Blah Blah Babycakes

Meet Me On The F Train

Despite not accomplishing half the things I planned on doing while in New York, it was a fabulous trip and Henry was a delightful travel companion. Charming and pleasant, with little fussing and easy bedtimes, it was more than I could have hoped for. Apparently Henry needed this mini vacation as much as I did, because he has been a monster as of late.

He was super excited to see his cat, aunts and grandparents, but his heart truly belongs to the subway.  He could ride metro transit for days. Like a bum.  And he can spot a subway entrance from a distance that almost disturbs me. 

There are times when I think that Henry may not be my child.  He loves the subway.  He hates cheese. Doesn't like to sleep.  But then this morning I knew for sure that he was mine. 

He loves room service.

FYI: Neither of us ate that bacon.

My Favorite Client

I'm just about finished with school and will soon receive my massage therapy certification.  Normally, Henry won't go anywhere near my table, but tonight he finally gave in to my healing hands.

Analyze This

I love therapy.  Marriage, behavioral, psychoanalytical, hypno, physical, massage, hydro,  You name the therapy and chances are I've been there and done that. 

And wouldn't you know, Henry loves therapy too!  We see an SLP once a week for speech therapy and now I've added an Occupational Therapist to Henry's schedule, because the kid is a picky eater.  Really picky. Now I understand that a lot of toddlers have food preferences and sometimes only eat goldfish crackers for two days, but I had this gut feeling that Henry took being picky a little too far and so I enrolled him in the Food Clinic at the local Children's Hospital.

Henry with his chopsticks

As it turns out, Nick and I are shitty parents and are doing everything wrong.  The therapist said it in a much nicer way, but that was pretty much what she meant.

So far he hasn't eaten anything new, but he's spent a lot of time smashing blueberries and smelling juice.  I'm skeptical...

Henry Health Update

Henry had surgery this morning to insert tubes in his ears and we're back at home recovering. 

It went smoothly and Henry was incredibly brave, although he didn't like getting his blood pressure taken.

He didn't much like it when he was a baby either.

Pavlov's Dog

The temperature dropped by about 40 degrees today and with Henry's nose running like a faucet (since last February, really) I kind of wanted to skip trick or treating.  He refused to put his costume on and I'd given up, but Nick made one last attempt and finally we were on our way.  On our way to one or two houses to beg for candy.  I was certain that Henry would hate this adventure.

At the first house Henry tried to go inside.  Naturally, he thought we were there for a visit.  By the third house, kid had it down.  Ring the bell, get candy. "Thank you", "Bye!"

We hit 20 houses.

Fall Back

Made it through the time change without incident and Henry's trick or treat plans are all in order this year.  He's going to be Superman. (Please notice the curl)

Henry got a taste of Halloween last Thursday night, at a party, hosted by his school.

He didn't really get the whole idea of being at daycare --with his parents-- at night.  He just kept repeating "home" and pointing at the door.  He's not swayed by candy.  Henry prefers dark chocolate.

I Can't Hear You

The past month has been a busy one for Henry.  He's had countless developmental evaluations, hearing tests and doctor's visits in order to determine why he has a speech delay.  Last count he only has about 75 words (many unrecognizable by anyone other than me) and he is consistantly failing portions of his hearing tests. 

Today we finally learned that he has fluid in his ears and will have to have an operation to insert tubes that will drain the fluid.  The way it was explained to me was that, at times, Henry hears things as though he were under water. This fluctuates and sometimes he hears things clearly and other times, not so much.  It makes learning how to speak, rather difficult.

No one could explain why he always hears and repeats swear words with such articulation.

He started speech therapy last week and once the tubes are in his ears, Henry should be on his way to telling us what he really thinks.

Separated At Birth

As the days go by, original Smelly Cow looks less and less like Secret Replacement Cow.  If I ever have to employ replacement cow, some drastic measures will need to be taken.

I'll have to run him over with my car a few hundred times and then have him spend a week with a homeless person.

Secret Replacement Cow and Original Smelly Cow

Vamonos!

Henry handled the Happy Birthday song a little better this year. During his first birthday party, when the guests burst into song, Henry burst into tears.  We practiced a couple rounds prior to the party and he was all smiles, but when it was show time Henry hid his face and put his head down on the table.  Right at about the "Dear Henrrrryyyy" part of the song, he looked up, grabbed a cupcake and threw it at me.

Dora the Explorer, Henry's numero uno babe, was the party theme and we served grown-up tapas and toddler tapas.  It felt so nice to have an apartment full of people again (although our Minneapolis friends don't drink nearly the amount of alcohol as our East coast comrades) and all the children played together so nicely.  Except for one incident when fisticuffs came out over a toy. 

It was caught on tape:

Happy Birthday Henry

Happy 2nd Bday little turtle.  I love you to pieces.

Love,
Mommy

First day home

Not Pictured

I'd stayed up way too late the other night watching Don Giovanni and just as I was about to go to bed, Henry woke up.  He wanted to sleep with mommy and daddy.  Not a big deal, it happens once in a while (every night), but I sleep horribly when Henry's in my bed.  Perhaps it's because he kicks, snores, cries in his sleep and prefers to lie horizontally across the bed with his feet in my stomach.

When my alarm went off I hit snooze a few too many times and it was a mad rush to get out the door and get Henry to school. Henry was dressed in a garage sale sweatshirt, purchased because I thought it looked vintage and it had "Minnesota" written across the chest.  This particular morning, when paired with messy hair, crusty boogers and a bloody chin (playground accident from the night before), it just looked unfortunate.  Poor little Henry.  Who cares though, right?  He's just going to get dirty anyway.

It's not like it was school picture day or anything.

Oh, ha, ha, but it was... I had totally spaced it.  It was a little boy, in the parking garage of Henry's school, with slicked hair and a sweater vest, that tipped me off.  I looked down at crusty little Henry and said "shit" under my breath.  "Shit", yelled Henry and it echoed through the garage.

I was already late for class, so I dropped him off and called Nick begging him to go to Baby Gap to pick up a new shirt.  Wardrobe! Make-up!  Nick totally came through and together, with Henry's teachers, cleaned him up good. 

Those pictures are going to be soooo cute.

Or, I imagine that they would have been cute if Henry had not been so afraid of the lights and the photographer and if someone had been able to peel him off of his teacher's leg, long enough to pose for the damn picture.

Maybe next year.

Sweet

Nick and Henry survived a long weekend without me and I couldn't believe how grown up Henry looked when I first saw him at the airport yesterday. 

Maybe it was the tattoo...?

I flew into Newark, which is something I've never done and it was super easy to get to the city on New Jersey Transit.  It felt so good to travel light that I could have walked the entire way.

Went shopping, saw the Art Parade, visited DUMBO and spent pretty much the rest of the weekend, in Williamsburg, eating delicious food.

Tea Time

I walked into Henry's room this morning and saw that he'd set up a tea party.  We've pretended to serve tea to Smelly Cow and baby doll before, but I thought this was pretty elaborate and impressive.

Here's a short vid of the actual tea serving.  You'll notice Henry didn't wear pants to his party.  (The White Trash creeps in and just like scary bathroom mold... you can't get rid of it.)

It's a F****** Miracle

The first night that I was in the hospital after Henry was born a nurse walked into my room armed with a clipboard and asked if I wanted my baby sent away to the nursery for the night.

It sounded kind of like a really good idea to me 

Then I looked at her scowling face and imagined her notation of "mother doesn't want baby" on my chart and idiotically answered "no, I want the baby in my room".  "I WANT MY BABY!"

An hour later the same nurse kicked out all of my visitors, including Nick (!!??) and all the grandparents who actually knew how to care for a baby.  I was alone for the night.  Well, alone except for Henry, of course and my roommate who wisely sent her baby to the nursery and was sleeping peacefully. Peacefully until my baby started screaming like a banshee and wouldn't stop. 

I went frantically searching the dark halls of the maternity ward for the night nurse and then begged her to show me, again, how to wrap up the baby in that way that made him stop crying and fall asleep.  She came in and slowly demonstrated the swaddle.  I should have taken notes, because it was a very long night.

Once we were home I discovered all the blankets I had for Henry were grossly inadequate.  I could never get the blanket tight enough and I went on a crazed post-natal search of the local baby boutiques for the Miracle Blanket.

I swaddled Henry until he was nearly 5 months old. While other mothers said their babies no longer liked to be swaddled  I was duct-taping the blanket around Henry.  Now that he was older and stonger he, like Houdini, would escape, but having him wrapped tightly meant a good night sleep for all.

Even up until 17 months, if Henry was having trouble falling asleep, I could hold his little arms down tight against his side and he'd scream like the dickens for 30 seconds and then pass out peacefully.  It was like magic.

Escaped Arms

This post is dedicated to my friend who just yesterday delivered a baby boy.  Congratulations! (There's a miracle blanket on the way)

Very Important Date

There are very few technologies that I don't fully embrace.  One, for example, is the electronic calendar / organizer.  I prefer to have a paper calendar and actually write things in it. (I also like to cut and paste in pictures of shoes and dresses)  I would probably really benefit from the electronic version.  Maybe the kind with an alarm that buzzes and dings before your appointment. Just a little something to remind me that I have to be somewhere.

This morning I could have used a calendar with an alarm that was able to literally kick my ass out the door and on the road to the Mayo Clinic.  For inexplicable reasons I thought my appointment was at 10 instead of 9 and I didn't bother to check my calendar until it was way too late to make a difference. 

People wait for months and fly from all over the world to see doctors at the Mayo Clinic and I felt like the biggest jerk showing up 1 hour late to Henry's urology appointment.  I imagined crying at the desk and then camping out in the waiting room for days until there was a cancellation or the nursing staff took pity on me and my shoeless son.  (Things can get quite dramatic in my mind)  I was completely shocked when Henry's name was called almost immediately after checking in.  We saw the doctor and were back in the car and on our way to Arby's in under 30 minutes. 

I treated Henry to some chicken tenders as a special treat for his good behavior during the exam.  (He covered his eyes with his hands the entire time, as though he just couldn't stand the indignity.)

The verdict is in.  No surgery.  This is great news for us.  Dr. Mayo concurred with Dr. Confident in New York.  I totally knew it.

Henry enjoying his first sucker at the barber shop