You meet someone new. He's cute. He has a cool car. You talk. There's a spark. He's funny. Your mind lazily wanders into a romantic scenario that has the two of you walking along a beach, gazing at each other, holding hands, leaning in to kiss…
What you do not think is, "Maybe, if we're really lucky, in ten years we can spend the night together getting puked on by an eleven month old boy!"
So our little boy is very pathetic right now, in the grip of his first honest tummy bug. This morning I was the reigning champion of Getting Puked On By Kurt. Jeff pulled ahead this evening. The worst part is that he keeps faking us out by acting hungry, and we keep really wanting to believe he's better, so when we hear the "Mamama" sound, we give him some milk and/or water, and, well, it doesn't stay down. (Though the sound warms my heart, Ma-ma does not mean what you think it might mean. It means, "Bring me milk, bitches!! Pronto!") It hasn't all come up, thank heavens, because Kurt doesn't like Pedialyte, so he's not getting a lot of alternative hydration. ( By the way, I don't understand. Pedialyte is sweet and salty and fruity. Personally, I could probably live on the stuff. Kurt, not so much.) Anyway, our pediatrician was less concerned on the phone this morning about Kurt's prognosis and more concerned that we ourselves are shortly about to get infected with whatever plague he's got. It was a disturbing point. On the subject of Kurt's hydration, however, I have decided to not panic until business hours tomorrow. So far, he's in a lovely mood, except when puking.
It's been a while since I sat down to truly chronicle the events of our lives, mostly because there haven't been many. But, going way back in time to December 6th, Max officially turned older than dirt, and had a sushi picnic out on the lawn to celebrate. Oh so yummy. Afterward we retired to his apartment to play the Wii (his present from Danielle, of course) and to have some ice cream cake, just like Japanese have for thousands of years. Here's Kurt crowning Max the birthday king:The next day we went off to Tacoma, primarily to visit my mom, who had a knee replaced last month and is making a slow but certain recovery. We stopped by from the airport to see her. She was sleepy but happy to see her little guy:
In the morning she was far more awake:
I've spent some serious time hanging in nursing homes over the years. It never fails to get me how eyes light up everywhere when someone walks in holding a baby. Heads that were nodding look up, and old folks who rarely have anything to say to anyone suddenly have a litany of memories to share about their own babies. If it wasn't for the germs, I'd say there should be baby therapy regularly along with physical and occupational therapy. But babies, as we know, get old people sick, and vice versa, so we had to be careful.
The dose of baby therapy did good for my mom, however, who has had some bumps in the recovery process. She needs a lot of encouragement (scattered siblings, I am looking at you), however. Hopefully it won't be long before she can go home. Kurt seems to really like my mom, which is weird, because he tends to judge people's character purely by their energy level, which, in my mom's case, is pretty low. But she's soft and gentle, and she did have all those babies, so she must have picked up a trick or two along the way.
Visiting hours end, however, and when they did, we saw Jeff's roommate from college and his frenetic trio of adorable daughters, who took us to the Supermall (no joke, and it is pretty super), where Kurt had his first carousel ride.
We also saw the Rueters, and failed to remember our camera. We had a good time hanging out, as always. There is a traditional grape pie recipe in Jeff's family, and Amy Rueter is getting really good at making it and I don't think she's even thirty five yet. Makes me wonder what I'm doing with my life.
We also saw my brothers, of course, and Kurt finally got to go to Marty and Stephanie's house. Stephanie runs Kitty Haven. Kurt was very excited to be surrounded by his favorite non-human mammals. He's starting to make a particular sound around cats. I wouldn't go so far as to call it a word, but it sounds likes something that could ultimately evolve into "kitty" or "kitten," and I rarely hear him make it not at a furry animal. Once again, my desire for my child to be verbal may be coming into delusional play here. Stay tuned.
We left Tacoma on Thursday around 12:30, and I started missing my mom around 12:45. Thank goodness for my brother Rusty, who visits her every day, and Marty, who comes, if not every day, a lot.