Thursday the kiddo will be a year old. I cannot believe how big he's getting so fast. All of the women that stopped to tell me to enjoy it while I could because it goes by so fast were right. I must admit I was suspicious because these are the same people that would stop me while I was pregnant and assure me that labor didn't really hurt much at all. Some smug ones would even say that they were in labor for only a moment before the baby just popped right out. I was in labor over 24 hours and pushed for 6 of them folks and it did so f---king hurt. So you'll forgive my trust issues with these people. 

Two new babies were born recently. I went and held adorable Joshua, I did. He was so tiny and shiny and new and made me long for the days only when Dorian was so little. I even went so far as to utter the words "I want another one..." to the horrified JD as we left the hospital. Babies make you sick in the head, boys and girls. Rationally, I am emotionally and physically exhausted as it is. There is no way in hell that I really do want another one. I wasn't even planning on having this one. But when you hold those tiny little creatures your clock starts ticking, singing it's siren song, filling your head with visions of tiny little hands and feet and sweet smelling heads. Babies are a sickness, an addiction. They are contagious and spread by feeding us these visions of snuggly moments and delightful smiles. They make no mention of the sleepless nights, the crapping up the back. They also do not mention that your bank account will hemorrhage money for food and diapers and toys and tiny shoes so adorable you just have to have them, well just because. No sir, this does not come up. They do not explain that you will live for them and them alone and gladly forgo brushing your teeth or showering altogether because devotion to them is absolute. And you will do it all with the hope that some day soon they will look at you and give you the smallest smile. And you feast on that little nugget like it is the most wondrous and amazing thing that has ever happened to you, as if God himself has glanced your way. That feeling of euphoria is all that gets you through the sleepless nights and (if you're lucky) cold meals. They are tiny, powerful beings, babies. Holding Joshua earlier made my arms ache for another little one to smile up at me, to need me. Now that I am home and near my sweet Dorian, I'm better. One year isn't so big after all. I have come to my senses and am once again under his command and his alone. I do not need another dictator to serve, no matter how rewarding. I'm tired, I look bad and smell worse, my place is a mess but I have the most terrifying and wonderful thing in the world...unconditional love.

  We're sick. All of us. And I mean nasty, disgusting chest cold, fever, aches and pains sick. The baby started it. Children are tiny little sponges that soak up germs wherever they go. Not to say that dear little Dori is enjoying not being able to breathe through his nose or the loss of appetite. I know he could lose a few pounds and still be okay but it is frustrating to make food for a vegetarian kid and turn around to see him throwing it from the highchair to the dog. I hate being sick. It sucks even more to be sick while dealing with a sick baby. HE takes his cold medicine and then starts bouncing off the walls. I take it and feel like I'm nursing a bad hangover. How is that fair?

Speaking of cold medicine....we had our very first poison control moment, boys and girls. I am sitting on the couch, wiped out from the cold and the bouncing baby boy when Jeff hands me some cold medicine. Two Sudafed tablets. I open my green machine and Dorian, not knowing that they taste like ass yet, starts climbing me to get to what he sees as liquid I am holding out on him. My son loves the liquids. He gets that from Shannan. Never share a drink with her. You get two sips, tops. If you complain about it she'll only say that you had your chance and it's your own fault for not sucking down the macho size drink in the first two minutes. She will even tell you she showed great restraint letting you get those two sips in...and to be honest, she did. Anyhow... back to our story already in progress. Dori sees the drink and decides to climb me. I set the pills down on the table and try to give him a small sip. Something else distracts me...like Jeff bringing home ice cream.... and when I look up again, the tablets are gone. I freaked and we tore apart the living room looking for them.

Dori had no residue in his mouth and with six teeth and how big those things are there was no way he was eating them without at least an attempt to gnaw on them. Not only that, there just didn't seem to be enough time for him to get them. But I know, kids are quick, sneaky things. Even sneakier though, dogs.

I looked over at my dog and remembered her on the other side of the table when I put the pills down. That dog will eat anything and I was almost certain she'd gobbled them up. Still, it wouldn't hurt to call poison control. Turns out they wouldn't hurt either the gigantor baby (partly due to his size) or the dog, also because of her size. They told me to keep an eye on them and if either get drowsy, they probably ate the pills. I mean, it's eight at night. Who ever heard of a baby or old dog getting drowsy, right? Still, I felt better knowing no one would die from my carelessness. Every mother I have talked to has a poison control story. From my super mom sister (Amy) and the missing half a tube of toothpaste to the friend of mine that looked away for a second to see her daughter dining in the cat box. Yuck, I know....

Well, I'm sick and the world has decided it does not care so I have to be up in the morning, Sudafed in hand, baby packed and ready to go to make my appointments. I love being a mother. I just really wish the gig had more down time. Of course, when he's older, Auntie Shannan (Nana) will pack him up and take him to Disneyland so i can get some sleep. God, that seems so far away.

Dorian has six teeth! Let me tell you, folks, those teeth cutting through have been so rough, when they do fall out and the tooth fairy comes a knockin', she better leave a little something under my pillow too....like Valium...

Everyone says the same thing, now that these are out, the others should come easy. And this is compared to what? Because he's been screeching, running a fever, crapping up a storm and a cranky, I mean C-R-A-N-K-Y baby. But not in front of others, oh no sir. He is a bona fide ANGEL when there are other people around. And these people, these people that sleep through the night and have brushed teeth and styled hair, they look at me and roll their eyes because (and I quote) "What a good natured baby. You are so lucky. I don't know what you're complaining about." Ummmm, excuse me? You were not with him on the road trip to Vegas. And, just a word of advice here, NEVER take a teething baby on a 6 hour road trip to Vegas. More on that later. You were also not with him when he pooped in the bath tub so badly I was scraping it off the sides. Or when he pooped out the side of his diaper in his highchair and I was forced to scoop it out with my hands and the clean the damn thing with rags because some idiot (that does NOT have children) designed a high chair cover that couldn't go in the washing machine.

As for the road trip, well that was a good idea at the time. No, ya know what, no it wasn't. it was a bad idea and I knew it but his Great Grandparents are not going to be around forever (especially with the chain smoking of non filter cigarettes) so what can you do? I mean, they moved to a place they could take a drag off their smoke and then take a bite of their $2.99 prime rib. Not the kind of decision you make for your life when you plan on sticking around forever. So, we packed up baby, left at 4:30 am and hit the road in our rented Chevy Impala. A very nice ride and all the trunk space you could need when driving out into the middle of the desert, if you know what I mean. Things went, ummm, okay, until the baby woke up and decided he was not happy unless someone was sitting in the back seat. Of course he was an angel for my grandparents and handed out smiles like they were nothing. Until we got back to the hotel. Then he woke up every damn two hours and Shannan, the only other person on the trip with us, did not. I got no sleep. Thank god we opted for the late check out because there was no way I was dragging my ass out at 11:00 am. It's Vegas, that's like 2:00 am there.... The day started out okay but then the baby got an explosive case of diarrhea. Nothing makes a road trip worse than an explosive case of diarrhea, no matter who has it. But when the person that does have it is unleashing it in their pants...in the car...you know it's a bad trip. I joked with Shannan that we needed to find him a shirt that said: "I went to Vegas and all I got was the shits."