My child is either a genius faker or an extremely well humored child. So well humored, in fact, that he even laughs when he does stuff in his sleep. At about 4am, I was awakened by some very sweet, soft noises coming out of my little man’s mouth.
“Bapadaba ba.” It was barely audible but definitely babbling. I leaned in to listen more closely.
“BA!” He screamed, smacked my nose and shoved dream food into his mouth.
I jumped back and grabbed my nose.
Ben laughed, loudly, hysterically and then snored.
His eyes never opened, he never woke up.
My boy is one year old. One.Year.Old. It doesn’t seem like it was really that long ago that he was birthed. It doesn’t seem that long ago that he babbled for the first time, or held his head up, or rolled over.
He talks now. He says, “Cah! Voom voom!” when he sees a car drive by and “agua” when he’s thirsty. He wiggles his head when he’s dancing to music out loud or music in his head. And, not only does he roll, but he ALLIGATOR rolls when you’re trying to change his diaper and the fan is being turned on behind him. To which he yells, “ATS! ATS!” because fan is way too hard to say.
We went to the mountains for his birthday and, while he throrougly enjoyed the toys, the hikes and the hummingbirds flying inches away from his head, he cried when we sang happy birthday. He didn’t like the attention and that made me very glad that we chose to do a small family thing in the mountains instead of a big party at home (and just a little proud that I knew him better than anyone thought I did – score 1 for mama).
He made the following face when touching the cake for the first time:
He is not a fan of sticky. He then proceeded to attempt to knock the offending cake off of his plate with the spoon because there was no way in hell he was touching that mess again.
I am accutely aware of his growing up. I intently listen to every story of all the moms who say, “My son’s 35 now, I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone.” I try to memorize every face, every moment because it’ll never happen again and I don’t want to feel like it all flew by without my paying attention. When he’s a teenager, I want to be able to horrify him with stories about him trying to rip up my shirt in public and trying to nurse on daddy. When he’s grown up, I want to be able to assure him that that poop? That weird, greenish, sticky, stinky, ‘gone 3 days without’ newborn poop is perfectly normal because he had it, and I remember it very clearly. I’m one of those moms.
Happy birthday, Benjaroo. This, I can easily say, has been the best year of my life. Watching you grow is amazing and I am so incredibly blessed to be able to see it all. You’re ever learning and ever changing. You’re moody, you’re testy, you’re stubborn, you’re sweet, you’re silly and you’re incredibly astute. You’re a good baby and I’m sure, before I know it, you’re going to be a good man. I can’t wait to see how you evolve.
I have more than willingly allowed my mother-in-law to come see Ben, under the requirement that she remain on her medication and continue seeing her psychiatrist. She was doing great for a while. Stopped plopping down on my floor and dumping her purse all over. Stopped squeeking (because she is not allowed to scream in my house) unintelligable phrases to show how excited she is that there’s a bird outside. Lately, though, it’s started getting strange again.
While being pet by my mother-in-law as Ben napped on my lap, I noticed a curiously filled pillowcase sitting on Ben’s swing. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask before my mother-in-law skittered over there to grab it. She fiddled with it for a moment and, I shit you not, pulled a ukulele out of a pillowcase. A ukulele. Out of a pillowcase.
I’ll wait while the strangeness soaks in.
My mother-in-law was a little annoyed because Ben had been napping for about 30 minutes. “Is he going to wake up anytime soon so I can play for him?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t napped this morning so I’m going to let him rest.”
“I wish he was awake! He’d love this! I WISH HE WAS AWAKE! Can I play it and maybe it’ll wake him up?”
This is where I look horrified and Eric’s aunt says, “I’m sure he’ll love it another day. He’s napping.”
“CAN I WAKE HIM UP?”
“Um, well…I…” My need to be polite in front of company superceeded the needed to tell my mother-in-law that she was batshit crazy.
And then, she began to play and sing.
Seriously. She played the ukulele and sang, loudly, in an attempt to wake Ben. Her fingers were slipping off the ukulele, she was trying to play that thing so forcefully. She was quite cranky when, at the end of her song, Ben had done no more than snore. He hadn’t even wiggled slightly. At this point, I called victory and expected to move on.
I was premature.
Another song began, more loudly. Another wailing on the poor ukulele in an attempt to wake Ben. I looked around at the rest of the room, just to see if anyone else had the “I can’t fucking believe this is happening” look I’m sure I had on my face. I found Eric’s aunt and dad staring at the ground (”We are not related” faces), his cousin with his hand over his downcast eyes (”I cannot be related”), Eric averting his eyes in any direction but his mother’s (”I’m not here, this is not happening”) and his uncle fast asleep, his head all the way back on the couch, mouth wide open. The man.was.out. I immediately wondered if I might be on candid camera or in a new National Lampoon’s movie. It was surreal, to say the least.
At the end of the second song, there was a bit of discourse between his aunt, his mother and his cousin. His aunt and cousin talking gently, his mother…well, not.
Mother-in-law: “WHAT’S ANOTHER SONG?!”
Aunt: Tom (cousin) liked that dog song when he was little. What song was that, Tom?
Tom: I don’t know.
Mother-in-law: “DOG?” She begins singing some random dog song.
Aunt: “No, no, that’s not it. The dog song. Tom, you remember.”
Tom: I don’t know.
Mother-in-law: “DOG?!” Another random dog song.
Aunt: “No, no! Tom, what was that song?”
Tom: I have no idea. I was like 3.
Mother-in-law: “DOOOOOOOOOG?!” Seemingly begins singing the correct dog song and the aunt joins in. “No! That’s not right! Stop!” Because, apparently, the aunt was not singing in the correct key or the correct words and the ukulele was not quite in the beating position yet.
They started over. They sang different words through a dog song, mother-in-law as loudly as she could. Tom looked horrified. Eric’s dad stared at the floor. Eric stared at the ceiling. His uncle snored. I tried not to get up and run Ben out of the room, hollering, “These are not your genes! You are not destined to become this! YOU WILL BE NORMAL!”
After the dog song failed to wake the sleeping baby, mother-in-law shoved the ukulele back in the pillowcase and grumbled, “He’s going to sleep all day. We’re going to go.” I was grateful. I loved his aunt, I loved his cousin, I love his dad and his uncle was a great guy, too but his mom is such a bundle of nervous energy that it’s really hard to enjoy time with her. Especially when there are people around that she’s hoping to impress, she seems to lose all semblence of sanity.
Just as I was saying good-byes and thanking my lucky stars that the day had ended, my mother-in-law proceeds to proclaim, in obvious hopes that everyone would hear, “I hope you let us see him again!” Wow. Well, you know how much I love the whole victim act! Of course you can come over again! Since I’ve been such a racuous bitch and have allowed you to come visit whenever you express an interest, you can totally come over even sooner to try to wake up my baby with rabid ukulele sing-a-longs, feel me up and then throw guilt trips at me as you leave! I’m so excited, I could vomit.
And, my poor husband’s response, in his ever so sweet, avoidance sort of way, to the entire incident? “That was my ukulele.”
Does anyone remember that scene from 16 candles? The scene where Sam’s grandma mentions she’s gotten “her boobies”, sighs “and they’re so perky” and proceeds to feel her up? Well…picture that exact same moment with me as Molly Ringwald and my mother-in-law as the old lady with the roaming hands. In front of Eric’s aunt, uncle and cousin visiting from out of town.
Okay, so she didn’t grab my boobs or anything but it was just as uncomfortable and it’s something I’d rather repress for the rest of my life. Of course, instead, I post it here so I can just keep reliving it and, hopefully, make you all cringe just a little with me.
Eric’s aunt, uncle and cousin arrived first. They called a little over an hour before they were due and, when Eric informed them that we were not ready, they advised us not to look out our window as they were parked out front.
Ifreakedthefuckout.
They came back 30 minutes later. When Eric’s parents showed up about 30 minutes past due, we’d all gotten settled and comfortable with one another. That didn’t last.
We all know how my mother in law feels about me so imagine my surprise when she walked in, made a bee-line towards me, stared me in the eyes as if we’d been having a secret affair and began rubbing up my arm. “Oh, I missed you. I missed you so much. I missed you.”
“Oh…kay.” What the hell was I supposed to say to that one? “Oh yeah? Well, I tried everything to get out of this whole encounter and it didn’t work so that whole missing thing? Totally one-sided. And get off me because you’re giving me the creeps.”
Later that afternoon, Ben was sleeping on my lap. My 73-year-old mother-in-law crawled from across the room and began stroking his arm, “Oh, he’s so soft!” She asked her sister to come over, “feel him. Isn’t he so soft?”
“Yes, he is.” Eric’s aunt, very gingerly, rubbed Ben a couple of times and then went to go back and sit down.
“And feel her! She’s soft, too!” My mother-in-law began feeling up my arm again.
“Oh…uh…okay.” His poor aunt gave me a bit of an apologetic look, touched me once and sat down.
Eric, sitting next to me, looked horrified then looked away. Very apparently trying to pretend as if it weren’t happening. Great, way to protect me from your molesting mama there, bud.
Really, though, what the hell kind of encounter is that? Who feels people up and, not only that, but encourages others to feel people up? I’ll tell you what kind of people. Orgy masters. Orgy masters do that sort of thing but not mother-in-laws in the midst of a family get together. Well, none but mine, anyway.
And, you know, as weird as this part of the day was, it’s nothing compared to the ukulele story which I will write about next. Right after I go take another shower.
Wow, possibly the silliest thing I’ve ever read. In certain places across this lovely United States, there are laws against having clotheslines in your yard. Considering them “ugly, low-class and unsuitable for display”, they are either relegated to the backyard or banned altogether because, apparently, the idea of their city using up natural resources as quickly as it can is a good thing. I had no idea.
Now, I’m the first to proclaim how freaking annoying having to hang your clothes on a line is. Especially when you’re dealing with 500 freaking cloth diapers. Still, if there are people who are willing to put up with that pain in the ass everytime they do the laundry (coughERICcough), then they should be allowed. They’re making a little bit of a difference for the rest of us who would rather not bother.
