Give him to me!

When I was pregnant, I remember feeling like Vash would never come. I had been so sick and so bored for SO LONG, that I never went through that almost-a-new-mom-nervous-can-we-put-a-hold-on-this?-because-i'm-still-enjoying-work-and-school thing. I was sitting around day after day and week after week, month after month,just puking and laying and crying my way through life. I was home alone most of the time and I felt like I was accomplishing nothing. I wasn't going to school or work. The most I did was dance a little in my first trimester because my doctor thought doing something physical might help with the morning sickness, make a wedding picture scrap book, and organize a yard sale to make some room for baby. Not a whole lot in 9 whole months. But I was growing a baby. And I suppose that is a lot of something in a way. Anyhow, my due date came and went and still NO BABY. We couldn't take it any longer and we made an appointment to be induced. And isn't the luck? As soon as you make an appointment to see the doctor, you feel better. Yep. My water broke the night before I went in to be induced. So Vash entered the world. Glorious and BIG and crying and healthy. We took him home. We loved him up. We kept his bassinet in whatever room we were in. But Craig would look at me and ask, "Do you want to let him sleep in the bassinet? Or do you want to hold him?" ARE YOU KIDDING? I wanted that baby SO BADLY. You can guess my answer was always, "I want to hold him".

Boss! Boss! Da Plane, da Plane!

One day, when Vash was maybe 14 months old, we went over to visit Nana and Papa. For whatever reason, I don't think Craig was home and I had taken Vash there to see if he would be calm for someone other than me. I was 4 months pregnant and having a hard time keeping up with him because I was still sick. Well, Jen was over and offered to take Vash for a walk to burn some of his energy. While I talked with Nana and Papa, Jen said Vash was pointing to every dog he heard bark and every plane that passed by. He didn't have many words at that point so pointing was the best he could do to acknowledge something. It's an adorable memory for me even though I wasn't the one walking him. And it's sweet because Rhyla is an expert pointer too. Only now, when she points at something Vash usually wants to tell her what it is, before we have a chance to. "Dat's a heli-tract-too, Ya-ya."

Odd Combination

My parents and I took the kids to Paradise Bakery for lunch on Saturday after swim lessons. Craig had a training meeting so he was unable to help me with the kids at swim lessons, which is why I needed my parents along since, at the moment, I have two children that need to be carried everywhere. Anyhow, Rhyla ate well. Vash ate almost nothing expect a chocolate chip cookie which got chocolate all over his cast that looked like poop smears. Yummy. (Don't worry, we covered it up with a sharpie and some artistic artwork.) But eating there reminded me of something I had completely forgotten. For a couple of months, when I was pregnant with Rhyla, I had a frequent craving for a tuna sandwich and broccoli cheese soup from Paradise. So since Vash was in swim lessons at the time and Craig was at school all day, my parents would help me with Vash at swim, then we'd follow it up with lunch at Paradise. Vash didn't like the sandwich, but he loved the soup and would eat lots of it. Actually, he liked it so much, he would dip his chocolate chip cookie INTO the broccoli cheese soup and eat it that way. You'd have thought he was the one having pregnancy cravings.

Take Me Out OF The Ball Game

This week, being emotionally rough in nature, brought to memory another Vash "ouchy Boo boo" story. Long before Rhyla was born, Vash and I were playing outside in the back yard. We were kicking balls, chasing each other, and generally having a high old time. But for some reason, our baseball bat was out, laying on the porch. Now if Vash took it out and set it down because it was heavy or if it was out already because the neighbor kids we share a back yard with took it out and left it, I honestly can't remember. All I remember was time changing to slow motion as I watched my baby boy run and slip on the baseball bat, fall, and smack his head on our concrete porch. I was crying and crying and called Craig to see if I should take him to the ER. He said to call and ask his mom, who is kind of like a Doctor. So I did and we went through the list of questions: Did he black out or throw up after he fell? (No.) Is he still crying? (No.) Is he bleeding or does he have a bump? (No bleeding, A bump, but it't turning PURPLE! *sobs*) Vash at this point wanted back down and kept playing as if nothing had happened. "Well... If he gets lethargic or wont eat, try taking him to the ER. " Obviously everything was all right. He didn't sleep to much and he ate tons so we never had to take the trip. The bump went away over night and the bruise was gone a few days later. Although his speech is still somewhat indiscernible to others, he's still an incredibly smart boy, so no permanent damage. But I hate it when my babies get hurt and I have been extremely cautious since then.