1 year, 12 months, 365 days, 8760 hours, 525,600 minutes, 31,536,00 seconds, not counting the nine months before he took his first breath on March 8.
That would be Theo–Theo-dorable–Angel Boy 2.0
The most amazing grandson in this or any other universe.
I never really thought I’d succumb to the stereotype and become THAT sort of obnoxious grandma, but I did!
I am THAT grandma.
I don’t have a REAL name yet; Grandma is how I refer to myself when I talk with Theo–my son likes to call me Granny cos he’s snarky–and I figured I’d let Theo make the decision. I’m pretty cool with just about anything.
Angel Boy 1.0 (the original) was born on March 23, so we have two special days to celebrate this month.
And lucky me, they’ll all be here (DIL included) for a couple of weeks so I can be a part of this momentous event!
Getting party ready at Casa de Enchanted Seashells!
Some outdoor furniture.
A vintage toy, a favorite of AB 1.0
You can’t start them too early to think about animal rescue, am I right?
Oh, and happy birthday to my first and foremost Angel Boy, without whom there would be no AB 2.0, honestly and truly my very first love. There was never a more amazing child.
I wrote this poem for him a couple years ago in this post (click on the title):
- The Yellow Steamroller
So much depends
in the dirt
- behind the shed
Happy Monday, everyone!
Today it rained nonstop in SoCal and you probably saw the record breaking weather on your local news; I’d say our drought is pretty much over. Heavy rain on the deck!
It was a perfect day for a DIY matcha green tea mask. It’s so easy; just a teaspoon of powdered matcha mixed with a bit of water and a few drops of rosehip oil. Leave it on for about twenty minutes, rinse off, and moisturize.
Did I scare you?
What else is new with me?
Angel Boy 2.0, my adorable grandson, is going to celebrate his first birthday in a couple weeks. I can’t believe a whole year has gone by.
This is a view from their living room. The Salish Sea (Puget Sound) with the Olympic Mountains seem so close it’s as if you could almost touch them. Spectacular!
No whales, but lots of boats. This is a busy waterway.
So what’s new with all of you?
The first time nausea was how I defined each waking moment, a fog of nausea and exhaustion no amount of sleep could erase.
That red letter day I woke up and for the first time in four months wasn’t running to the bathroom to throw up.
It was a day to celebrate. My mom made blueberry pancakes and I not only kept the entire stack down—I gorged on a second serving.
The first time I looked really and truly without-a-doubt pregnant.
That was about the time I felt that first flutter-butterfly kisses from the inside.
The insane feeling of the first kick – and how it was so much more intimate than anyone had warned me about.
That was my baby in there!
A HUMAN attached absolutely and for all time —with his own arms and legs and brain and thoughts and feelings and it was overwhelming.
The first Braxton-Hicks contractions.
I called my mom and she rushed over in less than fifteen minutes to take my vitals and reassure me that this was NOT the real thing. Not yet. (She was an RN.)
The first real contraction.
The first realization that it hurt so much more than I had anticipated.
And then, outside of my body for the first time, unattached but wonderfully connected by heart and soul; the first time I was able to hold my precious baby boy.
Who is now having his own first baby boy.
No way I’m that old, right?
I guess there’s a first for everything.
Sorry once again for posting the same thing on both blogs, but until I find a way to marry the two, I might be doing it a few more times!
“I need a grandchild.”
“When are you going to give me a grandchild?”
I’m not getting any younger, aren’t you EVER going to have children?”
I figured after ten years of being married that they had decided (privately) that it wasn’t part of their five-year plan (obviously) or even their ten-year-plan and it was their business and I might be obnoxious about MANY MANY things (I admit it) but I wasn’t the stereotypical Jewish mom in THAT way.
I was 100% totally OK with it, too.
So it came as a shock to no one more than myself how excited I was when my son and DIL told me they were expecting a child, and in our lovely TMI way—providing me with all the who-what-where-when details of the actual conception (my son is SO proud of himself; my son the overachiever lol.)
First, I screamed.
Then I said, “It’s about time!!”
And then because that’s the way I roll, I make everything all about ME.
Since that day, I’ve become OBSESSED with all things baby—I swear, hand to heart, it’s as if I’m the one who’s carrying this boychild and I know that sounds weird , REALLY weird if you think about it, geez, that’s my SON, but that’s how invested I am.
If everyone thought I was a helicopter mom before, all I can say is LOOK OUT.
I actually tell people I’m having a baby.
I mean I’ve told absolute strangers that I’m having a baby, and when they look at me skeptically—medical miracle and all that, plus my belly with no discernible bump- (well, there are definitely lumps but no bumps) I clarify that it’s my son and his wife who are having a baby, and they inevitably say,
“Ohhh, so you’re a first-time grandma, now I get it. Been there, done that. Best time in your entire life. Congratulations!”
I’m a shopper.
I’m a shopaholic.
I’m obsessed with retail therapy.
I love shopping for myself.
I really, really do.
But there’s something wrong with me!
I drive to all my favorite stores and run my fingers through silk blouses and sparkly jewelry and high-heeled winter boots; and NOTHING.
I buy NOTHING. Not a thing. Nothing sparks my desire.
However, I find myself magnetically drawn to the baby department where I analyze and scrutinize newborn onesies, the softest little socks, nursery bedding, high chairs, and strollers.
When my son was born, we had this pram, similar in design to this Milson used by the royal family, with big wheels and shock absorbers guaranteed to provide Angel Boy with a smooth ride. We found it at an antique store and I’m pretty sure no one else in San Diego County pushed their child in this kind of luxury.
I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.
In the past, I’d be happy because the office is near Anthropologie, J Crew, and Bloomies.
I’m excited as can be because I can stop at Buy Buy BABY.
What the heck is wrong with me?
Have I been infected with that grandmother-itis I’ve been hearing about?
Yes, there’s most definitely something wrong with me.