playing to your strengths

The past couple of weeks my sister and brother-in-law have been kind enough to let me stay with them during this, ahem, transitional time in my life.* In return, I have provided them with minutes of entertainment, several bottles of wine, and hours of free babysitting. One week I even babysat two evenings in a row, which prompted the following discussion between my sister and me:

Sister #1: “So, do you think you could watch That Baby on Thursday night?”

Me: “Sure, I’ll hang out with the Chicken Nugget.”

Sister #1: “Okay, but…I feel kind of bad, I mean, that’s two nights in a row.”

Me: “Yeah, but in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t really have a life right now. I hope to get one soon, but for the moment, I don’t, and I’m fine to babysit two nights in a row.”

Sister #1: “Okay, well, if you get a life between now and next week, let me know and I can get another sitter.”

Me: “Sure thing, I’ll keep you posted.”

And let’s be honest, Interwebers, babysitting the Chicken Nugget isn’t all that hard, considering I don’t get home until 6:30, and he goes to bed at 7 pm.

Note: I said goes to bed at 7 pm. One night after reading 16 books and singing half of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star (he gave my singing a dirty look so I stopped), I put him in his crib just after 7 pm, and 45 minutes later heard him still conversing with his duck blanket and pillow pet. I can’t imagine what topics the three of them were discussing so intently—the war in Afghanistan? Obamacare? Cheerios? Whether or not the American people should be asking Donald Trump’s hair to authenticate its birth certificate? Discerning, what, exactly, the point of using a spoon was when your hands work just as well?—but I wasn’t about to interrupt, and the conversation must have petered out because eventually there was nothing but silence.

Because I’m a good aunt. And a good aunt knows that as long as he’s not screaming bloody murder, there is nothing wrong with leaving a baby to chatter away in his crib so you can watch HGTV and drink a glass of cabernet in peace.

But I’d better be careful, lest my sister and brother-in-law throw their cares to the wind and try to exploit me for my lack of life and mad babysitting skillz, and beg and plead for me to babysit for the Chicken Nugget twice or thrice a week.

I’m not all that worried though, as that life I plan on getting should be here any minute now. Annny minute.

I hope.

*Transitional sounds a lot better than “this new job is freelance and until it goes FTE I am too chicken shit to sign a lease lest I jinx myself, get canned, and wind up clinging to too-expensive rent in an empty apartment because I never even got the chance to move my shit out of The Swede’s basement before my income went up shit’s creek.”**

**What? No, I don’t have unrealistic delusions Bag Lady Syndrome, WHY DO YOU ASK?

photo friday*: early/late

I’m in Chicago for the weekend, partially because the little Pot Pie is turning one year old.

It’s fun to be one!

You’ve seen a couple pictures of what he looks like most recently (here and here), being a crawler and a noise-maker and the like. But this is what he looked like a year ago, when I had driven in from Michigan, hung over as shit after my friend’s wedding, to meet my new little munchkin.

Has a year gone by already?

*No, not an official Calliope Photo Friday, but I’m trying to keep the dream alive.

all growns up

Cute, isn’t he? The little munchkin who keeps getting bigger and bigger every time I see him. In May, at Mother’s Day, he had less hair and no teeth.  Now there are two teeth on the bottom and swirly curls of blonde hair all around his head.

He recently managed to put all the pieces of movement together, and crawls around with ease, oftentimes closer and closer to the dog who doesn’t seem to believe that this thing can finally move. Now it does more than just cry and whine and make noise, the dog thinks, but it moves. The dog is secretly hoping that this is just a phase, so he won’t have to get up and move out of fear for his tail every time the little punk comes a-callin’.

He can feed himself now. Kind of. He hasn’t mastered utensils, but then, neither have I sometimes. But he can grab blueberries or bits of bagel and miniscule cheese cubes and shove them all in his mouth at once. He can sit nicely in a high chair while you and your sister are out to lunch, occasionally reaching for the turkey on ciabatta on your plate (thankfully you’re still faster on the draw than he is), munching on fancy baby food from a Food Network star and more pieces of bagel, his hands grubby from shoving the pureed turkey and…whatever else was in that packet….into his mouth in happiness.

And he can, when his mom gently moves his hand away from her white pants, turn sweetly to Aunt Molly and wipe those lovely grubby hands all over her navy blue pants, the food remnants of which will later crust over and look oh-so-attractive to passersby.

He’s really growing up.

Thanks to Sister #1 for snapping this photo of me and the little pot-pie.

this does not bode well for his college years

Sister #1 texted the other day that she got a new iPhone.

Me: You should send me a picture of my nephew

Sister #1: Okay, but it a picture to show how tired he is b/c someone doesn’t like naps

Me: Sounds like someone’s being an asshole

Sister #1: Totally. I think he’s getting more toofis

So she sent me a picture of him pre-nap, looking dazed, barefoot, and confused, like a mini-frat boy after one too many jaegerbombs, right before he passes out. Later, I got a text that he was awake again,  and a new picture was on its way.

Hey ladies....

“Dude, Ma, seriously? What are you doing here? You’re totally harshing the mellow of my pool party. The chicks are going to be here any minute.”

I see the future, and there is double secret probation by the time he turns 20.

Just like his momma.

insert chanting intro here

From the day we arrive on the planet…and blinking, step into the sun….

(Or, you know, seven months after you arrive on the planet, and you’re not so much stepping anywhere, seeing as how you’ve only just kind of gotten the hang of rolling over. And you don’t have any teeth.)

And the sun rolling high…in the sapphire sky…

(Actually, it was more like late afternoon.)

IT’S THE CIRCLE OF LIIIIIIFE! AND IT MOVE US AAA-ALLLL!…ON THE PATH UNWINDING…IT’S THE CIRCLLLEEEE….CIRCLE OF LIIIIIFE!

(And by circle of life we mean passing our love of Disney musicals on to the next generation.)

(You’re welcome.)

angry old man

I haven’t seen my nephew in person since Christmas. I’d seen pictures, though, so I knew he’d changed, knew he’d gotten bigger and that infant look he’d once sported had morphed into more of a little man.

I see the future, and I fear for his neighbors.

woe to me

Before Duncan came around, Toby was the baby.

He was good at being the baby.

He liked to stare at you with woeful eyes, pleading with you. “Just one more pet? One more ear scratch? I love you.  Please? I love you very much.”

And then he would lounge contentedly on you for as long as he pleased.
Because he was the baby.

And babies do that.

But now Duncan is the baby.

And Toby?

Not so much the baby anymore.

all the single ladies

SWM seeks companion. Likes: baths in a pod, light-up mobiles, yarfing on family members, being naked. Dislikes: not being fed on time, being put in a car seat, the Chicago Cubs.

changing the channel

Dear Duncan,

Glad to see that you’ve finally arrived, moseying into life one week past your due date. If this is the start of how it’s going to be—you showing up when you feel you’re ready, disregarding the fact that we have been WAITING for quite some time now—we’re going to have to fix that right quick. As the kids these days no longer say, homie don’t play that. Don’t make chronic lateness a habit; this is the first lesson you must learn.

And you should know that you have some big shoes to fill, coming into this world, usurping the position of Baby of the Family that I have proudly held for the past 30 years. Size 8 ½, sometimes a size 9, to be exact. 9 ½ if they’re running shoes. I will always be my own mother’s Princess Baby, but you, you are the Little Prince of the whole family. It’s a large title for such a little boy, barely two days old, but I have faith that you will do well. Focus on winning over the grandparents, and you’re golden. Grandma will be easy to win over. In fact, she’s already won. You haven’t even had to do anything except get born and she’s already pouncing on any opportunity to fling herself at your baby feet. Grandpa, on the other hand, may seem a little tougher, may seem like a gruff grizzly bear, but don’t be fooled, he’s really quite like a big teddy bear. Just don’t run around in his house, and don’t block the television when he’s watching football or basketball, and don’t yell, “JESUS CHRIST!” in front of him, because those are things he doesn’t like. Other than that, you’re on easy street, because he’s pretty enamored with you already as well.

Really, all you have to do is lay there all swaddled and looking brilliant and the entire family, myself included, swoons over you. Well, maybe not your dog, who probably will not take the usurpation of his baby position quite so well. So watch out for Toby, but don’t worry, he’ll come around. Especially when you start eating solid foods and he realizes there is a point to you, and that point is Human Food Flinger.

There’s a lot more to being Baby of the Family, but we won’t get into it right now. I’ll let you rest since moving day appears to have exhausted you.

Welcome to the world, Duncan, we are so, so glad you are here. We love you more than you know.

Love,

Aunt Molly

ha cha cha cha chaaa

We are officially on Baby Watch! 2009!

(Said by jumping out from around a corner and waving your hands to the side. If you’d like to add an enthusiastic Ha cha cha cha chaaaaa! at the end, This Girl is certainly not going to stop you.)

Baby Thundercat was supposed to show up on Saturday, but seeing as how I was standing up in a wedding that day, I was slightly relieved that he did not. And now it’s two days later, and Baby Watch! 2009! is a terrifically boring channel right now, as said baby does not seem to have any desire to come and greet the world and This Girl is currently in Chicago for the next week from DC and has been hoping he will show up while she is here and no she swears she won’t hold your late arrival against you, Thundercat, and deduct $10 from the value of every present she ever buys you for the rest of your life for every day you don’t show your face.

Since he’s not here, and to be polished and prepared, the supporting actress of Baby Watch! 2009! and I took the show on the road and got manicures and pedicures and then came home, where the dogs are also anxiously awaiting the arrival of Thundercat so we can get back to watching Animal Planet and House Hunters.

Okay, so maybe really they’re anxiously awaiting the dog cookie that I’m holding in my hand.

Baby….dog cookie…whatever.