Pudding on the Nose

I bet you thought I died, didn't you. Admit it...you thought to yourselves that ol' Kim has curled up in a corner, wrapped herself in diapers like a mummy, and just keeled over...We used to joke at the store that if you didn't come in on Black Friday (the day after Turkey Day...not to be confused with the Brown-But-Not-Really-Completely-Burnt December 26 Day) that you had to be dead...you had to be dead and have triple copies of your death certificate...a picture of your cemetary plot...a written note from God saying you "would not be in today" and even then, the managerial powers-that-be would not see the humor in the situation and would then proceed to take parts of our posteriors away from us. Ok...it wasn't really a joke...that one's pretty much true to form.

Anyhoo...

I have once again foisted my innocent son onto the neighbors. In the last weeks he has gotten much quicker and much stronger, and we have begun the perilous attempt to add solid foods to his diet. Now, to his credit, he's a game little fellow. Until it gets into his mouth, that is.

We began with green beans, because the books say start with green veggies first. Now, as a concerned parent, and because I firmly believe that I shouldn't inflict anything on my son's diet that I wouldn't try myself, I tried the green beans...I agree with him...they were pretty nasty, especially at the barely warmed temperature recommended on the back of the jar's label...I've never been partial to cold green beens, but you know, I'm supposed to be the adult (and who's idea was that, I ask you!), so I spooned the stuff into his mouth...and he tolerated it, but we had better luck the second time around.Now, I understand that presentation may not be crucial for a six-month old, and I am very glad that the beans are natural with few added thing-ies...but, I can't be the only one who noticed that green beens in a jar look eerily like a certain product usually found in the diaper pail. Just because I'm the Mommy now, and what I say is supposed to go, I thought I would enjoy some chocolate pudding to celebrate feeding Josh. So that he wouldn't be left out, I decided to eat the pudding without the spoon. Jon would have rolled eyes, had he been there, but my theory is that it's my house and I can be durfy if I want to. I managed to accomplish my task without spraining my tongue (always a problem when one decides to do things their parents always told them not to do -- in a related story, Mom was always of the opinion that we could not play with squirt guns in the house either, so of course my first official act as an adult with her own home was to instigate a squirt gun fight with Jon...and then I went and jumped on the bed), but I succeeded in getting pudding out of the little cup and all over my nose and chin. I equate spoonless-pudding-eating as a cheap, mindless thrill that for whatever reason just keeps me really amused. Not amused enough to show you the pictures of me with pudding all over my face, but amused. There are other ways to pass the time, but it takes a certain amount of skill to do this kind of thing. No, really.



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Prayer for the Rolling Boy:


Josh is becoming quite the traveler. While he's still working on the basics of crawling, he has evolved into a world class Rollerboy...he can whip around left and right, and scoot backwards...Poor Jon didn't realize exactly how honed those skills are...The other day, Jon was in the living room with Josh. Josh was talking to his toy telephone (he's been letting loose these exhuberant baby dolphin shrieks lately) and was really getting into it. Jon figured as long as he didn't hear any screams of ouchiness or obvious crashing sounds that he could just keep half an eye on Josh and the other half on the email he was reading from his place on the couch. I heard the warning sound first. Actually, it was a lack of sound that set my Mommy-Senses tingling. I rounded the corner, Jon was still there, checking emails...I saw Josh kicking happily as I came into the room, and noticed that he had managed to get himself several feet further away from where he'd been when I left the room -- and by cosmic coicidence, his upper half was just below Jon's line of sight. For a moment, I thought it was a false alarm...then I realized that what he was ecstatically chewing and gumming and drooling on was the cd for one of our most favorite soundtracks. (I confess, I was just as worried for the cd as I was for the baby...I know...I know...BAD MOMMY!!!...but um, I'm still new at this...)

Jon in an act of contriteness, and a desperate desire to get the house together, declared that it was officially time to clean, and he picked up all of the piles of cds that we had left by the television and after some prodding (as I have never once claimed to be the most domestically inclined personage in the world), we both started dealing with the house. I broke into the child-proofing box and started working on some of the rooms...we still have a ways to go, but I am feeling much better about it now than I did...for some reason, baby-proofing doesn't seem quite so overwhelming now.

Heidi M. kidnapped Josh and I last week. We went up to Park Place in Newark...(or, using the "correct" pronunciation in my area, "N'rk"...would that mean that Park Place must now become "P'rk Place"?), one of my most favorite little shops in the world. It's kind of the all-wonderful channel...everything immersed in the scent of coffee. We ate lunch on the patio, Josh was a good sport...he kept trying to eat the cap I had given him, but as usual, he took in everything with direct and rapt fascination. Because of the limited space in the shop, Heidi and I took turns doing mad dashes into the store, admiring and drooling over the knickknacks and goodies that we couldn't have...I had made certain that Heidi was broke when we went up there...this is the kind of place you don't want to go into with money (and more importantly, WITHOUT a chaperone...I have the same problem in Amish country...as does my mother...we solve this problem by chaperoning each other). One of us would stay with Josh while the other perused. Heidi, who called me many names when I had intro'd her to the new tea shop in Z-, called me many more names when I introduced her to my coffee place. The coffee lady was darling, as always, and offered -- as a grandmother herself-- to watch Josh in his carseat while we prowled...and I actually wanted to, oh, how I wanted to...but I could imagine Mom standing over my shoulder with her sternest, most disapproving LOOK (I'm certain that many of you have dealt with the equivalent...It's kinda like having a nuclear missle aimed right between your eyes, with a side of molten lead)...so I slumped my shoulders and hung my head and sighed. "Thank you, no Ma'am. I'm kind of new at this, and I'd better keep him with me." Besides, my own family members, all of my friends, and both my and Jon's co-workers are hatching plots to snatch Josh from us at any given moment, and it wouldn't be wise to give them any help in this matter. Again, my daydreams get the best of me, and I imagine the whole lot of them dressed up like supervillans (G.A. Helen as the Riddler? Yeeesh!!! --oh no...now that picture's stuck in my head), and all of them racing to swipe the Pink Drooler (i.e. Josh) from my grasp. Josh, of course, wouldn't care. He'd be delighted, and would be whipping that big ol' grin everywhere.

Although, every time I get carried away with this thought, with the idea of Josh wanting to stay and flirt with all the girls that adore him, he has his own way to remind me of who he really wants to be with. He's learned to reach for me, and for Jon...but after a day of playing with the neighbors, he looks up at me, flashes the smile he uses when he knows everything is ok...and reaches over to me...then he snuggles up, rubs his eyes, and leans his head in to press his lips against my cheek. He holds very still for a few moments and shuts his eyes. I hold very still and shut my eyes too, and feel his lips and his breath against my cheek. Job security never felt so good.

Four days ago, he laughed for real. Not giggles...not buzzing bubbles...just a full-out hysterical, little boy laugh...

After six months on this Mommy-job, I just got my first raise.