My daughter didn’t sleep. My son sleeps.

My daughter nursed for 18 months. My son nursed for 10 weeks.

My daughter would sit and play for hours. My son eats candles.

My daughter, when taken to the pool for the first time, splashed on the stairs. My son DOVE in.

My daughter didn’t require childproofing. My son slit his wrist on my coffee table, requiring 7 stitches.

I joke about the fact that my son is more active than my daughter was and I often kid that it is because of his Y Chromosome.

The truth is, they are just two different human beings. And I love that. My daughter has always been more verbally advanced, while my son excels physically. She is more of a cuddler, while he is more of an explorer.

But they also have some similarities; they both like the sound of rain falling as their ambient noise while they sleep; they love back rubs and will stop, immediately, when I lift my hand under the back of their shirt; they adore music and dancing; they are lovers.

However, I will say that whatever you want to attribute it to, my son is fearless by nature, has seemingly boundless energy and enjoys items based on how dangerous they are (the correlation being that the more hazardous something is, the more he likes it ; e.g I give him a spoon and he throws it. He begs for the knife).

I could give you countless examples from the past several months, but I do not have to. He gave me enough examples from this morning, alone.

So, this morning:

My son opened the dishwasher and climbed in and started to play with the plastic cups on the top rack

Found lotion under the kids’ bathroom sink and the kiddie toothpaste from the counter and I couldn’t pry them from his hands.

Ate food out of the dog’s bowl.

Ate quinoa chips off of the floor.

Lifted the 17 inch Macbook Pro and carried it (I just looked it up; it’s 6.6 lbs, a quarter of his weight).

Put my Mason Pearson hairbrush in the toilet so that I PEED on it, as I didn’t look in the toilet bowl before.

Hid his single pair of unbroken glasses in a large vase in my Living Room.

See what I mean? He gives me a lot of material. But, do you know what else this little boy gives me? A whole lot of joy. Like when he walked over to me, put his right thumb into his mouth and his left hand into mine. He may not be the kind of kid who will stay in bed and cuddle for hours, but luckily, I already have one of those. I have this kid who is willing to dive into things (quite literally) and for that I am grateful.

I just really wish I hadn’t peed on my Mason Pearson hairbrush.

The post Diving in (and peeing on). appeared first on Mommy Ever After.

Tonight, I was reading the words of my favorite poet,
whose collection entitled Cien Sonetos de Amor
has, in my time, served as my dearest friend,
and tear catcher
and most favorite book of poems ever ever ever.
His words slay me. Literally. They slay me.
And by literally, I mean figuratively.
His words demolish my heart
and then he puts it back together
in a way that makes it different than it was before
but in a way that makes it just as whole;
he turns my heart into a cubist portrait.
 
Oh, and in case you were wondering why I’ve decided to sing my love song to Mr. Neruda tonight,
it’s because he wrote about a nest.
Yes, his nest was lovely and precious and beautiful.
Yes, he was talking about her hair.
Yes, it was figurative.
Yes, it has absolutely nothing to do with me, or my daughter, or our sleeping arrangement,
but it was a nest, nonetheless.
And my daughter is still not in her own crib,
nor is she in her own room.
She has yet to leave the nest.
So, you could say that I am rather nest-sensitive, these days.
 
Oh, and I’ll always take an excuse to rave about Neruda.
 
For instance, have I mentioned that my daughter has enormous eyes?
I’m talking two
big-blue-gray-hazel-green
pools.
And, it just so happens that Neruda followed the above stanza with this:
Lovely one,
Your eyes are too big for your face,
Your eyes are too big for the earth.

There are countries, there are rivers,
In your eyes,
My country is your eyes,
I walk through them,
They light the world
Through which I walk,
Lovely one.
I mean, come on.
So, as my daughter sleeps by my side,
in our cramped, precious little nest,
her giant eyes behind fluttering lids as she dreams,
I can’t help but to blow a kiss to her,
my lovely one;
And to you,
Mr. Neruda,
wherever you are.

The post nesting with Neruda appeared first on Mommy Ever After.