It’s Gotten So Bad That I Keep a List of Things To Tell You

I

Scene: beautiful rooftop pool-slash-lounge area, loft building, downtown Los Angeles. Late afternoon. Kyle has been running around all day, swimming, playing, etc. Mommy notices that he is making the Poop Face. Mommy gets materials ready, scoops up Kyle, swings him up to her hip, poised to head downstairs for a changing. A gasp rises from the crowd (Daddy and SvelteMom, with her own one-year-old nearby).

Daddy: Poo! Poo!
Mommy: (Feeling something hot trickling down her leg) That did NOT just happen…
SvelteMom: Oh yes, it happened.
Mommy (Looking down at the splattered deck) Oh shit…

Moral of the story: pool water and soft stools do NOT mix. At least, not well. Thanks to Daddy and SvelteMom for helping me clean up the rank mess and prevent me from losing my mind. My favorite shorts may be ruined, but at least I am still somewhat sane.

II

The above scene happened at the second of three parties Kyle and I attended last weekend. I learned that I should have picked one of the three and enjoyed that one to the hilt, sending my regrets to the others. In truth, I would have picked the first one, since it was a mere 5 minutes from our house, and included a pool party with Kyle’s little friends. We were there for about an hour and a half, and just as we got ready to leave, that’s when Kyle started coming out of his shell and enjoying the other children. At the end of the weekend, both he and I were exhausted, and Kyle’s sleep pattern was WAY off. Witness the 1:30 – 4:00 AM squirm party he captained in my bed on Monday morning. Good times.

III

Mozart vs. Mommy

Part of the bedtime ritual is that I sing a few little songs to Kyle with the lights out, ending with my version of Brahms’ Lullaby:

Lullaby
And good night
You are my little baby
You are Kyle Tracy Prince
And I love you very much

I love you very much,
Cuz you’re my little boy
Now it’s time for bed
So let’s go to sleep right now

During the Pacifier Wars (which I seem to be winning), the bedtime ritual became quite a struggle, and I started playing the Mozart CD that is always in the player. Now, when we get to Song Time, Kyle instantly points at the CD player with an emphatic UHHH! It’s pretty clear whose music he prefers. I flip the switch, on comes the first (movement? song? rhapsody?), and Kyle puts his little head on my shoulder and starts fondling his eyelashes. In my jealousy, I’m humming along to Mozart, which Kyle finds amusing. He looks up at me with a bemused smile on his face, then rests his cheek once again. Nice try, Mommy.