a few months ago that wasn't occurring until this month. As a courtesy, I included it in the December and January newsletters even though she didn't resubmit it, but I forgot to include it in February.
She emailed my editor to point out my oversight and say she never plans to work with the magazine again as a result. A little over the top? Maybe. So I send her a very prompt and very sincere apology. She didn't respond for about a week, and then today (a day already chock full of crazies), I get a reply.
It's not really worth summarizing, so I'll just cut to the chase: She called me a pansy! Literally, she used the word pansy to describe me. The email was four lines long, and that was the punchline. I'm a pansy.
I was really, really tempted to respond with the same thing I wanted to respond to CP1, which is, "Look, I'm pregnant, my pelvis is falling apart, and I'm exhausted from chasing an overly energized toddler all day. And beyond that, I'm a human being. Can you dig real deep and find a drop of compassion in your soul before addressing me?"
But I didn't. I'm blogging about it instead, which I guess is better than swallowing it altogether, right?
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Incredible Shrinking Nap
Sidamo's formerly predictable 2-hour nap time now lasts 45 minutes to an hour. This makes for a very unhappy mommy.
Any suggestions (short of prescription drugs) for getting back to the good old days?
Any suggestions (short of prescription drugs) for getting back to the good old days?
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Oh, mama!
(That's how Sidamo says "Obama").
We just got back from caucusing, and our precinct voted 62 for Obama, 23 for Clinton (1 abstention from a die-hard Kucinich fan—gotta love the passion). The turnout was incredible; it was so encouraging to see so many people enthused about the democratic process.
Such a close race … I can't wait to see how this turns out!
EDIT: It was actually 42, not 62, for Obama. I got a little overzealous, I guess!
We just got back from caucusing, and our precinct voted 62 for Obama, 23 for Clinton (1 abstention from a die-hard Kucinich fan—gotta love the passion). The turnout was incredible; it was so encouraging to see so many people enthused about the democratic process.
Such a close race … I can't wait to see how this turns out!
EDIT: It was actually 42, not 62, for Obama. I got a little overzealous, I guess!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Yes we can
Greg sent me this link yesterday, and I can't stop watching the video—or getting chills down my spine and tears in my eyes every time I do. It's a lyrical/poetic interpretation of Barack Obama's New Hampshire speech, and it's absolutely beautiful and inspiring.
www.dipdive.com
One of my favorite lines from the speech:
We’ve been asked to pause for a reality check. We’ve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
Please watch the video if you have a minute, and if you're in one of the Super Duper states, don't forget to get out and vote tomorrow. We're going to our caucus and bringing Sidamo. How wonderful that his first participation in the American political process will be in support of a man who could very well be our nation's first African American president. He picked a good time to become an American.
www.dipdive.com
One of my favorite lines from the speech:
We’ve been asked to pause for a reality check. We’ve been warned against offering the people of this nation false hope. But in the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope.
Please watch the video if you have a minute, and if you're in one of the Super Duper states, don't forget to get out and vote tomorrow. We're going to our caucus and bringing Sidamo. How wonderful that his first participation in the American political process will be in support of a man who could very well be our nation's first African American president. He picked a good time to become an American.
Friday, February 1, 2008
There's definitely something in there
That is, other than the two bowls of cereal, handful of nuts, banana, and half a burrito I've eaten already today (no, it's not quite noon yet). Evidence: I felt the first kicks from the outside yesterday, and Greg was able to feel a few too. It's bizarre and alien feeling, but very cool. Second piece of evidence: my enormous belly, finally caught on film.
Sidamo and I are having a fun day today. This morning we played with all the bath toys in the sink for a long, long time. This afternoon we have a playdate with a toddler girl who was adopted from Ethiopia a few months before Sidamo. Odd coincidence: Her mom is also expecting baby number two in June. Sidamo and his little friend should have a lot to talk about.
Sidamo and I are having a fun day today. This morning we played with all the bath toys in the sink for a long, long time. This afternoon we have a playdate with a toddler girl who was adopted from Ethiopia a few months before Sidamo. Odd coincidence: Her mom is also expecting baby number two in June. Sidamo and his little friend should have a lot to talk about.
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