First stroller ride of 2009 (first EVER actually):
First stroller ride of 2010:
In the day to day I don’t realize how much he’s grown. When I look at these photos I can’t help but wish for time to just slow down already.
I’ve been saying for months that Lukas has a big head. He wears hats two sizes ahead of his clothes. People kept telling me that all babies seem to have big heads and it wasn’t a big deal. I wasn’t worried about his health, more that he’s going suffer from a lifetime of ill-fitting headwear like his mama.
My suspicions were confirmed on Friday at his one year appointment. While his height and weight were solidly in the 85th percentile, his head was in the 99.08th. The nurse measured it twice because she didn’t believe it. That’s my boy. Well, his dad has a big head too. Poor kid.
I think his head is to blame for his first serious injury. While he’s an incredibly skilled walker he still gets a bit off balance. He spent the night with Grandma Broccoli and Grandpa Larry on Saturday night and on Sunday morning he fell eyebrow first into their glass coffee table. He made it out with a lump and a scrape. And a large bowl of orange sherbert. The coffee table is being banished to Uncle E’s apartment.
On Sunday you turned one. You spent the day surrounded by people that love you, people that have been an incredible support to your dad and me over the last year. Our house was bursting at the seams. We are so fortunate.
Two years ago you were a hope, a constant prayer. Now you are a running, babbling, grinning boy. And you are ALL boy. Anything you can get into, you will. It’s no surprise that your first word was “Go!” (or Gus, depending on the situation). From the first time you rolled over to the night you tentatively took your first three steps in your monkey pajamas, you have been on the move and we’re just along for the ride. You like splashing in the dog dishes, climbing in the dishwasher, sneaking up the stairs if there is even just a tiny opening and pounding on the computer keyboard. You’re finally showing an interest in books, but only if they have real pictures or moving parts that you can destroy.
I’m often asked whether you take after me or your dad. It’s a tough question to answer because you are such an equal mix of the two of us. There are days when I look at you and it’s like looking at myself in a mirror. You even have the same droopy right eye when you get tired. Then you laugh and it sounds so much like your dad with the high pitched yelp followed by the Muppet-like heh heh heh. But you are your own person too. Curious, energetic, determined, very independent and a constant source of comedy.
I am incredibly proud of the little person you are becoming. You fascinate me daily. You were stronger than your daddy and I put together when you were in the hospital for four days with RSV back in March. I have never been so scared, but you barely batted an eye while being poked and prodded and you managed to smile when we all needed it the most. When you started daycare I thought there would be separation anxiety, but you just jumped right into the fold and made yourself at home with a confidence I don’t posess at nearly 30. I’ve started having you help me make decisions when we’re out and about. I’ll hold up two items and you’ll look from one to the other and back again. Slowly, deliberately and then you choose with conviction. Sure, it’s been toys, t-shirts, placemats and cheese, but you handle it in such a grown-up way. I just love watching you and would love to know your thoughts in those moments.
I hope that as your mom I have the courage to foster your unique qualities and not try to make you fit any mold, even if that feels like the easiest path. From the beginning I’ve tried to focus on doing what worked for us, for you. I think that may get harder as you get bigger, but I can promise that I will always be your biggest fan and source of support. You bring so much joy to everyone around you and that has been my greatest happiness as a parent.
Thank you for an incredible year. My heart is bigger, my arms are stronger and life is brighter with you in it. I am so blessed that you are mine.
We’ve purchased all of Lukas’ Christmas presents. We sent out a card/letter that was Lukas-centric. We made our annual trek to cut down our tree at the local tree farm. Lukas and I even spent a day baking cookies together. Just one last thing on the list…a visit to Santa.
Originally I was going to take L by myself but I somehow wrangled Bjorn into joining us. We ate an early dinner and headed off to the mall last night. I figured it wouldn’t be too busy on a Monday night this close to Christmas. Lukas was dressed in his new Santa pajamas and in a great mood. This was going to make for a fantastic Christmas memory. I was wrong. So, so wrong. We walked to Santa’s village and disovered a line of at least 150 people. We joined the line just to see how quickly it would move. After moving about 10 feet in twenty minutes we were onto Plan B. Take the kid’s picture with Santa somewhere in the distance and call it good.
(Bonus points if the picture includes a tired dad with stocking cap hair.)
I was grateful that he was too young to know what was going on and we could just leave without any major meltdowns. Next year we’ll go earlier, during the day, to a smaller mall.
Or we can go with Bjorn’s plan and just buy a Santa suit and con one of our loved ones to wear it.
I am pretty confident that we have our first word. Okay, so it’s more like a coordinated sound, but still.
For the last week or so L has been emphatically saying Guh. As in Gus. I wish I would have put money on this. When we first came home from the hospital I started to notice how often we were saying it, “Gus, get down!” “Gus! No!” “Gus, stop.”, and I told Bjorn that chances were Gus would be Lukas’ first word.
However, this may only be the case when he is at home. When he’s with Grandpa Jim it is very possible that it instead means GO! My child is OBSESSED with ceiling fans, and I’m pretty sure we’re well past the phase where they are supposed to be entertaining. My parents have three ceiling fans and Lukas has found a spot to sit where he can see all three simultaneously. He has also manipulated my dad into holding him and running back and forth between the fans. They even have a special routine. They walk near one, Lukas holds his arm out to salute the fan, my dad gets closer, yells GO!, spins the fan and then Lukas claps. It’s as adorable as it sounds.
One offshoot of this obsession is Lukas’ near catatonic state whenever the M*A*S*H* opening is on. My parents are both big fans of watching the reruns and as a result Lukas has become entranced. He gets completely still and quiet. I doubt that he even blinks. You better believe I DVR’ed a couple of episodes for when mommy needs a short break. It took a while, but we finally realized it wasn’t the music, but the HELICOPTERS.
I guess this means I’ll be out voted when the farm windmill discussion comes up again.
I figured that since I’m going to a get together on Saturday with the lovely -R- and my blog address is going to be shared it might be time to add something here that I actually wrote myself. I have such good intentions for updating this blog and then it falls by the wayside in favor of really fun things like laundry and keeping Lukas from playing in the dog bowls, redialing telemarketers, poking toys into the DVD player, licking shoes, et al.
I was wracking my brain for something, anything to write about that would be quick. I have a family drama story that I really want to share, but I’m going back and forth with whether that’s the right thing to do or not. It would also probably take a series of posts to actually get from beginning to end. I just don’t have that kind of time or dedication right now. Then I realized that tomorrow is December 4th. Known around these parts as Deer Day.
On December 4th, 1996, my best friend swerved off the road to miss hitting a deer and nailed a telephone pole instead. Thankfully she was 100% okay, though her mom’s car was totaled. Exactly one year later, on December 4th, 1997, while taking an unintended backroads detour I was hit by a deer with that very same friend in the car. Yes, I said hit by a deer. Again, we weren’t hurt and my beloved Chevy Celebrity suffered minor damage – I just had to squeeze myself out of a six inch door opening for a few weeks until the big dent was fixed. Every year we email or call each other in celebration of our shared ‘holiday’. Back in the day we even held a few Deer Day sleepovers where no one was allowed to drive. We were very fortunate in both instances that no one was hurt – in my case the deer even made it out unharmed.
Lukas and I were equally lucky last night. I was stopped to turn left onto our street and the car that was waiting at the stop sign there somehow didn’t see me and pulled out. I laid on the horn and she stopped just inches short of my driver’s side door. Granted, I was completely stopped and the other car wasn’t going fast so the accident would have likely been minor, but situations like that have taken on a much more serious note now that there is a helpless little person strapped into a carseat in the back. I made it safely to our garage before the tears started to flow.
I was prepared for deer, not a teenager on her cell phone.
[DISCLAIMER! I did not write the below post. I’m participating in a blog share hosted by the lovely -R-. Basically, this means that a group of bloggers has the opportunity to write anonymous posts and have what they’ve written posted on a blog that does not belong to them. It’s a lot of fun and the topics are always interesting. The full list of participants is at the end.]
On my own blog I wax poetically about how nice it would be to have an anonymous blog again. I could vent about certain parts of my life without having to worry about the fallout from people I know in 3-D. I could….well, yeah–that’s pretty much the entire allure of being able to say stuff that I know I won’t ever say on my own blog.
For the record, I am NOT one of those blog trolls who relishes in anonymity just to tell people they suck. Those trolls are lame. In fact, now that the opportunity is presented to me, I’m not sure what I want to write about or how personal I want to get.
So since I can’t decide, I’ll pose the question to you:
If you lived in a world where you wouldn’t be held accountable for what you said and did, what would you do? If that whole nobody knows me thing extended to the real world, I know a few things I would do.
Would ask the person living on the third floor which gender he/she is. I’ve been living in the same building as this person for more than two years and, in spite of some lengthy staring when we pass on the stairs or in the parking lot, I cannot figure out of it is a slightly effeminate dude with a girlfriend or a boyishly built lesbian. I swear–I’m not saying it to be funny, it’s true. I refer to it as the Hermaphrodite on the third floor. Which is mean but I never say that to its face. Still though, inquiring minds want to know!
Would yell at talkers in the movie theater, even if we had gone to see the movie together. How awesome would it be to whip around and say “you would understand what was going on if you would shut the fuck up!” I bet people would clap.
Would punch that little Asian guy in the face. Once upon a time on a trip to the grocery store I was standing in front of a produce display trying to figure out which leafy green thing belonged to which tag on the board above the display and some little old Asian guy grabbed my shoulder and shoved me out of his way so that he could grab a handful of…one of the leafy green things. And then he admonished me loudly in…Asian (am not racist, but did not want to assign a country in case it was the wrong one. Am not good with languages). My knee jerk reaction was to raise my fist but I put it down and simply walked away. Even though it was months ago, I still wish I had punched him. I don’t care if he was little or old or if I probably would have been charged with a hate crime. That was just rude.
Would pay Old Navy all my money to stop making commercials. Those things SUCK.
For me, blogging started out as an anonymous endeavor. And it was super fun and cathartic and I loved it. And then my Mom asked for the URL and I was really dumb and gave it to her (though I refuse to Facebook friend her). And then some work buddies wanted the URL. And then some childhood friends. And while I love that I have so many friends and family who want to be supportive. It is hard to be the me that I am when confronted by the expectations of the me they remember/want me to be/think I am.
I suppose we all have this problem, which is why we jump at the chance for anonymous posting opportunities like this one.
Not the Daddy: http://notthedaddy.blogspot.com
O is for Olson: https://oisforolson.wordpress.com
Red Red Whine: http://redredwhine.com
Rediscovering Me: http://leavingthecocoon.blogspot.com
Reflections in the Snow-covered Hills: http://snowcoveredhills.com
The Reluctant Grownup: http://gilliangaladriel.spaces.live.com/
Serendipity Now: http://serendipitynow.wordpress.com
So, This Is a Treadmill: http://sothisisatreadmill.blogspot.com
Thinking Some More: http://3carnations.blogspot.com
Time for Change: http://ngradstudent.blogspot.com
Together They Come: http://togethertheycome.wordpress.com
Wondering and Pondering: http://wonderingandpondering.wordpress.com
And You Know What Else: http://andyouknow.wordpress.com
Andrea Unplugged: http://andreaunplugged.wordpress.com
Bright Yellow World: http://brightyellowworld.com
Did I Say That Outloud?: http://tracyoutloud.blogspot.com
Dispatches from the Failed Mommy Club: http://failedmommy.com
Full of Snark: http://fullofsnark.com
Hot Chicks Dig Smart Men: http://hotchicksdigsmartmen.com
Just Below 63: http://littlepieceoftexas2.blogspot.com
The Little Goat: http://thelittlegoat.com