A Boob Explorer and Dreadful Urination

So you know how you teach your child to speak, and then you regret it, like daily?  Well, I regret teaching my child to speak. Like at all.

This past weekend we were camping with Cory’s family and Chase was playing outside with some of Cory’s aunts.  Mid-play, Chase walked up to one of Cory’s aunts and nonchalantly says, “You have nice boobs” and then struts away as if he throws out this compliment all of the time.  Everyone looked around semi-horrified and burst out laughing.  Chase looked at me, shrugged his little four-year-old shoulders and asked, “What?” As if this is something he thinks about all of the time.

When Cory returned from 4-wheeling, I told him about the compliment Chase hurled at his aunt.  Without any hesitation Chase pipes in and adds, “What? I’m a boob explorer.” 

So Cory is quite proud that our son is a hunter; a cougar hunter that is.    

(Insert the look of desperation and shame on my face right about now.)

On a completely unrelated note:

So I am 20 weeks into my second pregnancy and boy do first and second pregnancies differ, for a number of reasons. Let me share with you, my top 4 reasons why these pregnancies are different.  (Because 5 would be too predictable and conformist.)

#1. Peeing.  The thought of peeing yourself during a sneeze, a laugh or jumping, sounds horrendous during your first pregnancy.  You wouldn’t be caught dead telling anyone you accidentally urinated on yourself and now, with a second pregnancy, you just learn to wear two pairs of underwear at once, because a little urine is unavoidable and frankly, saves you a restroom trip.  Anyone on my speed dial gets daily texts that read: "Yup, peed myself 3 minutes ago."  Count yourself lucky if you don't have my digits.

#2.  Your growing belly. During your first pregnancy, you wear maternity clothes way before you start showing, in the hopes that you may look pregnant and cute.  This time around, I had to start wearing maternity clothes by week 6.  Not so cute when you have gained 30 pounds in four months.

#3. The delivery.  During my first pregnancy, I was scared for myself during delivery.  The thought of an 8 ½ pound baby emerging itself from your lady parts seemed terrifying (and a little disturbing when it’s put like that). This pregnancy, I am scared for my sleepy self after delivery.  Heck, being in a hospital hooked up to pain medication sounds like a treat and the perfect napping scenario.  Why didn’t I take advantage of that the first time around? Silly, Jayme. I’ll know better this time.

#4. Age.  My goodness, when did I get so old?  During my first pregnancy I felt like I could run marathons.  Okay, well maybe not marathons but I could at least stay awake past 8 pm.  Now, by the end of the evening, I don’t even want to walk to my bedroom.  I understand that I was younger when I was pregnant with Chase.  But only 5 years younger, not five decades younger.  I often find myself panting after a trip to the fridge and showering seems like an unreachable goal.

Any who, this is the week we (hopefully) get to find out the gender of our second little nugget.  We have decided to take Chase with to the ultrasound in hopes of reminding him that I am not not, in fact, going to give birth to a puppy, or his snail that died a few weeks ago.

Happy Tuesday!

Chase isn't only a fan of lady parts, but also art projects. This was his project from today. 

After our long weekend at the cabin.  The boys needed a nap. Rough life, huh?

You Know It's Time To...

Things I have learned this week:

You know it's time to... shave your legs when your child uses your leg as a scratching post to itch his mosquito bites.  

You know it's time to... start making some serious life changes when your husband says he's going to take the treadmill out and my first thought was, "oh, you're going to sell it" instead of getting it out to actually exercise. 

You know it's time to... intervene when your husband is in charge of bath night and you find your child and husband outside with the garden hose. 

Just a typical "bath night" at the Revermanns.  

A Baby, A Puppy, And A Salami Sandwich

So now, our family and friends, the Facebook world, the woman cleaning the bathroom at Walmart, Chase’s dentist, and all of the other people Chase has randomly blurted it out too, know we are expecting a baby early next year.  To say Chase is excited is a complete understatement.  

It’s no secret that Chase has wanted a “baby of his own” for some time now.  He hasn’t been very discrete about it, especially when he wished for a baby before he blew out the candles at his fourth birthday party.  It was sweet, but pathetic, very pathetic.  When we found out we were expecting a few months ago, we were so delighted to tell Chase.  Here was our conversation:

Me: “Chase, we are finally getting a baby.”

Chase: “I’m so happy; I hope it comes out a puppy.”

Forehead smack.

Chase has also been pondering what we should name our new family member.  So far, after we vetoed Chasey Jr. (a number of times), Chase has decided that if we have a girl, her name will be Pretty Pretty and if we have a boy, his name will be Salami Sandwich. Hmm, I think, as for now, he is off the naming committee.

So, as it turns out, we were not one and done.  Maybe two and we’re through?  J

Belly Button and a Finger

My child and I spend a significant amount of time together.  We can go weeks at a time being side by side (except for some bathroom trips), hip to hip, playing Legos and painting and reading books.  With this being said, you can imagine that most of my conversations are not that (how do I say this nicely?)… in-depth? Intelligent?  You pick.  So when I think a conversation may go knee deep, I jump right in.  But don’t worry; my nugget always finds a way to bring it back to the surface. 

The other day, Chase asked me why everyone has a belly button.  And I grasped at the chance to discuss this. I told him that the umbilical cord is a flexible tube that carries food and oxygen to a baby while in the mother’s stomach.  And when the baby comes out, it no longer needs the umbilical cord since the baby can breathe and eat on its own.  Then the umbilical cord then dries up and falls off and then you have a belly button.  (To be quite honest, I was quite impressed with my ability to rattle this off the top of my head without even Googling it. This went way better than our “hangy ball” discussion.  I looked it up later and that body part turns out to be called a uvula and it’s not actually called the hangy ball in the back of your throat.  But I didn’t want to lose all credibility with my child, so he still calls his uvula a hangy ball.)

Chase looked at me horrified and said, “Eww. That’s gross.  I wonder how far I can stick my finger in mine.”  He then proceeded to lift up his shirt and shove his finger, nail deep into his belly button.  

Any who, Happy Friday!

Our First Hospital Trip and Rolling Down the Windows

So about two weeks ago we had an eventful night.  Chase went to bed as usual.  Cory and I woke up around 1:30am to a strange sound in Chase’s room.  We ran in there to find Chase, awake gasping for breath.  Without even thinking, we grabbed Chase, still in his Scooby-Doo pajamas without shoes or underwear on, threw him into the car and drove to the Emergency Room. While on the way to the hospital he developed a strange barking cough in-between gasps for air.   

Luckily, we live close to the hospital so the dash to the ER was short.  We ran our little nugget inside and they rushed us back to a room where a doctor met us and assessed the situation.  Chase was so panicked that he followed all instructions and was a great patient- at this point.  (We are actually contemplating telling Chase he is dying when we have his 5 year check-up next year to save us some humiliation and win some cooperation from him.  That wouldn’t be bad parenting would it? I guess I have almost a year to tackle that moral dilemma.)  It turns out that Chase had developed Croup. (Croup is an infection of the upper airway, generally in children, which obstructs breathing and causes a characteristic barking cough.) The treatment for this is a nebulizer.  As you can imagine, my precious little nugget was less-than impressed with this and in true Chase fashion, this experience was anything less-than normal.  As it turns out, I ended up doing the nebulizer treatment on him in the hospital bed because the nurse was laughing too hard to hold the devise properly.  According to the nurse, She,“had never seen a child try to ninja kick a nebulizer attached his to his face before.”  Strange.

(On a side note: Sitting in the hospital really makes you start wishing you didn’t let your child win so many battles. Ex: While there, I kept wishing that I had actually made my child wear underwear to bed, or pajamas that fit, or cleaned out his ears this month.  Or that you actually wore a bra to bed that night.  You know, those totally rational things that are appropriate to be thinking about when your child is gasping for breath.) 

Anywho, one day resting at home with Mommy and Daddy did the trick and he was up harassing life again in no time.   

Doesn't everyone take a selfie at the hospital nowadays? Apparently Chase needs a "snacky snack" at 3 am and I am overly perky.  Poor Cory. 

On a completely unrelated note: While Chase and I were driving in the car the other day, I asked him if he wanted his window rolled down.  His response: “No, I didn’t fart.”  Apparently in our family, we only roll down windows if someone passes gas.  And looking back, that may be accurate.

Michael Jackson and My Toilet

So, my child and I have been talking sanitation for a while.  We have countless discussions, daily, about washing our hands.  Chase strongly feels that he shouldn't have to wash his hands after he goes to the bathroom because he can unzip his pajamas and urinate without even touching his man jewels.  And while I find this to be talent, I do not find it to be sanitary.  It took me a while to come up with the reason, “But you still touch the handle to flush the toilet and that is dirty,” to win the conversation. 

But of course Chase had a rebuttal, “Why don’t you wash the handle.” Although, I do try to keep a tidy home, I don’t wash down the toilet handle after every use.  I simply told him I don’t have time to do that. 

So yesterday morning, I hear my child’s bedroom door open, I hear him trot into the bathroom and unzip his pajamas.  I gave him a minute of privacy and then went into the bathroom to check on him and BOOM… What did I find?  My child wearing a frickin’ mitten on his “flushing” hand.  

That’s right, my child would rather resort to a Michael Jackson look-a-like than wash his hands after going to the bathroom.  And all he said to me was, “Looks like I don’t have to wash my hands.”  And yeah, the kid was kinda right, he didn’t need to wash his hands.  I hung my head in shame, for many reasons, as I walked out and closed the door behind me. Hoping that if I closed the door quickly enough, that shameful encounter didn't really happen.

Strangely enough, the thing I am pondering the most about this whole situation is; I don’t even know where the mitten came from and where its match is.  

Superhero Qualities

With Mother’s Day quickly approaching, I can’t help but think of all of the qualities Mothers’ poses.  We truly are Superheroes! Here are some of my Superhero qualities:

-I have impeccable eyesight:  Believe it or not, I can tell, with just one look (even from across the park), that my child has to poop and we need to skedaddle.  Some may not think this, in fact, is a superhero quality. Those people don’t have children. 

-I have the ability to be invisible: You know, when your child is the one acting out at the playground.  I’m super great at being incognito at these times.  You know, when all of the other moms are looking at each other making eye contact trying to figure out whose child is the one being unruly.  One of my talents is looking blankly back at them and shrugging my shoulders, all while pretending to scan the crowd of people pretending to look for that “unruly” child’s mother.  Then leaving shamelessly an hour later holding my “unruly” child’s hand as we skip to our car, blissfully; none the wiser. 

-I have the memory of an elephant:  Yeah, elephants have great memories, right?  Well, anyway I have a memory similar to some animal that has a great memory.  I have the ability to remember almost anything.  Well anything that has something to do with my child.  Ask me what my social security number is or what I had for lunch today and I will draw a blank.  But ask me to name every Teletubbie or when the last time my child pooped was and I can name them all.  I could even tell you what my child’s feces looked like, smelt like, the consistency of it and when I think he will relieve his bowels again.  If that isn't a superhero quality, I don’t know what is.   

-I have the ability to read minds:  The more this “Mother” title is on my resume; the better I am at reading minds.  Well, maybe not everyone’s minds, just my child’s.  For instance, I know three seconds before he tries to whip out his man jewels to urinate on a tree at the park.  I know in enough time to swoop in and swat his hands away from his waistline in the hopes that he won’t have to register as a sex offender at the sweet age of four.  I can also tell three seconds before my child tries to give someone a titty twister (or penny spinner as my child calls them nowadays).  Unfortunately, that is usually three seconds too late and there is nothing I can do (Well there is, this is when I call on my invisibility talent).

-I have excellent self-esteem: Although many people are self-confident in their parenting, I believe becoming a parent made me more confident in myself and in my decisions.  I mean, I had to become confident, I had no choice.  Do you know how many times a day I hear things like, “How come your butt is squishy?” Or my personal favorite: “How come my boobs are bigger than yours?”  If I hadn't built up my self-esteem, I may have ended it years ago. 

On serious note (I know, I can totally be serious once every four years): I do have a great life being my Little Nugget’s Mommy and I do know that I have a pretty sweet gig, especially since I get to work from home and enjoy my child more than most.  I think Chase described it perfectly the other day when we were in the car on our way to Target (Because honestly, don’t all of the best memories happen when you are on your way to Target?).  Chase was in the backseat, strapped into his car seat with his hands stretched behind his head, relaxing, and he looked at my reflection in the mirror and said, “Mom, it’s great that I have this life.”  (On a side note: this philosophical side of Chase ended just as quickly as it came; we ended up leaving Target prematurely due to a tantrum. Like one of those “that lady must be abducting that child” sort of tantrum.  Come on Mommies, you know the level of tantrum I’m talking about.)  

Happy Mother’s Day to all of the other Mommy Superheroes out there, and to anyone who fills that motherly role for anyone.  

My Nugget; wrapping fake presents for his imaginary pets.  I couldn't tell if this activity was cute or a cry for help. Either way, I got a half smile out of him for the picture.