And here are the cousins, looking cute as can be:
And here's Alex with his Uncle Johnny:
And here are the cousins, looking cute as can be:
And here's Alex with his Uncle Johnny:
My right boob has completely dried up at this point. Try as he might, the little suckerfish can only get about a tablespoon of milk before he looks up at me and requests "more! more!". In a way, it's sad. It's the end of a boobie era. Althought the left one is still fully functional, if only once or twice a day.
And Dave has asked me every day for at least a week when I plan to stop nursing. And I have no. idea. Certainly before he's ten. How's that for an answer? As anyone who's ever met me already knows., I really, truly love nursing. I can't think of a real reason to stop. The best reason Dave can come up with is that by a certain age, it's weird.
The reasons to continue are many:
I do still plan to have at least one more child, so it's not like I'll never get to nurse again. But I am just not ready yet. That's the main reason I can think of. It just doesn't feel right to stop now.
But honestly? How old is too old for him to still be nursing?
Aside from all the rampant last-minute house-cleaning I did (which is no one's fault by my very own anal-retentive self's), this weekend was an absolute fecking blast. I'm seriously sitting here with a question mark hovering over my little brain and I can't remember ever having a better time. It was THAT fun.
Friday night we had Jamie, Adeeb and Alex's buddy Joe over for dinner. Every time we see them I'm reminded of that Seinfeld episode where Jerry finds the bizarro friends who are EXACTLY like George, Elaine and Kramer. Except these friends are EXACTLY like US in every way. Jamie and I are quitting our jobs within two weeks of eachother and will undoubtedly be taking on stay-at-home motherhood with the same brand of nervous anticipation. I'm looking forward to future nights of chasing toddlers around with our (hopefully) pregnant bellies whilst our men hide out in the garage discussing ammunition velocity and playing video games. We're all like a match made in heaven.
Even Harry, our belovedly horny dog, loves them. In fact, he loved Jamie in a way only male dogs can. Her leg? Her shoulder? Her lap? None of them were safe from the gyrating hips and the come-hither panting. I've honestly never witnessed him doing that to a human before. And I can only remember a handful of lady dogs that have ever managed to catch his fancy. Jamie was nice about it, of course, but he is one dirty, dirty little dog (with obviously stellar taste in women).
Saturday, Dave's long lost cousins came all the way from Mariposa to hang out. Our kids romped and roamed and screetched all over Happy Hollow, after which we returned to our (clean!) condo for dinner. John, Lynne, Christopher, Big Tony and Little Tony all joined us too.
Yes. You read that right. That's my tiny condo + 7 adults + 2 largish children + 3 smallish children + one horny dog + two homemade lasagnes = total WOP dinner heaven. I wish we could do this every week (and I wish Lynne could always bring the Lasagne!!). There is something so wonderful about close family. Something that allows you to be your "you" self. That "you" who farts and burps and says impossibly rude things and laughs with that full-body roarious laughter that makes your stomach cramp up and your eyes water. And watching your kid play with the kids of people you used to play with when you were a kid makes you want to stop time and live the rest of your life in that. exact. moment.
The best part, though, is watching Dave with his family. Every molecule of him acts like the him that I love and not that un-funny creep he becomes when he's uncomfortable. It makes me want to marry him all over again. (Although that's a feeling I generally get when I've had one too many vodka cranberries.)
Anyway. A tiny part of me wanted to weep when everyone left on Saturday. I just wasn't ready for the party to be over.
And, oh my god, was the party over! We woke up on Sunday feeling a bit miserable. Dave from eating too much lasagne and me from too much drunken debauchery. I suddenly remembered around 3:00 in the afternoon that maybe the reason my stomach was trying to kill me wasn't all the food so much, but all the drinking I'd done. My tender little tummy HATES me when I drink. I popped a few tylenol, though, and was finally able to peel my ass off the couch and take the boy out for a walk, just before dark. He zonked out (with TWO giant knots on his head, one from each party) by 7:30 and slept almost 12 hours.
This morning I woke up as Mrs. Plumpy McWide-Ass from Fattytown. I am precisely one pound away from needing all new clothes. And I'm just not going there, so it's back on the wagon for me. I haven't decided my exact (non-diet) plan yet, but I've started with the promise of a daily breakfast protein shake and to stop, as best as I can, with all-the-damned-sugar-all-the-damned-time. I'm thinking of either posting what I eat or what I weigh here every day as a way of keeping myself accountable.
This morning I weighed 174.5 lbs. (AAAACKK!!) Up 9.5 pounds from my summertime low of 165. So far I've had a protein shake, 3 cups of coffee, a morsel of soggy alex-cracker, a veggie burger, two slices of american cheese, a salad with ranch dressing and a diet coke. My plan is to not eat anything that weightwatchers would classify as a "bread" until I've ingested 65 grams of protein. Then I can eat whatever I want (except sugar).
Oh. And I'm going to start eating a baked potato every night before bed.
Last night I chatted for 20 minutes with my seestor. I'm glad she called! Today I'm obliging her request for MORE. PHOTOS. OF. ALEX. NOW. BIZZITCH.
His shoes are clanking around in the dryer as we speak. I'm really hoping they come clean!
Alex is in the other room pitching a fit because he just hit Dave in the face and, gee, whadd'ya know?? Dad yelled at him! Learning to understand consequences sucks when you're wee.
So I'm hiding out here in the garage, which doubles as our office, and our pantry, and
our my laundry room, and our storage area. It's lovely. Really. Especially since Dave has decided to build a fortress out of empty diet pepsi cans all around our computer. I can count at least a twelve pack in plain view.
I was so happy as I was leaving work today. For once, it seemed, I'd really managed to get a lot done. As I was saying goodnight to my boss, she asked me if I'd e-mailed revisions to one of our clients, which was, of course, the ONLY thing on my to do list that I didn't have time for today. What a killjoy.
It finally began to rain last night just as I started my (60 minute) commute home. But now the sun is creeping in through my new! office! window!s and I wish it would go away. In January, I prefer it to ACT like January. We leftcoastlings get few enough seasons as it is.
I am really looking forward to this weekend. We'll be boozin' it up with good friends and I can't wait. Mr. Pants will be happy to see his buddy Joe and we've got plans with his cousins to keep him busy on Saturday. I'm also crossing my fingers for Friday rain so we can go stomp in some puddles. He hasn't had nearly enough exposure to street juice yet.
I have the opposite of writer's block. And that term always reminds me of dams. Which is no big deal except that I've always had an irrational fear of dams. So, whatever, I have lots to say and no real time to write about it thoughtfully. Instead, I'll write about it without actually thinking and this is what you'll get:
I know. It's been forever since I last posted. Mom wasn't able to watch Alex on Thursday (she's feeling better, but wasn't able to bend over without getting sick), so it feels like I haven't had two minutes to sit down since then. It's been a glimpse into my future.
Watching Alex play with his father on Thursday night, it dawned on me.....he's a real boy. Like, a person. Dude! I am responsible for the proper upbringing of a PERSON!!! I've had these moments all along, but now that Alex is so verbal, it's getting much scarier.
So I have to kiss him as much as possible before he figures out that I'm his MOM and all.
He loaved this soap:
Mr. Pants and I arrived at my parents' this morning to find my mother with her head in a bucket. Poor thing! Her vertigo is back with a vengeance and she's feeling horrible. I've never seen her so green. To add insult to injury, my father is the only one who can administer the manuever and she's still not even talking to him.
And? My sister went back to college on Sunday without even calling me to say goodbye. I would go ahead and send her an instructional video on telephone use in the 21st century, but I've heard first-hand the way she calls her friend Cassie eleventy bazillion times a day from her cellphone, so I'm pretty sure technology can't be blamed for her lack of communication. I need to invent a word that properly describes my angst over being the only responsible sibling in a family of adult children who refuse to grow up. That way I can just mention the word and you'll all know exactly what I mean. I won't have to trouble myself with all this superfluous bitching and moaning. Siblangst? Second child syndrome? Bitchsissiness?
Dave accused me of being too ashamed to post this next bit. He thinks I'm embarassed to have become such a geek (which is entirely his fault, I'd never even seen an episode of Star Trek till he forced me), but I'm not. While most of you were oogling the pretties on the Golden Globes Sunday night? We watched FOUR HOURS of my new favorite show - BATTLESTAR GALLACTICA! I swear I'm salivating right now just thinking about it. The Cylons are back, baby! SciFi is my new most favoritest channel and this is some top-notch televisioning.
*If you 'get' this title, god help you, you are a bonified geek.