You probably saw this coming...

Owen can now show you his belly button, his tongue, AND..... his penis. If you read the conversation below, you won't be surprised by this news. Fortunately, except for diaper changes and bath time, his new skill doesn't come into play much. (At least I hope it doesn't show up at story time at the library or something.)

Here are a few pictures from last week's trip to Gunnison.

Owen was obsessed with the rocks in the parking lot. Mommy just wanted a picture of Owen standing by himself with the mountain in the background, but he wouldn't leave the rocks alone long enough for me to get one unless Daddy or Grandpa were holding on to him. You can see how excited he was by his triumph over Mommy in the last shot.


Doesn't that just scream "Muhahaha! Foiled your plans!"

He was SOOO done with hiking by this point. Unfortunately, I dropped the camcorder on the hill so Daddy had to go back and find it while Owen took a nap. Doh!



ps- Owen has no obvious after effects from his fall last night. He still won't let me look in his mouth very easily, but he has no bruising at all, that I can tell.

Mom and Dad, on the other hand, are scarred for life.

Mommy's little heart attack...

This will be the before picture. When Owen gets up tomorrow, I'm sure he'll have a fat lip for the after picture.

So when Owen gets tired, he gets clumsy. He's walking pretty well now, but his balance is still shaky--thus, the word "toddler," I suppose. He's transitioning to taking 1 nap a day, as he did today, but that usually leaves him pretty tired by late evening. Tonight he was walking around with his sippy cup when he tripped. Ben got to him first and he looked kind of funny. Milk pouring out of his mouth...the red! After a moment of panic, and after ripping him out of Ben's arms (sorry Ben!) we realized that he hadn't lost a tooth or bit through his lip. He just tore that little flap of skin that connects your top lip to your jaw. I considered a stitch might be in order, but it's a weird place to stitch, and would probably be traumatic, plus who cares if your thingy is connected to your lip?

I had blood all over my shirt and so did Owen. I don't know how my parents watched me ride horses for so long. I'll freak EVERY time I see him get hurt, I think. In the moment, I think I was level headed and knew what to do and everything, but it was horrible not being able to make him stop hurting.

UPDATE! The child doesn't even have a bruise. His little flap thing was a little swollen and you can see where he cut it, but there are no outward signs to lead to CPS calls. I can't believe he bled that much and is completely fine!

Poop-a-pa-looza

A couple of weeks ago Owen was going for some kind of record for most poops in a day. It was making Mom and Dad grouchy (lots of poopy diapers) and giving Owen a sore red tush. My usual remedy to this is some naked time. Fresh air seems to have magical healing properties on diaper rashes.

Some of you may have already spotted the problem here...Lots of pooping + no diaper= craptacular idea.

Sure enough, Ben was following Owen around (on the hardwood, THANK GOD!), when I hear "Ugh Ugh Ugh! Owen pooped on the floor!" Sure enough, the boy had left a big steaming pile. We both ran around shrieking in disgust for a second and then got a paper towel and some kind of massive disinfectant to clean it up. Somehow, neither of us thought to corral the boy. Not 1 minute after we (who am I kidding? *I*) finished cleaning up pile #1, Owen grunts and leaves piles #2. More shrieking and cleaning ensues, and once again, nobody thinks "hey, maybe we should put a diaper on him!" I think we both thought he had already pooped 6x that day, he must be done, right? Just as it occurs to me that he might not be done and I go to grab him, Owen runs to the backdoor and poops AGAIN!

Can we really be that dumb?

As bad as that was, today takes the cake.

He dozed off in the car on the way home from the zoo, so I put him straight to bed when we got home. This doesn't always work, and sure enough, I heard him whining a few minutes later. I ignored him for a while, hoping he'd go to sleep, but eventually went up to start our nap routine from scratch. When I got in the room, I smelled poop so figured he needed a change to go back to sleep. I picked him up, carried him to the changing table and laid him down before I realized, wait a minute....

My son's not wearing a diaper! The little turd had somehow crapped his pants and removed one of the velcro tabs from his diaper and stepped out of it. He threw the stinky diaper on the floor (which THANK GOD STILL CONTAINED MOST OF THE POOP!) There was poop on my shirt, on my arm, all over him, on the crib sheets, on my SIDS safe breatheable mesh bumper, on the floor.

I cleaned all of us and the room up, read him 2 short stories and am now sitting on the couch in shock. I think I'll go make myself a drink.

Why do we buy toys?

Owen's toy de jour is an old ATM receipt. He's currently crumpling it and uncrumpling it. Then he sticks it in the hole of one of his toys and pulls it back out. Very exciting! He's concentrating on it very intensely.

I just noticed I haven't updated this in almost a month. Blech. Lots going on in Owen's world, of course. It amazes me how much he changes every day. Sometimes I look back at old pictures and don't even recognize the baby in them. Case in point:
What happened to those fat cheeks?

Owen has a new trick. If you say "Owen, where's your belly button?" he'll lift his shirt and stick his finger in it. If you say "Owen, where's your tongue?" he'll stick it out at you. He knows where his nose is, but it's not of much interest to him, so he's only about 50/50 on pointing it out. DADDY's nose, on the other hand, is great for grabbing and he'll happily show you where THAT is.

The other day in the tub, before he had mastered this new belly button skill, we had a conversation that went like this:
-Owen, where's your belly button?
-No, that's your penis.
-Where's your belly button?
-No, that's your penis...

The very next day, on Ben's bath night, I heard the following conversation:
-Owen, where's your belly button?
-No, that's your penis.
-Where's your belly button?
-No, that's your penis...

If Owen's 4th word is penis, I wouldn't be at all surprised!