Paging George Glass

THE WIFE just volunteered to take all three kids to the supermarket so that I could write.  I better get to work before she drives the F.U.V. through our living room because I’d probably do that after an hour of grocery shopping with our three little ones along for the ride.  She’s a saint and slightly insane for being such a trooper.  Without further ado…

I suppose there is a certain credence to Jan Brady’s “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia” rant.  The oldest sibling gets to wear the clothes when they’re brand new.  Photo albums of the oldest as a baby are probably ten times bigger than that of their younger siblings.  The big sister or brother is the one who breaks the ice for mom and dad on almost all of the monumental “firsts” in a small child’s life.  Thinking back, Marcia did seem to get more plot lines written into episodes compared to Jan.  (The only episode I really ever remember centering around Jan was the one about her fabricated boyfriend, which I think was the same one when she got her glasses if I recall correctly.)  Anyway, you get my drift.

More to the point, Tilly is due for some well-deserved attention in the blog before we move on to her older two siblings.

The little Beverly Tillbilly just turned four months old.  She is chubbier than a pregnant Jessica Simpson.  I can’t even count the number of folds in her chunky quadriceps.  You’ve heard of double chins, correct?  She’s got about thirteen.  It’s foolish to resist kissing her beautiful puffy cheeks.  Her smile is so contagious, it melts me even if I’m seeing that grin at four in the morning during the (now only occasional) squawk for a binky.  Did I mention she’s a little chunker?

As for milestones, Tilly’s begun to do the rotation thing where you leave her laying in the crib at the six o’clock position and when you see her next, she’s at quarter of three.  She’s also starting to do a half-crunch where she pulls her body up and forward from her bouncy seat to reach for something dangling in front of her but isn’t quite strong enough yet to hold the pose and falls back.  She laughs a lot, especially when Greta feels like getting her going.  THE WIFE announced we are starting with cereal this week.  And the best part about our little lady?  She doesn’t talk back or whine.

As for number two, the G-man had tubes put into his ears a few weeks back.  Although he hasn’t had ear infections, his inner ear canals are so little that secretions have nowhere to go so they were accumulating and hardening.  The obstructions were impairing his hearing and possibly his balance, which in turn made speech and walking more difficult.

Since Gus was going to be under anesthesia, the doctors took the opportunity to look in his throat and see if anything was present that may be contributing to his swallowing problem.  (We’re still thickening his fluids so they go down the belly pipe, not the wind pipe.)  They also decided to take tissue samples to rule out any digestive disorders.

Long story short, the procedures were a total success.  The tubes went in without issue.  The doctors removed a bunch of ear gunk.  They saw nothing in Gus’ throat, so we are left to presume that the swallowing issue is most likely due to his lower muscle tone that we are confident will improve as he continues to grow and strengthen with age.

As for Gusto’s milestones, he’s scoring little victories every day.  His vocabulary is slowly but surely increasing.  He’s signing more and waving a lot - especially to passers-by our house as we eat our dinner.

The Lion’s walking is getting better and further every day, too.  Basically, he’ll step from point A to wherever you are waiting with arms open, except he likes to lunge forward when he’s close enough rather than taking that last extra step or two.  It’s a bit terrifying but also exhilarating to watch. 

THE WIFE and I are a bit obsessed with getting Gus to walk between the two of us when the opportunity arises.  We clap and cheer when he’s made a trip successfully.  But we love it even more when we’re not paying attention and suddenly we see him walking without our help like a drunken sailor wobbily negotiating each step until he just suddenly plunks down on his bum.  Baby steps, literally and figuratively, keep us and him going every day.  He rocks.

As for the queen of our trifecta, Greta never ceases to amaze us with her ever evolving personality and interests.  At the same time, she drives THE WIFE and me towards the brink of temporary insanity with her near constant attempts at testing our patience.  I’d say Greta is kind of like a werewolf with a lunar calendar that changes by the minute. 

In the wonderful moments that make me want to hug her forever with love, Gigi walks around on her tippy toes, with no pants on, and humming happy hums, while wearing a tiara and several band aids.  She will suddenly declare that her name is not Greta but Rapunzel and address you as “mother” regardless of your gender.  Or she may announce matter-of-factly that tonight after dinner, she is having ice cream or Reese’s.  Or she may excuse herself from the dinner table because she needs to check on one of her dolls who’s in the middle of a nap.  The list is endless.

By contrast, in those moments when I wonder if convents or nunneries still exist, Greta would be the sweetest girl in the universe only three minutes prior.  But then out of nowhere, a full moon has arrived, and so has a werewolf that was previously my daughter.

For example, just getting the little fashionista dressed is now a major effort.  I fought with her for twenty minutes one morning this week to agree on a shirt that matched her green skirt and pink belt.  I held up a tee.  “No.”  I held up a long sleeve.   “Noooo, Daddy.”  I held up a hoodie.  Annoyed and resistant, she cocked her head to the side and shrugged the corresponding shoulder towards the ear while rejecting my suggestion and stomping around her bedroom.  I was caught up in the moment of debating with a three year-old about how red and pink kind of clash when it suddenly dawned on me how foolish I sounded.  I just threw up my hands and left the room.  By then, I didn’t care if she wore a Fubu parka or a Hampton Beach 1986 neon mesh half shirt, so long as something covered her upper body. 

And just like that, the full moon waned and my precious sweetheart appeared again, asking if we can go “at” the swings today.  Then, she pirouetted and skipped out of the room in her plastic heeled slippers asking mommy to put a braid in her hair, which is Greta’s new go-to look for the summer incidentally.

That about brings you all up to speed on the peanuts.  I think the minivan just came to a screeching halt in the driveway so I better go.  Peace.