so when I had my third dental appointment, or rather right before it, I found myself with 15 min to spare. So I went to the grocery store to grab a few things. In front of me in line was a young mom whose little girl was clutching a very worn pink bear lovie. I then impressed the woman by recognizing that her child was, in fact, a girl -- she had generic teddybear pjs and short hair, but I noticed the pink paci and lovey, sooo... N had two of this particular lovey, and never attached to it. I asked her if they had a spare, and when I learned she did not, got her address. I have one of the spares ready to mail (just missed the post today, ah well. hard to get time on spouse's computer (which has the postal scale & printer) when he isn;t on it.) so that should go out monday, along with two outfits for Felix, my SIL's little boy, and a book for <"queenalia">. Yay!

So, I get those babycenter e-mails that give you little tidbits about development "Your baby is X months & weeks today..." kinda thing. And for this week, this popped out at me: "When he gets loud or whiny, kneel down to your child's level and tell him you're listening. If he keeps it up, calmly say, "I can't understand you when you talk like that. Please use your normal voice and I'll be happy to listen to what you're saying." Eventually, he'll get the message."

Um, really? My daughter has some language -- "mama", "dada", "baby", "hello" "Byebye" and a few others, with a couple of signs (milk/food/all done) thrown in. What exactly is her "regular voice" here? This sounds like a conversation I have with my four-year-old when he whines, sure. But this is clearly labeled for a 15 month old. (And my son only started to talk at 15 months, come to think.) Do you really address tone at this age? Curious.

from last week... we drove past PrideFest downtown and E asks me what it is. I tell him it's an event for gays and lesbians to show they are proud of who they are. He then asks me what a lesbian is. I say it's a woman who marries another woman instead of a man, and again mention my friend Sandra (who has a little girl Soli with her partner Kresta.) He is thoughtful, and asks if two men ever get married. I say yes, and mention my friend David B. (who was just in town, and E is very fond of). I tell him that while David isn't married, he does have a boyfriend named Dennis. E then wants to know if Dennis is a dentist. He has repeated that question several times since our conversation, but seems uninterested in the rest of it.

hee.

1) Tornado warnings are scary. Sounds obvious, right? But actually hearing the eerie siren sound as you huddle in the tub with your two kids listening to a weather radio is rather freaky. Especially since my husband would not stop pacing to join us, and spent the whole time going back and forth from the bathroom to look outside despite the fact that the radio he had us listening to was saying quite clearly you needed to get into your "safe place" and stay there. Which since we have no basement, is the bathroom without a window. Assuming the radio told us a funnel cloud had been spotted in our area, spouse would have joined us and pulled a mattress over our head. But I'm not so certain we'd get such a message before we needed to actually do it.

2) I now have a basic list of what to bring into said small space:
children (obviously), purse (contains ID, keys, and cell phone), diaper bag (which thankfully still contains change of clothes for both kids in addition to diapers and wipes. even a spare shirt for me, come to think), shoes for everyone, weather radio, flashlight (presumably to help us see through the wreckage after we emerge), a few baby toys to keep N occupied, E's favorite stuffed toys and a small rocket, cat treats (to lure cat into the bathroom should said emergency take place. Don't think we'd be able to cram cat under the mattress with us due to the fact that she would scratch the crap out of the kids, but we could secure her under the sink and hope for the best. I'd rather give her best chance I can).

Odd to think about starting over just with that list. But do-able.

3) E was really really helpful playing with his sister, trying to keep her occupied. My sweet boy may have been peppering me with questions the whole time, and obviously was a bit anxious, but never so much that he wasn't worried about keeping the baby happy. I am blessed.

4) Did I mention the scary part?

So, if you've ever want to contemplate your issues with feeling comfortable in your skin, trying to feel that the way you look is, in fact, somewhere in that nebulous category of pretty/beautiful/aesthetically pleasing, have a daughter. Who is beautiful in every way. Who you wouldn't change a bit. Who somehow looks just like you. Even though you can't say the last two statements about yourself.

Interesting little mind warp, that.

I'm not trying to get sympathy or reassurance about my own appearance here, mind. It's just funny to me how adoring I can be of the exact same features in my child when it's hard to embrace it in myself. And my mind somehow absorbs the dichotomy without complaint. Maybe I don't need to be more compassionate towards myself. Maybe I just need to see that massive wide grin (made bigger by the few teeth, though she seems determined to change that on a daily basis), crinkly eyes and distinct mix of features that somehow don't photograph that well. But there they are, in front of me. And I embrace that, wholly. Here she is. And she's perfect, just as she is. Everything else, all those insecurities that nagged at me throughout my teen years, it's just noise. And I turn it down. To be with her. My baby girl.

http://betterbooktitles.com/

my favorite has to be the re-title on Crime and Punishment: Rent Was Too Damn High!

LOL.

And then she started teething. And then the tooth broke through, and she was still screaming and waking up 3 X a night. Double ear infection. Then the antibiotics. Then more teething.

She had two teeth when this started. She now has 4 on the top, 3 on the bottom, and one working its way through on the bottom. And we're back to nursing 2X a night, because I'd rather do that than dose her with Motrin weeks on end.

Poor baby. Tired mama. Rinse, repeat.

So I've become a bit of a Gleek -- totally blaming arkibet for that one -- and I was thinking about the last episode. Love the character of Blaine -- how he immediately responded to Kurt's isolation and is reaching out to him as a friend and mentor, and I'll be interested to see what happens with the football player. (if you haven't seen it yet, do. and we can obsess together.)

But it also made me think back to being 14 and at geek camp and sirpupnyc who was, in fact, the first boy I ever kissed. Mostly because (and I'm sure this is revealing enough of my self-esteem at the time) I was pretty sure he wouldn't laugh at me. And despite being gay and I'm sure a bit puzzled as to what the heck I was thinking, he never did. Not once.

I will *always* love him for that.

It's called "the body issue" and is mostly images of nearly naked athletes. (Some have sporting equipment, hands, ball caps etc. strategically placed.) And accompanying articles mostly deal with athletes recounting their experiences in their bodies -- some surviving accidents, some what it means to identify so strongly with what their bodies do. And it's riveting -- especially as I flip through pages of para-athletes, football players, a 63 year old runner (who is gorgeous. that always sounds condescending when you say that about a woman of "a certain age". But she *is*.)... even the bobsledder (who is a big bearded dude, completely toned, but not what I think if when I think the term "athlete." His photo could totally be a pin-up at any gathering of Bears) challenges my idea of what a fit body looks like.

very cool.

I posted this on my facebook, but wanted to share this here too. The story makes my heartache, though the response is very well-written. It discusses a case in Long Island where a 17-month-old boy was beaten to death by his mother's boyfriend for "acting like a girl"

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-rowe/what-it-says-about-us-whe_b_671373.html

Hugging my little guy. Tightly.