And Baby Makes Three

Talking in the Dark

Last night, after another summer evening wherein my darling girl didn't want to go to bed, we lay side by side on her twin bed and talked.  The things she tells me are often a conglomeration of fact and fiction.  I have to take a moment to sift through what she says for the nugget of gold -- her true feelings and thoughts.  It's a relief to be able to calm down after arguing and articulate our age-old conflict: she doesn't want to go to bed but I want her to do so.  I can't blame her -- it's hot, it's still light out, and there are a million things she'd like to stay up and do.  But she really does need sufficient sleep.  When she doesn't get it, she's crabby and impatient.  When she does, she wakes up a sweet, snuggly, smiling child.  Hence my motivation to enforce a reasonable bedtime. 

I truly hope we'll always be able to communicate with each other and "make up" even when we don't agree.  In G's frustrated comments of, "I'm not going to be your best friend," usually when I've put her in a time out, I can almost hear her as a teenager saying, "I hate you!" before slamming her bedroom door.

How could she?

I'm not sure what made me think of this today, but out of the blue I recalled an incident from over four years ago that I overheard while in labor.  We could overhear the anguish of a very young-sounding young woman, probably a teenager.  With her was, presumably, her mother, who, instead of comforting her, chose that as her moment to say, "Well, I guess you shouldn't have gotten yourself into this situation." 

If I were ever in that mother's position with my own daughter, I'm sure I would be heartbroken that her choice to become sexually active, presumably without birth control, would be changing her life trajectory in ways I would never have wished for her.  However, when someone is in the throes of giving birth, you need to be supportive or get out.  Seriously. 

Today I found myself wondering what happened to that young woman, her baby, and her relationship with her mother. 

Testing, Testing, One, Two, Three

I felt angry at my husband this morning as he stayed in bed until the last possible moment.  I understand the temptation, but I need to get ready for work and G. needs attention and breakfast.  I shouldn't have to nag him, like the mother of a teenager, to please get out of bed.

Once it gets cold outside, I don't want to leave and I envy him for being able to stay home.  In some ways it's harder to leave G. to go to work now than it was when she was a baby.  My homecoming at the end of the day isn't always met by her running into my arms.  Sometimes she has to be coaxed to come to me, either because she's in the middle of something or she's at the point in the day where she's not going to do anything anyone else wants without coercion.  When she finally does and we can relax into a giant hug, I feel like I'm really home. 

The evenings are hard because she's already tired, we're all hungry, and she peppers me with all the things she'd like us to do together while I try to pull together a quick, but somewhat nutritious dinner. I almost just wrote that I, too, would like to play this, that, or the other thing, but I really just want to eat dinner, get her into her jammies, snuggle her, read stories to her, and then have a little time to relax before my own bedtime.

I also know that it's no picnic being home all day, either.  We love her irrevocably, insatiably, insanely.  But every day is a test we must do our best not to fail. 

The test is sometimes oral/verbal in nature: "Mama, can I have a marshmallow for breakfast,"  says the little blond cherub in the Hello Kitty pajamas, while smiling lovingly at you.  The right answer is, of course, you cannot have a marshmallow for breakfast.  Marshmallows can make for a delicious snack, and you can have one later today, but we need to eat healthier things for breakfast. 

Sometimes the test is physical: When G. doesn't like something we tell her to do (or not do), especially at the end of the day when she's tired, she will make a grunting noise (oh, so everlastingly charming, this) and kick, slap, or even punch me.  This is usually like being kicked by a tiny puppy and doesn't hurt, but obviously can't be tolerated.  I usually try to move away from her if I see this coming, telling her that there will be time out if she does this.  But almost every evening I end up putting her in one or more time outs while I'm trying to make dinner.  It's very frustrating.  Sometimes if she has eaten already, I just forgo my own dinner until I have her in bed so I can give her the one-on-one attention she craves, but I'm not quite as loving as I could be if my blood sugar wasn't low.

And yet, and yet. . . she just turned three and half.  Two years from now she will be in her third month of kindergarten and she will spend more of her day with people we scarcely know than with us.  As we try to navigate the parenting tests of this age, we must make sure we are taking pictures, doing fun things together as a family, and making memories. 

This morning we went into the bathroom, which has a window that looks out onto the back yard.  I lifted her up to show her that there was a dusting of snow on the ground.  She got so excited.  "After we go to the bathroom, I'm going to put on my hat and mittens and coat and go out in the snow!  Where are my boots?"

Oops, didn't pass the materiels management test question of the day -- I need to get her new boots, asap! 

A Moment of Revelation, Preserved in a Test Stick

"I didn’t use many pregnancy tests myself. But for three years running, I did hope like crazy that I would have reason to need one. And then one day, long after I’d all but given up, a tiny hieroglyphic materialized in one of those little windows. It was like the best-ever fortune fluttering from a Chinese cookie. What I held was no longer a test, it was a trophy. And it’s no wonder I still can’t toss it out." [A Moment of Revelation, Preserved in a Test Stick - New York Times]

Wool-gathering or Balkiness

"Mess is robust and adaptable, like Mr. Schwarzenegger's open calendar, as opposed to brittle, like a parent's rigid schedule that doesn't allow for a small child's wool-gathering or balkiness. . ."  [NY Times]

This quote is from a New York Times article about the concept of "mess" in one's life, but the wording of this sentence struck me as unfair. . . If you have a toddler in your life, no amount of flexibility in your schedule will be able to accommodate the child's whims because of their unpredictability.  We parents try desperately to look for patterns so we can adapt to the child's needs, but the next day or the next week or the next hour, their preference will change.   Also,  very few people have a life that doesn't, occasionally, mean that you have to abide by someone's else's available or scheduled time -- a family party or get-together, an appointment for a photo sitting, a doctor's appointment.  Sometimes, as a parent, you have to say, "We really have to leave now to be there on time." 

Miss G. at 2.5 -- Beautiful, Frustrating, Brilliant Little Curly-headed Diva

Oh, she is cute, this daughter of mine.  When she is dressed for bed in her footed sleeper, her blonde hair curling around her face, smiling or laughing, she is utterly, irresistably beautiful and charming.  Except when she isn't.

Roars of frustration erupt from her when she can't accomplish a task she feels she should've mastered already. "I can't do it!"  Demands emit from her rosebud mouth -- "Mama!  (with strong emphasis on the first syllable)  Come here!"  She'll go from smiling to heart-wrenching sobs (because it is tragic that her Mom wants to put her to bed).  She is inconsistent, asking for one food item, but scorning it when you deliver it to her.  She has the skills to drink from a regular cup, but you don't dare give her one because one of her greatest joys is to upend cups, glasses, cans, and bottles whenever she can get her hands on one.  She can eat with forks and spoons, but often opts for her hands or even putting her bowl of corn or peas to her lips and flipping it up.  You remind her to take smaller amounts of food on her spoon and she does the exact opposite.

But.  This is the same child who says, "I like your beautiful hair, Mama." (when you may not have even brushed it yet that day).  "I'm so glad to see you."  "I love you."  "Mama, play with me!"  She knows how to say grace at the table and reminds us if we forget.  She snuggles next to me for our storytime every night and holds a lock of my hair in her hand sleepily, as she has done since she was a baby. 

She is incredibly verbal -- the other morning I said, "How did you sleep, sweetie," and I swear she said, "I slept very well, Mama" and may have even said "thank you" at the end. 

She adores Thomas the Tank Engine on PBS and is trying to learn all the words to the theme song.  It's a nice way to distract her if she's getting cranky -- just start singing, "They're two, they're four, they're six, they're eight, shunting trucks and hauling freight. . ."

She loves to color with crayons and colored pencils (and occasionally washable markers, although the last time she used them she decorated her clothing profusely so I'm going to keep them for when she's a little older). 

She remembers people better, now.  She often mentions her relatives that live far away.

She did a monologue on the cell phone for her paternal grandparents a couple of weeks ago, giving them a guided tour of the house and her toys.  For her bedroom she said, "This is my diaper-changing room." She went on and on and on, talking, waving her free hand -- I wish we'd captured it on videotape.

We're still working on the potty-training.  She's done "number one" on the toilet many times and really likes the little stepstool she can use to climb on the toilet or stand at the sink to wash her hands.  She has never done "number two" on the toilet.  She understands the concept, I think, and will often (but not always) tell us when she's poopy.  We'll get there. 

It's really an adorable age and we're trying to enjoy every age she is at because it won't come again.  However, we do look forward to some leavening of the roller coaster moods of two and a half.

Married and Single Parents Spending More Time With Children

"While married mothers and married fathers were approaching “gender equality,” measured by total hours of work, the researchers found stark differences among women. These disparities suggest why working mothers often feel hurried and harried.  Over all, the researchers said, employed mothers have less free time and “far greater total workloads than stay-at-home mothers.” The workweek for an employed mother averages 71 hours, almost equally divided between paid and unpaid work, compared with a workweek averaging 52 hours for mothers who are not employed outside the home. On average, the researchers said, employed mothers get somewhat less sleep and watch less television than mothers who are not employed, and they also spend less time with their husbands." [NY Times]

A Perfect Day

I was thinking about this last night.  At this exact point in my life, without leaving town, without out-of-town friends or family visiting, how would I choose to spend a perfect day?

I'd wake up and get out of bed when I was no longer tired.  My husband would have gotten up with my daughter, fed her breakfast, and cleaned up the kitchen.  I'd pad out to the living room in my jammies and kiss them both.  Then I'd eat something lovely for breakfast. . . let's see. . . a strawberry banana smoothie along with a turkey bacon and swiss on whole wheat.  I'd check my email, play with some digital photos, post some to Flickr or my photo blog.  (During this leisurely time, my daughter would be content to play with her toys or color.)  I'd join husband and daughter for a family cuddle/tickle session with lots of kisses and giggles.  Then I'd take a book back to bed and read until lunchtime.  We'd all eat lunch together and then my daughter would take a long nap in her crib.  My husband and I might work out in the yard together and talk.  Then he would take my daughter to the playground and I would have the house to myself. I'd putter in this room and that, having the ability to open all the doors and cupboards if needed without worrying about G's safety (or what she'd decide to do with various objects!).  I might call my sisters and my two closest female friends to catch up.  We'd go out to eat an early dinner, so I wouldn't have to cook.  We'd play in the yard with G. and after her bath and story time, she'd go to bed without complaint.  Husband and I would relax together and watch a movie and enjoy a decadent dessert.

Yes, this is a dream!

See, I don't want darling husband and daughter to just leave me for a whole day.  I want to be near them, but have some freedom to just do what I want, just for one day. Or, you know, every Saturday.  :-)

One Hundred Six Pounds

Confession: We own a television and sometimes my daughter watches it.  I feel as if I should be wearing dark glasses and using a device to disguise my voice as I type this. 

I credit Sesame Street for my little girl's expanding vocabulary and knowledge of the world.  I have no qualms about PBS programming.  What I have to be careful of are the things I might have on for a few minutes in the evening before she goes to bed. 

I watched that "reality" show called The Biggest Loser -- if you haven't seen it, families or couples or groups of friends compete against another team to see who can lose the most weight.  The name of the show is regrettable and the episodes themselves are padded with a lot of dramatic music and commercials, but the concept of changing your lifestyle through diet and exercise to achieve better health is a good one.  Anyway, my daughter saw part of this show.  A big deal is made out of the weigh-ins.  The people are weighed on a gigantic scale and much emotion is shown about the weight lost. 

My little girl now stands on the scale in our bathroom and announces, "One hundred six pounds!"  What she picked up from the show is that what you weigh is a big deal.  Ouch.  I think I'll do my best to keep the TV off in the evening until she's older so I can explain things to her.  Not that one's weight isn't important for good health, but the last thing I want to imprint on my tiny daughter is any kind of obsession in that arena.

Night, Interrupted

I will flesh this post out more later, but wanted to get a few initial bullet points down while they were still on my mind.

• Difficulty of maintaining a set schedule
• G. awake at 2:30 and wouldn't go back to sleep -- crying the "I'm really mad at you" cry she's adopted lately when I tried to lay her down and cover her with her blankets
• "Want da room" - "Want Daddy" -- she wanted to come in with us (as we have caved in and done a little too often lately)  She's at the age where you are setting precedent (reminds me of the law).  If you do something once, expect your child to ask for it again.
• Finally thought she was asleep, got back in my own bed, arranged the blankets, etc., only to hear a few minutes later: "I miss 'oo, Mama." from across the hall.  This time when I went back in, she gave a very lengthy soliloquy, worthy of Shakespeare, mixing in words I could understand with ones I couldn't.  It was like she was telling her life story or something.  Would have been more interesting if it wasn't at 3:00 a.m.
• Ended up bunking down on the floor next to the crib, covering myself with stray baby blankets.  She finally fell asleep and I think I drowsed.  It was 4:something when I got back to my own bed again. 
• This morning when I asked my husband how much of the shenanigans he heard, he said: "She cried, right?"  Yeah, babe, that's all that happened.