Another Year

On Sunday, Zachary turned two.

Two.

I cannot believe he has been in our lives for two whole years. I should be able to spew some poignant tribute to his wonderous persona. I’m sorry to be failing you in that respect. I simply can’t come up with the words. This past weekend was too much of an emotional roller coaster for me.

It all started with a trip to take the boys to see John’s parents. We haven’t been able to make the trip since Thanksgiving. That alone was enough to induce tears when John’s mom quietly whispered, in a resigned tone, that Zachy just didn’t know her. I felt guilty for keeping the boys from her, though I cannot help it. I gave living down there a try and it just did not work. This is where work and school are. We have a life up here that we simply did not have down there. And then it was Sunday.

Zach’s Birthday.

Also? It was Mother’s Day.

We were so busy traveling the four-hour trip, packing and unpacking the brightly-wrapped and be-ribboned packages fro the car, keeping the boys from tearing up Grandma’s house, well, that I completely forgot. It was May 13th. It was Mother’s Day Weekend. And I completely forgot thatt it was also the day after May 12th.

I forgot Mom’s Birthday. I didn’t take a second to stop and honor her memory, and then I felt even more guilt. For each year since her death, May 12th has been horrendous. Depressing and sad as I wallow in missing my Mom. And I have hated Mother’s Day for the same reason.

I forgot this year. I was wrapped up in Zachary, subconsciously procrastinating the memory of the Motherless Daughter. And as I saw the mother-daughter pairs at Zachy’s birthday party later in the day, I started to cry. And then the thought of my littlest baby growing up…I actually had to remove myself for a few minutes to get myself together. When I emerged, only John, who knows me best, could tell I had been crying. He is also the only one who would not have to ask why.

So I put on my smile: the smile of a mom.  The smile of a host. It started out so …fake. Then it was time.

Dimmed lights. The flicker of a “2″ candle. Happy Birthday, Dear Zachary. And I watched my honey-blomde angel relish his homemade red velvet birthday cake, made from scratch by his other Grandma–the one who is still living. I giggled as he squished handfuls into his face. I laughed out loud when we looked at the cake and icing goo between his fingers, exclaiming, “Ewwwwww!”,as he reached out and wiped them on me. We laughed some more when he threw a fit to go outside afterward, and we all chipped in to move his mountain of presents outside to make him happy. And I stood over him, taking photos at the top of his beautiful little head as he opened his gifts that were hand-picked by so many who love him.

For so many years, I have missed my mother while loathing this time of year. And Zachary was born this time of year, over six weeks before his due date. He came into the world in a manner that seemed so serendipitous, but now more than ever, I am questioning that. As a mom, I know that a mother will do anything in her power to ensure her children are taken care of. Does that translate to the beyond as well? Did my mother fix this time of year for me by sending a surprise little boy who looks just like her?

So that night, as Zach went to sleep, I watched over him. My mind flashed back on the little moments that have made up the time since his last birthday. On the day I found out I was pregnant with him. Evan made me love life. And then I got caught up in goals and plans and obligations. Then someone sent me Zachary. I was reminded of the beauty and wonder in the world and of what really, truly mattered in life. And I remembered how to laugh and smile again. There weren’t many who could have done that. John. Evan. Now Zach. And my Mom could’ve. Only them.

I’m not sure what else I have to say here. Not sure how to explain. I know I am failing mmiserably, like I said. So I am going to just stop here after I say one more thing.

I love you, Zachy. I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday to both of you.

Big Blubbery Sobs

So I always have some music playing, and I was actually listening to someone else’s playlist on Spotify and heard this song.

And I had to stop and catch my breath between the big blubbery sobbing I was doing.

Zach is going to be two. Evan will be elevenin September. In a couple years from that, he will be a teenager. God, it has gone so fast. Neck-breakingly, heart-breakingly fast.

My babies. oh, my babies.

We Do Not Beat Our Children, Schedules are Meant for Rearranging, and More Discoveries

We’re all about discoveries here in the Bitchypants household. Here are a few new ones.

We are finding the need to defend ourselves as parents. Not that anyone has accused me of anything. But still. Zach is into, well, EVERYFUCKINGTHING. He climbs up, crawls over and under, dives off of any surface he can find. And more and more, he is getting the little bumps and bruises of toddlerhood. And when you go out in public and your baby has a big bruise, you feel like you have to tell the story of how to everyone. He climbed up on a rolling toy…..he dove off of the arm of the sofa….he slipped and fell. This last one was a little harder to expalin. John was getting him out of bed in the morning and Zach was doing his usual game of “Catch me, Bitch” when John reached for him and Zachy head-butted John’s hand. Only John’s finger made contact with a little toddler eye. Yeah. Zachy go his first black eye. Insert big frowny face here. The evidence:

See! Even in the photo, he is climbing on a toy, reaching onto my desk. Seriously, kid!

Schedules are meant to be rearranged. Fo’ reals, yo! But here is the most awesome picture of the past week:

See that? No conditions there. Just my admission packet. For my MBA program. I am officially in. No ” You should be fine.” No “conditional admission”. Just……in. IN. IN!!!

So I made an appointment to schedule my classes for October and the shit got tricky. I only have three courses left to take of my first-year MBA program. What they call the foundation courses. And those are offered in intensive half-semesters. I finish the BSBA in September, so I could start the second half of the MBA session in October. Except none of my classes are offered then. They’re all offerred in August. They were going to make an exception and let me start while simultaneously finishing my last month of my BSBA, but ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???? I have a job. And kids. And I do not have a death wish. Especially considering that my first semester of the MBA will be full of financial accounting, macroecon, microecon, and one of the 700-level courses. No. So the solution? This summer, while John is off of his classes, I am going to triple my BSBA courses so I will finish August 15th and can start the MBA the following week. So I learned that where there is a will, there truly is a way.

Evan is a Con Artist. Seriously.

All of this time, we have been fighting him over homework. He made a confession to his therapist. Since he gets perfect test scores, he can pass without completing his homework, so in his mind, why should he do it? So on the nights when he fights and has meltdowns, we try and try before finally giving up and sending a note to his teacher. The next day, she keeps him in at recess to do what he didn’t do the night before. But it got to be too much. And so she changed it up. Now, he gets a zero like everybody else. And the result? He’s doing his homework. And scoring even higher on tests.

The proof is in his science test from this past week. My kid has been conning us all. Little booger.

Zachy started speech and is making strides every day. And he is getting it. Proof? Yesterday in the car, John missed his exit on the interstate, and responded with a “DAMN!!!” And from the backseat, crystal clear, we hear this baby voice say, “Damn!” The other day Zachy was playing outside and he was getting close to the infamous snake sighting of 2010. And I exclaimed, “Zachy, no, SNAKES!” To which he exclaimed, “SAKES!!!!” N left out intentionally. We say “Bus”, “WalMart”, “Evan” or “Bubby”, “Eat”, “SpongeBob”. He signs for “more”, “please”, “help”, “all done”, “eat”, and “drink”.  And e has the  cutest, throaty baby voice that melts my heart. I realized this is the first time I am really hearing it.

I was thinking about the next month or so when I realized that I never requested off for Zach’s second birthday. I was assuming it would fall on Saturday this year since it was  Friday last year. But it is Sunday. It’s Mother’s Day. His second birthday. The 13th. Mom’s birthday used to fall on Mother’s Day sometimes, too. And I hate Mother’s Day. And this year, we really can celebrate. Npw more than ever, I think Mom sent Zach to me. And P.S.–how in the hell is he already going to be turning TWO????

I think that about sums it up. For now. I’m sure there will be more as drama unfolds. We always have some of that.

Eleven

I started to write this on the eve of Chrstmas Eve. The eve of our eleventh anniversary.

Eleven years. 11. More than a decade. Double digits.

Somehow, as I started to write, words failed me. How has my life been impacted by John’s presence in it? Could I ever sum that all up in a blog post? Really?

I’m not going to insult your intelligence by reporting on rose-tinted images of what we are all raised to believe of marriage. It hasn’t been all roses. It has been real work, real sruggles at times. There have even been times where either one of us was tempted to throw in the towel. We never have. Sometimes this is out of love for each other and sometimes this is simply because we are just too damned stubborn to give up on this life we have built together. One thing has remained constant: I love him and he loves me. He gets me. The career and education I value so much? They are fires that he started. When it becomes too much, and I am about to give up–when it would be so much easier to just give up–he is the one to tell me I cnnot do so. He is my best friend. Not in the cliched way, but truly. When I am off of work, I don’t crave time with female friends. Instead, I run home to my husband. Not because I have to, but because I want to. He is where I belong.

Over the past week, I’ve been pondering some of the memories of the past eleven years. We sure have had some good ones. And some bad. Regardless, we stick it out together. That is how it should be and just how it is. But as I think of these times, I am taken back to the day they happened, as if I am there.

January, 2001. We hadn’t even been married a month. But something was different and I sent John to the store at 8AM for a pregnancy test. And that is when we found out Evan was coming. John was so excited that he picked me up and spun me around and around in our kitchen of that tiny apartment. We were so happy. Looking back, I see how dumb this truly was. But then we had no idea of what was to come with the pregnancy. Or that we should have taken more time to be an “us” before we tried to bring children into the mix. But we were so young and so in love, and it just seemed perfect.

November, 2003. John was on academic probation because he had mismanaged his time and didn’t study. We were going to meet with the Dean of Academic Affairs at the college to speak to her about getting him back on track. And in the midst of the conversation, he told her I was “too smart to not go back to school”. With that one little statement, I quit my job as a third-shift clerk at a convenience store and strapped on a backpack for the first time in almost 9 years on January 4, 2004. After a 4.0 semester, I applied for early admission to the respiratory program and was accepted. After many semesters of petitioning that same dean for permission to take more than the maximum allowable credits, I finished. But it was like a fire was lit and I needed more.

May, 2006. I was graduating. John was supposed to graduate with me, but the night before his most difficult final, he stayed up watching dvd’s. He ended up missing the grade he needed by 3 points. It was heartbreaking for him, but that didn’t stop him. As I walked across the stage to be handed my degree, the lights were blinding. I walked down the steps and regained my sight, and there he was. Arms open. Beaming smile. He was so proud of me. It had been years since my mother and father had both died and I remember thinking that it was nice to once again have someone who was so proud of me, who was that invested in my success.

April, 2008. I was getting an MRI. They had found a brain tumor on the right side of the frontal lobe. I had been having blinding headaches, and had to be on a pretty strong cocktail of drugs to even get out of bed. I was sad for what could come of my family, scared we were going to lose everything, that I was going to need a surgery that, according to the neurosurgeon, would have wiped out my memories. Memories of my child’s name, my mother’s existence, my wedding day. All of it, gone. There was so much riding on that scan, which was to be the determining factor in whether I needed the surgery. But I was claustrophobic and the emotions and anxiety flooded me as they attempted to advance me into the scanner. “Get John,” I croaked. The tech tried to protest, citing radiation exposure. But I couldn’t do it. Not just the scan. The whole damned thing. I needed him. And I realized suddenly that it was the first time I really needed anyone, ever. And suddenly, he was there. Lead apron and all. And as they advanced me into the scanner, I told him to make sure he did something to let me know he was there, even when I couldn’t see him. He did. For almost an hour, while I lay in that tube, he rested his hand on my right shin. He never took it off for a second. Sometimes, he would even absentmindedly tap out the rhythm of the magnets as they spun in an orbit around my head inside the scanner, and I would giggle. I didn’t fall asleep. I didn’t concentrate on the music they piped in to me. I concentrated on the warm spot where his hand was. My John. And I realized that I could do anything with him by my side. Anything.

July, 2008. We did lose everything. I lost my job–wrongfully–after the brain tumor. And he is the one who prompted me, after medical clearance, to go and apply for a job in my hometown. And I did. And I got it. And though John and I were pros when it came to throwing our stuff into U-Hauls, this time they hired a moving company to come and pack my house for me and move it all to the new address. And John and I, since Evan was in school, drove to Cincinnati. That was the day he drove out of the way so I could see the skyline of my hometown as I made my big return. And as we did, he looked at me and said, “Welcome Home, Baby.” Because he gets me.

May 13, 2010. Zachary was in the NICU and I was in the recovery room. John kept running in, breathless and excited, to tell me something new. “Andrea! They took off his hat and he has this black hair that sticks up all over! It is so awesome!” Or to show me a photo on the camera. Or to tell me how cute Zach was as he curled up in his little isolette. And I had to keep telling him to go and sit with the baby. To go and be with him, since I couldn’t. And when they finally brought Zach to me, John led the way as the nurse brought Zach into the room. Almost like a little kid presenting you with macaroni art–that look that says, “Look what I made.”

John and I will have many more memories. Some good and some not so good. It’s life. It’s love. It’s marriage. But I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. Without him here, dreams have no meaning. Nothing would be worth it.

I’ll close this with a video. John and I don’t really have a song. We have a couple that come close, but the cool part of our relationship is that any love song I hear still brings visions of him wherever I am. But this one, though he doesn’t like it, is one of the ones that sums John up to me.

Here’s to another year.

Moo, Dog, Eat, Bath, Bye, Go,

No, this is no an SAT or ACT question, as in what do these words have in common? This is a list of the words Zachary has said for the first time—in the past 48 hours.

What did I tell ya? That as soon as I start to worry about his failure to reach a milestone on time, he comes up with things on his own. And his little voice! That cute, sweet, baby voice is so adorable. It reminds me of the time when Evan really started talking. Only Evan was much older than Zach is now, and when Evan first really spoke, he spoke in paragraphs with enunciation tha belonged to a middle-aged college professor instead of a toddler. We would get stares anywhere we went, this mother and her child, speaking to one another like they were peers. It just goes with having a smart kid.

Zach is not Evan and Evan is not Zach. As Zachary’s personality unfolds, we can start to see that he is more like John than he is like me. Rambunctious, a lover of the outdoors, all boy. Evan is my intellectual child who would rather stay indoors with a computer or a good book. He’s temperamental where Zach is laid-back, much like John is easy-going and I am high-strung. Yin and yang. My boys. Zach wantts to play ball, and Evan would rather ponder the kinetic energy required to make the ball move.

And I love them both so much it hurts.

Holding Hands

Today, I tried something new, since John had the stroller with him in the car. Zach and I walked all the way to the neighborhood park, which is a pretty good distance when  your legs are 6 inches long (Zach’s, not mine). Zach did well, and his hard work was rewarded when we arrived, as he saw the swings and jungle gym and sand pit in a whole new light now that he is old enough to really enjoy them. Of course I took the camera, and I am glad I did. But I am not about to bore you with another long post of photos, all of Zach climbing on this or that, swinging, digging. But there is one photo I got that made my heart sing just a bit. And mourn a little too.  I intended to get just Zach in the photo, but I got something a little different this time.

Holding hands. Zachy and Mommy.

I have held both of my boys to my chest when they were really small. I’ve rocked them to sleep and cuddled them. I have kissed boo-boos and nursed a teething baby. I have stayed up all night, combing through my brain and baby books, trying everything to soothe a colicky baby. I have witnessed first words and first steps. I have had my day brightened by beaming smiles and the sound a baby giggles and childish laughter. But somehow, they grow. And they outgrow the little ball configuration on your chest. They get too big to wear in a wrap close to your heart. At some point, and you don’t even realize it at the time, but you look back and realize that the last time you nursed them was really the last time. If you would only have known, just had a small clue, you would have cherished it a little bit more. But just like that, it becomes a memory instead of something you just do.

And at some point, the concept of holding a child’s hand, of guiding them, becomes less literal and more of a metaphor for raising them. Oh, I still hold Evan’s hand. Just somehow, he doesn’t realize I’m doing it and the act is invisible to the eye. I hold on because I am their mother. And I love them enough to help them navigate the world as they find their own way. There is some cheesy quote out there, and forgive me for not knowing the exact words, or even the author, but it mentions that parents hold their child’s hand for a little while, but their heart forever.

One day, most definitely sooner than I would prefer, I will have to let go. It is at that point that I will hope that the cheesy quote is right. But for now, I’ll keep holding on.

(Almost) 18 Months and a Return to a Familiar Place

Zachy will be 18 Months next one week from today. As in halfway between one and two. I don’t know how this is possible when his birthday was jus yesterday and he was born just last week. But there it is.

He is so different from his brother. He loves being outside. When we go anywhere, he has to walk and be free. This has been the month where we had to buy refrigerator lock, make sure that the bathroom door stays closed, install more reliable cabinet locks. We have to take the knobs off of the stove after cooking, too. I thought they quit making stoves with the knobs on front for this reason, so that just tells you that the stove in this house is old as dirt. Today, I loaded the dishwasher, which I seldom use, only to have Zach keep turning it off. Which leads me to the most redneck thing I have done in my life.

Duct Tape. Duct tape is our friend, Y’all. I mean, we all know that it can be the hillbilly fix-all. But did you know that it is an excellent baby-proofing cure-all in a pinch? Turning the dishwasher off? Cover the dial with duct tape. Opening the oven door repeatedly? Duct tape on the side of the door buys you time until you can get to the store and buy a door lock for the oven. Playing with accordian closet doors, despite having just pinched his fingers? Wads of duct tape in the seams where the panels split keeps them from closing enough to squash tiny toddler fingers. There you have it: Redneck Parenting brought to you by Bitchypants.

I’m trying to come up with a list of new things he has mastered, but they are starting to blur together. Remember our sippy cup woes? Well, he finally will drink out of different ones. He is trying to use a spoon and fork, though he makes the biggest mess and eventually gives up. He still isn’t talking much, though I see a pattern with certain syllables and sounds. When Evan was this age, we were worried about his lack of vocabulary to the point that we had him evaluated by our state’s early intervention services. Turns out he had assigned his own nonsesne words to everything, and what sounded like jabber to us was actually a language he invented and mastered to represent the world around him. When he did start talking, it was with words that no toddler should even know, let alone pronounce and use in the proper context. I have a feeling this is also what is going on with Zach. He knows everything we tell him. He understands. The other day, I was looking for my stethoscope to leave for work. I kept asking John and Evan where it was. Zach ran off and came back with it in his little outstretched hands. What baby knows what a stethoscope is???? And he babbles the same sounds and syllables when we pass by businesses that we frequent locally. I think he may have more in common with his big brother than we imagined, and so I am trying not to worry. On the other hand, Evan was, after all, diagnosed with Asperger’s, so maybe I should be worrying…

So what are his likes and dislikes? Hmmm.

Likes:

Baths, Outdoors, Teddy Bears, Elmo (much to my dismay–I hate the commercialism of characters), chicken nuggets, V8 Fusion juice, jumping on our bed, puzzles, looking out the window, climbing, running, dancing to any kind of music, his GloWorm, the damned pacifier, yogurt of any kind, broccoli, books, ripping up paper, any toy trucks and making the vroom sound, McDonald’s (I’m so ashamed of that, but I assure you he has had it sparingly!), The Sesame Street theme song, and the damned J.G. Wentworth commercials–you know, “Call JAAAAAAAAYYYYYY GEEEEEEEE Went! Worth! 877 Cash Now! To which he will run to the tv, I swear!

Dislikes:

Getting dressed, diaper changes, his carseat, being carried anywhere, getting his teeth brushed, getting his nails trimmed, not getting his way, long car rides, riding in his stroller for too long, riding in a shopping cart for too long, mashed potatoes, when mommy reads or does any kind of school work, anybody being on the computer without allowing him  to sit on the desk and watch, being worn in the sling (this one makes me sad!), wearing bibs.

Okay, I think that’s it for now. Moving onward…

Blocks: A Pictorial

For his birthday this past Spring, Zachy got a set of old-school wooden blocks. You know the kind–lowercase on one side, uppercase on the other, numbers, some naked sides and some painted. No frills, no batteries. Just what I wanted for him. The problem was that up unil now, Zach has only been interested in the toys the flash, blink, spin, and screech. Today, John and I were trying to distract him while Evan sat at the kitchen table working on his math and spelling. Lately, Zach will go up to Bubby and harrass him, not understanding why Evan isn’t playing, and Evan will then be too distracted and will stop doing his homework that was an epic battle to get him started on in the first place. it’s ugly, so we’ve resorted to this tactic. This time, on a whim, we got the blocks out. I was building, John was building. And yes, Zach was building. He can stack blocks now, which is a big milestone in fine motor development, mind you. But then we realized something: Zach can be mean! He kept destroying John’s buildings, and of course, Daddy being the ultimate kid, John was more into the building than Zach was. John was even spelling words out like a little kid. And then Zach started picking the blocks up and chucking them at John’s head, giggling the whole time. Of course I got photos for you!

Playing peacefully. So sweet and innocent.

Zach at work.

My boys.

Daddy learned to spell his name with blocks!

Zach won't let Daddy build.

"Maybe I can while he's not looking. Hurry! Hurry!"

Here he comes. Dunh-dunh duuuuuuuunh!

"No, Zachy!"

Zachy SMASH! And then walks away...

Daddy starts again...

Annnnnnd he's back!

And this is right before he started firing them at our heads like missiles.

"All that destruction was tiring. I'll just sit right here."

Happy 17 Months, Zachy. (All Night Blog-a-Thon #5 and Final)

Zachy-Poo is 17 months old today.

Wow. It flies.

So where are we? Well, I’m starting to worry a bit again, even though I know from experience that he does everything in his own time.

He still has the whole Caveman-grunt thing going on. You can say whatever you want to him and he seems to understand almost everything. “Zachy, bring me those shoes.” And he does. “Do you want some juice?” And he walks to the kitchen. “Give me the red block.” And he does. But he won’t say  any of it. He says Mama, Daddeeeeee, Bubby, Mooo (for cows), bye-bye. He waves. He plays independently when appropriate.  He walks, he runs, he climbs. As a matter of fact, one of his favorite things is to climb on the new coffee table and dive into John’s recliner. Cute? yep. But it makes me a nervous wreck, especially after his bath when he is wearing footed pj’s and can easily slide on the table. Gah! And he loves, loves, loves looking out the window. He will climb all over the back of the sofa just to get a peek outside. And my favorite thing he does now? “Zachy, gimme a kiss!” And he comes up to you with little fish lips and plants one right on your cheek while making the muaaaaa sound. It melts my heart.

We haven’t made any progress on the swaddler, pacifier, and just-before-bedtime 2 oz. bottle. I think I am going to start with the bottle this week, gradually reducing the amount he gets until he doesn’t get one anymore. Then the swaddler. Then the binky. He mainly only uses the pacifier for sleep, anyhow. We try to keep them away from him during the day, but he is cutting molars and has been a little tyrant lately. Poor baby. And you know how they tell you that you can try and try to keep things away from kids and they will just improvise anyway? Well he has quite the collection of large wooden puzzles–the kind with the knobby handles on the pieces. He must have been looking for a pacifier and couldn’t find one during playtime, so I caught him walking around with a puzzle piece in his mouth backward as if it were a pacifier.

And he dances. AND he has rhythym. To anything, really. My ringtone on my phone is “Icky Thump” by The White Stripes. And I swear, everytime my phone rings, he starts doing his little dance. It is so adorable and funny. Tonight, we were in the car and I had some rap playing. John looked back and cracked up because Zachy was fist-pumping. I swear. I gotta stop killing my brain cells and his by watching Jersey Shore around him. (yeah, I just admitted that publically, and I equate it to a train wreck where you just can’t look away, no matter how much you want to do so.)

He is starting to thin out a little bit. I bought him all 24 Months clothing for the Fall, and they fit decently enough to already wear. It seems they get bigger on him everytime he wears them as his shape changes from that of a chubby baby to the shape of a little boy.

I’m afraid he is going to follow in my footsteps in one way I hoped he would not: my sensitivity to everything. This week, where he ised to have only a tiny patch the size of a quarter on his lower back, he has developed large patches of eczema all over his back and starting on his belly and thights as well. We have got to revert to the days where we wash all of his clothes seperately in Dreft. I also have to switch back from the baby bath products I use on him to the Baby Phisoderm that I used up until he was about 10 months old.

We’re practicing using spoons and forks and sitting at the big table without the highchair tray. For right now, he mainly just uses the utensils as a shovel to scoop the food out of his bowl and onto the floor beneath him. It is hard not to give in and just try to feed him or to resist the urge to just give him finger foods in order to eliminate the hassle, but I know he has to learn to eat like a big boy.

He is still very much the baby. Cuddly. Sweet. He will come up to us, curl into our chests and make the “Awwwwwwww” sound. And he’ll stay there for a while. He does the same with stuffed animals. He’s just a Cuddle Bug. This is why I think it is so hard to break him of the swaddler and why I think it was so hard to break him of the bumper in his crib. He would scootch up to where he was snuggled up against it and fall asleep. Now he has cold wooden bars to cozy up to. But we did it. We were successful in that, at least.

He is starting to get a little bit of separation anxiety. He’ll follow me to the door when I leave for work and I can hear John trying to comsole him as I walk away. It breaks my heart. Now, he has even gotten to the point that when he sees me put on scrubs or my stethoscope around my neck, he knows what is going down and will cling to my legs. Absolutely one of the worst parts of being a parent, that it. But it has to happen. Especially considering my addiction.

Zach has turned into to quite the little fasionisto. I was organizing and purging his closet the other day, and I was horrified. He has 23 pair of Pediped shoes. Because he needs them all for his outfits, damnit. Each pair matches certain outfits. The problem is that he is now wearing their Flex line, and they are about $50 a pair. yeah, do that math. I gotta stop. It is an addiction, but I insist it could be worse. I’m not one of these moms out there spending a ton on themselves while their kids wear rags. (John insists that these habits of mine are to blame for Evan’s metrosexual tendencies. My bad. But having a penis is no reason to not be put together well!)

So anyhow, that is the update on Zachary. Still an angel. Still a miracle. Still my baby.

Evan’s Day

Today we celebrated Evan’s tenth birthday. He got to choose what he wanted to do, where he wanted to eat. As long as it wasn’t an adult establishment, we could go there. Anywhere in Cincinnati. He chose City BBQ, followed by Miniature Golf. Overall, this was the end to a very eventful day for him: cupcakes at school, a meeting with his teachers, presents…

It was funny to see him tell everyone that it was his birthday. In addition to the cupcakes at school, as a result of his blurting this out all over Cincinnati, he was given sweets like you would not believe. It started at City BBQ, where the server gave him a free and gigantic slab of their fresh-baked homemade triple chocolate cake (of which he kept trying to sneak bites of in the middle of dinner), and it ended with a trip through a Starbucks drive-thru on the way home with free cake pops from the barrista who made our coffees. And then, as we were turning into the driveway, he said the word “ass” and I about died. When I corrected him, telling him of the word’s ugliness and that he shouldn’t say it, his response was, “Well, I am a Ten-Year-Old now!!! As if this implied that he is a grown man and can say what he pleases. Pffft. But I will admit, I found it hard not to laugh.

He got some pretty cool presents this year: a netbook, a bag/ case for said netbook, a couple of those huge Lego sets he loves, clothes, pajamas, and more. That was just from us. Grandma and Grandpa gave him toys.

So what follows is a barrage of photos from our day. His day. I was going to discuss more, but I do not feel like getting into the emotions of this tonight. That my child’s age is now reflected in double digits and he is more than halfway to 18 years. God, it goes so damned fast. But I am not getting into it. Tuesday is his coveted appointment at Children’s, and I am a ball of too much emotion right now. So look at some pictures, and know that we had a great day. A great decade. I love him so much.

On our way. Part of one of his new Lego sets in hand for the ride.

City BBQ has really good chicken tenders. Apparently good enough to make certain little boys forget their table manners.

The contraband triple chocolate cake---notice the missing bite and the damned for sticking out, yet he insisted he wasn't eating it.

John got pissed that I took a shot of him eating.

Zach, aka Mac-'n'-cheese Face, gets in on the celebration...AND my camera.

Mini Golf at this awesome little out-of-the-way course we found.

I really suck at this, and after no sleep all night AND day, all you get to see is the toes of my Asics. Sorry, Dudes. Isn't my pink ball cute, though?

The Birthday Boy, into the swing of things.

John-John in on the Putt-Putt action. Channeling Tiger. Or Happy Gilmore...

Waiting patiently for us to finish the 9th Hole.

Too much water for Zach to roam, but he enjoyed the sunshine safely from his stroller.