What you don’t know about us Bradsteins can’t hurt you, but given my dearth of posts of late, it could probably fill a large room. To help clear that room out, here are some of those things you couldn’t know about us because we’ve never told you, in whatever random order they pop into my beleaguered brain…
On Thursday I came home to an odd question from 3B. They never cease to amaze me, from the first one that I clearly remember, months ago when we were driving around and he said, as clear as a bell, “Daddy, how do power lines work?” Of course, I did the only thing I could to explain: gave him a kite and a key and sent him out in a lightning storm to play Ben Franklin.
Thursday’s question came with a wish too, and was a bit more abstract: Daddy, do you wish you could go inside your own body? I wish I could go inside my own body.
Turns out he’d been watching a Curious George episode that’s a ripoff of Fantastic Voyage. As a huge fan of the original as a kid, I have to admit that I sat through the whole CG episode too. It was not bad, actually, for the audience it’s aimed at, although I could do without the germ character that’s a ripoff of the Mucinex dancing ball of lung butter. Just because you can animate it, doesn’t mean you should.
Tonight, after reading stories and brushing teeth, I was leaving 3B’s room when he asked me to come back and snuggle with him. I agreed to snuggle for five minutes, because we’ve learned that if we don’t set a time limit, it becomes playtime and before long it becomes a midnight bedtime, which is good for nobody. We lay in the dark for awhile, me rubbing his back, him rubbing my beard, and both of us looking up at his new glow in the dark stars and moon on his ceiling, then I told him that I was leaving in two minutes. After a little while, I told him I was leaving in one minute. 3B then said, “1, 2, 3, 4, 5. You’ve been here for four minutes because four plus one is five.”
Well, goddamn, little man. Right you are. And from what branch of the family tree did you get that math gene, because it sure didn’t come from the acorn you sprouted from.
Along with his mad math skillz, and a pile or two of gifts, plus a shiny pink bike, 3B got something else for Christmakwanzukkah: his L’s and R’s. I’ve worked with him a little at home on “la la la la la,” but nothing too serious. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and at the time he didn’t quite have the coordination for it. But a little bit of time, and a little bit of time spent with Grammy, the speech therapist, over Christmas, made all the difference. We’re a little sad that we’ll never hear “Yucky Yindy” again, but fortunately, we like “Lucky Lindy” too.
His pronunciation still isn’t perfect, leading to conversations like this…
3B: My teeth are [undecipherable] my skauauauaurrr
3B: My teeth are [undecipherable] my skauauauaurrr
Me: Your teeth are what?
3B: Like my brain, my teeth are [undecipherable] my skauauauaurrr (points to his head)
Me: Oh, like your brain, your teeth are in your skull…yes, yes they are.
As for our little Jewel, she’s not speaking in words yet, although she’s got plenty to say, whenever she takes her hands out of her mouth, that is. No idea what she’s talking about, but perhaps she’s recounting how she found her hands during Thanksgiving week and her feet during Christmas week.
Or perhaps she’s debating the flavors of her two hands. While the right seems more dexterous, the left is getting gnawed on with equal frequency. Both are doing what appears to be a satisfactory job pushing everything within reach into her gaping maw as well. Perhaps this is because she seems to be in the process of cutting teeth. We might be a bit premature, but all the signs are there: the drooling, the inexplicable crankiness and the relief we all feel from a dab of Orajel on her gums. Plus, we can feel her gums getting harder and pointier.
I’m sure that if they could talk, Mama’s breasts would have something to say about this development.
Perhaps that’s why she’s still not such a good sleeper–as the refluxiness faded, the teething started. Whatever it is, she’s a wakeful baby, which is Mama’s nice way of saying that she doesn’t let us sleep much. To be fair, she has gone 3-4 hours at a stretch in the night, even while traveling, but that doesn’t compare with her peers’ 6-hour stints.
I don’t recall how her brother was at this age, but I do recall him as a champion sleeper, which he still is. Perhaps that’s just the later months and sleep deprivation prevented me from consolidating any memories when he was younger.
Regardless of how little sleep she gets at one time, she is never cranky about it. She really has one of the most laid back personalities I know of. I guess that’s her daddy’s California roots shining through. She loves to watch us and laugh at us and with us…and we love to do the same to her.
And she must be getting enough sleep because she’s damn well growing enough. Just this week, she transitioned into the 12-month clothing size–at all of 4 months of age. And when I was zipping her into her brother’s pajamas–his 12 month old size pajamas–I had to stretch the fabric to close the zipper around her thigh. Not saying that she’s fat…just that if she ever wants to be a cyclist, she’s got the build for it. Yeesh.
What’s funny about this is that it means she transitioned overnight from girl to boy. Until now, she’s fit into all of the generous hand-me-downs we got from friends who had girls just before her. Now, however, Jewel has outgrown all of her older friends, and so, since we hadn’t had to buy any girl clothes, she’s clad entirely in hand-me-downs from her brother. In case you’re wondering, yes, she’s as adorable as a boy as she is as a girl.
And not at all concerned about gender issues either, thank you very much. Perhaps that’s just because she’s not old enough to go inside her own body.