Conversations with Brain Rot

I feel guilty for not keeping up with my blog and writing more often, but it always seems like life gets in the way. I always want to wait to write when I know I will have time to finish writing a post, but those moments are few and far between. I am the kind of person who does not like to start something unless I can finish it. I get plenty of ideas for posts all the time, but I am usually lying in bed or busy doing something else. There are also plenty of funny things that spew out of Big Brother's mouth to write about, but I can never seem to remember them for too long. What makes it even harder to remember now is that he just doesn't say funny phrases anymore, but we can have whole conversations about his take on the world.

One short conversation revolved around the topic of leg hairs that I overheard him have with his dad in the shower while I was busy nursing the Bee. It went something like this.

Big Brother: "Daddy, what's all that fur on your legs?
The Dada: "It's hair. When boys grow older and become men, they grow hair on their legs."
Big Brother: " I don't want to become a man, I just want to stay a boy."
(I can't say I blame him.)

It continued on from there, but like I said, I can hardly remember these conversations unless I've had the opportunity to repeat them soon after with others.

One conversation I still remember from about a year ago when I also decided it was a good time to stop walking around the house naked looking for clothes after my showers, I discussed with big brother my lack of an accessory.

Big Brother: Mommy. You don't have a penis?
Me: No.
Big Brother: Why not?
Me: Because I don't need one. Only boys have a penis.
Big Brother: Daddy has a penis.
Me: Yes he does.
Big Brother: the Bee has a penis.
Me: Yep.
Big Brother: But you don't have a penis???? [giving me a very perplexed and puzzled look with a hint of worry followed by a very pensive pause]
Big Brother: Maybe you can borrow daddy's penis.
Me: [Laughter ensues] I don't really think daddy would like that.
Big brother eventually loses interest in this conversation and runs off with a puzzled look.

The only reason I even remember this last conversation is because I just had to call to tell everyone in my family about it. It was too funny to forget.

For now I will continue to blame my inability to remember things on my pregnancy brain.
Has it been too long from my last pregnancy to keep blaming my inefficient brain on that? Hey, if you can still have postpartum depression two years after you've had your last baby, I think I can blame my less than perfect ability to remember things on "pregnancy brain".

Roses are...

I got flowers today for the first time in a LOOOOONG time. When my husband and I were first dating in high school he use to come over with a bouquet of flowers almost each and every time he'd come visit. Sure he usually cut them off of someone's lawn, but nonetheless, I loved the gesture and still have a box full of old dry roses he use to bring over.

Many years went by and eventually he stopped bringing me flowers. I didn't even see flowers when I gave birth to my two boys. Today, though, I got flowers from a new little man. My eldest decided that he would cut some off our yard and bring them to me. In his words they were "Fowers for when you and daddy get married". How do I break it to him that mommy and daddy are already married , and that there were no flowers then? I probably should also not mention that he's picking those flowers off some unknown weed that is quite stinky for fear that I may never get flowers again.

I love the fact that he can now occasionally think outside himself, and do something nice for someone else. Today he decided to do something sweet for me. I just hope that he continues to step outside his own shoes, and see the world through the eyes of others, and to on some occasions see that maybe someone could benefit from a small bouquet of "fowers". His thoughtful gesture brightened up my day.

Oh sleep. Wherefore art thou?

The Bee is up to his usual wakings these nights. He wakes every two hours. The only progress we have made in that front is that now when I bring him into our bed he doesn't kick and scream for the boob.

Oh thy cranky Bee,
why can't you see?
Thee needs nothing but sleep.

Tis only two, tis only three, tis only six,
but thou just sends out kicks.
You cry and scream to be free,
and in the process awaken thee.

You roll over and throw that little arm around my neck
hogging my pillow and pushing me to the edge.
The gesture is oh so sweet,
but can't you see you've got me beat.
You render me motionless from my head to my thighs,
and I lay still for fear that you might rise.

Big Brother who must compete,
has crawled into bed near my feet.
Because not long after you, he begins to scream, too.
For your screams make him ill oh too soon.
Big brother who will request drinks and potty breaks.
Big Brother who is afraid of monsters, the dark, and snakes.

Oh why won't they just be afraid of me?
Because, maybe just then,
only then
will I sleep.

* Please excuse my lousy poetry skills in advance, since my only knowledge about poetry was acquired in elementary school and it has since been forgotten. This post didn't start out as a poem but it just naturally transformed into one (or at least as an impostor of one) and has undergone many MANY changes and may undergo many more.