Ode to My Unborn Child...

Yep, I said it, child; as in one thumping heartbeat. Yippee doo, skimininu! I've heard the stories. You know the ones I speak of, where a friend of a friend thought they'd have three children, and in the third round were taken down by a set of twins. Of course I would have loved them both, if that had been the case, but I most likely would have been loving them from a looney bin. Heck with three kids under 4, and for a short time 3 1/2, I might find myself there after all, but twins would have sent me over the edge much sooner. Enough of that though, because there is only one lonesome baby, and that makes me very happy.

I was going to write an ode to the new baby, but I'm not going to. It would turn out cheesy, and we all know how much I like cheesy. Besides I'm sure you want to hear all about Blake's visit to the doc as well. So, we're back on the charts for weight and height. Another yippee doo, skimininu. At 12 months, Blake weighs just over 20 pounds and is a whopping 28 inches. How does that compare to other children his age? Well in weight, he is in the 5th percentile, meaning that 95% of all other 12 month old children weigh more than he does. But at least he has a percentage. In height, only 86% of children are taller than he is. Yeah baby, double digits. I am a very proud mommy. What Blake loses in weight and height, he makes up for in bravery. He took his vaccinations, all three of them, like a trooper. And then they drew blood, and though he cried the entire time the needle was in his arm, he shook it off and went on about his day. That's my boy. I know babies who remain a mess for a day of two after being stuck with a needle. Although I think as parents, we have more of affect on how our kids handle shots than the needle itself. If we're freakish, they become freakish. It's funny how even when we try not to pass on our fears to our children, we always do. Like I wonder if any of my children will develop a fear of flying. Even though I try not to show my trepidation, I'm sure it shines through none the less. Maybe since Neil looks at a plane ride like a roller coaster, the kids will adopt his perspective and not mine.

Owen is in this stage where everything is a battle, and the whining...oh, the whining. It's more like a defiant moan followed by an uncertain "NO." I know it's a test, a test of boundaries, a test of discipline. What happens when you combine a lack of energy, severe allergies, and a little nausea? That's right...an absence of patience. I'm constantly repeating the word "consistency" to myself, reminding me to be consistent with discipline. If I fail, I will lose the war. And my goal is to win more battles than I lose. Isn't that the goal? We're parents, not perfectionists. Though some parents can be perfectionists. The point is that we can't win every battle. We are human after all, not capable of perfection. And I'm fully convinced that I can't even win one battle with my toddlers without the help of the Lord. I believe he's the one who continuously whispers "consistency" in my ear...what sweet nothings. I just wish he'd whisper "obey your mommy" into Owen's ear.

Oh, and now it's starting with Blake. Want to know what he started with...the dog food bowl. What is it with babies and dog food? Does it really taste that good to them, or am I starving my child to the point where he feels like he needs to eat that to sustain himself? I'll catch him in the act, smack his hand, firmly say NO, and remove him from the area. Do you know what he does? He looks up at me, smiles gently, and then heads back to the scene of the crime. We'll repeat this step several times before I finally give up and simply close the door to the playroom. Speaking of, I'm sitting here typing and Blake has come over to visit. Guess what I find in his mouth? Enough said!