Archive for February, 2008

Just a touch of cute to get you through the weekend

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Usually she is a big girl with her pink bubble jacket, but sometimes when it gets really cold, she dresses in her polar bear snowsuit.  She looks so much younger and so ridiculously cute it makes me want to eat her cheeks.

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Yelling at her sippy cup.  Don’t ask me.  I’m not quite sure.

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Her new Pebbles hairdo.  Again, the cheeks look tempting.  I do know how silly she looks, but when silly meets cute so square on, it just doesn’t matter.  Plus, she loves it and calls it her Pony Hair Tail.

Tidbits and Timbits

Driving in the car with my mom and sister.  Dead silent.  Eirinn, out of nowhere:

“Everybody has a head.”

This is so true, it blows my mind.

***

Sitting down, presented with a special treat dessert of two Timbits.  Carefully examining one.

“Bubba?  This is perfect.”

a) Where did she learn the word ‘perfect’?  b) I am choked up with brilliance of this child.  Yes, Baby Eirinn, doughnuts are perfect.

***

Eirinn is now taking Flinstone vitamins.  Did you know they have a whole line of vitamins based on the category of fussiness your child fits into?  I did not but I think it’s genius!  Eirinn is in the Doesn’t Consume Dairy category.  She also fell into the other categories, but not as consistently as she fell into Kids Who Don’t Drink Milk Good.

She’s (mostly) off the bottle now, although she teeters on the edge of the wagon at Bubba’s house for nap time (but that’s ok ’cause sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do to get the kid to sleep).  And because she is who she is, milk in a cup or a sippy cup is remarkably offensive and, when it’s offered, she immediately wants us to ‘clean it’.  As in ‘You’ve soiled my precious, pure water with a vile white liquid, you inconsiderate, disrespectful moron’.  Shame on us and shame on those who allowed this to happen.

She likes yogurt but we would need to feed her 7 a day in order for her to get her recommended daily calcium intake.  The vitamins have 1/4 of what she needs.  Which is great.  I was worried she would grow up to be a toothless shrimp with bendy, brittle bones. 

So now, every morning, she takes her “medicine”, the same as Mommy and Daddy.  She doesn’t mind them.  In fact, she kind of likes them.  The only problem so far is keeping her from overdosing.  (Back off trolls; we’ve only ever given her one a day.  She just wants more, more, more.)

***

Have I ever mentioned how little hair Eirinn has?  I mean, it’s really quite sad.  She just recently can brag about technically having a full head of hair, but only in the most liberal sense.  Yes, there are hair follicles sprouting nearly everywhere they should be.  But, wow.  She’ll be two next Friday and I would guesstimate that the majority of 6 month olds have a great deal more than her.  The stuff at the sides, right at her temples, is still just newborn fluff.  And that’s because it is newborn hair.

The hair coming in looks like it has the potential to be very pretty.  It is a nice medium to dark blonde with natural subtle highlights.  It’s curly at the back but I think that will relax over time and settle on slightly wavy (like her Mommy).  And it’s also very shiny, which makes me want to shave off what little she has and crazy glue it on top of my own head.

On one hand I’m anxious for her to grow her hair so I can put it in a pony tail or, as my dad calls them, Zeep-Zorps (pig tails).  On the other more dominant and strongly opinionated hand (probably my right; my left is useless for anything other than balance), I’m glad she’s still a bit of a baldy.  It means some days we can get away without brushing because who would notice?  Also she still looks like my little Baby Eirinn, even though she’ll be two next week and already knows that everyone has a head and that doughnuts are natures perfect fruit.

This was not a setup

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In her defense, no one told her not to…

Don’t like it

Eirinn’s new, over-used phrase du jour is “My don’t like it.”  But she pronounces it with some indecipherable drawl.  It is “My don’t loyk it” to be exact.  Also, on occasion, “My don’t loyk it.  Any.  More.”  We’re pretty sure what she means to say is “My don’t want it” because since she started using this phrase a couple of weeks ago, she ‘no likes’ the following, among many other random things:
pants

stripey socks

non-stripey socks

shirts with a turtleneck

shirts with buttons

shirts with zippers

shirts with sleeves

shirts with sleeves rolled up

her pink coat

her other pink coat

her pink mitts

her other pink mitts

her boots

food, including that which she has already consumed a good deal of

drinks

movies that she asked to be played

tv shows which were her favourite less than five minutes ago

hugs

kisses

tickling

Mommy

Daddy

Bosco

going to bed

blankets
All of this is somehow magically and similtaneously cute and unbearably frustrating.  We absolutely adore her new found accent (which includes pronouncing Donkey from Shrek “Don-kay”) and selfishly hopes she keeps it, despite the fact that she will be made fun of terribly when she enters school.  She’s tough; she can handle a bit of ribbing.  But on the other hand, it’s awfully tiring never knowing what will please her, even after she asks for something quite specifically. 

I’m sure most toddlers go through a phase like this.  Seeing how far their parents will go to please them and how far they can try their patience before it snaps.  Luckily for Eirinn her parents think she’s painfully adorable and little things like this, while not tolerated (she does get reprimanded for being impossibly finicky), are filed away under Things We Will Remember Fondly.

Like a carousel, except not as fun

Ups and Downs of the weekend (you are warned – there are more downs than ups)

Up: Getting our family photos done on Saturday morning.  We get ours done at the Real Canadian Superstore.  We have found that, for what you get, they are much cheaper and of better quality than other big box portrait studios.  We’ve been happy with them so far and this was our third time going. 

Eirinn did very well, considering she is an almost-two year old and it was right before lunch.  She smiled for many shots so we had a few to choose from.  She also didn’t smile for many shots, but we could only pick three poses so she gets a pardon this time.

She wore her most beautifully adorable dress ever.  Ok, so it’s her only dress.  OK, so I actually had to buy it for her the week before so that she would actually have a dress.  Sheesh.  She’s a rough and tumble tomboy and her wardrobe reflects as much.  But this dress, a brightly flowered jumper and a pink shirt, was perfect for the pictures and she’ll wear it again for her second birthday party (not her birthday marking her second year; her SECOND birthday as in she’s having two this year…spoiled?  yes.)  And I also had to buy her shoes because she has grown out of all her shoes in this, the season of only boots.  And she got a fresh new hairdo, which was thankfully free.

So, overall, she looked cute as a bug, smiled as many times as required, and we made it out of the studio alive.

Down: Out of the studio, into the lobby.  Immediately following the portrait session, Eirinn jumped head first into the Single Worst Temper Tantrum EVAH!!!  This event deserves its own title and exclamation marks because it truly was the worst tantrum I have ever seen any human being throw.  She out-did any she had ever thrown herself by entire categories; her worst previous now being labeled Minor Blip on the Attitude Radar.  Seriously, you would have thought we were literally torturing the life out of her right there in the middle of the Superstore, instead of just, say, trying to reason with her that dumping a container of fishy crackers on the floor probably isn’t the most polite thing to do after they so kindly took our pictures at a very reasonable price.

We put up with the blood-curdling screams, kicking, and thrashing for less than a minute before we decided Anonymous Husband would take her to the car while I make the final decisions and pay the nice (patient) lady.   And I got the easy end of the bargain.  Apparently AH was lucky he didn’t get arrested or violently accosted on the way to the car because Eirinn (our little darling) kept up the screaming, yelling for “Mommy” now, refused to let him carry her in any civilized manner, forcing him to carry her like a football.  This scene looked like nothing but a man kidnapping a distressed toddler.  And, for a reward for not leaving her standing in the parking lot alone while he drove away as fast as my car would accelerate, she dumped the fishy crackers all over the car (on purpose) instead.

When we got home, she had lunch and went straight to bed as a punishment.  No rocking, no songs, no lovely quiet time routine that we normally have for nap time.  Straight to bed.  And she didn’t complain, so we know she knew she was bad.

Up: Um…

Down: She has a new favourite.  She forced us to watch Alice in Wonderland, the All-Star, made-for-tv, 1985 version (which is my All Time Favourite Movie, right up there with Goodfellas and The Fugitive), four times this weekend.  Did I mention that this movie is OVER THREE HOURS LONG?  No?  Well, it is.  Which, I suppose, is probably a good thing because if it was the usual hour and a half, we probably would have had to watch it eight times, increasing the likelihood of us tearing our own eardrums out and melting our eyeballs with a barbeque lighter by exactly double.

She has absolutely lost all interest in any other tv, including her long time love, Diego, and his cousin, Dora.  They are officially ex’s now.  The only image on the television that she will tolerate is that of Alice and/or the White Rabbit.

So far I haven’t had to officially remove the movie from my favourites list, but if this keeps up for too long, I might.  That will be a sad day.

Up:  Hmm…

Down:  We had dinner at my parents’ house last night, which was great, but the leaving part initiated another tantrum.  Not as overly dramatic and violent this time, but it lasted from their house, the whole ride home, as we were getting her ready for bed, during her (undeserved) quiet, rocking time, and for a while in her crib.

Then she crashed…

Up:  …for the whole night.  She has rarely slept all the way through the night, especially the past few months, but she did it last night.  From 8pm to 7:15am, she didn’t even stir.  She even woke up still tucked in and her soother still in her mouth.

And Thank God, because after that weekend, I needed a full night sleep.

We make shy babies

“It” is still an “it”.  “It” had “its” back to us and had “its” legs crossed tightly at the knees.  *sigh*

Because not knowing is not an option for Anonymous Husband and I, this means we’re going to have to fork over wads of cash and do the 3D imaging.  It’s so expensive, but now we’re desperate.

So disappointed. 

However, “it” did seem healthy or at least normal.  “Its” heart rate was a perfect 140 and “it” appeared to have all of “its” expected limbs and none extra.  So that’s always good.

* Edited to note: I should have titled this post “We make shy fetuses” because Eirinn?  She is the least shy person I have ever met before in my whole life.  She was, however, also a shy fetus, pulling the old “back to the camera” trick at her ultrasound.  The expensive, 3D ultrasound at that.

Guess we’ll have to wait until tomorrow

I just took an on-line gender prediction test and after answering 20 or so questions, the results were 47% boy and 53% girl.  This translates to:

 “You are definitely, maybe, quite possibly, or not, having either a boy or a girl, or both, or neither. But we are 61% certain you are having something. Even if it’s just a snack.  Or not.  Please don’t sue us.”

The Chinese Calendar says girl.  Everyone else in the known universe says boy.  I say there’s definitely something in there, boy or girl, and whatever it is, it sure does wiggle a lot.  That’s all I know.

until tomorrow…

hopefully…

as long as fetupus cooperates and shows us his or her bits…

and if he or she is anything like his or her older sister, he or she will be crossing his or her legs as tight as he or she can, thinking we’re awfully pre-verted with all this interest in his wee-wee or her hoo-ha…

Anonymous Husband and I don’t really care if it’s a he or a she.  Our interest lies in getting the room prepared, either keeping or replacing Eirinn’s old clothes, picking a name, and putting an imagined face to the idea of a new family member.  On one hand, a girl would be cheaper (less to replace, more to re-use) and easier as we know how to parent a girl, in general.  On the other hand, a boy would be an interesting change and would add a bit of a hormonal balance to our house.  And what dad doesn’t want at least one boy?

But, as cheesy and typical as it sounds, we will honestly be thrilled with either (I think our chances of getting ‘either’ are fairly good, so – yay!) and tomorrow’s ultrasound is basically just a formality.  A highly anticipated, extremely looked-forward-to (what?  shut up, I’m pregnant and can make up phrases if I want) formality.

So look for the big reveal (or disappointing let down of ‘no news’) tomorrow.