Five Months

Harry’s Five Month Top Five:

1. Rolling over like an Olympic Champion
2. Feet sandwiches
3. Exersaucer
4. Cousins
5. Eating cereal

This Ain’t Oprah’s Book Club

The Gateway Baby Drug: A Post For The Owens

Being raised a Southern Baptist, I’ve been to my fair share of Halloween parties in Fall Festival clothing. Same costumes (although Bible character heavy), same candy but without all the ooey gooey evil and bobbing for apple nonsense. As a straight and narrow church kid you’re typically handed a variety of ideals regarding Halloween. It’s fun! Oh wait, Halloween is evil. Costumes are fun! Oh wait, witches and zombies are evil. Don’t take candy from strangers! Except for this one, scary night when you should wander around in the dark begging strangers for treats. It’s all a little much for an eight year old in a K-Mart costume complete with a rubber band around the back of your head holding on the plastic Strawberry Shortcake face mask that’s so hot you think your face has melted off and fallen into your pillow case with all those orange and black taffy things that you HATE showing up in your loot.

Well.

This year I discovered the real meaning of Halloween. And it’s not about witches or evil or spells or goblins, it’s about dressing up your kid. And this, my friends, is the most fun you can have as an adult. Dressing up tiny people in funny costumes and dragging them door to door begging for candy is more fun than….well ok it’s not as fun as Christmas. Let’s not get crazy. But it’s a close second.

Illingworth Manor packed up and went to Louisville for Halloween and a fun time was had by all. Even Minnie.

Baby Josh in his Halloween prison suit throwing up his gang sign.

Rachel showing her muscles and Josh smiling. And then there’s that crazy mouth breather.

Minnie Dog, thankful that this year her costume did not include a hat.

Uncle Micah creeping everybody out.

Annnnnnnnnd one of the best photos of all time. Ever. Infinity.

Uncle Micah as a banana that will haunt my dreams.
Baby Josh as a Jaguar – when you squeeze the nose it roars. Amazing.
Harry as a pizza slice.
Rachel as Nemo.
Stop me if you’ve ever seen a more awesome group of Halloweeners. No? Well let’s keep going then.

Right before this photo Harry shouted If I don’t get some candy RIGHT NOW I’m going to start eating my costume!

Look into our eyes and you can see that Scary Uncle Banana Micah was taking this photo. I was the most successful at hiding the fear but it was there my friends. It. Was. There.

Where my candy at yo?

And finally, the photo that broke my heart in two when I saw it. I would do anything in the world for that little boy.

Absolutely anything.

This Post Is Also Not About Harry

And now…..dry socket.

Want.
To.
Die.

This Post Is Not About Harry

I’m not fond of the dentist. I’m not the type to ding the six month check-up bell and run to the dentist for my cleaning and free toothbrush. And subsequent scolding for not flossing. And then the speech about the wisdom teeth. And the scraping and that high pitched SQUEEEEEE of the drill or whatever and the spit sucker that seems to suck out your soul and the hygienist who asks you questions with her hands in your mouth and OH BROTHER. I hate the dentist!

Ryan, however, finds it his civic duty in life to make me do the things I hate doing.* For a while now he’s been pestering me about us finding a dentist and going to the dentist and we need to go to the dentist and why don’t you just GO AHEAD AND MARRY THE DENTIST RYAN. So while I was pregnant I caved and we went to the dumb dentist. And it was fine (horrible) and whatever (HORRIBLE) but as I mentioned I was pregnant so they didn’t do any x-rays. Then last month I went in for my six month check-up and Melba the Hygienist, who is just so loveable you can’t help but want to hug her and floss to make her happy, suggested that x-rays were in order.

*Ok so he does get my car tags renewed for me. And he does vacuum. And ok he’s awesome and the dentist thing is really my only complaint. But it’s a BIG one.

And I knew what would happen.

I knew.

And I was right.

Oh HONEY, said Melba, these wisdom teeth are going to have to come out Sweetie. Sugar Pie. Love. (sad head shake) They just are. Cupcake.

And ok, she was right. I could read the x-ray well enough to see it myself. So I said something that shocked Melba out of her pink scrubs with matching pink crocs – I said ok. She launched into a speech about how it won’t be too bad and I’ll sleep through the whole thing and I said – ok. She didn’t have to cajole or threaten – I just said ok.

People, I just had a baby. A baby and Gestational Diabetes and daily injections (SHOTS for the lay person – 4 injectable shots PER DAY to be exact) and two epidurals and one spinal and five sticks to get my IV in and a c-section. And before all that madness I had another surgery and some other procedures and physical therapy and look – pulling a couple teeth doesn’t scare me. Let’s do this.

So I scheduled a time to talk to the oral surgeon and went on my merry way. Then everyone in my life (including the Dentist Lover Ryan) began to weep for me. Oh it’s HORRIBLE they said. You’ll want to DIE they said. Worse than HEART SURGERY my dad said. I rolled my eyes and reminded everyone that I just had a baby thankyouverymuch. This is just teeth. I had a B-A-B-Y.

Then I met with the oral surgeon who took ten minutes to explain to me that I don’t look 35. At first I said why thank you! Then I said……ok. Then I said can we get on with it dude? Seriously, I’m 35. Move on. Then he tried to describe to me what an IV feels like and I laughed right in his chubby face.

Then this past Wednesday I went in for the procedure way more annoyed than nervous. I’ve got a lot going on. I don’t have time to be drugged up for a couple days. I’ve got work. I’ve got Harry. I’ve got Jury Duty. I’ve got TV to watch. So they call my name and the friendly hygienist (not Melba, sadly) engages me in the normal/awkward chit chat while I think UGH – SO MUCH TO DO WISH I WASN’T HERE. Chubs comes in and once again describes the Little Pinch IV while I shove my arm in his face and say do it already, I’m ready for a nap.

Then.

Y’all, THEN.

I WAKE UP. DURING. THE. PROCEDURE. I HEAR THEM TAKING OUT MY BOTTOM LEFT TOOTH. I FEEL THEM TAKING OUT MY BOTTOM LEFT TOOTH. I AM AWAAAAAAAAAAAAKEEEEEEEEEEE.

And then I prayed for the sweet release of death to come and take me.

And then I wept. As I was being wheeled out to my car, weeping, the hygienist asked me if I was ok and I said HURTS! HUUUUURTS. She said (shockingly) Aren’t you numb? NO. NO I AM NOT NUMB. NO! NONONO!!!!!

Then I was in massive, unreal, shocking pain. For hours and hours. Which turned into days and days. Which brings us to today, Monday, when I’m still in pain. Still can’t really eat. Still hurts to smile or laugh. Still royally sucks.

So yes dad, getting your wisdom teeth out IS worse than surgery. Forgive me for doubting you. I shall never doubt again.

Also, I’m hungry.

Version 2.0

You know that guy. The worst guy. The mouth breather who rides the elevator with you and stares at your boobs with the slightest hint of drool. Sometimes even fool on drool. And he’s not shy about the staring and the mouth breathing and the drooling. He’s gross. You don’t want to engage in conversation with this creep although conversation might help him to avert his eyes elsewhere. He gives you the shivers. You avoid riding the elevator with him at all costs.

This little mouth breather, however, is irresistible.

The Exersaucer: A Study In Expression

Intrigue

Shock

Inquisitive

Disgust

Confusion

Suspicion

I Guess We’ll Have To Trade In Minnie For An Owl

There’s a few things you should know before we get to the point.

1. When I was still pregnant a couple of people asked me if we named Harry after Harry Potter. And no, we did not. Harry is short for Harrison which comes from my maiden name Harris. Also we are Muggles and have no obvious connection to the magical world.

And 2. Monday morning of last week Ryan and I woke up to blood in Harry’s crib. Let that sink in for a moment. Blood. In Harry’s crib. I picked him up and frantically searched his jammies and his face and his hands and his face while he smiled and cooed and acted like nothing at all was wrong. Then I saw that his right ear was covered in dried blood. Then I did what any calm and rational new mom would do – I screamed wildly for my husband and speed dialed the pediatrician while breathing into a paper bag. This was around 7:20am and the pediatrician opens at 8:00am. The screen on my phone looked like this.

7:59am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:00am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:00am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:00am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:01am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:01am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:01am Harpeth Pediatrics
8:02am Harpeth Pediatrics

Apparently the front desk was in no hurry to answer the phone on a Monday morning. Finally I got in touch with the nurse and she said why yes, you should bring him in. Good, I said, because WILD HORSES COULD NOT STOP ME LADY. Those of you who are mothers know where there is going. There was absolutely nothing wrong, he had just scratched his ear during the night and it bled. No trauma. No horror. Just a scratch so tiny it’s only visible with the hubble telescope. Crisis averted.

And 3. Then we went on vacation. One night Ryan and I went in to check on Harry and what do you know – BLOODY EAR. All I can say is that it’s a good thing this was our second experience with the BLOODY EAR because if it had happened the first time while we were on vacation I WOULD have called an ambulance. And that might have been embarrassing.

So.

After BLOODY EAR #2 I started putting a sock on his little hand so he wouldn’t scratch himself so violently and scare his mommy half to death with the blood and the gore and the scariness. This was going well until the other day when I noticed he had some red marks on his arm. Red marks I believed were from the tight sock around his wrist all night.

SO.

I know, this story is STILL GOING ON. GET ON WITH IT ALREADY.

So.

Last night I decided to try it sans sock to see what would happen and to try and get rid of the red marks that had lingered the entire day. It’s now been two days and while there’s been no BLOODY EAR he still has the red marks on his arm. I asked Ryan what he thought and he said – Isn’t is obvious?

He’s MAGICAL.

Harry indeed.

Harry Telling Minnie All About His Vacation

Road Trip

It is SO IRRITATING when I try to watch a tivo’d episode of Amazing Race only to be greeted by 60 Minutes.

In other news, we went on a trip. Here are some highlights.

Here’s Harry at a bottle/diaper stop on the way to the Smokey Mountains. Surprisingly, this was his demeanor the entire drive there – HAPPINESS. Utter delight. Zero screams. Ryan and I nearly passed out from holding our collective breath waiting for the screaming to start. And it never did. We still don’t believe it.

The carousel, however, he wasn’t as happy about.

Outside the Old Mill – House of Fritters and All Things Delicious.

My brother looking terribly uncomfortable holding a baby.

Addison and The Sucker.

Poppy and GiGi with the kids. Can you tell Addison is saying CHEEEEESE? That kid is so…..SO…..cute.

At one of the 6,790 pancake houses.

And……I just noticed Harry had spit up in this photo. And yet, still cute.

One night we went to a little park with rides for kids where Addison rode the swings and the train and the ferris wheel. Harry was too little for the rides but had a great time anyway. That kid is a GREAT traveler.

By the end Addison decided she had said cheese ENOUGH! No more cheese!

Ya’ll, if you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time you are well aware that I can be a leetle bit Christmas Crazy. (You are also aware that I am incapable of spelling ya’ll correctly. And I’m ok with that.) Well, Pigeon Forge is the home of the Christmas Crazy Mecca – The Christmas Place. It’s rooms and rooms and rooms of everything Christmas that exists in the world. It’s ornament heaven. Magical. We go every year and spend obscene money every year. And at the Christmas Place is THE REAL Santa. This is not some $5/hour mall Santa who stuffs his suit and has a fake beard.
This.
IS.
Santa.
And for the past five years I’ve been planning on my child someday meeting him. And this week, Harry met Santa.

And Harry LOVED him. Santa picked him up and said “Hello Harry” in a very Ho Ho Ho voice and Harry reached up and touched his beard with his tiny little hand. AND THEN I FELL OVER DEAD FROM THE SWEETNESS OF IT ALL. And then I spent $50 on photos. It was a moment.

Hey Harry, did you love meeting Santa?

I know, right??

In the end Ryan and I felt certain that Harry had been such a good baby, there was NO WAY he wouldn’t scream the entire way home. Wrong again. This was his face the whole way back.