Week Eighteen: Complaining About Complaining

Will's four months old! I can't believe it. Now, I try to remember those early days with my little mister, all wrapped up like a burrito, with his big eyes staring at me so seriously, and it's already becoming hazy. I'm pulling out clothes size 0-3 months from Will's drawer and wondering if they ever fit him. He's really grabbing onto things, and letting go as he experiments with this crazy thing called gravity. He even seems to have gotten himself on (gasp!) a schedule. He takes 2 to 3 naps a day now, instead of just sleeping on and off all day, and is much more fun to play with. He has even started to have quite a sense of humor. His chuckles sound like a car trying to turn over, heh heh heh, and he laughs when he rolls from his back to his tummy like it's a real trick (which it certainly is!).

If it's possible, Emily is even more proud of Will and his new milestones than I am. It's so funny to hear her talk to him, imitating me, and I start to wonder if I sound that silly. Who's such a big, big boy? Where's my litle mister man? Oy.

But Emily. Wow. Kindergarten is going even better than we could have imagined. She runs up at the bus stop and greets her friends, and I watch her walk on the bus and start giggling with her friends. And she's also doing fantastic with her reading, but I really was more worried about the social aspect than anything. Of course the one thing her teacher is begging all of us parents to do is teach the kids to tie their shoes. This is also the one thing Emily just can't seem to get a handle on. Laces are overrated anyway, they make velcro shoes in all sizes, right?

One milestones the kids have in common seems to be complaining. Will's never been a crier, but lately when he's not happy, he just puts on this constant whine. And then Emily can start in about the most trivial things, like whether her apple is cut up exactly the way she had envisioned. I actually had to give her a time out for complaining, and I had to practically bite my tounge to keep myself from saying "just quit your bitching!". Of course I would never say that, but I won't say It didn't cross my mind a few times. But I can be quite a complainer myself, so it's not like I have a lot of room to talk.

Will's four month checkup is next week, which means another round of shots. I feel bad, I really do. I mean, how does a four month old react to the only person he trusts holding him and saying it's okay while a stranger stabs him in the thigh with needles? It just seems like a betrayal to me. And while I don't like vaccinations because they hurt my kids (temporarily), I really don't understand the current trend toward not vaccinating. As if it isn't enough to worry about things like drowning and swallowing small items, why not just throw polio into the mix? I just don't get it.

So, I'll have to sit there with my poor naked baby at the doctor's office, and come up with questions again. The last time I had to ask about cradle cap, just so I had something. Then I had to listen to detailed instructions on applying oil to Will's scalp and scrubbing. Seriously. Not worth it. Do I care about cradle cap? No. It's annoying, but I tend to worry about bigger things. Things that may make me come accross as a crazy person at the doctor's office. So I'm sure next week I'll come up with someting lame to ask, like when Will's eyes will figure out what color they're going to be. Because really, it's a much more pleasant subject than paranioa.