Spoiled Brat.

Marco got his own iPhone (a grandma castoff).

Holy only child batman.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Potty Party (Reader Discretion)

Marco finished potty training just after his birthday. Our plan of attack was... we just stopped putting him in diapers one day. Ha. We should write a book. He's been a champ. We cast off diapers and pull ups (even at night!) and in turn, gave ourselves a raise - I figure about $90 a month.

He loves to hear that other people are potty trained, it's like a whole new world opened up. I took him and Niko to the bathroom at a restaurant and told them that they could peepee at the same time and Marco nearly burst with happiness. "NIKO! WE MAKE AN X!"

He even wakes at night to visit the bathroom and once when I was in there, he came in and whispered, "Hi Mama, wanna make an X with me?"



He had one accident in his stroller that was totally my fault. I strapped him in and took him running during what should've been his nap. He pulled down the tent top and stopped talking, so I popped in my ear phones. When I stopped, he was sobbing "I tried to call you, but you didn't listen and didn't stop running..." It was horrible, poor little guy. Luckily, I travel with extra pants. For him, not me.



Around the same time he potty trained, he also learned how to open the front door, deadbolt and all. That equals about three peepees in the front yard, two on the porch, one on my back stairs and one off of the deck. Our neighbors really love it. I'm pretty sure he'll end up on one of those Google street view cams.

In short, he's a real man of nature - nothing like his parents.



I have so many pictures of him with his pants around his ankles, but I'll spare you. So instead here's one of him in Hanes boxer briefs and a white undershirt. I literally can't stand it - it's so cute.

The kid is alright.

Our pediatrician and, in turn, a pediatric neurologist suggested that Marco might be at risk for a tethered spinal cord. This called into question his development at about week four in utero. Flashback to Jeff and I gallivanting around Seattle, taking a water plane for Island wine tasting and ingesting about every type of fish imaginable, cooked and raw. In short, way too much fun.

The examples they gave us of nerve damage associated with a tethered spinal cord were dragging one foot or not being able to make it to the bathroom (not including peeing on my porch – a post for another day). They added the word “permanent damage,” so we went ahead and signed up for an MRI to eliminate (or discover and fix) the concern.

My biggest worry on the big day was how I was going to keep Marco from eating two hours prior to the appointment. Before that, he could only have clear liquids. He awoke at 6:30 and I plied him with jello, popsicles and juice until 7:30. Only one meltdown for not getting to eat something between then and his appointment. I gave him a Mr. Potato Head that Brookie gave him for Christmas last year that he never played with because the parts were too small. A present from Brookie? Crisis averted.

At the MRI office, Marco lit up when he got to choose a scent for his gas mask. He chose bubble gum and knocked out right away. I laid him down and was escorted out. The IV kept him under during the hour-long procedure. Coming out, my eyes leaked. I felt like the tin man. What is this coming from my eyes? I remarked to Jeff that I am human and sent him for coffee.

We were both able to wait for Marco to wake up in the recovery room. Jeff – man of no silence – met his soul mate, an equally chatty nurse Kathy. I wanted to punch them. Marco sat up, looking slightly wobbly and drunk, demanded to know what all the equipment was in the room one by one and punctuated his alertness by saying, “That says M-R-I.” We were approved to go home with warnings about nausea, loss of appetite, un-coordination and relaxation – in summary, an afternoon of cartoons and popsicles.

They sent us home with Marco’s gas mask. I thought it was a little creepy, but they said their “frequent flyers” (kids who receive monthly MRIs, can you imagine?) like to play doctor with their teddy bears and bring back their own mask to use each time.

We weren’t home an hour before Marco devoured two juices, two popsicles, chicken, pizza and jumped off the couch, sticking the landing. I took a nap. He played with Jeff, made French fries, watched more movies and peed off the deck. Clearly, I was more affected than Marco. He checked my reflexes, gave me the gas mask and made me call him doctor, as in “Are you done going potty?” “No, it’s ‘are you done going potty doctor?’”

By dinner time, he was ravenous and WRECKED a man-sized portion of meatloaf and salad. All in all, an average Cecchin day.

By 7:00 p.m., the neurology folks called to tell us there was nothing the matter with Marco. I was most surprised to realize that I didn’t even feel relieved. My reaction was, “I know.”

I learned a lot. First, trust your instincts. Second, get proof. Third, Marco is a bad ass who loves doctors, sushi, Seattle and wine tasting.

I mean, couldn’t everyone use a hit of bubble gum sleeping gas every once in a while?

Happy Birthday Willa!

Three years ago, Marco and Willa were born on the same day. He always gets special treatment at her parties, this year, a seat by the birthday girl and a blue balloon on his chair (the only non-pink decoration!)

A pottery painting party nearly had me running for the hills. I envisioned Marco scaling the shelves, roaring and crashing pottery in his path. Luckily snack bowls (meant to share) kept Marco affixed in his seat. He did alright, I think Willa will have him again. :)





His painted pottery frog.

Happy Hour!

We were celebrating presidents day in relaxed fashion, when Marco said, "it's five o'clock somewhere!"

Amen.

We cranked up the Ting Tings (Marco's fav band), started up the remote control train set (thanks Auntie D & Uncle D), sliced some apples and had ourselves a little happy hour.

Proud to be an American. (Ignore the chard by the tunnel.)


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone