Deuce going to sleep reminds me of myself in labor. He flips his head from one side to the other fitfully while uttering a long, drawn-out moan that ends in a whimper. (It's usually kind of vibratto-ed by my thumping him on the back all the while.) Then he lies still for a few seconds, and starts over again. Unlike labor, it only takes about five minutes to accomplish the goal in this case.
It has been in the - ah, joy! - 50s since yesterday, and I finally pulled out one of the long-sleeved nightgowns I dyed before Deuce's birth. And because my joy makes me giddy, I also threw a pair of colorful Babylegs into the mix.
Groovy. Man, I can't wait to blackmail him with this photo.
Peanut's birthday was on Friday, and I should have posted about such a momentous occasion on the actual day, but was too busy trying to prepare for his party on Saturday. As the party was only a small affair, what I really mean was I was cleaning house like a madwoman. Meanwhile he snuck into the garage and discovered his present, so we didn't exactly pull off the surprise reveal we'd been hoping for. But he loved the train set, and has been playing with it nonstop since Saturday afternoon.
Here he is at his party.
I made this cake, and am happy to note that while it is no masterpiece, it would not have been a candidate for Cake Wrecks. This is about the best I can hope for, cake-wise.
Here he is after the sugar high took effect:
Yes, I have a three-year-old. It is an exciting, agonizing, pull-out-your-hair, laugh-until-you-cry, collapse into bed every night in exhaustion while thanking God you've made it through another day kind of thing. It is a roller-coaster ride, over hills and landmarks at breakneck speed. Every day I make a note of some quirk, some habit that needs to be recorded, knowing that he'll stop doing it within a week or two, on to the next thing, and I will forget the details that seem so amazing, funny, or exasperating today.
We've started signing again, so that I can brush up my skills for communicating with Deuce. Peanut now actually enjoys it instead of just putting up with my enthusiasm, but he has no idea that there is an actual language with real vocabulary involved, so he just makes up signs off the cuff for whatever he's doing. This morning we were eating donuts, so he informed me that he was making the sign for "donut", and bobbed his cupped hand upside down. Yesterday it was "chips" and "poop". I'm sure there are real signs for all these things, but I never have time to look them up when he's interested.
We were watching "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown" (one of my favorites) the other night, and in the opening scene Linus is traumatized by watching Lucy carve a pumpkin, moaning that "you didn't tell me you were gonna kill it!" and bursting into tears. Peanut pointed to the screen and observed, "He's so sad."
"Yes," I agreed, "Linus is sad."
He looked at me confidently and explained, "He wants some mommy milk."
Because, of course, mommy milk is the panacea for all sorrows and injuries in his world, so it must extend to everyone else too. My laughter was a tad rueful. I was a cautious supporter of extended breastfeeding and child-led weaning before I knew I'd still be nursing a three-year-old. Many in my family are beginning to emanate disapproval over it, and I can't say I'm thrilled with such clinginess, mainly because it makes me wonder if he's somehow not well-adjusted emotionally still to be so attached. Or maybe "addicted" is the better word.
But it isn't a battle I've cared to fight yet. At one point during our vacation, he had bumped his head pretty badly while roughhousing with some friends' kids, and refused to be comforted in any manner except a short nursing session. Later on we heard his little voice piping up from the back seat in the car, explaining soberly, "I get a boo-boo. I want some mommy milk. I get better."
With that kind of logic, how am I supposed to discourage him?
It is eleven p.m, time to wake him up for one last potty trip for the night. Two nights now with no accidents, hoping third is a charm.
I love that Peanut is a year ahead of my Joy--I get to prepare myself for her next stage by reading your blog posts. I can't tell you how many times she's done something, and just before I bang my head against a wall, I remember, "Oh yeah, Sunrise wrote about this sort of thing happening with Peanut. Phew."
ReplyDeleteAnd Deuce is adorable. Those blue eyes! What a sweetie.
Your cake is adorable—no need to worry about a cake wreck. LOL!
ReplyDeleteI figure raising your child is between you, your husband and your child and no one else.
Adorable pics.
Don't worry about the extended nursing; did you know that worldwide the average weaning age is 4? At least, that's what I remember reading. And I nursed my child #1 until she was 2 1/2 and child #2 until he was 3. It's good for them! I just loved Peanut's comments about mommy milk. Just think what a great attitude you're giving the boys towards women's bodies, now that they'll be able to remember the female body as source of nurture rather than just as a sex object.
ReplyDeleteadaon45
yes, but from how early an age do you have memories? is it a good idea for a grown man to remember suckling at his mother's breast? and at what point do the health benefits of "mommy's milk" no longer apply? and a grown man will always be fixated on breasts (unless he's gay, i suppose)....and is this perhaps subconscious encouragement that will cement the fever? just food for thought...i'm certain i will have hit a cord with those who are fervent proponents...but no ill will is intended.
ReplyDeleteHmm, is there something problematic about a grown man remembering how he used to suckle at his mother’s breast? Only if one sees nursing as something dirty or sick, which I don’t. Of course it’s a physical experience, a sensual experience, but the kind of sensuality that’s associated with bodily comfort and nurture. Truly, I can’t imagine there’d be any harm in a grown man remembering being loved like that!
ReplyDeleteActually, I think it’s more likely for something to be a fetish if it’s removed from embodied reality, as it were. Think of the typical fantasy female, the Barbie type who’s pencil thin but has a silicone-enhanced style bust. That’s no real female body! The women I’ve heard talk about extended nursing—I think it was a forum held by members of the La Leche league—specifically said their now-grown sons who’d nursed past infancy had a respect for women’s bodies as they really are, not as plastic fetish objects. Makes sense to me.
In any event, Sunrise, it’s important to do what’s right for YOU and your children, and not be swayed by what other people say, although I know from my own experience how disabling those veiled and not-so-veiled criticisms can be. And Peanut is obviously such a happy, well-adjusted child—you’ve nothing to worry about!
a45