The End of an Era

It was just a few short weeks ago that I thought I was getting my afternoon free time back because Kyle was in school all day again. I had no idea then that it was going to be more trouble than it was worth trying to fit naptime into my days. Between school pick-ups, babysitters, lunch, and ballet lessons I can't figure out where to carve out some time for Brandon's nap. Add to that the facts that (1) Brandon thinks he's four and doesn't want to nap and (2) bedtime is easier when he hasn't had a nap, and you end up with me facing another transition... giving up naptime.

Kyle had a strictly enforced 'rest time' until the day he started Kindergarten. Natalie gave up real naps about a year ago, but she's been happily 'resting' every afternoon since then. So, why is it that I'm considering throwing in the towel on naps now?

As much as I value the sanctity of my afternoon free time I believe I'm finally tired of being a slave to naptime. And for the first time in my stint as a mother my free time isn't necessary since there's no baby in the house. Brandon and Natalie keep each other completely entertained all afternoon long.

I'm entering very strange territory here--the land where I'm not the mother of an infant or toddler who will disolve into an unmanageable terror shortly after lunchtime unless forced to sleep. I've heard from some of my friends that the world actually keeps right on turning between the hours of 1 and 3 PM, but I've not experienced that world in nearly six years. Will stores be open yet not crowded much like they are on weekday mornings? Is it possible that I can take the kids to the playground when it's sunny and, dare I say it, warm? Can we invite friends over to play after lunch?

I have always sworn that my kids would be forced to nap until Kindergarten, but suddenly I'm intrigued by all the afternoon activities I've been avoiding because they would interrupt naptime. It's highly probable that Natalie and Brandon will end up spending what used to be naptime hanging out in the playroom or watching a movie since the weather here will rarely be fit for leaving the house in another couple of weeks, but it's liberating to think we could leave if we wanted to.

I'm going to miss those quiet afternoon hours when I know the kids are tucked into their beds, but maybe it's time to embrace the possibility of all the things we could be doing instead of agonizing over how to fit naptime into our days. Maybe it's time to embrace the idea of having big kids instead of babies.

Natalie's First Day

Natalie was more than ready for her first day of preschool of the year yesterday. The timid girl that was a little uncertain last year was nowhere to be found. It helps that she's back at the same school again (I'm not kidding myself into thinking there won't be a few tears--hers and mine--next year on the first day of Kindergarten) with all the same friends. This year Natalie is a Junior Achiever instead of a Little Leaper, and she's looking forward to learning to read so that she can outdo her big brother. My girl's growing up!

And just for the record... those flowered headbands are ALWAYS her idea. She might be tough, but she's still a princess.

It's That Time Again

I hate transitions.

This applies both to my own life and to all the little transitions my kids have to go through on the path to becoming little people. Packing up our house and moving somewhere else in the world every two to three years is always extremely difficult for me. Finding new doctors, new schools, and new friends while you leave all your old ones behind sucks. When the time came for my kids to transition from one nap to two or switch from bottle to cup it was bearable but still a challenge for a girl who doesn't like change. However, there is one transition that I dread more than any other as a mother... potty-training.

I ask myself, "Why would you dread potty-training?! You've been changing diapers every single day for over five and a half years! Sometimes for two kids at a time. Don't you dream of the day when you can stop buying diapers and wiping someone else's butt?"

Of course I'm looking forward to a diaper-free existence. But I have potty-trained two children already, and I know the third time around will not be any more pleasant than the last two. Like all transitions, the end result is worth it, but the process of getting there is painful enough to make me yearn to keep things the way they are.

Brandon has been exhibiting signs of potty-training readiness for months, and I have been blatantly ignoring them. I just cannot talk myself into beginning this months-long adventure into nagging, accidents, and public toilets. I don't want to see the inside of every grocery store restroom in a 25-mile radius while trying to minimize the amount of contact three kids have with germ-infested door handles, sinks, trash cans, and toilet seats. I don't want to start carrying a change of clothing around in the car again because my toddler has graduated from spilling everything in sight only to begin peeing all over himself.

I just don't want to. But I will. Because my little man is ready. In fact, he's wearing big-boy underwear right this very minute. And I'm trying really hard to convince myself that the only reason I've been avoiding this transition is because it's highly inconvenient--and not because this is Brandon's very last transition from baby to kid. That's making this transition almost as painful as all those public restrooms are going to be. Almost.

Party Time!

We celebrated Natalie's fourth birthday with a party last weekend. On Sunday she invited friends from her preschool class and from our playgroup over to The Little Gym where they all ran crazy and played for an hour and a half. There were balls, bars, beams, and a parachute.

There was pizza. (I highly recommend The Little Gym for birthday parties if you're as lazy as I am, and the idea of twelve two-through-five-year-olds running around your house gives you hives. It's much more fun having a party when you know the cake, pizza, and lemonade all over the floor will be cleaned up by someone else.)

There was Barbie ballerina cake. This was chosen because Natalie loves Barbie, and she loves ballerinas, and she also loves as much pink and purple as possible on a cake.

At home there were presents and payback. Let's just say that Natalie wasn't nearly as nice about the help she was getting from Brandon as he was when she was being so helpful with his gifts a week earlier.

And what's that? Oh, that's just Natalie's brand new Nintendo DS. You know, the one her older brother convinced her she needed for her birthday.

And now I am done with the birthday parties until December!

Four Going on Fourteen

Every year my boys get a year older, and every year I'm amazed. Kyle's birthdays sneak up on me and make me feel old. Brandon's birthdays seem to come quickly, and they make me nostalgic.

Natalie's birthdays are an entirely different experience for me. We spend the entire four months between Kyle's birthday in December and Natalie's birthday in April counting down the days and discussing presents. By the time April 19th rolls around each year we've all been heavily prepared, and everyone is ready for it.

This year was no different. On Monday Natalie turned four, and I looked at her and said, "Happy Birthday, Baby! I can't believe you're four!" What she hears is, "Wow, you're such a big girl!" What I'm really saying is, "I can't believe you're only four."

Natalie is wise beyond her years, always one step of her brothers, and she doesn't miss a thing. She listens to and absorbs everything the adults around her say, files it away in her little head, and never lets on that she's listening. In public she's reserved, shy, quiet, and afraid to put herself in unfamiliar situations. At home she loves her brothers fiercely, but she rules them like a tyrant, and they willingly do her bidding from the time they wake up in the morning until they go to bed at night. What they don't do willingly she tricks them into doing.

She is definitely mine. My mother will agree, as will my brother and sister.

My little girl turned four on Monday, and I wasn't at all surprised by it. Of course she's four. Hasn't she been four forever?

Birthday Boy

For the first time in over five years I no longer have a child under the age of two in the house. Brandon's second birthday was yesterday, and I'm pretty sure that means I can't call him a baby any longer. My baby, yes. A baby, no. Not that he's acted much like a baby over the last year. This child can hold his own with a silly, impulsive five-year-old and a bossy, wily almost-four-year-old any day.

I'm the first one to admit that I'm lazy, so Brandon's second birthday was exactly like all the other second birthdays we've celebrated around here--a few presents and cake, attended by immediate family. I don't do parties for two-year-olds. As far as a two-year-old is concerned it is a party if they see cake, presents, and singing. Some days they think it's a party if they just see a dog in the backyard next door. Or if you tell them they're having pizza for lunch. Or if Dora comes on the television. You get my drift.

Here's the cake I made:

Brandon picked out the little sugar candies shaped like Lightning McQueen and Tow Mater. The red sugar sprinkles were all me.

Brandon wailed as we sang to him.

I'm not totally sure why that was since he perked right up after the singing stopped (the singing really couldn't have been that bad), and he blew out his candles like a pro.

He had an excellent time opening presents despite a large amount of help from his big sister.

And then we spent the rest of the day watching Brandon play with all of his new toys and try to keep them away from the vultures known by the names of Kyle, Natalie, and Ethan (Kyle's friend).

I really can't believe my littlest man is two. Life is easier for me now than it's ever been in my entire tenure as a mother. Now all we need to do is attempt some potty-training, and I should be home free. Hah.

Knock, Knock! Bang, Bang!

Brandon started trying to climb out of his crib a couple of months ago, so we decided it was time to move him out of his crib and into a toddler bed. He was only about eighteen months old at the time, but both Kyle and Natalie moved out of the crib around the same age because we needed the crib. I swore that Brandon would be allowed to stay in the crib until he was three because I wasn't anticipating needing it for another baby, but once he started climbing I wasn't comfortable letting him learn to scale the side of the crib and jump to the floor.

Kyle and Natalie transitioned from crib to bed almost seamlessly. It was almost as if they didn't realize they weren't in a crib any more. Kyle was three and a half before he'd even get out of his full-size bed without me coming to get him in the morning or after naps. Natalie has only started getting out of bed on her own within the last few months. From the time of transition all it took to keep them in the bed was one look from me (you know the look--the one I wish I could bottle and sell), a finger-point, and a stern, "Don't get out of bed." They never got out of their beds. They didn't have the nerve.

Enter Brandon. My easy baby. The Best Baby Ever. The miracle that has been sleeping like a pro since birth. The child that rarely needs discipline because he's so easy-going and because the 'bad stuff' he does pales in comparison to what his brother and sister are up to.

Guess what happens when the good baby turns toddler? He thinks he can get away with murder! Why? Because he's not afraid of me! And what happens when you put this fearless toddler in a toddler bed? He gets right back out of the bed and starts banging on the bedroom door when you tell him sternly, "Don't get out of bed."

Every night we escort Brandon to his bed, tuck him in with his two Winnie the Poohs, turn off the lights, walk out of the room, and shut the door. Less than five seconds later we'll hear a little voice yell, "Knock, knock!!" followed by bang, bang, bang, bang. What's that banging, you ask? Only the sound of my little angel slamming his feet into his door repeatedly while he lays on the floor yelling, "Knock, knock! Daddy, where are you?! Mommy, where are you?! Knock, knock!"

For awhile we'd go back into Brandon's room and walk him back to bed to have the entire scenario repeat itself. But we're not third-time parents for nothing. Now we ignore him. The knocking and banging only lasts for about three minutes before Brandon either falls asleep on the floor behind his door or walks himself back to bed and falls asleep there. We have to remind ourselves to be careful when we check on Brandon before we go to bed because we've opened the bedroom door a handful of times to find him wedged right up against the door.

It could be much worse than it is. Brandon could have given up going to bed entirely. At least he still goes to bed and sleeps all night. He could spend hours at night crying or getting out of bed to play with toys, but he doesn't. It's not very amusing to be awoken at 6:30 AM by a loud bang, bang, bang noise, but he'd be awake at 6:30 anyway, crib or toddler bed.

However, Shaun and I are still mildly horrified that The Best Baby Ever is turning into a tyrant. I think perhaps we've been spoiled by how easy Brandon has been up to this point. We expected him to have the easiest transition to a bed of all our kids. The control freak in me struggles with the long-term effects of allowing Brandon to think he can just fall asleep banging on his bedroom door. What kind of message does that send? Certainly not the same 'Mommy is in charge' message that Kyle and Natalie seem to quite clearly grasp. But the experienced mother in me knows that I need to pick my battles, and who cares if Brandon is sleeping on the floor as long as he's sleeping--and more importantly, as long as I'm sleeping?

The bottom line is that my third child is turning into your typical 'baby of the family'. He gets away with murder. We all smile and laugh as he commits his crime. And I'm going to totally let him get away with it because he's my baby.

I'm afraid to even imagine what potty-training is going to be like.

Five years old!

I am now the mother of a five-year-old boy.

Yesterday was Kyle's birthday, and last night when he went to bed he declared that he didn't need a nightlight any more because he's five. He was actually insulted when I turned it on--as if he hadn't used the darn thing every single night of the last five years. That fire truck nightlight was a baby shower gift that I used even in my own bedroom when Kyle was a newborn and we shared a room at my parents' house. I couldn't stand not being able to see him when he was sleeping--whether he was sleeping in his crib, in his swing, or, most frequently, on my chest. I've spent the last several years wondering when Kyle was going to outgrow needing a nightlight, and then he springs this little surprise on me at bedtime, and I had to pretend to be excited while I hugged him and tried not to squeeze his little body into submitting to my wish that he stop growing up so quickly.

Kyle couldn't be more excited to finally be five. He's always enjoyed his birthday, but this year he's been especially anxious because he's the youngest child in his Kindergarten class, and until yesterday he'd been the only four-year-old (his emphasis) in his class for the previous eleven days. It was killing him. I don't have the heart to tell him that in just a few weeks everyone in his class will start turning six. He'll find out soon enough.

Anyway, here are a few pictures of the weekend's festivities. Check them out while I go try to figure out where the last five years went.

Yeah! Bakugan!

Kyle with his buddies, Neal and Ethan

The birthday party at the Geo Centre

Enough with the Needles

Today was Brandon's last check-up with the Public Health Nurse until his preschool check-up when he turns four! My baby's no longer a baby. I'd say I'm disappointed that I'll no longer get periodic updates on his weight and height, but the fact of the matter is that he insists on weighing himself on my bathroom scale at least once a week anyway. Note to self: Perhaps you should be more careful to project a positive body image in front of your children and stop weighing yourself so often--even the baby's imitating you.

I feel like the health system here is taking chances by leaving parents on their own between the ages of 18 months and 4 years. The window of opportunity on early intervention in the case of developmental delays is completely lost by not deeming it necessary to see a child during that timeframe. Chances are that a child would see their family physician due to some kind of illness in those two-and-a-half years, but what if that doesn't happen? Natalie has been sick only once in her life, and it coincided with Brandon's birth around her second birthday, and it was a mild bacterial infection that cleared up with a course of antibiotics. She wasn't quite two-and-a-half when we moved to Newfoundland, and she hasn't seen a doctor while we've lived here. She hasn't been sick enough to warrant it. I guess we'll find out if she's developing on schedule when she goes for her check-up sometime after she turns four next April.

I'm happy to report that Brandon was deemed to be absolutely perfect at this morning's appointment. The nurse didn't use the word 'perfect', but I can read between the lines. She said at 18 months of age children are expected to know six words in addition to 'Mommy' and 'Daddy.' I'd say knowing eight times that many words, screaming "No! I go! All done!" while the nurse jabbed him three separate times with needles, then trying to put his own shirt on so that she can't jab him any more makes him pretty darn perfect. He also weighed in at just shy of 25 pounds, and he's 33 inches tall, giving him the perfect height-to-weight ratio (the nurse did use the word 'perfect' that time).

Despite my reservations about the lack of check-ups for the next 30 months, I'm pretty relieved to be done with acting as a human straightjacket to a screaming baby during immunizations. I'm done with the quivering lip upon sighting someone wearing scrubs. The confusion when the clothing comes off. The panicky crying that occurs on the baby scale (can they not think of a better way to weigh a squirming newborn/infant/toddler?). The outright shrieking and flailing when it's time to lay on the table for a length measurement (it's not the freaking rack, but you'd think it was the way my kids scream when a nurse stretches their leg out while I hold their head still).

The next time anyone in this family needs a routine vaccination I'll be able to explain what's happening, and there shouldn't be any screaming--just mild whining and protestation. Today wasn't just a milestone for Brandon--it was a milestone for me. You can just feel the sigh of relief, right?

Oh wait. Flu shots. Darn it.

What's Going On?

I've been neglecting my blog for over two weeks now, as my mother so helpfully pointed out to me yesterday. There has been a ton of stuff happening that is totally blog-worthy, but I've been so busy just trying to keep up with everything that I don't have the time to blog--not coherently anyway.

I've also been entirely overwhelmed by the weather. It's been raining for more than two weeks now, with the sun making an appearance for approximately eight total hours in this two-week period. The grand finale to this two-week sogginess occurred yesterday in the form of freezing rain, sleet, and howling winds. Rain and wind weren't a big deal before I had children, but spend a few moments imagining me carrying Brandon in one arm, holding Natalie's hand with my other hand, herding three more kids across a busy street and then across a busy parking lot, followed by an attempt to speedily secure all of them in a mid-size SUV. This involves buckling five squirmy kids into two carseats and three booster seats and a vehicle determined to be just not quite wide enough. Now cue the drenching rain and blustery wind. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

When I woke up this morning there was a strange light outside the window, and I was confused until I realized that's what sunrise looks like when St. John's isn't entirely blanketed by clouds and the sun manages to peek through. The sun has been out all morning, and it even seems like the hurricane-force winds from last night have disappeared. It's pretty cold out there, but I'll take it.

Maybe now I can start blogging again. I hear it's supposed to be nice for a few days. Here's a list of a few things I probably should have blogged about but didn't get around to because of my laziness:

• My mom and grandmother came for a visit to St. John's (It rained the entire visit, but I believe a good time was had by all--despite the extra night in Newark that Mom and Mom-mom were treated to.)
• I did the Run for the Cure (Someone should have warned me that street of St. John's are a far cry from my lovely, hill-free treadmill, but I still managed to do the 5k in 31 minutes, so I'm fine with that for a first attempt at a 5k.)
• We celebrated Canadian Thanksgiving (Thanksgiving before Halloween seems a little strange, but Kyle had a nice four-day weekend, sparing me a few trips to school and, therefore, a few drenchings of the sort described above. Happy Thanksgiving!)
• Shaun turned 30! (I made a cake. The whole day was about as exciting as my 30th birthday, which was spent primarily in the Newark airport. Shaun is having trouble believing he's 30, but this is alleviated by the fact that I had to turn 30 first. Happy Birthday, Shaun!)

I really hope to revisit some of these subjects, but don't hold your breath. The sun's out, but I'm still incredibly lazy. Okay, to give myself a little credit, it's not possible to be totally lazy when you're running around in circles taking care of a toddler, a preschooler, a Kindergartener, a house, laundry, the finances, doctor's appointments, birthday parties, snowsuit acquisition, vacation planning, and meals, just to name a few things.

I am, however, completely lazy for approximately one and a half hours each day during naptime--I'll try to allot some time to blogging between episodes of Dr. Oz.

Natalie Goes to Preschool

I've put off blogging about Natalie's first day of preschool because (a) let's be honest, I'm lazy, and (b) it really didn't end up being that big of a deal. Compared to my expectations, the entire event was a breeze. I expected tears, but there were none. I expected to argue with my little princess over her outfit, hairstyle, and shoes for the day--but it didn't happen. I even anticipated a little showdown over my choice of Natalie's morning snack, but even that never materialized.

I know how independent Natalie can be at home. She won't let me help her with her shoes, her clothing, or her toothbrushing. She wants to do her carseat up by herself. She tucks herself into bed without any help--though a story and kisses are still required once she gets all covered up.

However, my girl has always been intimidated by new people and new places, and she's never been anywhere without at least one of her brothers to keep her company. At playgroups she's always been one to wrap herself around one of my legs and hide her face whenever someone new speaks to her. If we're in a store and someone approaches to tell her how gorgeous her curly hair is she hides her face and won't speak to them.

Last Monday, Natalie waltzed into preschool, hung up her jacket, changed her shoes, took her new teacher's hand, and walked right off down the hallway, pausing only to smile over her shoulder and give me a little wave.

I was amazed, relieved, proud, and just a little bit sad. The timid baby girl is gone, and an independent, serious little girl lives here now. I guess, in reality, it was a huge deal.

I'm not going to lie, though. The sadness was only momentary. It was a relief to know that Natalie was going to make the whole preschool thing easier for me by not crying. She's also made it easier than Kyle ever did because she's much more mature than he is, and I'll never have to worry about her being the crazy little class clown. It might be selfish, but it has also done wonders for my sanity to only have one toddler around for a few hours each week.

Now that Brandon and I have four mornings of alone time under our belt and Natalie has four mornings of preschool under her belt I think we're all satisfied that this is a very good thing for all of us. Brandon doesn't know what to do with all the attention. Natalie thinks it's great to have something that's all hers. And I have a feeling my shopping time has been greatly enhanced--you'd be amazed at how easy it is getting one kid in and out of carseats, strollers, and shopping carts!

The First Day

Check out the cutie in the uniform! I am officially the mother of a Kindergartener. It seems unreal. I'd say that I'm not old enough to be the mother of a Kindergartener, but we all know that I'm thirty now, so I guess I am old enough.

Whenever a milestone of any sort rears up in front of us I'm always glad that Kyle is my firstborn. He makes it easy to face new situations because he's fearless when it comes to meeting new people, and he'll go anywhere without me. This is a concern when I imagine horrible scenarios involving creepy men in beat-up cars driving by offering candy out of the window. However, this fearlessness is a relief at birthday parties, playdates and on the first day of school.

Kyle was the only two-year-old not crying at his first day of preschool two years ago. He even looked confused about why everyone else was crying when there were all these new toys to play with and it looked like these teachers were even into Play-Doh (something Mommy was not into).

This morning Natalie, Brandon, and I walked Kyle to his new classroom and watched as he walked right into the closet, hung up his backpack, and then walked away from us to go play. I even had to call his name two or three times to get his attention to tell him we were leaving. He looked over at me, smiled, waved, and blew me a kiss.

*Sigh.*

My baby's growing up.

At least I know to be entirely grateful for the kiss. In another year or two he'll be way too grown up to blow his mom a kiss on the first day of school.

Princesses, tea parties, little girls and birthdays

My Little Pony? Dora? Princesses? Fairies? It's a very difficult thing when you're turning three to decide what kind of birthday party to have! After much debate Natalie and I finally decided to throw a tea party for a couple of her closest little friends. We made sandwiches, cupcakes, lemonade and tea, and we invited everyone over to play with baby dolls and dress up. (Yes, I said it. I made those cupcakes all by myself. Two successful baking attempts in 8 days--it's like freaking Martha Stewart has taken up residence.)

I'm totally in love with this new princess phase we've entered--I'm thinking the princesses alone will make up for the attitude my little angel seems to have developed in the last few months--or I'm hoping it will. Anyway, Natalie decided to attend her tea party as Cinderella, and I think she was a pretty cute Cinderella, sunglasses and all.

All of Natalie's time yesterday that wasn't spent tea partying was spent playing with her brand new Cinderella's Castle, her birthday gift from her Grandma. Natalie fell in love with Cinderella's Castle when we were at Disney World, gasping in wonder every time she caught a glimpse of it from wherever we were in the park. She squealed with excitement yesterday morning when she got up out of bed, came down the stairs, and saw her very own Cinderella's Castle! She then proceeded to make Cinderella and the Prince kiss each other while standing on top of the castle, much to her daddy's horror.

Shaun: "Whoa! What was that?! Kissing?!"

Me: "Yup. That's what princesses do."

Shaun: "But where'd she learn that?!"

Me: "Have you even seen the movie Cinderella?"

Shaun: "Natalie. No. Kissing."

Have I mentioned that I love it that my husband has a daughter? It provides endless entertainment. I can't wait until she's a teenager.

Happy First Birthday, Baby B!

My littlest man is one year old! Brandon loved the presents, he loved the cake, he loved the wrapping paper, and he really loved having brand new toys that his brother and sister were not allowed to take from him!

We have plans for this evening, and I rarely let Brandon skip an afternoon nap (unless I'm feeling daring and wacky and decide I want to entertain Satan from 4 to 7 P.M.), so we decided to enjoy the birthday festivities this morning.

We started with presents and breakfast and followed up with cake and ice cream for our morning snack. My children demand snacks around 9:30 A.M., so I thought that sounded like a perfect time to break out Elmo. And he tasted just as good as he looked. Kyle requested Elmo's nose, but I didn't feel like carving the nose out of the center of the cake, so we just worked our way in from one side--he can eat the nose tomorrow.

Anyway, it was a lovely, laidback birthday for my little man. If I've learned one thing as a mother it's that babies do not care about their first birthdays. A cake and pictures are required for posterity so that someday when Brandon is a teenager he won't insist that I don't love him because I didn't even have a first birthday party for him, but the baby won't actually remember a thing. A little wrapping paper and a chocolate cake do, in fact, make a party.

Happy Birthday, Baby!

Taking inventory

Ahh, how quickly a baby's first year passes. A year ago today I was packing my hospital bag, putting the infant carseat back into the car for the third time, packing overnight bags for Kyle and Natalie so they could stay overnight at a friend's house, and preparing to check myself into the hospital overnight to be induced early the next morning. I was seriously looking forward to being able to sleep on my stomach again after months of rolling around like a whale in the bed every night.

I was also panicking a little bit about what kind of disruption a new baby was going to cause in our organized little life and how Natalie was going to take her displacement from the position of 'the baby.'

I wasn't suffering from the second-time mommy uncertainty of how I was going to possibly love another baby the way I loved my first. I already knew how that worked. I was looking forward to having another little munchkin to love.

My Brandon turns one tomorrow, and I cannot believe it. It's been such a busy year--Brandon was only about a month old when we found out we were moving from Texas to Newfoundland. With each child the first year passes more quickly, and with Brandon it's seemed to fly right past us since he's been so eager to grow up.

Brandon kisses, dances and gives high fives on request. He has four teeth, making him the toothiest of all my kids at a year old. He walks--no, he runs. He doesn't drink from bottles anymore, and he's lived in two different countries. He also says Mama, Daddy, Brandon, hi, ball, book, Pooh (as in, Winnie the Pooh), uh-oh, and thank you. None of them sound much like the real word, of course, but he knows what they mean, and he's trying to say them. That's what counts, right? That's a pretty good list of accomplishments if we're taking inventory. Okay, it's impressive to me, but I'm biased.

*Sigh*

Tomorrow I'm going to be happy and excited, and I'm going to sing and wear a party hat. I'm going to take a ton of pictures of the Elmo cake I'm going to try to make in a little while. (That'll probably end up being a blog post all by itself if my culinary experiences up until now are any indication.) But today I'm going to be just a little bit sad that my baby will be one tomorrow.

Bottle-free

Well, I am once again living in a bottle-free household. Like every other transition is his life so far, Brandon decided to jump on the no-formula, bottle-free train with complete abandon. Unlike his brother and sister, who both fought every little transition tooth and nail, Brandon adapts to every little change we make and takes it one step further all by himself. Bassinet to crib, binkies, sleeping through the night, you name it, he made it easy.

For several months Brandon's been drinking four bottles a day and eating a ton of table food. He's never cared for baby food, and since I don't care for buying it or feeding it to him, we let him start eating whatever we were eating at mealtimes. About three weeks ago I decided to take away his bedtime bottle. He was eating so much at dinnertime that I really felt like the bottle was unnecessary as long as we replaced it with some milk in a sippy cup. I know he's not a year old yet, but I wanted to start the transition from formula to milk with plenty of time to spare--babies are creatures of habit, after all. Then he went and got another ear infection, and there was no way I was going to take away bottles when he was feverish and miserable, but once the ear infections cleared up I thought it was time to try to eliminate one more bottle from the routine.

A week and a half ago we decided to do away with the mid-morning bottle, and the little man didn't even seem to notice. That afternoon he refused to drink his after-nap bottle, too. I thought it might be a fluke, but he wanted nothing to do with his daytime bottles. Then last Friday he even refused to drink his pre-breakfast bottle. Saturday went the same way. Just like that. No more bottles.

Brandon inhales whole milk from a sippy cup all day long as he walks around the house, demanding snacks. He even tells me when he wants a drink by yelling, "Bot! Bot!" which appears to be his word for his cup. It makes sense--two weeks ago it was his bot.

I'm relieved to be done with bottle-making and washing but a little amazed that the transition was so easy. This baby of mine is determined to be a big kid. So much for my carefully planned six-week formula-to-milk switcheroo. The one thing all my kids seem to have in common is their inate ability to screw with my planning. And don't worry--I'm not getting cocky about how easy the third kid thing is--with every smooth transition I become more convinced that Brandon's going to be the one that refuses to be potty-trained until he's 8. He's just saving it all up.

Proof

Brandon's been walking a little bit for a couple of weeks now, but since he's been so sick and grumpy I wouldn't get near him with a video camera until now. In the past week he's gotten really good at it! I mean, yeah, he looks a little drunk, but this video was taken at 4:30 PM, so that can't really be why he's stumbling. I think this is what they call 'toddling.' So, is he a toddler now?

I apologize for the poor quality. I've been too lazy to get out the real video camera and have just been using the video feature on our digital camera. But you get the gist.

Muh-muh and Da-dee

We're not sure exactly when it happened, but Brandon has now graduated from saying 'Da-da' to saying 'Da-dee.' I think it may have been around the same time he finally started calling me 'Muh-muh.' It's almost as if he was calling us both Da-da until two weeks ago when he just all of a sudden decided to call us by our 'real' names. Muh-muh and Da-dee. That's us.

It seems like such an unimportant little thing, but it's one more detail that reminds me he's growing up, and in a few years I'm going to turn around and wonder what happened to my tiny little baby--like I do each and every day when I look at Kyle and Nat.

As much as I wish Brandon would slow down and give me a little more time to enjoy him as a baby, there is nothing cuter than when Shaun walks in the door at the end of the day, and Brandon looks up at him, grins, waves his little hand, and says "Hi, Da-dee!"

A conversation with Brandon

I have big news... Brandon finally started saying "Ma-ma" a few days ago! Whoop! Whoop! It comes out like "Muh-muh," and it's super cute.

On Sunday I thought I heard it a couple of times, but on Monday he was definitely Ma-Ma-ing all over the place. I love it! It's like a little tug on my heart every time he says it. I guess he decided to hold out on me for so long so that it would mean that much more to me when it happened.

Brandon and I actually had a nice little conversation on Monday afternoon. He was standing next to the couch and toppled over in that typically random way babies tend to just topple over in the middle of doing nothing. When he landed he just barely bumped his head on the floor, but here's how our discussion went:

Brandon: "Muh-muh? Muh-muh?"

Me: "Yes, Baby? Are you okay?"

Brandon: *crawls over to me and pats my leg* "Muh-muh?"

Me: *scoops baby up off floor and kisses head* "Aww, did you bump your head?"

Brandon: "Yah."

Me: "And you needed a kiss from your Mommy to make it all better?"

Brandon: *gazes at me in wonder* "Da-da? Da-da."

Me: "Figures. Well, my kisses are just going to have to be enough until Daddy gets home from work."

The first haircut

Natalie has never had a haircut--with curls like hers there was no way I was going to let someone touch them. Kyle had his first haircut when he was about 17 months old, and it was overdue--way way overdue. Check out these pictures:

Kyle Before

Kyle After

Hilarious, right? Shaun and I look at these pictures now and can't believe we let Kyle's hair get that crazy. But I was pregnant with Natalie and we'd just moved back to Texas, and then we had Natalie and were busy, and let's be honest, we thought he was cute.

Lately we've realized that the most noticeable thing in any picture we take has become Brandon's hair. The poor child has been cursed with no less than 3 cowlicks on the back of his head, and his hair literally stands straight up on top. With our previous haircutting oversight in mind we decided it was time to trim Brandon's hair. I did it myself, just like I did Kyle's first trim. There's no way we'd be able to get Brandon to sit still at a hair salon, and there's no way I was going to pay someone to do a really bad job of trimming a nine-month-old's hair--I'd much rather do it for free and have no one to blame but myself. Here are the results:

Brandon Before

Brandon After

Not too bad, right? It still stands straight up, but at least it's a lot shorter. And I forgot that a haircut was going to suddenly turn my baby into a little man! And as much as Brandon looked like Kyle and Shaun before, now he really looks like them! *Sigh* The first haircut. Another milestone. My little man's growing up.