Knotted

I Don’t Like It

At about the time Griffin was six or seven months old, we started saying ‘this is the best age, this is the BEST age,” and continued to say it with awe and adoration week after week of his growth. Sometime between 20 months and now (22 months), we’ve stopped saying it. More often it’s, “I’m so sick of fighting him,” or “I never thought it would be this hard.”

 

It really felt like once we got over the hump of the early stages of learning parenthood, life with a child would be simply blissful. Of course there were days with their challenges and moments of exhaustion, but overall, it felt like things were on an upswing and only getting easier and easier with time. I’ve never been more severely mistaken about anything in my entire life. From where I sit – and let’s be honest, I rarely actually ‘sit’ – to call this stage the Terrible Twos is a GROSS understatement. And Griffin isn’t even two yet. God help me.

 

It wasn’t when he started walking or getting into mischief around the house, or saying ‘no’ or throwing food or battling sleep (oh wait, he’s always done that) or hitting or biting or shouting that things started to feel tough. It wasn’t when the constant whining kicked in or daily tantrums. It was at some unidentifiable moment or series of moments that he started to challenge and battle EVERYTHING EVERY MINUTE OF EVERY DAY. When each lesson became a game and my frustrations became humorous, naps became optional and meals became, well, hopeless, outings to anywhere but the park became total embarrassments, and vacations became more exhausting and emotionally taxing than work. When he started saying ‘I DON’T LIKE IT’ about everything; that’s about the time when I started to want to throw up my hands and just give in – give up. 

 

I’ve talked about ‘pre-baby Ashley’ before, and all of my former self’s ideals about childrearing. If you would have described this to her, she would say ‘that child’s parents seriously need to get in control and reign him in!’ A lot of people who haven’t experienced this type of a child personality would likely think the same thing, and suggest that Nanny 911 might be in order. Parents who have been there will understand how unrealistic those judgments are.

 

We’re not authoritarian style parents, and we don’t practice spanking. We rely on ‘Love and Logic’ and ‘Emotion Coaching’ styles, and empathy, which fit best with our personalities and philosophies on parenting. Since Griffin is nearing age two, we believe time outs are on the near horizon as well, as he can begin understanding consequences. While I sit here writing this, I have NO CLUE as to how to make this easier or how to get better control over the situation. However, I believe wholly that even if I started spanking him, and yelling at him, we’d have the same result. Maybe just with a little more fear of his parents. But believe me, even though most of my writing on this blog makes me out to be a flower power tree hugger, we are firm and know how to set healthy boundaries.

 

Here’s an example. As part of the potty training effort ongoing at our home, we offer Griffin an opportunity to sit on his potty every night after bath and before jammies. One particular night he was making a big game out of the potty getting on and off, walking around naked as he loves to do (he says ‘I’m just gonna walk around naked’), and dragging the potty in and out of the bathroom and all around. I approached this with patience and allowed him to spend some time goofing around since using the potty is a complicated thing to learn for most children, and I don’t want to turn him off from it. But as we neared 10 minutes of this game, I finally said, ‘Griffin, if you get off the potty one more time, we’re going to be all done.’ When he jumped up about 10 seconds later, I wrapped him up in his towel and picked him up, nicely saying ‘ok, we must be all done with the potty.’ He reacted by flailing his entire body all around screaming ‘I want to go potty, I have to go potty, let me go potty mom!’ I held my ground and let him know that I was sorry he didn’t get to go potty, but he had his opportunity and he could try again in the morning. The tantrum didn’t stop, and after about a half a minute, he peed all over me. Oh yes, he full-on let it loose on me. Of course my reaction was a mixture of anger that he was using that as a way to win the battle, and guilt that I made him do that instead of just giving him one more chance to go in the potty. Now tell me, aside from using authoritarian styles, which I’m just not going to do, how else could that have been handled!?

 

The above incident is by no means isolated. We have regular similar episodes involving the potty, though that was the only one that involved me getting peed on (toys, the bed, the floor and the dog have been other victims). And the list could go on and on and on with other examples in every area of our lives. I still think Griffin is the cutest thing in the universe, and I still adore every day that I get to watch him play and learn and develop his personality. I have to admit that I am sad sometimes that our difficulty in handling this stage takes away from fully enjoying this part of his childhood/disappearing babyhood. I guess that’s the great dilemma though, everything about being a parent has a bittersweet aspect. We do take comfort in knowing that someday Griffin’s strength of personality will be a source of pride for Greg and me and a source of success and conviction for him. That doesn’t mean, however, that I’m not praying every day that our next child is a little easier, a little less stubborn and a little milder of temper. In closing, I think the best way to sum up how I feel about the terrible twos is to use Griffin’s favorite words: ‘I DON’T LIKE IT!’

Two Things I Never Thought I'd Get Excited About

I really never expected poop or broccoli to leave me smiling for a week straight. But, alas, that's exactly what has happened. We had two exciting events take place in our home this week involving said items, and they will forever be stamped on my brain as major milestones.

I'll explain. Because you really want to know, don't you?

First, we've been trying to introduce the concept of potty training to Griffin. It has been met with mixed reviews - one day he may be very excited about the potty and tell us all about any farts, poop or pee he has all day long. When this happens, we rush to the potty and make a big hoopla about him being such a big boy to tell us and try to go poop/pee on the potty. However, the next day, he is just as likely to act like he doesn't know what the heck a potty is, and happily sit in a wet or poopy diaper all day long (not that we let that happen). On these days, I'll ask him periodically if he wants to try to go to the potty like a big boy, and I get a very angry 'NO!'. This child has outsmarted us once again, and we are CLUELESS as to what, how and when potty training is going to happen. Mind you, we do realize that he is quite young for this, and we're not trying to push it too hard.

So, earlier this week, Greg noticed Griffin squatting in the living room with a red face accompanied by some quiet grunting. 'You're pooping, aren't you!?,' he said. Griffin continued in his grunting, which was met by Greg whisking him faster than he's ever moved before out of his diaper and onto the potty. I was half way paying attention, as this sort of scenario has happened before with no resulting poop in the potty. This time, half of the poop had already made it into the diaper, but Griffin was mid-BM. He sat on the potty for a while talked excitedly about what was happening, and shoved a toy golf ball under his butt and into the potty. Much to our sheer delight, when Greg fished out the golf ball, it had pee and POOP on it! It was officially the first time Griffin had achieved any kind of elimination in a potty. 'Hooray! You did it!' we shouted. Nevermind that Greg, Griffin and the golf ball all had some kind of poop smear on them - the real point was that we had successfully gotten Griffin to do number 1 and number 2 in the potty just like a big boy. It gave me so much hope and promise that potty training was about to begin. Sadly, we haven't yet had a repeat performance. Fingers crossed that we've got a trend emerging.

And the broccoli. Griffin has always been a very good eater, who took well to beets, asparagus, spinach, squash, etc., as a baby and into his early toddler-hood. The only thing he really seemed to dislike was broccoli. Over the last six or so months, we've seen a subtle downward spiral away from veggies, with his preferences set squarely on fruit, cheese, olives and eggs. All still healthy, but lacking the umph of veggies. Even during picky phases, we've been able to get him some veggies every day. He likes tomatoes, and will eat almost anything smothered in cheese. He likes spinach or beet greens in his eggs as well. So, that's been our strategy to keep up his daily intake of greens, etc. I'm also a big believer that if you keep offering the same healthy choices again and again, even if they don't touch them, eventually the child will decide it is time to broaden their palate's horizons. So, that's exactly what we've done, in addition to the undercover approach.

Stay with me, this is exciting stuff...Earlier this week for dinner, I steamed some broccoli to eat plain as a side to our homemade burritos. I doled out just a small helping to Griffin, hoping that he might accidentally mix in a couple bites with the beans, cheese and sour cream. About halfway through the meal - broccoli untouched thus far - out of the corner of my eye, I spied him take a full bite of broccoli. Greg and I exchanged very serious glances across the table, as he'd noticed it too. And sure enough, bite after bite, without even a smidge of sour cream, Griffin cleared his plate of every last floret. I almost fainted when he looked at me and said 'More Broccoli Please.'
Greg and I were so in shock that it took us a moment to process what had just happened. To prove that it wasn't a fluke, we dumped all the rest of the broccoli onto Griffin's plate and watched in amazement as he cleared it for a second time. 

So the moral of the story is: holy shit, my kid now likes broccoli and is almost potty trained! I think I might throw a party, and you guessed it, we'll be having broccoli as appetizer, main course, and dessert. Hell, I'll even make broccoli cocktails just to prove that I'm really that excited. Though I'm sure the party will be ruined because Griffin will surely poop his pants and refuse even a taste of the little trees, just to remind me who's really in control.

WAR

It’s been a while since I’ve had any time to do any writing, but there is a really good reason why I’ve been so distracted: there’s a war being fought in our house right now. AND, I’m about to win it. (oh, and on top of said war, I also had to hire a new nanny).

 

Sleep has been the holy grail for Greg and me as parents (as it is for MANY parents of young children) since about the time Griffin turned two months old. Sleep has been the only thing we want for, and the one thing that seems unattainable. It’s been more than a year and half (Griffin is almost 20 months old) that we’ve gone without normal sleep. Before I go into the details of our most recent sleep war here in the Allman home, I’ll give a quick breakdown of where we’ve been.

 

-0-2 weeks old: As always, the first few nights were very hard; and I was getting up to night nurse pretty regularly. But, my newborn was showing signs of sleeping long stretches very early on.

 

-2 weeks – 2 months old: SLEEP was achieved for the most part. He was nearly sleeping through the night (6-8 hours at a time without waking) and we were doing great. It looked like we had a lot of promise for a sleep-happy child.

 

-2 months – 12 months old: It all went to hell. The average night involved us waking up about every 1-2 hours to calm a crying baby and usually nurse. He always went back to sleep easily, but there was never a stretch of more than 4-5 hours without waking. He demanded nursing throughout the night and was sleeping in our bed. This was the darkest period in time – we felt very bleak that we would never feel good again. And, Greg and I were constantly sick due to massive sleep deprivation.

 

-12 months old: I began to wean him from night nursing over the course of a couple weeks, which was a huge battle. Once this happened, he began sleeping longer stretches, but had to be in our bed.

 

-13 months – 15 months: We started to get hard core about a routine, and encouraging good sleeping habits. He was still in our bed, but bed time was getting easier and during this time he weaned from breast feeding completely. Things were improving, but it was still a big sleep disturbance for us to have a growing toddler in our bed.

 

-15 months – 16 months: There was a BLISSFUL period of time when he began to sleep in his crib THROUGH THE NIGHT. Bedtime was at about 8, and he was up around 6:30. We thought we were out of the woods. I felt like ME again.

 

-17 – 18 months: It all went to hell. For no apparent reason, he was fighting bedtime, waking up constantly in the night inconsolably and was once again in our bed. He woke up at the tiniest sounds and would not calm down for anyone other than mommy, and only would he relax and go back to sleep was in mommy’s arms, in mommy’s bed. Frustration and exhaustion began to set in again.

And that brings us to our recent and ongoing declaration of the war on sleep (or, the war for sleep would be a better way of putting it).

 

I’ve figured out that the best ideas in life are cooked up in the middle of the night, when you are in a dream-like haze, and fighting with your husband about who is going to get out of bed and go to the child’s room. So, one random night in such a state of mind, I decided that I was NOT EVER going to let Griffin sleep in our bed again, and that come hell or high water, I was waging WAR against my son’s sleep issues to get us all some much needed rest. As much as I love cuddling with my boy, and feel at ease with him at arm’s reach during the night, I could no longer live a life of half-sleep.

 

So, Greg unpacked the sleeping bags from our camping storage bin and the slumber party began. Each night was treated like a battle – The Family vs. Griffin Not Sleeping. We stuck to the bedtime routine, put the little guy down for the night, had our adult time, and hit the sack around 11 p.m. Griffin would wake around 12 a.m., and I would drag my pillow and sleeping bag into his room. Tuck him back in, give him a pacifier (don’t worry, I plan to wean him of that after his birthday), get cozy on the hardwood floor, and plop one hand inside his crib to hold him down (he wanted to stand up and look at mommy sleeping on the floor). Greg and I would rotate duty, so each of us had alternating days of a sore back and stiff neck (funny, though that Greg couldn’t fit his arm through the crib bars, so he actually had Griffin sleep on the floor with him). Fun times. Eventually, we started sneaking out of the room around 4 a.m., when we would wake up in discomfort, but Griffin was out cold thinking he had a warm body in the room with him. This went on for a couple weeks, and then one God-sent night, he just didn’t wake up until 7:30 a.m. 

 

Right now, we’re somewhere in between total exhaustion and total rest. Griffin is sleeping soundly in his room on his own now. Most nights he wakes up once needing someone to comfort him, but he will go right back to sleep and calm down easily. Occasionally, we have a full 11 hours without a peep. God, I treasure those nights. But, I have a feeling this is going to be one of those epic wars that goes on for years and years, just because our son happens to be a light sleeper and takes after his mom in not wanting to be alone in a bed.

 

I can usually handle the once-a-night wakings, because Greg and I trade off duty, and I still get two long stretches of sleep without interruption. But, during a busy or stressful week, I find myself still getting angry with Greg (yes, I whisper-yell at him) if he won’t get up and go to Griffin so I can stay in bed. Those nights, I have to take a big deep breath before opening Griffin’s door – to make sure I keep my mommy face on and don’t take any of my grumpiness out on him.

 

I trust that there’s a bigger lesson in all of this somehow – that there’s a reason for the lack of sleep that will help us be better people. Maybe it’s just another one of life’s tests to make us stronger, more resilient, more appreciative and more patient. I guess I’ll feel all of those things in the long run. For now, I’m as focused as a soldier can be, and I’m not going down without a fight.

Brag Book

I don’t boast too often about Griffin to the general world at large – family excepted – but I’ve lately just been flat out astonished at how he’s changed and grown that I want to take a few minutes to outline where he is developmentally. Personally, I think he’s quite the little rising star. I’m sure no other parent feels that way about their own kids, right?! Griffin will be 18 months / 1 ½ years at the end of January. Here are some highlights (holy cow, who knew I could write so much – I guess all it takes is a little bragging to get my mojo going!):

Growth: He is now somewhere in the 25 pound range, and somewhere in the 31/32 inch range. He’s been in the 50th percentile for height and weight since birth, and I’m pretty sure he’s still about there. Strangely (maybe sadly) he has a puny head. He’s only in the 10th percentile for head circumference. Trust me, that’s no indication of his brain power, people!!!!! Apparently, Greg has always had small head (egotistically, he has a huge one), so I guess it runs in the gene pool. But, considering the size of Griffin’s cheeks, I don’t think anyone will ever notice he has a small head in comparison to his body.

I feel like a bad mom for not knowing his exact height and weight, but he hasn’t been officially measured since his 15-month check up. We’ll know the true stats at the end of this month (I’m hoping he will have a height growth spurt so he can soon start facing forward in the car – he’s so bored facing that dang back seat). He also is nearing the end of teething and has about a full set now. His toothy little smile is super cute!

Language: I have written down probably about two-thirds of the words he has now in his vocabulary (examples: ball, hoops, straaabaaa (strawberry), please, cheese, jump, dog, bad-dog (when he’s yelling at Mav) cat, eat, two (when he’s counting or when we say ‘I love you’), Santa, mom, dada, moon, star, Seattle, cracker, egg, tempeh, popper (one of his toys), dino (another toy), hug, no, seat, plane, choo choo…). Counting all that I’ve logged, we’re above 120 words, so I think really his vocabulary is above 150 words. He has started to say a couple very simple word combinations too: get you (to play chase), red ball, lunch eat, all done. We’ve also been using signs since he was about 9 or 10 months, and he knows the signs for plane, dog, please, drink, eat, more and all done. I’ve been trying to teach him the signs for cat and bird – I think he knows them when he sees them, but doesn’t sign them himself.

The other exciting thing he does with talking is that he now asks for books to read by name. Where The Wild Things Are is ‘ROAR’; One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish is ‘FISH’; Oh Say Can You Say is ‘SAY’; Goodnight Seattle is ‘SEATTLE’; Goodnight Moon is (what else?) ‘MOON.’ I’m sure this is very common and age appropriate, but when I realized he was doing it the last couple weeks, I just flew over the moon. Being the bookworm that I am, I am still swooning over the fact that my kid has seemingly favorite books and asks for them by name.

Lastly on this topic, we are also trying to introduce him to French. I used to speak conversational French, but I’ve lost most of it sadly. I teach him what I know in French, and am working on building a little collection on French kids books for him as well. I think he is too young for me to start impressing this on him too much, but I do want him to get good exposure, so when he gets to be preschool/kindergarten age, we can have him formally learning a second language.

Table Manners: Griffin has always been a good eater. Just mere minutes out of the womb and he was suckling like a champ. He loves food and has a large appetite – during growth spurts I’m floored by how much he can put away; far more than me at one sitting during growing bouts. When it comes to table manners, Griffin has none. In this area, I have compared him extensively to other kids around his age and decided that he needs some serious etiquette coaching. He spits food for entertainment value and throws food if he thinks its funny, wants to feed the dog, or doesn’t like what I’ve served him. He also throws food when he’s finished instead of just telling me ‘all done’ like I know he can. Bottom line is that we no longer have to buy dog treats, and I’m thanking my lucky stars that we have a dog who will clean up the mess. I couldn’t manage feeding this kid without Maverick around. Even our friends have commented at what a messy eater he is. Every meal ends with his clothing totally covered in gunk, his face, hands and hair crusted over and a horrible mess on the floor/walls surrounding his high chair. He throws his sippy cups throughout the meal – I now usually stop giving it back after the second or third offense. I can’t trust him with dishes (including plastic ones), because they hit the floor within minutes (he flings stuff so hard that he has even broken plastic dishes). He finally has begun learning how to use utensils, but for the longest time I couldn’t let him have them because he would wave the fork around fearlessly and gag himself repeatedly with the spoon. Oh, and he REFUSES to wear a bib.

The good news is that he likes healthy stuff. We have prohibited junk and sugar almost entirely (except for the rare special occasion; or in one even rarer case I was hung over from a holiday party and broke out the boxed macNcheese—but, no nasty chicken nuggets have crossed his lips; if you feed those to your child, I’m not judging you, but if you think about what is in them and how they are made, it’s pretty gross). Some of his diet staples are: plain yogurt with wheat germ; scrambled eggs with spinach or beet greens and curry powder; bulgur and cottage cheese bars; avocado with beans and brown rice; strawberries (straaabaaa); bananas; tempeh bacon; fish; berries berries berries; all kinds of olives; varieties of cheese; squash soups and casseroles; chili; ground turkey; soft wheat crackers; wheat bread; frozen peas; sliced raw tomatoes; ground almonds; flax/oat/and other grain cereals; veggie burgers; and sauerkraut. He is not a big fan of kale, carrots or broccoli, unless I disguise them well. He also doesn’t like hummus much, which I find surprising. Other than that, there really isn’t much he won’t eat. For people who don’t believe that kids will eat health food, I’m sorry, but they will. He has nothing to compare it to, and we give him good, fresh stuff. Of course every kid has their preferences and will refuse vegetables, etc. (and we’ve had our ups and downs with Griffin in this department), but if you always offer healthy options and stay away from bad ones, they will grow to like most of it. He also gets fish oil or flax oil regularly, and actually LIKES it. He only drinks milk and water – no juice.

Emotions: We are blessed to have such an affectionate, loving child. Even as a busy boy toddler, he stops every single day for a few minutes of cuddle time with each mom and dada. He loves to give hugs (so cute: whenever he hugs, he pats the person’s neck or back while hugging)—and has even been known to approach random children in stores or at the park for a quick but gentle squeeze. He kisses constantly and likes to stroke your face gently to show you how much he loves you. I’m melting just thinking about it. We cuddle a lot, and I hope he grows up to be the kind of guy that’s really loving and affectionate to the people he cares about. He doesn’t have too much of a temper, and is easily distracted when he doesn’t get his way. He can be stubborn, and yells for what he wants, but he tends to be ‘reasonable,’ for a person under two years old. I’m sure we’re just at the tip of the iceberg with the whole tantrum phase. He also is getting better at articulating his feelings with expressions – if he is sad or scared he squints his eyes and kind of whines a little to show you what he’s feeling.

Activities: Reading and shooting hoops are the clear favorites. He does play other things, and will get all of his toys out for a game or two, but nothing beats hoops and reading. He talks about hoops CONSTANTLY. It is a true obsession. If we talk about one of his friends, he talks about hoops because he wants to play it with them; if we talk about balls, he talks about hoops; if we talk about the park, he talks about hoops; if we say we are playing a game, he talks about hoops. You get the idea. Aside from hoops and reading, he likes to hide/play peek-a-boo, move furniture, pretend cook, pretend fix with his tools, have someone chase him around the house and attack the dog/cat/his giant stuffed alligator. He can walk, climb, run and (almost) jump, and enjoys riding the slide at the playground. We go to Gymboree class every week, which gives him a chance to climb and play in a new environment and socialize with new friends. We try to spend as much time as possible outside, but I admit it gets a bit cumbersome in the winter Seattle weather. Blah.

Sleep: The holy grail. We found it, and then lost it. We’re still blinking and wondering how it happened. So, basically, he’s become a great napper. He doesn’t nap for very long, but it is consistent and reliable. A normal nap is 1-1 ½ hours. A long nap is 2 hours. An OHMYGODIAMLOVINGTHISBREAK nap is 2 ½ hours. Three hour naps are a thing of the past, and really were rare ever in this house. Now, we did, I repeat DID get him out of our bed and in his crib ALL NIGHT every night for about two months. He became very easy to put down and was almost never waking up until 6:30 or 7 a.m., when it was time to get up for the day. This was bliss. Bliss with a capitol B. Greg and I had our bed back, and our sleep back, and felt rested and sane again for the first time in a long time. We didn’t change the schedule and didn’t have any major changes to our lives, but something broke the lucky streak. He started waking up again nightly and would completely melt down until we gave in and let him in our bed. He also went through a (thankfully brief) phase where he figured out how to climb out of his crib and was fighting us to go to bed at all at bedtime. We overcame that hurdle, but still are struggling with the late night/early morning hours. Here’s a typical night: 7 p.m., bedtime routine begins with a bath, and the usual stuff. 7:50 p.m., he’s going into his room with lights out and I hold him/sing to him for a few minutes before tucking him in—we talk softly, say good night and say prayers in the dark. By 8 p.m., I’m out of the room and he’s quiet but not totally asleep. Sometime between 11:30 p.m., and 4 a.m., he wakes up totally screaming and will not settle down unless one of us goes to him. As soon as we go into his room, he starts asking for his binky (which he still is allowed to have for sleep time) or for mom. Sometimes we are so tired that he comes straight into our bed. Sometimes we try to battle it out, putting him back down, calming him and letting him cry it out for 10 minutes. This nearly always ends in us caving and him in our bed within 20 minutes after waking. So, once he’s in our bed and we’re all calm and drifting off again, we get another chunk of decent sleep. Sometime in the breaking dawn hours (5 or 6) he starts getting restless, but not waking. He tosses and turns, cries out randomly for a moment and insists on touching me in some way. If I fight him off for my own space, he usually wakes up and cries. If I cuddle him and hold him, he usually goes back to sleep somewhat soundly for another couple hours—but I don’t. I just can’t sleep when he’s fidgeting or when I’ve got to hold him in one unmoving position to keep him asleep. So, I get to rest my eyes, and totally zone out to the point of almost sleep, but after about 5 or 6 a.m., I’m not getting any solid restful sleep. This might not sound so bad to early birds, but keep in mind that I’m usually not in bed until after 11 p.m. The old Ashley would consider that an early bedtime. I am a true night-owl by nature.

So, we’ll keep fighting the fight until someday he sleeps well again on his own. Like I said, it’s the holy grail. I just keep telling myself that one day, someday, I will wake up and not feel tired anymore. I will feel sharp and aware and with it again. Someday.

Ok. That’s it. Longest post ever. A lot of this is for my own benefit and records, but thanks for reading if you made it all the way through ☺.

What Baby Fever?

I'm not ready to have another baby. Really, I'm really not. The thought of a second child right now feels scary and uncomfortable. Not to mention the fact that Greg's head isn't in that game yet either. So what I'm wondering is, why am I constantly daydreaming about being pregnant, trying natural childbirth again, and cuddling a 7 pound little bundle?

Not a day goes by that I don't think about having another baby; when, what gender, where, how many more.....and so on. I obsess over baby names and feel an overwhelming joy at the mere mention of another woman's pregnancy or delivery. Every single day. Is my body trying to sell me something that my head just won't buy? How am I supposed to know when the time is really right if this internal civil war between logic, desire and hormones continues? And to further complicate matters, I'm also constantly strategizing in the situation room in my head about how and when we'll be able to go through with that adoption from Africa, Asia or South America. Huh?

During the last month or so of my pregnancy with Griffin, I swore on all things holy that I would NOT be doing that again. After the delivery came and went, I was ready to make it official with a little snip snip of Greg's man parts. I really truly believed that I would never again put myself through the challenge, discomfort and pain of pregnancy and childbirth, no matter how rewarding the baby is in the end. Of course those around me--including Greg--didn't listen for a second, and knew full well the day would come when I would be begging to do it again.

I've softened over time. The memory of a 22 hour labor and 5 hours of pushing have somewhat faded. At least enough that I'm once again dedicated to the endeavor of natural childbirth for the next go around. The gory details of delivering a sunny-side-up baby don't seem so bad anymore. The fear of blowing up again and having to pee every five minutes has all but vanished. I'm already practically incontinent, so how much more damage can really be done? I mean, one baby or five, I'm sentenced to seniority in a diaper either way. 

So why wait? Many of my close friends are either pregnant or trying. A good friend just had her second baby a few weeks ago, and is amazing. Greg and I are pretty good at this kid thing, and really are doing fine with all the demands and changes a baby imposes. We love being parents and are building a life centered around building a family. I've always wanted to be a mom, and at this stage in my life, it just feels right to keep making babies. The more I obsess over this day after day, the more I come to believe that it's time to just buck up and get this show on the road. 

On the other hand, I'm finally in a good groove back at work (with a great schedule on all fronts), we're totally invested (literally and metaphorically) in this new house, and Griffin fills every minute of every day with such action, joy and laughter. Plus, we have a few weddings coming up this spring, and I'm not sure I want to do the whole dance party thing pregnant again. Seriously, that memory ain't going nowhere.

So, I guess the jury's still out.

Oh Say Can You Say?

Who knew Dr. Seuss doubled as a marriage counselor. As part of our ongoing commitment to shield Griffin from petty arguments (and not-so-petty ones for that matter), Greg and I stumbled upon a very creative and effective new way to bicker.

During our latest Arizona vacation, Greg and I had more than one disagreement due to all of the schedule coordinating with friends and family and our many many time commitments (in other words, limited time for Greg to golf) and were at each others throats during pretty much every car ride. Just before the trip we purchased a board book copy of Dr. Seuss' 'There's  A Wocket In My Pocket,' to give Griffin a new story to enjoy during the here-to-there travel. By Day 2 of the vacation, Greg and I both had the ridiculous rhymes memorized.  

So, there we are driving along on a beautiful Phoenix day, bickering in our nicest voices possible (Griffin was riding passenger), and Greg says "You know, you're just like the NOOTHGRUSH on my toothbrush!"And he was not joking or trying to lighten the mood - this was said as a very serious insult. -- In case you are not familiar with this particular Seussian masterpiece, let me fill you in. The 'NOOTHGRUSH on my toothbrush' is described as 'well, some are nice, but he is not.'

I didn't even skip a beat. Seriously, I fired right back: "You know, you're the YOTTLE in the bottle ('...whom I DO NOT wish to keep')!" It was my best comeback of all time. I mean, why else would I even be writing about this if I wasn't still feeling proud about that quick wit.

Sadly, Greg got the last word: "You're the BOFA on the sofa ('...who acts as if he doesn't care').
All of the other characters in this particular book (the YEPS on the steps; the GHAIR beneath the chair; the ZELF up on the shelf) are all likeable, so I had been beat.

But, even though we were both irritated and frustrated, this form of name-calling actually did lighten the mood and had all three of us laughing much faster than any other form of conflict resolution I've ever heard of. Try staying mad when someone is spouting 'The Cat In The Hat' at you, or reciting 'Oh, the Wonderful Sounds Mr. Brown can do, he can sound like a cow, he can go MOO MOO.' I'm telling you, you can't. This is my new secrent weapon. Next time your significant other is on your back, instead of saying something you'll regret later, just turn around and fire back 'NOOOO, YOU'RE THE YOTTLE IN THE BOTTLE!!!!!!!' 

In the meantime, I'll be studying my Seuss in preparation for the next round!

Neglected

Wow, it has been way too long since I've posted. I've really neglected my writing over the summer - probably only sat down to work on my projects maybe three times in three months. I've got to kick it back in gear, but the summer was so worth it. And a lot has happened. Here's a recap...

We hiked and camped and hiked and camped. It was a big goal of ours to spend as much time outside as possible, and soak up all the sun to tank up for another long winter. Plus, Griffin has been the perfect age to pack around in the backpack, AND enjoy exploring the great outdoors.

Griffin has perfected walking, talking, climbing and animal sounds. Well, perfection for a 14-month-old. He amazes me more and more every day and is becoming such a happy, cheerful little guy. The sunshine he brings into our home every day is just indescribable.

We started house hunting, found a house, bought that house, moved and settled in all in a matter of 10 weeks. The entire process was extremely nerve racking, and I hope we don't move ever again. That said, moving day was an amazing display of patience. I truly believed there was NO way Greg and I could get through something as stressful as moving without some kind of battle. Amazingly, no fights. Even when Maverick disappeared from the new backyard and we were hysterically searching for him, we didn't take it all out on each other (thank God he came back). It was the best feeling when we went to bed that first night and actually felt like we were HOME. It rubbed off on Griffin too. He spent the whole night in his crib without a peep! AHHHHH!!! The projects have already begun--we're installing new windows and new plumbing in the coming weeks, and planning a renovation of the basement. I've painted, Greg has installed new bathroom hardware, we've hung pictures, ordered furniture and FINALLY decorated a 'kids' room. Yes, Griffin has his own room. Our little condo is empty  - looking for a renter or buyer. We'll take either and I just can't wait for that stress to be behind us.

We bid farewell to my sister, our amazing summer helper/babysitter, and hired a new nanny. She quit, and we just hired another new nanny. She starts in a couple weeks, and I just hope hope hope it works out. Griffin needs some consistency. He needs a nanny he can bond with long term. This new nanny shows a lot of promise to be that one.

We've had some family dramas. But seriously, when don't we? It's become par for the course.

We celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary. Someone told me that the fourth year of marriage is really hard. We always have our ups and downs, just like everyone, but I think at the end of the day we both feel so lucky to have each other and to have unconditional love that we can rely on.

And, for me, the culmination of this crazy few months was a few nights ago when Griffin had his first ever emergency room visit. I have a few things to say about that. First, it was traumatizing for me when the nurse on our pediatrician's hotline told me I had to take him in to the hospital. I instantly started crying, just feeling like a horrible mom. You'll understand when you hear why we had to go - I'll get to that. The good thing was that it was seriously the fastest emergency visit in history. We were in and out in under 10 minutes, just like that. Which, was a good thing considering that Greg was about to have an anuyrism trying to avoid catching the swine flu.

So, here's the story. I was  holding Griffin in a funny way and dislocated his elbow. It was a horrifying POP followed by 10 solid minutes of crying and another 20+ minutes of fussing and complaining. His poor little arm was just limp and every time he moved he winced in pain and cried again. My heart was just broken. So, we called the doc, got orders to go to the hospital and wisked him away to Children's. Greg was losing his mind. He kept barking at Griffin and I not to touch ANYTHING. I thought he was going to divorce me when I reached into the box of face masks to grab one (you know, it was the same box that every sick child and parent had stuck their hand in). He even asked the receptionist how many people had been in the hospital that day. As soon as we had checked in, Greg sent Griffin and I outside to wait for our names to be called. I felt like we were in a war zone (in fact, that's exactly what Greg kept calling it) and my easy going husband had been posessed by a militia man. The good news was that by the time we got called into triage (about 5 minutes after showing up), Griffin was cured. The nurse took a quick look, and informed us that he had already popped his elbow back into place. You would have thought the kid had never been hurt. Greg couldn't have ushered us out of there faster.

So, summer is over and we're enjoying the last beautiful days of fall. It's amazing to have a backyard where we can breathe in the autumn air and watch the leaves change and fall. It's having a soothing effect on all of us. A small part of me is looking forward to winter - it's a good time to cozy up on the couch with a cup of tea and my laptop to hunker down and do some solid writing.

OH NO! I Married A Senior Citizen!

No, I’m not a gold digger. Nor am I a freak with some strange elderly fetish. But, I have to come clean about the fact that I married a 70-year-old man. Granted, he’s in a 30-year-old body, but still.

Don’t let him fool you like he did me. Greg may look and act like any normal guy in his prime, but I assure you, he’s really 70. What other way is there to explain a man who says things like ‘whipper snapper’ and ‘we’ll have a gas’ in daily life? I love the man, but I’m telling you, it’s like living with someone’s grandfather much of the time—he has all the makings of a grumpy old man sitting on the porch in some Podunk town shouting at the kids playing on the dirt highway to ‘stop that racket!’

Greg, I’m not making fun of you. I love you. That said, let’s just face the facts.

You:

-Say things like: ‘it hurt like the dickens’; ‘that asshole didn’t use his indicator’ (to describe someone cutting you off on the freeway); ‘the devil may care’; ‘I’ll learn you a thing or two’; ‘he’s a real ace’; ‘by golly’; ‘I’ll be damned’

-Like your food mushy and cold

-‘Drive like the dickens’ (often floating between two lanes) and forget to use your indicator

-Ask what day of the week it is about 5-7 times a day

-Move at the speed of a tortoise

-Have no real understanding of normal decibel levels

-Fall asleep too early on the couch regularly (with your mouth open and your hand down your pants)

-Have some serious foot problems that I won’t elaborate on

- Call yourself an elephant for your good memory, but have no recollection of the books you’ve read, the movie’s you’ve seen, or the places you’ve visited, without me reminding you

-Grunt when you fart

-Are a walking atlas, almanac and encyclopedia all in one and a well of knowledge about the most useless things ever (I quote: “did you know that the Narrows bridge has the largest species of octopus living under it?”; “The Grand Coulee Dam generated all of the energy to power World War II – they funneled all of it to Area 51”; “The Olympic Rainforest is the largest rainforest in the continental United States, only topped by the rainforests in Alaska and Hawaii”; “jellyfish only swim at the surface”…and this is just from the last week!)

My darling Greg, as all of our friends (and maybe some strangers) are reading this laughing and nodding in agreement, just don’t forget that I love you. Living with a 70-year-old man is just a gas as far as I’m concerned.

Pump it Up!

In my little universe, nursing your baby to age one or beyond is the norm. I realize that many people are often surprised when they hear that my son is turning one year this month, and I’m still nursing full time; but, to me, it is perfectly natural and normal. I have no idea how or when we’ll really get through the weaning process, though I keep telling everyone we’ll be done by October. That’s my imaginary deadline. To say it will be bittersweet is a gross understatement.

However, what won’t be missed AT ALL is every nursing woman’s favorite chore: pumping. At work. Before I go on a rant complaining about how much I DETEST pumping, I will say that I’ve got it quite good on this front. I don’t really have to pump all that often anymore, and my pumping at work is limited to only one short session. So, I know that while I sit here and bitch and complain about how much it sucks (pun intended), there are women I know who spend much more time at the pump than I. These women deserve a freaking medal. And remember, I’m about to rattle on about how much it sucks (there will be a lot of these) and I’m not even in the camp of moms who pump 2+ times at work every day, and at home before bed.

I hate pumping. I HATE HATE HATE it. If I were able to change one thing about motherhood, pumping would be it. Not the weight gain, or painful labor. Not the forever body changes or sleepless nights. The pumping. Before Griffin was born, I swore on everything dear to my heart that I would NEVER pump at work. This was when I still planned on weaning my son at four months when my maternity leave ended. I think I’ve made it clear on this blog by now that I’ve got a lot of unrealistic ideals that I am dead set on but never really pan out as planned. I’m working on that. Anyway, I swore off pumping at work, and had it all figured out – it actually worked for a pretty good amount of time, and we never had to supplement formula (mind you, I was totally engorged at the end of every work day, but hey, I was willing to pay that price). Then my milk started to decrease, and I was preparing for the long vacation away, and it became a necessary evil.

So, I started pumping at work with my little single sided electric pump, and had SO many mortifying moments. First, you know how loud those damn things are – it sounds like some annoying piece of factory machinery cranking away at the highest setting. I have my own office at work, but the walls are paper thin. Colleagues down the hall could hear the little sucker, and I tried and tried to play it off like I didn’t know from where that horrible noise was coming. Further, I still can’t figure out how to set my desk phone to unavailable, so time after time my colleagues were buzzing my line only to hear the awful ‘eeeeeeeer, eeeeeeeeeeeeer, eeeeeeeeeeeeer’ responding to them. I always ended up hanging up on them or turning the pump off mid suck in a total panic. Despite my ‘PRIVACY’ post-it notes on the outside of my door, I was ‘caught in the act’ multiple times. So humiliating for someone to walk in as I’m sitting at my desk breast out, machine sucking and typing very important one handed emails. I’d yelp, ‘uh, hang on, I’ll, uh, come get you in a minute…’

For a while there was a young early 20s guy working at our office, and it just so happened that he was the one who often needed my attention during these pumping sessions. Double whammy – caught at work pumping, and by virtually the only guy in the office full time. Perfect. To make matters worse, when I finished pumping, I had to march my little black pump carrying case and fresh milk all the way to the other end of the office and find a discreet hiding place for it in the office fridge. Just think how horrific it would have been if someone would have mistaken it for their lunch bag! Oh, and I’ll also mention that the fridge happened to be conveniently located right in the middle of the offices of the only two men. And they wonder why I’ve had a hard time adjusting to being back at work!

The question I’ve asked myself over and over and over again is why am I so embarrassed about it? I’ve been nursing for nearly a year now, and pumping in some capacity for about 10 months. Why can’t I just come right out and say to everyone at work: “I’m pumping, leave me alone!?” For whatever reason, I just can’t bring myself to openly admit that I pump at work. The good news is that it’s getting better, and the end is in sight. Currently, my boss is the only man in our company, and he has figured out to be very very cautious about visiting my office when the door is closed. My privacy signs are more noticeable now, and I’ve invested in a manual pump that eliminates the embarrassing noise and makes it so I can actually hear intruders coming before they make it to my door.

I’m sure I’ll shed some tears when nursing finally does come to an end. All I can say for the pump is that it better watch out. You know that scene in Office Space when they kick the shit out of the fax machine? We’ll, that pump has my name ALL over it.

Sadness Observed

Sometimes I want to stand in the middle of the crowded street and scream: "what is wrong with you people?!" at nobody in particular. We are surrounded by suffering and sadness, and the world seems to be falling apart more and more every day. It is true sadness for anyone, but having a child magnifies the fear and tragedy in many ways.

First, it is terrifying to think what the world will be like when Griffin is old enough to notice anything outside his family bubble. What will be left for him to see? Will peace and harmony be a distant memory - something his parents and grandparents tell him about but he never sees?

But more importantly than the despair is the hope I am filled with at every smile, giggle and joyful squeal I witness from a child. Mine and others. In one of those special moments when I'm laughing with my son, I want to hit the pause button and share it with every single person in the world who lives with hate, believes in oppression or ignores their responsibility to protect this Earth and humankind. I'd be willing to wager that we'd have a lot less violence and a lot more love if people took a moment every day to make a toddler smile or listen to the soft whimper of a sleeping newborn. 

The first time I realized the intensity of emotion and feeling for the outside world parenthood would infuse into my life was about halfway through my pregnancy. Greg and I were watching a National Geographic documentary on polar bears - similar to March of the Penguins but on polar bears - which ended with a series of pleas to save our planet and conserve our beautiful creation. The kicker was that the pleading was done by a group of young children, all sharing their concern for never having the chance to see the world the way previous generations have. Being a 'green' family, this hit close to home for Greg and I anyway. Before the credits began to roll, we were both in tears, agonizing over the tragic world into which we were bringing new life.

And that's just the start. We don't watch the local news - haven't for a long time - for the sole purpose of avoiding a daily dose of depression. But, it's becoming more and more difficult to turn a blind eye. Call me a bleeding heart, but since having a baby, all of the tragedies around me feel so personal. The death of a friend's too-young parent - a PARENT. I can relate in a completely new way now. Animal abuse and delinquent children - how do I shelter my son from exposure to this violence? Death after death in Iran, Pakistan, around the world - those boys and girls are someone's friend. They were once someone's BABY. It is gut wrenching and heart breaking in so many new ways now that I see the world through the eyes of a mother, and through the eyes of my son.

And yes, we have to focus on the good. Live life and move forward. There is no other option, and our children teach us the lesson that new beginnings happen every day and innocence still has it's place in this world. Despite this observation of society's tragedy, I am an optimist, and I spend most days thanking God for our many blessings. However, I do believe it is important to take some time to stop and think about the world we live in and the impact it will have on our babies if we don't take some serious action to conserve resources and preserve peace.