March 16, 2012
I woke up this morning and felt it: The last of the adrenaline left my body, probably out my ears and through the spaces in between my toes. You know what I'm talking about. I'm so anti-confrontation (what if the Imaginary Authority Figures shush me for being too loud?) that this week's Unfortunate Unpleasantess kept me amped and on edge for several days and nights, until: BAM. WHOOSH.
On the plus side, I am no longer stomping around my house, composing endless emails and blog entries in my head or engaging in imaginary arguments with the walls. (Fuck you, walls! Being beige is not an excuse!) I also lost five pounds, somehow. But on the other side, turns out the comedown is a bit of bitch. It's like a conflict hangover that sucks the fluff out of you. Oh, lawndiapers, I know just how you feel.
Also writing kind of not so much with the goodness. Or something. That like.
Which means...pictures! Again! More! Oh, whatever.
SOMEBODY has learned how to play the "SOOOOOO BIG" game.
He's really proud of me. I'm only 34, after all.
Now, here's where I get obnoxious (YOU: OH SO JUST RIGHT NOW, THEN?), but I can't help it! I'm still using this poor old blog as a baby book so I need to write this down: I've mentioned that Ike mimics things we say, and I keep trying and trying to convince myself that's all it is, because...well, come on. He's nine months old, he's not REALLY saying "yeah" when you ask him if he wants more Cheerios. That was a coincidence.
That he did three times. In a row. And then again two days later. Hmmpf. Well.
Other words he's busted out perfectly at the perfect moment, more than once: kick, dog, Dada, and hi.
And then yesterday, Noah and Ezra were trying to get him to play the SOOOO BIG game with them at breakfast, and singsonging his name over and over again, like they do 25,000 times a day: BabyIke, BabyIke, BabyIke!
Jason walked in and they turned their attention to him. This displeased Baby Ike. He still had both hands in the air and you simply do not leave Baby Ike hanging like that, bro.
"BABBYIKE!" he shouted, hand to God, clear as day.
I swear all four of us heard and dropped our jaws to the floor. (Well, maybe not Ezra, who doesn't really give a shit what Baby Ike does as long as he's not touching Ezra's toys or any toy Ezra may have ever touched or plans to touch again in the future.) Even Noah lost his damn mind. "Baby Ike SAID HIS NAME! He KNOWS HIS NAME! Because I TAUGHT HIM. Because I'M THE BEST!"
Yes, son, you are. And so is your brother. And your other brother. You're all just so crazy awesome I can't even believe it sometimes. Can you all just get in one big pile so I can snuggle the crap out you guys more efficiently? Thanks.
BABBY IS SO BIG BECAUSE BABBY JUST ATE TWO PANCAKES, A PEAR, SOME BUTTERNUT SQUASH, CHEERIOS AND WOULD IT KILL YOU TO TOP OFF BABBY'S COFFEE ALREADY, LADY?