Last week, Bug turned two.
7:15am - Bug wakes up, and I teach him how old he is.
"[Bug], how old are you?"
"How old are you today?"
7:25am - I suggest we leave the Bug's room to get the breakfast routine started. In the living room, I see that I have thirteen work emails that must have arrived between 11pm and 7:25am. (Normally, I have about 0-2 emails waiting for me when I wake up.) I sit down to find out what all the fuss is about. As I am distracted by Email #3, I hear the Bug running down the hallway and into the living room. He hides out of my sight behind the couch, and I hear "Rarrrr!" Then I see two little eyes peeking at me from behind the couch. As soon as I look up, down goes the little head, and I hear "Rarrrrrrr!!" as he runs back down the hallway. The Birthday Monster has arrived.
7:45am - Pancakes, bacon, and blueberries for a birthday breakfast. Delicious.
9:15am - I drop off the Bug at School. The good-bye is easy.
10:10am - I am at an appointment with my mid-wife. Everything looks the same (i.e., I have a big belly with a big baby, and it looks like any contractions I have been feeling have not been 'productive'). I tell her that today is my son's birthday, so Special Agent Dos will not be born today. She appreciates knowing she has the day off. Then we realize that the next Monday afternoon would be a great time to have a baby. So we conspire to wish our way to seeing each other at the hospital for the new arrival in about five days.
10:30am - I am at a certain New York coffee-shop-slash-gourmet-luxury-food-store on the corner of Prince and Broadway, about four blocks from my ob/gyn/cnm office. This particular location is always crowded with a mix of slow tourists, people who live and/or work in Soho who are really, really, ridiculously good looking . . . and . . . after most of my pre-natal appointments, an enormous pregnant lady. I put myself through the sheer joy of being nine months pregnant and surrounded by slow tourists and skinny models because I love the almond croissants there. I get my special treat and take a cab home.
11:30am - I work from home, which is almost as fun as standing in line behind really, really, ridiculously good looking people waiting for a latte.
3:15pm - I pick up the Bug from School so that we can go to his pediatrician for the two-year check-up.
3:20pm - The Bug does not want to get in his stroller to go to the doctor. He sits down on the floor and cries and says no about thirty times. We are about five inches from the front door of the School, but we cannot leave until he cooperates. At this point in my pregnancy, picking him up to make things happen is a last resort that is often extremely uncomfortable. Legs kick. Arms flail. I try to shield the belly. We are a contact improv study in Grace. So I do not pick him up. I wait . . . and wait and wait. Then, the head of the school comes through. She picks him up, asks him what's wrong, takes him outside to the sidewalk, puts him in the stroller, buckles him in, and away we go. That was nice.
4:05pm - We are walking to Bug's doctor. I repeat an earlier explanation that the doctor is going to listen to his heart and his lungs, and that she is going to look into his eyes and his ears. Then I mention (casually) that she is going to take a little blood to check on iron and lead, and that she is going to give him some medicine [a shot]. We are about a block from the doctor's office, and when I ask (with enthusiasm), "Ready to go to the doctor?!?!!" The Bug responds, "No!"
4:08pm - We meet my husband on the corner of the block where the doctor's office is.
4:10pm - We enter the doctor's office. The Bug sees plenty of trucks to play with and forgets all of his protests.
4:11pm - We take two trucks into the exam room. Things are going well. Then, we try to distract him with trucks while he gets his finger pricked for the blood draw. Distracting the Bug did not go well. He lets out howls of betrayal.
4:15pm - The doctor arrives. The Bug is very skeptical at this point. All is fine until it is time for the shots. I remind him that this is the medicine I talked about before, which is one of those futile things I do sometimes. He gets two shots. More howls of betrayal. Snot and tears everywhere - including into my hair.
4:30pm - We put Bug's clothes back on in the waiting area because the exam room has been tainted. Bug calms down . . . until it is time to go. He does not want to leave in the stroller (again). So my husband carries the Bug.
4:40pm - My husband tries to put Bug into the car seat. Bug throws a huge Protest Party. I realize that I am going to have to delay the conference call I had scheduled to take place in ten-ish minutes.
5:10pm - We park the car near our apartment, and I start the conference call while my husband takes Bug Duty. My call goes quickly and smoothly. Bug runs around the courtyard. We head into our apartment building and ask him to join us. He creeps toward the door with his Sneaky Walk. Then, still about five feet away, he stops, grins, and yells "Bye!" Then, he turns around and runs in the other direction - laughing and thoroughly pleased with himself. My husband stays to play the game with Bug, but I have to go inside thinking that I am about to have another call.
5:42pm - No need for another call. Bug and my husband come inside.
6:00pm - Dinner for the Bug - more pancakes - his favorite.
6:30pm - Bath Time. [Currently my husband's domain because I do not fit in the bathroom anymore unless I am alone.]
7:00pm - PJs. Story Time. Lullabies. Bed Time for Bug.
A long day by any standard - but peppered with enough jokes and silliness to keep all of us laughing and enjoying my Fraggle Bug's Second [Fourth!] [Fifth!] [No . . . Second! Hahahaha!] Birthday.
I love you, my little bug, and cannot wait to hear all the jokes you are going to tell me this year.