We had a pretty big weekend. Jude transitioned from his toddler bed to his new big boy bed- a full size that completely freaks me out when I see how tiny he looks in it. Taylor pointed out that he will probably be in this new bed until he goes off to college and I had to fight back a few misty tears that are reserved only for things involving my babies (since I like to pretend like I'm made of steel and don't cry at sentimental mush- which I am finding out is a big fat lie. I blame it on hormones).
Taylor and I document all of these little "first" milestones in Jude's (and now Viv's) life, from first smiles and steps of course, to first grilled cheese sandwiches and poops in an adult sized toilet, complete with pictures naturally, because it's all super important stuff. I am Jude's personal paparazzi, snapping pictures of everything and trying to ignore my husband's snarky remarks about the irony of me being Japanese and always taking pictures (which is so douchey of him- I don't know why he feels like he needs to say stuff like that because he knows the reaction he'll get out of me- but that is a prime example of why we are together believe it or not). I always tell Taylor, "You'll thank me when we're old." I know when we're a little old couple someday, smelling of moth balls and fiber fortified cereal, these pictures will be our most worldly possessions. I find myself planning for old age a lot these days. Having children really kicks that into high gear.
So we made Jude's last night in his toddler bed the big deal that it is- because everything around here has to be a big deal and honored for the big deals that they are. You only get so many firsts before they become routine and uneventful. As usual, his routine was total cake- bath, tooth brushing, changing, picking out the book- all the while he's talking about how excited he is for his big boy bed. Then, right on cue, when the last page of the book is read and the book closes, all hell breaks loose and it becomes a desperate battle of him buying time.
One more drink of water. One more book. One more trip to the potty. Lately it isn't just a trip to the potty, but he suddenly has the need to poop. I have caught onto this new strategy of his. He goes into his connecting bathroom and sits on the toilet. Just sits there. He doesn't really need to do anything but instead wants to start up a conversation with you (or sometimes just with himself), because he knows that camping out on the throne buys even more extra time. For so long now we've been so adamant about him pooping on that potty that he expects a round of applause every time he does it. But Mommy wasn't born yesterday. I'm on to him.
My parents used to take photos of me when I would get mad and cry when I didn't get my way as a wee one. My "Boo Boo Face," is what they call it (and yes, I still make it). I've seen them all. When I was a teenager, I remember thinking how cruel they were to take photos of me being so pissed off. The nerve of them taking pleasure and getting a laugh out of my misery. Then I got older and had me a baby and I suddenly understand what's so funny. With everything you go through as a parent- all the sacrifices you make and the crying and temper tantrums and sleepless nights and messes to pick up and gross things to clean- you not only have to laugh sometimes, you have to laugh a lot. Sometimes out of delirium and most of the time at the expense of the child you love so very very much. Luckily, they make it pretty easy for you too.
Since Jude is mine and Taylor's, and comes from bloodlines like ours, I know that someday he too will appreciate pictures like these. He makes a gold medal boo boo face. NOTE: T and I already had the camera out and took plenty of happy "last day in the toddler bed" pictures of Jude and I reading his favorite book. But the cute pictures just aren't as much fun as these. When the book closed and it was time for bed, this is what we got:
I call this one above, "Baby Drama."
ONE...
LAST...
BOOK!!!
Yeah, so he totally won. I'm weak.
The next day we went to put his big boy bed together only to discover after we'd taken his toddler bed apart, that the converter pieces we'd ordered were not the correct pieces. Converter bed my ass! It's a long story that involves pieces of a converter bed that has pieces, so we discovered, that are manufactured in 3 different countries. For those who don't have kids and don't understand this, a converter bed goes from crib, to toddler bed to big person bed, growing with your kid and saving you money down the road- which is all great, that is unless you discount the money saved for the headache caused when the shit's pieces are not manufactured in a close enough proximity to get all the complete pieces you need to make it work. Yet another reason that too much outsourcing out of America is a stupid idea. So for now, Jude is ghetto rocking the mattress on the floor. It bothers his dad more than it bothers Jude, who is completely content so long as it is covered in sheets with cars and he can jump up and down on it.
Zzzzzzzzzz. Can't have too many photos of your kid wiped out and sleeping! This is bliss!
