juicy cheeks: the down side

Waylon's face was assaulted in church nursery this past Sunday.

Joey and I show up to pick him up after church and he meets us at the door, Blanket in hand, puffy-eyed, face swollen. "We were just about to page you," Nursery Lady One says. "He got bit on the cheek."

Waylon's all smiles...and a few sniffles.

"We usually have some ice packs that we use when something like this happens," Nursery Lady Two interjects, "but all we could find was this teething ring and he just tries to bite it every time we put it on his cheek."

"I'm so so sorry," says NL1. "Really sorry."

"It's ok," I say. "It's not your fault." I take Waylon from NL1 to cuddle him a minute, offering unneeded support and sympathy. The kid seems fine to me, apart from his puffier-than-usual cheek with a perfect pink and purple ring that goes from his eye to his chin.

"That's the one that bit him," NL2 points to Dennis the Menace sitting patiently on the front of the stroller bus in the hallway, all too familiar with the current situation. He must spend lots of time in a time-out chair, or the Principal's office.

How old is that kid? I think to myself. Five? Geez.

It was Waylon's first Sunday in the "Walkers" class, but I had no idea it included one to five-year-olds. (Ok, I know he wasn't that old, but he was a good deal more mature than Waylon. I made a quick mental comparison based on the kind of shoes the two were wearing. Waylon's still in soft-soled slippers = an innocent new walker. This wack was wearing thick, rubber-soled hiking boots = seasoned, professional baby-biter.) Later, as Joey and I hashed and re-hashed the morning, we decided that squirt had "trouble-maker" written all over him. From his spiked, crooked dirty-blond hair to his steel-toed baby-kickers, he was up to no good.

"When something like this happens, we usually try to allow the parents to meet so they can talk about the situation," NL2 explains the procedure and hands me an accident report. "Treatment: Cold packs and lots of love," it read.

I pictured a thick-necked, meat-head dad that was always telling his boy to fight back and a Botox-injected flake of a mom that barely had time for her only child, what with all the mani-pedis and personal training sessions. I could not imagine a more awkward situation, so we bailed.

Even Waylon's eyeball was blood-shot. How did that punk get such a good mouthful of Dub's cheek? I was so sad for Waylon. Joey and I really were torn up. We're still recovering. Waylon was seriously fine. No big deal. His cheek got worse before it got better. We called him Shark Bate that day.

It's the first time someone else has intentionally hurt my son. The feelings I had were foreign to me. I wanted to make him better, to take the hurt away, and I really wanted to punish that kid. (We won't talk about the ideas I had.) The Mama Bear in me has been in hibernation, but she was rudely awakened Sunday morning. You don't need to tell me this won't be the first time. I'm aware we have a lifetime of this ahead of us. Most of the time, I choose to remain naive to the innate sinful nature born in all of us. I know the world is a mean and ugly place and that Waylon and I have a lot to learn. Lesson One was unexpected and hard. I think I could handle it all a little better if I could get a schedule, please.

I had told myself that with Waylon starting MDO in the next couple of weeks, this was only the beginning. Change of plans. Not going back to the Salon. Not starting MDO. God's doing something else that I don't know about.

Stay tuned.

m.d.uh-oh

Who knew that getting into Mother's Day Out was like acceptance to Yale? The plan is for me to go back to dL Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 9 to 1. Eight hours a week. You have no idea how much anxiety eight measley hours is causing me. Actually, if you've followed this blog, you probably do. So I figured I would just call up MDO, tell 'em we were coming and bam! Waylon would be kicking it with some other onesie friends a few hours a week, seeing what life is like on the other side. Not so fast.

Apparently, registration is in FEBRUARY. The sweet women that I've talked to at several churches gently let me down with an aww-sweetie undertone. Man! Who do you have to pay off in this city to get your kid in good??

We're still trying. And praying. God will open up the place where Waylon is supposed to be, I know. Or He won't and that will be a clear sign that I am not supposed to go anywhere.

The good news is that Waylon will definitely get into Briarwood next year. That's, apparently, an accomplishment. I did put aside all pretenses and doubts and look at one place in Moody. Not going to happen. It's exactly what I pretensed. Yeck.

In the meantime, September will not slow down. It's constant action in the Adams' home. Joey and I have a fourth anniversary coming up in a few days. Maybe we'll order pizza.

addendum

There was the one time that Waylon tee-teed in his mouth. I forgot that. That was nuts. I couldn't stop it or block it or get it under control - like a lose fire hose.

And the very next night (from my original post), Stella showed Waylon how to eat poop. Sure enough. I left the two of them in the back yard for all of 10 seconds and come around the corner to find Waylon with another decrepit turd IN HIS MOUTH. He knew he was busted. Either that or I terrified him with my scream and stupefied him with my lightening speed and vicious retrieval. Either way, he pulled it out as soon as he saw the horror on my face.

I might suggest that it was the same turd from the night before (Why, you're wondering, don't they scoop the poop out of the yard? I don't have an answer for you.) But the moment I wrestled the inaugural turd from his clammy hand, I launched it over our fence in the direction of the dog park, without considering any passers-by. There were no screams or yelps immediately following the flight, so I assume no animals or people were injured in the making of this short, animated film.

To do this weekend:
1. Scoop poop in back yard. And front yard. And side yard. Just in case.

For the first time this very morning, Waylon led me to his room to put him down for his morning nap, more or less. We were watching a little show and he disappeared around the corner, returning a minute or so later with his Blanket. He snuggles into me for a minute, then puts himself down and heads back down the hall, stopping halfway and looking back at me as if to say, Come with me, please. So I did. Straight to his crib, where he reached for his pacifier, then turned and flung himself on the rocking chair. Ok, ok. I get it. Nap time. You got it, man.

Since Waylon is now allowed in the kitchen, he is spending more and more time with the dogs, who are only allowed in the kitchen. While Stella is obviously the more spirited and energetic of the two, she remains slightly skeptical and nervous of this pint-sized person batting at her head and tugging her tail and whiskers. Waylon tried to win her over for a minute. He chased her round and round the kitchen with a ball, but she would have none of it. He could chase her with a goldfish and they might be buds. Brock, on the other hand, is a bump on a log most of the time. A very in-the-way bump that tends to create tricky obstacles for Waylon to maneuver around. But what he lacks in energy, he more than makes up for with patience and gentle curiosity. What I'm trying to say is that I think he loves Waylon. I think they love each other. It's so cute (never have you ever heard me say anything positive about Brock, right?) The downside is that Brock has no idea he outweighs Waylon by 100 pounds. He's knocked him around a time or five. And when Waylon offers Brock the ball (he hasn't figured out the smartest thing is to just throw it to him), as gentle as he tries to be, Brock takes Waylon's entire arm in his mouth. Waylon just makes that famous face, then takes the ball back.

Waylon is a share-baby. He offers everything to Brock and Stella...and the rocking horse in his room that he thinks is the strangest dog he's ever seen. He offers milk and balls and rocks and leaves and food. I enjoy Waylon interacting with the dogs. I just hope he learns caution as well as generosity. And I wish they were hairless. And both girls.

the wonder year: a recap

Waylon is a real, actual walking, talking person-in-training now. He has a whole year under his belt and no longer qualifies as a baby. Technically. He is seasoned. He is amazing.

This past year has been amazing. It has, without a doubt and I'm sure much to your surprise, been the best, most wonderful, exciting, challenging, life-changing, heart-smiling year of my entire 28 years. Waylon has changed my life in all the ways I thought he would and more. Funny, really, when I compare our 'first' year to that of some other yearlings I know, ours has been rather uneventful. Let's recap...

Waylon's only been sick twice. Once with a cold (which I caught and nearly died from (not really)) and once, more recently, with a very mild case of croup.

Joey and I have never left Waylon overnight, though Waylon and I have left Joey overnight a couple of times to visit Lolly. We missed him greatly.

I can probably count the number of times we've seen Waylon's blood on one hand, maybe less than one hand. Now that he's walking it is a little more frequent, but rare all the same - mostly busted lips due to over-zealous feet and less than cat-like hands.

The longest I've been away from Waylon is somewhere between two and three hours, I think. And I think Joey kept him. We like to stick together, me and Dub.

Waylon's gone a whole year of life and one month of walking without eating anything terribly traumatic. I did have to fish a couple handfuls of fireplace gravel out of his mouth, as you will recall, and now that we are playing outside more he tends to sample the more natural fare - mostly dirt and grass, but the occasional bark or flower as well. No dog food (which I am anxiously awaiting seeing as Waylon is now allowed in the kitchen where the dogs' food stays). No poop (though he was playing with a decrepit turd in the back yard just last night. Something else I've been anxiously awaiting). He has consumed his fair share of magazine pages and book corners. Nonetheless, he pretty much sticks to what we put on his tray. And the boy does love food. The only things that he really does not like are asparagus.....and come to think of it, I can't recall the other. There's only one more, though. His palette is broad and rather mature for his green age. He digs most vegetables and all fruits. As a matter of fact, his unlikely penchant for certain cuisine has been known to baffle even his own relatives. Thing is, we started giving him that stuff on day one. It's all he's ever known. In case you're curious, that's the way to do it.

Waylon hasn't had to be rushed anywhere. No ERs. No bathtubs. He's a pretty careful kid. My word is 'easy.' 'Easy, Waylon,' I say to him as he raises his chubby little foot high over the door step, one ball in each hand, making the preliminary 'man-this-is-gonna-smart' face he's so famous for. 'Easy, Buddy.' And you know, I really think it works. He usually stops what he's doing or slows down long enough for me to offer a helping hand.

He hasn't figured out a diaper's mechanics yet. Thank goodness. Like I said, the only poop he's played with was last night and it only lasted a moment...I think.

He hasn't taken a bottle since he was about five months old, and only takes a pacifier when he's supposed to be sleeping. Remember? We went backwards from bottle to breast and now sippy cup. I am refusing to give him a bottle again. We are currently sort of weaning. He is only nursing when he wakes up in the morning and right before bed. These are our best times of the day. He's snuggly and sweet and we just have a few moments together. I'm not in a hurry to let those go.

He's had three haircuts, all by yours truly.

He's tailgated at an Auburn game. We are currently working on the phrases 'I love you' and 'War Eagle'. Whichever comes first.

Waylon is building his vocabulary daily (it seems like) and working on repeating sounds. So far, he says ball, bye, dog, mmma, dedede. He will copy noises like the one you make when you put something yucky in your mouth (pppt, yck, bleck, tss). And just this morning, he tried his hardest to say 'boom', but came up with bmm instead. According to Waylon he's speaking volumes. You hear him get up on his soapbox once and you know what I'm talking about. The kid's got words, he just can't say 'em yet. But when he can...

Apparently, Waylon is somewhat of a social butterfly and a ham. We recently attended a friend's birthday party and Waylon made his rounds. He was everyone's insta-pal. He was patting knees and bear-hugging legs of people he'd never seen before, as if to say 'Thanks for coming. Glad to see ya.' He walked round and round the house, laughing and talking the whole way. That is until those hands and feet lost touch with one another and he busted a lip. It was all fun and games....

Waylon knows who our neighbors are, loves them and their house. (It's not quite baby-proofed yet and there are lots and lots of fun/breakable things to play with.) He tends to head that way all on his own whenever we're playing in the yard.

One of our favorite new games is 'Take everything out, Put everything back.' We do this over and over all day in different places around the house. The best place is Mama and Daddy's bathroom. Everything...everything comes out of the cabinets and into the bathtub. Then Mama gets it all out of the tub, puts it all back where it goes and we start over. Hours of fun. For some reason Waylon loves to put things in the tub - my socks, Joey's p.j.s, lotion, deodorant, brushes, balls, washcloths, everything goes in the tub. And then he just looks at it and says something along the lines of Hey look! I just threw the toothpaste in the tub too!! Toothpaste, tub, toothpaste, tub. What else...

Waylon still loves to play peep-eye. The best thing in the world is to hide from it. The best thing to use is his Blanket. The very same blanket he used when he was brand new is his most treasured possession. It's knit, so he can cover his face, become virtually invisible and still see out. It's his greatest trick. He actually walks around the house like this. What he doesn't know, among other things, is that the giggles are a sure-fire giveaway.

He finally broke things. We knew this was bound to happen sooner or later and it only just happened in the last week. He broke a candle holder at a neighbor's house and a bowl at our house. No bones.

He still doesn't push or hit other kids (granted he's not around other kids that much). But, he has started acting out some frustration on Mama. And the kid is rather strong. I haven't cried or bled yet, but I'm sure those days are coming.

Waylon's thinking about playing center. Football. He loves to stand on his head and check things out from a bat's eye view. I'm still hoping for chess, but if football is the dream, I will be supportive and peek through my fingers.

On that note, the boy loves a ball. I mean loves. Any ball. He can throw and stop (not catch). Balls balls balls.

Oh, I just remembered another really gross thing he did last night. It wasn't a pretty, sweet night for Waylon. He picked up a dried up worm and broke it into pieces. I don't think any went in his mouth.

Waylon still loves a bath, only now they're bubble baths and way more fun. And he has dinosaur toys in there now and the T-Rex is his favorite. Weird.

He wears his Auburn jersey every game day, just like Mama, and actually seems to like watching football on tv, just like Mama.

He's still a spitting image of his Daddy, much to his Daddy's pleasure. As a matter of fact, I think Joey makes a point to rub it in at least once a day. 'Gosh he's adorable,' Joey says. 'Did anyone say he looks just like his Daddy today?' 'No, babe.' I say. 'No one did. But he still does.' He gobbles it up. But Waylon does have my skin tone. There.

In summary, he is the greatest person I've ever known. I love everything about him and I like it all, too. He is the best part of every one of my days. I can't wait to get him up in the morning and I drag my feet to his bed at night. And I know I can say the same for Joey, too. Most of the time. I think the Dad will be glad when he's trained a little better, like Brock and Stella. 'Go lay down,' and 'sit,' and 'shh' don't really command Waylon the way he'd like right now. One of Joey's co-workers told him months ago, when Waylon was little, that you spend the first part of his life trying to get him to talk and walk and the rest of his life trying to get him to sit down and hush.

Really, we both would tell you this parenting thing is all it's cracked up to be. Someone told me once that you always feel inadequate when you have a second or third or more children, like you don't have enough love to go around. I don't think it works that way. Instead of the family getting bigger and the love getting smaller, I think they both get big together. More is more. That's what I think. That's the way God's love works, anyway.