Toddlers Vs. Velociraptors

In just one month, Baby Bro went from taking a couple steps to walking laps around the house. It actually happened in just one evening. Now, I know how the scientists felt in Jurassic Park upon realizing they’d created something magnificent, capable of learning and developing, but at the same time capable of destroying an entire house in a matter of seconds. I know I’ve compared toddlers to dogs before, but you’d be surprised at how much they also have in common with some of history’s most predatory species.

The night Baby Bro gave up crawling, you could see something in him just clicked. He stood up, walked all around the kitchen and then to the hallways and back, smiling and cooing while Drew and I watched in disbelief. It happened so suddenly, and there was no looking back. As soon as the moment of pride and joy had passed, my mind darted to every sharp corner, every breakable decoration within a toddler’s reach, and of course- doorknobs. One of the most terrifying scenes in the famous film happens when the velociraptor learns how to open doors, the handle slowly turns as the children crouch behind a counter cowering with fear. It’s a game-changing skill, doorknobs. It means I have to remember the top latch on the front and garage doors every single day. The front door has been a habit since Big Bro learned this skill, but the garage door- let’s just say it’s a good thing the handle tends to stick.

In addition to their risk of escape, velociraptors and toddlers can move very quickly in short bursts. For example, if Baby Bro gets hold of a piece of trash at the park and senses my intention to take it from him, he’s already 20 feet away and shoving it in his mouth while laughing as if to say “catch me mom!” I look at him and think, “where was this coordination when I was trying to change your diaper this morning?”

Toddlers and velociraptors are also pack animals. They’re at their most destructive when they have help. This is where Big Bro comes in. If I so much as put a load of laundry into the washing machine while they’re in the playroom together I can guarantee I’m walking back into tornado alley. At the moment my house is rigged with traps of legos, blocks and hot wheels cars. Just minutes ago I tripped over a pile of childrens’ musical instruments while trying to put Baby Bro to sleep. Needless to say, it took a little longer than usual.

Lastly, the velociraptor battle cry. It’s a known fact that until preschool, toddlers are equipped with the same set of vocal chords as the prehistoric carnivore, projecting a high-pitched screeching noise that can penetrate the thickest walls and the quietest churches.

But while he may be loud, destructive, quick and sneaky, he’s also sweet and snuggly and far more adorable than any dinosaur. He does bite, but we’re working on that.

On the Move

Just days after his first birthday, Baby Bro stood up in the front yard one evening, and walked about five steps into my arms. We were all there to witness his first steps and yet even with two professional videographers as parents, neither of us had a camera in hand.

Since then, he has taken a few steps a day on his own, and the rest of the time he holds my hand as we wander aimlessly, stepping up and down the doorstep repeatedly or pacing over the stones in the backyard, or following his brother around the house. He could do it on his own be he prefers my hand to hold for now. I know “now” is so short I don’t mind at all.

Meanwhile, Big Bro is enjoying the scooter he got for his birthday, and the bike he got for Christmas. Recently at the neighborhood park, one of his friends let him try out a bicycle that had no training wheels. Big Bro hopped on and rode down the grassy hill like a pro. The two friends took turns riding down the hill over and over, getting faster and farther each time.

Watching the boys gain the courage to let go- whether it’s a hand or a set of wheels- are some of the best moments I’ve had as a mom. I can’t wait to see them on the move even more as Baby Bro’s walk turns into a run, and Big Bro learns to start off and go on his own bike. But for now, the short now, I’m happy to hold on.

One and Four

Three days, two birthdays, and I have a four year old and a one year old.

We celebrated Big Bro (formerly Baby B) with a Cars-themed party at a local park, complete with scooters and bikes and trails painted like tiny roads. B got a new scooter and loved riding it around with his friends.

I can’t get over how much he’s grown, learned and changed in the past year. He started preschool and can write his name and he’s starting to read. He has taken on the role of older brother with confidence and kindness. He’s social, smart, sweet, silly and spunky. He’s got the energy of a chihuahua after 12 cups of coffee. He’s full of fun and surprises. He’s charismatic and curious. He made me a mom and it’s an honor I’m thankful for every day.
Baby Bro is starting to show us his personality as well. Now one year old, he can hold his own when it comes to his big bro and their toys. He isn’t afraid to express his opinions with a point and yell or ask for “dada” or wave goodbye. He is cruising around, gaining the confidence he’ll need to walk. He’s got a sense of humor and loves to be chased. I can’t get enough of his sweet kisses and hugs. He loves to read books, play, and eat whatever’s on my plate. He completes our family of four, and made my heart grow beyond what I’d thought possible.

It’s been the shortest four years of my life, but time flies when you’re having fun.

Proceed with Caution

This Christmas, we got Big Bro his first two-wheeler. A “pedal bike” as he calls it. We were so excited to give it to him knowing how thrilled he’d be to have a Lightning McQueen bike, bright red with a carrying case for hot wheels cars attached to the handle bars. Christmas morning after his initial reaction he immediately started inspecting it. When he saw the case he exclaimed “I can take my cars to the park!”

Given that he’d more than mastered his pedal-less balance bike, I just knew he’d be great at riding this one right away. We didn’t even bother with training wheels. Why would we? I know my own son’s potential and with all his confidence and energy, teaching him would be a breeze.

A couple days later, we set out to the park to learn to ride in the safety of the grass. A hesitant Big Bro told me he didn’t want to practice. A persistent mommy took him anyway, and sat down for about 10 minutes waiting until he was ready to try getting on. He got on, but didn’t sit down. Didn’t even let me push. Not even while holding on.

I was so frustrated I could barely speak. Here I was, so excited for him and confident for him and courageous for him, but in this moment he exhibited none of those traits for himself. We headed home, walking the bike the whole way. I took the dog for a walk to clear my frustration.

That’s when I started to think back about his balance bike. He’d waited weeks before slowly and cautiously getting on and making his way around the driveway. It even took time for him to warm up to his tricycle before that. He hasn’t climbed to the second story of the playground or tried the big tire swing. At the beach he played on the shore without me having to worry about him getting in too deep. What made me think he’d be ready to dive right in?

I think as parents we sometimes tend to project ourselves onto our children, especially when we see so much of ourselves in them. But they’re their own people with their own personalities.

We put the training wheels on the bike and Big Bro started out slowly. By the end of the day we had to drag him inside when it got dark. He absolutely loves it.

Eventually we’ll take the training wheels off. When he’s ready.

In just one month, my cautious little guy will be four years old, and his Baby Bro will be- one!

At 11 months old, Baby Bro likes giggling, playing with his kuya, cruising, singing, drumming, dancing, nodding yes and no (mostly no) and hiding things in his laundry hamper.

He dislikes getting dressed, diaper changes, and teething.

Sometimes, This is What Being a Parent Means

This month was eventful to say the least. Thanksgiving and the kickoff of the holiday season brought warm memories, family visits and cheer, but a death in the family and a family member’s medical emergency also brought a range of emotions on the opposite end of the spectrum. It brought moments that gave me renewed appreciation for my parents, my in-laws, and parents everywhere, not only for the support and love they provide but for the strength it takes to make a child’s world safe when the real world is wrought with danger. It’s the stuff they don’t teach. The stuff they don’t prepare you for. The stuff that makes you clench your teeth, swallow your tears, roll up your sleeves, or stay awake at night just to ensure everyone but yourself is taken care of. That’s what being a parent is sometimes.

Being a parent sometimes means sympathetically nodding while a friend tells you about their late night, their low energy, their need for coffee, while trying to remember the last time you got more than four hours of consecutive sleep and realizing it was more than a year ago.

Being a parent sometimes means putting your sunglasses on and smiling so your kids don’t know your eyes are filling up with tears.

Being a parent sometimes means going without makeup for days because getting everyone else ready in the morning is your first priority.

Being a parent doesn’t stop at 18. It sometimes means babysitting at the drop of a hat to get your own grown-up child out of a jam, or even grabbing a bucket for her to yarf in during a bout of food poisoning, even though she’s 32 years old. (thanks dad)

Being a parent means calling every day just to see how that 32-year-old is doing. (thanks mom)

Being a parent sometimes means worrying about people other than yourself, when you are the one sitting in a hospital bed.

Being a parent sometimes means untangling a logistical nightmare, countless phone calls, research, and developing contingency plans while still making time for Christmas crafts, shopping, lists, cooking, and generally sprinkling fairy dust all over the house when no one is looking.

It’s kissing boo-boos and softening the world. It’s painting rainbows and everything rose. It’s hoping that they stay that way as long as possible- hopeful, honest, innocent, and happy. To show them no sadness, to hide them from harm.

It’s hugging a sobbing three-year-old and telling him everything is o.k. And we are so thankful that it is.

This month, I was reminded of just how strong my husband is. He is a rock. For his family, for himself, and for our children. In this season for giving thanks, I am thankful for him.

Baby Bro spent his last morning as a nine-month-old in the Emergency Room with a stomach bug that I’d feared was something worse. I sat there holding my baby wrapped in my hoodie because it was the only article of clothing in our possession not covered in vomit. It was 39 degrees outside and I was wearing a tank top and leggings with puke on them, waiting for the doctor to take an x-ray to make sure Baby Bro hadn’t swallowed anything dangerous. I was scared, smelly and cold but I didn’t care about anything other than making my baby feel better as quickly as possible. I thought to myself, “sometimes, this is what being a parent means.”

We are looking forward to turning a page this month and having a fun and happy Christmas season. Or in the very least, a month with less yarf.

At ten months old, Baby Bro is starting to form some really strong opinions!

He likes: walking while holding our hands, crawling, clapping, babbling, pointing, eating finger foods (purees are so last month) kicking stuff while walking, wrestling with his brother, dancing, parades, pianos, and so much more.

He dislikes: 24-hour stomach bugs, diaper changes, and staying still.

Vacation! With Kids

I’m not sure when or where this agreement was made, or who was in charge of all of the children in the world when it happened, but at some point they decided that the only opportune time to get sick would be days before a vacation.

Three days before leaving for a friend’s wedding in Florida with the whole family, I was standing in the pediatrician’s office with Big Bro after his fever hit 104.7. It’s the second time he’s had a fever above 103. It’s the second time he’s had a fever above 103 the day before a planned vacation. It’s the second time that fever was his only symptom of sickness, and it disappeared just as unexpectedly as it started. Thank goodness!

With Big Bro’s fever gone one day into our Florida vacation, we were free to have a great time with both boys seeing family and friends!

We started out in Jacksonville spending time with Big Bro’s godfather and family, and visiting with cousins:

Then we drove down to St Pete Beach for the wedding festivities:

Grandmama and Buelo even drove down to meet us and hang out at the beach!

Of course, travelling with an Arizona 3-year-old also means I get to field some new questions about the subtle differences he noticed about life outside the desert. Those questions included the following:

Why is it raining?

Why is it windy?

When will the wind stop?

Why is it so cold?

Luckily, from my days filling in for our chief meteorologist during my career as a news reporter, I had enough weather knowledge to answer most of those. Not sure if he fully grasped the concepts of air currents and coastal convergence though.

Overall, both boys had a wonderful time! Totally worth the fact that two weeks later we’re still trying to bet Baby Bro’s sleep schedule back on track. At nine months, he likes: clapping, army crawling, standing up and cruising, eating, playing with his brother, being outdoors, and so much more!

He dislikes: being on his back, and sleeping through the night.

To My Threenager with Love, and Vengeance

Children are amazing, loving, curious, hilarious, wonderful people that warm our hearts and give us renewed priorities and purpose. They are reflections of our own personalities. They are gifts. But sometimes, they are the worst.

A final tantrum at the end of a long day, an early morning wake up call demanding breakfast in a tone I’d never dare use with my own parents, or a display of stubborn persistence in front of total strangers, are just some of the things that have had me turning to my better half and plotting a unique revenge.

You see, I have just 12 short years to plan the easiest way to get even. Just wait for the awkward, self-conscious teen years. Just you wait.

I will be the most embarrassing mother the world has ever seen. I will print t-shirts with your photo on it and wear them to all of your athletic events. And I won’t use a current picture. I’ll use that adorable photo from your first bath. I’ll wake you up every morning just as the sun peers over the horizon with that bowl of cereal you’ve been screaming about. I’ll give you hugs and kisses in front of all your friends. I will cheer the loudest, tell the punniest jokes, and brag and exaggerate to everyone about everything you do.

I get it, you have rough days. It’s hard being three. Everything is new, nothing is built for you, and you don’t know how to manage when you’re hungry, tired or adjusting to change.

But there’s one thing that will never change. I’m your mother and I’ll always love you. Even through the meltdowns, I will love you. When you’re at your worst, I will love you harder. And if that means through your teen years you’ll be embarrassed by it, well then that’s just an added bonus I can look forward to.

While Big Bro is busy with all of the ups and downs of being three, Baby Bro is now eight months old!

At 8 months, he likes: scooting everywhere, pulling to stand, playing with his bro, taking baths, babbling, snuggling, smiling, eating and being outside.

He dislikes: diaper changes and teething.

It’s Not a Purse, It’s a Pump

Any working mom who chooses to breastfeed for any extended period of time knows the feeling. You’re walking down the hallway in the office, carrying a subtle-but-not-so-fashionable bag filled with bottle parts, cups, tubing and everything you need to express and store milk for your baby without letting on. A coworker sees you, smiles and says, “see you tomorrow!”

We may look like the most lackadaisical employees, running in and out or around the building with a bag flung over our shoulder like we’re trying to make a quick exit. But it’s not a purse, it’s a pump.

When we get questioned by our coworkers and answer too frankly, it’s the ultimate conversation shutdown. “What’s in the bag?” “A pump.” Red faces and wide eyes stutter for their next syllable and we laugh because to us the topic isn’t uncomfortable at all.

We’ve made breastfeeding a priority and we’re lucky enough to be able to feed our babies this way. I’m lucky enough to work in a place that provides support and a nice quiet room complete with Ann Geddes photos. Other moms I know have to make due with an empty conference room, an office, or even a bathroom stall, stringing an extension cord for the task. Some even have to pump in their car during a commute. Like I said, we made it a priority.

When we look at our watch in a meeting it’s not (always) because we’re bored and looking to leave. We live in 3-hour increments. Our babies are elsewhere but they’re always on our minds. We know when they eat and sleep. We try to keep track of how much. We try to pump enough.

When we can’t, we go through great lengths to make more. We eat fenugreek and smell like maple syrup, or we bake cookies with oats and brewers yeast or drink dark beer and follow all the wives’ tales.

We’re professional when it comes to pouring because every drop of the hard-earned milk counts and when you’re away from your baby you can never have too much. We know whoever said the colloquialism “don’t cry over spilled milk” was not a breastfeeding mother.

We balance our day with these breaks and manage time accordingly. We work smarter and faster because we know in our society this task is not a welcome excuse. We know it’s not pretty. It’s not fun. But that glass won’t shatter itself and mommy can’t be in two places at once.

Here’s to seven months of breastfeeding and four months of pumping, and to all of the other moms out there hustling too. Here’s to the cookies we bake… here’s to the mess we hope not to make… here’s to those “purses” we take.

At 7 months, Baby Bro likes playing with his kuya, tasting new fruit, racing toy cars, pulling up to stand, scooting everywhere he wants to go, and being held by mommy.

He dislikes ear infections, teething, and going to sleep.

School Days

In Arizona, August doesn’t mean the end of summer heat. It’s not even close. Last year I had to cut off the sleeves of Big B’s Halloween costume to cool it down. I used to associate an autumn chill in the air, colored leaves and colored crayons as the end of summer signified the beginning of a new school year. Maybe that’s why this caught me off guard.

Last week, Big B had his very first day of preschool. And the only tears were mine.

We arrived early to make sure he had time to settle in. I packed healthy snacks in a lunchbox that matched his backpack, made sure he had his water bottle, some extra clothes, and everything else I’d meticulously prepped the night before along with his first day of school outfit. I’d combed his hair and we took his photo and held his hand all the way to the door. Just before he set out to meet the other kids at the playground he gave a half-hearted hug, said “Bye mommy!” and ran off.

I only cried a little. And in truth, I’m so excited for him and this new adventure starting school. That first day we went out to lunch afterwards with his Lola and Papu. B talked about circle time, singing songs, and making friends. When I asked what their names are he replied, “the kid in the black shirt.”

I guess we’ll have to keep working on those social skills. But now that he’s in school, he’ll get plenty of practice.

Meanwhile, Baby Bro is celebrating his half birthday! At six months old, he is 19lbs, 27inches.

He likes: eating everything mommy makes for him (except kale), hugs, blowing raspberries on my face, trying to crawl, playing with his brother, playing in the pool or tub, and so much more.

He dislikes: being left alone, and sleep.

The Cleanest Floor on the Planet

I’m writing this blog on my phone with a sleeping baby in my arms. When you’re a mom, you learn how to do a lot while holding a sleeping baby. You might also find yourself violently angry at anything that would wake that baby after all the work you put into getting it to sleep. At this point I would cut our mailman so fast he wouldn’t even have time to think about why ringing our doorbell was a fatal mistake. I have paced, bounced, rocked, sang, and briefly even Gregorian chanted to finally achieve this coveted thing we call a nap. The four month sleep regression arrived on time just as it did with Big Bro when he was a Baby B. Some parents say the regression lasts a few weeks and then baby starts developing a sleep pattern and going back to its normal rhythms. Those parents are what I like to call liars.

From my experience, the four month sleep regression turns into a 6-month regression, then 9-month and so on until they head off to preschool. Baby makes a big developmental mental leap, and then mobile and mental milestones cascade one after another so quickly that you just resolve to kiss the prospect of sleep goodbye and go along with the ride, wide-eyed and holding on. Its my opinion that if there were a secret recipe for getting a baby to sleep, there’d only be one book about it. So, I do whatever works.

In Baby Bro’s case, that means wearing him in his ergo carrier while vacuuming the floor. It’s a little weird and it’s always my last resort, but when I’m at my rope’s end and can’t take any more rocking, singing, or swaying, I turn on that blessed white noise making device and it works. Every. Single. Time.

Then, when he’s finally quiet and snuggly and comfy in my arms, I look down at my baby boy and whisper the reassuring yet terrifying mantra of motherhood: This too shall pass.

At 5 months, Baby Bro likes: smiling, giggling, taking toys from his big brother, floating in the pool, playing in his exersaucer, practicing sitting up, putting everything in his mouth, snuggling his blankie, being in mommy or daddy’s arms, and so much more.

He dislikes: sneezes and naps.