Jack Kaden

I am using this as a placeholder so I can remember what Jack was doing when he was 21 months old:

Signing:

“clean up, clean up, everybody, everywhere” 

No. Not really. More like “knee up, knee up, mmmboda, eeeewhe” but enough that I woke up signing it my own self.

Dancing:

Specifically to Yo Gabba Gabba - Pajama Party Time,  and also? Some Stray Cats.  

Playing:

If I have to do the “5 little monkeys jumping on a bed” game ONE MORE TIME, those monkey’s are going to need more than a trip to a doctor… I am just saying.

But the thing is, I work. I work a lot. Like average 16 hours a day, a lot. And it has officially become uncool. 

So. I am looking into alternatives.

Firstly, I am attempting to get some help at work, so that I do NOT have to work quite so much…I have little hope that this will happen ’cause me getting help would pretty much rock the worlds of a bunch of other people who could care less that I saw Jack for the first time in 5 days, last night. 

So, we are also toying with me not working. Money would be tight, but my stress level, the panic attacks that I feel when I wake up at 4 in the morning wondering what the ‘eff I forgot to do the night before because I was so tired from all the working, yeah, all that shit would be gone. And I suspect I would be a better wife and mother because of it.

I’ve never NOT had a vocation, so the thought of falling into the abyss of stay at home mommydom is terrifying, but I am becoming more and more convinced that having it all is a complete and total myth, like the 50 calorie pinkberry and no pimples after 30.  So, if I HAVE to make a choice  (and we’re rapidly approaching that point) I happily choose Arch and Jack over my career. 

Stay tuned - because something has gotta give, and soon.

EDIT — It was time for a new look around here. Whadda ya think?

Last Sunday was a pretty huge day. First, we went to the Central Park Zoo with Sarah’s cousin Rick and girlfriend and her 2 children. We saw seals, monkeys and of course, the polar bears. Fun was had by all

Then, it was off to celebrate Maddys first birthday, so we hopped in a cab and zipped on over to the westside for some serious partying. There was cake and presents and balloons and balloons and balloons and balloons and balloons, oh did I mention that Jack likes balloons?

We spent part of our weekend in Brooklyn with Jen, Eddie, Mabel & Milo . We were there scoping out neighborhoods and in general just hanging out.

We went out to eat with them at the end of the day on Saturday and enjoyed the phenomon of babies in bars. Quite a lot of babies actually. Two per parent.

We’ve talked about having another baby, joked about, danced around the topic. Arch would love to have a little red headed girl, he says. I even went and talked to a new fancy high risk OB about our risks (this appointment involved me sitting in a waiting room with about 30 perfectly healthy pregnant women, I ended up in a corner metaphorically rocking back and forth.)  At the bar in Brooklyn, everyone had two children. There was Nora & Ferdinand, Gordon & Sadie, Mable & Milo, and then there was Jack.

Just Jack.

Part of me has no desire to have another baby. Health risks etc. don’t even factor into this feeling. Honestly, it’s the feeling that I have totally and completely short changed Jack, and Arch, and I need to focus on them 100% of my time (the WOHM ambivalence post is forthcoming).  How could I possibly deal with #2?

And then there is the practical part. The part where we know that I fall into that weird and wacky super-high risk pregnancy group. The special group where my OB sat me down and looked me in the eyes and said, “IF you decide to get pregnant again (emphasis hers), you and I will be seeing A LOT of each other.” And then she proceeded to tell me that our risk of a recurring placental abruption was about 10%.  Considering that our risk last time was 1% , those odds actually sound pretty shitty. Also? We will likely have the pleasure of hospital monitored bed rest, again.

I feel like I’ve let Arch and Jack down and this weekend really drove the feeling home. We’re three and everyone else is four, or even more (after all, 3 kids is the new 2).  WTF.

Jack has been throwing. And hitting. But mainly throwing.  We’ll look right at him and say, “Jack don’t throw that (cup, cracker, car, book)” And he’ll look at us, and his expression clearly says,

“You. You parent beings. What is this that you ask? Are you crazy? Why would I not want to throw this item?Throwing is FUN. SEE?!”

And then he’ll throw whatever he has holding…he’s actually got quite an arm.

So we’ve implemented a time-out system. He sits in the foyer by the bookshelf for exactly one minute.

The first 5 times or so he just sat in stunned silence. The second 5 times or so he tried to move out of his spot and we’d have to move him back. Now that he’s clear that he is being punished he has started screaming.  Big ole’ fake screams designed to curdle our blood.

I looked at Arch tonight and thought to myself,  wow, only about 15 more years of this.  Shit.