Yes, yes, this is a fertile land and we will thrive. We will rule over all of this land and we will call it……this land.

I think we should call it your GRAVE!

At our Friday playgroup a few weeks ago, Miss Amy let all the kids explore IN and OUT and THROUGH using a play tunnel. At least, she tried to let all the kids use the tunnel, but once mine got over his initial fear he spent the whole hour climbing back and forth trying to keep everyone else out. He would speed-crawl right to whatever end a kid was trying to enter through and sit on his massive thighs, silently saying “MY TUNNEL MINE MINE MINE”.

A good mother would have used that opportunity to teach Baby Evan the importance of sharing and taking turns and how good it feels when we can all play nicely together.

Me? I just bought him his own damn tunnel.

P.S. HE SAID BALL. AND KNEW WHAT HE WAS TALKING ABOUT. “Bal bal bal bal bal bal” and then he goes looking for a ball. Not like “ma ma ma ma ma ma” when he goes looking for some lint to chew on. BALL is officially his first word.

– One of Baby Evan’s favorite games is called “Try to grab the dog’s junk”. The dog almost always loses this game. I usually just laugh.

– When we’re having a really difficult nap time, sometimes I yell “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE GO TO SLEEP CHILD!” really loud…and he almost always goes right to sleep.

– Things I’ve used to wipe the baby’s nose include: my sleeve, his sleeve, his sock, anything I can grab from the dirty laundry basket, stuffed toys, felt at the craft store, paper towels, cloth diapers. Almost never used: tissues.

– When the baby’s nails get really long and he scratches himself I feel bad. When he starts scratching ME I pin him down and finally trim them.

– Anytime Baby Evan is awake I stare at the dirty dishes and the unmopped floor and the laundry to be folded and think about how much I could be getting done if he would leave me alone. And yet, every time he goes down for a nap I manage to waste the whole time on Twitter/email/knitting/USWeekly/picking my nose.

– I cleaned the rug my child plays on for the first time today. I shook TWO CUPS of dirt out…after I had already vacuumed.

– Baby Evan has fallen on his head approximately 3 billion times in the past two months and I have yet to call the doctor. No blood, no loss of consciousness, and yet somehow I feel like a good mother would be much more concerned.

– I am secretly and silently smug that my son is walking at 10 months because it reinforces my belief he’s a genius although I try really really hard not to bring it up unless someone asks. No one likes Smug Mommy.

– I do not check all our toys for safety and lead content online and have been known to allow my kid to chew on plastic rubber duckies made in China. I figure it’s better than his favorite thing to chew on – Mountain Dew cans.

– None of this stuff keeps me up at night.

While going through the toys and stuffed animals my mother had saved from my own childhood, I came across something that I think TOTALLY explains my current obsession with babywearing and baby carriers.

It's a baby backpack! For babies! To carry baby dolls!

So he wasn't as OMGSOEXCITED! about the backpack as I was, but he didn't mind posing for the pictures either. Hopefully in a couple months he'll actually like playing babywearing. Then his dolly can be handy any time he feels the need to pull her hair out with his teeth.

And here’s one more vintage photo of my aunt “wearing” me when I was a baby. It’s really a frame carrier, like the one I have in the guest room closet just in case we every decide to go hiking (AHAHAHAHAHAHA), but everyone in my family seemed to like it. My dad said he “wore” my brother all the time but I couldn’t find any pictures. That’s what happens when you’re the third child.

We were at Old Sturbridge Village. Bonnets were so hot right then.

Oh wait, I almost forgot this:

Overalls: Daddy's Baby carrier.

Baby consignment stores are scary, scary places. The faded plastic toys. The car seats with no manuals or instructions. The cheap nappy stuffed animals. And of course, the racks and racks of old, slightly smelly, scratchy polyester baby clothes.

And yet, I cannot resist a good deal on baby crap, so I always always stop. It’s part of my furniture-on-the-curb-free-books-OMG-A-YARD-SALE-STOP-THE-CAR disease. My case comes from my mother’s side of the family and is very severe and totally incurable. E handles my condition very well for the most part, indulging me sometimes but preventing the house from filling up with wobbly end tables, dressers to refinish, and broken chairs I’m going to recane just as soon as I learn to how exactly one recanes a chair.

During my pregnancy, my disease totally reversed itself and I suddenly hated anything that had been touched by hands other than my own. I wanted things totally new, straight from a box, wrapped in bubble wrap and smelling like plastic chemicals. If I could have gone directly to the car seat/stroller/crib/exersaucer factory and done the actual production myself I would have, just to make sure no one else’s germs every got on my stuff. Who cares what it costs? Nothing is too good for my precious snowflake! (My only exception was a Craigslist crib and changing table, barely two years old, for only $100. I figured the hundreds of dollars I saved on furniture would come in hand for buying other stuff. Like baby hats. HUNDREDS OF BABY HATS.)

But now that I already own every baby gadget known to man, I’ve realized “new” only lasts an hour and pretty much anything your baby can get on their stuff washes out. A baby swing used by someone else’s kid for three months works just as well as a new one and costs a quarter of the price. Until a kid is mobile their clothes are mostly decoration – adorable decoration, yes, but at the rate these little monsters grow you better take a picture the first time they wear something. We’re quickly reaching the Playskool age, where giant plastic monstrosities in primary colors begin to breed and multiply across our house until we’re left cowering in a corner with the dog frantically trying to take the batteries out of anything that makes music or talks.

Unfortunately, those Playskool toys don’t actually breed – you have to buy them (or get them as Christmas gift from your mom. Hi Mom!) – so I’m on the hunt for a quality baby consignment store. The one I’ve been to already is…not quality. That doesn’t mean I haven’t bought stuff, I just haven’t hauled away a car full of amazing bargains. So far I’ve stuck mainly to lightly worn clothes and stayed away from the gear, but this past week I picked up an umbrella stroller for $7, and that d0ggie-eared hat in the hat fashion show for $2. I’m really excited about the stroller, which came with the owner’s manual and is BRIGHT ORANGE, which will make it easy to find in the black hole pit of blankets, empty cups and baby toys that is the back seat of my car. Plus it matches my little ginger’s hair and I am all about making him look as red-headed as possible.

I’m going to check out our local Goodwill and I’ve heard good things about a consignment shop down in Mystic and of course I check my local Craigslist regularly (E: What are you doing on Craigslist? We don’t need any more STUFF! Me: But what if it’s a really really good deal? I mean, look! A real wooden rocking horse for only $100!!! E: NO NO NO NO NO) but I’m afraid that stroller might be my greatest find.