Just for guilt's sake, I went back to see how many posts I have written about Joel, as opposed to his older brother.
Not surprisingly, Owen could call 104 posts his own, while Joel had 81.
I started writing this blog after Joel was born, so Owen didn't even have a head start.
In my own defense, though, Owen can talk and he says a lot of funny things. For example, yesterday, I said, "I hope we packed enough underwear," a phrase Owen finds hilarious.
He then upped the preschool hilarity index by adding, "I hope we packed enough penises!"
I said to him, "You only get one, Buddy. Use it well."
He nodded solemnly and replied, "I will, Mommy."
As Joel gets older, he is doing more noteworthy things besides being adorable or having surgeries. He's on the cusp of two, and I'm feeling it more every day.
By "it" I mean "verbally abused." Mealtimes are a challenge because I must prepare it stealthily, less he see it in its incomplete state and completely lose his shit. For example, he came downstairs and waddled into the kitchen says, "Jew! Jew!"
I don't think he was referring to Yentl (although what kid doesn't love Yentl?) as much as stating his desire for juice.
I handed him a sippy cup from the fridge and upon finding it filled with milk, he shook his head, made an inhuman sound and did a tantrum dance, wailing, "JEW! JEW!" I grabbed another sippy cup and filled it with juice.
But not soon enough. My little tyrant threw the unacceptable milk, at my bare foot and flung himself on the floor with the agony of it all.
I limped into my room with my smart phone and shut the door. I let him wail his damn fool head off and blissfully ignored him.
I'm too old for this shit. I already did it once. I'm not gonna fret or second guess myself. He's having a fit, and I'll deal with it when he's calm.
But not a minute before.
That's what's nice about parenthood the second time around. You know that they aren't made of glass, and that they can be unreasonable little buggars.
Sometimes the best action can be summed up in one word: RETREAT.
Besides, he's not always like this. Generally, he's funny, loving his tractors and dump trucks.
Yesterday morning, he woke up early and I took him to my bed so he could sleep more. He rested his sweet blond head on my belly, and it rose and fell with my breaths. His heaviness, his rosebud of a mouth, the sound of his gentle inhales and exhales----it's my own private ocean. The whole world stopped as he and I drifted and bobbed together, carefree, boundless, and at peace.