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Bottoms Up

Is it really August 1? Seriously? Where has the summer gone? It's passed by exceptionally fast as I have taken on extra duties at work and now truly know the meaning of busy. (I know, I know, we're all busy, Jen. Quit bitching.)

August 1. Six weeks since I last blogged. Not that there haven't been stories to share. Husband's first father's day, the bean's first swim and yesterday - the major milestone of all first-time parents - birthday #1. My brain replayed the reel of the day she was born - how terrified I was, how I didn't feel an instant connection, how Husband initially took to diaper-changing much quicker than I did.

Now here she is, almost a full head of hair, scooting everywhere, eating mac 'n cheese (organic, for those who might judge) and drinking wine. We're so proud. (Of course the glass was empty, people. I hope you would already know that, but since this will be on the internet forever, I need to clarify.)

It's bittersweet when you're 99% sure you're only having one. I constantly remind myself to just stop and pay attention. Enjoy the experience. I may never play with blocks again, but dang if we don't have fun doing it now. I bought bubbles yesterday and am giddy to see her reaction.

Earlier this year a friend told me not to worry about when to start something, pay more attention to when it ends. The last bottle, rock to sleep, time she wears the ice cream cone pajamas. (She may have "fat man in a little coat" working, but she will at least wear them one more time.)

Because I hate to be sappy, I'll end with a Trudy story. 

One of Husband's friends came by the other night with his five-year-old son who was fascinated with Trudy. He wanted to pet and love on her. Trudy being Trudy, I felt the need to chaperone.

Joe pulls out all of T's toys while asking, "Does he like this one?" 
Me: Yes, SHE likes that rubber chicken. 
Joe: Can I pet him here? 
Me: Yes, SHE likes to be pet there.

This continues on for what feels like an hour until Joe grabs her tail. 
Me: You know, that's one place she really doesn't like to be messed with.

He lifts her tail up. 
Joe: Is that his bottom?
Pause. 
Me: Yes, that's her bottom.

Contemplation.
Joe: Where's his penis?
I desperately send telepathic waves to his dad, trying to get some help.
Me: Well, she's a girl so she doesn't have a penis.

Joe: Then how does he pee?

Dear lord. 

Me: Girls can pee without a penis, Joe.

Joe: Oh. Where does she pee from then? (Now simultaneously lifting Trudy's tail and hind leg.)

Me: All business happens under the tail.

Joe: Everything happens under the tail?

Me: Yes, everything happens under the tail.

Body part explanation with another person's kid avoided. Realize I need to get out while the getting's good. I alert Husband that he is now on Trudy patrol and I'm going to fold laundry. And by fold laundry I mean have a popsicle and enjoy the fact that Bean can't yet ask questions.







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