Ok, so serves me right for tooting the proverbial horn with the last post. Let that be yet another moral lesson to you, my LGO: Smugness never pays! After my intrepid explorer performed the magical feat of five solo steps last week, and no doubt saw just how excited this made mommy and daddy, he decided he didn't really feel like doing it anymore. In fact, whenever we try to 'practice stand' with him now, he often makes his legs go limp under him. Ah, careful what you wish for? Here my long-suffering back was hoping that a walking toddler would mean less lifting therefore less strain on the back. That a walking and soon-running toddler would mean a slimmer toddler therefore less strain on said back. Alas, my little heavyweight seems to be getting heavier still, despite the roughened crawler's knees and the advent of homo milk -- or gay milk as Mr Green likes to call it, if you'll indulge for a moment his childish brand of humour.
To boot, we have as of late seen the return of the blasted Grine, so whether it's more molars cutting or the frustration of not having the words to express himself (I've been working on specificity, i.e. 'up', 'more', and so on, with little result) is up for debate. But the grining really does get me down. I know it's a phase and like all phases, will inherently pass. And of course I love my little rascal, grining and all, but let's face it, toddlerdom has a bad rep for a reason. I will no doubt get through it only to, with my purple heart tacked to my breast, brag along with the scores of veteran parents out there. And you, lucky, lucky you, will get to suffer all the while through my stories of petty hardships and equally petty victories. After that, you'll deserve a medal of your own.
So all things considered, it's high time Mr Green and I got away for some you-and-me-without-the-baby time. Yes, that monumental first parting from our beloved grining son is scheduled for this weekend to commemorate ten years of (mostly) wedded bliss. So it's not a week in Aruba -- see, even good old St Nick's pinching nickels this year -- but three nights in a five-star hotel in picturesque Quebecois mountain country is nothing to grine about, either. We're not saying just where in Quebecois mountain country lest LGO tries to track us down... Suffice to say, we are ready. We are trying hard not to show so much teeth when we smile. Lest we look like Matt Damon. But we are sooo ready for this.
Did I mention the hot tub yet? Did I mention the sleeping in till at least five past seven in the morning and the eating our meals WHENEVER WE DAMN WELL PLEASE, and for that matter getting the Barry White On or having a nap WHENEVER WE DAMN WELL PLEASE? See, now you're smiling now, too. It's contagious, isn't it? Sure, we'll wonder how our baby is doing as we linger over crème brulee or a nice Irish coffee by the fireplace, over breakfast the next morning, and again throughout the three-course lunch that we have time to taste. We might even feel a tad guilty for deserting him with Nanny and Grampy with no concept whatsoever that we will return at all. We will no doubt pine to hear his squeals of delight at bath time and to see his chipmunk-at-the-height-of-autumn cheeks. At some point, being without him may feel physically painful, and we will make far too many 'just checking in' phone calls to my parents, who will chuckle to themselves right after we hang up.
Being away from Little Green One will be hard. But somehow we'll come through it. And when we come back, after four long days of sun and fresh mountain air, I feel sure we'll be better parents for being away. For remembering what it once was like when we were just two.