all I need is love

Faithful readers will recall that Bubba has adjusted extremely well to preschool. True, he only goes twice a week for three hours a day, but that's about all his mama could handle. When he's away at school, I look out the window in my bedroom/home office and wonder how much fun he's having without me.

Clearly a lot. Ever since he started school, I've become That Downer Lady. I go to pick him up and he looks at me with disdain, even, dare I say, repulsion. I am not the mommy he calls for in the morning or that he jumps up to hug, but That Lady who is taking him away from his friends and locking him in the car, against his will. I look around the room and all the other three year olds run gleefully into their parents' arms, shrieking and yelling, "MOMMY! MOMMY!," as if they've been apart for ten years.

WTH?

I appreciate and value Bubba's independence but I could use a little PDA. While he's ignoring me, I fantasize that the next time I pick him up, he will throw down his truck, race across the room and fling himself (gently, of course) onto my midsection. I will carry him outside while he smothers me with kisses and clings fervently to my neck, softly declaring, "Woman, you are the only one for me."

Then reality sinks in. I walk into his classroom, squat down awkwardly, whisper, "Magnus, time to go," and try to get him to hold my hand. The first day of school he burst into tears when I did this. The second day he shook his head vigorously and clenched his fists. The third day he screamed, "Nooooooo!" so loudly that I suspect the other parents thought I was not his guardian but some fat lady who was trying to kidnap him.

Today he just sighed but he did slip his little mitt into mine, then turned to say good-bye to his teacher. A huge wave of relief washed over me. We walked out to the car laughing and having a merry old time. Just like the other families! I was enthralled.

Then it happened. As soon as I opened the door for him to climb into his car seat, something snapped. He stopped and then let out a series of wails that could be heard in Texas.

Well, I can always dream.

our first b-day party with food allergies

Over the weekend we attended a birthday party for one of Magnus's preschool friends. (Side note: he's been in school only three and half weeks and we've fielded two b-day invitations already. Is this normal?)

As mentioned previously, Bubba is highly allergic to peanuts and has a moderate egg allergy, so I had a small pit in my (large) stomach as we arrived, knowing we would have to monitor pretty much everything he put in his mouth. Importantly (and sadly), we needed him to steer clear of the birthday cake, since we couldn't confirm that there was no cross-contamination with peanut products. See how this sucks?

Bubba handled it pretty well, I must say. When it came time to cut the cake, we pulled him aside and delicately explained that the cake would give him a stomach ache. He frowned and his mouth started to curve down. It occurred to me in that moment that I should have baked and brought him something that was safe to eat - hadn't I read that in every freaking food allergy blog, after all? For a second I thought I might tear up, as no parent wants their kid to feel left out. Thankfully one of Bubba's friends came up and they took off for the slide, so a full meltdown (him and I) was averted.

I decided, after much reflection when Bubba was diagnosed, that I would take his food allergies in stride. How he deals with it when he's older is going to hinge primarily on how J and I deal with it. Yet I can't seem to shake this lingering sadness. We are fortunate that Bubba is a healthy child; we can prevent a bad reaction from happening by being cautious and empowering him to do the same. But I wish with every cell in my body that he didn't have these allergies and could enjoy food freely, the way everyone else does.

My friend Kim gave me some much needed perspective today. Her six year old son wears glasses, the only kid in his class to do so. "Everyone is different," she explained to him after he complained that no one else had eye problems. "Some kids are thin. Some have freckles. Some have red hair. You have glasses. Not everyone is the same. That's what makes everyone special."

She's right, of course. Hopefully I can take her cue and encourage Bubba when he feels alienated. You are meant to stand out, I will tell him.

And goddamnit, why am I craving toffee-covered peanuts right now??

what to make of polygamy

Last week, before I started working from home, I was having a conversation with a colleague who was irate about a TV show that features a polygamous family. "It's disgusting, they should all be thrown in jail," she declared. "It's immoral to have more than one spouse!"

I considered this while waddling to the bathroom for my 67th pee break. I personally don't know any polygamous families. I know I probably wouldn't be very good in a polygamous relationship - too many birthdays to remember, plus I'm ultra competitive and would spend a lot of time trying to outshine the other wives. But is polygamy a threat to our society? I really don't know.

People like to hold up traditional marriage as the ultimate social model, and while I happen to be very happily married, I know that the institution is not faring well in terms of success. Mucho divorces, or people not marrying at all. So what if some guy takes four wives and breeds a ton of kids? What do I care, as long as he's not hurting them or me? Who is to say that this lifestyle is dangerous and undermining America?

Faithful readers, married or otherwise, please sound off.

28 weeks

We are 28 weeks pregnant today. It feels more like 28 years.

Cut and Paste, as they are affectionately known, have entered into a pact to see who can kick the ever loving crap out of me. Initially they reserved their antics for the morning. I'd be sitting at my desk and feel a little twinge on one side, then a little twinge on the other side. Those were the good days. Now they roll, squirm and punch like two fly-weights embroiled in a death match. In the evenings, after we put Bubba to bed, I sit on the sofa and we watch in fascination and horror as my stomach bulges and the skin twists, kind of like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" before the priests exorcised the demon.

I know I shouldn't complain. The babies are on track in terms of size and weight, no serious health issues, and it took us almost a year and half to conceive them. I should be grateful and shut the hell up.

But whining feels so good.

bubba's first ear infection

Until recently I thought Magnus was a bit of Super Toddler, having avoided the dreaded ear infections that seemed to plague his friends and tranform their parents into bitter, sleep-deprived zombies.

That all changed at 1:25 this morning, when he called to me from sleep. Normally he's a sound sleeper so I knew something was amiss. I retucked him into bed and lay next to him. He snuggled into my neck and started itching his left ear, slowly at first. Then more aggressively. Then constantly.

"Do you have an itchy?" I asked, like a moron. (It was 1:30 AM, after all.)

"I have a boo boo," he corrected me, tugging more incessantly on the ear, which I could see even in the dark was turning bright red.

I scooped him up and laid him on my shoulder, hoping that walking around in a circle a few times would bring him some relief. About five minutes later, I was huffing and puffing and calling for J. Who ordered me back to bed after reminding me I am pregnant (somehow I'd forgotten) and that I should be resting.

Alas, there was no rest for the Alt household, as Magnus alternately wailed, cried, laughed and wailed until six a.m. He never went back to sleep and never let go of J. I think I slept for about an hour, roused by the fussing and the fact that my Breathe Right nasal strip was about to fall off.

We were able to get him to the doctor right at 9. She took one look inside Bubba's ear and declared, "Yes, it's infected, and bulging." Bulging? "Only one ear," she confirmed, which I guess was good news. She wrote us a prescription for antibiotics, told us eventually there would be some bursting (bursting?) and sent us on our way. And thus began the Longest Day Ever. I'm working from home now and it was J's work from home day as well, so a tag team approach was agreed upon. When Bubba wasn't wailing and trying to pull his ear off, he attached himself to me like a barnacle. As soon as I found a comfortable spot on the sofa to sit with him, he would jerk upright and wail for J. Who held him until he fell asleep, then awakened, then screamed for me.

I called my mother to solicit advice. Surely she must have some Mexican Mother Trick that would instantly calm my fussy toddler. Plus, my younger brother had been plagued by ear infections as an infant, so this was something she knew something about.

"No, mija, you really can't do anything. Wait til the antibiotics set in," she said.

Chingada.

Around five p.m., Magnus woke from a three hour nap on J. He looked sad and pitiful. But the whining was starting to dissipate. He sat in my lap and I read him a few stories. Around 8 p.m., he was eating Jell-o and carrots (don't ask), laughing at Yo Gabba Gabba and having himself a merry old ear infection time.

He woke this morning as if nothing had happened. I dosed him with some kiddie motrin to keep the pain at bay and observed him. He was his normal happy, demanding self. It's amazing, really, how resilient these critters are.

So while yours truly is bummed that he was felled by a common childhood ailment, I take comfort in the fact that it was confined to one ear, healed super quickly, and that I can probably score six hours of sleep tonight.

If the nasal strip stays on.

random thoughts, 3 a.m.

1. Whoever invented the Breathe Right strip should get some kind of Nobel prize

2. A protein bar at 3:15 a.m. is more delicious than eating it during the day

3. Why is everyone down on Obama? He never promised us a magic bullet that would fix the economy

4. Cake. Cake. Cake sounds good.