Daddy decided that you were ready to start potty-training yesterday [precisely two days after your first birthday, if you're counting] while watching you do the squat and push in the throes of evicting a poopy. Despite the fact that we did actually purchase a toddlerpotty, it has not yet been set up (and I'm pretty sure that according to most, a normal potty-training age is more like two).
So when daddy ceremoniously announced he was "taking you to the potty," marched you over to the guest bathroom, depantsed your tiny self and HELD YOU OVER THE PORCELAIN POT EXPECTING SOME ACTION, I doubled over in hysterics/horror/disbelief.
THEN, after waiting 2.5 seconds and declaring a failure, daddy thought it cute to let you fly out of the bathroom half-nakey (the bottom half, natch) and into the den. As he called for mommy to check out the show, I turned my head just in time to catch my little Action Ansley stop mid-run, assume the position... and pee a delicate five-second stream of tinkle on our freshly-cleaned carpet.
I handed the paper towels over to your darling daddy and said "you know this is totally going in my blog."
*Disclaimer: In the interest of fairness—according to Granny Mac's recollection, baby Jonathan was potty-trained at the age of 7 months. So I'm sorry if daddy has some unrealistic expectations for you munchkin. He was apparently a wee pee prodigy. Or it could've just been the M&Ms...
So I've finally finished retroposting, and we now have entries beginning shortly after we found out we were having a baby (yay!). Most of the preggo pieces are not Ansley-directed anyway, but I wanted to go ahead and get them up so I could actually feel like we started in the right place. But since Ansley is pretty much the most entertaining and interesting part of our lives, it's still all about her [see below].
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I cannot believe how quickly the past year has gone by and how much you've grown and conquered and what a mini-person you are! This time last year, mommy was putting the finishing touches on the nursery and swelling with pride (and fluids) at your imminent arrival. And now you're about to turn one; run-tottering toward me with arms outstretched and a huge toothy grin. Believe me, munchkin, I have never been more proud of anything in my life. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. (You and your daddy, of course ;)
Though it pains us to see (only because it happened so fast), you're walking around all "no big deal" now. I can barely catch you on camera.
"What? Pshhh, I came out walking."
My favorite time is when you're getting sleepy and you stumble around looking intoxicated and losing your balance. You are constantly trying to pick things up and walk with them (even things that are supposed to roll and/or support you), which gets significantly more difficult when you're sleep-wasted. And for some reason, tiredness also makes you think you can lift items that are 3 times your size. Which you can't. But it's cute to watch you try. ;)
We send you off to school sporting shoes every day now, since I think you forgot how to sit still. For some reason, you find it incredibly hilarious that this produces 'stinky feets.' Like, for real. When we catch a whiff and reel back in (semi-)mock disgust, you giggle like you totally did it on purpose.
Your personality is starting to emerge in little pieces. You imitate and respond to us more often when we ask now, giving kisses and pointing out your parts (specifically head, nose, tongue; with varying accuracy).
Apparently, you entertain everyone at daycare with impromptu bouts of interpretive dance (quite possibly a contributing factor to the stinky feet syndrome). But mommy does love that you're now old enough to perform So-You-Think-You-Can-Dance-esque lifts and flips. We try them out in the playroom when daddy's not around to get any ideas... (just kidding daddy!)
You have recently begun to scream erratically, often when frustrated (like a high-pitched siren-style scary movie scream that we're hoping will die down once we learn to communicate a little more efficiently), and I think you're going to be a bit of a daredevil. You absolutely love to be surprised/mildly scared. We play hide and seek and "I'm gonna get you!" like they're going out of style. You get a big kick out of running away and then turning back to make sure you're being thoroughly chased.
You're beginning to show interest in books, if only the continuous opening and closing of them. We still read to you.. well, let's be honest... at you. Sometimes you're just tired enough to let us finish a whole story. So clearly you won't be smart. But at least you're pretty. ;) Just kidding I'm sure you'll be smart too. And if you're not supersmart, you'll definitely be an athlete, as evidenced by your 'Action Ansley' running, climbing, dancing and tumbling skills. And intense practice of said skills.
Since you usually only let us read whilst you are otherwise occupied, mommy will occasionally just pick up a book and simulate storytime (in vain hopes that you'll suddenly take to it). Last week when I got to a passage about mischievous monkeys, I made the "oooo-ooo-oo-aah-aah" sound and you dropped down to all fours and began jamming out as though headbanging. Totally ignored the rest of the book, but you must really like those monkeys...
After a little coaxing and several unsuccessful attempts, you've even grown to enjoy the tree swing handydad hung for you last month. Though mommy is much more cautious and tends to remove you from a situation if you don't seem to like something, daddy's philosophy is "try it until she likes it." Surprisingly, this makes for a good balance. If we don't confuse the crud out of you.
You now randomly approach Bo and envelop him in sweet hugs, which is the most adorable thing ever. But Hannahbelle is beginning to catch your attention, too, and you find it comical to play the "I'm gonna get you" game with her. Except you like to be the chaser. Although Hannah is very good at evading capture, she pauses to let you think you have a chance and makes you laugh when she feverishly spins her wheels and takes off again. You also enjoy tempting one or both of the dogs with whatever puff, pretzel or cracker you have in your hand and then swiftly revoking it like "Oh here do you want some? Syke. This is mine, dogg."
Your favorite field trip to date is Emerald Pointe. Or as we like to call it "the giant bath tub you get to stand up and walk around in." You aren't so much into splashing, but you frolick and float as if you and water are BFFs. The first time we went, you rode the cyclone and almost instantaneously zonked out. As it was church youth day and there were no free chairs to be had, mommy and daddy took turns holding you up in the kiddie pool. I'm sure it was quite humorous to passersby to see a baby in a lifejacket all passed out and suspended in the water, but you float-slumbered for a good hour, powered up and were ready for round two of bath/playtime.
Though I'm sure you could care less what you're wearing, mommy likes to pretend you're her life-size doll and dress you up in at least two outfits per day. Since your current wardrobe rivals that of Mariah Carey, this is not hard—except that you hate the process of getting dressed. And forget putting a bow in your hair. If you spy or feel its presence, it must die (or be yanked out at once). Apparently ribbons are generally offensive, since you also try to pull them from other peoples' hair.
(just before you caught wind of that evil hairbow...)
You're still teething like crazy, and were actually out of school right after you turned 11 months for the fever that accompanied the teething. Which is no small wonder because you were getting four new teeth at the same time. You have since popped two more, for a total of eight (four top and four bottom). Since you absolutely love the taste of Tylenol, we survived. Barely.
In other happenings:
Another one of your future crushes, Cooper Samuel Morrison, was born on July 13th!
Isn't he just so precious you want to snuggle him for hours? Well too bad; you probably won't be allowed to date him either. (Just kidding). Maybe his G.I. Joes and your Barbies can ask your dads if it's ok and then date. ;)
Ah who knows if or which any of you munchkins will end up together. But as Aunt Jaclyn pointed out, you and Jake may be destined to become "future power couple Jakesley."
And if you don't, Jake will always protect you.
Just like he does his big sister:
anyone who knows me can attest to the fact that i'm one of the more modest people you'll meet. but the act of birthing and subsequently feeding your child pretty much requires you to toss that modesty out the window from the top of the empire state building the day your baby is born. i had to have an out-of-body experience to really be ok with the fact that that many people were looking at - and groping - my ladyparts. even still, i often make euphemisms for b-feeding (see i can't even say it here). i tell people i'm "making food" or "going to feed ansley." but my fav as of late is "going to the shore." this most recent genteelism was borne of the MTV phenomenon Jersey Shore, wherein the self-proclaimed Guidos and Guidettes dance to house music by "beating up the beat" with frequent and forceful fist pumps (you can't make this stuff up). therefore, going to the shore = jersey shore --> where they practice fist pumping --> which is kind of like milk pumping... you get it, right?
well sometimes we don't have to go all the way to the shore and ansley just drinks from the tap.
this happened yesterday when daddy came up with a glass of milk and tried to toast you, saying "we can drink our milk together!" but little did he know, you require full concentration when taking a milk break, and would have none of it. seriously - completely stopped gulping, turned your head around and let out an "uuuhhh" in exclamation of your annoyance. when daddy tried to reason with you, he got another, even more annoyed-sounding "uhh." (translation: go away daddy, this is my time). poor daddy finally gave up and reluctantly trudged out of the room, but not before warning you "those might be yours now, but not forever..."
it's been raining and nasty quite a bit in recent days, but this past saturday we ventured out to get the vaccine for the dreaded H1N1 virus (aka swine flu). mommy's boss forwarded us the top secret announcement that the guilford county department of public health was holding a free clinic on saturday morning, so we packed you up as proof that we were in one of the "risk groups" and headed to the high point location. things went surprisingly smoothly and the people there were very pleasant - even when daddy (much to mommy's disbelief) responded to their questioning at the entrance with "oh we're here for the safe surrender." he was joking, of course, but for a split second you should have seen the horrified looks on everyone's faces. i know. let's hope you get mommy's sense of humor... but after the initial shock, we all had a good laugh and daddy and i proceeded merrily through to get checked in (so merrily in fact that daddy banged your carrier against at least 2 walls. but it's ok he just calls out "new parent!" and people pretend not to notice).
you're still pretty good when we go places, though recently you've started refusing to eat out and we have to return home to give you a bottle. you had your first taste of formula last week since mommy just isn't making enough food for you right now. hopefully the fenugreek will reduce the need for that. i spilled about 3 ounces of precious milk trying to make you a bottle while you squirmed in my arms yesterday and was beside myself. there were tears. (yes, i was literally crying over spilled milk).
then on sunday we stopped at costco and daddy had the brilliant idea to buy them out of strawberries in order to save money and make jam as christmas gifts. unfortunately, you do not save money when you purchase an entire pallet (24 2-quart cartons), get it home, cut and crush 50 pounds of strawberries, work deep into the night canning them and then realize that your calculations are incorrect and the recipe calls for about 1/4 what you thought. basically, instead of prepping only enough strawberries for the 48 jars of jam we thought we'd make, we prepared enough for about 200. whoever said measure twice, cut once was a smart man. and was clearly not related to either of us. at least our delirious laughter at the realization was kinda fun. you slept through the whole thing. apologies if i am only able to hold you in 15-minute increments for the next few days until my triceps stop burning.
yeah, i'm not sure why daddy's smiling either. (just kidding).
{peas porridge hot; peas porridge cold; little baby ansley-bop 9 days old!}
So you've been in our lives now for just over a week and it's gone by so fast. I can understand why everybody we see tells us to enjoy it because you'll grow up quickly. I find myself taking tons of pictures and staring at you while you sleep or eat because I just don't want to miss anything. Speaking of pictures, we have your very first photo shoot tomorrow with an old friend of mine from high school who is a very talented photographer. I'm sure she'll capture you sleeping - as that is presently your fav activity, but maybe we'll get an awake shot or two.
You love to put your hands on your ears and up by your face when you lay on my lap it's the cutest thing. You really are just so incredibly beautiful. The biggest gift I've ever gotten. I love you little one.
And.. ok. Since I started this blog with a nursery rhyme of sorts, I think now may be a good time to mention that daddy and I have recently learned that we for real do not know the correct words to.. like.. ANY.. nursery rhymes or songs. While I like to substitute "doo do do doo do do doo doo doo," daddy is far more adventurous and will make up his own lyrics to finish them off. This is uniquely humorous when it's a well-known rhyme. My favorite has been "Three blind mice, see how they run, they all ran after the farmer's wife, she cut off their tails with a BUTCHER's knife, did you ever see such a HORRIBLE sight as three blind mice."
Poor little mice never did anything to anybody. Plus they were blind. Why is that so horrible daddy? Why are you hating on those handicapable little meeces? What did they ever do to you? Wow, that went too far...
The other day, daddy was singing along with the radio and "blinded by the light" happened to be playing. It was stuck in his head for a while, so he would bust it out at random intervals to serenade you pretty much all week. However, as I listened a bit more closely to his trilling, I realized he was singing to you "bliinded by the liiight; wrapped up like a douche... another rumor in the night."
Ummm, no. Those are not the correct words to that verse. In fact, douche is not a good word at all, baby. Please do not use it in a sentence. Mommy was pretty sure that the band did not intend for it to even sound like that. But to make matters worse, when I confronted your father about his inappropriate lyrics, he insisted that they were correct and continued singing them to you the remainder of the week.
So we made our first diaper purchase at Costco today. Despite the good advice from some of our friends to start baby prep by buying diapers each time we find ourselves out, my first experience had involved me standing in the grocery store staring in horror at the multitude of diaper sizes and types and pretty much sprinting back to the "safe" non-baby aisles. Not cool. I truly have no idea what I'm doing. But Jon was bound and determined to take the plunge, so we sucked it up and bought our first economy pack (i.e. 248, i.e. not even quite a month's supply) of Huggies. The plan is to tape the receipt to the box and get a smaller size of them before realizing our child doesn't fit into Huggies. They were $43.00. Holy shizz.
But as if that process wasn't scary and reality-checking enough, we just had to stop by the children's books. Which was actually kind of fun except that I ended up having to pull Jon away from the Grover reader-pen stories before he opened one and tried to use it. We did, however, walk away with a cute little book about a Siamese cat named Skippyjon Jones.
That night, Jon pulled it out to write a dedication to our unborn child. It went something like this: "Hi baby, this is the first book we got to read to you while you're still in your mommy's tummy. Can't wait to meet you." Then he proceeded to read the story to my belly.
First of all, you must keep in mind that Jon just looked at the book, read the first page and decided we had to get it. There was no further examination. We were only a little thrown when we opened it to the title page and the dedication was in Spanish.
But 5 pages into the story, Skippyjon Jones the Siamese cat decides that his ears that are too big for his head and his head that's too big for his body mean he's really El Skippito, a Mexican chihuahua. Poor Jon stumbled through pages and pages of broken Spanglish, and 30 minutes later we were laughing hysterically at the fact that this supposedly simple children's book we'd purchased 1. had taken Jon a good half-hour to finish (maybe by the time the kid is 5, he'll have it mastered) and 2. had some serious Hispanic undertones (of course, by the time Jon has it down to 10 minutes, the kid will most likely speak Spanish). You probably had to be there, but I just found it hilarious that the first book we lovingly purchased for the enrichment of our developing child clearly was not what we thought it was.
Jon has since revised the dedication to include a disclaimer that he/she need not feel pressured to learn Spanish if they do not wish to do so.
So it seems I was under a bit of a misconception about the term "pulling the goalie."
For some reason or other, it came up in conversation the other day, and when Jon said "You know, when you consciously go off your method of birth control, you're 'pulling the goalie' - i.e. taking him away from the goal to play offense," I was like ... wait, what?
All this time, I had so been thinking the reference went to a different, more literal point (think hard, you'll get it). I mean was I really so off? Hah I claim preggo-brain. Whatever. It could so mean both.
Urban dictionary, however (yes I really am overly caucasian I can't help it), offers more than one meaning. The other is just not what I expected..
Well hello there. Your request to stalk my life has been approved (oh who am I kidding we all know you're here for little a-bomb..).
After much resistance and delay, I'm finally starting the requisite baby blog (which is apparently paramount on the parental responsibility scale). I can't promise my posts will always be witty or interesting since I'm new at this and most will be done through a sleep-deprived haze.
I'm willing to bet if you visit me here, you already know the mcdetails, but just in case:
I'm a left-handed ninja perfectionist who can dance all by myself (but I like to dance in the circle of trust with my midjas). I eat tea and drink Pibb (which I refuse to call Pibb extra). I am perpetually late (but it's really Jon's fault). And my next child will likely be named Drizzle. (Totally kidding about that last one. Jon just freaked out a little bit...haha).
