you can’t stop him, you can only hope to contain him

This is what’s known in the industry as a “Christmas card photo shoot gone wrong.” On Thanksgiving we took about 8 million pictures like this one and in EVERY SINGLE ONE, either Evan is running away or someone is not looking at the camera or has a weird look on their face (and let’s face it, that person is usually me).

Once there are four of us, I’m sure we will be even less capable of taking group photographs.

pants emergency

Being pregnant is no picnic, let me tell you what. There are random aches and pains, it’s difficult to find a comfortable sleeping position, you’re constantly getting kicked in the innards, you have to choke down horse-sized vitamins and you are unable to enjoy a cocktail or glass of wine on Thanksgiving. But my chief complaint can be summed up as follows:

Ill-fitting pants.

Yes, that’s right. Ill-fitting pants, or IFPs, are by far the MOST annoying thing about being pregnant. Trust me, I’ve tried all the options. The demi panel, the low-rise, below-the-belly pants, the non-maternity pants in bigger sizes, the full panel with the giant pouch to accommodate the bowling ball that I’ve apparently swallowed. At this point, everything sags. It’s simple gravity. I hike up my IFPs all. the. time. When I get up from my chair. When I walk two steps. After I’ve grunted attractively trying to pick something up off the floor. The pants-hiking is driving me completely crazy. I’ve come to embrace the concept that the full panel style, however repugnant to me fashion-wise, is probably the most comfortable option right now because it resists the pull of gravity by anchoring above the belly instead of below. But it’s ugly! And it kind of bisects my abdomen in an annoying way!

Yesterday I got so fed up with all my uncomfortable pants that I declared a state of emergency. As soon as Evan went down for his nap, I headed out to the mall to see if I could find an alternative to wearing sweats to work.

Ladies and gentlemen, I located a life-changing pair of pants. They have what’s called a roll panel – so you can roll it down or wear it over the belly. But otherwise, they appear to the naked eye to be normal, reasonably stylish tan pants with a nice long boot-cut leg. And they are seriously comfortable. What up, The Gap? I love you, man. I mean, I hate you in normal times and had sworn off your pants for life, but maybe we can make a fresh start. I'm willing to give this one more shot if you are. Please take me back? Maybe we can just be friends right now until I've earned back your trust.

The long and short of it is that I may very well be sleeping in these bad boys tonight. And even if I don’t, my co-workers will be mighty sick of these in two months.

And that is what I am belatedly thankful for this holiday season.

at 32 months

His smile is infectious and his enthusiasm unbridled. He is independent and wants to do everything all by himself: climb in the car, peel bananas, turn on lights, close doors. His words take my breath away on a daily basis:

“You’re my best friend, Mommy,” he said the other day, completely unprompted.

He answers “Of course!” when I ask him for a small favor.

And the other day at the pool, we got into the hot tub for a few minutes and he announced “It’s an octagon!” I counted up the sides and sure enough, it was.

It blew my mind. I know every mother must say this, but I am constantly amazed by his intelligence.

He speaks in full sentences, knows every letter of the alphabet, has memorized page after page of the books we read him at night. His dad takes him to Starbucks early Saturday mornings, and when he hears them call “Grande Americano,” he says, “Daddy, your coffee’s ready!”

Everything he observes is a cause for celebration. Seeing a crab at the beach, or a bird flying overhead, or an airplane taking off – he can't contain his excitement. He literally insists on stopping to smell the flowers on our way out to the preschool parking lot. “Should we smell the flowers, Mommy?” he asks. I know the right answer.

I’ve said it before, but I really never used to be much of a kid person. I’m converted. I’m a “my kid” person. But now, I’d probably really like your kids too, now that my eyes have been opened.

I wanted to write this because I felt like my last few posts were whiny and filled with complaints about tantrums and typical toddler disagreeable behavior. I felt like I really needed to set the record straight and talk about the positives.

When I think about all the changes that the last 32 months have brought, I almost panic. I think oh no, it’s been close to three years. A few more of those chunks of time and he’ll be learning to drive and graduating from high school, not just eating with an adult-sized fork. That’s when I know he’s got it right.

Stopping to smell the sweet white flowers outside preschool is always the right thing to do.

real-life conversations with a two-year old

Below is an almost verbatim transcript of a few of the exchanges Evan and I enjoyed on the way to preschool today.

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Him: “What time is it, Mommy?”

Me: “It’s 7:51.”

Him: “It’s NOT 7:51!”

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Me: “Look, it’s really foggy outside today.”

Him: “No, it’s NOT really foggy outside.”

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Him: “Can I hold my lunchbox?”

Me: “Sure. Just don’t unzip it please.”

(I instantly hear unzipping noises)

Me: “Please don’t open your lunch right now.”

Him: “I’m NOT opening my lunch!”

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If I didn’t laugh about this? I WOULD CRY.