Chomp!

Whenever people ask me "Do you have a baby?" I always say, "Yes." Because it's true. Sort of. Up until his 2nd birthday this past summer, I technically did have a baby. I knew that he would turn 2 and I would have to stop referring to him as my baby, but old habits die hard. After today, I definitely can not call him my baby and must only refer to him as my big boy. Or, I guess son would work, too. :)

When I picked him up from Grandma and Papa's today, my baby was doing something I thought I had at least 3 or 4 more years before it started. No, I'm not talking about using the "potty" or speaking in full sentences. My son was chewing gum. Now, I'm not at all upset that he was chewing gum. It's not like I've got a no fun policy for my child. I just really didn't expect him to have any concept of gum chewing. I mean, up until now, he knows to put food items in his mouth, chew a few times, and swallow. Pretty basic stuff. But today, he had a piece of gum, and apparently had it for at least an hour. The same piece! I just couldn't believe it. I just can't comprehend how in the world my 2 year old knows that chewing gum is just for that-chewing. He didn't swallow it, he didn't stick it in his hair. Nothing. Just chewed. Amazing. All the way home, he happily smacked his gum and said "num, num, num" with every chomp. And I have to admit, after I got over the shock that I have a son who is old enough to chew gum, I thought it was all pretty cute. I just have to face facts and realize that my baby is growing up. It's so cliche, but I'm going to say it. They really do grow up so fast. Before I know it, he's going to be starting school, then graduating....and on and on to times and places that really will make me cry if I think about too hard. So I'm not going to. Not yet. I'm just going to enjoy this new milestone in our lives and be thankful for everything we have.

The only problem is, now that's it's nap time, how am I going to get this gum out of his mouth?

Writing

I want to be a writer. No, not really, but it would make sense. Ever since I can remember, I've loved books. I love characters, plots, settings, and details. Man, I love details. Anyone who has heard me tell a story with an unnecessary amount of details knows I love them. Can't live without them. Naturally, as much as I like books, I should be a writer. Unfortunately, I can't write. I don't mean that I don't know how to physically write. Obviously, I have the ability to pick up a writing utensil and construct both simple and complex sentences. I can even type them, as you are witnessing now. I just don't have anything interesting to say. You can probably see what I mean by the fact that I am writing about writing. Nothing at all. But everyone writes blogs about interesting things everyday, so why not me? I've kept a blog about my son to keep my far away family informed, but I doubt anyone else really wants to read about a new tooth or the fact that he can stand on one foot for about 1.3 seconds. So when a friend requested to read my blog, I thought, maybe I should try to be interesting in another way. So here I am writing. About writing. And I'm still uninteresting. But for the sake of trying new things, I'm going to attempt it. As a disclaimer to my ability, I have never been funny or clever, or even remotely original, so this may become incredibly mind-numbing for you readers, if there are readers. So, whoever is reading this, here goes nothing!