Love is Blind

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  • Sorry and the apologies

     

     

     


     

    Today, like any other day, GiGi hits me.  She flails around or smacks me (along with the bed, books, chair, doll, etc) out of frustration and a myriad of other reasons Im not quite sure of.   I am 100% positive that this is just some sort of a toddler phase that we will outgrow soon.  In the meantime, GiGi has decided to pick up on the word “sorry” to make up for all the hitting she’s doing. 

     

    I started teaching her that when we hit (we meaning her) that we need to say “sorry.”   She caught on abnormally quick to the right moments for the correct opportunity to say “sorry.”  The first 40 times she said it, it was heartfelt and I think we both cried during the apology.  Recently, she has begun to say it, fake cry, and then hit again.

     

    Somewhere along

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  • Hold it now, Hit it.

     

     

     

    We are at a point in our lives where hitting has taken over previously mellow manners. I tell GiGi “no. we don’t open the cupboards,” and she lies on the floor crying out my name until I pick her up so that she can hit me in the closest of proximities.  She’s sly that way.  I’m not sure when the buzz grabbed a hold of her ear and identified a 1-2-punch-scratch combo as the coolest new thing around, but there it is.  Like white on snow, like gum under tables, hitting has arrived and it’s not going anywhere, anytime soon.  At least, that’s what it feels like. 

     

    I have resorted to buying the book, The Happiest Toddler on the Block, to try and salvage some of my midday sanity.  I wasn’t really enthused with the idea of buying the Happy baby/tot books, but after someone on my favorite parenting/lady/witty/life-saving forum mentioned, the author and I share the same method of acting a tantrum out.  Or so I’m told.  I figure if I am already like-minded in some teensy way to this author, then maybe there is a useful sentence or ten in this book that can save my arms, face and chest from the wrath of the ever-growing and relentless nails of my babe.

     

    For most of the day...

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  • Poop.

     

     

     

     

    GiGi and I are crazy young ladies with wild on our side and a pocket full of routine to keep us grounded.  It’s a cute pocket, but it’s awfully heavy.  At night, GiGi either takes a bath or cleans up in a tot bath in the gigantic shower we are blessed enough to have.  When we finish with the lather-rinse-repeat, my child and I stroll back to my bedroom where she avoids her diaper and I attempt to get pajama’d in record time.  It’s a simple routine; showering, getting dressed, and then brushing our teeth before bedtime.  I’ve learned that if I change the bulletin list in any way, trouble arises.

     

    A few nights ago, GiGi ran down the hallway yelling “Papa! Papa!” so I figured that it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if I were to let her tell my father goodnight while I scurried to get dressed and ready her pjs/ lotion/ diaper/ nightly shot (growth hormone, not tequila)/ toothbrush and book.  What’s cuter than a baby tush flashing past their grandparents?  Nothing.   

     

    It all seemed so innocent.  Naked time for the babe and a series of loud  “awwww’s” and “ well hello there’s” followed by giggles.  I was done in two minutes flat.  Do you know what can happen in two minutes, aside from dressing and prepping?

     

    Poop. 

     

    Everywhere.

     

    I walked down the hallway to grab my naked monster baby who I could hear rambling at the other end of the house and as I approached the end, I saw it.  It looked like little hot wheels scattered across the carpet where the hallway finished and the living room began.  “is that poop?’’ I thought.   I stopped and listened and only heard GiGi talking to herself.  If it was poop, there wasn’t anyone who had noticed it.  I flipped on the light and found big people sized pooplings laying about, mocking my new, capricious routine of letting GiGi run naked.  The cute had officially worn off and faded into a crap stained carpet.   It’s never a good idea to rattle the elders at night so I quietly ran to the kitchen to grab some cleaning supplies.  When I returned and looked closer at the mess, not only did I see the poop, I saw two smooshes.  One was an obvious foot smashing and the other?  The other was a wheel mark.  I’m not going to lie – I panicked.  Not only was there a mess on the carpet, but now it was a traveling mess. 

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  • Tiny Chef / Big Tummy.

     

     

     

    Thanks to a slight sinus infection and overall funk for GiGi, I now have a child who will eat more than tomato soup, applesauce and goldfish crackers.  Is it inappropriate to thank a sinus infection for an increase in appetite?  Oh, who am I kidding, THANK YOU SINUS INFECTION FOR BEING CLEARED UP IN THREE DAYS AND LEAVING BEHIND ONLY AN APPETITE!

     

    Up until the Whinefest ’09 that happened to be two weeks ago(and lasted about the same before an actual doctor warranted illness came about), I couldn’t get GiGi to try anything really unless I was prepared for a session of crying, flying food, and a good old fashioned sippy cup toss.  Sometimes eggs got a little breakfast play, and toast was a total winner (still is) but anything else was the worlds most idiotic idea ever posed to a tot, according to my child.  I can't count the number of times that I tried to give her a piece of banana and was met with a complete meltdown.  The silent cry, you know the one, with flowing tears and that upside down smile that amazes you because its so heartbroken and so forlorn and all you wanted was to give your child a bite of banana flavored potassium.

     

    Three days of prescription and my child is a full fledged eat-a-saurus.  It’s wildly fascinating to watch her love of food grow with every meal.  I have been going a little overboard in my quest for a smaller ass, and the recipes can get a little odd, but GiGi likes them. Yes, the child who melted at mere touch of a banana is now eating garlic-soy chicken pitas. 

     

    She's also started to walk into the kitchen when I'm cooking and basically cling to my leg.  I try let her sit in her highchair while I prepare our meals and let her stir things on her tray or feel things that I chop, etc.  

     

    It’s interesting to dissect the cooking process and share it with a child, period.  Sharing the process with GiGi lends itself to a learning experience for me also.  Everything begins with how different and equally cool each utensil is.  The temperature of each spoon, whisk and spatula and the texture.  Having her help with multigrain pancakes on Thursday was a great learning time, but totally messy.  She stirred them very well and when I turned to grab a towel, she licked the spoon.  I screamed, she smiled.  (I'm one of those people that use a million napkins, towel, wash cloths, because I hate hate hate dirty things so cooking with a tot is a total challenge).  Then there is the magnificent and I would imagine, mind-boggling, event of turning something like big strawberries into a smaller and more wet version of itself when slicing, to the end result which is of course a Strawberry/Blackberry sauce for pancakes.   We taste the pinch of sugar and the squeeze of fresh lemon that goes into the sauce pan and she squeals at every sample.  She licks the cooled off sauce spoon and says “bite” with a smile.  She tastes the yogurt butter and kicks her feet against her high chair while clapping.  I serve her a nibble of pancake and she says “mmmmmmama” and claps again.  Cooking breakfast with GiGi is a lengthy process and some days do not allow for me to actually stand there and let every single thing be touched, licked, tasted, spilled, flung, clapped over and helped with

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  • Toddler Bowling.


     

    This morning at our weekly in-home visit from various teachers, including GiGi’s Orientation and Mobility Teacher, I watched faces twist themselves from smiles to looks of pain when I said, “So I took GiGi bowling this weekend!”  Their faces mirrored my feeling on Sunday afternoon as I sat in a little gray nailed-to-the-floor-chair that with a screaming toddler writhing in my arms while sticking her fingers in my eyes and nose in protest to bowling.

     

    I can be uptight about certain situations and refuse to intermingle myself in things if I have a gut instinct  that GiGi will hate it.  Like, for example, going to the movies.  Kind of a no-brainer at this point in time.  Taking a toddler to the movies might not be a completely stupid idea if some really colorful, musical, Disney or Pixar-gasmic flick were on the screen, but in our case I have sort of come to the conclusion that movies in theatres will have to wait until she is a tiny bit older to listen to them.  Yes, I intend to raise a full-on film snob.  Back to my rambles though…

     

    GiGi and I drove to the bay, yet again, but this time we did a little Valentine’s Day babysitting for a best friend (oh yes, there will be a post on that one, stay tuned) and then spent two days at my oldest sisters house.  It was a great big sister event in Napa full of nieces and nephew and rain-rain-rain.   What the hell does one do on a three-day weekend when its pouring cats and wine drunk dogs outside?  Why, we bowl of course. 

     

    The word “bowl” and all the catch phrases and words that go with that sport should have flipped a little switch on in my head that said “no.”    It didn’t hit any switches, and like a moron I waltzed into the bowling alley with a toddler on my hip and the notion that things would be fine.   My brain says that having snacks and music in tow will always make a situation seem brighter for my child, but in a bowling alley?  What the fuck was I thinking?   

     

     


     

     (She looks soooooooooooooo amused by it all, doesn't she?)

     

     

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  • The Run Around

     

     

     

     

    Twenty-one months ago I gave birth to a gorgeous daughter who entered this universe with such grace, such impeccable ease and wonder, that I shouldn’t be surprised at how amazing she is to watch discover the world.  I feel like I’ve been spending my days showing her what I want her to “see” and blabbering on and on about the random crap I have in my head.  A little over 630 days if I attempt to do some bogus math.  That’s a lot of time spent passing on my ideas and wisdom to a tot – some perfectly sensible and some completely insane I’m sure.  Regardless of the specifics, it’s all been in my hands so far.

     

    Years from now, and then years from that point in time, I imagine that I will be laughing at how frustrating it is to watch her be so independent and make such incredible mistakes and victories, all on her own.  I don’t know exactly what she’ll be doing to make me think that, but I’m absolutely positive I will remember the moment she captured the world in her hands and set it down to run laps around it.  The precise day that she proved to herself that anything was possible.

     

    January 14, 2009, that was the day, GiGi’s Independence Day, that she showed me what she’s made of.

     

     

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  • Tomato Soup-In-a-Box

    At dinner this evening a spoon hit the floor.  Slammed may be a better word for it, but we’ll just say hit, or dropped so that I can pretend my child isn’t as food feisty as she really is.  As I was saying, this spoon that hit the floor was covered in the one ingredient she decided to eat from a table with a few options.  

     

    Hamburger.

     

    Am I a hamburger fan myself?   Not particularly, but if it changes up the routine then I’m okay with that.  I spent $178.42 at Trader Joes this past week, and then $42 a few days later at the same place (yes, $25 of it was in a new Trek mix with raw nuts and whatnots that I became fast addicted to).  The only thing GiGi will eat from my sad little reusable bags is Organic Tomato soup in a box, soy chocolate milk, and unsweetened applesauce.  That’s it.

     

    I try so hard to keep a cabinet, within the cabinets of the selections made by my parents (two very different styles of eating- mine is WAY less fun than there’s thus the weight gain on my part), that holds healthy snacks and truly amazing/good-for-you foods.  For a while there, GiGi and I...

     

     

     

    Here she is (in the cutest shirt I have ever put on her) eating cheerios off the floor. Only one, then I freaked.  And yes, they were our cheerios, not pre-existing park cheerios.

     

     

     

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  • The Youngest.

     

    My niece M. is ten.  She is part of a twin set of nieces that I love and adore, and as of their last birthday...appreciate ever so much more.  I'm sitting at my desk adding more to a new chapter, and I look over to see her changing GiGi's diaper.  How awesome is that?!  Pretty damn awesome.  Sometimes it's hard to write from home when you have a toddler getting into every single thing she isn't supposed to or needing silly things like food, drink and a diaper change, but I find that having these nieces around is a HUGE help.  I knew they were good, but it wasn’t until this winter vacation from school that I realized just how good they were. Are.

     

    They are so interested in making her happy that they just automatically help her out when she makes the slightest noise.  I'd feel like a jerk if I was always, always begging them to do the things they do for her, but they just - do it.  All by themselves.  It's fascinating to me as a twenty-eight year old adult who is the youngest, by far, to two sisters.  I never had the opportunity to care for someone younger than me because I was the youngest. The youngest daughter, sibling, granddaughter, cousin, friend, employee (for the most part) you name the situation and I have always been the youth in the group.  So it's weird to watch these pre-teens taking on such an automatic mothering role.  The twins have a younger sister and that's where the majority of their caring comes from I would assume.  Maybe it's just who they are, but I would bet it's because they are big sisters.

     

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  • Sharing Kids

     (One of the many tantrums that GiGi gave me on Sunday and since...)

     


    One of the most challenging parts of being a single mom is sharing my babe.  It isn’t the actual letting go of her that sucks, but more the coordinating of time spent here or there that can be, well, a bitch.

     

     I live here ------------------------------------------ >

    < -----------------------------------------------------------------------Her daddy-o lives there.

     

    GiGi lives with me.  Daddy-o’s older daughter Chloe (not mine, but I would gladly call her my own) lives with him.

     

    So, how does he get to spend time with his girls, as well as let me spend time with both little ladies?  Ahh, the tricky part has been unleashed. GiGi essentially spends every other weekend in the lovely bay area with him while I flit about with my best friends, watch one movie after another in the theater, catch up on my reading and sleep an uninterrupted five hours.  We have decided to increase the nights she stays, when it works out, to two nights.  Everything on my end is cool with this schedule (mmmm, sleep), but sometimes it can screw with GiGi’s mood.   It’s only happened this one weekend – the uncontrollable behavior thing – but I have to assume that her schedule change is adding to it and this will totally happen again. 

     

    This past weekend, GiGi spent Friday and Saturday night with her daddy-o and sister.  On Sunday morning, I was greeted by

     

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  • Wait a Mimic! A Sex Scene?

    One of the biggest milestones that I waited and waited for GiGi to accomplish was her first word.  Once upon a cute conversation with my youngest niece, she asked me, “What do you think GiGi’s voice will sound like?”  Up until that point in time I had only awaited those first few words, and didn’t really care about  how they sounded.  After that conversation I began to lie awake at night staring at my sleeping babe and pondering how her voice would sound.

     

    Now that she is babbling, and repeating sounds we all make, I keep wondering what will pop out of her mouth next.

     

     

     

     (GiGi, enjoying the sun through the window, and smacking the glass.  I took a zillion pictures of her that day, click here to see more, if you like:)

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  • Owning the Pool: GiGi's Summer Rules For Toddlers

     

    According the Guide for Easy Living – GiGi Edition, there are a few simple rules every person just barely able to walk under the kitchen table should know.  These rules will grant you a summer filled with sugar you would otherwise never get, splashing in the water for hours, an “ok” to scream as loud as you want, and a wide variety of chances to pee on anything outdoors that will hold still.  Sometimes, things that move too!  Just take a look at the list below and be amazed at how simple it really is to have great summer and get your parents excited about it too.

     

    1.) 1.)    ALWAYS, and I mean ALWAYS act more amped than you really are over the little stuff.  Like, for example, when your mom or dad puts your dorky little swimsuit on that they think is the cutest thing they’ve ever seen - act happy.  Better yet, wave your arms in the air and squeal. Trust me; this sets the tone for an awesome time.  I know, I know… you can feel ruffles on your ass or you’re missing a shirt. Look, kids, trust me, this makes the big people go ape shit.  It’s an opportunity for them to take pictures of you and as long as you do this, they won’t care about the other rules I’m going to let you in on.  Suck up the flowers, ruffles and bikini top that covers all zero of the non-existent boobs you have.  It pays off in the long run.

     

    2.)   2.)     When you’re in the water – SPLASH!  Try to only splash when someone is getting close enough to take your picture though. That is really fun.  The best is when you pretend like you’re going to fall backward while sitting on a step or something equally scary, and your mama’s camera falls into the pool.  She will start to cry and curse the water and make all kinds of weird noises.  It’s kind of funny, so you will want to laugh at that point.

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  • Uncharted Territory (C-r-a-w-l-i-n-g in public)

     

    My child, the thrill seeker, is out in this giant world crawling like a mad woman and not stopping until she finds herself entertained.  She has been so busy exploring the places she knows well, that I decided to take her to Tumble & Tea.  In case you are unfamiliar with this establishment (like I was up until a year ago) it is a place where small kids 5 and under can go and scream to their heart’s content,  while the mommies and daddies pay silly food prices and watch their babes get run over by bigger kids whose parents refuse to watch them because they are busy snubbing other parents struggling to clean a table that the waitresses won’t.  Oh, and they play too, when the intimidation wears off.

     

    (breathes deep)

     

    I have to hand it to the owner, it’s a great idea and I see the allure but after my first visit I don’t think I want to run back anytime soon.  There is a $4.95 admission charge, to basically play with toys that most of us have in our homes.  At first, I was pretty fucking pissed that I would have to pay 5 bucks for a 15 month old to explore, um, one toy.  Maybe it’s just my child that finds a toy and sticks to it, but it blows to have to pay for a kid to crawl on some colorful carpet and suck on a toy.  It was lunchtime, so I figured that I would order a bite for GiGi and I since she was a little freaked out by the noise when we walked in.  Starting her on comfort food already, uh-oh!   I got a quesadilla with fruit on the side and a strawberry smoothie.  10 minutes later I had to go back up to the counter to collect our giant apple cut in half with the peel on it, and brown spots, right next a crusty quesadilla and a smoothie with zero flavor.  That’s all fine and dandy, but don’t charge me 5 bucks to get in, 5 bucks for a smoothie and 5 for a meal that was pathetic. 

     

    Am I done complaining?  Totally.   Sorry about all that, I just had to get it off my chest.   Tumble & Tea had been mentioned with such animation that it seemed like the toddler version of the best new bar on the block.  I think I had my hopes up too high.  See what others thought here.  

     

    Anywho…

     

    GiGi  wasn’t into the playing thing until I zeroed in on a familiar toy, locked eyes with the target and moved in.  Kids were screaming and I could see how tense she was but I figured this was a setting that needed to be familiar to her so I pushed through.  Maybe it would have started smoother if the people running the place had decided to play something other than house music REALLY loud.  I love music, people, but techno?  Screaming kids?    Fat fucking chance.  This is the time to utilize those Putumayo  cd’s folks!

     

     

     

    The toy mentioned above was the most familiar to GiGi so I sat her down to play with it. She gripped it with knowing hands and began to play.  I was so happy that we made it that far and things were  going well.  Up until that point, her interaction with other kids her own age, who played with her toys at the same time she did, was...

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  • Bring on the Playmates...


    GiGi and I have a new playmate on our hands.  A little hottie who we find ourselves kissing quite often and talking sweet to.  He’s tall, dark and more handsome than any other boy I’ve seen lately.  His name is Trace Kyler and he was born to one of my closest friends on July 2nd. (Congrats Lea and Gene! )

     

     (Trace and Gia on their first stroll)

     

     

    It seems that pregnancy is spreading like a wildfire and everyone breathing and packin’ ovaries and a set of boobs …is pregnant.  I’m so thrilled that GiGi is getting a whole set of playmates that will be her age.  In fact, I’ve always been the youngest in my group of everyday close friends so it’s interesting that my offspring is the oldest in her set of friends but still extremely close in age.  I know they’re pretty “wee” right now but we are sure they’ll be friends.  Or at least annoy each other like family, as my mothers’ friends and their kids did with us.  There is one girl, one boy, and another testosterone filled person on the way.  Personally, I hope she falls in love with either of these boys because I’ve had my share of heartache and it isn’t fun.   With these two being raised by truly wonderful people – they’re bound to have some good qualities right?

     

    Letting my mind wander, I’ve started to realize that it’s not just GiGi getting playmates.  I’m getting friends too.  Same girls, just a little mommy spit-and-polish to shake things up.

     

    Honestly, I can’t express my excitement enough.  It goes beyond fictitious weddings and matching “best friend” shirts in triplicate.  Life was grand when GiGi was first hatched and I wanted to go to parties and gatherings like I did before I had her.  I just toted her along in a baby wearing get-up or kept her in her car seat while she slept through everything.  It allowed me to...

     

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  • She's Crawling Now SUCKA!

     

    For months and months and a few more months, I’ve heard nothing but happiness and screeches from mama’s round the globe.  Mothers who are proud of that one big step that kids usually do (according to all the neat-o sites) to assert their grossness.  Gross motor skills that is, not booger picking and diaper explosions kind of grossness.  I know that GiGi is an individual, but for some reason I have been waiting for the day that I too could say “Little GiGi is crawling EVERYWHERE now!  I just have my hands full!” or “I can’t leave her alone for a minute without her crawling after me!”  I was becoming impatient.

     

    Every child is different and of course they crawl at their own pace. They also walk, talk, do jumping jacks, say “mama” and learn to throw toys at their own individual pace as well.  I get that, really I do.  It’s just that we have a wonderful Orientation &Mobility Expert Extraordinaire, Mr. Steve, who comes to our home on Tuesday mornings to get GiGi moving.  It’s a little more involved for us than saying she is just behind, or going at her own pace.  It’s a little of that and a lot of not knowing what it is that will stimulate her enough to want to move forward.  Forward, backward, rolling, scooting to the left – any type of non-cruiser moving.

     

    We’ve tried numerous toys that make noises, play music or seem to want to vibrate her eight existing teeth off.  My parents take GiGi more often than not, into their room before they go to bed, and play moving games with her.  My dad will lay on the floor, belly down and head low, talking to her in his hypnotic papa voice that fascinates her to no end.  We’ve done lots of things, and up until last week, nothing worked.  Sure there were random moments she decided to crawl a space and that was about it, but nothing consistent or truly crawling.

     

    Then……. B-A-M!!!!!! 

     

     

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    Posted May 30 2008, 03:43 PM by Megg with | with 12 comment(s)
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About the Blogger

Love is Blind

Megg Lasswell in Oakland.

This single mom moved home at age twenty-seven to raise her blind toddler, leaving city buildings behind and trying her best to embrace farm life outside Oakland. She is working on her first book in between indie-rocking out with her daughter GiGi and teaching her the simple things in life.

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