Who Designed This Mall, Anyways?

Since my job ended for the summer last week, I've been test driving being a stay-at-home mom for the first time since my maternity leave. Steve's school year doesn't end for another couple of weeks, so until then, it's just me and Bry. I've found that staying at home with him at 16 months is ten times easier than staying home with him at 6 weeks was. He can tell me, for the most part, what he needs; he naps regularly (and for a relatively long time); he can entertain himself while I take a shower; and probably most significantly, he doesn't cry for unknown reasons for hours a day. This is good.

I've been working to leave the house every morning before his nap, just to keep things interesting. This is admittedly mostly for my benefit. I'm convinced that Bry would be content if he could stay outside for 12 hours a day, collecting dandelions and distributing them among his several pots and pans. It's the first thing he asks to do in the morning (conveyed through a series of grunts, finger pointing, and sharp trills of "Pot! Pot!") and the last thing he wants to be pulled away from at night. I, on the other hand, get a little bored with this after about 10 minutes. But I soldier on, for the sake of his happiness and development of conservation skills (knowing that he has the same amount of stuff no matter what kind of container he puts it in) and whatnot.

So, anyways, I chose the Mall of America as our morning destination several days ago because I wanted to buy a pair of shoes and figured Bry could run around the old Camp Snoopy, which is now some Nickolodeon-themed monstrosity. The timing of our mornings has become pretty precise, such that we're ready to leave by 8:30. By which I mean I'm combing my hair and Bryson is whining and trying to drag me out the door. I figured the stores would open at 9:00 and we could just wander around until then.

When we arrived, I discovered that although the mall was open, the stores didn't actually open until 10:00. This was problematic, since Bry needed to be home for lunch at 10:30 (he's on the senior schedule). I didn't have any food for him with me, so I gave up on the idea of finding shoes and just took Bry to the amusement park in the middle of the mall. We watched the operators put all of the rides through their test runs. Bry was fascinated by the "vroom vroom" (roller coaster cars) and liked watching the merry-go-round "pin, pin" (spin). We found a toy ride-on "buh!" (bus) and Bry spent 10 minutes shifting between the front and back seats, spinning the wheel, and pushing all of the buttons.

When 10:00 approached, I decided I would go to Carter's to buy Bry some plain t-shirts. I figured I'd run in, buy the shirts, and then head home for lunch. We got to the store about 10 minutes before it opened, so I found a nearby bench, sat down, and got out Bry's pots and pans (which he likes to put in my bag whenever he knows we're going out). He had a blast filling up the pots for a few minutes, and then was distracted by the huge pink stuffed dog in the window of Victoria's Secret, which happened to be next door to Carter's. Good thinking, mall folks. Bry toddled over to the window, shouting "Neigh! Neigh!" because he believed the dog to be a horse. He apparently also believes construction vehicles to be horses since he belts out "Neigh!" every time we see one, but that's a story for another day. Bry smushed his face right up to the store window and giggled just as two older men walked by, on what they might have called their daily constitutional. I overheard one of them say, "That's right son, gotta get started early!" as they ambled by, but it didn't really register until they had already passed. There were actually no scantily clad underwear models in the store window, just the dog and some pajamas of the flannel variety. Nevertheless, I chased Bry away from the window. I'm not thinking he needs to get started, as it were, quite so early.

Babblin' with the Bry

Daddy here. Check out this video highlighting Bryson’s new verbal skills.

Underparenting

A brief anecdote:

Bry has developed a persistent diaper rash, caused, I believe by teething and his daycare not always being so good at changing him promptly. Several nights ago, after removing his diaper, I decided to let him "air out" for awhile before bundling up his bum again. He wandered around for a few minutes with his onesie flaps hanging down until he must have noticed the draft. He pulled up the front flap, looked down, then hightailed it for his room, shouting, "Da ba! Da ba!" (i.e., diaper). Bry reached up into the drawer, pulled out a diaper, and then yanked his pants off of the dresser where I had left them. Clutching the diaper in one hand and his pants in the other, he said, "On! On!" with a chastising look on his face, as if to say, "Come on people. Am I the only responsible one around here?"

A Letter

Dear Tooth Fairy,

I know you usually get involved when teeth have already fallen out, but could you maybe make an exception in this case and help to speed along the process of getting said teeth to come in a little faster? The swollen gums, cranky toddler, disrupted sleep, diaper rash, and fever are all getting to be a bit much.

Hopefully,

Bryson's parents

We Prefer 'Discerning'

It was bound to happen sooner or later, right? The infant Bry who would put anything, food or not, into his mouth, seems to have morphed almost overnight into toddler Bry who, shall we say, has developed more sophisticated tastes. As one book puts it, Bry appears to be in the throes of neophobia, or the fear of anything new. Or, to put it another way, he's picky. Picky, picky, picky. Try to offer him anything new, and guaranteed, the response will be a firm, if not chipper, "No." It's still hard not to smile every time Bry says "no." The combination of his tone, facial expression, and utter certainty in his response is not unlike what I imagine say, Angelina Jolie, her brow furrowed and lips puckered, might use to address Steve Buscemi asking for a date. As in, "Duh, no way."

No.

It's not just new foods that get nixed, either. Bry's tastes are also as fickle as a presidential candidate in an election year. One day he's all, "Edamame, where have you been all my life? Come to papa!" and the next, "Please. Edamame is so 2007." As you might imagine, this can make for some frustrating mealtimes. Steve and I are trying our very best not to adopt short order cook syndrome while also trying to ensure that Bry eats more than carbs and fruit all day long (both of which he consistently puts away in astounding quantities). At least he'll still eat most anything at daycare. Must be something about the peer pressure of watching other kids eat combined with whatever they have in the water that gets him to pick up his toys without being asked.

OK. One bite. But I'm not going to like it.

This gets better, right? At least I can take comfort in knowing that Bry's father, who apparently subsisted on hot dogs and air for a long time has pretty much come full circle and will put just about anything into his mouth. Including the chicken's feet that his father-in-law convinced him to try (I'm thinking that was early in our relationship). In retrospect, perhaps Steve should have adopted a little bit of Bry's neophobia around that one.

What are you feeding me now?!

You eat it, daddy.

I'm only laughing because I've been distracted from the horrors of this meal.