BP and CFB

Thursday, August 19, 2010
Whew. I'm back. Well, I'm not back. I was stolen and replaced with an exact replica. But this me is back.

So what happened while I was gone? Did they ever stop that fucking leak? No, not that leak, this leak.

Anyway, who cares about the environment. I know you are dying to hear about what's been going on with me. Well, let me tell ya. It's been a crazy month or so.

First of all, I've re-nicknamed the kids. B is now BP, as in Baby Pterodactyl and E has been crowned CFB, as in Cocaine For Breakfast.


I went on a (play)date with a new mom, who brought her best-friend. I had run into new mom a bunch of times and kept agreeing that yes! we should indeed get the boys together and yes! isn't it amazing how both of our kids are two weeks apart (apparently, we like to have sex at the same time of year...twice) and so when we ran into her the last time and she whipped out her phone and plugged in my number, I knew that she was calling my bluff. Now, before I go any further, I would like to insert a disclaimer. I like this mom. She seems like a supremely nice woman with two adorable boys and she's a SAHM who has her shit together, doesn't act all high and mighty, she lives 1.5 miles away from us, brings healthy snacks and brings enough to share! and seems to have a lot in common with us. Not to mention that while I suspect she might be a tad older than me, she has a rockin' body and will force inspire me to get my ass in gear, despite the sleep deprivation and the lack of the will to live energy. BTW - I'm off of M&M's for good! It's been like a month!

Back to my story...so she invites us to the pool and I reluctantly agree. Why reluctantly, you ask. Because I hate being "on", especially when I feel so off. I'm an anomaly. I don't care what people think of me because I am secure in my knowledge that I am doing the best that I can and being the best person that I can and if you don't like it, Suck It, Fancy. Don't be my friend. But at the same time, I don't want people thinking I'm some sort of heathen. Because I'm not. And while I don't believe in baiting-and-switching - I would never pretend to be something I'm not or hide something I am - because with me, what you see is what you get, I do want to at least give you a chance to fall in love with how great I am before you cringe at what a moron I can be.

The (play)date went great. She called me and wants to get the boys together again. They did play very well together, playing tag and climbing a fence, and new kid is also a wrestler and not a cry baby (or a girl), which was great for CFB since he loves to wrestle. Oh, and new mom's friend, who I also really liked, kept apologizing for her two year old's behavior and while I reassured her and pointed out that it was not so long ago that I was the mom of a two-year-old and I remember (freshly) what that was like, I did get some sort of secret, perverse satisfaction of (for one day) having the "good" kid. So yeah.


Speaking of girls that CFB is friends with, Miss S continues to be the love of CFB's life. We were at Splash! (we go to Splash! a lot) and they were both belly down in the water and CFB just leaned over and planted a kiss on Miss S's shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. He did it again weeks later while sitting next to her at lunch. Just leaned over and smooched her. And he always grabs her hands when they're walking. I know it's a little early to be planning their wedding, but I am.


I found a gray hair a couple of weeks ago and as if that wasn't depressing enough, when confirming it's existence the next night, I found like four or five more. My mom and aunt both have what is called a lunar de canas, or directly translated, a freckle of gray hairs in the same spot that I found mine. I'm going to look like Frankenstein's Bride...in more ways than one.


Tebow, Tebow, Tebow. Tebowtebowtebow tebowtebow tebowtebow. And that's just the weather report. I am so puking sick of Tebow already and football season has officially started.

Oh, and by the way, for a pious Bible-thumping second-coming-of-christ...your girlfriend looks like a whore.


CFB often talks about himself in the third person. It cracks me the fuck up. "The Big Boy? Mom, you talking to The Big Boy and asking me to move that box?" Yes, Big Boy, I'm talking to you. Stop puffing out your chest and scratching your ass and get a move on.


Speaking of scratching your ass, the other day we're in line at the post office and CFB scratches his ass. The two grandmothers in front of us (one of which shares my rather unique name!) start to giggle and I ignore them and ask him if he was to go use the bathroom, not really knowing what I would have done had he said yes since there is no bathroom in the post office. "Nope. I got an itch. And sometimes, you just gotta scratch your butt."


We went to Children's Hospital a couple of weeks ago and CFB was diagnosed as having SPD. When I'm ready to, I'll write up a whole bloggy post on it. I'm not ready to, though. Not yet. I wasn't sure if I was even going to mention it, but what am I going to do? Not talk about it? I will tell you that I'm grateful to my friend for putting it on our radar, and that it's not an extreme case (this article's pretty good but jeez, editors. Could you have picked a picture that didn't make the kid look so cool?) Anyhoo, we're working on it with activities and whatnot that the OT gave us, he's not going to preschool this fall, and by this fall, I mean Monday, and we moved our nice furniture upstairs and our old furniture downstairs and we're slowly building a sensorific playroom. Oh, and as I was reading through the 19 page questionnaire that we had to fill out before our evaluation, it dawned on me that I gave my kid SPD. Because I hate noise and turtlenecks and I'd rather pee in a bathroom that reeks of dirty farts than have to listen to the soft whir of the fan and I start to hear a low hum in my head when I'm overstimulated or when I'm flustered and trying to get the Thanksgiving Day turkey that I spent the past 24 hours slaving over out of the goddamn oven and someone insists on asking me stupid questions, like "where's the vodka?" I gave my son SPfuckingD. CFB, you're welcome. The good news is, one day, you can grow up and be normal like me. Ha!


Had a date with three of my bestest friends ever and I made a total jackhole of myself. When Belle, who is getting married in 30some-odd-days, admitted that the sleep part of being a mom terrifies her and Bangs reminded her that some kids do sleep, I jumped down their throats. I went Bat Shit Crazy on them. I think I went so far as to accuse Bangs of wanting me to poison BP with (gasp!) a bottle of formula. I didn't even realize I was flipping out until Bangs, all wide-eyed, stopped me and reassured me that she and Belle were behind me. "Wha?" "We support what you're doing. We think you're doing a great job and think that breast-feeding is the right thing to do." I must have blinked ten times before realizing what a giant ass I was being. Sorry girls. I blame the sleep. That I don't get. Because I refuse to give Her Royal Highness Baby Pterodactyl a bottle of formula.


Speaking of BP, holy shit is she the cutest baby that ever roamed the Earth. If you look at her and start laughing for absolutely no reason, she will start laughing back at you. And then you'll laugh at her laughing, and then she'll start laughing even harder. And then, for a split second, no amount of sleep in the world would ever make you want that moment to end.


So one of the entertaining aspects of making new friends is that they don't know me yet. And so it's kind of funny to watch how new people react to me and mine.
"Oh my goodness, she's got a little tomato. Is it ok for her to eat that?!?"
"Oh yeah, she loves them."
"I mean, won't she choke on it or something?"
And as if to answer the question herself, like a little woodland creature, BP popped the yellow pear tomato in her mouth, pushed it out with her tongue, split it in half with her little chipmunk teeth, and used her petite little paws to keep it in her mouth while she nibbled it to smithereens.
"Wow. She's really good at that, isn't she?"
"At eating? Yeah, she's got that under control."


It's also really interesting to watch how people react to CFB. At the pool, there's a line of moms awaiting their respective child's descent down three feet of rubbery soft water slide into five inches of water. They take turns catching their children, brushing off the droplets of water and smiling eagerly into their upturned faces. "Was that fun sweetie? Have you had enough or would you like to go a third time?" Meanwhile, CFB is on his one-seventieth tear down the slide and I stand in between the stairs and the bottom of the slide because he hasn't needed help with either since he was 13 months old and if I tried to go back and forth between the top and the bottom as fast and as often as he did, I'd be the one face down in the water. Not to mention that I am concentrating on sucking in my gut because I'm in a bikini and holding 18+ of baby dinosaur and there is no flattering way to hold this much baby when you are wearing a bikini. And at first new mom kept offering to catch CFB for me and after the second or third time that CFB lapped her kid, she caught on. The funny thing is, I could tell that until she met my kid, she used to think her kid was a rough-and-tumble high energy sort. It's all about perspective, isn't it?


If it wasn't for the gooching, CFP might be the best older* brother ever. He feeds BP, he hugs her, he worries about her when she's crying, he shares his toys and wants her to swing next to him and if there's not a swing next to him, he scooches back in the bucket so that she can swing with him. And if two other boys happen to be whispering** about her while standing in line at Splash!, CFB will watch them for a total of eight seconds before leaning forward and yelling, "She's my baby sister!" Oh yeah, don't you dare fuck with his sister. She's his.
Open up and say AHHHH!!!


Along the same lines, BP might be the best Little Sister Ever. How so? Because her first word? CFB's real name. Sure, she has said mamamama, but not at me. But she shrieks CFP's given name, with full intention. She also says "Scuh scuh scuh. Tuh tuh tuh," when calling our dog, Scout. She also calls squirells Scuh schuh schu tuh tuh tuhs. And lions, and the neighbor's dog and basically anything on four legs. Good thing she's so cute, because she's still kind of a moron.


As much as I appreciate the sentiment, if one more person sends one of my children a toy that makes noise unprovoked, I am going to fill said toy with baby poop and send it back to them. I mean, I love when people love my kids. Hell, it's the only reason I like our racist, chain-smoking and too-much-tanning neighbor. And it's why I almost instantly forgave my mom when she tore me a new one for saying something unflattering about her grandson (I told her he acted like someone who, well...had cocaine for breakfast.) But seriously, there are nights when I am upstairs, brushing my teeth or finally nodding off and I hear the "whern whern" of a tug boat and then the "arf arf arf" of a puppy dog. I mean, there is no one even on that floor. The kids are in bed and the adults are upstairs and the toys are talking to themselves.


And last, but not least...BP, CFB and I were at the Museum of Nature and Science the other day and I had to release some gas. Unfortunately, due to his unpredictable and rocket-fast nature, I misjudged CFB's trajectory and he got caught in the crossfire. "Maaawmm. (Oh god. Please don't let this kid announce to an entire museum full of people that I just farted.) You smell like you." Not what I expected, and quite frankly, my feelings were a little bit hurt. Because apparently, as confirmed by D's questioning of CFB at the dinner table tonight, mom does indeed smell like farts. And guess what she looks like? Also farts. Farts in a tub, to be more precise.

* Notice I qualified this statement by using the adjective "older." Because the title of Best Younger Brother Ever belongs to someone else.
** They were actually being very sweet. The four year old poked the six year old and told him, "Look at her. She's smiling at us." But CFB couldn't hear them and only knew that they were eyeing us what is rightfully his Chunko Monko.

6 comments to BP and CFB:

caramama said...

Girl, I don't even know where to start! But you have me cracking up, and you should totally post more often!

The Big Boy and butt scratching? Hysterical! The having the "good" one at the playdate and your relunctance at a the mommy date? I totally get ya (I'm totally introverted and don't want to be "on" in the winters. Going crazy on your friends? Funny and crazy! A twofer. The laughing with BP and CFB and BP stories? Love them! "Good thing she's so cute, because she's still kind of a moron" and the whole farting bit made me LOL, literally. So thank you, cause I've been grumpy all morning.

As for the SPD... That must be really tough. I'll be honest with you, I fully expected to have a child with SPD (hey, we still might someday!) because I was right on the border of it myself. The good thing about being the one who gave it to your child (and you know that's not exactly how it works) is that you can understand what he is going through and that it really is tough for me to processes everything. Thank goodness for my mom, who didn't tell me to just get over my sensory issues but really understood that things bothered me and helped work with me to deal with them. You really are the perfect mom for your kids.

And lastly, my god, your kids really are gorgeous!

geeks in rome said...

OMG, I think you've just given me SPD!! That was a headfull of update -- so glad you're back. I've missed you!

mom2boy said...

"Good thing she's so cute, because she's still kind of a moron" lol seriously.

Tebow - from my state to yours. And yet still the mania here continues...

I'm pretty sure a toddler tornado is a step or five away from a CFB toddler, so I really feel for what you've been going through.

Very cool on making new mom friends. Reminds me to not be such a chicken/rude/lazy ass and return my mom-friend's last phone call.

nej said...

@caramama - Thanks. I'm trying to post more often but the kids are in that phase where they see me walking towards my phone or laptop and they both start to screech. And since I spend most of my day blogging in my head...well, it's hard to get around to doing it, but I'm going to. Even if it's just a little blurb.

And let me tell you, finally realizing that what I have is SPD not only has turned my life upside down - it explains so much! - but it makes me infinitely sympathetic to my son's issues. Because I get it. Because I it.

@geeks in rome - You're welcome! SPD is fun!

@mom2boy - Oh, you can have Tebow back. Actually, I'm pretty sure after his performance in the preseason game this weekend (which my boys were at, cheering for the Steelers!) everyone in Denver would take issue with my giving Tebow away. But seriously, the montage on the news last night was of him and Elway. Puke.

And call that mom back. It's easy to forget just how important it is to have mom friends. Not just for your kids (it takes a village and all that) but for yourself. Call her.

hush said...

The name Cocaine For Breakfast plus "I do want to at least give you a chance to fall in love with how great I am before you cringe at what a moron I can be" = I just pissed myself a little bit. I'd say "LOL" but it makes me look old and doesn't quite do your level of humor justice.

I agree - call that mom back @mom2boy! Flakey pseudo-mom friends truly suck, so don't be one!

Dawn said...

You're my favorite :) I love reading about your happenings!

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