Yesterday was John's birthday. Porgie was in an exceptionally good mood, so we decided to go over to Philadelphia for dinner.
We bundled Porgie up and drove to the city. We headed into china town, to this great little vegan restaurant. When we finally got there, we could not find a damn parking spot. We drove around in circles for at least 20 minutes. FINALLY, we found a spot only a few blocks from the restraurant.
It was cold, so we quickly walked to the restaurant. After being seated, I put Porgie in the highchair. She started screaming VERY LOUDLY. I quickly reached in the diaper bag and gave her a snack. She calmed down, and we were able to order our food.
As soon as Porgie finished her snack, she started crying again. I assumed that she was hungry, so I started feeding her some carrots. She kept turning her head and slapping at the spoon. The screaming continued. After Porgie managed to get carrots all over the table cloth, I decided to stop feeding her. Instead, I gave her another snack, which she promptly threw on the floor.
I started to feel panicky. Porgie was being so rude and loud. The other patrons were beginning to stare and roll their eyes. I was desperately trying to appease Porgie with various toys, but she kept tossing everything on the floor and crying.
John got her out of the highchair, but she continued squirming and complaining. When our appetizers arrived, he placed her back in the chair. Once again, she started flailing around and whining.
By this time, our evening out was already ruined. John asked for boxes and we got the hell out of the restaurant. Even on the way back to the car, Porgie was fussing. The twenty minute drive home was awful too. She cried almost the entire time.
When we finally got home, I put her down on the floor with some toys. She played and laughed and cooed for the next hour.
I guess Porgie just wasn't in the mood for Chinese food.
P.S. Porgie started swim classes at the YMCA last Saturday. I'll post pictures tomorrow!
Monday, March 5, 2007
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Slapped upside the head
Over the past few weeks, Porgie has became increasingly active. She squirms and wiggles when I hold her. She flails and flaps her arms when I put her in the exersaucer. She rolls and scoots when I put her on the floor. All this excitement has caught me off guard. I really need to start paying more attention to her actions.
Porgie is becoming a danger to herself. She cracks her head on about 573 different objects per day. The kid is going to be black and blue if I don't start keeping a closer eye on her.
To illustrate this point, I am going to outline a typical day for poor little Porgie.
1. At 7:00 am, Porgie and I are sitting at the foot of my bed playing "pat-a-cake." Suddenly, she tries to dive off the side of the bed. Fortunately I grab her, but not until her head smacks against the bed post.
2. At 9:00 am, I really have to go to the bathroom and Porgie is being fussy. I bring her into the bathroom with me and sit her on the floor. Two seconds later, she falls face first into the side of the tub. Very traumatic.
3. At 11:00 am, Porgie is playing on the living room floor, while I look through the mail. She attempts to crawl closer to me, but ends up bumping her noggin on the side of the coffee table.
4. At 1:00 pm, I am putting my shoes on and Porgie is trying to grab my laces. Somehow, she falls sideways and her face slams into the sole of my shoe.
5. At 3:00 pm, I have a few things to do in the office, so I place Porgie on the floor next to me. She is playing with a board book. A moment later she is screaming bloody murder. She has fallen backward and has conked her head on the base of my chair.
6. At 4:00 pm, I decide that the day is becoming a little too dramatic. I take Porgie into the play room to unwind. She is quickly rolling across the floor, until she slams into the side of my aquarium stand.
7. Finally at 6:00 pm, John gets home from work. Porgie is very excited to see daddy. They are happily playing together until they accidentally bump heads. There are lots of screams and tears.
I am going to have child services called on my ass.
Porgie is becoming a danger to herself. She cracks her head on about 573 different objects per day. The kid is going to be black and blue if I don't start keeping a closer eye on her.
To illustrate this point, I am going to outline a typical day for poor little Porgie.
1. At 7:00 am, Porgie and I are sitting at the foot of my bed playing "pat-a-cake." Suddenly, she tries to dive off the side of the bed. Fortunately I grab her, but not until her head smacks against the bed post.
2. At 9:00 am, I really have to go to the bathroom and Porgie is being fussy. I bring her into the bathroom with me and sit her on the floor. Two seconds later, she falls face first into the side of the tub. Very traumatic.
3. At 11:00 am, Porgie is playing on the living room floor, while I look through the mail. She attempts to crawl closer to me, but ends up bumping her noggin on the side of the coffee table.
4. At 1:00 pm, I am putting my shoes on and Porgie is trying to grab my laces. Somehow, she falls sideways and her face slams into the sole of my shoe.
5. At 3:00 pm, I have a few things to do in the office, so I place Porgie on the floor next to me. She is playing with a board book. A moment later she is screaming bloody murder. She has fallen backward and has conked her head on the base of my chair.
6. At 4:00 pm, I decide that the day is becoming a little too dramatic. I take Porgie into the play room to unwind. She is quickly rolling across the floor, until she slams into the side of my aquarium stand.
7. Finally at 6:00 pm, John gets home from work. Porgie is very excited to see daddy. They are happily playing together until they accidentally bump heads. There are lots of screams and tears.
I am going to have child services called on my ass.
Friday, March 2, 2007
Mothers and Daughters
I have a very strained relationship with my mother. I really don't want to get into specifics, but I didn't have the greatest childhood. As a result, my mother and I have never been very close. In fact, she used to live 2 blocks from my house, and we only saw each other on holidays.
When John and I moved to New Jersey, my mother took a sudden interest in me and the baby. She wrote me letters every week, promising to come visit as soon as Porgie was born. I was weary of getting my hopes up, but for some reason I believed her. I was genuinely looking forward to seeing her.
After Porgie was born in June, my mom promised to come visit in July. In July, she promised to come visit in August. In August, she promised to come visit in September. In September, she explained that she just didn't have the money to make the trip. I was extremely pissed off. All of my anger and rage toward her boiled to the surface. For fear of saying something I might regret, I avoided talking to her for the next 3 months.
In December, we traveled back to Kentucky to visit family for Christmas. I wasn't looking forward to seeing my mother. When we arrived, she was overjoyed to see Porgie. However, Porgie hated being held by her. She screamed and cried the moment her grandma touched her. My mother looked heartbroken. Secretly, I was glad that Porgie didn't want to be held by her.
Needless to say, the visit wasn't a very happy one. My mother kept begging me to come to her new apartment, but I claimed that we just didn't have the time. Realistically, I could have found 10 minutes to visit her damn apartment, but I didn't want to. She clearly wasn't willing to make the effort to come see my new house or my new BABY. My mother badgered me continuously, until I became annoyed. The visit ended on a very sour note.
For the past two months, my mother and I have only spoken briefly. We rarely call or write each other anymore.
A few weeks ago, my birthday passed. As expected, I did not receive a present from my mother. I know that I shouldn't care, but for some reason I do. Everyday, I excitedly go to the mailbox, only to find more junk mail and bills.
As I think about my relationship with my mother, I can't help but worry about my relationship with Porgie. I hope that I never make her feel so insignificant.
When John and I moved to New Jersey, my mother took a sudden interest in me and the baby. She wrote me letters every week, promising to come visit as soon as Porgie was born. I was weary of getting my hopes up, but for some reason I believed her. I was genuinely looking forward to seeing her.
After Porgie was born in June, my mom promised to come visit in July. In July, she promised to come visit in August. In August, she promised to come visit in September. In September, she explained that she just didn't have the money to make the trip. I was extremely pissed off. All of my anger and rage toward her boiled to the surface. For fear of saying something I might regret, I avoided talking to her for the next 3 months.
In December, we traveled back to Kentucky to visit family for Christmas. I wasn't looking forward to seeing my mother. When we arrived, she was overjoyed to see Porgie. However, Porgie hated being held by her. She screamed and cried the moment her grandma touched her. My mother looked heartbroken. Secretly, I was glad that Porgie didn't want to be held by her.
Needless to say, the visit wasn't a very happy one. My mother kept begging me to come to her new apartment, but I claimed that we just didn't have the time. Realistically, I could have found 10 minutes to visit her damn apartment, but I didn't want to. She clearly wasn't willing to make the effort to come see my new house or my new BABY. My mother badgered me continuously, until I became annoyed. The visit ended on a very sour note.
For the past two months, my mother and I have only spoken briefly. We rarely call or write each other anymore.
A few weeks ago, my birthday passed. As expected, I did not receive a present from my mother. I know that I shouldn't care, but for some reason I do. Everyday, I excitedly go to the mailbox, only to find more junk mail and bills.
As I think about my relationship with my mother, I can't help but worry about my relationship with Porgie. I hope that I never make her feel so insignificant.
Porgie on Christmas day
I love her to pieces
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