Boys, Socks, and Why I Need a Baby Girl

So I just discovered I gave birth to a boy.

I realize that just now discovering the baby I had roughly a year and a week ago, is a boy is a bit inconvenient, but I have my reasons.

When you have your first baby you are just excited to finally hold your child.  Yes, you make the distinction of if the little one is a boy or a girl by the choice of his or her name.

But honestly, it’s a baby.

Point in case; think back to when you talked about your baby after he or she was first born. I am pretty sure it went kind of like this.

“You won’t believe what my baby did today!”

“My baby is cutting teeth!”

“The little one kept me up all night.”

I could go on forever. But you get the gist. Your baby is just that “a baby.” You never consider significance of your child being a boy or a girl…

Until their personalities start peaking through their all their pudgy babiness. 

And you discover that not only are you living with two males, but two that have the same sense of humor despite the twenty-four year age gap.

Point in case. 

Two weeks ago, we were packing for a trip to Milwaukee. The hubby was folding socks (something that never happens often in our house) and Darren is in his playpen to keep him from getting into everything. I am in standard packing panic mode, speed-racing around the house trying to fill two suitcases with more stuff that we need for a four day-trip.

Peals of baby laughter and man giggles are coming from the living room.

“Baby! Baby! Come here,” hubby gasps between giggles. “Watch!”

I walk into the room as he launches a pair of rolled socks in his son’s direction. Darren is sitting in the furthest corner of the playpen gurgling with laughter.

Cute, it does make me smile; but why they find is so hilarious is really beyond me.

This is when if felt the first inkling of being out numbered.

Then this past Saturday rolled around. I had a pretty relaxing morning with Darren. He was well behaved and cheerful.

Then daddy came home. 

And my cheerful well-behaved boy woke up from his nap and realized that his partner in crime had magically appeared while he was asleep.

By supper time I was ready to pull my hair out. Two and a half hours of constant yelling, grunting, protesting being told no, and etc.

And the little man wasn’t done. He was loudly stating his disgruntlement at how long his mama was taking to fix his plate. 

The hubby finally noticing my frayed ends and gives me a hug, while still hugging me he’s creates an impromptu game of peek-a-boo with Darren, swinging our bodies back and forth so that only one of us can look at Darren at a time.

Darren finds this terribly amusing.

I find in it extremely dizzying.

My frustration is about to boil over.

“Baby, just chill out,” the hubby says to try to get me to relax.

“But you two are such…….BOYS!” I sputter indignantly.

Man giggles is all I get in response. 

Boys, I can’t live with them, so I think it’s time we try to have a baby.

Hopefully it will be a girl or I am in a world of trouble.

Sick is not Sexy

Hey everyone. 

I am finally back from the land of sick and contagious. And while the only linger affects I have from my harrowing bout of chills, double ear infections and a sinus infection, are a scratchy throat and a semi runny nose, let me tell you.

Sick is not sexy.

I know you’re thinking to yourself ‘Yeah duh, what’s sexy about puffy watery eyes, a hackers cough, unlimited amounts of mucus, no make-up and feeling like your head is so full of cotton that is gives a whole new meaning to cotton mouth.’

Let me tell you.

When your hubby promised to love you through thick and thin, sickness and through health…

He wasn’t kiddin’ darlin’.

Perfect example is my hubby dearest when I was sick. His trophy line was:

“Babe, I know I won’t get none when you’re sick.”

YA THINK?!?

I love my hubby. He’s amazing. While I was fighting my way back to health he did the unthinkable.

He washed eighty-five percent of the dirty clothes in our house.

Yeah.

But that’s not all.

He kept the whole kitchen/dining rooms spotless for days at a time. That means cleaning dishes putting up food, etc.

All while accepting there would be no booty calls until I was feeling up to the task.

Did I mention I was sick for two weeks?

Now, you’re thinking: ‘Ok, miss-story-teller-thang. You just want to throw it in our faces that your man perfect. That he can go without and do household chores at the same time.’

Well ladies, that didn’t me he wasn’t adverse to making out with me.

Yeah. I protested. I pointed out that at any moment green mucus could come rocketing out of my nose, or that I my lips were all dry and crusty from having to breathe through my mouth 24/7.

Nope.

Didn’t phase him.

His second trophy line was: “Babe I love you any way you are.  I just miss my baby.” (If you want to include soulful pleading eyes to add dramatic effect, feel free to do so.)

Now ladies, sick is not sexy. 

WE KNOW THAT.

But how can you argue or have any woman logic when he says something like that? Even when you’re sick.

So I will admit; I was charmed into giving him a few contaminated smooches for being such a good sport. I mean the man was convincing.

Please don’t hold it against me.

Mischievous Crawler

Darren has been officially crawling for about three weeks now. I am a proud mama, exasperated at times, but definitely proud. His daddy is proud too, but I think he is too the point where he wants to pull his fro out.

It probably doesn’t help that he is feeling “under the weather.” (aka sick as a dog). And when you are “under the weather” keeping a close eye on a crawler is not the easiest task.

But I couldn’t help but chuckle at the phone call I got after work.

First, I need to explain that I do most the calling after work. The hubby never really calls me, unless it is his day off.  Which means he has spent the last ten hours in a chasing, playing, teasing, cuddling, napping, feeding, changing mind battle with Darren.

That is on a good day.

When he’s not sick (I mean under the weather).

Adding a major head cold into the mix can make the situation more desperate.

“So how are you feeling?” Me, the concerned wife.

“Uuh. Not too hot.” The under the weather hubby.

“How’s Darren been for you today.”

“Mischievous”

“What?”

“Hey! Darren! No.” (pause) “Don’t make me put you back in the play pen.”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghhhhhh.” Darren protesting.

“Oh, you said mischievous.” Me, trying not to laugh too hard. “I get it.”

“So I am going to stop by the store and pick up WIC.” I continue.

“NO!” Come home. I need you here.” The hubby, desperately ready for a daddy break.

While it is funny, I can understand.

Even when he wasn’t crawling Darren would find a way of getting into things he wasn’t supposed too. The mail, his own socks, the diaper bag; he made it happen. Now it’s the TV remote, the wipes, the drawer holding our DVDs, and anything else you could possibly think of.  Where before we had to be two steps ahead of his latest shenanigans, now we have to be ten yards ahead our little rug rat. The hubby to his credit can deal. His sense of humor and amusement at Darren’s latest antics keep him on weary, but cheerful alert.

His son is so much like him, he can’t really get mad.

The other day as we were out shopping and I made a comment that now Darren was crawling made me excited for when he would learn how to walk.

The look on the hubby’s told me he thought I was insane.

“No babe. I am not even use to him crawling yet.”

His parental exasperation is so apparent, I felt a tiny bit sorry for him.

Blogger’s Block

I am at a loss for words. For the first time since September, I have no clue what to blog about. Well, there are several things I could blog about, but I really like to produce writing that my followers will find funny, compelling, or just plain interesting.

I could blog about the Cowboys as the hubby insists, but between you and me, the Cowboys and I only associate with each other become my husband insists.  And because they are breaking his heart this season, I am here to pick up the pieces.

I could blog about Darren, but it is not much fun writing about him when he is gone  (Missing the Little Man). Yep, I did forget to mention that because our daycare provider is out for the holidays, my little man is staying with the hubby’s mom for the next few days. We are supposed to pick him up at the end of the week, but predictably Minnesota weather is pulling out all the stops for the ninth winter storm of the season. The forecast is twenty inches plus freezing rain.

Ugh.

 But I promised I wouldn’t complain about the weather any more. (Winter Gripes)

I could blog (make fun of) about the hubby, but at this point he is getting on my last nerve. I wish I could blame my irritation on a specific situation, but after much thinking it just because he is a guy. Ladies you know what I mean.

I could blog about my family. I really want to blog about my family, but I refuse to hash out the ridiculous drama that seems to unfold whenever we get together on my public blog.

I could blog about my new camera (I heart it!), and how I am trying to start up my new photography business: ID Photography. This is something I am excited and completely overwhelmed with. I have been brainstorming on how to bring in clients to build my portfolio. So if you live in southern Minnesota give send me email at intuitiondesignid@gmail.com. I have free sessions available to all who are interested.

I know its shameless plug, but I need to get my hustle on.  Sue me.

No really, don’t.

Just let me take your photos.

Please.

And check out my Facebook page. I.D. Photography.

Another shameless plug. Sorry.

On that note I’ve decided to blog about my blog, which also has a Facebook page. The Hip Hop Life. Like it if you like my blog.

Another shameless plug. I have no shame. Shame on me.

This is what happens when I have blogger’s block. Shaking my head at myself. Shame on me.

The Art of Running Game

“I don’t care, Darren is definitely going to learn how to plan piano.” The hubby announced after watching a Bruno Mars video.

“Why is that? So he can get all the girls?” I ask rolling my eyes.

“Ya damn right.” He says with his signature grin.

It’s because of that smile I know he’s serious. The hubby has a fabulous smile this combined with his fun personality really puts me at disadvantage in the ‘game running’ category.  He’s good at it. Ask my friends. It took one of my girlfriends and me two weeks to realize that he had talked us into going halfsies on a pair of shoes for him. Yeah. Unbelievable.

When confronted about it he just smiled that smile and said “It worked didn’t it?”

It’s because of that smile I am beginning to worry. Because the Darren uses that same smile on me that his daddy does. As you can see.(above)

But this is what the situation usually entails: me, what looks to be a tasty morsel of food, and Darren. While he has now learned (kind of) no to screech at me if he want a taste of something, he has come up with other ways of getting that fetching morsel of food.

Like his eyes. Take a look at them.

Can you see what I would cave? He also has a way of staring intently at you when you have food too. It’s like he’s telepathically willing you to give him what you’ve got.  It is quite funny because he won’t scream or reach out for it. He’ll just stare. 

And stare some more.

And more.

Until you give it to him. Not because you want him to stop, but just because. It is quite crazy. Because a few minutes after giving to him u get this strange feeling that you’ve been intellectually scammed out of something very important. 

But I guess that is the art of running game. 

I guess.

 I am still working the concept of “running game” out in my head. It’s a guy thing.

I think. I just don’t know though.

Again, I guess that is the art of running game.

Daddy's Little Man

I am completely and utterly shattered, I am in the center of disappointment and shadowed in darkness. I am completely destroyed.


Darren's definitely said Dada before Mama.

All you mothers out there should understand why I feel distressed.

I should have seen it coming though.

I started noticing last week that Darren always wanted the hubby. Not for anything special, just to play. I just attributed it to that he liked being twirled around and tossed up in the air several times. I didn’t see it for the disguise it was. His baby giggles held me captive and pulled the wool over my eyes. I actually took it as a relief.  Then I came home the other day and all I heard was.

“Dadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadada.”

“That’s my little Lingle. Dada.” The hubby said.

Then I discovered they had a secret language.

“Hey Lingle. “Dddddddddddsssssssssssst.” The hubby’s tongue is a pressed against the roof of his mouth and the backs of his top front teeth. I can see little flick of spit spray out as he does it.

Darren responds in turn, but he had more drool and bubbles coming out of his mouth. “Ddddddddddsssssssst. Dddddddsssssssssssst.”

Then the other night I had to witness the head shaking routine. The hubby would shake his head back and forth and Darren would watch him intently. Because this looked like ridiculous fun Darren would copy him.  For about five minutes they sat there just shaking their heads back and forth thinking it was hilarious.

You have got to be kidding me.

Ok, I am not destitute. I don’t feel like a failure as a mother, and I am nowhere near depressed about the situation. I am just determined to have baby number two say Mama first when she comes.

But Darren has definitely become daddy’s little man. When the hubby walks in the room it all eyes on Daddy and if daddy doesn’t notice, he is going to scream his head off until he does.

Then they proceed to have serious conversations about meatloaf, the Cowboys, why daycare is the coolest, and how to con mommy into changing all the dirty diapers.

And then I can’t find the backbone to really be upset with the hubby.

All of the baby books talk about how the dad will be feeling left out in the early stages of a child’s life because of the bond that he/she will have with their mother.

But none of them talk about how the mommy will feel once they do start bonding. It’s wonderful. Beautiful really. Amazing.

Until we find that we do have a bit of parental jealous streak running through our veins. Because we are by nature nurtures and it could not be possible that our babies could need anything other than us right? Wrong.

So, I hold my peace and refrain from unsportsmanlike conduct. Because to be completely honest, I could never explain they hubby’s mysterious fascination with the word meatloaf, or run an accurate man to man zone cover defense or call a pick six the second before it happens. I will never master the art of ‘running game,’ or talking to girls.

But what I do know is revenge is sweet.

So I send a little prayer up to God and ask for a little pink package for when the next child comes around.

Because what little boys learn from becoming Daddy’s Little Man, little girls can learn from mommy about becoming women and most importantly getting daddy wrapped around her little finger.

I’ll play fair, but I do plan to even the scoreboard.

Faded Glory

This is a story about underwear so if you would rather not read I will understand, but for the rest of you hold on tight.

I will let it be known that the hubby is an underwear man. This means he has a comment or a nick name for almost every pair of underwear I own. This is fine and can even come in handy during a certain time of the month. But now a new panty name has been born: Faded Glory.

Now this is not going to be sexy tale, but one that leans more toward embarrassing to the hubby than to me (for once); but he is pretty much unflappable so he just laughed it off.

Earlier this week I had a late work meeting up in the Twin Cities and according to the weather officials (yes, I sarcastically call them officials) there was a decent winter storm headed our way. It is becoming normal that a storm comes about every week and a half in these parts, but even more uncommon is that the weather officials have been spot on in predicting all of them. But that is neither here nor there.

This particular storm started out with rain proceeded with sleet and added a dusting of light snow to top it all off. By the time I arrived back to town at eight-thirty, there was layer of ice that had accumulated on my car. This combined with the reports that the roads were nasty once out of town, I took a moment to do the math.

9:00 p.m.: still had to drive forty-five minutes to get home. Because of the icy roads ETA: ten-thirty.

10:30 p.m. once home I would need at least an hour and a half to get my life organized for the next day. 

Estimated bedtime: midnight. At this time I would set my alarm for four in the morning so I could turn around and drive the icy roads again to get to work at six.

That math didn’t add right; veto to driving home and the vote went to staying in town with a friend. 

That meant I needed to find some toiletries and underwear.

Having only four dollars to my name I ventured into the dreaded Wal Mart, where the cheapest pack of underwear was a three dollar pack of Faded Glory underwear. Mission complete.

Fast forward to the next day after work, I stop by the hubby’s job to switch vehicles. I grabbed my purse and my bag of Faded Glory underwear.

Or so I thought. 

This was the conversation that took place when my hubby came home.

“Really babe? Faded Glory?” the hubby asked.

“What do you mean?” I ask as clueless as ever.

“Well, I had Ryan go and warm up my car.”

“Ok?” I am seriously wondering where this is going.

“And he came back in and asked me why there was underwear in the driver’s seat.”

“Oh Jeez.” I did have the decency to blush slightly.  

“Thanks babe.” He is laughing now too. So I knew he wasn’t that mad.

But on the record I am not a Faded Glory type of girl. Really. I am more of the colorful type. The Faded Glories  are now part of the Friend of the Month section of my underwear drawer.