I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid...

So, I got basically zero sleep. Anabelle slept just fine. JJ, for God knows why, was all over the bed and couldn't lay still to save his life. Wiggle, turn, kick, toss, cuddle, squirm, "Bud, lay still," or "Back to your own bed, JJ", all freaking night. And of course he's perky and rested, and I feel like warmed-over roadkill.

Wanna know the real kicker? The only computer we have that can cope with Netflix has once again decided that it's not going to play nice. So I can't even stick him in front of an electronic babysitter for the morning.

What I *want* to do is make him sit in an empty Pack & Play with a tray of dry cold cereal, a water bottle, absolutely nothing to do, and spank him every time he wiggles or complains.

Because that's what my parents would do if I had kept them up all night, and that's fair, right? My turn, right?

Because I am not my parents, I will not be putting my 3 year old on the equivalent of lock-down. I will not be slamming doors and muttering imprecations at inanimate objects all day long.

He has a breakfast dray consisting of fruit, a peanut butter sandwich, and sliced lunch meat, which he loves.

He has a pack of crayons and a stack of fresh paper to draw on.

He has a room full of toys and books with which to entertain himself.

And I have explained to him in the clearest possible terms that there is to be no whining, complaining, or fit-throwing today, and that pretty much everything he says to me had best start with the words "Yes, Mommy."

So far, he's doing surprisingly well with that bit.

I'm doing surprisingly well with reminding him when he forgets.

The cats keep trying to trip me, I can hear the hus-beast snoring all the way in the livingroom, the baby is still sound asleep, and oh yeah... the Road Works department decided that our setback was a good spot to put a construction warning sign. Once again I seem to be the only person who knows how to load a dishwasher or put the clean stuff away, and it's a damn good thing there's a crock full of dinner ready to go, because the kitchen's closed today.

*sigh*

I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid,
I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid,
I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid,
I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid,
I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid,
I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid,
I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid, I love my kid.

It's not his fault he had trouble sleeping. He can't help it that he was restless. I have restless nights where I toss & turn all night long... or just get up and read a book.

*deeeeeeeeeeeeeep breaths*

We officially have a Toddler.

A toddler who adores making messes and harassing kittens.

*blinks*

When did that happen?????

I was looking at JJ's newborn pictures the other day.  

You know...

These.

 

*sniffle*

Yup.  Looking at those and others and remembering how teeny itty bitty he was... and looking at the twenty-one pound, 28" tall marauder cruising around my living room and wondering how in the heck???

I mean, it's awesome.  Mind-boggling.  But seriously awesome. 

And so, as promised, here is the birthday cuteness.  (Yes, I know it's 8 days later.  Sue me, we were busy!)  And these are just the ones I grabbed with my webcam, folks, there are better pics on the actual camera, but I figured somebody might track me down and strangle me if I made you wait for those!

 The traditional heart-shaped Birthday Cake Pan, here shown 

with evidence that the cake was indeed baked within its confines. 

(No, seriously, my mother has used that pan for birthday cakes 

my ENTIRE LIFE.  I was quite certain that lightning would fall 

from on high if I dared make a plain old rectangle cake.)

"Okay.  I've got a fork.  And a biscuit.  Woopie."

 "Wait just a second... what's that?"

 "Yeah.  I knew Mom wouldn't let me down!"

The traditional singing of the traditional song 

was followed by the traditional destruction of the cake.

"Mmph... Mom... you weren't kidding about this chocolate stuff."

 (Honest, I have pictures on the actual camera while the cake was still 
intact, but I wasn't quick enough to get any with the webcam as well.)

 

 "Yuuuuuuum.  SUGAR!!!!!!!!!!!!"

 The traditional sugar-crazies ensued, and a few hours later...

 

"One..."

 

 "Two..."

"Three... he is DOWN for the COUNT."

He's growing so fast, learning so fast it's almost frightening.  I've always been one who swore up & down that babies are far more intelligent and aware than most grown ups give them credit for, but it takes on a whole new dimension when the baby in question is **yours**.  And it seems to hit a sort of critical mass sometimes where it all balls together, picks up speed, and suddenly every time I turn around he's doing something I've never seen him do before.  Climbing onto a footstool.  Gently petting a kitten (as opposed to whacking it).  Reaching for my hairbrush and using it to awkwardly brush his own hair.  (That one really made my jaw drop!)

The most recent pièce de résistance happened last Friday, just five days after his birthday.  Parents, you know that moment, the times your baby does something that tells you without any shred of doubt that there is a person in there, and that said individual is aware of the stuff you're trying to teach them?  The moment that gives you hope you might have a prayer of raising a civilized, well-mannered little person?  Well, this was a good one.

He signed "milk".  Mind, I have been using "milk" and roughly two dozen other signs with him since birth, mostly as a means to answer that all-important question, "Why are you crying?"  By the time he was three months old, I could run through about a dozen signs, and when I hit the right one, he would stop fussing.  But of course, the goal is to eventually have baby sign back to you, and JJ finally did it!!!!  Independently, without being asked, without my hand over his, and BEFORE he communicated his desire to nurse by yanking down my shirt.  He did this several times over the next hour, very politely coming up to me and signing for "milk", but that first one...

I tell ya, people, I squeee'd like a tween at a Twilight marathon. 

That's my boy... my little explorer... my JJ.