I'm going to revisit a post. I know, I'm boring as fuck, but you know what? I already knew that. Really though, I'm just going about my daily routine and including you with me.
What it's really like, I posted that a year ago or so, with a 10 month old Memphis and a video of him being a weirdo at the boob. I'm going to revisit that, without the video (right now) only because I don't have a video to share today. Instead, I'll share this pic.
Memphis is my last child, and I thought long and hard about this over the last few days. Is this for me or for him? In part, it IS for me, for a number of reasons. Most of those reasons are my own and I choose not to share them, but the ones I will share are as follows. It's a great bond, and it can tame a tantrum in a matter of seconds. With this particular kid, that is a necessity that I had not encountered with any of the other kids. It lowers my cancer risks in a few parts of my body, boobs included. The parts for him are just not something I can list. This kid is beyond what I thought I was getting into. When Maxwell was a baby, we joked about how he had ruined it for any future children we might have. The possibility at the time was a non possibility. We WERE NOT going to have more children, Memphis was not even a hope or a wish then. So it really was a joke, something we giggled about late into the nights as we gazed at our beautiful little being that was so perfectly behaved.
Phiz is not that child. He is a force of nature, a whirlwind on feet, every metaphor you can think of describing a difficult child. Some days I'm not sure if it's due to my poor health or his true behavior or what, but the reality is, he's a high needs child. That does not make me love him any less or want him any less so don't ever mistake my jokes for that, because it's just not true. If given the choice again, knowing then what I know now, my choice would be the same, I would indeed risk my life for him. I'd do it for any of them, that's just what mothers do. Anyway, I'm rambling. When I originally started this blog, it was because my oldest son was supposed to be my last child. That was 5 pregnancies and 3 kids ago. Yes, one of them is an angel baby, but I believe he counts as I birthed him and gave him a name and watched him go to summerland. Phizzy is just such a handful that I'm not sure what to do with him sometimes.
Kids are a product of our own design. Once when I was starting my parenting journey, someone told me that my job was to do myself out of a job. Meaning, that my whole purpose in this deal was to get these people to where they didn't need me. Give them roots and wings. Well, in that respect, I've sucked hard at this job. My nineteen year old daughter still lives at home with no prospect of moving out. My almost seventeen year old is a reclusive weirdo that never leaves the house (I know, he's just like his mother) and my baby spends his days watching spongebob and having boobies. So what is my point? I guess I don't have one. But really, do I ever? The title of the post is a strange one too, he has a code word for boobies that his sister taught him. He calls them bobby when we're in public so that people don't stare, but really, everyone stares anyway. I think it has something to do with my favorite t shirt that says "keep staring I might do a trick" though, not my boobs popping out.
On another note, Bear did indeed have another litter of puppies. Here are some pictures to share with you all of them. They are just now opening their little eyes today, and then mom, dad, big sister and the little boy we are keeping are all going to get fixed. Why am I keeping one you may ask? Because we re homed Lady. Sadly, her and Bear just could not get along and Lady was so high energy anyway, but she went to a good home that will take great care of her and I can see her whenever I would like to. Ok, so here for those pics I promised ;)