Rex, Rocky, Vivi, and Billy                                                                            

Not Every Post Has A Theme

Not Every Post Has A Theme

Today I can’t get my head outta my own ass to wrap my thoughts up into a pretty bow for you guys.  So instead, I’ll just chat with you about some shit.  Hope that’s okay.  First of all, Rex was running around shirtless today and asked me “Mom, what’s these called?” pointing to his nipples. 

“Oh, those are your nipples, bud.”—“Yeah. So I can feed babies like you, Mom”.  Yeah. I mean, come on! I just smiled and gave him a hug.  I’m not gunna be a fucking dream crusher.  He will have enough of those in his lifetime.  And actually, Rex was one of those baby boys you have heard of (or maybe you haven’t) who lactated as a newborn. 

Yeah. That’s a fucking thing.  Something about a transfer of hormones or something in the womb.  Whatever.  When I found out I ran upstairs (we were living in my parent’s basement at the time-- #MTVcribs) and shouted to my mom, “Mom! I just squeezed Rex’s nipple and milk came out!”  Of course her response was likely the same as yours, “Why the hell were you squeezing his nipple?!”  NOT THE POINT, PEOPLE.  Whatever.  Point is, Rex, you will not likely be able to feed babies.  But you could have fed yourself pretty early on.  Which I actually considered making you do some nights at 2am.

Rocky did not lactate.  Just sayin’.

Also--I think I need to start thinking about when naked time starts to become inappropriate.  Like, I know that I can change Rocky’s diaper just about anywhere and in front of anyone (or, I assume that I can—oops).  But today Rex had a little girliefriend over and made a mad dash to the potty mid-play.  Bro did a little dribble in his pants on the way there, I get it.  No big deal.  “It’s okay mom, they just come off.  We just take my wet pants off.”  Pants come off.  If the story ended here it would be considered pretty harmless.  Well, it didn’t.  Before I could even think about grabbing another pair he was off and running, pinsee---(yeah, get there)---out for all to see.  Was he running to his room to get new pants?  Negative.  To grab some toys?  Wrong again.  Runs straight to said girliefriend to give her a nice big bear hug, from behind.  Now of course, this is very innocent, adorable fun.  But, I mean, really.  I have the maturity level of a 14 year old boy and my son is naked and dry humping my friends daughter.  C’mon.  Poor girl is just standing totally still, not moving.  What is the best way to handle that situation? No, seriously.  Tell me.  I don’t want to make him feel all weird about it, or like there is something wrong…but I also don’t want poor little girliefriend gettin’ an unwanted pinsee rubbed all over the back of her pretty pink sweater dress. Ya feel me?  So I grabbed some pants for him and told him that hugs are nice but that we can’t have our pinsees out when friends are over.  What? I know.  It sounds even dumber when I type it out.

He's always been a little handsy. R+V 2013  

He's always been a little handsy. R+V 2013

 

Oh, and did you know that Brittany and I went to high school together?  Yeah, she was the overly cool (see below for the music video look and the gang signs), hot chick a year ahead of me that walked around the parking lot after school in her blue striped spaghetti strap tanktop with a bun on the top of her head while the guys swooned all over her. 

I was the starting power forward on the basketball team who didn’t know how to put on makeup and wore size 11 jordans. 

But I did try to be cool once. Junior year I actually ventured through the cologne infested nasty of Abercrombie and Fitch to get myself the Brittany Z. tank top.  This story is not for effect---this is actually true. I saw her wearing it one day and thought she looked so cool, so I had to go get one for myself.   As you can imagine my armpit stubble and A cups left me looking slightly different in the tank.  Just slightly. She will never admit to having no idea who I was a few years ago when a mutual friend introduced us, as I was silently and secretly celebrating my Big Samm meets Cool Britt moment.  But now, look how the tables have turned.  I am the cool one!  Nope.  Still her.  But just think--all you overly-tall, weird-looking high school girls---someday, you could be blogging with the older popular girl whose tank top game you tried to copy.  See, dreams can come true.

And lastly, I am starting to think my kid thinks he is a truck.  I am so thankful that we live in such a wonderfully accepting time where norms are being questioned, boundaries tested, etc.  So, I guess I’m just hoping that if Rex continues down the road we are currently on, that there will be a place for him as a truckman.  You know, not like a man who drives a truck, but a man who has sirens, gets flat tires, and needs me to gas him up a few times a day.  I was at a friend’s house recently and her daughter is almost five, and a great friend of Rex’s.  She went around the room announcing what everyone will be when they get older (she was going to be a princess, and her brother was going to be in a band).  When she got to Rex she said “Rex is gunna be a tow truck”.  Her mom laughed, “Oh, yeah?  He is going to drive a tow truck?” “No.  He is going to BE a tow truck.”   She fucking gets it.  Maybe he will live forever in my garage.  It’s actually a win for everyone.

See, I told you not every post has a theme. 

Kids Are Gross.

Kids Are Gross.

What "Getting Ready" Looks Like Now

What "Getting Ready" Looks Like Now