Commander in diapers

Mitchell LOVES commanding the dogs. One of his hobbies right now is telling them to come inside. If he knows they’re outside, he goes and opens the door, then stands there yelling at them to come inside. It especially drives him crazy if one comes in but the other stays out. Unfortunately I noticed him trying to use this skill on other kids at story time yesterday. He threw the ball and another boy got it but wouldn’t throw it back, a situation in which Mitchell rarely finds himself at home. Luckily I don’t think the other mom understood that Mitchell was probably cursing at her little boy in baby speak. She just thought it was cute.


By themagnificentms

Favorite Picture

Mitchell has recently decided that he loves looking through his photo albums. It’s adorably narcissistic. There’s one picture in particular that he loves (Laika being “Nana”). He tries to find it when he starts looking at the albums and giggles every time he finds it. This video was taken after he’d already looked at it several times, so the giggles are a little subdued, but still adorable.

By themagnificentms

This kid wants a Lego table.

He spent a good ten minutes playing with the Lego table at the library. For this kid, that’s like hours. Sure, he was just taking them out of the box and putting them back, but hey, ten minutes!



By themagnificentms

Clothing confusion

This kid is obsessed with shoes. He usually passes out everyone’s shoes if we’re sitting around. Lately he’s started trying to wear Grandpa’s and Daddy’s shoes. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, it’s pretty much the most adorable thing ever.


Today he also decided he needed to wear three hats around the house. Apparently I need to turn the heat up.


By themagnificentms

Pictures? Anyone?

Last week I went to a photography class. At the class, I learned how to take a picture from this:


to this:


I got home and promptly forgot.

So I’ve been punishing my child by taking endless pictures of him while trying to remember what the heck I did to make it look like I used the flash without actually using the flash, because Mitchell closes his eyes whenever the flash goes off. Unfortunately, I’ve just gotten a whole bunch of random pictures with Mitchell’s eyes half-closed.

Here’s a nice set of him getting more annoyed by the second:

Also, don’t worry about it, kid. At your age, that weight gain is a good thing.


By themagnificentms

That NEVER goes there.

There’s no picture to go along with this one (unless you follow me on SnapChat, in which case I’m sure I made your day with the accompanying picture), but I think it’s safe to say that poop NEVER goes on the bathroom floor. NEVER. EVER. EVER.

I’m starting to wonder if maybe Mitchell should wear a swim diaper while bathing. Friday, he peed while taking a bath. No big deal. Except he managed to pee up and over the tub wall and all over the cabinets. Because he’s awesome like that. Today, he used his post-bath naked time to poop on the floor. Oi. FML.

By themagnificentms

That doesn’t go there.

Mitchell is becoming a pro at putting things where they don’t belong. Partially because he’s deliberately hiding them, partially because he things he’s putting things away. But it’s ended in some pretty hilarious discoveries. I’ve found my unders in so many random places throughout the house, sometimes I think I unknowingly joined a sorority.

But I digress. Here’s today’s entry in “that doesn’t go there.”

By themagnificentms

It turns out I was WAY wrong.

It turns out I was terribly mistaken about this whole mommy thing.

Pre-baby, I showed up EVERYWHERE 15 minutes early. I judged people who showed up late, even if they had a kid. I thought, “Well if you’re ALWAYS late, why don’t you know to start getting ready earlier?” Now it’s a good day when I’m only 15 minutes late. It really doesn’t matter when I start getting ready. And the hold-ups aren’t always Mitchell’s fault, although I nearly always blame my tardiness on him. Usually, I start getting ready two hours before I have to leave. At about an hour before I have to leave, I consider myself completely ready, so I let myself get distracted. I play with Mitchell, I think “Oh, I’ll just unload a few dishes from the dishwasher,” and then those few dishes lead to reorganizing the cabinet that Mitchell destroyed a few days earlier, or I start to rethink my outfit and try on five different outfits. And then I start to get Mitchell ready, and then when it finally comes time to load the car, I have to go back inside for ten different things that I forgot. It’s not that I don’t feel ashamed of myself when I’m late. I’m as annoyed with myself as I used to be with others who showed up late. But, the thing is, I care a lot less about being annoyed.

Pre-baby, I also wondered why in the world it seemed that people with babies could accomplish so little. They seemed to go by Joey Tribbiani’s unemployment rules: one thing per day. Now that Mitchell has reached his three-stop-maximum time, I get it. And, thanks to this sleep-deprived brain of mine, I seem to ALWAYS need something from Dillon’s or Target. It doesn’t matter how many lists I make, I either leave something off the list or, even if it was on the list, I forgot it at the store.

Pre-baby, nothing would make me bristle up quicker than someone telling me I would love my dogs less when a baby came. I couldn’t understand how a baby could possibly affect my love for these dogs. Now, don’t get me wrong, I still love these dogs and have absolutely no plan of locking them away or, God forbid, getting rid of them. But there are some days when I swear I’m going to wrap Laika’s paws in cloth if I hear her pace while dragging her claws one more second. And sometimes I think if I have to wipe a strand of drool off his head one more time, I’ll go buy one of those dental vacuums and strap it to Laika’s mouth. And, while I’m sure he doesn’t shed any more now than he did pre-baby, sometimes I feel that my entire house is coated in a layer of fur. I vacuum, dust, and mop constantly. And, even though it used to be terribly convenient that Kingsley could let himself inside, it seems that now he times it perfectly to hit that latch over and over and over again right when Mitchell is SO CLOSE to sleep.

Pre-baby, I watched a few Nanny 911 episodes and called myself a child behavior expert. Psh, who would give in to a child’s temper tantrum? Psh, who would let a child dictate what will happen and when? Now there are days when it would probably only take one more meltdown for me to completely give in and give him exactly what he wants. The meltdowns are a recent thing, and luckily in the last couple days they’ve eased up. And he’s stopped demanding nothing but snacks for eating. So there’s hope on the horizon.

Pre-baby, I judged people whose houses turned into one giant playroom. Kids have a bedroom! Toys should go in the bedroom! Now, any shelves under three feet in my house are filled with baby toys. Even if all of his toys would fit in his room (which, thanks to some unfortunately-sized Christmas gifts, won’t happen until Mitchell enjoys his own wing of the house), what would we put on those bottom shelves? Books? Nicknacks? You must be dreaming, fool. If Mitchell didn’t destroy them he would claim them as treasures and hide them (seriously, this kid is worse than a dog with a bone).

Pre-baby, I judged people who didn’t maintain their own identities sans baby. Go out with your girlfriends! Have a drink! Do something by yourself! Nowadays, I can’t find anyone to do anything with because they all have their own lives, and when I do get out by myself, I come back to a child that won’t unlatch himself from my hip. Last night I went to a photography class (don’t worry, my pictures won’t get any better; this was just a get-to-know-your-camera class). I got all glammed up (first of all, how sad is it that a photography class is a reason to get glammed up? second of all, how sad is it that “glammed up”=jeans and eyeshadow?) and, within the first two minutes, committed Mommy Mistake #1: I took a random small talk sentence from a stranger and managed to reply with something akin to “OMG MY BABY IS AT HOME. I’M A MOM. I’M NEVER WITHOUT MY BABY. WHAT AM I TO DO WITH MYSELF IF I’M NOT WIPING A BABY NOSE, CHASING HIM, SMELLING HIS DIAPER, OR KEEPING HIS HAND OUT OF HIS PANTS?” She covertly chose a seat across the room from me. This morning, Mitchell was still suffering from separation anxiety. As soon as I started to get dressed, he took up his position on my hip and refused to leave. I never knew that it was possible to put on a bra, shirt, or jeans one-armed. The girls may have been a little lopsided, but we made it out the door looking decent enough for story time.

Basically, almost everything I vowed to do pre-baby has not come to fruition. Ah, best-laid plans. Luckily, at the end of the day, I get to say “Give me a hug” and get a fantastic hug and sometimes even a sloppy drooly kiss on the cheek. Sometimes even from Mitchell!

By themagnificentms