An Ode to my Bubbie

Mother's Only Son. I had no idea what I was getting into when he was born. Obviously I wouldn't change a thing yadda yadda yadda, but oh, this boy. This son of mine, this big-headed charming boy, is an incredibly difficult child to deal with. Mostly, I suspect, because he is a lot like his mama. He also needs me so fiercely that it hurts sometimes. Hurts both of us, actually. Here are a few pictures of him. Nothing special about these, just ones that seem to capture a bit of his large personality. Bubbie is what I call him when I actually want to strangle him. I know Bubbie is grandmother in Yiddish but it is a soft sounding name so I use it to calm myself down and think through what I should say to him instead of what I want to say. I call him Bubbie a lot.

A few weeks old, being clutched by his sisters, who adored him from birth until he was about two. Then nobody liked him again until he turned five.

About 18 months or so. MOS was a giant baby. 

About 4 months old and a happy round baby. He was actually my best baby; things just went south when he turned 17 months old, but they are looking up since he turned five. 

Right at two years; he was and is a good sleeper, which is one reason I let him stick around. 

Reeeeeaaaaaaching for Mama. Pick me up! Hold me! I NEED YOU MAMA!!!!! 

Eww. Ick. Gross. He doesn't eat like this anymore. Thank goodness. He looked like this after every meal, regardless of the food type. He could do this to himself with chicken nuggets and a cheese stick. Nightmarish. 

UHNNNNNN! Mama! Pick me up! Hold me! I NEED YOU! MOS didn't talk until he was two years old. His first word was ball. His second word was cracker. His third word was no. That was it until he was well over two, when he added in baby and Mama. He can say a bit more now. 

Fatty little man. He didn't walk until he was about 14 months old. This picture was taken before he could walk. He could crawl, however, and he crawled up to the top of the swingset for this pic. He was smirking because he knew it was making me nervous for him to be up so high, seeing as how he was fat and couldn't walk. 

My lame attempt to keep him in his room after Tiny was born. He broke multiple gates. And always had this expression on his face when I caught him.

Mama and MOS a few weeks before Tiny was born. Kill me now if I ever see those stupid pants or stupid shirt again.  

The first time he held Tiny. She's about an hour old in this pic. He held her very gently and kissed her. Today he hit her over the head with a lamp and called her butthead. 

I have always loved this picture of me and the kids. I think it encapsulates everything about the way I parent and run my house. Tiny was a month or so old, MOS was not yet two, GG2 just turned four, and GG1 was six. Two are naked, one is in pajamas when it is clearly not nighttime, they are eating pizza on the counter, and I am haggard and exhausted, clutching the baby with one arm. Life with four kids. Just go with it and live it and make sure to exercise so you can keep on drinking beer. That's my only advice for moms in general.