This boy of mine

One year ago today, I felt the greatest pain I had ever experienced. One year ago today, I felt the greatest joy I ever experienced. Though I can hardly believe it, FunnyKid is one year old today. And what a year it has been.

One year ago, I met this guy.


Today, I was lucky enough to be greeted by this guy.

I'm busy preparing all sort of surprises for FunnyKid's party-- and praying the hurricane headed our way holds off on the rain until after we're done celebrating. But I wanted to take a minute to share the joy that this kiddo brings to my day.

It's hard to sum up my pride for FunnyKid and all of the abilities he has gained over this year. As a new mom, I have been-- of course-- enamored with every "first," from that first awesome smile to his first steps behind his push toy. But perhaps what makes me most proud about this kiddo is how he has lived up to his FunnyKid nickname.

I never knew a baby could be so funny. FunnyKid loves to laugh (and what a great laugh it is) and will bust out with a belly laugh even when we're not trying to do anything funny (he finds someone throwing something-- or even just making a throwing motion-- absolutely hilarious). And he is a little ham who does what he can to make people laugh. He somehow came up with this cute little head tilt that gets people every time. He "kisses" me by coming at my face with an open mouth and sucking on whatever part of my face he catches (it's impossible not to laugh when someone is sucking on your cheek). And, although it's not on purpose, his little butt sticking out when he walks behind his push toy is sure to elicit laughs.

One year. A year of smiles, new talents, tears (oh, the tears! from both FunnyKid and I), adventures, new experiences and laughter-- more laughter than I could have hoped for when I came up with the nickname FunnyKid. Thanks for living up to that name, kiddo. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you, Bubby!

I'm extra hilarious at 2:30 in the morning

A few nights ago, I found myself tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Then, the Pretend Husband, who had way too much caffeine too late in the day, found himself with his eyes pinned open. So, like any loving couple with double insomnia, we began chatting.

I told the PH I had tried to fall asleep by running through potential baby names for our next child (this is not an announcement). After going through some of my ideas, we began thinking of names for future dogs (also not an announcement). After the usual Molly, Maggie, Max, Buster suggestions, we hit on another idea.

We thought it would be absolutely hilarious to give our next dog a name that is only usually given to people. Like Stanley. Or William. We lay in bed cracking ourselves up thinking about how people names would sound on a dog ("Jessica! Stop licking yourself!" "David! Drop that chipmunk and get in the house!") Then we wondered if the idea would seem as hilarious when we weren't exhausted.

The next day, we discovered that it is just hilarious as we had thought. I defy you to walk outside right now, yell "William, stop humping Jessica and get over here!" and not laugh. It's impossible.

If he wants to push the next kiddo out of his nether regions, I'm happy to listen to him complain. Until that happens, zip it.

FunnyKid is an Eater. With a capital E. We have yet to discover a food he won't eat (except for a three day period where he wouldn't eat-- of all things-- watermelon). And when he's in his high chair, in your lap or anywhere where there's food, he wants to eat and he wants to eat now.

Let me preface the next little story by saying the Pretend Husband is an awesome father. He has one evening a week alone with FunnyKid while I work, he rushes home at the end of a busy day to make sure he gets time with FunnyKid before bed and he's very hands-on with everything from playing to changing diapers.

However, if there is one thing the PH hates, it's being interrupted when he's eating. He will spoon veggies into FunnyKid's mouth before he sits down to eat so it doesn't interfere with his meal. So, if there's any additional cutting up of food or throwing Cheerios onto FunnyKid's tray, that has fallen to me.

I'm not sure the PH even realized how harried I was during meals as I tried to grab bites of my own meal in between cutting things into little chunks for FunnyKid and keeping him well-fed. Until a few weeks ago. FunnyKid and the PH had come to my soccer game, but the grass was too wet for them to sit and watch at first. So the PH loaded FunnyKid into the car and took him out to breakfast.

On the way home from the game, I was treated to a litany of complaints from the PH. "It was so hard to eat! He kept yelling when he ran out of food so I was constantly cutting stuff up for him. I had to choke down my food in, like, 30 seconds at the end."

I think he was looking for sympathy from me, but he was looking to the wrong person. "Really? That's what it's like to eat with FunnyKid? I wouldn't have realized that, being that I feed him three meals a day and all. Cry me a river, PH, I've been dealing with this for months."