How I am still alive: A tale of survival and bleeding

I’m almost through my second week of sahm-ness and for the most part, I seem to still be alive. And, by a surprising coincidence, my son is as well. (Eleanor is, of course, completely perfect and no trouble at all). While still alive, I am worn out.

While feeding Eleanor again… (and I say again, because all I did yesterday afternoon was feed her. Constantly. From about noon to 5 pm and I am not even exaggerating) I noticed a funny discoloured spot on my shirt.

The one where Vince forgets about the potty

Putting potty training on the back burner, Vince turns his energy to something more practical...

Some days I fear I will literally drown in urine and feces. And by some days I mean yesterday.

I haven’t talked about potty training in a while, mostly because things are going like clockwork. (Almost) everything is ending up in the potty where it should and not in anybody’s underwear.

From time to time, we get these minor incidents. Yesterday, we just had a series of major incidents. Just strung together, like pearls. I think if I imagine it to be a beautiful thing, it will be. Or, at least by imagining it as anything other than what it is, it softens the blow of awfulness.

“Mummy, I have to do a poo”, Vince announced rather loudly while I was in the middle of an empty post office, engaged in a transaction involving a parcel. All the staff politely ignored this statement, I paid and we went straight to a nearby gas station to use the potty.

It was here that I discovered the event that needed to take place in the potty had, in fact, already taken place. And so, in what apparently was the most revolting gas station bathroom ever, I cleaned poo out of underwear and slid a new pair on Vince’s little bottom. I don’t even know when I put a spare pair in my handbag, but thank god for them.

This event out of the way, we proceeded on to IKEA. Vince went potty 3 times in a time-span of about 15 minutes. I blame the Gatorade. I admit it is rather frustrating to start shopping 3 times and then have to quickly stop and rush to find a potty. And at IKEA there is one on each floor.And we were near neither. So each time, there was a wee bit of overflow. Nothing major, all part of the territory.

Since we weren’t planning on being there for long, I let it slide. I know, I know. Just don’t even say it. 10 minutes later, we were heading back to our side of town with a short trip to the grocery store planned. And after scoring a sweet parking spot, I swung around to unbuckle V and encountered the wettest wet pants ever. And then I swung back around into the drivers seat and headed home to sort that all out.

“Where do we go poo and pee?”, asked Mummy.

“In the POTTY!!!”, shouted Vince, in a jolly kind of manner.

“Do we go peepee in our underwear?”, asked Mummy.

“NOOOOO!! That’s for babies. I’m a big boy and I go pee and poo in the potty and get a lollipop”, Vince singsonged.

“Um, yes”, said Mummy, mentally planning to get more lollipops.

And so, after all of this peeing and pooing all over Orlando, finally it all came to an end. I feel like we have entered a period of regression this past week. Vince has been unusually whiny, there’s been extra fighting and crying. Tons of really, really fake crying actually. Way more than usual. And now all of this, and yesterday was not the first incidence this week.

It must mean something big is coming, some crazy big development Vince-wise. Perhaps he’s going to start doing fractions? Or suddenly draw perfect circles?

Can’t shake the feeling that I should be scared….

xoxo a.m.

Smack-down

Update: Currently there has been no pee or poo on the potty. And also there is an extreme lack of interest in the potty, ‘big boy pants’ training pants and basically everything to do with potty training.

Now that I’ve got that out of the way, on to more interesting things.

If it isn’t about poo, then you know some other sort of minor disaster is happening over here. It’s all chaos all the time. ALL the time.

We are having a bout of hitting, screaming and ‘MOVE’ happening over here.

First it starts with screaming. The screaming it peppered with whatever the problem is. For example:

“No! No Mickey Mouse! NO!” (2 seconds later, ‘Yay Hot Dog!”)

“No! NO milk! Juice!” (and then 2 seconds later… ‘Milk ok, no juice’~ what the hell?)

“NOOOOO! No Woody shorts! No! No Buzz!!’ (and then, again, 2 seconds later ‘Woody!!! Buzz!! Yay Woody shorts! Yay!’)

Ack. I could go on and on. It’s total bi-partisan over here. Makes my brain hurt.

These extremely frequent outbursts are combined with hitting and biting. WTF.

And our response? Time out.

Yup. Timeout as long as we can make him stay there. Followed by saying “I’m Sorry” and a hug. And then we say “No hitting, no biting” etc, whatever the crimes are…

Mostly though, it’s been those two.

It’s been those ‘two’ repeatedly. Dammit.

He gets mad. And then he bites whatever it is that he is mad at: Suitcase, Dinosaur, spoon, bowl, chair, Mummy, Mummy, Mummy, his own foot, the baby gate etc etc. And after he bites it? He hits it.

Mummy, the dog, that jasmine plant out back that threatened his tricycle, the T.V., the door, the baby gate etc.

Time out.

Time the freak out.

Lord have mercy. Will we ever survive these twos?

And as I am now reporting post-Monday? The answer might be no.

I might not survive, but the ‘Mummy-Monster’ certainly will. That’s my alternate persona’s name (and apparently several other Mothers that I know very well’s name too [ps: that grammar is crappy])

She growls out of me from to time. And those times seem to be happening a little more frequently.

Sentences like “MOVE!”, which, in retrospect, isn’t a sentence, but when said with force repeatedly and combined with sharp and violent pushes (violent for a 2 year old) can make one crazy.

And other sentences like: “No! Noooooooo!” combined with violent movements and the breaking of baby gates. Make you wonder what kind of crazy Olympian I gave birth to.

And then other things like: “No!!!!!!” and “Nooooooooo!” and “Mummy, No! Nooooo!” plus smack smack smack…(plus sound effects)

Mummy-Monster is one intolerant beast. Sharp looks, smack-downs and all that shizzle. Mummy-monster is one tough bitch.

Yup. Better look out, What ever tolerance I might have had for you drivers, walkers, cyclists, strollers etc is now at it’s limit.

So ya, suck it.

With love… a.m.

Big Deal

Lord almighty, did life just get more interesting?

And I say this with a question mark because I am not really sure.  And I will explain why. But just a heads up. It does involve poop.

Getting ready for bed last night was a little rushed because Daddy and V went for a long walk (to buy sandwiches) while I went to spin class. I got home just before them and took over the night-time duties.

We are half-assed potty-training right now. He will sit on the potty and get a treat fs he does. So mostly he wants a ‘teet’ and then gets right off the potty.

Last night I decided to make him count on the potty. When we hit 5, he got a treat and when we finished with 10 he got one more treat. The goal here was just to get him to sit a little longer in the hopes that something would happen.

See where this is going?

Magically there was a poop in the toilet.

I literally looked at it and thought “Now where on earth did that come from?!” Clearly it couldn’t have come from the little bum that was perched on top on the potty seat.

Wha?!t It did? I think Vince was confused as well. I had to tell him what was in there. We looked at it. “Vince poopoo in the potty!! Yay!!” said Mummy.

Vince: “Yayyyyyyyy!!” And then he looked confused. “V!! Poopoos in the potty!!!! Yay!! good boy!!! Awesome!!,”, shouted Mummy.

V: “Awesome!! Yayyyyyy!”

We had to call Daddy up, who also had to look in the toilet and then do some really loud clapping and some heavy praising of the event.

Dude. We hyped that poop the m-f up. We clapped. We shouted. We yelled “Yay poopoo!!!” It was an Event.

And so this morning, we tried it again. No dice. I almost expected that.

I went and bought another book about the potty today, complete with a button that you push which ‘flushes’ the toilet. I showed it to him. He said “No book”. I pretended to read it with great excitement. V said “No Mama no book.” Well. Shit.

Wish me luck tomorrow morning. We will be trying this event again… First thing in the morning. Perhaps we will get lucky. Right?

xoxo a.m.

Beebee

Day by day, Little Man’s vocab is on the rise and it is truly an interesting thing to hear and help grow.

We are a big book family. I have these memories of going to the Library with my Mum when I was little  and taking out heaps and heaps of books. And then losing them around the house. And then swearing that I returned them. And then (when I was little) finding them at the bottom of the pile of papers for the fireplace (whew! Close call!).

And more embarrassing memories of being older, having Mum raid my room and taking actual laundry baskets full of books back to our local branch.

Oh god. How embarrassing that was. I might have cried all the way there in the car, ignoring the baskets in the back seat.

M used to read voraciously in bed. Whenever he didn’t know a word, he would shout it down the hall to his parents like so…

“Mom!!!!!”

(faintly) “What?”

“What’s a jockstrap??”

Loud laughter, some snorting and possible tears and no answer.

“Mom?! What’s so funny!! I don’t get it!!”

See? We are big nerds.

Anyways, I repeat words as often as possible, hoping that they will take.  Maybe 40 % of the time he repeats what I say and those little words are the sweetest things I have ever heard.

2 nights ago I coaxed him into saying ‘Night Night!” Although it sounded more like “Naa Naat!”

Dogs say either “Ffffffffft” or “Whoooooooo”.

Cats have just started saying “Meemeemmeeeee”

A baby bird says “Beebeebee”.

Lions say “AHHHHHHHHHRR!!”

And Chewie the chihuahua is now called “Zheeeeeweeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!”. He responds. That’s all that matters.

Books are his favorite things to play with right now and I think that is amazing. Awesome. Wonderful.

Each of these little words took a lot of careful and gentle repeating from Mummy.

Our big breakthrough was Saturday. While shopping at Target and walking throught the TV department, V was totally smitten with a cat he saw in a commercial. He pointed and asked, repeatedly, “Issat?! Issat!!!”.

“It’s a cat, honey. A cat says “MeowMeow”. And so we walked and I meowed and we did this all through the store. Mostly absent-mindedly on my part. Although these days, I absent-mindedly make a lot of very random noises while I am shopping with the Little Man.

“Meeemmeemeeemeemeee”, says the cat.

xoxo a.m.

Tush

Sometimes thinks that I need to have more Cham-pag-knee in my life.

Especially after this weekend.

And not that it was anything that awful, it’s just that it was all awful.

M has tonsillitis. And V is now allergic to Milk. There was projectile vomiting, diarrhea and severe diaper rash going on over here.

1) Tonsillitis. Antibiotics. Steroids. Magic Mouthwash. Literally he was sick for days before I forced him to go and see a doctor. The doctor told him that tonsillitis was contagious (which it is). He’d been sick for5 days at that time. He came home and refused to touch anyone.
“Jame, I’m contagious!”

Oh you dramatic Italian you. You are lucky that I love you, or you’d be dead. My patience had run out 3 days prior to this doctors visit, so you can just imagine how I greeted this exciting news. And also just how loving I was.

2) Projectile vomit. I hate you.

V has started coughing again. And Saturday was a rough coughing day. He came toddling over to me in the middle of the afternoon and climbed up into my lap and put his head on my chest. Oh dear. I immediately know something must be wrong as the only time he seeks out a cuddle is when he is feeling poorly.

He started coughing so violently that automatically my hand went up in front of his mouth. Good thing too since he started throwing up! A small quantity ended up in my hand while the rest of it ended up everywhere else. Pants, shirt, floor, chair, baby etc. When he was done, all I could do was sit there in shock with a hand full of vomit. And just what do you do with that? There I was, sitting in my computer chair with V in my lap, holding some puke.

I just had to rub it into my pants, suck it up and try to not throw up.

3) Milk allergy. No idea. But I swear since we found this out, he has had constant diarrhea. Sweet. And today? The day before we go and see the allergist? More diarrhea and the worst diaper rash ever. So bad, so bad and it just snuck up on us. So bad that I couldn’t even clean his bum properly he cried and screamed so much. It was so red, and red all the way up the front if you know what I mean *cough* the boys *cough cough*.

Poor little man. Poor big man. Poor Mummy.

So as Monday comes, I am crying tears of happiness.

Allergist. Diarrhea. Tonsillitis. Milk. Yay Monday.

Allergies, ahoy!

I love my Little V.

I accept his allergies with a smile and, in some small ways, enjoy the challenge of his lifestyle. In a way, it forces me to make his meals healthy as the challenge of peanuts and wheat really narrows down the kind of things that you can feed a child out in public. It really cuts out large amounts of crap.

Nice challenge, eh? I am a well-prepared mother when we are out and about, as Lord Only Knows what people put in food these days and either don’t mention it or mention it in a super low-key way.

Like Chik-Fil-A.

Did you know that they cook all of their food in peanut oil?

Really, Chik-Fil-A? In an allergen filled world, with peanut allergies becoming extremely prevalent in children, this is a good idea?

Are you even aware of peanut allergies? Or people? Or people with allergies? Or anything? Anything at all? Bastards.

And yes, I didn’t ask at the drive through. And yes, I am a terrible mother. And yes, I was surprised that I hadn’t heard anything about this before. And yes, I tried to steal his chicken nuggets. And yes, that’s how I found out. And yes, I was terribly mad. And yes, finally, I know it is all my fault for not asking. Totally my fault.

However, still annoyed with Chik-Fil-A. Annoyed with their cute kids meals that have Berenstein Bears books in them. It really was one of the few places that I felt ok about Chicken Nuggets. It is actual real chicken,  not that chicken goop that is formed into nuggets.

Maybe I am just a little naive in thinking that in these days of enlightened eating, where everyone is a gourmet chef and food critic, that I would have heard it mentioned before physically running into it. Head first.

Although, CFA is not exactly the most gourmet of eateries.

In reading over their website and allergen claims, it seems quite clear-cut from their point of view. Their oil is heat processed and refined, which apparently makes it safe for consumption by people with allergies.

However, I still feel a little overtly ‘mother concerned’ and am banning them. It weirds me out just a little.

Anyways, that is the end of my Chik-Fil-A rant.

Really, this was all about how V and his allergies. And what I do about them.

Well, I got allergy tested. First part was last Monday, RAST testing on my back. Very interesting. Apparently I have some kind of dermatological skin , which makes skin testing rather tricky because of the welts.

I had a lot of positives for different molds, a few pollens, MAPLE TREE (if you can believe that! AND I am Canadian… whats up with that!), Orange tree. It was very very interesting.

My lovely Nurse  friend drew some blood for food testing and tomorrow I am having intradermal skin testing done.  How allergic am I? Am I an allergic person? Does V get it all from me?

AND, on an interesting side note, it appears he might be allergic to penicillin as well. This is based on a weekend filled with vomit roughly the colour of the amoxicillian he is taking.

I am allergic to it, or was at least sensitive to it as a child, and stupidly haven’t ever mentioned it to V’s Dr.

Dumb-ass.

Just one call to her this weekend, and she happily reassured me re: Vomit-Fest 2009 hosted by the Melvins.

More to follow tomorrow, post testing…

xox a.m.

ps: Kids allergy testing info here…

Fever, again

Mummy? Change me. NOW.

As I type this, my eyes are closed. There is a glass of Merlot in front of me. Julia and Julie is playing on the Blue Ray. V is sleeping. I just finished sauteing some scallops for my salad.

Key phase in above ramble? ‘V is sleeping’

3 days of super sick baby, Mummy has now reached an insane level of ‘over it’.

Except, Mummy can’t be. Not like Mummy is when Daddy gets sick. Nope, with Little Booboo, Mummy is always on.

Wednesday morning was a low fever, Wednesday evening it was 100 degrees. Thursday early morning it was 101. I stayed home that day with the sick Little Man. It was awful. Fevers scare the crap out of me.

Thursday was a ‘Motrin’ day. And a ‘Tylenol’ day. And a “Mummy, I need a cuddle’ day. And that is how I always know my V isn’t feeling well, when he searches out Mummy’s lap and snuggles down.

Thursday afternoon was 102 and Friday morning was 103.2.

POINT TWO! POINT FRIGGIN’ TWO!

Jesus Christ, how can anyone’s heart take this sort of thing?

And then I had to go to work.

And M took him to the Doctor. Bad sinus infection and a molar coming in. How Dr E even managed to get into his mouth to look, I have no idea. I can barely get a toothbrush in there. One time I had to remove something(s) (paper, pennies, dog kibble, pieces of wood, dirt from the floor etc) and I swear he almost severed my finger. Baby teeth are sharp things.

So apparently those 2 things are enough to raise ones body temperature.

Sooooo… amoxicillin, Motrin with alternating doses of Tylenol, decongestant cough/nasal drops, Singulair tablets AND Pulmacort nebulizer treatments.

Last night, while I was dosing the Little Man, I couldn’t believe how many things I was administering to him. Basically 5 (or 6 depending on how the day is going)  different things. Seems like an awful lot for one small body.

Something which was rather apparent to me this morning. Let me fill you in on last night.

Last night, post-bath, as I went to diaper and pj the Little Man I discovered there WERE NO DIAPERS upstairs in his bedroom. Which actually meant that there were no diapers in the upstairs. Which meant there were no diapers in the house. Carrying a naked baby downstairs, I rifled through the diaper bag and found 2.

Oh thank god. One for tonight and one for the morning. And then M would be up (from his double shift) and I could do a run to the drug store and it would all be ok.

So this morning, at 7:30, it was not. My morning started with some hard-core grunting. Oh say it ain’t so. Say it ain’t so!! But the smell said otherwise. Of course, being that the last diaper in the house had just been put on a small bum, it only made sense to use it. Apparently immediately.

Oh sick child of mine, we now have an endless supply of diapers and you can fill them to your hearts content. Which you will. I know you too well.

Rejuvenation

Sometimes it's easy to forget the better things in life...

AtlanticMama rejuvenation project is currently underway.

And I don’t mean just the blog, which is an ongoing work in progress. I am in the process of trying to breath some life back into my ‘life’.

Not that Life sucks right now, or anything like that. And certainly not that life with M is bad or I am not enjoying motherhood. But more of an ‘I am not happy with myself’ sort of thing. Funnily enough, it was about this same time last year, that I was struck with similar feelings. Except at that time, they manifested more as anxiety related-heart palpitation-ish-I think I’ll go to the ER because my heart is racing so much I think I am going to pass out and the way it’s beating is freaking me out.

One ER visit, one follow-up trip to my family doctor, several trips to a cardiologist, one stress test and some medication later, I felt somewhat normal. And rather freaked out. I know it was a combination post-pregnancy plus stress plus sleep-deprivation and I am sure there were a few more factors in there too (those damn socks of M’s). As much as I thought I was handling it, I think I was internalizing it a little too much and the end result was the ER.

For the last few weeks I’ve been feeling it building. Not so much the heart palpitations, but the feelings. The dissatisfaction. I felt like I was watching myself and disapproving of everything. My weak excuses for not hitting up the YMCA. I have a mandatory membership! I have no reason not to go. And this stupid holiday season with all of the yummy things. And my apparent complete lack of self-control when it comes to these delicious seasonal treats.

Lets just say this path felt familiar. And I am determined to not get too far down it again.

Hence my rejuvenation. My pulling things back in line. My focus. My dedication.

Saturday night I gave myself a facial. Holy crap did I need it. It was so relaxing for the 10 minutes that peel mask sat on my skin. And then I ruined the balance by having 2 more glasses of wine and staying up until 1 am. Who am I! Certainly not 25 years old again, living in Japan. What was I thinking. Clearly not anything about how V likes to get up super early. Parenting fail.

Sunday started off strong with a lovely walk in the park and then a trip to yoga. However, ruined again by the stuff-fest hosted by yours truly and staying up too late. And then arguing with M about nothing for a long period of time.

Balance fail.

Today was a better day, so based on that, it is the official start of my Rejuvenation.

No sweets all day. Check!

Healthy lunch. Check!

No caffeine. Check!

Adorably greeted by Little Man at daycare with a lovely picture he painted himself. Check!

Kickboxing class. Check and check!

Parenting and balance win!

Here is a really sweet (as in sensitive and delightful) website about yoga, pregnancy and healthy lifestyles.  All of those preg ladies out there, embrace the yoga. Your body will thank you.

(important health message for the masses. Check!)

xoxo a.m.

Big Kids

V wants to play with the big boys and girls.

This was fairly evident yesterday when I took him to the park. Happily playing with Mummy in the park, we literally were going down dual slides ‘hand-in-hand’. It was like the ideal vision of quality time with Mummy. I was having so much fun. So was he…

And then, the big kids came.

First it was 2 girls, maybe around 10 or so… Screaming and yelling, they ran into the gated playground shouting things like “I’m gonna kill you!” and “You’re such a bitch!”.Ah, tweens…

V was dumbstruck… He toddled in their direction, at first a little tentatively… and then full throttle. He was fascinated by them. All of the loudness. He wanted to be right in there. And they wanted to have nothing to do with him. Because they are big kids. Didn’t even make eye-contact with him, or say ‘hi’ or comment on how cute he is…

Wherever those big kids went, he did too. He climbed higher on the playground than he ever has before, just trying to follow them.

And then 2 boys joined them.

The conversation immediately changed to things like “You’re such a girl” and “I kicked her in the vagina” and “Stop trying to kick me in the vagina”.

I could not believe that they were all throwing the vag about. And they were 10. And they were proud about it too! Like kicking someone in the vagina was the cool thing to do. I feel confused.

Anyways, V thought everything about them was awesome, as evident by the look on his face.

Playtime was done and dinnertime was approaching, we headed out of the playground and meandered in the direction of home. V meandered a little more than I did… Big kids are distracting.

He lagged further and further behind me. I was attempting to do some reverse psychology and so kept walking away saying “Bye bye V! Bye bye!!”.

This was ineffective. It probably would have been more effective on anyone else’s child. He grabbed a toy and ran back towards the playground. He ran up to the fence that surrounded the play area, right near where the big kids were playing. He took that toy and threw it through the fence, so it landed right near where the big kids were.

He said “Uh-oh!”. Ya right. Like that was an accident.

And then he ran into the playground and went and got it. And then he lingered. I had to go and sweep him off his feet and humorously run out of there with him (that means I make funny noises when I run. Noises like “Doodly -doot-dee-doot-dee-doo!! Whee!” and then I feel a wee bit stupid. (I am sure the big kids would agree.)

He was so mad that we left and kept trying to head back there. I eventually distracted him with my expensive phone. He might have put it in his mouth only twice. Don’t tell M. Please.

xoxo a.m.