I love this stage of babyhood. Traveler is 16 months old and has been babbling for a while now, but the words are finally starting to add up to stuff. And since we have Kai-versations to chronicle Kai’s craziness and Ivylish for Ivy’s we now have to add something for Mr. T. And so, I present a Traveloquacious moment…

The thing about when babies first start talking is that it is so highly anticipated. You wait on each word with bated breath and rejoice at little words like, “Ball!” or “Uh-oh!” Never in a child’s life is “NOOOO!” so adorable than the first time they say it.

Traveler started with Mama. Moved on to Dada. Then found his sweet spot with the four words he says the most: Uh-Oh! Stop! NO! Don’t!

Can you tell what words I say all day long? *sigh*

But his newest word?

Well, let’s just say he hasn’t quite gotten the pronunciation right.

It should be kitty. Ki-tty. But apparently K’s are tough for 16-month-olds. Because kitty? Has turned into titty.

Of course it has, right? And kitty isn’t just reserved for our house cats. Oh no. It is screeched loudly at all animals. In public. In fact, everything is a titty.

And this, my friends, is awesome when you’re browsing the shelves at the local Joann’s Fabric and your 16-month-old son sees a picture of a kitty and pulls himself up to standing while in the process pulling down your already stretched out & slobbered on maternity v-neck t-shirt and proceeds to yell “TITTY!! TITTY!!” as loud as humanly possible.

There goes my hopes to have a least one child who won’t strip me of my dignity in public. It was a fun dream while it lasted…

One thing I failed to mention about yesterday’s grand adventure to the children’s ER was that it taught me a few important lessons.

First and foremost: If you’re going to bum around in your PJs all day at least make a point to put on a bra. ‘Cause I have a feeling it’s less embarrassing to be at the hospital in PJs covered in baby throw-up when you’re well-supported.

Second, you can pretty much guarantee that the day you feed your son the organic hippie baby food made with black beans & quinoa it will be the day he gets sick and you’ll have to explain to everyone what the last thing he ate was. And they’ll all look at you like you’ve lost your ever-loving mind for feeding a baby black beans & quinoa. And you’ll start to think that maybe you have.

Third, there are some questions that are just routine even when the nurse knows the answer. Take, for instance, “Is he up to date on all of his vaccinations?”

God bless that sweet nurse. I could tell she already knew the answer. And I wanted to say, “Well, I’m a bra-less, no make-up wearing mom who clearly hasn’t shaved her legs in a good 2 months and who just admitted that I fed my baby organic black beans & quinoa for lunch, so, what do you think? Does it sound like he would be up to date on his vaccinations?”

Instead, I just told her we were doing delayed/selective vaccination. I’m sure (judging by the looks of us) she was not exactly shocked.

I knew the moment the words came out of my mouth that I had tempted fate. I know better than to say something like, “Yeah, luckily we’ve never had to take any of our kids to the Emergency Room for anything.”

Smart, huh? Less than 24 hours later guess where I was? Yep, the Emergency Room.

Traveler spent the majority of our day projectile vomiting all over me and various rooms of the house. Then he fell asleep. And I couldn’t get him to wake up. At all. And that is when I freaked out. One call to our pediatrician and we were being sent down to Scottish Rite. It was the scariest drive of my life. Traveler wouldn’t stay awake. He continued to projectile vomit in his car seat. We’re talking more than 9 times in less than 2 hours. I can’t tell you the things that were going through my head.

But Scottish Rite is a magical place. Because even though he was throwing up in the waiting room (baby barf bags are heartbreaking and hilarious at the same time) the moment he was in the exam room surrounded by nurses he turned on the charm.

See what I mean?

Meanwhile the girls were in the waiting room with the entourage of family that met us there within seconds of our arrival. And while Traveler was getting a hefty dose of Zofran, they were busy modeling the latest fashions for avoiding the dreaded H1N1. (Kai was not amused.)

I am so thankful that what could have been a really bad scary trip to the ER was actually a mild introduction to the wild world of emergency medicine. Let’s just hope it’s not an experience we’ll have to repeat any time soon.

My kids have lots of toys. Lots and lots. But, the one thing they love to play with? Cardboard boxes. Big boxes. Little boxes. All boxes.They currently have two they’re playing with. A super big shipping box and a much smaller diaper box. So, knowing this, I wasn’t surprised the other day when I called to Ivy to see what she was doing and she said,

“I’m playin’ wif the widda box.”

The little box. Great. No problem there.

About 30 minutes later Ivy came over very sweetly and said, “Mommy…there is sort of a mess in the bathroom but don’t worry because you can sweep it up.”

When I asked her what the mess was from she said it was because of playing in the “Widda box.”

And then it dawned on me. “Do you mean the little box or the LITTER box?”

Can you guess which one she was talking about?

Yes. My daughter had been playing for the last 45 minutes in the litter box. As if it were a sandbox. Because, well, that’s apparently how my kids roll.

To be honest, I was so tickled by the whole thing that I couldn’t scold her without giggling. So, I just cleaned her up and explained that in the future we don’t play with, you know, the cat’s toilet. There’s a rule I never thought I’d have to make.

No building sandcastles in the litter box.

At least it was clean at the time…

As you may have noticed, I have have two girls. Two very girly girls. And I have two sisters. And no younger boy cousins or nephews or godsons. I come from a family packed to the gills with estrogen.

Which means, as D-Day approaches I’m getting more and more nervous about having a boy. Don’t get me wrong. I’m really looking forward to this little boy. And I can’t wait to start a new baby adventure.

But, boy stuff? That I’m completely unprepared for.

From the simplest of tasks (diaper changes) to the more complicated issues (potty training), I’m just completely at a loss. I’ve changed all of 2 boy diapers in my twenty-**cough**-something years. I babysat for one boy child. Once. And, I didn’t even do that for more than a couple hours.

Can you tell I’m freaking out?

Okay, so here’s where the internets bail me out. Tell me, friends, what are your best boy tips and tricks? What do I need to know? What will the baby books fail to tell me?