Hey there baby boy,

The sun just set tonight on your third year. Tomorrow when you get up you will be three. I can't believe it. Tonight, Daddy and I sang Twinkle Twinkle to you as you fell asleep. You love that song. And I love that you still want us to sing it to you. Is it any surprise that I am crying as I write to you? Probably not. By the time you can read this, I'm sure you will be used to your mama crying about all the love I have in my heart for you. You are an amazing kid, Mr. Pants. You need to really know that. Every single thing about you is extraordinary. You are kind. And thoughtful. And totally wild. You are smart and loving and silly. And right before our eyes you are becoming a big kid.

In this last year you have broken down so many of your walls. Engaging with people and showing love. You gave us a scare for a bit there. But you broke out of your shell. You kept your quirks though and I gotta say, I'm so glad. And you are talking! You have worked so hard to do that and we are so so SO crazy proud of you. It is music to my ears to hear your voice. I will never forget when you finally called out to me and said my name. "Mama! Mammmmaaaa!!!". My heart jumped right out of my chest. Your little voice. It was perfect.

Your most favorite thing in the whole world right now is Curious George. You call him "Monkey!". You love trains, planes, tractors, lawn movers, bulldozers, garbage trucks, rocket ships and motorcycles. But you aren't only in to heavy machinery though. I see you carting around mama's old Care Bear and pink puppy dog and caring for them. You change their diapers and nurse them. You tuck them in to sleep, kiss them on their heads and say, "Ny-Ny, baby". You are starting to play with Plum too! At first when she would try to play with you, you thought it wasn't cool. But you are warming up to her again now. Even though it's hard  that she wants to play with your toys. Your favorite game to play with your baby sister, is to run back and forth between the living room furniture and jump on it and giggle. Then Plum runs to the next one and looks back to see if you are coming. You always do. And she laughs and laughs. You have really blossomed in your role as her big brother. You say, "No no baby!" if you see her doing something that is dangerous. Oh!  And you are so polite! You say, "Oooh tank yoo!" with such happiness everytime someone gives you something.  I love that. Let's see, your favorite colors are red and purple. You still love to dance and um, dude...you are still a nudist. Let's work on that this year, ok? You are really starting to use your imagination too. You pretend to be Curious George all the time and you sound just like him.

So in keeping with tradition, I made you a slideshow of your third year. I picked one of your favorite songs. I hadn't noticed how perfect the words were before now. No wonder you love this song. It would seem it was written just for you.

You bring so much sunshine. I am so excited to watch you grow this year. Never forget that your mama loves you. Seriously, do not ever forget that. Every moment of everyday, I love you. Happy Birthday, baby.

Love, Mama

Today is the last day that Mr. Pants will ever be two years old. So it's as good a day as any to finally master the number two on his hands. On his way to school this morning, he finally got it. And of coarse, this achievment made me misty. Because I am the sap from the sappiest sugary-est tree.  Tomorrow we will begin to work on three fingers. I bet he gets that super fast. But for today, he is two. And what kind of sap would I be if I didn't start thinking about his whole little life as he walked down the driveway with Daddy to get on the bus? I mean, you know I did. I went all the way back to the very beginning.  Before he was even here. Yep, I'm a marshmallow. I went through his entire life in my head. Has it really only been three years? Because I feel like I've known him forever. As I sat down to write about him, I got stuck on something that my brother told me when I was pregnant.

When you're pregnant for the first time people tell you all sorts of things. Mostly about how you will never sleep again (TRUE!) and how you should soak up every bit of them as babies because it goes by too fast (True times infinity).

When we found out that I was growing a boy inside my body (What what! Superhero powers!), I got a lot of additional material. Like, "Boys are hard". Or, "Boys are easier than girls". And, "I hope you like the emergency room" (Who likes the emergency room?). But there was something that my brother said to me that rang in my ears and stayed in my heart. It's the only comment I remember vividly. I remember we were standing on his porch. I was wearing a black t-shirt. He was wearing my husband's shoes. What he said, hit me like a ton of bricks and I haven't forgotton it. Not for a second.  We were joking about how wild he had been as a kid and  about how I was in for it with a boy, when he paused. He looked up and said, "It's good you are having a boy. It's a really good thing. Because you will teach him how to treat a woman. And how to be sensitive and all that. You are going to be good at that". I was at once touched and scared. See both of my brothers have a set of girls. Two girls each. There were no boys on my side of the family until Mr. Pants came along. The idea that we would have to parent him into being a good person, had suddenly occured to me. Oh shit. What if I screw up my kid and then he goes on to screw up his kids in a vicious cycle that started with me not letting him eat ice cream for dinner? What if he's a total jerk as an adult because I don't know how to raise a boy? It would be all my fault!

(At this point, I usually need someone to shake me by the shoulders or smack me back into reality. Not for real smacking, more like a verbal smack across the cheek. Thankfully, I always have my friends and family for that. )

So, I thought about this a lot before lil dude was born. A lot. It really did worry me that I might not have the nuts to raise a boy. Pun totally intended. I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to relate to him. Understand him. But eventually I snapped out of it and realized I was not giving birth to an alien. I was having a human boy. And I would just figure him out. It helps that Daddy is also a boy, so my plan was to defer to him on boy related issues. Like when Mr. Pants became a nudist and slammed his junk onto things as he hurdled furniture ("I mean, doesn't that hurt him? Wouldn't that hurt you?"). Or when he got a sunburn On. His. Penis. Daddy nearly passed out at the thought. Because, you know, OW.  I just didn't think to put sunblock there. But Daddy sure did. Lesson learned. Protect the goods. Got it. Beyond that, I didn't have to worry. I didn't have to do anything different just because he was boy. I just had to be his mom. It's a simple idea. But sometimes the simplest solutions are the hardest to get to.

Then Ms. Plum came along. A girl. How would this change him? How would she be different?  She's more emotional. More dramatic. More relaxed. More affectionate. I think it would be easy to suggest that it's because she is a girl. But that's really not it. It's not gender that is determining these things. She just came that way. And he came his way. We parent them the same. I'm sure sometimes that doesn't happen but it's what we strive for. Boys get the same amount of kisses as girls and girls are allowed to climb and fall just like the boys are. As I type this, Plum is playing with a semi truck. And just last night, Mr. Pants nursed his Care Bear and changed his diaper. Comforting Wish Bear, "Don Ky! Iz OK baby!" and giving him kisses.  

So here we are. Today is the last  day that Mr. Pants will be two. Three years out from what my brother said to me. I would probably bet money that when it comes down to it, Mr. Pants has taught me more than I have taught him. And we obviously have a ways to go before he's learned how to treat a partner. But I have no doubt that he will get there. Because honestly? He has no choice. I refuse to raise a jerk face. So we plant the seeds now. And the best way to do that, in this stage of his development, is by showing him. By being the people we hope that he and Plum will also be. That, my friends, is not always easy.  We give hugs and kisses all day, everyday (easy part!) and we speak to them gently (most of the time) and with respect. And when I find that I am not parenting the way I believe I should, I stop, breathe and start again. Right in front of them. We apologize to them when we miss the mark. And we don't demand things of them that they are not yet capable of. We are not perfect. Not by a long shot. The longest of shots. I mean, I've got stories. But the foundation of our parenting style is that we have four equal voices living under this roof. They are not the second class. Neither are we. Their feelings and ideas count. They are as important as our own. And by enforcing that. By not always getting my way, we are teaching them to be considerate and thoughtful. At least I think that's what we are doing.  And maybe my brother knew that's how I would parent? Or maybe he just assumed I'd be  "good at it" because I am the greatest sister of all time? 

So as I sit here thinking of all the ways we have succeeded and failed in the last three years, I am so happy. So so happy. We are bumbling through this parenting adventure with an idea of how to do it. Not a map or a fool proof plan, but some ideas. Be kind. Show love. Show respect. Use honesty and laughter liberally. Temper our human tendancy for frustration and anger with reason and understanding. It's ok to be mad. Take naps.  Accept mistakes and don't dwell. Ask for help (the hardest one for me). Eat ice cream (note to self: buy coconut milk ice cream, stat!). Get dirty. Eat your vegetables. Never withhold affection as discipline. Always consider you might be wrong. And don't be a jerk when you are right.  

That's our way. That's how we do it. It's not the only way or even the right way. But it's what suits us.

So, I agree, Uncle Pants. I think it's a good thing too.

This week belongs to Mr. Pants. Our big guy turns three on Friday. Our Memorial Day baby. I am equal parts stoked that he is growing into such an awesome little firecracker and sad that my baby boy just keeps getting bigger and bigger. Sometimes I daydream about him getting a deep voice and facial hair and it freaks me out. He really is going to be a man someday. Dang.
 
It was this time last year that I began considering a blog. I watched as the days flew by and I wanted to keep a record of our life so that someday, these kids could read about the times when they were tiny. The times they could not remember. I am so glad that I did. I had no idea what we were in for this last year when I wrote him this...

Dear Mr. Pants,

On this day 2 years ago I went into labor with you at 2:30 in the morning. I remember sitting at the computer with a red pen and writing down every contraction. As they grew stronger and stronger I knew that today was the day I would finally meet you. I was so excited and also a little bit scared. You were my first baby and I was worried that I wouldn't know how to be your mama. After 15 hours of labor my body was ready to push but you had other plans. You were so cozy and happy in there that you tried to stay. The doctor thought it was best to deliver you via c-section and you were born just a bit later. I will never forget hearing your cry. You were so mad! But when they wrapped you up and gave you to your daddy, you felt safe. When I saw your beautiful face, there was this wave of love that changed me. You turned me into a mama in that instant and I haven't wanted to be anything else since. The last 2 years have been filled with so much. There were times that my heart filled with so much love that I was sure there was no way to love you more but then we'd wake up the next day and sure enough, I did. I loved you more. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama. I promise you that for your whole life you will be loved and you will be safe
with me. Not just your body, but also your heart. You have become such an amazing and adventurous spirit. I think about all the things that you could do in your life and I can not wait to find out what it holds for you, but please don't grow up too fast ok? As I type this, you are about to wake up to start the 3rd year of your life. I wonder if you will look bigger or learn a new word today? I am so excited to watch you grow this year. I know there will be plenty of surprises in store for us because you are one creative and curious little boy. I hope you never unlearn that Silas. You have taught me how to be curious again and to wonder. Thank you my baby boy for loving me. Your love is amazing. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Love, Mama
05/25/2011

Plenty of surprises?  Yeeeeeah, I hit the nail on the head with that one. It's been a wild ride since I wrote him that letter. But more on that later. What I'm caught up in this morning is this picture. Taken exactly one year ago. It's not a spectacular photo or even a great one. But it made me pause. The way he's smiling at the mud in his hands. The chub in his cheeks. The spring of the curl in his hair. And he's sitting in his signature pose. I probably have a hundred pictures of him sitting exactly like this. And I can't stop staring at this one.  In one year's time, he went from my chubster baby to my lil bird boy. I already miss that little two year old rascal. Damn, man. It just goes way too fast. I suspect that I will have these moments before every birthday. And I'm pretty sure that no matter how far down the birthday road we get, every year he will still look like my little baby. And I will stare at pictures of him and have a good cry. Sigh. This mom gig is crazy on the heart.

And nothings says, "Oh. Holy. Hell." more,
than when your kid is the one peeing in the pool.

I have no pictures to post of us at the library. Because I was too busy wrangling and making sure my kid didn't murder the other kids in the five and under room. Ok, murder is a strong word. More accurate would be that I was ensuring he didn't strip his clothes off, bash a nine month old baby with a bucket, rip the skirt off a little girl, and log roll other people's kids. I was busy. And yes, I was sweating bullets. But I'm glad we went.

I've written before about taking these two tiny humans out into public alone. I always have a plan. And I  have a line that when it is crossed, we cut and run. Heading to the safe haven that is home. If that means a TCA (total cart abandon), well, then that's what it means. Basically the line is, "Does Mommy want to lose her shit?". If I answer yes, then it is time to go. I'm not into proving anything. I know I'm "mom enough" (thanks for asking though, Time magazine!). If they lose control over themselves, we go home. If I want to lose control of me, we go home.  But we will try again another day. And then again another day, until we have a good day out and that experience will fuel my courage, like a good whiskey, for the next time when things fall into the shizzer. We keep trying. Because I am no longer afraid of them, err I mean, it.

For a long time I would carefully determine whether or not the chances were high enough for success before I ventured out into the world alone with these two. A point system of how things were going that day based on eating and napping and general moodiness. If the stars aligned, I might try and take them out. But the stars rarely aligned. And my fear of a spectacle kept the car keys hanging on the wall. I started to feel trapped under our roof. I'm sure they did too.  I mean, we have a lot of fun here and I am kind of the best singing and dancing monkey impersonator in the continental U.S. But things got stale and I realized recently that, in  words from my childhood, spoken in the ever loving voices of my big brothers, I was being a total wuss.

So, now it's official. I've stopped being a wuss. At least where this is concerned, I mean I'm still sweating bee season but I have been regularly taking these kids out in public by myself. And yeah, over half the time, we return to the house looking like we just survived the apocalypse, but the key word is "survived". Yes, we did. And so did those children at the library because I pulled up the anchor and shipped out of their before things got bloody. But here's where I double win, we didn't immediately retreat to home. Instead we picked up dinner and went to the park to eat it. And yeah, Mr. Pants hulked out and tried to return to the wild by breaking for the woods several times. But for a few short minutes while he was distracted by the fact that we were at the park, Plum and I got to eat some dinner before we had to head home. And it is true that Mr. Pants screamed and kicked at the back of my seat the whole way and lost his ever loving mind. I miscalculated. He didn't need more sensory input, he was on overload. I missed that mark. But we were all alive and a few hours more ready for bedtime and heading home.

I knew how to help him regulate when we got home. Bubble bath with a gazillion bubbles? Yes please!  All the while when we have these times out in public I remind myself of a quote I came across a while back that reminds me that he not giving me a hard time but that instead, he is having a hard time. And that very true statement keeps my head from spinning around until I can kiss his head goodnight, pour myself a cocktail and watch Smash on Hulu. Which is how Mama regulates.

I didn't get any pictures of our outing to the library. But I did get this. My sweet angel all asleep, holding his wubby's, on Daddy's pillow after a long day of terrorizing mama, err I mean, playing hard. And remembering the day this way will give me the cojones to try again tomorrow.

On Plum's first birthday, her Godparents handed us a piece of paper. It read:

"Plum, Our gift to you this, your first year, is to plant a tree in our yard just for you! The tree is called a Newport Plum (because that's part of your name too). The tree blooms in the spring (because so did you), and everytime we look at it in our yard, we will think of our sweet Goddaughter!

Each year on your birthday, we would like for you to come to our house and take a picture under your tree so that we can see how much you and the tree have grown! We love you so much. Happy 1st Birthday!"

"Though a tree grows so high, the falling leaves return to the root'" 
~Malay Proverb

This week her Godmommies planted that tree and invited us over for her first picture under it. I dressed Plum in her birthday party dress and before we left, I asked Mr. Pants to stand next to her for a picture. He wasn't into that. But he did show her some love before he ran away.

When I saw the tree. I smiled. It was perfect. Young, a little fragile, planted and beautiful. A living, breathing, growing tree.  Blooming and perfect but not yet everything that it will become. Just like our sweet girl.

So when I sat down today to write about this. I began thinking of all the pictures that will one day be taken with her tree. Maybe next year's will be blurry as the two year old version of her runs in and out of the shot. Refusing to sit still. The potential for t-ball uniforms or a missing tooth. Prom dresses and musical instruments. Dance costumes. I laughed at the idea in my head of her in a goth phase and annoyed that we are making her take this picture when all she wants to do is write sullen poems and be left alone. Or maybe she'll go through a phase of silly posing and over the top smiles. Perhaps one year she will wrap her legs around the tree and give it a hug. And then through my laughter, I start to cry. I begin to imagine her wearing her cap and gown. A wedding dress.  And maybe someday bringing her own little baby to set gently under her tree. And it's official. I'm a mess. This tree will grow with our girl. Such a perfect gift for a first birthday. Just perfect.

Yesterday, all over the internet people were sharing memes, video gags and funny blog posts about Mother's Day and what a mom really wants. The consensus being that we want to poop by ourselves (TRUE!), eat at a normal pace (YES!) and be left the eff alone (GUILTY!). It's funny because it's true. Well maybe not for everyone. But I am not ashamed to say, that it was true for me. All that I wanted in the entire world was some actual, true blue, no grabby hands or poop diapers. Just for one day. Or even just a few hours. I wanted to not be distracted and eying running kids and making sure no one got hit by a car. I wanted to just be free of responsibility. Just for a little bit. To have a conversation with another adult sans toddler attempting to rip my dress off in search of boobs.

Don't get me wrong.  I love my responsibilities. I love them so much that I poop with them sitting on my lap. I eat so fast because someone will try to get hurt at dinner time and I will need to save them. I love them to beyond the stars because I happily wake each night to pull Plum in closer and nurse her back to sleep and she often repays my love by waking at the ass crack of dawn. And I kiss her sweet face and get up. Even though I want so desperately to stay asleep. I love them so endlessly that my heart literally aches when they are sick and it leaps out of chest when I hear them say my name. But if I am being completely honest, there are times when I need a break. I need to let someone else wipe their snot and play with them so that I can have a little me time. So when one of my dearest friends chose Mother's Day for her wedding day, I paused. Did I really want to spend Mother's Day away from my kids?  I'm gonna admit right here in the privacy afforded me by the internet that, yes. Yes, I did. An afternoon and evening away? Yes, please! So that's what I did. Babysitters are scarce for The Pants Family, so Daddy stayed home to care for the littles and I got dressed up, put my pearl earrings on and sparkly shoes, ate beef brisket comically slow and had several glasses of wine and danced. I watched a lovely Laydee marry her love and in those five hours, I peed alone four times! And I talked and laughed with my friends and there was even a Journey sing along. It was awesome. It was perfect. And when I came home there was a card filled with scribbles from Daddy, Pants and Plum and a brand new set of computer speakers so that I could finally get back to watching Smash on Hulu. Our busted speakers finally replaced! He's got a knack for getting the gift that is perfect and I wouldn't ever think to ask for.  And Plum was waitingfor me. I had to pee, so well, she came too. Happy to see her mama and having learned that mama will always come back. Always.

Today it's back to being a mom. Back to grabby hands and diapers. Falls and spills. Snuggles and toddler nursing. And I am happy to be back. Refreshed and reminded that taking time to be away from your kids isn't something to feel guilty about. It's something many of us need. And that's ok. It doesn't make you a bad mom. Quite the opposite really. I believe that our kids are so much better off seeing their parents care for themselves. They are the recipients of the benefits that come when Mama and Daddy return refreshed from a much needed tag out. And last night I was reminded with the bluntness that only great sister friends can provide that Daddy and I need to do that more often than we do.  Because when I came home last night, I was filled up and ready. Happy to be home but glad that I gone. Because I needed it. And so did my kids. Up next? It's Daddy's turn....

Repeat after me...

"I do the single most important job in the world. Yes, I do. I do it with grace even though there are times I want to poke my eyes out with a fork. I carry on. Because my job matters. I am a superhero. Not by Marvel's standards. But to the preschool and under set,  I am an unstoppable force of awesome. I can do anything because I am a mother. Nothing can keep me from them when I am needed.  I am powerful. I may not be able to get a picture of my kids looking at the camara together but that does not define me. Because I can get them to sit next to eachother for fourteen seconds, and that's something. There is nothing I cannot face because mothering has made me stronger, smarter, faster and twitchy with caffeine. I've got this. Today and everyday. Because I am more than qualified to be trusted with the most important job in the world. Just ask my kids. I am mom. And I kick ass."

Happy Mother's Day to all the Mamas out there!

When I gave birth to Mr. Pants, I was changed. The first thing I said to my mom was, "I get it now. I get it". Because before that moment I only thought I understood when my mom would tell me that she hurt when I hurt. Or that when I was happy, she could feel it. Or that if she could take my pain away, she would. I believed her, but I didn't know. And now I do. I am so blessed to know exactly the kind of love she had tried to describe to me. The pain of seeing my children hurt and the bliss of seeing them smile. My heart beating out of my chest when I lose sight of them outside. The bittersweet of them growing too fast. The excitement of new adventures.  And the sadness of chapters ending. The raw and primal instinct to protect them (even from other three year old meanies). And the strength it takes to let them work it out (even though I am watching close by). The smell of their hair when it's clean and fresh or when it's caked with dirt. The way that some things just aren't as important anymore. Like sleep. Or eating at regular times. Or cleaning (wait, what? I'm a cleaning Goddess now, who am I kidding?). And how a sloppy baby kiss can make any bad day disappear into giggles and hugs. There is nothing that would stop me from taking away their pain if I could. And there is nothing else in this world I would rather be then their mama. Absolutely nothing. I get it now, mom. Thank you for teaching me how to do this. I love you. Happy Mother's Day.

For the love of all that is holy, I need three more pairs of arms. Yes, six additional arms. That should do it. And I'd like to be able to move them from side to side so that if I need all eight on my left side then I can do that. Or six on one side and two on the other.

Moving on... Today we went to the Ear Nose and Throat specialist (ENT). Mr. Pants has had issues since he was born. Before we ever left the maternity ward with my lil bundle of Pants, I asked the doctor if the rattling sound in his sinuses was normal. I was told it was and that he would outgrow it. The rattling has never gone away and over the last three years, his symptoms have gotten worse. He snores like a fifty year old man, eats like a bird and there are about ten alphabet sounds that when he tries to make them he sounds like he's blowing his nose through them. The rest of his pronunciation sounds like it's coming out of his eyes and nose. The scariest revelation for me though, was about his sleep. I've written before about how poorly he slept as a baby. Waking every forty five minutes to an hour until he was eighteen months old. I'd always attributed that to his sensory issues. But then our doctor asked me if he ever stopped breathing at night. And a cold shot went through my veins. Oh my God. Was he actually stopping breathing? Yeah, we were going to the ENT and we would go to the best. So that's what we did today. And what follows is the play by play....

9:00 am - Arrive for our appointment. Mr. Pants bursts through the doors shouting "Hi GUYSTH!" to everyone waiting. When they do not respond back, he repeats his greeting to them all individually until they say hello back. I sign him in.

9:01 am - Booooooring. Mr. Pants does not care about the fish tank or the silly magnet boards meant to keep him happy. Instead he will begin circuit training and then do fifty laps around the waiting room. Somewhere around lap fifteen he is joined by a two year old boy with balance issues (poor thing was falling all over the place but loving every second of it) and another three year old boy. By lap thirty, two more kids have joined the race and my heart swells with pride that my son has become the Forrest Gump of the ENT's office race. I am also pretty sure that every single parent in the waiting room hates me for this. Such is life. Nobody is crying.

9:30 am - Plum is pissed. Pants is trying to rip the art of the walls and I have that look on my face like everything is Zen. But everything is not Zen and I want to start cussing out the staff and ripping the art off the walls alongside my son.

9:40 am - Let the great bathroom massacre of 2012 begin! Or at least I'm sure that's what it sounded like to the people on the other side of the door.

10:15 am - Yep. You read that right. An hour wait past our appointment time. As we head back, Pants asks me for the seven thousandth time if we are going camping. I remind him we are going to see the doctor and he says "You're Welcome". Um, ok?

10:16 am - Pants believes the nurse is trying to force him into an alternate dimension by asking him to "step on the scale". He doesn't budge and instead makes a break for it. But since he is in an unfamiliar environment, he trips and falls rounding the corner. Jumping up he yells, "I OK!!" and saunters back to be weighed. (note: this will be the last time he comes back on his own)

10:30ish am - Enter Dr. M. Plum is not cool with this. Not. At. All. She proceeds to lose her GD mind. A sweet nurse comes in to try and help her so that I can hold Mr. Pants for the exam. By the end, my ears are ringing and we are off to x-ray. Dr. M. proclaims his tonsils "extremely large" and has "no doubt" the x-ray will show his adenoids to be big too.

10:35-11:10 am - A blur of screaming children and hallway chases. When we finally get into x-ray, I experience a moment of extreme sadness trying to reassure Mr. Pants that no one would hurt him while he is being held down for an x-ray of his head while listening to Ms. Plum scream in the arms of the very sweet nurse on the other side of the door. I almost lose my cool with the x-ray tech who gets salty with me about holding him still. This is the second time in one week I have had to do this. It sucks. They are scared and I haven't been trained in this. And my kids are tiny Hulks. Like for realz. So why in the hell would any x-ray tech get salty with me for not knowing how to do it? Beats me. And I almost beat her. But alas, I did not. I just did my best to hold my crazy strong kid still for a picture of his face. However, it is entirely possible though that I shot dagger eyes right into hers. At which time she may have realized she was being an asshat and calmed down. Suddenly becoming the sweetest tech in the world. And we got the x-ray. Which turned out to be the creepiest picture of my child ever taken. And that's saying something because we have some dooozies. See for yourself below.

11:15ish am - Back in the exam room, Mr. Pants choses a very normal spot to sit and wait. Under the sink. Duh.

11:20 am - Re- enter Dr. M. His first words are, "He is going to be fine" and I know he's about to tell me that Pants needs surgery. And then he does. As he explains the x-ray to me, I see it. Loud and clear. His adenoids are completely blocking his airway and his tonsils are almost doing the same. Double whammy. Any infection or additional swelling is very dangerous for my boy. So they have to come out so that this kid can breathe normally, maybe even eat better (OMG YES!) and more importantly, well, you know I'm not typing that.

Can you see it? You should be able to see space for airflow. Can't really see a whole lot of open space can you?

11:30 am - We are scheduling surgery and Plum wants to nurse. She lets me know this by attempting to climb into the topside of my shirt while smacking her lips like there's a cheeseburger in there. So I begin nursing her. She really needs it, poor thing. I'm nursing, I'm signing papers and scheduling surgery and feeling like a superhero when....Mr. Pants decides to kick things up a notch and add trespassing to his record. He breaks for the door, hurdles over the stroller that I thought would slow him down long enough but um, yeah, I'm an idiot. By the time I get Plum (who is crazy pissed to be pulled from her cheeseburger) back into the stroller and give chase, Pants has made it to the super secret file room. I see him staring at the miles of files. I can see with absolute clarity the plan forming to destroy these files. He's just figuring out how he wants to go about it. This buys me the few seconds I need to reach him. Hauling him back kicking and screaming, a worker says to me "You have your hands full" to which I want to say, "Way to state the obvious, jerk face" but I smile and say, "yeah, long day". I notice the guy then stations himself at the opening of the file room while I finish my paperwork and feel glad that I didn't snap at him. He is trying to help. I feel some shame for hating him.

11:45 am - Surgery is scheduled (we have to wait until July for the best surgeon) and we hit the fresh air of the open parking deck. It's over. We lived. I change Plum's diaper, nurse her some more (after strapping Pants into his seat, of course) and we hit the road for home. Two sleepy kids and one zoned out mama.

12:00 pm - Begin worrying about my baby boy having surgery.