I’m One of Those Moms
Ben started getting really hot and bright red last night. Turns out he had a fever of 101. I kinda freaked out and called the ped immediately because I was convinced it was because he got an itchy nose from french fries earlier. Did I mention it was midnight? It was midnight. And I made the mistake of looking up “fever” and “flushed” in infants and reading all about fifths. *shakes head* Yeah, “Uh, we don’t worry until it’s over 105 rectally…” I already knew that but, still…
He has his first cold and I feel awful for him but he seems to be pretty happy other than that. Poor kid and his overreacting mama.
Filed under 8 month, sick | Comments (2)What’s With the Hand Squeezing Thing?
Just when I thought signing was a worthless endeavour.
Ben was just in my dad’s lap, squeeling at me. Dad says, “MAAAH, MAAAH! COME GET ME!” and does the sign for milk.
“Why are you doing that? Did Ben do that?”
“Yeah, he’s yelling at you and doing that. *Dad does it again* What’s with the hand squeezing thing, Ben?”
“THAT’S THE SIGN FOR MILK!”
He wanted to nurse and he wanted a nap.
Too
flippin
cool
It’s Strategically Placed Mess
I didn’t want my dear friend to feel alone. Children falling off of things happens to all of us. Luckily, they’re resiliant little buggers.
On Wednesday, I was putting a screeching Ben into his car seat, which I had (against all advisories on the car seat itself) on top of the couch. As Eric walked into the living room, trying to clear a small path through the piles of fabric on the floor, he grumbled, “Maybe we can take a half an hour when we get home and clean up the fabric from the floor?”
As I turn to give him a dirty look (again, GO SMART MAMA BRAINS!), I hear a THUMP! Ben had fallen, head first, out of the car seat and off of the couch onto…THE GIANT PILE OF FABRIC ON THE FLOOR.
Best reason to never, ever clean again.
Or, you know, not turn my back on Ben when he’s on the couch by himself.
I’m going to go with the no cleaning thing.
Filed under 8 month, oh God | Comments (5)Buy (or Trade) Handmade
Jennie, the gal from Little Lids on Etsy and I made a trade earlier this month. I made her a Mei Tai and she made me two(!!) of her adorable hats for Ben. They’re so flippin’ cute in person. Unfortunately, since Ben is a willful child and gets all rambunctious with things on his head, I didn’t get very good pictures but I’m still trying!!
And the Mei Tai:
I love that so many of my girls make things. I’d rather buy from friends than some faceless (and most times heartless) corporation. You can be sure it comes with good juju. Check out some of my friends’ shops at the end of the post. Also, be sure to keep my stores (MonkeyBeansBaby & MonkeyBeans on Etsy) bookmarked. New stock is coming in soon! And, as always, I’m open to custom orders & trades!
Karen : Accessories by Mrs. Red
Julie : Hydroxide
Jennie : Little Lids
Mandy : Mandy Magoo
Valerie : My Wee Feet
Julie : Ohlieoh
Melissa : The Babymonster
Mandy : The Goofy Tooth
8 Months?
8 months?! You cannot be 8 months already! How did you manage to get so big so fast? Why do I keep saying that as if I’m surprised the next month has suddenly come upon us? In another minute or two, you’re going to be 9 months and I’m not going to know where this 8th month went.
This month has been one giant milestone after the other. You manage to wake up and surprise the heck out of me everyday with something new. You’ve even decided that your favorite music is hip hop. HIP HOP! You like Snoop Dogg. What kind of 8 month old likes Snoop Dogg? What kind of 8 month old DANCES to Snoop Dogg? Only you. And only you would sing along, too.
Much to my chagrin, your grandma taught you how zippers work and now I’m worried that you’re suddenly going to zip your skin into your jammies one morning or figure out how to remove the debit card so you can book a flight to Vegas, marry some stripper and ruin. your. life! Remind me, when you get older, to discuss with you the dangers of marrying a girl named after a liquor, a food or a fairy tale character.
You’ve discovered that “no” means “stop doing that thing you’re enjoying so much that might get you killed”, and you don’t like it one bit. In fact, at the mere beginning of the word, your super sad, show me all your gums look spreads across your face and you start screaming like a raving banshee. “How DARE you tell me I’m not allowed to stand at the coffee table and throw the glass frames on the hardwood!” or “I prefer drawing on the carpet to the coloring book. Why is that a problem?” I know, I am one ridiculously facistic mama.
Suddenly, to my amazement, you showed us you’ve learned where our noses are. You respond to, “Where’s mommy’s nose?” by poking me in my nose. You respond to, “Where’s daddy’s nose?” by poking him in his. You respond to, “Where’s Benjamin’s nose?” by looking at me like I’m insane. I mean, really, how can I expect you to show me where your nose is when you can’t even look at it? I ask too much sometimes.
You’re getting so strong and so smart, I’m a little afraid. You’re going to be walking around the house and disassembling VCRs and stereos before you’re a year old. You’re going to be correcting my spelling in a matter of days and probably telling all your friends, “My mom is very sweet but she can be a little slow sometimes” well before you even hit school age.
All this to say, I’m so proud of you. You’re amazing. I couldn’t have asked for a better baby and I know I am incredibly blessed to be your mama.
Love,
Yer Ma’
