Not for the Squeamish: May 2009

I (heart) vomit

I love vomit. Really. That's the only explanation I can think of when rationalizing why I pick the G-man up when I know he's going to let it go all over me. Because what other sane reason can there be for such behavior?

This was one of the things I was really worried about when I became a mom. I don't do too well with bodily mess to begin with, but definitely not this kind. I was never the nice friend that held your hair back. I may have offered you a drink of water when you were done, but that's the limit of my involvement. I'm not even too thrilled when it's my own. I certainly wanted no part in anyone else's. Lolo once caught her son's upchuck in her hands. I'm miles away from that!

So the first time G-man demonstrated the difference between spit-up and actual vomit, I was not amused. But I lived. Through all three times that weekend. (However, we may not be welcome back at Pei Wei for a while still.)

And when he had a bout with some stomach thing a few months later, I felt way more sorry for him than my clothes, the floor or his crib sheet. What's a little cleaning between family?

Then just last week, I heard him coughing in his sleep. It got a little worse and I wondered what was up. Then he let out a whimper so I wandered into his room. He sounded like maybe he had something he was trying to get up, like some congestion, so I gently picked him up and he coughed a bit more, whimpered again, and thanked me...by spewing dinner (ew, we had pizza that night) all over me.

He was over my shoulder so it went down my back, down my front, in my hair. Then he cried out and turned to me for comfort. Yep, he mushed his head into the mess on me and clung like a baby monkey. A vomit-covered baby monkey climbing all over his mama.

And guess what? I didn't even wince when it happened.

I kind of knew it might end up that way and I still picked him up. Because as yucky as it may be, it's my job.

Two nights later, I heard the cough again. And I went to his room again. And I picked him up before he could even whimper, KNOWING what was coming next. It wasn't as bad this time: he only got me and the floor, not himself, so one less person to hit the showers. But what's really odd is that I didn't even notice my back was covered until everything was settled back down with him.

I love knowing that he turns to me to help him feel better and if a little throw-up comes between us first, well, so be it.

So maybe I should change this to I love G-man's vomit. Because I love G-man.

Everyone else, you're on your own.

G-man's manifesto

Dear Mom,

We've been together now, what, 17 months? And I don't know if you're slow or what, but there are some things you just don't seem to be getting. So here's a recap of how it's all going down.

1. The stuff in my hair is there for a purpose. If you try to wash/comb it out, you will be met with great resistance.

2. When I'm frantically pointing to something, I don't want you to constantly tell me what color it is, what noise it makes or what texture it is. I want it. Now.

3. I'm saving the food in my eyebrows for later. Keep it there.

4. More ice cream, less broccoli.

5. The fan in my room is there for me to do with as I please.

6. Speaking of my room, why are there things in there that I can't touch?

7. I can't properly play with my bath toys without standing up. You are ruining my mojo.

8. No hats.

9. Ditto on the sunglasses.

10. If I give my food to the dog and on the last piece left decide to taste and like it, you are responsible for getting the other pieces back.

11. I like my pacifier. And not just when I'm traveling or sleeping.

12. The cats WANT their tails pulled. They told me.

Should you attempt any of the following items, you risk incurring a severe tantrum:

Offering me breakfast, lunch or dinner
Offering me a drink
Bringing me inside
Moving to another room
Failing to get the Roomba out
Wiping my face
Removing a booger
Holding my hand
Putting me in the high chair
Taking a diaper off
Putting a diaper on
Failing to give me the remote
Picking me up
Putting me down
Making a phone call
Touching my toys

Ok, I think that's a good start. Of course, all of this is subject to change by the day, hour or minute at my, and only my discretion. Let's see how tomorrow goes, but remember, I've got my eye on you.

Love,

The G-man

Pool-time papa

Sorry to have two dookie posts in a row, but after all, this blog is dedicated to some of the more unseemly parts of raising the kiddo. Plus, this didn't directly happen to me so I can think it's funny.

Scott and I took G-man to the city pool yesterday. It's Memorial Day weekend, the sun was kind of shining and it was really a good day to go. He had a blast with his toys in the water, played in some fountains, wandered the deck, had a little snack and didn't even freak out when he accidentally went under water. As we were getting ready to leave, we noticed he may be a little stinky. Rather than have him in wet clothes and yuck for the 5-minute ride home, we opted to change him. I (loosely) volunteered to do it, but Scott took on the role of Super Dad and took control.

I waited outside the changing rooms.

And waited.

Finally, they emerged. But, instead of being in a dry outfit, G-man was still in his wet rash guard top, and there was a diaper but no pants. There was, however, a frazzled looking papa with a large bundle under his arms.

"There was poop everywhere," is how I was greeted.

Ok, sure, I get that. He filled his swim diaper and it wasn't fun. But where is his toy bucket? Why isn't he dressed? Why do we seem to be fleeing the pool complex as if part of a crime scene?

I badgered on, "What took so long? Why isn't he dressed?"

Again, "There was poop everywhere."

Turns out, he really meant everywhere. Somehow in their changing interlude, the G-man managed to get poop on his swim trunks, the bench, the wall, Scott and I still don't get this, his toys and his bucket. At least he seemed to have spared passers-by. We think.

The lack of proper clothing and the mystery bundle were explained in the effort to get out and home as quickly as possible. After all, no one wants to linger after they were just submerged in poop.

So we drove off, with a grumpy papa, a clueless munchkin, a slightly amused mama and a trunk full of things for the laundry.

Imagine if we had been there more than an hour.

(I will do a side-note endorsement here: we use the iPlay swim diaper and if there really was that much, I am extremely impressed with its performance. No leakage in the pool at all.)

Free-range dookie

Suddenly, it's hot here. So we have already had several pants optional days. If the G-man doesn't feel like wearing pants, that's fine with me. Less laundry. Of course, he likes to take this further to see if he can go diaper optional. Not ofiicially, but we do have some naked time built into the day.

This morning, he was sans pants and I noticed his diaper was looking a little saggy in back. It had been a while since I changed it so I decided to give him a thrill and whip it off of him as he went by. Oh, free range baby! He loved it.

There are always some dangers associated with naked baby time: the dog may get a little too curious about G-man's toddler tushie; he could sit on something uncomfortable or get something else caught as he maneuvers into tight spaces; and there is always the reason he wears a diaper to begin with.

Just a few moments after he was baring it all, I was preparing his room for nap time. As I closed the blinds I realized there was a sound in the room. One you may be familiar with. A slight grunt of effort and a lack of noise as whirlwind activity has stopped. That's right, he was going dookie.

I leapt across the room, saw it actually happening (ugh) and scooped him up to the changing table to discover...there no longer was anything dangling from his little bottom. It's got to be somewhere. I dared to turn around and oh yes, on the floor, a nice little gift. Kind of like what Tino leaves along our walks. Only I wasn't prepared with a poop bag.

As the dog was in the room with me, I quickly put G-man back down, still naked, (after all, he's done, right?), grabbed some wipes and hit the floor. Turns out it's a little harder to get off of hardwood than picking up after the dog in the grass. But don't worry, the G-man was helpful. As he stood there next to me watching as I pulled out more wipes, he peed. Yep, this kid has his numbers 1 & 2 mixed up.

More cleaning.

I figure I should probably wipe him, too. After all, we all need a little refresher after some dookie. Ooh, guess what? There was still a lot left in there! And now it's kind of smeared on him because I was just taking a courtesy wipe as he stood at my knees. Crap, now he's taking off! Don't sit down! Or stand closely next to anything! Or let Tino within 10 feet of you!

More frantic wipes later and a final successful trip to the changing table, the diaper was back on and there was peace in the land.

The pants? Still optional.

Toddler time

I have been accused numerous times by my husband as being pokey and as a procrastinator. While I don't entirely disagree, sometimes it's really a matter of priorities. Sure, I do put some things off (I should be doing laundry right now) but I've discovered I also simply have my own flow.

Recently, there was an article in a parenting magazine about how the author decided to spend one day on Toddler Time. Instead of driving the schedule all day, she let her child set the pace. As I read it, I realized, I'm on Toddler Time, but it's of my own choosing.

For example, when Scott gets G-man ready to go out, it's a methodical journey of diaper, clothes, out the door, in the car and down the road. When I do it, the progression isn't quite so smooth. While changing the diaper, we may be interrupted by a tickle fight or tummy kisses. Before anything else goes on, perhaps G-man asks for a hug so we stand there at the table doing a little cuddle, possibly sans diaper. That might lead to a little running around with the freedom of bare skin. Then it's finally back on the table to finish the job. Or not. Maybe I follow his bare back to the living room and let him climb on the chair to look outside. Then while he gazes, pants and shirt go on at last.

If he is having a good time looking out the window, we might delay leaving the house for a few more minutes so he can watch birds. Sure, I'm running late now, but there's worse things in life.

Once in the car, we might play a game in the back seat as he gets buckled in. Or I sneak in some more mommy smooches. Or G-man chooses that time for peek-a-boo. We're definitely moving at a different pace and it's nice.

Of course, there are days when I whip everything out as fast as possible and we're down the driveway as if being chased by cheetahs. And, there are many instances where I really am not controlling the pace and am desperate to get a move on yet I'm confronted with an incredibly uncooperative toddler.

For the most part, though, we do stop to smell the flowers in our life. Those extra seconds build our bond together and his bond with the world around him. And if it takes me twice as long to reach the end goal, so be it.

However, for a real lollygagger, you should see the dog on our walks. If it was up to him, we wouldn't just stop and smell the roses, we'd inspect each blade of grass in the whole neighborhood. Yeesh.

Information overload

I could read for a month straight and still never catch up on all of the baby/toddler/kid stuff out there. I could join every mommy's group in a 50 mile radius and still miss out on something. I could watch discovery health network parenting shows non-stop and never see a repeat episode. Why? Because there is too much out there!

From baby websites to blogs to forums, my free time is sucked up online. Books on month-by-month and topic sorted behaviors have replaced my normal pleasure reading. Chatting with friends about kid constipation, mealtime struggles and the best bargains on little clothes make a play date fly by. And yet, I always know there is more to discover.

I'm not complaining, but there does seem to be too much out there.

Google any baby topic and you will be instantly overwhelmed with the amount of information available. And then confused by how inconsistent the answers are and how they contradict each other. A simple query on any topic results in hours wasted and almost more questions than I had to begin with. And don't start me on the related links! If I'm on a baby center article, I'll see three more things on the side that I want to click on, which leads me to even more things, plus comment sections, and whoops, it's midnight and I don't even remember what I came on here for.

Speaking of oodles of links, I seem to be on a ton of baby/toddler update newsletter lists. These appear in my inbox almost daily and are full of things like: "Is your baby eating enough?" (damn, maybe not, better check); "The five best things to buy for a 17-month old" (do I have these?); "Your sock drawer can kill your child" (whoa, click first!). Yep, I'm sucked in.

Where do I go first? I do have some go-to places for questions and answers.

The first is always BabyCenter.com. I was an addict while pregnant and haven't stopped.

Every morning I read the Mamasource.com update. I love this - it's questions/answers in your local area and covers all sorts of topics, not just kid ones. Whenever I'm curious about something I just ask the mamas. Boy, do they come through! They just launched Mamapedia.com and I look forward to putting it to the test.

What comes in the mail? Parenting, American Baby and Cookie. Each has it's pros but Cookie is less advice oriented with more of a focus on, hey you are still a person and a parent.

My current books are What to Expect: The Toddler Years and Toddler 411. We also have the Dr. Sears book on the first five years.

The rest is a mix of blogs and other sites. I love CoolMomPicks.com for product recommendations, Mommytrackd.com for good articles and ideas, and Finslippy.com for a fun break.

So all this reminds me of multitude of emails backed up in my inbox waiting to tell me what I'm doing wrong with G-man and 65 simple steps to turn it all around. Guess I should get going...

I want a maternity test

Sometimes I think to myself, how can this be my kid?

When G-man was first born, he looked so much like my husband that I joked about getting a maternity test to make sure he was mine. Then I saw his flat ass and realized he may not look like me from the front, but everyone will know he's my son as he walks away. Sorry about that sweetie.

But now he shows things in his personality and likes/dislikes that makes me wonder again. Seriously, this is my baby?

He gets up way too early. I'm not a morning person. True, I enjoy them once I'm fully awake, or on my way to being there, but my go-to preference is to sleep as late as possible.

To go along with that, he doesn't nap. If I'm up early, I need some downtime during the day. Starting with like, an hour or so after I roll out of bed.

He won't eat pasta. I live on pasta. I keep giving it to him each week and he keeps chucking it off the side of the tray. I hope one day soon, his Italian heritage will wake up, give him a loud, stern talking to with a lot of hand gestures, and he'll be stuffing noodles in his tummy in no time flat.

We took him to Dunkin' Donuts last weekend for a treat. The mecca of all donut goodness. One of my favorite places on earth. And he ate...a muffin. He rejected two types of munchkins and a bite of bavarian cream. They ended up on the DD floor. Sacrilege! There's no 5-second rule at a DD. Into the trash they went. I nearly cried at the waste. But, more for me in the end, right?

He's already better at throwing a ball than I am.

He likes things chilly. I hate cold. Cold weather, fans blowing on me. But he seems to thrive in it. He sleeps better when it's cool (68 or below) in his room and appeared to enjoy the winter walks more than the warm spring ones so far.

As he grows up, I'm sure we'll merge closer on the issues. After all, after weeks of rejecting pizza (are you kidding me?!) he gobbles it up like a pro. I have hopes that a late sleeping, summer lovin', pasta cramming kiddo is showing up soon.

The fall guy

The G-man has a HUGE goose-egg. Gigantic. It has its own climate and zip code. Plus, there's a cut down the middle that's bleeding a bit.

To make matters worse, we didn't know it was there. He fell earlier in the evening out of sight of both of us. That's right, there are moments when NO ONE IS LOOKING DIRECTLY AT HIM! I know this is shocking to you, and to him as well, I think. So I'm not mother of the year. But even if a set of eyes had been on him, chances are, I couldn't have prevented the fall. For example, last week, Scott and I were standing inches away from him on either side as he climbed on some equipment at Gymboree. He attempted to go head-first down a climbing incline and neither one of us could stop him in time before a new bruise popped up. It happens.

But back to this latest head trauma...

Believe me when I say I did rush to his side as soon as I heard the bump and the wail. He had his hand near his mouth so I feared a mouth injury. (Last week his best friend put a tooth through his lip on a fall. Yikes.) I held my little guy tight until the minute or so of crying settled down. I checked his mouth for blood, saw none, gave him super-duper kisses and set him down on his way when he was ready.

For the next 20 minutes or so, G-man ran around the house, pushed toys, drank some soymilk and brushed his teeth. All happily.

Imagine my surprise when bath time came next and Scott yelled out, "Have you seen this huge bump?!" We were both amazed to see this new natural wonder rising on his forehead. And why didn't we see it sooner, you might ask? Um, it was under his hair. The kid's got a lot. And it's kind of long. More on that in another post.

This led to a call to the doctor's office - love the late hours - to see what we should look for concussion-wise and if it was still ok to put him to bed on time. As long as he wasn't throwing up, walking ok and generally appeared fine, he probably was. We had to wake him up an hour after he fell asleep to make sure he could wake up and check during the night for responsiveness and vomit. Good thing I've had insomnia recently.

The other advice? Put an ice pack on it. Yeah, right. The nurse did say it would be hard and wished me luck. Very helpful. Have you tried to put an ice pack on a kid's head? Freakin' impossible here. To begin with, the ones in our house are the size of his head. It's like using a 10 lb. bag of ice to cool your tea. And you can't actually keep it on with those little hands swatting at you and the head whipping around like his neck is a noodle.

So I've decided to invent some sort of ice pack band-aid, something you can strap on to a kid that will be cool enough to do the job, but not give him brain freeze. And it will be the size of most toddler boo-boos. Any investors?

Obligatory mother's day post

What kind of mom would I be if I didn't do a Mother's Day post? Oh, I hear you, the kind that spends the holiday with her child, not time blogging online. Trust me, he's not awake as I write this.

However, there are those moms whose Mother's Day wish is time away from their kids. They want to go to a spa day or have a day where they don't have to act like a mom. While this sounds awesome in theory to me, I don't really get it for Mother's Day. I mean, the kids are the reason you get this day. I kind of feel like I want to be MORE of a mom.

One of my best friends, known to me for the past 20 years as BeFrie, had a great idea for her Mother's Day - all of the fun, none of the mundane responsibility. She wanted to spend as much time as possible with her 13-month-old B-man but not have to wash bottles, change diapers or prepare meals. It would be truly all play and no work. She'd share in the smiles, peek-a-boos and hugs without getting dishpan hands. Sounds like a good way to celebrate motherhood. I haven't heard yet if it's worked out for her.

Mother's Day is also a time to reflect on being a mom. At least it is for me. I often wonder if I'm a good mom or the best mom that I can be. Am I right for the G-man? He deserves the ultimate. Am I living up to that?

In the midst of self-doubt, I found this posting on FitPregnancy. Thanks to the author, Marion Winik, as I mooch a bit of her entry:

In the past 15 years, I’ve known many children raised many different ways. And I’ve seen that as long as there’s love, attention, and basic safety, hygiene and medical care, just about any way of doing it has a decent chance of working out. What gets undervalued in the quest to do everything right is the need to take some of the pressure off yourself. Even more important than the right food and the right toy is taking care of your own sanity, happiness and self-worth.
The most important choice you can make is to choose to trust that you are the mother your baby needs. You’re going to have some bad days, and you’re going to make some mistakes, and the best thing you can do is forgive yourself and move on. Your inner peace and strength are your child’s greatest resource.
Our babies love and trust us so much, it’s nerve-wracking. But the most obsessive, detail-oriented parenting doesn’t change the one thing that has the biggest effect on our kids: who we are.

I'll take her advice and try my best to be me every day and if I screw up, I'll try again.

Oh, and if you are wondering how I personally celebrated Mother's Day? The closest Dunkin' Donuts is 45 minutes away. I am a DD freak! So we got out the door early on Saturday, took a little trip and wrecked that place. 8 donuts, 25 munchkins, one latte, one coffee, and get this, a muffin for the G-man because he didn't want the donut. With some help from papa, the little guy also painted a flower pot for me and made a card, plus I got cards from the cats and dog and another one from G-man. Sweet. To finish it off, on Sunday we visited my parents and nana for what is probably her last Mother's Day. I'm glad we got to spend it with her.

Home is where the monotony is

I have lunch with my best friend Lolo every Thursday. We tend to talk a lot and always get off track. Sometimes, we tell each other to "bookmark" a topic so we can remember to bring it up during lunch. I meant to tell her this one today and ran out of time:

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the G-man a disservice by not having him in daycare.

Does that sound weird? I mean, people have been saying the stay at home/work at home mom is the best thing for kids. And I know moms that would love to be at home with their young children. But hear me out on this...

G-man goes to Parent's Day Out once a week for 5 hours. I love our place. I think he loves it. At the least, he has a good time each week. I adore picking him up and seeing his little sheet about what he did that day, hearing he took a nap (one day, I will learn this trick), looking at his craft project and knowing he spent the time with kids his age and had fun new things to explore. Of course, I tell Lolo about his day and probably act as if I personally invented PDO and am responsible for this unique experience.

I recently came out of my little bubble and realized, this is what kids at most day cares do on a daily basis. They play, they do projects, they discover new things, they socialize, they are exposed to great age-appropriate activities. I talk about how tuckered G-man is after his partial day at PDO; her kids must be exhausted after each full and rewarding day.

From a mom perspective, being at home is the greatest. You get to experience each moment as it happens instead of hoping that someone else who keeps the real memory will dole out some magic for you, too. But what about the child? I know I'm not as creative with our time during the day as PDO is. I plan a lot with other kids, but it's not the same. Would he learn faster, grow better if he was in a different environment like day care?

I don't have an answer for this. I get to be with him during every day and at night I'm still near as I work out of the house. I feel so lucky. I hope he feels the same way, too.

Does size matter?

It's May and G-man is still comfortably wearing his Halloween costume (a skeleton sweat suit). How is this possible?

I'm used to women's clothing sizes being an unsolved mystery. At any given point, I can choose from items in sizes 4-10 that all fit and even things from the same retailer have their own individual viewpoint on what will go over my thighs.

Surely, dressing a little kid would be easier. Right?

Going into this, I was delighted to find things in idiot-proof sizes: newborn! 0-3! All I had to do was look at my calendar and line up his closet accordingly. And in case I got stumped, some even have helpful hints like weight and height suggestions. I shopped with confidence, planning seasonal wear by his age and looked forward to the outfits for special occasions.

Turns out, it wasn't that simple.

For starters, the G-man was small. 5 lbs, 4 oz and 18" long. He came home 2 days after his grand arrival at 4 lbs, 14 oz (and I'm guessing, still 18"). The teeny tiny newborn clothes I had packed for his first few days of life now seemed huge. Cabbage Patch kids filled these out better. Everything hung off of him and it was almost hard to find him at times amidst all that fabric.

But he'd grow. I was sure he'd fill out quickly, sport some chunky rolls and move up the size chart as if he had, well, my metabolism.

Not so. Yes, he grew, just not rapidly. 0-3 months clothes were still part of his daily wardrobe as G-man approached the 6-month mark. But at that point, it was summer and the outfits that worked were winter. So much for planning ahead.

And ok, I'll admit something. I wasn't paying attention to the tags very well and thought that if something said "6 months" that's when they wore it. Oops, that really means 3-6 months! Clothes I hadn't even considered him being ready for were actually viable options. A little roomy, but suddenly, the wardrobe expanded.

After uncovering that great clue, I started to rely solely on the weight/height tags. And this is interesting; there is no consistency! Some brands run big, some small. I have things right now that say 18-months (and remember, this is really 12-18 months) and the weight starts at 20.5 lbs, while some don't start until 24 lbs. Yeesh, at his rate, he'll be two by then.

On any given day, he's wearing a 6-12 month, a 9-12 month or a 12-18 month item. It's all a crapshoot. Sometimes he stands up and his pants literally fall down. Sometimes his long-sleeve shirts have plenty of room in the width but look more like a 3/4-sleeve. Pants and one-pieces I buy by height, shirts/sweaters are mostly weight.

I dread when people, like well-meaning relatives, ask what size he's wearing. I know they are clothes shopping and will look at the big "month" tag like I would have pre-G. I just send them his current stats and see what happens. Unfortunately, as the warm weather moves in, I see that there are some cold weather items that he'll never get to use, unless - and this is a possibility - he grows into and not out of them by fall.

So, each day I will wonder what he fits into. I'll continue to agonize over what size to buy if I want him to wear it in the next few months. I won't get too attached to an outfit he's too small for in case the season changes before he's ready to move up the chart. And I will embrace the skeleton sweat suit and try not to think about how big it must have been on him on Halloween. Who knows, maybe he'll get to wear it next year. Handy.