So I Was Having a Good Day, Right?

And then I went to a gym in the city center to ask about membership prices because I realize in order to keep losing weight I need to add more exercise to my routine. I hate running and my allergies make it hard for me to do a lot of outdoor activities although admittedly, the rain here is so frequent that it washes away a lot of the pollen, but then, it’s raining frequently so that also tends to make me avoid outside activities.

Anyway, the well intentioned 20-something at the desk told me the membership was for a year and then afterwards it could be ended at any time, but they ask you to pay for at least a year.
This is a problem, given that we’re moving abroad in 6 months (how weird is it that America is now “abroad” for me?).

I told her I was moving in December with my husband and baby and she said that that was an exception and I could end my contract by showing the manager some sort of proof I’m moving.
Then she asked when I was due to have the baby.
And I was all

So she backpedaled and asked if I had it a few days ago.

To which I was all

And then I did what I think most people would do.

I lied and said I had him a month ago and then got my fat ass right out of there before the embarrassment caused me to internally combust.

Now I’m torn between joining so I can shed 30 more pounds more expediently or just turning off all the lights and balling myself up in the most convenient corner.

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11 Months

Tay is 11 months old today.

One month away from his first year.

One month away from the exit of babyhood.
Sort of. The beginning of the end of babyhood.

This month Tay’s personality exploded all over the place.
He started waving at people (and animals), pointing at things (and people and animals), laughing at silly word games, hiding his face from strangers and coyly peeking at them only to hide his face again and so on, clearly requesting/refusing things, developing a concept of “mine” as well as a (sometimes tearful) understanding of “no” and many other things that indicate a little footbridge brooking the gap between baby and toddler.

He’s still only got two bottom teeth, but Piet thinks he felt the top two starting to break through this morning. He continues to eat EVERYTHING (with the acception of avocado) and by everything I do mean everything. Here in Spain he’s eaten ajo blanco, gazpacho, marinated artichoke hearts, nisperos and pretty much anything else we allow him to eat.   This includes a slice of lemon we gave him yesterday to try to deter the rampant eating.

He ate the whole thing, rind included.

We’re starting to wonder if the kid truly likes the taste of food or simply has no taste buds at all.

He’s sooooo close to his first step, we can practically taste it (maybe if steps could actually be tasted Tay would take the first one sooner). He walks with the help of anything he gets his hands on, cruises effortlessly and constantly lets go of his aids to stand alone, but that first step just barely eludes him.

He’s become cuddlier while also becoming slightly more independent with his play.
He clearly loves his Mama and Papa.
He’s starting to have favorite toys and games and songs.

And sooner than I can imagine he’ll be celebrating his very first birthday.

My boy.

 

El Guapito

Several times daily we have people asking us how old Tay is.

I didn’t know how to say “eleven” in Spanish until our second day here. And then enough people asked me and I gestured the number eleven enough to pick up the word “once.” Granted Tay won’t really be 11 months old for another 10 days, but, well, the older the kid gets, the more I find myself rounding up instead of giving his exact age.

And inevitably when we tell his age, the people here say two things, Es grande (he’s big) and Guapo (handsome). Both of which are true.

Tay is adorable.
I’m biased of course, but he is. Truth is truth.

And for an almost 11 month old, he is big. He can wear shirts for 18 month olds and onesies for 12-18 months. The only thing he fits in that is in his age range is pants. He only wears 9-12 month old pants.
He isn’t walking yet, but he stands alone with no support, which is more than the majority of 11 month olds can do.

So yes, he’s a big boy, but at the same time I’m constantly reminded of how small he is. The broad chest and chubby belly play host to arms that look especially spindly in sleeveless shirts. The marshmallowy thighs taper off into round, chubby feet. The mouth that consumes everything from paella to tsatsiki houses only two teeth.

He’s such a little big boy.

But either way, he sure is handsome.

Planning Vacations

Piet, Tay and I have been vacationing in southern Spain for the last 5 days and I’ve noticed something about how I schedule a day on vacation, versus how Piet does it.

See, most of my childhood vacations were spent at the beach. Usually it was Virginia Beach, but I’ve also been to Wildwood and Myrtle Beach as well.
While the majority of the time I was just with my parents and brother, there were a few times it was a larger family affair and my aunt, uncle, Gram and cousins went along as well.
And when we went to the beach, that’s pretty much what we did.

We got up, had breakfast, went to the beach, watched some tv, had lunch, went back to the beach and then had dinner.
Sometimes my mom took me and my brother to miniature golf or an amusement park, but mostly we just went to the water line and stayed there most of the day.

When I was little I loved the ocean and I’ve always loved to read so I rarely got bored doing nothing but going to the beach.

Piet, on the other hand, burns very easily and prefers things like hiking and canoeing and scenic views and walking. He spent most of his childhood vacations camping in France with his parents and sister.

So, over the past few days, I’ve noticed a definite pattern in how we each choose the activities to do each day.
Piet goes online or looks at our Andalusia guide book and picks some different things to do.
We’ve done a day trip to Cordoba, markets in Nerja and Torrox Costa, an out of the way, but lovely restaurant in Torrox, a trip to a donkey sanctuary and a trip to the lovely, tastefully touristic village of Frigiliana.
Those were all Piet’s plans.

My plans are mostly:
Um…there’s a beach, why aren’t we at the beach? It’s sunny and hot and beach, let’s go to the beach. Too sandy? Um, we can go to the pool? Too hot? Um, there’s a shopping mall in Malaga, no?
After that we could always go to the beach…

I?
Am a very beach-centric vacationer.
Which has been exacerbated by the fact that Tay did not inherit his father’s tendency to get crispy after 5 minutes in the sun.
Baby and Mommy get lovely tans in the sun, if sunscreen is appropriately applied.
Papa becomes a lobster if not continuously slathered in spf 60.

Because I don’t want my husband to internally combust and leave me alone with an 11 month old child and a stick shift Qashqai in a foreign country, I’ve been dutifully taking my allergy pills and motion sickness pills and petting donkeys (thank you anti-bacterial hand gel)  and learning to get over my aversion to non-beach nature and animals taller than my shoulders.

And believe it or not, I’ve been having a really good time.

Just as long as I occasionally get to go to the beach.