My name is Jess. I’m a SAHM, sometimes WAHM, to the most adorable little boy born July 13th, 2007. I’m married to Eric and live in Denver, CO. We love our house. Love it. Now, if only we could pick it up and move it to someplace without crazy creepers living across the street…but I digress.
On my WAHM days, I’m a breastfeeding peer counselor for WIC. I’m big on boobs. I babywear, I co-sleep, I selectively vaccinate and I want to have chickens and goats. You could call me crunchy, except I often opt to wear antiperspirant despite my husband’s many calls of, “IT’S GOING TO GIVE YOU ALZHEIMER’S!” I’m a rebel like that.
I also have a few tattoos and a few piercings that tend to do one of two things for me. The first being that teenagers? They think I’m a pretty cool mom. The second being that other moms my age? They think I’m scary (it doesn’t help that I live in the depths of “ghettoville” – terrifying, I am). It’s okay. The Boy and I are looking for more Barney-esque “everyone’s different and that’s cool” sort of friends anyway. Besides, I’ve learned that most Stepford mommies suck horribly at crafts and anything even remotely fun. I have no clue why anyone would want to be friends with them anyway. Hrmmph.
I tend to do a lot of crafts and they’re coming quite in handy now that we’re beginning our “homeschooling” adventure. I don’t know if you can call making letters, alligators and bears out of construction paper homeschooling, but I will anyway. Again, a rebel.
The Boy is wonderful. He’s smart. He knew his alphabet by 13 months. He counted to 10 by 14 months. At 18 months, he had a vocabulary of over 400 words, could read some of those words, could count objects to 5, he could speak in 4-5 word sentences (in Spanish and English), he could tell you Alligator begins with A and Boy begins with B. He’s also very over-excitable, rarely naps, still nurses 8-12 times a day, cannot play alone, and goes through toys like most people go through Kleenex – I nearly said underwear, but he doesn’t reuse his toys once he’s over them, even if we hide them for a month. He absorbs and remembers information that he’s heard only one time. This has made the removal of curse words from our own vocabularies nearly useless, since he’s already realized that “DAMMIT” is something you holler at the stove. It can be a little overwhelming. Overwhelming but fun.
I’m hoping that, no matter what happens in our lives, I can raise The Boy to be a good person, a happy person and a person that is not sitting on the street corner with a bottle of Jack Daniels and a “Why lie? I need a beer.” sign. Although, I would be mighty proud of his punctuation even if he did.
