Being a toddler-Mama

Being a toddler-Mama is...

Dreaming about sleeping (yes, I actually do this).

Dreaming about being tired and not being allowed to sleep (the nightmare version of the dream listed above).

Never undertaking any personal hygiene task alone.

Cold coffee.

Repeating every word spoken by a tiny human for the understanding of those around you (including your husband).

Repeating every word you speak for the understanding of the tiny human who is always around you.

Being invincible and infallible.

Memorizing every song you hear, the first time you hear it, in case she asks you to
"sing that donkey song."
"What donkey song?"
"That DONKEY one."
"Which donkey one?"
"THAAT......DONKEEEEEEEEYYYYY SOOOOOOOONG!!"
"OH! you mean the one that goes....hedde heeedy hoe Donkey, yadda yadda yoo Donkey."
"Yeah, dat one."

Constantly wondering (CONSTANTLY) if you are making the right choices for the good of an entire human being, for whom you are 100% responsible 85% of the time.

Laundry, lots, and lots, of laundry.

Perpetually choosing between things you don't really want to do, but really need to (e.g. dishes), and things you'd love to do (e.g. throwing plastic dinosaurs into a fishing net)

Throwing plastic dinosaurs into a fishing net.

Being reminded by total strangers to "Enjoy every moment because it goes so fast." while you're covered in a 2 year old's bodily fluids in the checkout line and thinking, "I know, I know! but I'm not enjoying this!"

...and feeling guilty about that.

A choice you have to make every day, because you could check out. You could spend all your time on Facebook while she watches Baby Einstein on repeat, you could ignore the dinosaurs in favor of the dishes, you could lock the door and plug your ears so you can finally shower at 3pm. But you don't, you wake up at 6, or 5, or 4:30, and drop the F bomb in the privacy of your own room before you slip into hers with a smile and a, "Good morning sunshine! How did you sleep?". You do wipe the peanut butter off your new bamboo floors and say, "It's ok sweety, it was an accident." You do give "one more" hug before leaving the room because she's afraid to take a nap. You also mess up, but you apologize to the only person you will ever know who can truly, completely, and unreservedly forgive you, because it's worth it, and even though you can't enjoy every moment, you do know that it goes so fast, and even the lousy moments are worth remembering.


What is being a toddler-Mama for you?

Poop Post

WARNING: THIS POST IS ABOUT POOP (OR THE LACK THEREOF)

My world basically revolves around poop, who's pooped, pooping, or in need of a poop. This mostly applies to my 2 year old (and sometimes my cat, but rarely my husband).

My daughter is like a Swiss watch...(or is it train? I can never remember.) Anyway, this kid's body is a perfectly timed machine. She wakes, eats, poops, pees, and sleeps all within a 30 minute window for each bodily event every single day, I could set my watch to it....except.....when it doesn't go that way.

Let's say we're leaving preschool, and I take a little too long getting out the door and to the car...

(I swore I would never be that mom who is talking to other moms and keeps saying, "I'll be right there..." then she isn't right there because she's talking... but, alas, I am that mom and I'm not ashamed because adult conversation is at a premium, I've gotta take that shit when I can get it!),

...then let's say, I'm tired of feeding her PB & J and we stop at the Greek place for some gyros and shawarma (YUM). As a result, we get home later than usual, now it's past poop time and on to nap time....this, well, this is a problem, and here's why.

She is a Swiss train/watch, that means if we miss a stop, it's too bad, we must move on to the next and cross our fingers to avoid a derailment (or popped spring...or whatever). So she naps, wakes, eats, and pees as normal for the rest of the day, which should be fine right?

WRONG!!! Because now she's stopped up. That extra day's worth of caca has gummed up the works and now her "tuckus hurts" which makes her not want to poop, which makes her skip another daily poop, which exacerbates the situation and leads to worse tuckus hurting and so on...it's a vicious cycle! Until...

The day when it all comes to a head (sorry for the visual). This day usually falls 2-4 days from the initial missed poop, and starts off full-cranky (imagine how you'd feel, I'm guessing not cheerful). Then right around normal poop time, the dancing starts. Imagine you had to clench a dime between your butt cheeks and go about your daily business...that's the dance, only it usually involves a lot of back and forth pacing.

This day also involves a lot of false potty runs.

"Mama! I gotta go pee pee" (she never says she needs to poop)

"Ok honey, run to the potty, I'll be right there."

"Ok" *runs to the potty* "Uuuuummmm....they're not coming" (in reference to the poo poos)

"Ok"

This process repeats MANY times over the course of her 30 minute poop window and usually results in nothing. As we move on to the next phase (nap), the dance continues. She squeezes the dime, and I push forward...

"Ok baby, get your light turned off, close the door and turn on your fan...do you need to poo poo?"

"No!"

"Ok, light, door, and fan."

"Ok"

"Do you need to poo poo?"

(dime dance rages on)

"NO!"

"Ok, good job getting ready for your nap, climb up in my lap, let's rock and sing"

We proceed with our nap routine and she gets into bed

"Night night baby, see you when you wake up"

"I have to go potty!"

"Ok, let's run to the potty!"

"ok..." *runs* "....uuuummmm they're not coming"

"Ok, get back in bed."

"Ok...uh....my tuckus hurts!"

"I bet it does, it hurts because you need to poo poo"

"uh, no I don't meed to poo poo (no that isn't a typo, she says meed CUTE!!)

And yet again, this process continues for another 30-90 (no joke) minutes, until she's crying about poop and sleep and scary rooms, and I'm crying about loss of my precious nap-detox-time, and I FINALLY figure something out that will keep her rump on the stump (I just made that up) long enough for peristalsis to take over.

As she makes the face, I know we're in the clear, all is right with the fecal world, and we're on the fast track to happy town, until I realize that the Swiss twatch has missed Napville Station and...well... that's a whole other post.

Help

At two and a half, my daughter is deep in the throes of the terribles. I think the most difficult part of that, for us, is the complete and total lack of logic paired with a very strong sense of how things should be.

Let me illustrate what this looks like in our house. Today, she wanted to color, great! That meant she'd be entertained for a bit, and I might even get some form of precious, rainbow-hued, meaningless-to-anyone-but-me, keepsake out of it. I love when she colors. So I prepared to prepare her to color...it typically goes something like this...

"Sure you can color honey, do you want to sit at the big table or the coffee table?"

"I,I,I,I,I want to color at the coffebig table."

"The big table?"

"The coffee table."

"Ok, would you like plain paper or a coloring book?"

"I,I,I,I,I,I want a plaaaaiiinnn coloring book."

"A coloring book?"

"Yeah."

"Ok, would you like crayons or markers?"

(Let me just interject here, in case you're wondering why I'm making this such a long and drawn out process? Well, let me tell you friend, it's because I've learned my lesson, this child is not to be plunked down any-ole-place with some broken crayons and some junk mail, she has standards and will assert her right to precise coloring prep.)

"Uh,Uh,Uh,Uh......I..........................want.........................................................................markers."

"Okey dokey baby, here you go, let's get you all set."

At that point I gathered the requested materials, brought them to the chosen coloring station and began anticipating my moments of toddler-distraction, foolishly daydreaming about cutting potatoes and sauteing onions. This was, however, rather than a moment of bliss, a moment of complete and utter devastation.

NO She didn't want markers NO she didn't want ANYFING!!!! and markers went flying along with the coloring book.

(shit)

I found myself faced with one of the greatest parenting conundrums of all time, should I insist she clean up the markers and risk the wrath? Or should I reprimand and move on, only to clean up the markers myself during my precious post-bedtime lounge?

I opted for the former...and braced myself.

During this split second of decision making, she deteriorated into a most mucousy state requiring immediate collection and comfort, so I did that, she sat in my lap while I cooed and cuddled until the sniffles subsided and I began.

"Hey, do we throw things in our house?"

"No"

"Look over there, do you see where you threw your markers?"

"Yes"

"What's over there now?"

"A big big mess."

"Yes, and what do you need to do?"

(This is a gamble, her response is just as likely to be, "Nothing!" as it is to be anything else, but I'm feeling my oats here and take the chance)

"Clean it aaaalllll up."

(YES!!!!)

"That's right, can you go do that for me?"

"Yes mama."

(And the mother of the year award goes too..........)

"Maaaamaaaaaa....I neeed HELP!!!!!!!"

(shit)

"ok baby, I want you to get started while I start dinner, then I will come and help you."

"IIIIIIIIIINNNNNNEEEEEEDDDDDDHHHHHEEEEEELLLLLPPPPP!!!!! BWAHHHHHH"

(shitshitshit!!)

So the cliffs notes of this portion of the event are that she cried, screamed, and yelled about needing help while I frantically started dinner (which was already running 20 minutes behind) and kept reassuring her that I would most certainly help as soon as I could.

Finally, after about 2.5 minutes, I came to help.

"NO! I will do it myself!!"

"Do you want my help?"

"No!!"

"Ok" *getting up to go back to dinner*

"NOOOOOOO!!!!! I NEED HEEEEEELP!!!!"

(Take a minute and soak that in people....No, I don't want help, but don't leave, because I need help, but don't help)

This last 5 lines of dialogue repeated at least 3 times before I finally figured it out.

"Do you just want me to sit here while you do it yourself?"

"Yeah"

"Ok"

And peace prevailed.

Turns out, sometimes, just being there is help enough.




What's the best lesson you've ever learned from your little one?

Less than Perfect

I'm a mama, that is to say, I mom for a living. I consider myself (and am considered by others) to be a medium crunchy, peaceful-type, babywearing, breastfeeding, plastic-avoiding mom. I talk to my 2 1/2 year old and explain things to the best of my ability. I do not spank, I limit TV, and she didn't even taste refined sugar until she was a year old. I am a good mama.....but sometimes....

I LOSE MY SHIT!

Yup, sometimes I'm less than perfect and sometimes I even embarrass myself in front of my little girl. Like today, ah, today, a seemingly innocuous day that started out great! She even slept in until 7am, seven a.m.! That's two extra hours of sleep for both of us (sorry for the whole alarm clock, going to work at 6 a.m. thing hubby). That means it should've been a great day, we'd play with her new Christmas toys, and do clever art projects involving paper towel tubes and glitter, I might even get some housework done. Ah, and there's the rub, I over-envisioned the day.

Lesson Number 1 - Never over-envision the day, if you keep your expectations low, then you can't disappoint yourself, heck, it's probably best to assume you will get absolutely nothing worth-while done on any given day, 'cause then maybe you'll finally wipe the 6 month-old fingerprints off the TV screen so you can enjoy Glee during her nap, and you'll feel like a real go-getter.

So there we were, in the post-breakfast, this moment could go in any direction, void, and she chose to go sit in a cardboard box and cut up last year's calendar. Score! That meant I had exactly 37 minutes to clean the bathrooms and sweep the floor before she 'helped' me right back to where I started.

BAM! I got three bathrooms less-appalling than they were yesterday in 15 minutes, and I was on to the floors. BAM! Swept in 10 minutes...that meant I had a whole 12 minutes to mop...(man, hubby was going to be so impressed when he got home).

And this is where the whole thing fell apart. Mopping is a wildcard, for some reason, Little Girl is obessed with the mop, which means that as soon as she noticed what I was doing, my 12 minutes turned into 12 seconds and I was SOL. Only, I'd committed, I had spent the mental energy envisioning sparkling floors and damnit...it was going to happen. I don't need to bore you with the play by play, but let's just say that the whole thing ended in me screaming inhumanly to the heavens and her crumpled in a heap of tears and snot 3 feet away.

Lesson Number 2 - Get while the getting is good. Sure, the floor would look SO pretty without last week's grape jelly blob next to the dishwasher, but really at least you got the 3 lbs. of hair, dirt, and crumbs out from under the table.

This brings me, in the most roundabout of fashions, to my point. I can perform super-human feats of patience day-in and day out, I can explain what the bear is doing on every damn page of her bedtime story 40,000 times, I can even spend 30 minutes reminding her to push all the poo poos out, but sometimes....sometimes I just lose my shit.

And that's ok, kind of. It's ok in that I am a human being, and no matter how hard I try not to be, I am fallible. It is not ok in that I believe that aurally assaulting my child is only a scosh less horrible than physically assaulting her, I didn't call her names, or swear, or even direct my scream at her, but I did frighten her, and not in a helpful, get-that-picked-up-I-mean-business, kind of way, but in a way that broke her, and my hearts.

Lesson Number 3 - No matter how angry you are, the moment you lose control and see that little face scrunch up in fear and hurt, the angry is gone and you are just a jerk.

So, I scooped her up, and cuddled her in the rocking chair until she stopped crying, then I apologized, because I never want my little girl to think that anyone can behave that way towards her, and if she can't expect a certain level of kindness and respect from me, how can she learn to expect it from her peers or significant others. I apologized because I did wrong, and although it was difficult, I did not include an admonishment for her infuriating behavior, or a shifting of blame onto her for my bad choices.

I want her to learn that people get angry, they get frustrated, and sometimes they lose control, but she always has the right to be treated with decency. Just because she is my child does not give me carte blanche to treat her in any way I choose.

I believe as parents, we will screw up, and I know that it is impossible to be a perfect parent. That doesn't mean we shouldn't try awfully hard to do better, every day.

If only she'd always do exactly what I say, the moment I say it.

What do you do when you lose it with your little one?