Living Up To His Nickname

When we left for the hospital a week and a half ago, we were parents to a sweet, cute, pleasant little boy. Now we are parents to a sweet, cute, pleasant infant and a bossy, angry, disobedient two year-old.

The punk took some time off of being a little tyrant to hang out with his mama in the bathroom during her beautifying routine this morning. The difference between little girls and little boys? A little girl might play with her mom's makeup. A little boy uses his mom's makeup... to build towers on the toilet.

Rabbit Ears

Remember Jack? Well, his ears fell off.

The end.

22 No More

It is now hitting me that I am a changed woman. Motherhood has done a number on me.

One of the instances that brought this into sharp focus is the "nipple" conversation my man had with the punk the other day (referenced in my last blog post). When I was first married, I could not say this word. I had probably never said it in my life before the age of 22. As Sarah mentioned in my comments, this word is gross. Yes indeed. I have an aversion to the word "nipple" like my man has to the words "panties" and "moist." But apparently, one can't be a mom - especially a breastfeeding mom - without acknowledging this gross word as part of her anatomy.

You may wonder why the 2 year-old punk even knows this word. I certainly never say it to him, not even in reference to his little brother's eating habits. No, he learned this word months ago from his dad, who thought it important (rather, entertaining) to teach him where his own nipples are. And not only their location, but their sound. Cows say "mooo," pigs say "oink," and the punk's nipples say "wikki-wikki." Incidentally, his belly button says "wooba-wooba." Bet you didn't know body parts could talk!

Actually, if you're a mother of boys, or married to a man, or have ever lived with brothers, you know that body parts make plenty of noises. And that when this happens, these noises must be acknowledged. And celebrated. And that's the unfortunate topic for another day.

My Name is Asher Bell

Photos by Amy Gretchen

I was scheduled to be induced on Monday, but went into labor on Sunday. After fielding contractions all morning at home, my man and I checked into the hospital at 1:50 pm. Asher Junah Bell was born at 6:18 pm. An hour later, his older brother came to meet him:

The punk has welcomed his baby brother with open arms. We often have to remind him to be soft because he wants to climb all over him to give him hugs and kisses. This morning, he wanted to be especially helpful. When Dad told the punk that he was going to bring the baby to Mom for his breakfast, he offered to help:

"Asher eat MY nipple?"

Dad: "No, Buddy."

Then, wisely, the punk conceded: "Asher eat MOM's nipple."

Patriotic Punk

In order to get my mind off these contractions that are frequent and intense enough to be a big bother, but not regular enough to make the trip to the hospital, I thought I'd share a video with you. The punk and I often recite the Pledge of Allegiance together whenever we see a flag in our travels. Actually, I would recite the Pledge while he joined me in repeating a few of the words at the ends of phrases. So when one day, he spotted a giant waving flag and surprised me by reciting the entire thing, I was quite impressed by my little patriot.

Here, he shows off his skill while enjoying a blueberry pancake with powdered sugar and strawberries. I guess the red, white & blue breakfast was catalyst enough!

Worms

The punk and I took a misguided trip to the park this morning on the way home from the doctor's office. Granted, it isn't shiny and warm, but I figured if we came prepared with jackets (and pretzels), we would be able to kill an hour. As soon as we arrived on the playground, I discovered that the slides ended in pools of ice water. I guess 38 degrees isn't going to cut it. So we meandered back to the car with the promise of being able to play in the backyard.

On the way to the parking lot, the punk made a fascinating discovery: "Oooooooooh! Wooooooorrrrrms!" There were millions of them and he anxiously examined each one, being careful not to step on any of them. (I didn't bother to tell him they were already dead.)

Punk #2

The punk's online nickname was a bit of an accident. When I started writing about him, I called him several different things: Little dude, Little man, Baby Bell. I also called him the punk, and that one stuck over time. Now, because I like the punk's moniker so much, I've been fretting for 9 months over what to call his little brother online. The pressure is on! Here are a few ideas that have been swimming around in my head:

The bean

The goober

The mister

The menace

The hoodlum

The rascal

Please help me! I need your input! Please vote on your favorite here, or suggest a new nickname. The deadline is looming! 7 days and counting...