The "Haircut Store"

Over three years ago, when Simon was a chubby 4 month old, we went to a place called "The Barbershop" up in Appleton so he could get his first official haircut. As you can see in the pictures below, his hair was a little on the wild side. My little cousin went to the zoo and saw the baby Orangutan and told my aunt, "That looks like Baby Simon!" He was pretty much right on target. Even in the "after" photo, it's still all over the place, just a little more controlled. Before, During & After:





Some three years later, I've lost count of all the haircuts he's gotten. I think it's somewhere between 15 and 20. It always makes me wonder how long it would be if we let it grow out (or if he were a girl). Yesterday we took him to the place he's dubbed "The Haircut Store" so he could get a professional looking cut while driving in a car and watching a movie. Thankfully, the older he gets the more cooperative he gets...I felt for the two moms in there with hysterical toddlers.

Turning a long awaited corner

When Simon was a tiny little peanut baby we took him out to dinner all the time. He'd stay in his car seat the entire time and request a bottle or a jiggle every now and again, but for the most part we could still have an uninterrupted, pleasant meal. Soon the very idea of dining out would fill me with a sense of dread. Actually doing it, however, really wasn't so bad. I kid. It was really that bad.

I can't easily cite specific examples of Simon's restaurant behavior because like any traumatic experience, you naturally block out the details. I can vaguely remember the essence of those dinners, though.

Simon was grabby.
Anything he could get his grubby little paws on he wanted. Sometimes he would literally appear frantic when trying to grab things before we could move them out of reach (he particularly liked salt because so much comes out so fast when you tip the shaker upside down).

Simon was loud.
He has yet to master the concept of "inside voices" no matter where we are. At a friend's with a sleeping baby? WHO CARES. At the library? WHISPERING IS FOR SUCKERS. At a restaurant? GOOD LUCK.

Simon was squirmy.
The chair was never a place he wanted to be. It was always better to be (attempting) to stand on the chair, crawl under the table, examine other restaurant patrons nearby up close and personal or simply try to run away.

Simon was "reasoned" with.
"If you throw one more breadstick, you're not getting any more food" ... "You have until the count of three to sit down or we're buckling you into that high chair" ... "You have to let Mommy hold the overfilled, lidless cup of milk the thoughtful waitress brought or you won't get any at all."

Luckily, we really are turning a corner. He's not so grabby, loud or squirmy and we don't have to try to reason with him over something every 8 seconds...he's just been GOOD all on his own. In fact, the last several times we've gone out he's been an angel and it's been wonderful. I know we'll have our bad days still, but it's great to know that they are going to be fewer and farther between from here on out (I'd go into the details about lunch at McDonald's with his 3 cousins today, but in the spirit of optimism I'm choosing to block it out instead...I don't want to remember him throwing a bag of apples at his baby cousin's face).

(These pics have nothing to do with anything...they are just because.)

Crack the code

I promise I will not blog often about my infertility woes, but I wanted to share a special language that I know from doing so much "research." A friend once said she wanted to know a cool secret language too...I laughed and said she could have it! It was a great spin on something that's not always a barrel o' fun. Anyways, I want to read this one day and have NO IDEA what any of it means anymore, although something tells me it will always be in my brain somewhere...

DPO
DPIUI
IUI
BFN
BFP
BD
AF
DD
DS
ET
IVF
CD
DH
HCG
P4
E2
HPT
POAS
OPK
RE
U/S
SIF
IF
PG

That's all I can think of...now I will get back to fun stories about the child I DO have :)

Tina Fey is pregnant

Now, I'm sure the news that Tina Fey is pregnant again is high on the list of things you care deeply about. Maybe saying you care "deeply" is a bit of an overstatement. Saying I care deeply is an overstatement too, but the news does mean a small something to me.

If you know this blog exists AND you are taking the time to read it, there's a good chance you know that I have a little something called secondary infertility. That just means I got one helluva kid, but he was a helluva fluke and it's unlikely we'll get so lucky again (for the optimists out there, I'm using the word "unlikely" instead "impossible" here). Yes, there is always adoption for when we win the lottery and find ourselves with an extra 25 to 40 grand in our pockets, but in the meantime we're a family of three.

Having an only child is something I've worked very hard over the past few years to accept and be happy about. One fun thing that I always told myself was that celebrities had only children all the time. We were going to be chic and trendy by only having one. I could just see myself walking the streets of New York in my oversized bag, skinny jeans and heels with my one precious boy wearing his long hair and a backpack (very realistic imagery, I know). Look at Sarah Jessica Parker, Katie Holmes, Courtney Cox (Arquette?), Celine Dion, Kate Hudson and Tina Fey! They're all with me! But then boom, boom, boom, adios SJP, Celine, Kate and now Tina. Only Mrs. Cruise and Monica Gellar have stuck by my side on this one.

I know to an outsider this probably seems absurd, ridiculous, silly, etc. to have even thought about this in the first place. I can see your point..it IS all of those things. I'm a little hesitant to even post about this because I don't want to give the impression that I'm actually upset about Tina Fey's growing fetus (admittedly, there was a time when the news may have sent me off the deep end, but THANK GOD those days are behind me). I'm just checking her off the list is all. "Our" club just got a little more elite, and that's how I'm going to see it :)

So predictable

Simon had a hole in the foot of his jammies yesterday. I asked him 17 times if he wanted to change. Nope. I said to Bryan, "Mark my words. About 20 minutes after he's gone to bed he's going to get bothered by that toe sticking out and he'll insist on different jammies." Sure enough, almost like clockwork.

Then several minutes after that, Simon yelled from upstairs that he had to go potty. He was calling for me, but I sent Bryan instead. Bryan said, "But he's calling for you." I tried to pretend that didn't matter. Bryan got up there and Simon said, "My mommy can put me on the potty and take me off the potty. She does that job." (WHAT?!) He proceeded to pick up his monitor and talk into it walky-talky style calling for me until I appeared.

At least we've come to know what to expect from the kid (his actions, not so much his words), but all this blogging is making me notice just how much he is running the show. I'll have to mull that one over....

(This picture is just because.)

Painful Laughter

Last night Simon made me laugh harder than I think he's ever made me laugh before. I had the full on hunched over, painful, teary eyed, snort-filled laugh that I used to get all the time when I was younger. Now being 29, I still give a chuckle and a giggle at something every day, but intense laughing fits don't come around all that often anymore.

When Simon was supposed to hopping into bed, I went downstairs to get something. He decided to follow and I yelled for Bryan to grab him to keep him upstairs. Simon was too quick, though, and he caught right up to me before Bryan was half way down the stairs. All the while, Bryan is telling Simon in a stern voice that he better come upstairs. Eventually Bryan told Simon that he had to the count of three to get upstairs or he was getting a spanking.

**Side Note: Now I know everyone has their own ideas on the usefulness of spanking. In our house, it is used minimally as a last ditch effort or when the seriousness of his offense merits a little sting on the cheeks. Bryan's way of spanking, however, is to lightly pat him a few times on the butt over his clothes so that it feels more like a love tap and is subsequently not an effective disciplinary method.**

Since Simon knows that Daddy's spankings are actually more like a tickle, he laughed in the face of danger and yelled to me, "I WILL STOP HIM!" He said this with all the confidence and gumption of a soldier ready for action. He then ran into the kitchen where Bryan had appeared and yelled at the top of his lungs "BADAAAAAAA!" with his hand out in front of him in the "stop" position (Simon later told me that "bada" is what Diego says to stop the animals). He yelled this over and over and I seriously fell apart.

I know reading about (or even hearing about it) really doesn't do it justice, but trust me, it was comedy at its finest :) I WISH I had my video camera on for it last night, but I wasn't that lucky. Instead, for your viewing pleasure, here is Simon rocking out at State Fair last summer:

Ugh

Today I lost it. I lost my cool and I definitely lost the battle.

Preceding EVERY nap time and night time, we have to go through a few charades to actually get Simon in bed and sleeping. At nap time he always needs jammies and a book. At night, he needs jammies, 3 books, a sip of water, water on the dresser and to be properly tucked in among other things. The routine gets very old so any B.S. (yes, "BULL SHIT") that lengthens the process can be frustrating.

Today I was frustrated.

Instead of picking out his jammies, he played in his tent. Thus, I picked them out on his behalf. Unfortunately, they were not footie jammies. HE! WANTED! FOOTIE! JAMMIES! He was going to scream until he was wearing footie jammies. I explained that I picked out his jammies because he chose not to and he'd have to live with that choice. I know that logic sounds easy enough, but for some reason the screaming continued. (Dear Love and Logic, You don't work.)

There was a lot of back and forth between us over the next 30 minutes. Mostly he screamed and I tried to not scream back (key word: "tried"). Eventually I caved and let him wear the damn footie jammies. Was now the time to teach him about the consequences of his actions? Who knows. Sometimes I just need to take a step back and remind myself that not all battles have to be picked and he'll still turn out alright....I hope.


(These jammies were the cause of our dispute.)