It was a good Christmas holiday,
topped off (as all good celebrations should be) with a disgusting amount of Chinese food:
The full set of pictures is here.
My favorite part:
Christmas Eve Mass. We snuck out before communion to get to Grandma’s house in time for dinner.
As we’re creeping out, Stone screams “Happy Birthday, Jesus!”
Papa’s nicknames for Paolo:
little lover-pie
little angel
little perfect
pumpkin
big big shark
honey (as in HI HONEY! really loudly to get him to smile)
Mama’s nicknames for Paolo:
Booger-face Jones
Puke-face Jones
Milk-face Jones
Drooley-face Jones
…you get the idea.
“Lolo” still reigns supreme for both of us.
I think that’s the one that’ll stick.
Because I doubt he’ll appreciate “Zit-face Jones” once he hits high school.
I mean, trains!
I know! It surprised me, too!
So, you’ve probably noticed that Stone almost always has band-aids or gaping, bloody wounds on his cheeks.
About 9 months ago he started scratching his face at night. At one point, he managed to draw a little blood, and then he picked at that, and then it all sort of snowballed from there.
I assumed, for reasons we won’t discuss here, that maybe he had an eensy-weensy bit of (hereditary) OCD, and that it would work itself out. Ahem.
We spent a few months taping socks to the arms of his PJ’s, we did band-aids, we talked about it. Nothing seemed to work long term. And this poor kid has blood on his pillow every morning.
We went to his 3 year check-up a few weeks ago, I brought it up.
It turns out he has some mild eczema.
Oh, yeah.
Eczema.
That stuff that itches like hell, is also hereditary, and is all over my arms. I feel like such a dip-shit for not realizing this earlier. I think it says something about my generation that I automatically assumed that we would need to launch into some CBT at some point.
So now we’re slathering his face every night and day with A&D (man, I love the smell of that stuff), and I’m seeing some improvement already.
Hopefully, soon, this will be a thing of the past:
The band-aids, not the lovely, sparkling child behind them.
Paolo has some hot spots on his chubby little butt, but nothing much.
Okay, I’ll admit that last sentence was an excuse to bring up his butt.
It’s just that adorable.
We really are so very thankful for you, all four of us.
Love,
Linds, G, Stoney, and (especially) Paolo Tide
Hi Lolo,
You are five months old today!
To celebrate, I finally took a picture that shows the exact color of your eyes. They are darker than your brother’s eyes, and a little lighter than mine. I think they belong to your Grandad and Tita Gianna.
They are so beautiful, especially because they almost always sit on top of a brilliant smile.
Life around here is a little crazy right now.
I have this screwy problem with my neck. The drugs I’m taking are forcing me to nurse you less and less, and I’m pretty torn up about that. I’ve come to depend on that time alone with you, even in a crowded restaurant. If this leads to weaning you completely, I’ll miss connecting with you in that way. My sweet little piglet. So we’re switching back and forth, nursing a little, drinking from a bottle, trying out solids. There is no real routine.
Your brother is in the throws of being three, and he needs lots of attention all the time. He has to get dropped off and picked up from preschool, play trains, color, read books. It seems there is always something on our plate, and I fear that you aren’t getting the calm and dedicated infancy that your brother enjoyed.
I’m realizing, though, that you are perfectly suited to this lifestyle. You take lovely little catnaps wherever you can get them, and you seem fine with that lack of structure. You switch from breast to bottle in the same feeding without missing a beat. You giggle and smile at the kids in Stone’s preschool class, and they all clamor to get a look at you. When I pluck you, mid-nap, from your crib to drag you to the grocery store or the park you reward me with a gurgle and a grin. Happy to see me. Happy to move on to the next adventure. I’m not sure if this easy disposition is born of necessity or nature, but it doesn’t really matter. The chicken or the egg.
On Sunday we all went to a local Christmas Tree lot after you boys got home from Mass.
It was past your bedtime- around 7:00- and we were all pretty worn out. Stone was dodging in and out of sight, I was dodging raindrops. Papa was wearing you on his chest, calming your whimpers with whispers and songs.
We were wet and frazzled and tired, but it was so much fun.
We picked out a pathetic, crooked little tree- Mama always loves the underdog- and piled into the warm, steamy car.
When we got home, I nursed you to sleep to the sound of Papa reading a bedtime story to your big brother.
These days are messy, hectic, and simple, but they are the best of my life.
I love you, Paolo.
Love,
Mama
Here’s why sometimes the aforementioned Thomas gear is awesome:
Thanks guys.
He’s 3! Breakfast time:
Charne helps Paolo get dressed:
Cupcakes, Tita, Soph:
Phia, always a lady:
And then there’s Soph (note the booger/frosting bleed):
Grandpa and Annie meet Paolo:
Oh, gee. Thomas shit. Hooray. When, WHEN will he be over this?
A simple but fun affair.
