Skipping April Means He Won't Grow Up, Right?

Egad.

Did I really go a month without posting?  And was it really... The Month?  You know... the month he turned (gasp) one?  The holiest of holies in the momblogger blogosphere thingy?

Yep, sure did.  And it was his fault.  His fault for being so cute, because I have approximately a bazillion pictures of him being cute, and that means I have to get them off the camera(s) and into the hard drive and then uploaded for posting.  Do you know how long it takes to go through a bazillion pictures?  Me neither.  I usually give up after 30 or 40.

And it's his fault for boycotting sleep, which means my ADD-raddled brain is even more confused and punch-drunk than normal, especially because I'm still not medicated because he's still not ready to let go of me, so to speak, and I'm not sure what the best way to separate us is without causing lasting damage and years of therapy.

Besides my poor brain, my body has decided it's time to hand in its papers and remind me that I am indeed over 40, and unless I choose to make certain lifestyle changes, I can kiss goodbye to muscle tone, vitality, my waistline - oh, and pain-free existence.  I officially have osteoarthritis.  It officially blows.  Chunks.  Sleep deprivation makes it worse. 

So in order to avoid being a crippled, shuffling, brain-dead zombie (some of you will wonder if there is any other kind; I'm taking no chances on clarity.  If there are zombies with active brains, I am not amongst their ranks.), I am (shudder) working out and/or running (limping and gasping), and trying to get to bed before midnight.  This cuts greatly into the number of hours I have to do things that require The Boy to be sleeping or at Mother's Morning Out or somehow otherwise engaged, because if he is awake, he is exploring and I am chasing.

Sitting at the computer to do much of anything, let alone create engaging copy and add appropriate photos, has been beyond my scope and frankly, desire.  So, I'm sorry.  I promise to try to do better.  Can I bribe you with the stats?

Ivan is now 32.25" long.  This is in the 90th percentile - for a 15-month-old.  He towers over the kids I know who are his age.  And some two-year-olds.  He weighs 25.5 lbs, which is in the 50th percentile for his age.  So, long and lean.  Yes, I am trying not to worry about his weight.  His pediatrician doesn't.

He has ten teeth and is currently working on the bottom molars.  Teething is a sick joke played by an unfeeling, cold universe.  I should have bought stock in McNeil, I buy so much Motrin.

He has several words: dog, book, cat, car, truck, duck, di (for daddy), shiz (for shoes), socks sometmes, hi, and... still no Mommy. 

He climbs the steps without help or fear, and still throws himself off the bed or couch - but he's learned not to climb out of his crib, which is nice.  He launched himself INTO the tub when I was taking too long getting the water temperature just right.  Apparently he doesn't mind water in his nose. 

He's crawling like a mofo now, instead of inching.  Funny how that happened when I finally decided he could run around in just his T and nappy.  Yes, I feel foolish.

He is not walking by himself, but unless he's feeling underconfident, he is offended by the offer of two hands to hold, when all HE needs is one.  Cuz he's a boss.

And The Boss has learned the toddler game of "Guess what I hate eating that I loved yesterday?"  It is a source of stress and frustration for us both.  Items that are faithfully ingested are:  Pirate's Booty Veggie Puffs and hemp milk.  Everything else is subject to random disgust and spitting out.  He's getting better, but I can't help but worry that he's not eating enough or is properly nourished.  I know, I know... he'll be fine.

Otherwise, he is healthy with no new allergies (just the apples and dairy, with a mild soy intolerance), no new issues, and milestones all within reach.  And he is gorgeous and smart and funny and the best baby in the world.  Just ask me.

And he is awake.  Next post will have pictures, I swear!  But for now, I'm being demanded.  There's a special timbre to his yell that means, "Mommy, I love you - now come get me!"

It is music to my ears.