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.

steps

Waylon walks - about four to five feet at a time. Not steps, feet. There are lots of steps. And he is so proud of himself. We are so proud of him. We have a little party every time and we all clap and cheer. He has got to be the cutest little walker I've ever seen.

And he stayed in the church nursery on Sunday like a champ. Took the blanket. Pep-talked on the way there. No big deal.

My man.

trying to remember: eleven months

a fun visit with some of our favorite girls

already a Dave fan (Ramsey, that is)

exploring Lolly's tupperware cabinet

Oh man, Waylon is almost ONE. Gasp.

You know how when someone is gone and you start to lose pieces of them a little at a time until one day, something calls them to mind and you try your hardest, but you can't find enough pieces to create a whole person, a whole memory?? It's like that with my Mimi most of the time. I keep things that were hers, that meant something to her, around my house on purpose, just to make me think about her often enough that I have enough memory-pieces to survive on. Well, it's like that with Waylon...only he's still here. It's just that he's changing so fast that I can't seem to remember him the way he was. It feels like he's always been crawling, always been babbling fluently, always been pulling up and walking along the furniture, always been the way he is. This, my friends, is why I blog. For this exact reason, one should make a record, a readable record of goings-on to pull up, savor and recall. Remember.

I really think a memory is such an amazing, complicated, absurd thing. It's as though you have to work out your brain. I know I know. They say you really do - crosswords and whatnot. It's just that you don't really think about having to work to remember a person, someone so close to you that you know every freckle and cowlick and which fingernails grow the fastest. I must take more pictures. And write more blogs, or notes, or post-its or something.

I can barely recall what it felt like to hold Waylon's tiny new body 11 months ago. I can't tell you what an eight-pound Waylon felt like. I forgot. I bet it was the best feeling in the world...until the next time I held him. I still think about how chick-fuzzy his little head was and how wrinkly and baggy his skin was and how searching and wise his big eyes were...have always been. I have a good grip on those things cause I think about them all the time. They are some of my favorites.

One of Waylon's sonograms is framed right next to our computer in our living room - I can still remember exactly what it felt like for him to move in my belly. So is one of my all-time favorite pictures of him on his very first day, looking straight through the camera lens - big, knowing, wrinkly eyes. I haven't once considered changing those pictures out. I keep them around for the same reason I keep Mimi's bronze giraffe right here.

All that to say, Waylon is 11 months old now. Almost a whole year has gone by and my head is spinning. I can't say that my nostalgia has completely let me down - I have enough pieces to put together a baby Waylon. It's just that this has all happened so quickly. He's eleven months old, and he...

crawl-runs laps around the house
follows me everywhere

kisses on demand

comes to get me when he's got a poop diaper

pulls up on and walks along everything

is unquestioningly too big for size three diapers

is running out of clothes that fit right (come on fall consignment sales!)

has had two haircuts (I just did the second one myself this morning and am highly impressed.)

will go find Daddy if prompted

is still not interested in tv shows he should probably be interested in. This is ok with us.

whines

has ridden a three-wheeler with his Pop (just this past weekend!)

does not sleep late enough with me and Joey in the same room

naps better than he ever has before

has 10 teeth (still cutting his first molars. Those have been tough.)

still nurses four times a day and eats three big-kid meals

responds appropriately to the words dog, ball, Lolly, Mama, Daddy, Waylon, hey, no, come here

is amazingly cooperative with this whole boundaries thing

listens very well

says 'yes' at just the right time

loves loves books

has tried to eat fireplace gravel twice

loves a bath

tolerates teeth-brushing

thinks Daddy's golf swing is hillarious

gets more fun by the minute

His personality is magnetic. I really am astonished at how mature he seems sometimes and how happy he is almost always. He plays so well by himself for long periods of time, all the while acknowledging the 'boundaries' Joey and I have set in place for him. He is so smart and curious and interactive and observant. And sometimes sensitive. And always entertaining.

He is my favorite person.

angst

It is entirely possible that Waylon is experiencing a degree of separation anxiety at the moment. Clarity: He has been staying in the nursery at church for the last couple of months. It's nice. It gives Joey and I the opportunity to be grown-ups together, alone for about 45 minutes. We get to sit in church together, undisturbed, focused, like we used to. I am a big fan of our church nursery. They are super nice, thorough and clean. Not to mention the fact that they have a police officer standing guard through all three services. Secure.

For the last, say, four times that we've taken Waylon to the nursery it hasn't gone well. First, when we picked him up he was crying, supposedly, because Miles was having a bottle and he wasn't. (Waylon wouldn't know what to do with a bottle if you gave him one. Not the issue.) It was funny that day, though. We talked about Miles and the bottle on the way home - that we should love Miles anyway, bottle-schmottle we said. Now we talk about Miles every Sunday on the way to church, like we know who the kid is and he and Waylon are good friends. We couldn't pick him out of a line-up. ha.

Next, I went to pick him up and Nursery Lady was walking around the halls with him, crying. He was, not Nursery Lady. She said he had been crying on and off for the last 30 minutes. He flew to me. Oh, how it broke my heart.

Then, I drop him off and he starts crying the moment he lands in Nursery Lady's arms. I duck away as quickly as possible and wait around the corner to see if he's going to relax. He doesn't. He sees me. It's all over. I take him to the Mothers' Room for the remainder of the service. (Which was actually kind of nice. We used to have our own little play group in there on Sunday mornings and we miss those kids.)

Yesterday, Joey and I drop him off together, crying commences at hand-off and we high-tail it down the hall. I don't know about this. Everything in me says Turn around. Go back to him and love on him. You don't have to leave him. But we do. I am tense for the next 45 minutes. I know, my inner mama knows that it's not going well in there. I am watching the screen intensely, waiting for our number to pop up, giving me the go-ahead, the green flag to race to the nursery and rescue him. It doesn't. Amazing. We go to pick him up and he's sitting on the floor (not alone, with a few others), crying. They weren't. He was. Facing the door, red eyes, snotty nose, can't-catch-his-breath, crying. He sees me and Joey and I can read his mind. It's not good. I hate the way I feel. There were too many babies per Nursery Lady. They were all busy. No one was getting him for me. My hand was on the knob, ready to get him for myself, when a Nursery Lady extra stepped in. Just in time. It was all I could do to just stand there and watch him cry.

I don't know what the solution is to the dilemma. I haven't read a lot on separation anxiety. What I do know is that it did not feel right to leave him while he was crying, watching us walk away, ignoring him. I am not okay with that. I don't want Waylon to think that crying gets him what he wants. It doesn't work like that at home. But, isn't this a particularly sensitive time/subject? Shouldn't we handle this a little differently than, say, another bite of ice cream or another m&m? Isn't this different from the camera, or my phone, or the remote control, or any other 'toy' he's not supposed to play with? Isn't there a way to be a little more tender and compassionate and sensitive and love him through this, when he appears to need us a little more than usual? Won't this phase not last very long and then he won't want anything to do with us? Let's be honest. Waylon has been the most ideal baby. I couldn't have dreamed up a better kid. He's allowed to be a little nervous around strangers. I just can not bring myself to accept, mentally or emotionally, looking him in the tear-filled eye and walking away when I don't have to. It's church nursery, for crying out loud.

No pun intended.

these knees are made for crawling

chubby feet

Lolly and Mama having too much fun with a shower cap.

Lolly and her boys.

smush face

sweetest Mama sugar

stander

walking Grandpa

close-up

Just vacuumed and mopped (for the second time this week) wearing from the toe up, flip-flops, undies, nursing bra with paper towels stuck underneath (for sweat, not milk) and pearls. Pretty. Reminds me of the time I was cleaning the shower (bird #1) whilst taking a shower (bird #2), thinking I was home alone - except for Waylon, of course. Joey busted me - yellow rubber glove, sponge and shower cap. Sexy. This may be too much information, but it made me stop and laugh.

This has been an eventful month. No wonder I've only blogged once. Waylon is officially a crawler. He is a man on the move. After he crawled accidentally on July Fourth, it took him a week or so to go again. It's been non-stop since. He follows me around the house. He pulls up on everything. He walks along furniture, and even from furniture to furniture. He is obsessed with danger; he wants to play on the brick hearth, in the actual fireplace, on the only metal/glass-top table in the whole house, in his diaper bucket. It's so tricky, too, because I don't know how to train a kid. I can train a dog, but kids are harder. I don't want to yell at him or spank him or scare him. I just want to teach him. And I really don't want to baby-proof my whole life. I would rather Waylon learn boundaries. I think he can do it. I think we can do it.

I finally broke down and bought a bumper for Waylon's crib. (Kind of late, I know.) But, come to find out, he was burrowing right into the rails and waking himself up. You know that can't be comfortable. Ever since the bumper installation, he has been sleeping like a you-know-what. Until last night...

He woke up crying at 11:30. I turned on the monitor to make sure he was ok and watch to see if he would settle back down. He usually does. He didn't. I went in to help him and he did not want me to leave, to say the least. I rocked him for a minute, which I usually do not do at night. Thought he was asleep, put him back, he loses it. I get him back up and try again. Same thing. So we go to the guest room to lie down together. He is awake. Just awake. Not upset (I guess cause he's with me). He just lay there, blinking, playing with my face. He finally fell asleep. I did, too. I don't know how long we slept, but at 3:00 this morning, I oh-so-carefully transferred him to his crib again and collapsed back in home-sweet-bed. He woke this morning at 6:00 (which is an hour early) crying. Put him back in bed with me and we slept 'til 8:00. Shew.

This is pretty much never happened before. Waylon has always slept through the night...I mean, since he started sleeping through the night. I think he may be working on tooth #9. We'll see soon enough, I suppose. Kyle asked me if I was taking it easy today. I said Goodness, yes. If laundry, vacuum, mop, shower, chase baby is easy. Yes.

It has been such a fun, big month for us around here. I was right, by the way. It is much easier now that Waylon can crawl than it was when he would just sit in the floor and cry until I would come walk him around the house. Slightly more dangerous, but easier. I think he'll be walking soon. I can't imagine...