Not for the Squeamish: January 2011

No means no...except when it means yes

My friends, you may not have heard, but today is opposite day! In fact, in G-man's world, everyday is opposite day. I'm starting to adjust to this change in the new world order, but there are times I forget and actually take what he says at face value. Silly mommy.

We're supposed to give preschoolers choices to help them feel more in control and independent. Seems logical. But someone forgot to mention wee ones like the G-man are not logical or rational themselves, so results may vary. A lot.

Large portions of my day are spent on THE DECISION, an event that is clearly rivaled only by the spectacle revealing Lebron's choice to not let the door out of Cleveland hit him in the ass. Getting G-man to commit to anything - milk or water? red or blue shirt? monkey or robot plate? - is almost impossible, and if a yes or no answer is required, only a true miracle will get a result. All mostly because he changes his mind in the middle of making up his mind.

Do you want some of your sandwich? No [as he takes a bite].

Should we go to the zoo or the park? Zoo [and then refuses to get out of the car because it's not the park].

Would you like an apple? Yes [never a nibble and touches it only to kick it under his bed].

He is the epitome of mary, mary, quite contrary. No matter what, he seems to say the opposite of what he wants and immediately loses control when we do what he says and not what he...well, I usually have no idea where he's going with his thought process sometimes.

Getting dressed in the morning is a chorus of, "Nooooooooo, I don't want that shirt! Not that one. Not that one. Not that one! THAT one. (sob, sob)" Guess what? He picks the original shirt. Breakfast starts with a request for mommy to make cocoa and quickly segues into a whirling dervish of how he wanted to make it, sometimes even before I've had the chance to get the damn can out of the cupboard in the first place. I've been told that the box car always goes behind the engine, unless of course, it doesn't and that little misstep will launch a chernobyl meltdown. And the classic dinnertime drink dance is always in play as the choice between juice, water, milk or brown milk takes at least 5 minutes and is already wrong by the time he climbs into his chair. Ah good times, good times.

So if I look doubtful when the G-man requests a red spoon, or agrees with his choice of pants or even says he has to go potty, I'd like to think I know what I'm doing. But I don't. And neither does he.

Four-legged Bambino

After losing our 13-year-old cat to cancer in the fall of 2009, I wasn't prepared to be back at the vet's office in just over a year looking at another ominous x-ray, this time for our dalmatian, Tino.

Unlike the year before, we thought there was something we could do. Wonderpup had surgery, started chemo in October and I started looking forward to his ninth birthday in March. But alas, he only made it through two rounds of treatment before he too, was gone, before we even unpacked his xmas stocking.

It's different this time, because G-man is a year older and a year wiser than when Timothy cat moved on. But still, I don't think he's quite old enough to carry memories of Tino very long. And that hurts, because even though this is a blog about the G-man, he might not be here at all if it hadn't been for Tino.

You may recall that for most of my life, I didn't want a kid. And the same held true for dogs. I was a cat person through and through - they are smart, self-sufficient, mostly clean. Oddly enough, the reasons against both baby and puppy were the same: they smell, they always seem to leaking some sort of fluid, you have to clean up their poop, they require a lot of work, you have to hire someone to watch them and they make a general overall mess.

Then Tino came home. He was everything I hated and became everything I loved. I learned that cleaning up poop isn't the end of the world. Hiring a sitter seemed like a natural thing to do. I caught the paparazzi bug and took pictures of him just being cute. We bought teething toys and worried about potty training. He was clingy and needy and nicknamed Captain Underfoot. We puppy-proofed shelves and installed baby gates. We carefully selected a daycare to make sure he was happy and well cared for when we weren't home. I became friends with people in the neighborhood just because they had dogs. We had birthday parties, complete with canine guests and doggie cake/ice cream. And when he was about 3 years old, we sent him to camp...where he earned merit badges. Upon regaling his week to my mother and admitting he had spent a day there dressed as a cowboy, she finally said, "You need a child."

Maybe she was right; it turned out I had a pretty strong maternal instinct and Tino got the first benefits. Through him, I learned more about myself and who I could be. He taught me patience and selflessness. When it was finally time for "the real thing" I wasn't nervous to be a mom because it seemed I'd been one already. In fact, when I quit my job to work at home, spending more time with my dog was definitely a leading factor in the decision. It's like I was a SAHM before I was a SAHM. I was hooked.

I've heard that dogs are practice kids. I always sang to Tino on our walks and made up songs just for him, so when I got pregnant and started thinking about lullabies and kids music, he simply got more added to his playlist. He listened to me as I pondered names, curled up on baby-to-be's play mat the moment we took it out of the box and saw every ball that came into the house for our new human kid as his own. And after G-man arrived, I secretly loved that if we went out and hired a babysitter, Tino got the company, too. It was sort of like getting two for one.

The G-man spent a lot of time with Tino - daily walks, sharing my lap with him and constantly telling him to go to his bed instead of playing with us. So right now, he still knows that he had a dog and what his name was. He knew that Tino was sick and differentiates his doctors between the kitten vet (one had kittens for adoption in the waiting room) and the fish vet (the other had a fish tank) and remembers the buildings when we pass by. And he knows he's gone. That took a few days to sink in - some questions about when he was coming home or if we should pick him up or when to get the stroller out to take the dog on a walk, and once he assured me that Tino would come back - but then it was so complete that I was shocked at how quickly G-man could move on.

A late 2-year-old/early 3-year-old doesn't really grasp death, but when I think about it, what more does a 37-year-old like me need to know other than our loved one is not actually coming back? They say that when pets die, they go to the Rainbow Bridge where they are happy and play and are never sick and are reunited one day with their owners. So when G-man asked where Tino was, I simply told him he was gone and now in the sky. He accepted that without question.

Then last week, one of G-man's leftover birthday balloons, his favorite train one, accidentally escaped out the back door, into a tree and then on up and away. When he asked me where the balloon went, I said, "Into the sky." My little guy looked at me and solemnly replied, "With Tino."

I'd like to think that somewhere on the Rainbow Bridge, Tino is excited that a train balloon found him. And I hope that he knows he was never my practice child, but a real big brother.

What you don't know...

There's a saying that ignorance is bliss. It goes along with "what you don't know can't hurt you." While there is some truth to the first one, don't believe the second. Often, what you don't know can hurt you. Or at least throw you off track. But for the most part, there are many things we don't know and the world moves on just fine. Unless G-man reads this blog when he's older, he may never find any of these out:

You still have Xmas candy. And Halloween candy. Maybe Easter candy, too. And the full-size Hershey bar in the fridge is actually yours. There's a good chance daddy and I will polish all of it off soon.

You're three years old and I still check every night to see that you're breathing.

During vacation at the shore, after you went to bed, we went out for ice cream. A lot.*

The zoo is open in the morning.

I can do laundry even if you don't take a nap.

Speaking of laundry, sometimes your train shirts are actually clean, but I want you to wear something different.

I dilute your chocolate soymilk with white milk.

For a better price, I order 5 Dunkin' Donuts munchkins even though you think it's four. That's because I eat one out of the bag before I give them to you.

When I'm counting to get you do something, I sometimes have no idea what will happen if I make it to three.

My computer can play games, too, not just Daddy's.

When you don't want yogurt, I add it to your smoothie instead. Ditto with a banana.

There are probably many more things that you are blissfully unaware of and hopefully, none of them are truly important. What I do hope you know is how much I love you, even when I'm sneaking around behind your back.

Oh! We have ice cream in the freezer. And I ate the last piece of your birthday cake. Geez, this list could go on forever.

*(Don't worry, Uncle David was home with you.)

1...2...3...

The G-man turned three a little more than two weeks ago. Prior to this birthday, he's never mentioned his age or even hinted that he knew people were xx years old. I'm still pretty sure he has no idea what age really means, but from the moment he woke up on his birthday, he's been obsessed with the number three.

"Three, because I'm three!" is his new motto. He says this when he sees the number on a sign. Exclaims it if it's mentioned in a book. Repeatedly points it out if heard in a song. He seems to think all instances of the number 3 are personally for him.

But the most usage of the phrase comes when he wants something. Upon awakening on his third birthday, he realized we would A) think it was cute the first time and probably the second, too, and; B) it's logic that's hard to argue with until it was too late.

He now thinks everything must come in threes. Sometimes this is ok - three pieces of celery, three train cars on the track, three books at bedtime. But there's more. He wants three drinks at dinner, not refills, but three separate cups. Three dishes of ice cream. Three shows or videos in a row. Three pacis in the car. His "one more thing" before bedtime, bathtime or any other stalling time is now three more things.

The only time he lets up? When he tried to convince me last week that he was now four...so he could try for four pieces of chocolate.

On the nest

This week I learned that a dear friend of mine is expecting her own little bird. My mind immediately filled with unsolicited advice to pass on. I'm pledging to keep most of it to my inner monologue but I'm sure some will leak out. Yet, how accurate will these small bursts of "oh my god, don't forget to..." so-called wisdom be? The Gman is a newly minted three year old and I'll be the first to admit, there's a bunch of stuff I've already forgotten and things that have already changed since he was born.

So instead of focusing on the details of what onesie is best or what makes the perfect diaper bag, I realized there is just one piece of real advice I could offer:

Do what works for you.

It's that simple.

One thing I've remembered - and continue to be reminded of each day - is that there are few absolutes in this child-raising gig. Ok, there are some basic needs that must be met, laws and such but they have a lot of room for personal choice. Just because something worked for me doesn't mean it's the right one for you. Yes, you must put your baby in a car seat, but you choose which one, whether based on color, size, price or star alignment. You have to feed your child every day, but whether you use a football hold for breastfeeding or the generic brand of formula from Costco is your business.

Even if everyone says you must get XX product or your baby will die/turn into a monkey/incorrectly spell "vacuum" its entire life, you don't have to if it's not right for you. Trust your instincts and stay true to yourself.

Another touch of advice? Go ahead and plan, but guess what? These suckers are unpredictable. I found that out at the start - when the G-man was born, our hospital, the one we'd toured, registered at, packed the bags for, was full and we were sent to a different one down the street. My primary OB wasn't on-call so we got the backup doc. I thought we would have a girl, and the G-man is quite the boy. The pediatrician we'd so carefully researched wasn't on-call that week so another doctor appeared in our room. Even the names we had discussed for months fizzled out when it was time to sign the birth certificate. But guess what? The other hospital was fine; we had full faith in, affection and respect for the OB; we ended up liking the pediatrician so much we switched to him as our first choice; and of course, the G-man is aptly named. Nothing says go with the flow like being a parent.

As a sidebar bit of sage reflection: Don't be afraid to ask for help, and not just for things like what brand of wipes are good, but for the real stuff, you stuff. I know, I know, that is a hard thing to put into practice and I truly wish I would have learned how to do it sooner. But I firmly believe, a happy mom makes a happy baby. And I wish you nothing but happiness.

The G-man is back!

Ok, well, the G-man never went away. But the past, uh, 5 months(!) have been a little crazy so having a chat with you, my blog-reading friends, kept getting pushed to the bottom of the to-do list until it fell off completely. Fear not, I've had a lot of things to say in my head! Oh yeah, most of it I've forgotten though.

A quick recap of what G-man's done, where he's been and why the blog went MIA:

Some of you may know that I actually work. Sure, I stay home all day with the kiddo but the only way to pay for said home is to bring in some moola. (As a vegetarian, not a lot of bacon is getting in the door.) Just after the last post in July, I was lucky enough to get a huge project. Big. Really big. Forget about eating or sleeping, much less writing for fun big. Every moment of my day that wasn't spent watching the li'l guy was spent toiling away for the promise of payday.

The project ended 25 August and on 27 August...

We took the G-man to Italy! Yep, we're crazy. Probably more on that later. I may have repressed a lot of the experience already but one day I'll wake up screaming and come downstairs to tell you all about it.

The remainder of our Fall/start of Winter pales in comparison but it was filled with a lot of things you would have loved to hear about and have since fled my mind. Suffice it to say work was still busy; G-man had a social schedule to rival the most prolific facebooker; Halloween, Thanksgiving, Xmas and New Year's Eve all happened; the dog passed away; the weather was at times hot, warm, cool and freak-ass cold, sometimes all in the same week; and the G-man turned three.

But now, now there is a small break in the action and the musings of life with G-man - the good, the bad and the ugly - are back.

Happy 2011!