Newsletter, Miles

Month 21, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

You are proving to be the quintessential boy.  Everything I feared about boys is so far coming true – you’re loud, messy, a cyclone of terror and destruction and I’m quite certain that you are determined to injure every part of your body a dozen times over in the course of your lifetime.  You have no problem projecting your voice.  You still don’t say much but the sounds you make clear traffic from as far as the eye can see.  We were in a crowded auditorium where you literally had to yell to the person directly next to you and you were so loud in the stroller, that people in front of us were turning around to see what was creating that blood curdling squeal.  Sometimes I wonder if you have hearing issues and every now and then I’ll whisper something behind you but you miraculously can hear the subtlest of sounds so there doesn’t appear to be an issue there.  Determining where the sound is coming from is another issue all together.  Inevitably when I need just a few minutes to use the bathroom is when you generally have a panic attack as to my whereabouts.  I try to tell you ahead of time where I’m going but your memory is nonexistent.  I’ll hear you frantically running around upstairs while screaming, “MOMMA?!”  I’ll be half leaning out of the bathroom trying to tell you where I am but for some reason you hone in on the direction of my voice.  You will run in to the bathroom and still have your back turned to me while screaming – I’ll have to clap my hands a few times in your direction to finally get you to turn around.  Once you determine my location, you run and grab a few books and camp out at my feet – apparently I take so long in the bathroom, it requires you to bring reinforcements.

Messy.  Boys are messy.  You are messy.  I bought water resistant shoes for several reasons: 1. I can hose you down with minimal fuss and 2. they are supposed to be odor-resistant.  Top grade rubber that no stink can penetrate.  Well, surely you’re a test subject they need to meet because holy hell, the stink that permeates from those shoes could turn produce bad in seconds.  Today at lunch, instead of just eating your peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I witnessed you take the slice of bread that had peanut butter and you then proceeded to swirl it around your face in a very slow rhythmic fashion.  I’m fairly certain none of it actually made it in to your mouth.  I’m not sure how parents of boys don’t give baths every night because you would be a walking garbage can.  The thought alone makes me gag.  Don’t even get me started on your dirty diapers.  I’m almost at the point that I feel guilty if I have to dump a soiled diaper in a public garbage can because I know that baby is going to cook and perhaps self-combust.  I pity the poor person who has to remove that trash bag.  You just manage to find every dirty corner of the Earth and on top of your boy smell, I feel like I’m raising Pigpen.  I wonder if this is how all mothers of boys feel?

You recently had your cast removed and that is a day that could go down in history as one of my most challenging days as a parent.  Due to conflicting schedules, I had to bring Olivia along to your doctor’s appointment.  I try to avoid this most of the time because you two egg each other on when I need you to be well-behaved – it’s almost a game you play as to who can make Mom sweat the most out of sheer embarrassment?  Your doctor had moved so I had to find the new office building he was at.  I found the building no problem but unfortunately I parked no where near the entrance and I discovered this after schlepping you and Olivia up a hill in 100 degree heat.  We enter the office and I’m out of breath and sweaty and you two kids barrel in to the waiting room and decide to scream with delight as you test out every single chair.  Of course they have a stack of paperwork that I’m forced to fill out while trying to quiet you and your sister.  I look up from filling out paperwork just in time to see your face turn ten shades of red and you bare down.  The smell quickly fills the waiting room and of course, guess who forgot to bring a new diaper and wipes?  I’m thinking there is no way I can subject people to this wretched stink over the course of however long I’m going to be here and surely I can’t tackle the hill from hell in this insane heat.  So I have a novel idea to take you the bathroom to see how I can clean you up. 

I’m desperate at this point – the smell is beyond disgusting and I think to myself, I just have to go for it and remove as much as the substance from your diaper that I can.  I jam my hand down your diaper with toilet paper and try to pull up as much as I can – of course I get it on my hand but it’s ok – I have to get this stink out.  I’m not quite successful so I have another great idea to remove your diaper and try to wipe it down as much as I can and stick it back on you.  I clean it but the heat or something must have removed most of the sticky stuff off the tabs and I can’t quite get it back on you.  I’m trying to get this damn diaper back on you when I finally feel a cold spot on my knee growing and sure enough, while I was busy wiping down the diaper, you decided to relieve yourself on me.  At this point I’m sweating again because I’m panicking trying to hurry up and clean this mess that continues to multiply in front of me and I know that someone is outside waiting to use the bathroom.  Finally after scrubbing my knee profusely and I somehow rig your diaper back on, we make our way out of the bathroom only to have Olivia slip in another pee puddle you created amidst the bathroom mayhem.  Our doctor’s appointment continued on for another hour and a half dealing with various walks across the parking lot to the radiologist and back again in the scorching heat.  No matter how hard I tried to remove the smell from your pants, it lingered like a haunted spirit.  I knew I probably smelled like a urinal too being that you saturated my jeans – btw, the heat did a really nice job of baking it in to the fibers of my pants.  At the end of it, you got your cast removed and your leg healed beautifully.  Unfortunately, that can’t quite be said for my psyche.

You are the total cliche of a boy and I’m nowhere prepared for the wrath that you will and are currently unleashing upon me.  You’re stinky and dirty and always getting in to trouble but you are a total lovebug and a complete Momma’s boy and somehow it makes all that other icky stuff a bit more manageable.  You are adored by every stranger you come in contact with because you’re a natural charmer.  You definitely know how to work a crowd and as much as I cringe and sweat over the embarrassing moments, I’m also super smitten with you.  Seriously, I took a hand full of poop for you – if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Love,

Momma

 

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1 Comment

  • Reply Rose September 25, 2012 at 10:53 pm

    I am so terribly sorry about giggling a little about your doctor/bathroom incident, but you literally CANNOT MAKE THIS STUFF UP

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