Counting & Fat Boy Balls

Update from the homefront this week....

Gus & Owen are trying to master the art of counting. Generally both of them can get 1 through 5 pretty well. Occasionally they can come up with a 1 through 10 on their own if they think about it hard enough. When one of the boys gets makes it to 10, Amy and I usually clap for them to encourage their accomplishment. The only problem is that this leads to subsequent attempts that leave out several numbers in between so they can jump to 10 and get the reward. There is a lot of "1...2...3...4...5...10!!" and then an expression of "Hey, where's my applause?"

Both boys continue to be little chatterboxes. They are repeating everything we say, which as you know presents its own challenges as a parent. ;-). Their sense of independence is growing as their ability to communicate progresses. This is a good thing as they want to be more involved with everything we do. Owen put together his longest sentence to date last night at the dinner table by uttering "Daddy needs to get new fat boy ball, Mommy." This was in reference to me complaining to Amy that Owen had destroyed my workout ball -- my "fat boy ball" as I call it -- by pouncing on top of the ball, putting it in his mouth, and biting a hole in it. As you can see the "baby in Daddy's belly!" chants from the boys have motivated me.

Speaking of babies in bellies, Amy is at the 11 week mark. We survived a scare last week as we took Amy to the emergency room after she was experiencing a lot of pain due to a cyst that we thought had ruptured. As it turned out -- after several hours, morphine & Percocet doses, and ultrasounds -- things were ok. The cyst had not ruptured, and the baby looked good on the ultrasound. Amy's diagnosis was to play Trooper for a while and deal with the discomfort. Luckily the pain has gotten more manageable this week. Amy is still dealing with the first trimester blues of nausea, which makes mealtime a challenge for her and for the men of the house. Just opening the pantry door and getting a whiff of food causes her to cringe. But we're hopeful that the nausea will soon fade as her body adjusts to all the hormones that are pumping through her system.

Finally, Gus put me in Time Out earlier this week. I was in the kitchen as Amy was cooking dinner, and I was trying to swat an annoying fly that kept buzzing around. When I swung and missed I knocked over a box of mac & cheese that sent pasta flying. "No hit, Daddy. Time out, Daddy!" came Gus's reply. He then led me over to the steps, sat me down, and grabbed my cheeks with his hand as is sometimes done to him when he acts up. Clever little kid I tell you.

Cheers!