Recently, Blythe has discovered that she doesn’t have to do a damn thing I ask her to, if she doesn’t feel like it. Or anyway, she doesn’t have to do it willingly. Or quietly.
Car seats are for suckers! So are booster seats, bibs, baths, breakfasts, lunches, dinners, diapers, pants, shirts, pajamas, clean hands, clean hineys, socks, shoes (unless she decides it’s time to go), sitting on my lap, teeth brushing, nose wiping and any other thing that doesn’t interest her at the moment.
What I want to know is, which one of you clued her in? She was a perfectly compliant child until just a couple of weeks ago, and now it takes me half an hour just to get her dressed in the morning. Don’t mind those bruises on her knees, lady from CPS, that’s just where I have to pin her down with my elbow to get a diaper on. You try it, and see if an elbow doesn’t come into play.
The hardest part for me is that half the time, she’s laughing. Have you ever tried to keep a straight, stern face while a 17 month old is giggling up in your grill? It’s not so easy. Occasionally I lose control for a second and let loose a smile, which only serves to encourage her behavior. Letting your kid see a crack in your armor is a death sentence when trying to assert your (ever dwindling) authority.
Blythe has also starting biting and pinching when she doesn’t get her way (mostly with her sister, unfortunately), which leads to some alone time in her room, which leads to a meltdown of epic proportions. Oh freaking hell, the terrible twos came early.
Send lots of wine. I’m in for a long winter.
Category: Kids
Categories
Laughter Trumps Tears
Instead of writing about how those two mommies at Alison’s gymnastics class were nasty and rude to me, again;
Instead of blogging about how both of my kids finally, after 17 months, slept through the night for two consecutive nights, only to follow it up by waking up every night since, one of them for hours;
Instead of telling you all how my sweet baby girl has suddenly become a tiny terrorizer;
Instead of focusing on how tired and frustrated I am;
Instead of even thinking about how messy my house is;
I’m going to talk about what made me laugh out loud today.
I got Blythe out of her crib this morning, and she went out to the living room, calling, “Dad-dee! Dad-dee!”. This one’s a daddy’s girl, I’m telling you. She can never get enough of that man.
Next she ran into our bedroom and called, “Ba-abe! Ba-abe!” And is it scary to anyone else that my 17 month old kid knows mommy calls daddy “babe” in the bedroom?
Having no luck there, Blythe ran to the office, where she called out, “Jem-mee! Jem-mee!”. Who knew she notice that at work, he’s “Jeremy”, not “daddy” or “babe”? Not me, although I think maybe I need to stop underestimating her powers of observation.
Having run out of names and places to try, she turned her face toward me with a hilarious look I can hardly describe. Eyebrows up, lips pursed, cheeks puffed out, she said, “Gah mo-nin? Gah Mohhhhh-nin, Jem-mee?” in this exhasperated little voice. Clearly, the child needed to say good morning to her father.
Through my laughter I told her he must have gone outside. She shrugged her shoulders, ran for the fridge and said, “Juice? Juice, pease?”.
Because, everyone knows – if you can’t find your daddy, juice is a perfectly logical substitute.
Categories
Her Independent Streak
Blythe has always been the type of baby who likes to have alone time. Well, other than those few weeks, early on, when she wanted to be nursed 24 hours a day. But other than that – she likes a little space to do her own thing. To explore the world around her. She was so obviously proud of herself, all I could do was laugh. And then clean like a maniac.
To march to the beat of her own imaginary drummer.
To figure out what this world has to offer.
So today, when Blythe left me alone to go play in her room, I picked up a magazine and settled in on the couch. I heard her turn on her music, and smiled to myself as I pictured her dancing in there.
After about ten minutes, I snuck around the corner to see what cuteness I might catch a glimpse of. But Blythe wasn’t spinning circles in the middle of the room, as I expected.
Instead, she was on her knees on the toddler futon where we change her diaper. It looked like she had been playing with her diapers and wipes, and was now moving on to her toothbrush drawer.
I moved toward her, but was almost bowled over by the stench emanating from her. She had actually been busy dropping a stinkin’ load in her pants, so I picked up my pace, saying, “Blythe, do you have a stinky bottom?”.
It was when she turned toward me, answering, “Poo-poo, hoo-wee!” that I noticed her skirt was askew. The closer I got, the more I realized that not only was Blythe’s skirt half off, so was her diaper.
And then the realization hit me: my 16 month old had attempted to change her own poopy diaper. Unfortunately, she was unable to get the skirt or the diaper completely off. So she just wiped at pretty much nothing and smeared poop all over… well, everything, as she rolled around on the futon.
I’ve been a little down lately, and sluggish in general. Well, it’s hard to say “lately” when it’s actually my general state of being, with a few energetic days thrown in here and there. But I’m working on it.
Anyway, I noticed I lost an email subscriber the other day and it made me wonder, Has my general attitude changed the feel of my blog? I think maybe. Erm, probably. I’m proud of the introspective posts I’ve written, but it’s time to lighten things up a bit.
So, here are a few of the things that have made me belly laugh lately. A bit of a warning: most of them have to do with poop or boobs. Apparently, I find them really funny. Who knew?
* We were leaving my mom’s house and she was buckling Alison into her car seat. Alison suddenly said, in a very sing-songy voice, “I just pooted in your fa-ace!” (obnoxious, I know). And my mom sung back, “My face wasn’t near your bu-utt!”. Something about a 58 year old woman singing that had me in stitches.
* Blythe is very interested in going on the potty like the rest of us. She’s actually gone pee a few times, but it’s very hit or miss. The other night I noticed she was making her “poop face” and got her on the potty lickety-split.
She wasn’t interested, and wandered off. I got distracted by running the bath and before I knew it, she came back with a big dingle berry hanging off of her rear end. Which was made even funnier by her doing a little booty-shake dance next to the tub.
As I was wiping her up, I heard Alison yell from the kitchen, “Ew, Mom! Someone pooped on the floor!” which I subsequently had to clean up, laughing all the while.
* I was having tummy troubles earlier this week, which were accompanied by some frequent bathroom visits. On the way home from picking Alison up from school, I suddenly had to GO. I got Alison out of the car and she stepped out of my way, saying, “You go ahead of me mom, I don’t want you to have an accident in your pants”. So thoughtful, that girl.
* Alison and Blythe discovered a Motown Love Songs CD and have fallen in love with it. Their favorite is “Stop in The Name of Love”, which they now dance to, nightly, after the bath – in the nude, most of the time. They spin and spin around until they collapse on the floor, in fits of giggles. And then they do it all over again.
* One morning Blythe woke up, crying, just as I was getting out of the shower. I rushed in there to get her, and as soon as she saw me she stopped crying and said, “BOOBIE!”. She hadn’t seen a breast since she stopped nursing in July, so I was kind of curious what she was going to do when I picked her up. She gently grabbed one nipple between her thumb and forefinger, made a face like she was straining and said, “OW-CH!”. Then she did it with the other one. Can you tell we have a history of her pinching and biting me while nursing?
* On the topic of boobs, she and my mom were playing the other day and my mom leaned over her to get a toy. And Blythe bit her – right on the boob. What can I say? She’s teething, and apparently a (clothed) boob near her face looked like a teething ring.
* And one more boob reference, alright? This post by Redneck Mommy – hilarious. But learn from my mistake – don’t scroll down while your 4-year-old is looking over your shoulder. There WILL be questions, and it’s hard to answer them appropriately while you’re laughing.
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What made you laugh this week?
Prior to Blythe’s diagnosis of being allergic to corn and egg, I was blissfully ignorant of the plight of the food allergic. Sure, I felt sympathy for all the label reading going on. But true empathy is only possible, I think, when you take on the responsibility of caring for a food allergic child.
To that end, I would love to share this article published in Family Magazine of Washington, and forwarded to me by the KFA Organization (KFA= Kids with Food Allergies). The article, titled Attack of the Killer Peanut Butter Sandwiches, focuses on peanuts in the lunchroom, but gives a great overall feel for what life is like for a food allergic child. Go read it – if you’re a parent, I promise you’ll be glad you did.
The more experience I gain having a child with food allergies, the more worried I get about her future. Right now, at 15 months, I control not only what Blythe eats but the environments in which she spends her time. I know for a fact that there are no allergens lurking around my home or that of my mother, where Blythe goes while I work.
But as she gets older, Blythe will be exposed to more people, places and things. That is a fact of life. The preschool she will eventually attend is already well aware of her allergies, and has some great policies in force to help us cope with them. But again, that is a very controlled environment, where I am confident she will be diligently watched every time food is present. I am also quite pleased with how meticulous they are about cleanliness – because we all know kids and crumbs go hand in hand.
However. The future holds elementary school, parties, play dates at other people’s homes and even airline travel and hotel stays, where I will have no idea what life-threatening allergens are hiding on the bed where she sleeps. After all, Blythe will only fit in the pack-n-play for so long.
It is with trepidation that I look forward, and it saddens me. Finally, I have a child who is happy to do things without my constant presence, and yet I cannot rest if she is not with me for fear of the phone call I might get.
No one wants that phone call – no mother deserves it.