Judah is such a peach. I don't know how I could possibly love him any more than I already do, but then he'll do something new or funny or unexpected and I marvel at how this little man entered my life and rocked my world in such an absolutely amazing way. Micheal had a meeting at church, so Judah and I spent an hour in a local tea shop enjoying a snack and me relaxing with a cup of black tea/darjeeling with toffee bits melted in. He sat in my lap chatting about "cups" and "hot tea". On the way out, he saw the moon and said, "Bye Bye Moona!" This is a combination of the English moon and Spanish luna.

Judah also hit a major milestone today. Since he turns two years old in a couple weeks, I decided to start discussing the potty with him - casually at first, but starting to bring it up more frequently. I don't want to pressure him to potty train yet for two important reasons: 1) he was a preemie, so he has an extra 'grace' period, and 2) he isn't exhibiting all the classic signs of readiness quite yet, though he is doing things like being extremely fastidious and being on a very predictable poop schedule. About three days ago, I started asking him each time he pooped if he had done so, while patting my behind. Within one day, he was repeating me and I would say, "Go tell Daddy." He would go into the living room and pat his behind saying, "Daddy, I pooped." This afternoon, he patted his behind and informed me, "Mommy, I pooped. I pooped, Mommy." I patted his pants and couldn't feel anything. "No, honey, you haven't pooped. Maybe you pottied?" I proceeded to tell him that potty is in the front and poop is in the back. He started crying and insisted, "Mommy, I pooped. Poo poo." Still not feeling anything in the trunk, I just let it go, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. Then, five minutes later, he pooped. He gave me advance warning! What a major accomplishment! He is becoming aware of his bodily functions!

The Saga of the Boo Boo
On Friday, I opened the Lazy Susan so Judah could play with the cooking pots. He accidentally dropped a copper lid on his toe. It hit at an angle that left me wondering if he might have broken his toe as he screamed bloody murder. He got a nasty scrape and I learned that bandaids don't come in small enough sizes and that kids don't like bandaids put on toes, even if they have Spongebob Squarepants printed on them. I figured that once the crying had subsided, the antibiotic ointment had been applied and a lot of kisses has been dispensed, he would feel better about things.

Apparently not.

Since Friday, he will be playing, relaxing and eating when every once in a while, he remembers his toe got hurt and will point at it saying, "Boo boo, kissy. Boo boo!" (usually involves crying or major whining). Then, he sticks his foot up to your face expecting it to be kissed. Sometimes he puts the opposite foot up for kissing and we have to remind him that his boo boo is on the other foot. Tonight on the way home, he informed us, "Boo boo, shoe, kissy."

Hot Zone (...and I don't mean Hi-Wi)
Micheal brought me a note today from daycare that one of Judah's classmates got a staph infection, so I pulled him out of school within the hour. I really don't want him to go back, but his pediatrician said it should be fine and that we just need to check him over really well for any non-healing sores or pimples that crop up. I had an 18 year-old cousin die when he was in college from a scratch that got infected. My mom said it was a staph infection, but I had thought it was a strep strain called necrotizing fasciitis. It has been so long that I can't remember, but no matter...I don't want Judah coming down with anything.

Dumb Things I Do Sometimes
Micheal's dad and sister came up this past weekend for a volleyball tournament. We gave them our bed and made a pallet on Judah's floor. Around 3am, Jude woke up and started crying, so in a fog, I reached in between two crib slats and pulled a blanket up around him, reinserted his "wowie" (pacie) and as I pulled my arm out, it got stuck at the elbow. I have put my arms through the crib slats hundreds of times, but it was not budging. Now, at 3am, when you're disoriented and you're in a "tricky pickle" (as my friend Heather calls difficult situations), and well, you're ME, you start thinking of all the possible extreme outcomes.

1. I will be stuck here forever and Micheal will have to spoon feed me.
   
2. We will have to call the fire department.
   
3. Someone will have to saw through the slats to free me, destroying my son's divinely lovely Chris Madden $500 cherry sleigh crib.
   
4. Save the crib! Amputate the arm!
   

After about 10 minutes of sitting there contemplating the fact that I might have to ask someone for help, I finally got the nerve to wake my husband. "Honey, get the Vaseline. I'm stuck in the crib." Micheal, being a good person, got up, brought the Vaseline and just as he was about to pitch in, I raised my arm higher and higher trying different spots in the slats for a wider spread. My arm finally came out on its own! Hoorah!