Don't worry!

Based on the response to my last post, it's probably a good thing I usually only post about good things.  Because now most of you either think I'm crazy, or you're worried that I'll never post cute Ben things here anymore.  I would have a hard time convincing you that I'm not crazy, but I can certainly put your mind at ease about sharing Ben's cuteness.

We took Ben to his first football game today.  Our new friend at church plays for the USAFA Prep School Huskies, and we wanted to go to one of his home games before it got too cold.  I forgot that it's always cold at the Air Force Academy (what's up with that?).  We lasted an hour and a half, which I count as a huge success.  And Ben LOVED it.  He ate some snacks and made some new friends.  He managed to keep his hat and gloves on almost the entire time we were there, and he looked INSANELY ADORABLE in them:

If you want to tell me that's not the cutest thing you've ever seen, I'm going to make you prove it.

To quote our president, "Let me be clear."

I went to a MOPS meeting at church this morning, and our speaker was fabulous.  She reminds me a lot of my own mom, in that she really seems to get it.  She has the wisdom and perspective that years of motherhood provide, but she in no way pretends to be an expert sprinkling her vast understanding on those of us who are too stupid to know things already.  

Something she said today, though, made me think about the way I have presented myself and my family on this blog lately.  She cautioned us to be careful about bragging on our children because the very trait you are so proud of may be something another mom is insecure about in her own child.  And since my very last post here was about how brilliant I think Ben is (and since I hate hate HATE the silent competition that seems to exist between moms), I just want to clear the air:

Yes, Ben is very verbal.  That's just where he excels.  But he is thirteen months old, and I don't think he'll be walking any time soon. 

And he is still way more clingy than a kid his age probably should be.  He cries A LOT every time I drop him off at the church nursery.  Sometimes he's still crying when I pick him up.  He usually wants me or Daniel close by even at home.  

He really doesn't like to be told "no."  If he doesn't flat-out ignore me, then he throws a fit about it.  There is a lot of crying in our house.  And I'm not even very good about sticking to my guns every time I tell him "no."

His sleeping is somewhat inconsistent.  Sometimes he wakes up at 8:30 in the morning, and sometimes he wakes up at 6:30.  I got so tired of guessing every day whether he would take good naps that I only put him down for an afternoon nap now.  He probably still needs the morning nap some days, but I know he'll be exhausted by the time 1:30 rolls around, and I can count on two hours of peace.  So in case I make myself seem like I have it all together on this blog, you can rest assured that I don't.

In fact, motherhood makes me feel more incompetent than anything else I have ever done.  And that includes teaching middle school, which I will freely admit kicked my butt.

I care way too much about what other people think of my mothering, too.  I come home from church crying most Sundays because of some off-hand comment that I took personally (Ben isn't walking because I carry him too much, I shouldn't be weaning him already, his crying makes the other kids in the nursery cry, I need to suck it up and stop worrying about him in the nursery, and on and on).  I wish I weren't so sensitive, but I am SO SENSITIVE about the job I'm doing as Ben's mom.

And sometimes I'm legitimately not doing a good job.  Like the times I forget to change his diaper for hours at a time and he ends up with diaper rash.  And I have to let him run around naked and he pees on things.

And maybe you missed it a couple of posts ago when I had to take him to the hospital because I let him play with a Tylenol bottle.  That should clear up any misconceptions that the Wiginton household is running like a dream.

I usually choose to post about the fun, happy things that happen around here because this blog is closest I'm ever going to get to a scrapbook (there's another area where I don't have it together).  Also, my natural tendency in life is to focus on the negative, so this blog helps me remind myself what an incredible gift it is to be Ben's mom.

So I hope you'll understand that what I post here is only part of our lives -- usually just the better part.

No, seriously. He is a genius.

Ben is obsessed with books right now.  Really, really obsessed (I can't imagine where he gets that).  We easily "read" 30 books every day, and quite a few of those feature animals.  Apparently he's actually been paying attention because he suddenly knows all sorts of animal sounds:

We intentionally taught him most of these, but he caught on to the owl and dolphin sounds on his own.  I know, right?  My experience with 13-month-olds is a little limited, but I'll just go ahead and assert that this one is a genius.  Yet he doesn't seem to understand when I tell him not to throw things from his highchair...

Molly Maid

First, a little back-story:  On Tuesday morning, Ben was playing in my room while I got ready.  I'm not in the habit of leaving medication on the floor, but there was a box of various medical-type things on the floor of my closet that day (Mistake #1).  Ben discovered a couple of pill bottles and decided they were fun shakers.  I saw they had child-proof caps and let him shake away (Mistake #2).  To avoid an inevitable meltdown, I let him continue to shake a bottle of Tylenol while he ate breakfast (Mistake #3).  Then I stopped thinking and left him alone in his highchair while I got my own breakfast.  Roughly two minutes later, I made the panicked realization that HE STILL HAD THE TYLENOL (Mistake #4).  Of course, he had managed to open the bottle.  Of course.

Based on my frantic forensic analysis, I was about 95% certain that he hadn't taken any pills.  However, when you call the pediatrician and they tell you that even one extra-strength Tylenol can kill your child, you do not rely on 95% certainty.  And it seems the only people who can determine if your child has taken Tylenol are the kind-but-not-so-efficient doctors at the ER.  So we spent Tuesday morning at the ER -- my patient husband, my slightly bored baby, and his mother who felt like the scum of the Earth.

Now that we have those minor details out of the way, let's discuss the real story here.  While attempting to entertain Ben at the ER, we took several walks down the halls, and Ben took a bizarre interest in the janitor's cart.  I pointed out the broom to him, and he latched right on to that.  He would point at the cart and yell, "Broom!" (pronounced "boom") - over and over and over - every time we went into the hall.

Then the next morning, I pulled out our broom, and it got the same reaction.

I thought it would be another couple of years before Ben would be good slave labor, but I have hit the baby jackpot with him.  Maybe I can teach him to clean a toilet before he learns how to use one!  Score!