e and I had our worst day yet. He was mad at me. I was mad at him. He screamed. We both cried. Naps were a bust. It was just really really bad. Can’t say why. I can say I shouldn’t have been frustrated or angry or mad. This kid is clearly going through a lot and has so many huge feelings and is such a small small person and I should have held his hand and gave him a hug and helped him work through them instead of having to take a time out of my own. I shouldn’t have taken it personally, because it wasn’t personal. I have so so much to learn. I have so much growing to do myself.
Bean and A accompanied me to the gym. We planned dinner and a trip to the bookstore for afterwards, but bean was rather done at that point.
The workout was a modified “bleep” test: 13 minutes of 5 thrusters (#75/#55), 5 pull-ups, and 5 burpees. The first time you fail you head to the erg and row your heart out. I made it to the ninth round, one burpee keeping me away from the tenth.
It was a fine workout, but even better was that sweet little face smiling at me when it was time to go home.
I have a feeling I’ve used this title before. In any case, I’ve certainly been a cookie monster before. But this current cookie habit is out. of. control.
My sweet tooth returned once my appetite returned (about four months postpartum.) However, it is ALL of my appetite. It seems I’ve lost my steak tooth, my poultry tooth, my veggie tooth, my egg tooth, my coconut tooth, even my sashimi tooth, and all have been replaced by sweet tooths. (Sweet teeth.)
I look at bean and to my brain, my logical brain, I know that he is the only sweet I want in my life. I shudder at the thought that I am offering him less than the optimum. And I look at myself, my cookie-full tummy, and think “geese get a grip!” Yet I still make those paleo cookies and I still buy that coconut ice cream and I still scarf down Power Snacks by the pound. I’ll go a few days before the urge becomes overwhelming, but then I always give in!
Our farm pick-up is but a few weeks away. With it will come copious amounts of meat, and I intend to replace my sweet tooth with a meat tooth. I am not so concerned about my food intake (though goodness knows I have a well-honed ability to eat until I’m sick) and know I need to support bean as he is still nursing with no end in sight! But it’s necessary for both of us that I reign in my sugar addiction and turn back to super foods that make me a super person.
bean’s gummy smile will soon be relegated to photographs. His first tooth (the top left central incisor) is cutting its way through. He’s been a champ throughout the process, only waking at night with a bit of pain and fussiness. Other than this he’s returned to his happy-go-lucky self and thrilled is too weak a verb for my disposition.
He’s growing so fast and changing so much. It’s been 45 weeks since he arrived on the scene (and 86 since he was conceived.) I used to count the days, then the weeks, now the months. Soon, the years.
The sun is out, the temp is up, and we are spending our hours in the fresh air spring is here weather.
Our first day back rifts the ordinary with excitement. We spin down the sidewalk, bean laughing and boom desperately trying to get one last whiff of the telling pee which marks the stones, the trees, the sidewalk, the leaves. We waltz toward the dog park, and boomer suddenly realizes we are on our way to freedom. A forbade us to go, complaining of mud mud mud, but boomer is the cleanest daintiest prissiest pup I know when it comes to grime so I figured he’d have no evidence of our transgression (aside from the guaranteed amazing mood.)
But boomer, dear boomer, would do anything for treats. One loved owner brought her own charge a bag of delicious morsels and, boomer, catching a trace on the thin breeze, bounded over to see if she could get one on cuteness alone. The other dog did not take kindly to sharing and ATTACK! He tackled boomer full force, rolled her on her back, and a spectacular cacophony of barking and gnawing and insult ensued. Boomer recovered once the treat-owner grabbed her motley mutt and I quickly swayed away (bean was asleep!) Not a bit bloody, not even scared (she greeted several other dogs with pleasure), she was a sight to behold if mud and slobber is your cup of tea.
A was not pleased. (Though he did chuckle and roll his eyes at my penchant for trouble.) And not home.
But, as always, my dad saved the day. I’d invited my family over to play with bean and they helped me inside, muddy dog and all. I intended to bathe the boom but bean was having a fit having just woken and without even a drop of nummies. So, dad swooped in, rolled up his sleeves, scrubbed and scrubbed and void la! boomer sure is one clean pup.
e, boom and I are weary, one and the same. But tonight seems like Christmas morning: something we shouldn’t miss for as constant a thing as sleep. Finally, he comes. A walks in after three nights away. Not nineteen, not an eternity, but he surely was missed. e did his new little happy wiggle for A and A countered with a happy laughter of his own.
I’m on e’s mat, waiting for him to finish his nighttime toy check before he crawls in beside me. He goes through his blocks and his string, pauses at the spoon he so dearly loves, peeks at the crack in the door, walks along the nightstand and the bed, dismounts and crawls toward the mattress. He sits next to me, singing and bouncing, getting out that last bit of pent-up energy before he lays down his sweet head. Just at that moment, boom bursts through the door, shoving it aside, and clambers atop the armchair sitting right next to e’s mat. She stares down, he stares up, and they converse.
Such precious dears, this boom and this bean.