Tag Archives: 2 year olds


As a highly emotional (and carefully controlled) Cancer woman… (one, I might add, that is significantly sarcastic, wryly optimistic and short on patience for idiots)¬† It is with¬† regularity I notice that since having a baby I frequently breakdown into mini-emotional hurricanes.

They strike with no rhyme or reason. Ha! I lie! Mostly with reason.

And this weekend was no exception.

While V was trashing the upstairs, as you do when you are 2 years old and make multiple conflicting decisions in 3 seconds flat. And then cry when you don’t get your way (and which way would that be? And rightfully I am endlessly confused).

Anyways, he dragged out the diaper bag we took to Canada last June and emptied it. Not knowing there was anything to empty, I was surprised at the things he found.

1) Rather a lot of lip gloss. So that’s where it all went! I knew I had more!

2) 2 little baby utensils, one spoon and one fork. Barely used. I remember buying them for the trip, actually.

Third and finally, one bib. One little, itty bitty bib.

Whose neck would that bib even fit now? Not my child, that’s for sure. My child doesn’t wear bibs and hasn’t for a year. Since he learned to remove them. Plus he has a giant neck.

This bib was so small, I think it might have been about 1/4 of the fabric size of V’s current T-Shirt. And the velcro enclosure looked like it would surround a banana. Who has a neck the size of a banana?!

Oh. Perhaps babies.

And so last night I found it again. It went through the wash and I came across it as I was hanging V’s giant 3-T shirts up in his closet.

I picked it up, snuggled it. V read himself a story. I sniffed it. V played ‘Look and Find’ with an Elmo book. I used it to wipe up a few sad little tears that trickled down my cheek. V told me “Mummy, read book! Look at that!”. I folded it and put it up on the top shelf of his closet, to get tucked away with the other clothing he has outgrown.

I think of all the things I have put up on that shelf, that might have made my womb ache the most.

I was telling Edward about my bib encounter after V was down for the night. “Remember this?” he said while he made a cradling gesture with his arms and rocked them back and forth.

“Nope”, and then had to immediately fight back the tears. Because I can barely remember when he was that small. Each memory overrides the previous, until those memories of my wee one are faint and hard to hold onto.

However, all of those overriding memories are each, in themselves, way more awesome.

From a chubby little baby with frog-legs to a curly haired, blond, determined and extremely silly 2 year old, it just gets better and better.

Todays memory override?

Vincent picking up a banana and saying to it “Oh, banana! Nummy!” and then quickly putting it up to his ear and saying, naturally, “Hello? Hi Mummy!” while looking right at me. And then giggling.

Oh yes. This is clearly a product of Edward and I.

xoxo a.m.

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Do you even want to read more about this? Since it’s all we are living and breathing over here, too bad. You have too. Well, I mean, I am going to write about it and hopefully you will honour my blog with your presence?

Last night was another disaster sleep-wise. It was 3:30 this time that we woke up to “Mummy! Muuuuuuummmy! Daddy! Daddy too, Daddy tooooooo!”

And so Daddy went and got the wee man who had an annoying amount of energy. We got all cosy in bed, all snuggled up and then? There was an announcement.


And wet he was. And very very wet. And why? Well some smart person had put him to bed in training pants that clearly were not designed for the amount of pee that comes out of my child. And also they are designed to let them feel the wet. So they can acknowledge the wet and vocalize it.

I think I didn’t realize the scope of the potty training. It’s not just about the potty. And the pee.

One needs to understand the potty training pants. And I guess there is also the option of not understanding the pants and letting things ‘hang loose’ and be prepared to deal with the consequences. But since it’s early days, to be honest I am not sure if either of us are ready for that. We need to be eased in. As eased in as we can.

So we have a ton of paraphernalia.

We have wipes for the potty. We have a new potty seat (that I injured myself on while using a pair of scissors as a screwdriver last night to make adjustments so it would fit the toilet). ..(ps: I have a Toy Story band-aid on my finger right now).

We have a huge assortment of ‘Big boy pants’.

Ones with Diego. Ones with Woody and Buzz. And then some others with Woody and Buzz.

And some cloth briefs to go over those if need be.

Last nights debacle involved non-night time potty training pants. Plus diaper rash. So in the middle of the early morning, I changed his pants. Dude.

Apparently I am a push-over as V demanded ‘big boy pants’ and I complied. However, he will let Daddy put a diaper on him. Jaime is a push-over when it comes to her son. Thank god we are not famous or someone would for sure kidnap him and demand a huge hostage amount (#pushover).

Anyways. I went on my lunch break and got some ‘night-time strength’ pull-ups.

I was apparently doing things totally out of step. I should have bought them all in one fell swoop. I think I was just overwhelmed. And post-diaper-a-thon, I feel like there needs to be some clues for us clueless parents. Those first steps to training are hard ones. It feels like starting over. Right over. Like suddenly you are on 2 1/2 hour sleep intervals.

And this time? It confuses both of you, as they are old enough to be confused too.

Ok, so tonight? V is wearing a gorgeous pair of night-time pull-ups, or ‘Big boy pants’ as we refer to them (since I have accidentally called them ‘panties’ about a million times. And have gotten a million dirty looks from the Big M everytime I slip up).

And I confess that I had this actual conversation:

“I bought V Big Boy panties!!”

“Jame, um, they are not called that.”

And then we both drew a blank. I don’t think I have ever actually said the word ‘briefs’ in my life.And then M choked out “Briefs, call them briefs”.

I looked at him like he was a crazy person. Oh, wait. He is.

Briefs, not panties. Note to self…

xoxo a.m.

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