Potty Training, Day 2

I geared up for the next 5 days by stocking up on treats and two packages of underwear with Thomas the Train and Mickey Mouse. Since James is a fan of both, I figured he would at least choose one.

Wrong. He wanted nothing to do with the underwear. I had placed both packages and the m&M's in his toilet, so when he came home, he would see all, and hopefully put two and two together. He quickly tossed the underwear aside, protesting heavily, and decided he just wanted to sit on his toilet while playing Angry Birds on the toilet.

I let him do that, nursed Catherine and made supper. James, once again, sat on the toilet for inordinant amounts of time tonight, fully clothed. A couple of times I quizzed him: "Is that YOUR toilet, James?" To which he replies, "Yes!" And each time he got up and played, after awhile, I asked him to sit on the toilet again. Each time, he did. Each time, he got an M&M.

So tonight was bath night, and afterward, I tried to throw on the underwear. Nope, didn't want to do that. He was very fidgety, and I could tell that he probably had to go to the bathroom, but didnt want to out a diaper on him. So I brought the toilet up to his room, Eric following close behind with the M&M's. We sat there while I read him book, after book... after book....... after book. And I quizzed him in between books. "What do we do in the toilet?" "I PEE!"

I think its pretty obvious that he gets it. But it was a half hour after bedtime, and I was convinced it wasn't going to happen. So I started suggesting 'night night.' So James got up and as I was about to grab a diaper, he began to pee.

I may be old, but still have cat-like reflexes and caught it almost immediately. I grabbed the actual bowl off the toilet and he contained to pee into it. And peed, and peed... and peed!

I celebrated harder than I did New Years Eve, circa 1999 when I ended up in bed before the clock even struck midnight. I jumped around, scooped him up, hugged and kissed him, and gave him high-fives. Then we walked to the bathroom together and dumped the bowl in the toilet, where we celebrated some more. Then I let him use his step stool to help me rinse it out. James might be a turd (haha) sometimes, but the kid is helpful as hell.

Then I let him carry the bowl back to the toilet in his room, and he celebrated some more. Each time, he would clap his hands together and say, "Yay! I pee!"

Then came the challenge of how to explain to him that I was about to put a diaper back on, even though he had just peed. So we said our prayers, and James turned off his light. We put him in his crib, and while putting his diaper on, explained that we are only going to wear a diaper at 'night night.' Because he peed in the toilet like a big boy.

To which he responded by clapping his hand and saying, "Yay! I pee!" That, you did, my sweet boy. That you did.

Potty Training, Day 1

I can't believe I am about to start this journey but here it is.

Let me first start by saying, I HATE the word potty. I think it's because at least once a year, I have a student who approaches me before class who asks me to "go potty." Seriously? You're in f-ing high school. So no more using the "potty." Ask to use the restroom, or bathroom, for crying out loud.

Secondly, this past week has been dedicated to research. Yes, that is me in a shell. I research THE SHIT out of anything. I gather opinions, I seek advice, I read blog after blog of frustrated mommy. All in preparation to potty-train (shudder... That word!) my beautiful son, who is growing up way too fast.

Our daycare provider, who is lovely, said two things that were resonant with me: make sure that once I start I don't go back and if I am ready, James will be ready. She said he has been showing the signs, which I agree with. He can dress himself, which I love. He can count to ten, identify letters, tell you what letter comes next in the alphabet when you randomly stop, and my personal favorite, he will tell us when he has peed or pooped by saying, "I pee!" or "I poop!" He loves to tell em when baby has pooped, as it is pretty obvious. The kid is ready, he just doesn't know it yet. So here I was preparing to potty train over Christmas while on my break.

Well, the tides have changed and here we are, with nothing to do over Thanksgiving break. So I figure its now or never.

We got home and I suggested James sit on the toilet. The real toilet. The last time James tried to pee in the real toilet, he slipped on his step stool and fell, hitting his rib on the side of the toilet, while his hand and arm went in it. After that, James wanted nothing to do with the real toilet.

So when I tried to get him on the real toilet tonight, it was not happening. So I pulled out the small toilet. Since he is obsessed with Elsa, I said we could watch Frozen while he practiced sitting on HIS toilet. Just with clothes on. He sat there for almost 45 minutes, watching Elsa while I fed Catherine and got dinner ready.

Once he got up and ate, he went to sit back on the toilet when I suggested it.

So we are at least being successful with that. We will see how tomorrow goes...

6 Months!

Well, my beautiful girl, you are getting more and more animated every day. You are finally becoming fun! 

You are so smiley and giggly, and your giggle is more of a weird inhale that causes you to squeak. It's so adorable! You aren't doing anything like sitting up, or rolling over, yet, but you're getting stronger. You are still so little yet, with your 3 month clothes getting tighter, but your 6 month clothes are just too big. I am anxious to see what you weigh at your 6 month appointment.

The crying spells are getting further and further apart, for which this mama is grateful. There were a couple months in there that I thought I was going to go insane.

We keep shoving new foods at you, and you're loving them. Your favorite is sweet potatoes, and we throw some apples and pears. I have to make such big batches at a time, I don't really make much else. Those three things are so easy to make, and your grandma gave me a big pot so I could boil ALL the sweet potatoes/apples/pears at the same time, rather than wait for my little steamer to only do one veggie/fruit at a time. It's nice to be able to crank out a month's worth of food in just a few short hours.

Your brother adores you. When you're crying, he becomes very concerned and puts the pacifier in your mouth. Sometimes he will cover you with his blanket. Sometimes, he will lay down next to you. It's very apparent that he loves you and cares very deeply for you. I hope that continues throughout your entire life.

I can definitely, without a doubt, say that I do NOT like the infant stage, and about 6 months is where I really start to enjoy little ones. Don't get me wrong, I loved you as a floppy bird, but to see you as a growing, giggling little girl is the best thing in the world. And to see how you interact with James is lovely. You are both my world.

I love you, little girl, You are becoming so beautiful to me every day. I can't get enough of you and couldn't imagine life without you!

5 Months!

So, 5 months has actually come and gone, and we are almost into 6 months, but with our schedule, this is about as good as it's going to get!

Not much has changed from when you were 3 months (did I even do a 4/ month update?). You are still cute and adorable. You still cry an obscene amount, but it is so much better than it was. We figured out that you are severely constipated, a the time, and that solids have treated you, and our sleeping habits, kindly.

So we have started to give you Miralax every Monday and Thursday. Sometimes the Monday dose doesn't do much for you, so come Thursday, it's Shit City. And I mean, blowout after blowout, round and round of poop. Usually culminating in a bath on Thursday or Friday nights. The amount of poop you sock away is impressive.

Miralax was suggested by our pediatrician and I don't know why we didn't start it sooner. The pediatrician also suggested starting you on solids. Particularly any "p" food. Pears, prunes, peaches etc. Those, apparently, help with constipation. But of course, not you, my dear sweet girl! So at our 6 month appointment, we will be looking at running a few rests to make sure your digestive track is working the way it's supposed to.

Otherwise, since we have started feeding you solids, you have grown considerably. You are still wearing 3-6 month clothes, but you can now fit into anything Carter's that is 6 month, since they run small. It seemed like that happened overnight, and honestly, it probably did. You are still in size 1 diapers, which is weird because you are definitely growing, bit I assume once I run out of those, you will be done with ones and on to twos!

We are still breastfeeding, and I am still pumping at work. We are still trucking along in that department, although at times, its very stressful. You are definitely teething as well, and I can say that with 100% certainty. Not because of the white, swollen gums, or the constant drooling, but because you bit me, and it fucking hurt! Way more than when I initially started breastfeeding and my nipples were cracked and bleeding. I would take that over being bit. Dear God, it hurt!

You love being held, which is hard for this mom. You love observing, which is like James at this age. And when I wake up in the morning to feed you, your face is about the cutest thing I have ever seen. You are always so happy!!

We haven't rolled over yet, nor have you started scooting. But you are also very tiny for your age, so I am expecting that will come later. James has always been in the 90th percentile and here you are, in the 5th.

But you are a beautiful, sweet girl and even when you have been crying for an hour and a half, I still love you!

All Saints Day

If you are Catholic, as is my husband, you will know that Saturday, November 1, was All Saints Day. You will also know that November 2 was All Souls Day. Essentially, these two days commemorate those who have departed with the belief that there is a spiritual bond between the dead and those still here on earth.

On Saturday, I attended a friends baby shower, with Catherine in tow. James stayed home with Eric, and when I got home, I fully expected James to be awake, up from his nap. That was not the case. Instead, Eric informed me that James had only fallen asleep a half hour before, after talking to himself and playing in his crib for almost an hour and a half.

He has never done that before. In fact, I can only count on one hand the amount of times he has lain in his crib and talked to himself, but never for an hour and a half.

When he finally woke up, I jokingly asked him if he had been talking to Grandpa Tom. "You know, big guy, blue eyes a lot like mine and yours."

He looked right at me and said, "Yessss..."

I didn't even realize what day it was, did not intentionally ask James, and was not expecting that response. Afterward, James grabbed a ball, stood in our entryway and threw the ball down the hallway. I am sure the ball bounced off of something and rolled back to him, but I was tending to Catherine and didn't hear it hit anything. James did this a couple more times, and although I was too distracted by Catherine to be able to tell, I thought it was odd that he was throwing the ball where he was throwing it, and after retrieving it, would throw it again.

I think it's important for my children to know who my dad was. I talk about him as much as I can, but oftentimes, it's only a brief mention, otherwise I begin to get choked up. I also think it's important that James and Catherine visit my dad's grave with me, so they can understand what it is that is so important about the man who was loved by so many.

However, those plans are always thwarted by James, who usually is not in the mood to visit the cemetary.

My choir is singing a song called I Carry Your Heart, which speaks of exactly that. I often try to give them a personal story to connect them to the text, and usually, it has to do with my dad. So I told them the story of James.

I have a Spanish student who said, "Sarurday was Dia de Los Muertas: The Day of the Dead." I about fainted.

True to some of the best times I have with my students, we got a little off track and my Spanish student asked if James gets freaked out when we go near cemetaries. I told them that when I take James to see my dad's grave, he loses it immediately inside the gate, the stay is usually very short and he cries the whole time. Some of my students were freaked out, but my Spanish student just mentioned that her culture believes that young children can see and talk to the spirits who visit on All Saints Day.

And the more I think about it, the more I believe in it. I believe James was playing with my dad. I believe James was talking to my dad. I believe James can see my dad.

The thought fills me with happiness and extreme sorrow. How much I want my children to know the person he was, and how much I want to just see him again, hug him, have a two-sided conversation. I think of the day I will see him again. I wonder what it will be like. I think of all the things I will say to him.

But for now, it looks like I will have to let James speak for me.

My Dearest Catherine

My Dearest Catherine,

All you do is fucking cry. I don't care that you are a baby and "that's what babies do." You come home from daycare and you cry. I nurse you, and when you're done, and warm, and sleepy and I put you down in your bassinet, you cry. When I soothe you with a pacifier, the very thing I did not want to happen, you fall back asleep, only to wake up to cry.

I can't tell you the amount of times that I have stubbed my toe, hit my shin, rammed my shoulder into the door jamb, all while rushing to your room in the middle of the night because you are crying. Or the amount of tears that have fallen over your tears, your wailing, or your incessant moaning that is more like nails on a chalkboard.

I have said horrible things while you are in the middle of one of your fits and my anxiety is making my skin crawl. I have fallen asleep after nursing you, only to wake up crying myself, frustrated that no matter what I do, it isn't the one thing that you apparently need.

And then I find that one thing that does work. Praise the Lord! Only to find that not even 24 hours later, it doesn't work. In fact  it feels like I am running through a list, and each thing on that list I can only use once, and then you are immune and I have to move on to the next. But the tricks on the list are becoming more and more sparse and again, my anxiety wratchets up a notch knowing there isn't much more I can do for you.

Tonight, after nursing you and putting you down, where you fell asleep within minutes, you woke up crying. I vowed tonight I would let you cry it out.

And that's when the panic attack hit. I have not experienced a panic attack in a few years. It was a pretty low moment, as I thought that part of my life was over with. Only for it to come roaring back tonight, while I was sitting on my couch, watching my son throw a ball in the house and my husband answer emails on his phone.

While the mess of my house began to suffocate me. Luckily, I identified it and once again, trudged upstairs and comforted you. Once again, I stuck a boob in your moith, followed by a pacifier when you wouldn't eat. And then I rocked you. And sung to you.

And cried.

I am so. fucking. tired.

Everyone tells me this is a phase. This too shall pass. Hang in there. My baby did this too. He/She grew out of it.

But they aren't in the trenches anymore. They aren't frustrated and sad and tired and hungry for some time to just relax.

But then there are those moments when you are sweet and lovable and that reminds me there is light at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes I have to squint to see that light, but its there.

It's there. Somewhere.

I love you, Baby Girl. But holy shit are you exhausting.

Mama

Battle of the Body Image: Week 20

Here I am, Week 20 postpartum and although I have lost the bulge, the hips don't lie. I hate them.

I hate that my boobs are too big for most of my shirts. I hate that although my jeans button, my love handles stick out. I hate that my nursing bras cut into my back fat. I hate that my tummy flops over said jeans-that-button. I hate that all my dress pants, for some reason, don't button. Or zip all the way. I hate that I still walk weird because said hips-that-dont-lie are loosy-goosey. I feel unstable on my feet. I think I look tired 99% of the time, probably because I am. I am not as well put together as I could be, because it's either put my shit together or sleep for another half hour. I will take sleep, hands down.

I hate the postpartum body. I hate the postpartum period. I hate the postpartum. Period.

I can't be happy with the 156.4 I saw on the scale this morning because although I weigh less than I did when I fit into those dress-pants-that-dont-button, I don't fit into those dress pants that don't button. Its frustrating.

Each day, I wake up with an idea of what I'd like to wear. And every outfit gets changed because I don't like how I look in it, even though its a skirt I have had since I was a sophomore, or a shirt that has been a staple in my wardrobe for years. That is also frustrating.

I have learned to throw together outfits quickly, cover them with my jean jacket or a sweater and feel halfway decent. But until I can see me how my husband sees me, I will continue to look like a tired, strung out mom with two kids, two years apart.

Hips don't lie.