Learning curve, oh and poop

All of Eleanor’s poop looks just like this. Seriously.

 

So the other day I literally caught poop in my hand. Despite being the mother of two, this was a first time experience for me. Obviously I’ve been pooped on, thrown up on, peed on, had things throw at me, been covered in projectile vomit repeatedly… You know, the usual badges of honour that us parents wear.

But this was, honestly, a first.

Sometimes I think that I can communicate with my baby. She seems to understand me when I babble things like ‘Who’s a pretty girl? You are! Are you pretty? You ARE! Who loves Mummy? YOU DO! Who’s my sweetie pie? YOU ARE!!!!’

(Also, I have to admit…. It is slightly humbling to hear your older child talk to your younger child in the baby voice you use. It makes him look slightly psycho. He’s four. And so that would make me…??? Old and more psychotic. Great.)

She smiles a lot while I say these (and even more ridiculous) things. So clearly we are communicating. And so when I ask her things like ‘Please don’t poop on me. Or pee. Please don’t poop or pee on me.’ as I am carrying her to the bath, I feel optimistic. Since we’ve been ‘communicating’, we’ve have no issues. 2 weeks ago, I started feeding her cereal and since then, things are a little more up in the air. Bowel movements are a bit up in the air these days….

Ie: Feed cereal. Poop it out instantaneously. Feed peas. Poop out immediately.

So I guess my plan of ‘feed dinner, immediately take a bath after’ probably was not the most well thought out plan I’ve had in recent weeks. Other plans that are equally bad? Eating hard boiled eggs bought at 7-11 for breakfast, forget to wash hands and lick fingers that are covered in dry formula and accidentally walk through puddle that is actually ‘garbage water’ (as in that liquid that leaks out of a dumpster).

Naked bottom holding with long distance walking is for sure up with these other special plans. And also, total potential Olympic fodder for future games.

Anyways, blah blah blah she pooped in my hand. Then we both took a bath and I sanitized my hand.

Parenting: a constant learning curve.

xoxo am

 

Please save us from poo…

Yup, that's pretty much how I felt about it too...

So yesterday morning started off on a good note. It was the last day of Spring Break for Edward and we had a family day planned. Vince was not going to daycare and we were all going to try and sleep just a little later than we normally do, you know, for fun.

Edward and I woke up to Eleanor’s noisy morning cries and I busied myself with feeding her. Edward interjected just before I got started with “Did you want me to feed her and you handle Vince? Or what’s the easiest for you?’ (Bless him, he’s trying to help). I shook my head no and indicated that I would prefer him to handle Vince. Total non-verbal communication-style. Yup, that’s how good our marriage is. I grunt and he translates that to complete sentences and vice versa…

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.

Dirty pants

Girls? Lets clean these up all sparkling!!

My Mum has always been rather good about surprising me with knowledge, insight and random hands-on examples just when I didn’t think I needed it. One of the things that I love about her.

One that really sticks in my mind is the day after Vincent was born. There I was, extremely sore (don’t worry, I won’t get into any detail about that. You, for sure, don’t want to hear it and I don’t want to relive it) and just kind of… for lack of a better word…stumped.

The first time was about poop. Vincent was hanging out in my little private room, Mum was there and I think the last time I had changed a diaper might have been when my sister was little. And that’s a BIG ‘might’. I just honestly don’t remember.

And there he was, with a dirty bum and me kind of going “Um. So I guess I just… umm…take this off?” I had no idea what I was doing. AND it was meconium, which is the poop equivalent of tar. I dabbed at it gently, not wanting to hurt my 1 day old baby.

Mum practically pushed me out of the way and efficiently and properly cleaned that little bum until it looked like a freshly mopped floor. It sparkled.

Thanks Mummy.

So this past visit, while lovely, has a little star-mark next to Mum’s latest nugget of wisdom. Which just happens to be about poop too. Surprise!

V came home from school with a teeny bag containing on pair of dirty underwear. While practically potty-trained, he does tend to hold ‘it’ until he gets home. And surprises us with the gift of poo a short while after we get home.

Tonight, I even thought I would derail the poo-pants by giving him a stat-bath and then leaving him naked for the rest of the evening. And as a result? There was not only no poo, but he peed on the potty all night long and resisted all attempts to sit on it. Or discuss poo. Or poo.

*gah!*

Pretty much I am resigned to an awful awakening tomorrow.

Back to my Mum… She taught me this nice little trick.

Have pants with poop on them? No worries!! Just wash them out IN THE TOILET.

At first, I was just like ‘Huh. Right. I’ll just try that when you are not around.’

And then on of the days she was here, there was an incident and she just (pardon me Mummy and my language) balls-out swept those dirty pants out of my hands and proceeded to scrub them out in the potty. WITH HER BARE HANDS.

I watched on in awe…

What else could you really watch with??

And then I got a mini-lecture about how to clean dirty pants in the potty, how this is the best way, how it was done in the 70’s with cloth diapers and how it was a great way to deal with poop-underwear.

So, this past weekend, I thought I would deal with the problem as my mother did (does) etc. And so, Sunday, that is how Edward caught me. Sitting on a wee stool (ha!), in front of a potty, scrubbing 2 sets of pants (or underwear, whatever you want to call them) in the toilet bowl.

I think he was coming up to ask me a question. Upon seeing the ‘situation’, he back right out, picked up Vince and took him straight to the tent… The tent being located in one of our upstairs bedrooms, filled with V’s toys courtesy of V’s Grampa.

Meanwhile, I gagged away, as I scrubbed out the poop out of those little pants. Man, was I ever trying. I WILL not throw these pants out. I WILL keep them!! I WILL scrub them until you can see no streak marks!

And then 2 days later, my resolve failed me after a particularly messy, wet and just plain ol’ gross ‘deposit’.

I threw away 2 pairs of underwear because I could not deal with the ‘package’. I am a wimp. Just in the last 3 days. I lasted that long. But honestly, it was a wee bit of a fail. Vince announced the arrival and, once I pulled down his pants to deal with it, well, I just couldn’t.

No amount of swishing them around in the potty would be happening. None would be happening, actually. I looked at them, removed them and put them in the Diaper Genie. Kind of hoping, actually, that the throwing out of his most favorite underwears would be some sort of violation and he would suddenly feel compelled to go to the potty from now on…

And when that didn’t happen the second time, I felt a bit cheated. And sort of like I had had a fecal-chastisement. A kind of “Oh you thought so, did you? Well, think again!”

Lord is potty-training ever frustrating. Especially with all of these little curves that get tossed at you. It’s always one thing or another, both literally and figuratively speaking.

Please, lets all pray that its nearing it’s end… You know, ‘end’… Ha!!

xoxo a.m

Bum-bum

Conversations with Vincent’s teachers:

And then a little back story so it all makes sense.

So this month started off a hard potty push. Did you know it was February? Well, it is and the potty storm starts now.

Yesterday I was instructed to bring more long pants, underwear and another pack of pull-ups. And to prepare myself for the fact that he will be in underwear only for half the day, to see how he does and to help make him aware of how it actually feels.

I haven’t had time to do that thing that Mummies with freetime do in magazines when they let their kids run naked and just pee freely so they can ‘feel’ it. Damn you Mums with free time!

So we are letting him start with a half day in underwear and then hopefully things will just go from there.

Which is where they were today. He was in diapers this morning and briefs this afternoon. Those briefs got soaked about 30 minutes before I picked him up and he wanted nothing to do with them. Or cleaning up.

“Ms Bellysol, my bum-bum get a wet. You change it? My bum-bum?” he told them.

“Your bum-bum?! Who told you it was your bum-bum?, said Ms Belloysol.

“My  Mummy told a me dis my bumbum,” he said solemnly.

And then his teachers apparently laughed at me. They had never heard that expression before. It made me feel very Canadian. Not that that is what we all go around saying but… well, isn’t it that what you call it when you are 2? In Canada?

Am I Robin Sparkling myself?

Anyways, V’s ‘bumbum’ got ‘a wet’, he got changed and then that was the end of day one of serious, hardcore, totally bad-ass potty training…

xoxo a.m.

Hurray for urine

Let me just say that my day was a huge poop. A giant turd. This does not, in any way, mean it was enjoyable or felt relieving.

Ugh. It was an awful day.

But then I picked up V. And man was he happy to see me.

“Dis MY Mummy,” he announced to his teachers that I see every day. I said ‘hi’, we chatted.

What followed with them was a huge conversation regarding potty-training and how it’s going to be super enforced as of February. Which is tomorrow, in case you were wondering. I packed a special pack of Thomas the Tank Engine underwear this evening and am thinking this might be the magic key.

In case you wanted to know more about my life, I will be doing a lot of laundry these next few months and will become immune to the smell of urine.

So buoyed by that chat with the teachers, we headed upstairs for a bath and some potty time. And we were on the potty for quite a while. We read two books about going potty. V told me repeatedly “Mummy!! I did it!!!” He did nothing. Nothing went in there, despite him telling me repeatedly that he ‘did it’. Whatever it was. Neither of those things were in there.

Imagine. V, naked, sitting on the potty. The tub full of bubbles next to us, just waiting.

Little legs kicking back and forth, he pointed to that part that I am expecting some pee action from and states rather solemnly “Mummy, dis my bum-bum”.

I burst out laughing. “No honey, that’s not your bum-bum. That’s your pee-pee. Hmm, no that’s your PENIS”.

“No Mummy, dats not my weenus, that’s my deek”.

And then? I did a huge double-take. Did he just say ‘dick’ like a two year old does? Is that what I heard? That’s honestly what I thought I heard.

He looked like he said something a bit naughty too. He giggled when saying it, and shot me a sly look. A sly look from V is like normal around here, but since it came with a potentially bad word… double suspicious.

I corrected him and told him it was his penis again. Which felt like just the weirdest word ever to say to a 2 1/2 year old. Any of those words are just weird. All of them are. I don’t ever want to have to say any of them to my child ever. Ack!!

Maybe I’ll tough up as I get older? Please say I will. PLEASE. Please…

xoxo a.m.

3 more sleeps

To be honest, I am not sure if I am really prepared. And also is it really Christmas on Saturday? I’m feeling a little unnerved by that.

Usually I am more organized. I always send cards out on time, I make a lot of lists (which annoy my husband), I get a little whirlwindish. This year I am the Queen of Lackadaisical-land. I am halfheartedly mailing Christmas cards. I am feeling slightly detached from all of this.

And at the same time? Super involved in it for Vince’s sake. Multiple attempts to see Santa, lots of shopping, many hiding places around the house, tons of lights, tree up since pre-Thanksgiving, too many singing animals and one ‘Santa Paws’ aka ‘Kwismas Dog moobi’.

It’s almost like I am two separate people.

Tomorrow is my last day of work this week. It’s been a LONG week so far. Working in the type of industry that I do, this time of year is a time of desperately needy people who NEED to have emergent surgery for issues that have been plaguing them for months. Mostly because they have met their insurance deductible. Forgetting, of course, that hundreds of other people have had the same brilliant idea way earlier than them. It’s just weeks of constant arguing and really crappy attitudes.

Ugh. Ok, enough of a mope Jame!

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough though.

Anyways. Mope finished. I do deserve a high-five for mailing my Canada packages out in time (or so Edward says anyways).

I have half of my presents wrapped and all my shopping done. I am 3/4 finished mailing holiday cards. I have successfully visited Santa with my son. I am going running tomorrow (and by writing that down, that means it’s true).

This evening, V turned to me and said “Mummy? Tell Santa am I good boy.” Wow. An almost grammatically correct sentence. “Well honey, if you can be a good boy, I’ll tell him”.

“Mummy. Am I good boy” (This is how V says ‘I am’). But sentences like these are often followed by complete and total out of control bad boy behavior. And, in this particular case, by Vince’s new favorite sentence:

“Mummy? Am I poopin’!!!!”

“You are?”

“Yes!! Need change!”

Damn that makes me laugh!

Oh V-monster, how I love thee. You cannot help but lift my spirits with every little thing you utter…

3 more sleeps, my sweets. Santas coming!

xoxo a.m.

Big Shark

Update update!

Possible breakthrough!

Ok, the smallest possible breakthrough.

And I am attributing it all to Daycare and it’s wee potties. V’s classroom has it’s own bathroom. One for boys and girls, both with miniature potties. Cutest thing you have ever seen.

That, combined with his teachers gentle encouragement, produced this:

“Big shark poo-poo”.

Edward and I made WTF faces at each other.

Let me backtrack a little and tell you where we were eating. Carriera‘s in Lake Nona.

Their dining room has a HUGE shark on the wall, one we always have to sit under when eat there. Which is often as the food there is just amazing. AMAZING.

Well, this evening, as we were sitting under that shark, V made his announcement.

He made it several times actual. Addressed to both of us. Separately.

“Daddy, big shark poo-poos”, he said solemnly.

“Mummy? Shark! Big poo-poos!”

We took this moment and ran with it.

“Vince”, Daddy asked him “Does the shark go poo-poo on the potty?”

Vince looked at us disbelievingly “Noo..potty?”

“Vince? The big shark goes poo-poo on the potty. Just like Vincent!” said Mummy, nodding seriously while rearranging those crazy curls of his.

Edward caught my eye during this whole exchange and we both did some telepathy.

Neither of us could believe we were talking about sharks poo-pooing on the potty. I couldn’t believe V was talking about sharks pooing at all. What were we even talking about? This whole conversation is/was so ridiculous.

But at least we were talking about poo?

And so this is why I was excited.

Yay poo!!

xoxo a.m.

Socks

My living room times a million

Finger up nose.

Pants around ankles.

Toothbrush in eyeball.

Socks on floor.

I think this sums up the week nicely.

1) Finger constantly up nose. Not my finger. And not my nose. All day. Every day.

2) V is currently 17 months. I refuse to buy him any pants small than 2t or 24 months. There is just no point. So last weekend I bought him some jeans, Levi carpenter pants (adorable). They only stay on if he is wearing shoes. Shoes seem to block those pants quick descent to the floor. I have to roll the cuffs up and that helps prop the jeans up on top of his sneakers. Nice.

3) In my efforts to promote good hygiene to my toddler, I’ve been gently promoting the toothbrush. Mostly as something just to hold and put in the mouth. Some brushing movements are made and I figure it’s a start.

Tonight, in his thorough excitement about his new toothbrush, he punched me in the eye with it. It hurt. I hope there is no bruising… Holy mother does than boy have an arm on him!

4) I might lose my mind about these damn socks. Can someone (besides me) pick them up?! All. Over. My. House.

Before V, there were M socks everywhere. Drove me nuts. Post-double shift socks were scattered everywhere. The dog finds them delicious. Still does. And V has inherited this from his father. Socks come off the instant they are put on. In the car. In the house. In the yard. On the sidewalk. Mid-poop. Mid-poop clean-up.

Poop-socks? Good times.

Click here to learn some valuable tips about socks… and how to wear them. Properly.