Baby, baby, baby
I haven't said much about the Munch lately. I guess I am afraid of being one of THOSE parents. You know, nothing to talk about but the baby, what the baby ate, baby poop, baby's new cute bah-bah sounds, baby likes Cheerios, baby, baby, baby.
I spent a full afternoon on Sunday with my friend Judy. We talked about loads of stuff, very little of which had to do with my progeny. I swear there were times I almost forgot about him entirely. It was like a little mini vacation. I realized how much I enjoyed being my own self for a little bit, and how I really need to try to do that more often. Of course, I was thrilled to see him when I got home, and he was pretty happy to see me too.
We've decided that it is time to have a regular babysitter on the docket, so that we can have a regular date night once a week or so. Where does one find one of these? The nature of babysitting seems to have changed drastically since I was 13. Now all I hear about are semi-professional babysitters who are nursing or child development students, who drive their own cars, are fully certified, and charge a small fortune to what still amounts to putting the kid to bed and watching some TV. Some how I thought that I had a bunch of good babysitting karma saved up from my teenage years, when I charged $1.50/hr, organized games and activities, cooked meals, and helped with homework. No such luck. I can't seem to find my 13 year old self here in the neighborhood. I would probably be arrested for leaving my child in the care of a child - reckless endangerment, or some such.
He's been a doll lately. Constantly chattering nonsense, laughing like a maniac, and having his own little "rock out" sessions where he throws his arms in the air and goes into ecstatic convusions. Usually while I am trying to feed him. He still fights going to sleep as if he were fighting off death itself. I think he is convinced that there is a party somewhere and I am making him miss it.
Oh, and he scoots. He scoots fast. I leave him in one room while I answer the phone and find him in another when I return seconds later. He's a little human Swiffer. He drools all over his shirt, then scoots - Swiffs - all through the house, collecting all sorts of filth and debre as he goes. And I would have sworn that the floor was clean. We have this little game. He scoots to the electrical cables/entertainment center/outlet/plastic bag when he thinks I am not looking. I swoop down and tell him quite sternly, "no! no, Griffin!" and he laughs. It's a wonderful game. I am sure there will be dicipline problems for years to come as a result.
Another scantron quiz awaits me in class tonight. Can I borrow a no. 2 pencil?
I spent a full afternoon on Sunday with my friend Judy. We talked about loads of stuff, very little of which had to do with my progeny. I swear there were times I almost forgot about him entirely. It was like a little mini vacation. I realized how much I enjoyed being my own self for a little bit, and how I really need to try to do that more often. Of course, I was thrilled to see him when I got home, and he was pretty happy to see me too.
We've decided that it is time to have a regular babysitter on the docket, so that we can have a regular date night once a week or so. Where does one find one of these? The nature of babysitting seems to have changed drastically since I was 13. Now all I hear about are semi-professional babysitters who are nursing or child development students, who drive their own cars, are fully certified, and charge a small fortune to what still amounts to putting the kid to bed and watching some TV. Some how I thought that I had a bunch of good babysitting karma saved up from my teenage years, when I charged $1.50/hr, organized games and activities, cooked meals, and helped with homework. No such luck. I can't seem to find my 13 year old self here in the neighborhood. I would probably be arrested for leaving my child in the care of a child - reckless endangerment, or some such.
He's been a doll lately. Constantly chattering nonsense, laughing like a maniac, and having his own little "rock out" sessions where he throws his arms in the air and goes into ecstatic convusions. Usually while I am trying to feed him. He still fights going to sleep as if he were fighting off death itself. I think he is convinced that there is a party somewhere and I am making him miss it.
Oh, and he scoots. He scoots fast. I leave him in one room while I answer the phone and find him in another when I return seconds later. He's a little human Swiffer. He drools all over his shirt, then scoots - Swiffs - all through the house, collecting all sorts of filth and debre as he goes. And I would have sworn that the floor was clean. We have this little game. He scoots to the electrical cables/entertainment center/outlet/plastic bag when he thinks I am not looking. I swoop down and tell him quite sternly, "no! no, Griffin!" and he laughs. It's a wonderful game. I am sure there will be dicipline problems for years to come as a result.
Another scantron quiz awaits me in class tonight. Can I borrow a no. 2 pencil?
posted by munchmom at 1:25 PM
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