The Limbs Are Mobile

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Baby Ranboy, clearly you have an affinity towards the more ethnic channels and OnDemand. Each time you swipe the remote from us (and it doesn’t end up in your mouth), we find the tube on either Univision, Telemundo, the OnDemand menu, or some random Russian programming. 


Regardless of how you hold the remote in your beefy 8 month old hands, or how you’re sitting… your Trex arms always manages to hit specific Verizon FIOS local channels despite all the channels we pay for. Stop interrupting our Game of Thrones dude, hold the door. 

From arms to feet: let’s address this crawling stance you’re sporting:

It’s nothing short of an injured zombie. The crawl is creepier when you’re on hardwood/tile and you become a gliding zombie. A few days ago you couldn’t be bothered with crawling, and in true Ranman fashion you’re now half-assing it. 

Leverage 

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In these trying times of parenting, we’re always looking for leverage in the Ranman household. It’s solely for you at the moment, Baby Rangirl, seeing as your baby bro is easily sedated by pacifiers, bottles, and anything else in boob-form. 

If anything of interest pops up in your life, it becomes a new weapon to bribe you with. Toys, candies…and dresses. Holy crap are you all about the dresses. 

When you threaten to come into our bed at night due to nightmares, we go fight back with “fine, then no dress to school tomorrow!” Slap on some jeans and you are in a funk for the rest of the day, my dear daughter. 

We can’t even get you to come down the steps without promising a night gown later at night to make up for the lack of a dress-of-the-day fanfare. 


…now what can we use against your baby brother to get him to start crawling…


Yea, the sucker gives up quickly despite all sorts of foods and iPhones put in front of him as motivation. That’s just a Daddy Ranman trait: you just don’t really move from one spot until your favorite ice cream sundae is the end goal. 

Dadda 

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Yup. Seems Baby Ranboy has latched onto the word “dadda” amongst his unintelligible babbling. That makes 2 out of 2 kids that spoke my alias before “momma”. 

And it drives Mommy Ranman a bit crazy as “momma’s boy” syndrome has yet to set in. 

“Momma. Mom-ma!” cries Mommy Ranman in response to each of Baby Ranboy’s “Dadda”s. 

So I did the most supportive thing I could. I calmly logged into my Spotify music account and looked up a few helpful songs to play on our speakers:


“Oh come on!” I heard Mommy Ranman say from the living room. Words of encouragement, if you asked me. Great success. 

Here’s a bonus photo of Baby Rangirl longing for the days of babyhood:

Next Chapter 

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In an exhausting day of purging the last of the kids accessories lying around, Baby Rangirl found a way to help out:

  
Yup, our little mofos are embarking on new chapters. We traveled to hell-in-New York: preK registration for Not-So-Baby Rangirl. Dude. 2.5 hours in a system that required 7 forms and none were digital. Hell. 

  
I immediately dropped “ass” and “douche” bombs within my first 5 minutes of waiting, channeling my younger Ranman in a school environment. Mommy Ranman regressed to her younger nerd state and almost tattled on me to the closest adult. 

Meanwhile, Baby Ranboy is too big for his swing: coming in at the 83rd percentile for weight in his age group. This swing lasted Baby Rangirl at least 1 year; Baby Ranboy barely lasted 7 months. 
  

Saddens me to think that I need to learn new school curriculums whilst we try to remember how to train a kid to sleep all over again. 

Grab me a drink, boy. 

  

No More School…

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…Or…not until we get a tutor.  We got one of those Highlights for kids magazines in the mail. Baby Rangirl was tasked with finding the hidden objects as we all were growing up. But then, she asked a question which stumped me. 

Find the CD. 

“What’s a ‘CD’, daddy?”

 
I’m out. This new core math teaching is above my pay grade. I didn’t even know how to explain the purpose of a CD to someone who will likely never have to use one. 

One Sick Rangirl 

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Dear heaven almighty and its sisters, Baby Rangirl is sick! Our bed flew its bedsheets at half mast, fully realizing the decrease in time which will be spent sleeping. The cat upped her Annoying Meter to level 5 and began her quest for food at 4AM vs. 5AM. Baby Ranboy decided to throw in a rare 2 AM feeding to keep the chaos going. 

And Baby Rangirl kicks up the neediness 100%. From spoon feeding to passing the tissues which are inches away- this kid would outsource peeing for her if it were possible. 

This time we waited to hit the doctor due to the innocence of the congestion. We finally took the trip after 2 days of unstable body temperatures, letting the doc know of our girl’s history of ear infections and current complaints of mouth pain: and got sent home with a “eh, she’ll be fine.”

With the lack of eating and further pains we diagnosed a sinus infection with the help of family and Google. The office’s nurses on the phone when we called back? 

“Pain in the mouth? I never heard of that.”

Mommy Ranman: “Methinks we have a case of sinus infection, which the doctor failed to consider during our 2 hour visit there.”

Nurse: “I just asked the head nurse and she feels it is sinus infection because the [something] gland swelling up…just take Advil and ride it out.”

Needless to say, that office will be Yelped-By-Ranman later today. 

We just gotta get Baby Ranman back to the dancing bafoon she is…sans boy, below:

  
Meanwhile we have Baby Ranboy keeping his distance to avoid the vigorous coughing his sister unleashes. Stuck in deep thought.  All in argyle. Once he gets matching socks we’ll know he’s too old for hugs. 

  

More Food More Problems 

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Well, not problems…just more poop. We’ve upgraded Baby Ranboy to 2 solid meals now that he’s a week away from turning 7 months. And despite the pediatrician putting Baby Ranboy in the 80th percentile for weight, she still wants him at 2 solid meals per day. 

Godzilla!

  
And the day immediately following his first attempt at 2 solids, I was greeted with a rare AM poop as we were trying to rush out of the house. 

What I was expecting at this age was some consistency in clothing. Cute catch phrases on onesies, little animals on the butt of some trousers. But I had to stop for a split second when trying to figure out Baby Ranboy’s pants vs. my socks. 

  
You’re throwing off my game, little dude. 

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