Green Bean Bottoms

Ronald Reagen once said, "You can tell a lot about a fellow by his way of eating jellybeans." I can't help but wonder what you can tell about a fellow by his way of eating green beans.

Feeding Popeye is one part of parenting that I thought I would take great joy in. Afterall, I often enjoy a hearty meal myself and have been quite looking forward to sharing this undertaking with my son. Oh, the fluffy daydreams of exposing Popeye to the many fine foods available to his palatte! I imagined a glowing kitchen, sunlight streaming in from the windows, as I sweetly spoon yummy babyfoods between his plump lips; Popeye taking in every morsel - the two of us laughing and playing joyously as he begins a life of sustenance.

Ok, that may be a bit of an exaggeration but all the same lets just say that the introduction of fine foods definitely looks nothing like that vision.

My pediatrician suggested that we begin with a bland rice cereal mixed with formula. This pursuit, while discouraging at times, has gone par for the course. After manuevering the spoon through little hands and legs (yes, legs, as Popeye has discovered that he can get his feet in his mouth) I feel quite accomplished just getting a morsel near his mouth. When a drop makes it not only on his tongue but doesn't flow back out onto his chin I typically can't help but shout, "hurray!" The hurray likely isn't my best idea as this brings a ricey smile to his lips and the cereal emerges back into sight. Sigh.

But compared to our green bean enterprise this weekend I consider the rice cereal a valiant success. Following a few weeks of cereal the pediatrician had suggested introducing some vegetables such as green beans. I was quite excited to begin this part of feeding as I can't help but wonder what he thinks as I continually feed the bland cereal. I think that Popeye agreed because once he got a taste of the greeny goodness the remainder of the bowl went quickly. However, it was the way that it came out which discouraged me. Shortly after we cleaned up the green masterpiece that covered his lips, cheeks, neck, fingers and of course, legs, I laid Popeye down for his night time siesta. Typically he is out around 8 and isn't heard from again until approximately 3:30 and then asleep again until, fingers crossed, 7. This night, however, was slightly different.

Poor little Popeye. He woke up every hour with stinky green bean burps and flatulance -not to mention bloodi curdling screams. Apparently the green beans weren't quite... settling. After a long night of burping, farting and screaming we both awoke to a swampy suprise. The green beans had gone right through him! By right through "him" this also includes his diaper, pajamas and my bed, which I had brought him into at around 2:30- after about fiften trips to his crib. Poor little Popeye. He seemed just as horrified as I was when his little exploring hands discovered that he had green bean bottoms.

I think we'll stick to rice cereal for the rest of this week...

Another Mom Blog...

So apparently there are a million of these in the world... A million blogs written by the silent moms. The unheard progenitors reaching out to connect with the world beyond their quiet chaos of pacifiers, puke, soccer practice, early mornings, late dinners, exciting beginnings, unfinished projects, new words, belated sentences, unmopped floors, full beds...

But there's only one M. And no doubt, theres only one Popeye. That being said, this is the beginning of Popeyes and my project. Perhaps amist the pacifiers and puke and early mornings and late dinners (or no dinners) it may wax unfinished as well. But when is a life story ever finished? Even in the lapse of death the history of a life and the markings left behind never conclude what has been.

This is Popeyes adventure.
As I write this, I can't help but be curious: what is ever to come of all these stories, these blogs, if you will, that float out into the public doman. In no other generation has there been the opportunity for us to detail our adventures, not just mommy adventures but many different kinds of adventures, in such careful detail. Will our children one day be able to look back and see the struggles that their mothers wrote for the world to see?

In the case of the mommy bloggers: these details are far too often of childrens incontinence and their mothers fight for identity beyond motherhood. Will our children turn various colors of chagrin as they one day see their own tales of childhood horrors spread out for the world to devour like a buffett of embarressment? Eventually I can see a field of psychology being dedicated to the damage done by blogging. "Sorry, dude. I can't come over tonight. Got to go talk to my Blog-chiatrist." Oh the innocent ways we scar our children... I hope, instead, that our children will be able to grasp their mom's stories and embrace all told as a document of their mothers love.

And so, Popeye, if you are reading this in place of studying for some college exam in the distant, but likely not that distant, future, I sincerely apologize in advance. Rest assured: I'll pay for your therapy.