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| Baby clothes are for babies. |
Quinn woke up one morning last week, and all of the sudden
his clothes didn’t fit anymore. They fit fine the day before, but not anymore.
Even on his skinny frame, all of his pants were too tight, and getting his arms
into his shirts required contortionist-type bending. Good thing kids are
flexible.
So Hubs and I went on a 2T shopping spree, which means if it
was in Q’s size and it was cheap, we bought it. This weekend I washed up all of
Q’s new clothes and lovingly, sadly packed the old clothes away into “retirement
bins” and stored them in the garage.
As sad as I am to see some of those old clothes go, I must
say Q looks rather dashing in his more mature wardrobe. Ooh, I should create a style board for him! That would
be kinda fun. I’m totally going to do that. Spoiler alert: it will basically
look like an Old Navy ad.
Quinn stands so I can pull up his new jeans, and I notice
that he’s no longer eye level with me as I sit on the floor in front of him. He
stares above my head as I easily button his new pants and slightly roll the cuffs so he doesn’t slip. I wonder if he notices that Mommy’s shrinking.
Then I realized that my baby is about to turn two. WHAT?! Wow… Okay, I can’t even think
about that right now…
Q and I held down the fort this weekend while Hubs is away
on business. Every morning, I go into Q’s room when he wakes up, and he says, “Daddy
far way on bi-ness trip, but Mommy here. I want to read a book now.” Every
morning, we have to read a book before he’ll even think about letting me change
his diaper. It takes his mind off of Daddy being away, so that’s fine with me.
I wasn’t the only solo-mom this weekend. The 49’ers are in
the playoffs, so my friend, DeeDee, and her daughter (Q’s little girlfriend) came over to play while her Hubs
watched the game up in The City. Other than a small dispute over who had which
ball first, Q and E played nicely together as usual. And they “cheers’ed” sippy
cups and gave each other big hugs goodbye, which melted these two mommies into
puddles. So. Stinkin’. Cute, ya’ll.
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| Wagon ride - the ladies can't resist the Thomas the Tank Engine hat. This boy's got style. |
On Sunday, we braved the chilly
weather and went to the park. Hey, don’t judge. For California, this weather is
COLD, yo! We endured the 47ºF
temperature and played in the sand pit in our hats and mittens.
As I type this, it’s 10:30 at night and only 36ºF. That’s almost freezing! I
know my Michigan peeps are rolling their eyes right now. I know! I’ve become a
cold weather wuss. I would be okay with the cold if it meant a trip to the
mountains for some snowboarding,
but with Hubs’ crazy travel schedule, who knows when we’ll make it up there. Right
now, the only plan is “we’ll go sometime in March.” *humph*
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| Awesome hat hair |
Anyway, Q had a great time at the park, especially since we
opted for the push-trike over
the jogging stroller for the ride there. Fun time ended rather abruptly, though,
when Q stepped in dog poo. Yes, some disrespectful, lazy, butthole citizen
allowed their dog to take a crap on the sidewalk right next to a toddler
playground. But this germophobe
handled it well. I did not freak out. I even let Q keep his shoes on for the
ride home since it was so cold. I just watched him like a hawk on steroids to
make sure he didn’t touch his shoes. And to be safe, his mittens, coat, hat and
pants all went in the wash the instant we got home. Right after I scrubbed his
hands and face with soap, of course, even though I’m 99.999999% sure he didn’t actually
touch the dog poo. Hey, when it comes to heart attacks and dog poo, I don’t
f**k around.
I have to admit, it’s kinda hard to choose joy when you have to clean dog shit off a brand new toddler
shoe. It’s a glamorous life, my friends. Don’t hate.
Aaaaaaaaanyway…..
I’m still sort of aghast that Quinn will be two in March. Ooooh,
but that means I get to plan a birthday party soon! That will be fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go and
peruse “train birthday parties” on Pinterest until the wee hours of the morning.
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| Q dumped his goldfish on the floor, scooped them back up in his front loader, then ate them. It's a process, people. |
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| Post-bath naked streak in hooded monkey towel. Favorite part of the day. |
