Category Archives: pee

Revenge pee

Things to Google:

Revenge Pee

And, of course, it is my son that leads me to Google things like this. The majority of knowledge I have gained from my son in the last 3 years is urine and feces related. Google is my best friend. It has helped me learn  lots of things, most of which are regarding how to remove odors and stains from various fabric-type materials.

For the last 3 weeks or so, a particular pattern has been developing. One which has, honestly, been rather hard to figure out. Periodically V will just pee. A sort of no-warning situation. Often times it’s as a result of a stressful situation, or a situation he just doesn’t approve of. Or, mostly, something he disapproves of.

Or we’d fight, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Through his shorts. Or, I’d say no, he’d cry and then pee on the floor. Sometimes he’d just run off to a corner of the livingroom, pretend to play with his toys and then announce “Mummy. I peed. Right der.”

*sigh*

But finally I made the connection. Revenge pee. Dude.

Telling one of my friends about my theory, she thought “Did you see if there is anything online? Probably there is a Mum that has dealt with it already…”

Well, I did learn a whole bunch of interesting stuff about people who take revenge on other people by peeing on their stuff. Animals too. Not peeing on animals, I mean. Just animals that revenge pee. That’s what you get when you Google ‘revenge pee’.

When, however, you Google ‘Children pee’ you get all sorts of shizzle. Info that, frankly, I have no interest in really reading as I am living the dream and am pretty sure that all Mum’s are doing the same things that I am. There honestly is not that many actual options.

Comfort (if it was indeed an accident) or reassure.

Obviously clean up is a MAJOR part of the operation.

As of yet, there is no punishment. It is so a total ‘f-you Mummy, let me have my own way!!’ that I pretty much cannot have any real reaction. Maybe an eyebrow raise. Oh, and a Mummy-face. One that I am still perfecting as it has a 50-50 response rate.

Today was a good day though. No revenge peeing. Plus V actively asking to use the potty. AND he pooped. TWICE. ON the potty.

Despite my total exhaustion and low levels of everything (Family health issues that I will not be discussing, except to say that there are some. They make me sad. And I am trying very hard to be adult about them), V filled that potty the m-f-ing up.

Which, I admit, in hind-sight type-wise sounds a little gross, but for real. We were super high-fiving each other and I did not have to clean up any poo from any non-toilet surface today.

Now I have totally lost my train of thought. Pretty sure it’s about pee. Probably poo too. It is my life, after all.

Anyways, any tips on surviving revenge peeing?

xoxo a.m.

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Bits

How do you name a penis?

Tricky question, eh?

Thursday night, as we started our bath-time washing procedure, we encountered ‘the area’ a few minutes in. Boy Territory is something I tread a little gingerly, as I am not that familiar with it. Apart from the obvious familiarity of being married to a man.

I am teaching V to scrub-a-dub himself and so I shout out random (boy) parts while I foam-pump soap into his palms and watch with delight while he hurries to find and cover them with suds (I am assuming that something is being cleaned just with soap touching it).

So of course we hit the usual…

Arms!

Fingers!

Toes!

Tummy!

And then I shout things like “Scrub scrub scrub!” And “Wash wash wash!”

And at some point those hands wandered down ‘There’ and a damp face makes a mischevious little grin at me.

And then? I shouted “Wash your….. weewee!!”

What WHAT?

It’s OK. I feel your shock. I was in a pinch and that’s what came out. And as soon as it left my mouth, I turned red. Even though there was no-one else around to see or hear what I just said, apart from Vince…. who was currently clutching those ‘bits’ and saying “Weeeeeee we. WeeeWeeeeeee! WeWe!”

Crap.

What did I just create.

And crap. What do you call those bits?!

I mean, I call them ‘bits’. To the general public that is. Not that it’s something that I am generally announcing to people. But when I am, that’s how I announce them.

Edward?! Where are you?! I need you for these situations! So get off your Fantasy football calculator thingy and come upstairs and clean your son’s penis!

… is what I would like to shout, but don’t. I just hold it all in. Like the proud British-Canadian that I am…

Well, tonight we had tub-time again. And Edward was in Philly and therefore was not around for assistance. But no matter, V got there before I could and started scrubbing away at various parts to much applauding, finally getting to the ‘bits and then looking up at me before he did anything.

Vince!! Wash your ‘peepee’!”

Ok, at least this was slightly better than ‘weewee’. Geez.

I really have no idea where to go with this one. I am thinking I might just stick to ‘bits’ and that suits my sensibilities just fine.

Any suggestions?

xoxo a.m.

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Regret-ish

You know how sometimes you immediately regret what you just did?

Like perhaps  talking about ‘male parts’ in a hardware store. Or letting your very small dog sleep with you in bed. Now that’s the only place he will sleep at night. Or letting said small dog bully you and your husband into not hugging or kissing in sight of that dog. He barks until we stop.

M has nicknamed him the ‘cockblocker’.

I am sure you have you list of regrets. I know there are more on my list, those were just a few to tease you with.

My recent regrets:

Regret #1

V’s introduction to the ability to make the toilet make items go ‘bye-bye’. What was I thinking!

Actually, what I was thinking was that I would try and get him more interested in the potty. I sit him on it naked after the bath (for 2 seconds and whisk him off before he gets squirmy). So I thought I would combine that with taking a little piece of toilet paper, crumpling it up  and flushing it ‘bye-bye!’. I might be the stupidest person in the world.

I might as well have taught him how to start the car.

Regret #2

We had a can of whipping cream in the fridge from Thanksgiving. Now I am a sucker for things like that. I have been known to stand in the open door of the fridge and fill my open mouth with it. Yum.

So, the other day while V was sitting in the fridge (just ignore that part of the sentence), I grabbed the can and squirted some in my mouth. He looked up at me with a curious expression.

Without even thinking, I bent down with the can. He immediately opened his mouth (just like a baby bird) and I squirted some whipping cream right in there.

The look of surprise was just priceless. Followed by a look of delight. Followed by a small moment of panic when I thought I heard M coming down the stairs. How can I explain V sitting in the fridge with a mouth full of whipped cream and me red-handed with the can?

I would never hear the end of it, just like I never hear the end of the time he caught me in my underwear, standing in front of the open freezer with a container of Cool-Whip and a spoon at about 6:30 in the morning in his parent’s apartment. That was 6 YEARS AGO! For the love of god!

Anyways, happily he did not appear.

V and I hung out in the fridge for a little while longer. A few more little squirts of whipped cream, several delighted and messy grins from my Little Man.

And now an unending fascination with the whipping cream can, its bright red lid and the bottom shelf in the fridge where the can lives.

Maybe I should move it? Nah… then he wouldn’t sit in the fridge anymore…

xoxo a.m.

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Normal life

ikea-blog

A wee excerpt from my normal life…

Taking the elevator from the top floor in Ikea, down to the bottom with my cousin. Oh, how do we love Ikea. So many things to think and plan about, meatballs to eat, lighting fixtures to drool over. It is a beautiful place for the female members of my family.

Let’s backtrack a little…. rewind back to the food court on the top floor, about 10 minutes earlier… focus in on our lovely Ikea meal we were having. Well, that C and I were having, as V was clearly not interested in having any part of it. This was  illustrated by the carrots and cheese that he spat out. Spat out with force, I might add. He got some serious distance. Where did this random ‘skill’ come from? No idea…(signs are pointing towards his father though…)

So, as we fought with the meal tray, dropped carrots all over the place, spat out some meatball, smeared things all over our very small 18 month-sized shirt….all of this heavy action was followed by a stealth-poop.

And by stealth-poop, I mean that there were none of the usual warning signs. No grunting, no red face, no nuttin’……

Just an unfortunate smell…. one that crept up on me. It took C a while to notice… and that is because she does not have a poop-machine at home and so doesn’t recognize the early aromas-slash-signs….

But when it hit her…. oh man. It really hit her.

By then we were already on our way to the ‘family’ change-room.

But. It was locked. Damn it!! My son’s poop-bottom is more important than yours!

So I headed into the main washroom which thankfully had a changing-station.

Oh, that poor ladies-room. It was quickly defiled the instant that my son’s pants came off. That movement was punctuated by C’s exclamation of  ‘Motherf’er! Jame. That. Is. Awful.”

It might have been, but honestly, my nostrils are immune to stank like that. And my eyeballs don’t even notice anymore.

The other ladies that exited stalls and washed their hands smiled at my commentary regarding Little Man’s stinky pants. His very stinky pants. And how nice that the changing table was situated so that his dirty little bottom faced the mirrors and was reflected down the washroom.

As I wiped, cleaned, wiped and wiped some more, ladies filed in and out. There were giggles. Some of them might have come from my cousin.

As I reached into my diaper bag and pulled out a stank-diaper bag (you know, one of those ‘green’ bags that you stuff your stink into when you are out in public so the trash doesn’t stink awfully?) and got ready to deposit the ‘deposit’ into it, my cousin exclaimed at its cleverness. Really, it is very clever.

Such a nice way to tidy up after a stinky bum.

The lady washing her hands at the sink chimed in “I use plastic bags to clean up my cat’s litter box. They are so handy.”

C: “But I bet yours aren’t Arm and Hammer”.

Bathroom Lady: “No. You are right. I just use regular plastic bags”. *laugh*

Jaime: “My bags come with a handy container to hook on your hand-bag”.

C: “Quite handy when you are at Ikea”

BL: “I don’t bring my cats with me to Ikea”.

*Silence*

And then we left the bathroom and headed down to the ground floor…

Just another normal day….

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Pee

IMG_6696

Unflattering picture of me covered in pee. Thanks Mike!!

Just a quickie about a lovely incident that happened this weekend.

A post gym incident. One that might involve baby bodily fluid(s).

Home from the gym, I puttered around for a little while. V was down for a nap, always the best time to get things done, right? To get a lot of things done. As maybe things as possible, in fact. So still in my gym clothes, I manic-cleaned and organized things. And then sat down for 2 minutes.

Right on cue, V began wailing, as he often does on waking up from his nap. Sometimes it is just heart-wrenching to hear. Why is he so upset? No idea. But he is. Very. About 75% of the time post-nap. I opened his bedroom door to find him sitting in the middle of his crib eyes shut, crying, tears everywhere.

I scooped him up, cuddled and made some shooshing noises and off we went to the kitchen to get a bottle. The crying did not stop, however.

If anything it got progressively loudly. Now this was unusual.

Bottle was pushed away with extra force and the motion was punctuated by a louder (if possible) and more upset sounding wail.

Oh my.

And unfortunately this sort of thing kind of makes me laugh, so laughing a bit, we head over to an armchair with bottle held hidden behind back. Perhaps we need more of a cosy cuddle, I think. And settle down with him by the living-room window, in the armchair. His little legs are tucked around my waist (on either side) and his arms are hugging me. We are face to face, torso to torso and he is still crying.

A lot of back patting and rubbing commences, as does sweet shushing and some discussions about how maybe we might want some bottle now? (the answer was no, by the way… quite firmly too).

I love holding him like this, even if he is crying, so despite that I am enjoying myself immensely.

And then I feel something. Something warm. I takes me a minute to realize what it is.

While the answer may be clear to some of you (knowing my child and his escapades), it wasn’t to me immediately. Reason being that for about 5 seconds there, I swear I was peeing on my own armchair. Really.

Actually, what was happening is that with the position that V and I were in, he was peeing on me, but it was aimed pretty much right where I would be doing the same thing. He was peeing on me where I pee. Which made it feel like I was peeing.

WHICH I WAS NOT.

And then he stopped crying.

Oh, and he was wearing a diaper. A diaper put on by his father. Might as well have been naked.

Up I got. Slowly. I was trying to not let pee drip everywhere. Yelling for M the whole time. While I pidgeon-toed walked to V’s bedroom with him clutched in my arms and ‘not my own pee’ dripping down my thighs, M cleaned the chair and then ran after me with the camera taking pictures of the 2 of us and laughing uncontrollably.

Bastard.

I hope sometimes that I am not the only one having this bodily fluid experiences. Please? And also, I hope that someone else also has a ridiculous husband like mine. I can’t possibly be the only one…

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Wet

wet-blog

Things to not do.

Do not, in your new motherhood-cockiness, undress your 13 month-old in his crib and let him play naked for a few minutes while the tub is filling.

It will lead to disaster, believe me.

I know you know where this is leading, so I won’t bore you with too many details.

V is always ecstatic to be naked. He likes to roll around his crib naked, lolling around on his back with his legs up in the air….. giggling the whole time. Inevitably those chubby little fingers find their way down to ‘the bits’. More giggling ensues… followed by a lot of stretching, pulling and tugging. And giggling

So I left him to his playing and giggling and went to go and check the tub. When I came back, he was standing up, one hand on the (gnawed within an inch of it’s life) crib rail and another clutched around his best friends. With a pleased and relaxed look on his face.

I had a sneaking suspicion as to what had happen. A suspicion that was quickly confirmed as my fingers encountered a warm puddle in the sheets.

*Sigh*

Never a dull moment over here!

M took V swiftly out of the crib and ran him over to the filled tub….. and as he ran, he turned and shouted over his shoulder “I can’t believe you thought that would be a good idea! Jame….. seriously. Changing table equals water-proof…”.

What was I thinking? I guess I was thinking that we hadn’t had any accidents yet, so I thought things were under control. Silly me.

I think at least one of these instances has to happen every week, otherwise M and I will grow too complacent. However, to be honest, they rarely seem to happen to him. Just me.

My life will be filled with pee and poop for the next several years. Eventually I will tire of posting….. not yet….but sometime soon.

It is still rather funny to me…

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