don't let them see you cry

i have a secret.  i'm sure those that know me well have gotten a peek through the strong woman facade i try to put off. 

because the truth is, i've had some insecurities that ran pretty deep for a large part of my life, most of them having to do with things i cannot control- physical appearance and other things.  i learned as i got older to cover them up with sarcasm.  make everything a big joke when everyone's around, cry about it later if necessary.  but now that i've become a mom, none of that seemed to matter anymore.  gobbles is priority number one, so worrying about parts of myself that cannot be changed just seem trivial.

it's not about me anymore.

yesterday we headed down to a specialist for what we thought would be a short procedure to unclog his left tear duct, which never cleared up on its own.  instead, the appointment was only a pre-evaluation complete with eye exam to make sure everything was good to go for the procedure to be scheduled at a later time.  things were going fine as they ran a few tests, confirming the clog and looking at a few other things.  they put some drops in his eyes and told us to go back to the waiting room for thirty minutes and we'd be called back in.

we enjoyed that time with gobbles as he ran like a maniac around the long halls of the hospital, laughing and squealing when we'd catch him.  relieved that he wasn't having a procedure that day after all, i was a little lighter on my feet, thinking he'd just get a quick pupil check and we'd be on our way.

instead, after we returned to the exam room, doctor after doctor came in and performed the same test.  still not thinking anything of it, i held my squirming toddler tight as he tried to ward off the lenses they were sticking in front of his eyes and the lights they were shining in.

after the third doctor came in for a consult, they sat us down.  your son is extremely nearsighted.  he needs a prescription of minus eleven.  he needs glasses immediately and we have to bring him back here for testing to rule out genetic disorder.  after all of that is sorted out, then we can worry about the tear duct.

it was like a sucker punch.  glasses.  tears stung my eyes as my mind flashed back to a 7th grade basketball game.  we were in the gym of a rival school's team playing on a friday night.  for some reason the boys from our school came in to watch.  i was running down the court in my rec specs, hoping the floorboards would open up and i would disappear into the fabric of the court.  see, i had a nice pair of wire rims for school and stuff, but their fragility led my mom to justify getting the cheapest ugliest plastic frames for sports.  complete with zebra print band.  i felt like a dork, but it was ok.  i mean nobody watches girls' sports other than parents, right?  when the boys showed up, i remember thinking.  great.  just another thing for them to make fun of me about.  because kids at that age can be downright cruel.

my mind snapped back as the doctor asked if we had questions.  is this his baseline?  is this minus eleven the BEST gobbles is ever going to see?  the doctor told us that yes, his sight will go down with age just as other nearsighted people do. 

my mind was spinning, tears flowing. i am a minus 6.5 and am blind as a bat without my glasses or contacts.  you're telling me my 15 month old son has eyes that are almost TWICE as bad as my own at 30?  the doctor confirmed, and reiterated that is the reason they wanted to perform more tests, to make sure that is the only thing.  i started firing questions what about his future? will he be able to do everything other normal kids do? 

he will, but even if he got contacts he'll have to wear protective goggles for sports to take precaution against retinal detachment.  bam.  rec specs. a left hook.

after more back and forth, none of which i can really remember, we left, full of anxiety and fear.  when we got in the car my husband and i discussed the chances of the worst case.  the reason for the further testing gobbles must have some time in the future.  the doctor made it seem like it was just a precaution, so we are trying not to worry about it now.  the fact that my son cannot see is worry enough...

my husband asked if i was ok, and it all came out.  i don't want my baby to ever have to be insecure about anything.  this is just ammunition for other kids to make fun of him!  i can't believe it.  it's my fault.  he assured me that they won't be made fun of, that i was projecting my own insecurities all over him.  true, i guess.  but i argued further.  you don't know what it's like!  to be at the pool and not being able to see your friends, to be on the beach and come out of the ocean and try to find your towel again half blind.  christ, just to wake up in the middle of the night and feel around for your glasses so you can look at the clock.  you don't understand!

my husband assured me that everything will be ok.  he's not sick (pending the results of the aforementioned tests), and he's still a happy guy.  and happiness is all that matters, if it comes with a few inconveniences than so be it. 

we're both still pretty shocked that our boy has been walking around half blind, but some things are making sense.  the lack of interest in the tv, only crawling to us at daycare when he hears our voices, and crying when i'm just five feet away because he can't see me are all very clear now.  the doctor assured as that his world will grow so much when he gets the glasses, and he will be much happier.

i know things will be all right.  but i pray that since he got his eyesight from his momma, he'll at least get his confidence from his daddy.

and in the meantime, i will never let him see me cry.

Days like these

Our days have begun to pick up and run together again, blurring the line between winter and spring, and all of the sudden we've found ourselves in mid-march with an energetic fifteen month old who loves daylight savings more than anyone else, except that pesky part of trying adjust to bedtime an "hour earlier". 

The house is in need of a good scrub, the dogs need baths and manicures, weeks' worth of clean clothes remain to be put away, and toys are strewn across the house as far as the eye can see.  Yet, it doesn't bother me.  Our little family has spent the last few weeks recouping from the harsh winter (well, harsh end of winter at least), just doing what we do best - hanging out and having fun. 

Sure, work stress is at an all time high, but I've taken to running during lunchtime, which not only helps me blow off steam that would otherwise leave me tearing up in anger at the idiocy of an egotistical maniac, but it's giving me more time to sleep in, make Gobble's breakfast & lunch in the morning, or just be.  Bonuses are that I don't eat the sweets strewn about the office and that if my 4th metatarsal holds up, I'm on track for broad street. 

So back to the fun. 

I absolutely LOVE this age.  Yes there are diapers, yes there is a paci (for sleeping only), yes there is the occasional barf (sorry again sis about your birthday cake!!).  But there are no bottles to warm up, no baby food to mush, and no bedtime blues.  If Gobbles doesn't feel like going to sleep, then he'll lay in his crib talking to himself for an hour without fussing (as long as the aforementioned pacifier doesn't fall out of the crib.  yikes.)

And my boy?  Smartest little man ever.  But he may have his Momma's stubbornness as well (or Daddy's... he may be more stubborn than me!).  Last Tuesday morning, for the first time since we heard him say the word six months ago, Gobbles began running around the house.  Mommma, Momma, Mom-MAAA!!!!  This after MONTHS of calling me Da-Da to get a rise out of me.  And yes, it was purely for a rise, because he'd call me Dada, I'd say, "No, MAMMA", and he'd laugh and shake his head no, sending us all into fits of giggles.

But, ever since last week, my heart leaps out of my chest every time I hear those two little syllables, Mom-ma.  A finger point directed at me along with the word makes me fall to pieces with joy.
Gobbles is funny like that.  He knows a lot more than he lets on, and just waits for the right time to let it out.  Earlier this week, after he'd gone to bed, hubs and I hear a very distinct, "Hi!" come from his room.  We flip the monitor on and turn up the volume, assuming he'd managed to turn on one of his talking animals.  "Hi, Hi, Hi!".  We both looked at each other - assuring the other that we were not hiding any new words, we'd really never heard him say it before.  Next day at daycare, I asked, "Um, so does Gobbles say Hi?".  Oh yes, he says hi all the time! 

That little bugger. 

I told them of the night before and they just laughed well, that's Gobbles.  He only says what he needs to, but then again, it's hard to get him to stop...hmmm not sure why he's holding back "Hi". Ahh.  So the poor child is conflicted it seems with that DNA combo we gave him.  His father's dry reserve coupled with his mother's incessant need to overshare - one will have to win out in the end, we'll have to wait and see which.

Another new word he frequents now is Again (Gan!). I've started playing ring around the rosie (black plague be damned) with him, and he LOVES it.  Half the time he falls down a little early, but as soon as I'm on the ground next to him?  Gan, Gan, Gan! as he holds out his hands.  And boy, the physical demand of getting up and down off the floor to play 27 times in a row is actually really hard, and I consider myself somewhat in shape.  Gobbles loves this game so much that he'll randomly abandon a toy and run over to me, pulling my arms out and positioning my hands so we can go another round.

So as of now it looks like our words of choice are Dada, Momma, Wiggle, Dog, Stop, Go, Car, Bus, Again, This, That, Ball, Cheese, and a few others I can't think of at the moment.  The words Gobbles understands but doesn't say yet are innumerable.  Ask him to go get his shoes and he gets them, tell him to say hi to Spoons and he runs over to give her a hug.  Direct him to play with Cannoli and he finds a toy on the ground, approaches him, and sticks the toy into the dog's mouth. 

I could go on and on, and don't get me wrong, it's not bragging, I'm just amazed at how much my boy can do when a year ago he couldn't even roll over.  That and I feel the need to list things here since the baby book has gone untouched for so long, I need to document these things somewhere!

So our weekends have been filled with playtime, talking, laughter, and trips to the playground.  Gobbles had his first (and second) trips to the park recently.  I don't know why it took us so long to get there, but being a winter baby by the time he was big enough to go I was back at work and chaos ruled.  Anyway, he has an irrational fear of the swings which I actually find quite cute.  But the slides and the captains wheel?  We could go up and down or spin spin spin all. day. long.  Typically, Mommy or Daddy will get tired of getting tangled up going down the twisty slide (seriously, no fun as an adult!) and call it a day.  But it's ok, because we usually take that energy from the park and come back to our own backyard chasing the puppies around until naptime. 

The only downside of all this fun is the complete lack of pictures.  I've been taking hubs' advice and living life for what it is, instead of watching from behind a camera.  So, I've got a few cell phone shots but that's about it....

But never fear, I've been taking pics all week of my lil Irish lad in his St. Patty's day pride.  That'll be for the next post!


I'm on top of the worrlllllld!




Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!



So much fun to be had in my own backyard!



Look at those puppies run!

Just wait one minute and this lawn will be mowed!

and then the rain came.

I went to bed Sunday night thinking what a wonderful weekend it had been.  Gobbles was back to himself and then some, eating like a machine and playing and laughing like never before.  A cousin had her first baby, a beautiful little girl who we cannot wait to meet.  Friends of ours who have been together forever got engaged, and we were thrilled by the happy journey on which they're to embark.

And then the rain came.

Phone calls before the sun is up on Monday morning never bring good news.  Eleven months and six days after his lovely bride Babe passed, my grandpop, Mickey, decided it was time to join her.  The past year has been a series of ups and downs healthwise, and recently Grandpop was showing signs that he was ready.  He missed my Grandmom dearly and since her passing has spoken often of the times they've talked while he was sleeping. 
Despite his waning health, Mick still had moments of mental sharpness to the end.  On Sunday when we visited, after telling us what a good family he raised, how we're all good kids, he talked about now it's even with twenty, ten and ten.  He was referring to my cousin's new baby girl, number 19 of the great- grandchildren, who will soon be joined by her sister's baby girl, due in six weeks, making 20.  Part of me feels like Grandpop just held on this week in order to be able to deliver accurate news of their legacy to Grandmom, as the gender of this new baby was a surprise.  My Grandpop was a man who was always very meticulous about numbers and details. 

He had to be meticulous in order to provide for his eleven children.  Long after they had moved out of the house, he was still working on stretching his money in odd ways.  My grandparents' basement would be a stockroom of toilet paper and salad dressing, because if there was a buy one get one sale, the local acme was the place to find Mick.  He would even bypass the "limit two" restriction by repeatedly purchasing his items, bringing them to his car, and returning to the store to buy more.  I remember another creative way he'd make money after retirement was duping the credit card companies.  He would max out cash from zero percent cards, invest the cash in a high interest account, earn interest, and take the money back out to pay the credit card bills upon their due date.  So basically he was gaining interest off of someone else's money.  A lot of effort for probably not that much money, but it gave the old man something to do, and more importantly it made him proud.  He would always talk of these schemes with a glint in his eye knowing he was beating the system somehow.

When he wasn't yelling at someone to turn the thermostat down, or yelling at his kids about parking the car (he was really hard of hearing at the end, so the yelling is kind of a given), Mick had a soft gentle side as well.  Even though Gobbles will not remember, he is so lucky to have met his Great-Grandpop.  When Grandpop first met my child, who happened to be a little large in the beginning, he exclaimed, "wow this kid's heavy.  he's a monster!".  And the nickname stuck.  Every time my mom would visit, he'd ask How's that monster? But then when he'd see Gobbles again he'd be ever so gentle in talking to him and having him sit on his lap.  He even yelled at my mom one time, Stop talking so loud, you're scarin the kid! 

Just this past Sunday, he asked if Gobbles was walking yet. "Of course" we told him, "you knew that".  Well, said Grandpop, I think you're going to need a bigger house, because he's a monster! 

Opinionated with the right touch of sarcasm... Mick's humor & advice may seem offensive from the outside but for those close we know its all out of love (and usually pretty practical as well, harsh as the truth may be sometimes).  Sound familiar?  Yea, so that must be where I got it.  Thanks for that trait Grandpop, I consider it one of my best (and worst).

My mother is number two of eleven. I am number eleven of twenty-eight.  My son is number fifteen of nineteen (so far).  We are just a few of this wonderful family that you are so proud of.  We love you and will miss you Grandpop.  Give Grandmom a hug for me and take good care of her, as you always have.

Fear

It's just after midnight Sunday morning.  Normally, we'd all be asleep anticipating a lazy day ahead of us filled with lots of family time, some home cooking, and a soccer game.  Instead, I'm riding down the highway counting the miles down from 26 to 1 as we slowly get closer to our destination.  I look out the passenger window to see if my husband is driving alongside, but really knowing he's probably ahead of us.  This ambulance is driving so. damn. slow...  I strain around the other way to get a peek of what's happening behind me.  "He's in good hands," the driver assures me, "this is a great team." 

I hear snippets of muffled conversation from the back, but nothing I can make sense of.  My mind wanders back to just 14 hours earlier when I was laying on a massage table without a care in the world.  Feeling guilty for even thinking about the hours I took a break from parenting, I snap myself back to the present and what is going on... but what is going on?  I have no idea, and every minute that goes by, every exit we pass on a road I've driven a million times feels completely unfamiliar and a little bit scary. The sight of my son, tiny, helpless, and confused, strapped down to a stretcher will forever be burned in my mind...

Let's back up a bit here.  Last Thursday was such a great day.  With record highs and outside, I took a lunchtime run to blow off steam and finished up work in time to leave with the sun still up.  I danced out the door ready for my four day weekend with my boy.  I picked him up from daycare and the teachers raved about how much fun he had.  When I gave him a hug his buddha belly peeked out beneath his shirt, revealing a few red bumps.  Hmm.  Must be brushburn from the slide or some bug bites.  That's odd. 

On the way home, we discussed our plans, Friday would be Mommy / Gobbles day at the park - we've never been to the park together (I know, ok?).  Saturday will be Mommy's day out with a friend followed by all of us seeing our friends that night, including Lil Buddy.  Sunday would be family day, and Monday we'd head to the Please Touch Museum.  So much fun to be had!

After his bath, a few more little bumps showed up on the Gobbler's butt.  We called my mom, school teacher by day, children's medical expert by night.  She suggested not giving him his amoxicillan just in case before putting him to bed, but a couple of hives may just be from something he ate.  Yea, a couple of hives.  The little man fussed through the night but nothing more than requiring a paci plug or in-the-dark diaper change.  Gobbles woke up unusually early for the day, and though I walked in groggy eyed, I was jolted awake by the look of him.  A rash from head to toe, my poor little boy looked like Woogie from Something About Mary. 

Hubs quickly called the Dr, but the on-call never called us back.  A few more calls to the answering service yielded nothing, and finally as they were opening someone said they could see us mid-morning.  Not good enough, so we packed up and went to the ER.

After a short wait and a few questions, the doctors came to the conclusion that Gobbles was having an allergic reaction to his amoxicillan.  No matter that he had been on it for 10 days back in January with no problem.  Nor that it was his 9th day on it before any hives showed up, they explained how the antibodies formed and began to fight the drug.  Erythema Multiforme Minor, they called it.  Benedryl every 6 hours for two days and he should be ok.  The rash may last a few weeks, but he should be fine.

Besides, he was acting, fine - chillin in the ER eating a snack.  You know, all's good.

Ay?  You gots a problem heyah?  Didn't think so... where's mah paci?

Mmmm Fishies!

So off we went home, and hubs to work, deciding that Mommy/Gobbles day in the park can wait for another day.  Besides, it's a bit cloudy outside anyway.  He slept most of Friday due to the benedryl but during the time he was awake we played and played as if there were no problem.  Lots of extra hugs and kisses were required though.

Saturday started off as normal as could be.  I was excited for my mom's day out and Gobbles was excited for alone time with Daddy.  I was concerned because the rash had moved, but hubs had since become an expert thanks to Google and said this was ok, just as long is it didn't look worse.

Nothing to be concerned about Momma!  Well, except maybe that booger.  I mean, a tissue could help, right?

So off I went with my Momma friend and we pretended we do this kind of stuff all the time.  A massage and lunch, thank you.  Because really, we could definitely use pampering like that every weekend!  I allowed myself to get lost in our morning even though conversation inevitably went back to kids because, well, that's just where we are and what's surrounding us at this time.  Most of our friends have either been knocked up, are currently knocked up, or have newly minted sparklers on their left hands as the first step to someday in the future becoming knocked up. 

When I got home from my little date, Gobbles was down for his nap as expected, and the rest of the afternoon was pretty low key.  When he woke up we gave him a special aveeno oatmeal bath to ease the itching.  It worked temporarily.  For dinner, the little man loved his chicken and baked potato, which he ate in no time.  Drinking?  That was another story.  No sippies, no bottles, no big boy cups, no nothing.  Everything we tried was rejected.  At bedtime, we noticed he was a little warm, and took at temp of 102.  Not typically high for him, but the discharge instructions from the day before said to call the dr for anything over 101. 

Thankfully the on-call got back to us within minutes, just as Gobbles began dozing in his crib.  After hubs answered a few questions about the state of the rash, which had kind of turned purple, we were told it'd be best to head back to the ER.  Assuming it would be similar to the day before's visit, we grabbed a few things, woke up the baby, and were out the door.  Unfortunately, nothing was the same.

The hospital was hopping for 9:00 on a Saturday night, but the on-call had phoned ahead to let them know we were coming, and he was taken back right away.  Five minutes with my kid and the doctors said they couldn't help him there, and they were ordering a transfer to a nearby children's hospital. 

While waiting for the transfer, they decided to get the labs going and start him on IV fluids.  They needed both hubs and myself, plus a second nurse to hold down my confused, fidgety baby while they poked him first in the inner elbow and next on the back of the hand trying to draw blood.  With each new poke, my son remained silent but for a small whimper and began to pull back his free hand which I was holding down with all my might.  I couldn't look him in the eye as this was happening, I felt horrible for being a part of it.

The IV was in place, secured by tape, a splint, gauze, more tape, and eventually a plastic cap (all to stop curious hands from ripping it out).  We stood up relieved, and hubs quickly sat back down, almost passing out.  He had not been so devoid of color since the moment I got my Epidural on Gobbles' birthday.  After we all calmed down a bit, we took turns attempting to rock the baby to sleep.  He was exhausted, but too interested in what was going on and too uncomfortable to just pass out even though it was way past his bedtime. 

During our wait for the ambulance, one of the nurses came in and pressed a small coin into my hand.  I give these angels to people who need them.  Good luck.  I looked at her, confused, but before I could say anything she was gone.  I know she meant no harm, but that actually made me feel like I had a reason to be scared, when before I just always assumed we'd be fine.

After we got to the children's hospital, time picked up, or slowed down, or maybe it was just so much waiting and waiting that I don't have anything to say, but by now we were delirious and everything the doctors said to us was running together.  Gobbles still hadn't gone to sleep but for 15 minutes during the ambulance ride, and was only content laying on one of our chests at a very specific angle.  Sometime after 3 we were told that he would be admitted for having Steven Johnson's Syndrome, so hubs sent me home to let the dogs out and get some rest.  God bless him for staying there with Gobbles the whole time, my rock.

I'll admit, I have driven after putting down a beer or two before, and looking back, that state is so much safer then driving when you are so completely physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted but also wide awake with worry.  The highway was completely deserted and somehow I convinced myself that the stories I've heard on the news about someone driving the wrong way was destined to happen during the ride home.  I took each curve with caution trying to figure out where I'd veer off to if necessary.  At least that's what I remember from the drive.  Like I said, kind of delirious.

I slept on and off for about 4 hours when daylight began to stream into the room.  I decided I needed to get back to see my son.  Still drained, it took me a good 20 minutes to figure out how to pack a shirt for hubs, an outfit for Gobbs, and some toys.

I drove as quickly as I could into the sun-shiny day, passing the time on the highway by chatting with my sisters on the phone as I drove.  Gobbles was in a shared room that was partitioned by a privacy curtain.  When I walked in, my son's face said it all...

Momma I missed you

And I've learned to function without my left arm!

All smiles for a boy in a hospital bed, what?

Yup, after just a few hours, lots of fluids, and grease all over me I feel great!

Yea, I guess my legs still look a little rough, but I 'm still smiling :)

After spending a few minutes with my happy little guy I realized everything was going to be alright.  We got lots of hugs and kisses, and they soon disconnected him from the fluids to see how he'd do drinking on his own.  We all took a brief nap, then ordered Gobbles some lunch.  Let's just say they call him Gobbles for more than one reason...

Ugh. Tastes like cardboard

This kinda tastes like cardboard too, but it has pizza sauce. MMMMMMMmmmm!

The nurses even brought a friend to have lunch with me.

Nom nom nom.

While Gobbles ate, hubs ran out to find some lunch for us.  The doctors told me if he drank well he could be discharged by the evening.  Upon hearing this news, I began cheering every time the little man took a sip. 

Then I heard it from behind the curtain... Nicky, why don't we read our cards from our friends again?  Gobbles' roommate was a small boy about 6ish, and had spent most of his time sleeping with his dad by his side.  I began to hear conversation that just ripped my heart out.  The boy's father began to read cards from relatives, various doctors, and friends.  When the nurses came in to check on him, I learned that he'd been in that room, in the bed, for 3 weeks.  Based on the meds they were giving him, he was not in good shape.  As the father continued talking lovingly to his son, I began to well up.  Sorrow for what that family must be going through.  Guilt, that I made such a big deal about my little guy when he was going to be fine.  Sadness, that we were probably not the only roommate that this boy has seen come and go in less than a day.  Every parents' worst fears were being lived out by the man on the other side of the room.

I squeezed my son a little closer in those moments, and every moment since.  By Monday evening, although still running a fever, showing traces of a rash, and having bloodshot eyes, my son was just about back to himself.  Each day after has been even better, and it's now been a week since the first red bumps arrived.  The result?  No amoxicillan / penicillan ever again, and just a few tired parents, who have a renewed gratefulness for what they have been blessed with.  My heart still aches for the little roommate, who I cannot get off my mind.  I hope and pray that he and his family pull through and come out ok.

Love you everybody! Thanks for the well wishes - as you can see I'm back to being good ol' Gobbles :)



One Boy's Valentine's Day

My Momma dressed me up like a walking billboard that screamed Hey Ladies!  I'm kinda desperate!  So embarrassing.  Especially considering I'm in a class full of boys.  Sure the teachers are girls, but they're not very happy with me right now since all I do is whine for them to pick me up.  I mean, is it really too much to ask for them to tote around another 25 lbs while caring for four other children?  I'm cute, right?  I thought so until my mom put on this shirt that basically said I did not have a Valentine.  Gee thanks Grandma!

Mommy asked Gobbles, am I your special Valentine?  I laughed and shook my head, and pointed to my Daddy.  She asked - is Daddy your Valentine?  I laughed again, yup!

I thought maybe I could get my 6 pearly whites sparkly fresh for the big day.  But ohhh the bristles on my gums!  It was better to just suck on the toothbrush.

Before I went off to school Mommy helped me read my cards that I got for Valentine's day.  The one from Nana was so special I carried it around the house!

After Daddy got my shoes on, I was all set for a big day at school!

Today was a great day because even though I didn't get any valentines in my bag, Momma surprised me by picking me up!  She said today was special so she didn't have to work late.  (Shhhh. She told me shush about that too but I don't know what it means!).  Daddy came home happy as well because he got great news today about the new job he wanted.  He's so happy and may even get to take the puppies in once in awhile!  Too bad he can't take me - I'd love to hang out with Daddy all day long!

Dinner was great, because rather than fighting my tantrums to get me to eat my veggies, Mommy and Daddy just took away what I didn't want and let me have what I wanted!  (*Mom's interjection - Yes.  We really did decide that the two waking hours we have with him on work days would be better spent getting him to eat something, anything rather than fighting over food and ending up tired, cranky, and still hungry anyway.  Tonight's result - good.  He declined veggies and rice, but after some applesauce and cheese, he accepted some chicken and gladly took cheerios and puffs.  Went to bed happy!*) 

And since we didn't spend so much time throwing food around at dinner, I had time to play with my new band in a box!

The cymbals were my favorite!

I felt like a toy monkey!

After all that music making, it was just time to dance.  The good ol' fridge farm not only tastes good, but it's perfect for my pre-bedtime booty shake. 

And by 8:00, that was it.  I was tired from a great Valentine's day and ready for bed.  Mommy took me up and started reading my books.  But guess what?  I was so ready for bed that I just started climbing into the crib while she read.  So instead she recited my book to me and got my blankets.  I laughed at the parts I like, and smiled behind my paci.  I pointed to my light as if to say "turn it out! it's bedtime!"  Mommy told me she loved me so so much and bent all the way down to give me a kiss.  She touched my cheek and said Goodnight Gobbles!  I'll see you in the morning!  Happy Valentine's day!  I love you so much!

As she left my room, I giggled to myself.  I didn't need to find a Valentine in my class, I still have a few years before I'll call myself a "bachelor".  Right now, the only Valentine I need watched on the monitor as I talked and laughed to myself for 24 minutes before falling asleep.  My Mommy is the best Valentine I could ask for.  Besides my Daddy :)