Thursday, June 28, 2007
Big brother isn't smiling
Lately a lot of people have been asking me if Henry is "excited" about the baby's impending arrival. That would be no. First of all, I don't think he understands the connection between my big belly and this baby thingy we keep talking about. He loves to rub my belly, and sometimes he will even say things to the baby, but I just don't think he gets that there's an actual baby in there, and that this baby will be part of his life, and that's something to be excited about. And when we do talk about the fact that a baby is going to come out of my belly and then live with us, he seems less than thrilled. That's an understatement. For example, at dinner tonight we were talking about all the people who would come and visit when the baby arrived. Henry asked if the baby's mommy would come visit. When I explained that I would be the baby's mommy, he frowned and said, "No. You're MY mommy." It didn't surprise me--Henry tends to be pretty possessive. He's always reacted negatively when he's seen me hold a friend's baby. As in, he walks over and says things like, "Put the baby down, Mommy." So I just don't expect that he will be all smiles and brotherly love when we bring his new sibling home, and the new sibling is seen using items that Henry still identifies as his (crib, stroller, etc). I expect we'll have at least one nuclear meltdown. It's going to be an interesting transition, that's for sure.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
I am the walrus
As of today, I officially have 6 weeks (or less!) left in my pregnancy. My c-section is scheduled for August 2. While I hold out hope that I won't have to go that route, I'll admit I'm happy to have a firm end date this time around. Going a week overdue with Henry was no fun at all.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying all the side effects of late pregnancy--not the least of which is the daily barrage of comments about my condition. And the consensus opinion of the various neighbors, co-workers, random store clerks and other jackasses who can't mind their own business is. . . I'm huge! HUGE! Yes, my belly has swollen to proportions so freakish that people are shocked to hear that I'm not heading to the hospital RIGHT THAT MINUTE, since someone my size must be moments away from giving birth.
I've been having exchanges like this one for the last month:
"Wow--You look ready to pop! It can't be long now, can it?"
"Uh, actually I'm not due for another 10 weeks."
Awkward silence. Then a look of shock, followed by disbelief, followed by pity.
"Oh. Well. . . You look. . .Great! Really, really terrific. Beautiful, in fact.
Yeah, you look beautiful."
Or:
"REALLY?!? 10 more weeks! But you're SO BIG! My friend/sister/wife is due, like, tomorrow, and she's not half as big as you! Are you sure you're not having twins (snicker)? But it's amazing--you're ALL BELLY!"
I believe the "all belly" comment is supposed to make me feel better about the fact that I look like I swallowed the Hindenburg.
It doesn't.
Yep--all the comments about my massive hugeness are really getting to me. It's no surprise that I get offended when people make blatantly rude comments about my body. But people who say nice things bug me, too. At first I thought my irritation/burning rage about this stemmed from the fact that, in our culture, observations about the large size of a woman's midsection are pretty much never compliments. But now I think my discomfort with all comments about my condition stem from the fact that it just isn't normal to have your physical appearance (no matter what it is) be considered an appropriate topic for small talk with any given individual you encounter in the course of your day. That's what's making me crazy. See, I'm not an extrovert. I'm not an exhibitionist. I don't like making small talk about anything with people I don't know. And I really, really don't like making small talk about my body, my due date, or anything else so personal with the guy ringing up my groceries. It's just weird. And it happens several times a day. Can't we just talk about the weather?
As I get bigger and bigger over the next 6 weeks, I'll try to grow a thicker skin at the same time. Maybe I should just tell the strangers who harass me that I am in fact having triplets. Or that the swelling in my midsection is due to a benign tumor, not a baby. But those kinds of retorts just prolong the conversation--the last thing I want. No, I'll probably just start getting ruder and ruder with the Belly Talkers. If I remember correctly, that's what happened last time. Huge and surly. That's me.
It's gonna be a great 6 weeks.
In the meantime, I'm enjoying all the side effects of late pregnancy--not the least of which is the daily barrage of comments about my condition. And the consensus opinion of the various neighbors, co-workers, random store clerks and other jackasses who can't mind their own business is. . . I'm huge! HUGE! Yes, my belly has swollen to proportions so freakish that people are shocked to hear that I'm not heading to the hospital RIGHT THAT MINUTE, since someone my size must be moments away from giving birth.
I've been having exchanges like this one for the last month:
"Wow--You look ready to pop! It can't be long now, can it?"
"Uh, actually I'm not due for another 10 weeks."
Awkward silence. Then a look of shock, followed by disbelief, followed by pity.
"Oh. Well. . . You look. . .Great! Really, really terrific. Beautiful, in fact.
Yeah, you look beautiful."
Or:
"REALLY?!? 10 more weeks! But you're SO BIG! My friend/sister/wife is due, like, tomorrow, and she's not half as big as you! Are you sure you're not having twins (snicker)? But it's amazing--you're ALL BELLY!"
I believe the "all belly" comment is supposed to make me feel better about the fact that I look like I swallowed the Hindenburg.
It doesn't.
Yep--all the comments about my massive hugeness are really getting to me. It's no surprise that I get offended when people make blatantly rude comments about my body. But people who say nice things bug me, too. At first I thought my irritation/burning rage about this stemmed from the fact that, in our culture, observations about the large size of a woman's midsection are pretty much never compliments. But now I think my discomfort with all comments about my condition stem from the fact that it just isn't normal to have your physical appearance (no matter what it is) be considered an appropriate topic for small talk with any given individual you encounter in the course of your day. That's what's making me crazy. See, I'm not an extrovert. I'm not an exhibitionist. I don't like making small talk about anything with people I don't know. And I really, really don't like making small talk about my body, my due date, or anything else so personal with the guy ringing up my groceries. It's just weird. And it happens several times a day. Can't we just talk about the weather?
As I get bigger and bigger over the next 6 weeks, I'll try to grow a thicker skin at the same time. Maybe I should just tell the strangers who harass me that I am in fact having triplets. Or that the swelling in my midsection is due to a benign tumor, not a baby. But those kinds of retorts just prolong the conversation--the last thing I want. No, I'll probably just start getting ruder and ruder with the Belly Talkers. If I remember correctly, that's what happened last time. Huge and surly. That's me.
It's gonna be a great 6 weeks.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
I hope I'm not jinxing it, but. . .
It's working! The No Diapers policy is starting to pay dividends. We just made it through an accident-free diaper-free weekend, with all #1s and #2 landing safely in an approved container. Since he pooped in his pants FIVE times on Friday, this is a very encouraging development indeed. Plenty of rewards doled out: Dinosaur movie, trip to the dinosaur museum, an ice cream cone. And the best thing is that Henry actually does seem proud of himself, and enjoys the praise we've been doling out. So, fingers crossed that we turned a corner here.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
A tough loss
I'm not referring to the Annihilation in Anaheim, though there are a lot of long faces around here today.
No, the loss is much worse than that: Jensen is moving!
This isn't a shock, because it's been in the works for a long time. His family signed a contract last fall on a new house being built out in the 'burbs, and their current house has been on the market ever since. It finally sold over the weekend, and the new buyer is insisting on a quick close, i.e. next week! We thought they'd at least be around through August. Instead, they're scrambling to fill their housing gap over the summer, and it looks like they'll be decamping to grandma & grandpa's place on the East Coast. So now we're facing the fact that Henry's best buddy is soon leaving for good.
Bummer.
Seriously--I am so sad about this! Sad for Henry, and sad for us, too. Not having Jensen and his family down the street anymore will take away our easiest, most convenient way to entertain Henry when we've got gaps in our day, or he's bored, or we want a little adult companionship for a trip to the park, etc. Henry and Jensen get along about as well as two 3-year-olds can, but I think the real reason the relationship has worked so well is that our families have a similar approach to daily life. In other words, they're disorganized too, and more than happy to just go with the flow to get through the day. So they're always up for doing stuff on short notice, they don't get all tense if we knock on their door and see if they want to come out and play (the answer is almost always yes), and mark time on the weekends by "morning" and "afternoon" rather than the hour. There's no need to schedule "play dates" days in advance, no fancy plans to put in place. Just show up, hang out, and marvel at how loud the two boys get when they're together.
I'm sure we'll probably arrange a few get-togethers after they've settled into their new digs on the far western edge of Ottawa's far western suburb, but it just won't be the same. After all, these get-togethers will have to be organized ahead of time (neither family's strong suit). And I don't know who will fill the gap when Henry says, "let's go knock on Jensen's door!" and we have to remind him that Jensen doesn't live there anymore. There are no obvious candidates. I used to think of our neighborhood as being full of KIDS Henry's age, but slowly I've realized that it's actually full of GIRLS Henry's age. And this is starting to matter. For example, our next-door neighbor told me last week that her 4-year old was adamant that she wanted NO BOYS at her recent birthday party, so Henry wasn't invited. The little girls seem to be more and more into doing little girl things, which apparently doesn't include acting like a tyrannosaurus rex and throwing handfuls of dirt and pebbles down the storm grate--activities currently at the top of Henry's list. And he just isn't into dressing up like a fairy princess and playing make-believe. So, limited options in the immediate vicinity.
Our challenge now is to find Henry a friend in the neighborhood with easygoing parents with whom we can sustain some chit-chat while the kids tear around doing little boy things. Or, we have to sign up for a bunch of activities. Either way, it's the end of an era. And I'm really going to miss them.
No, the loss is much worse than that: Jensen is moving!
This isn't a shock, because it's been in the works for a long time. His family signed a contract last fall on a new house being built out in the 'burbs, and their current house has been on the market ever since. It finally sold over the weekend, and the new buyer is insisting on a quick close, i.e. next week! We thought they'd at least be around through August. Instead, they're scrambling to fill their housing gap over the summer, and it looks like they'll be decamping to grandma & grandpa's place on the East Coast. So now we're facing the fact that Henry's best buddy is soon leaving for good.
Bummer.
Seriously--I am so sad about this! Sad for Henry, and sad for us, too. Not having Jensen and his family down the street anymore will take away our easiest, most convenient way to entertain Henry when we've got gaps in our day, or he's bored, or we want a little adult companionship for a trip to the park, etc. Henry and Jensen get along about as well as two 3-year-olds can, but I think the real reason the relationship has worked so well is that our families have a similar approach to daily life. In other words, they're disorganized too, and more than happy to just go with the flow to get through the day. So they're always up for doing stuff on short notice, they don't get all tense if we knock on their door and see if they want to come out and play (the answer is almost always yes), and mark time on the weekends by "morning" and "afternoon" rather than the hour. There's no need to schedule "play dates" days in advance, no fancy plans to put in place. Just show up, hang out, and marvel at how loud the two boys get when they're together.
I'm sure we'll probably arrange a few get-togethers after they've settled into their new digs on the far western edge of Ottawa's far western suburb, but it just won't be the same. After all, these get-togethers will have to be organized ahead of time (neither family's strong suit). And I don't know who will fill the gap when Henry says, "let's go knock on Jensen's door!" and we have to remind him that Jensen doesn't live there anymore. There are no obvious candidates. I used to think of our neighborhood as being full of KIDS Henry's age, but slowly I've realized that it's actually full of GIRLS Henry's age. And this is starting to matter. For example, our next-door neighbor told me last week that her 4-year old was adamant that she wanted NO BOYS at her recent birthday party, so Henry wasn't invited. The little girls seem to be more and more into doing little girl things, which apparently doesn't include acting like a tyrannosaurus rex and throwing handfuls of dirt and pebbles down the storm grate--activities currently at the top of Henry's list. And he just isn't into dressing up like a fairy princess and playing make-believe. So, limited options in the immediate vicinity.
Our challenge now is to find Henry a friend in the neighborhood with easygoing parents with whom we can sustain some chit-chat while the kids tear around doing little boy things. Or, we have to sign up for a bunch of activities. Either way, it's the end of an era. And I'm really going to miss them.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
The grunt work of parenting
WARNING! This post contains a distressing amount of scatological content. Think twice about reading on if you're childless, squeamish, eating, or just not interested in the messiest, most frustrating challenge of early childhood. Yes, I'm talking about The Potty.
The $%@*%(@ Potty.
We've decided to fully commit to toilet training over the next few weeks. After some research, I decided the only way we're going to get Henry out of diapers for good is to just get him out of diapers. Yep--no more diaper during the day. We reached a point where Henry can use the potty, and sometimes does for #1, but progress has stalled. See, when it comes to personal hygiene, the kid is pretty much a pig. Wearing a diaper soaked in several pounds of his own stinking waste doesn't bother him at all. He never, ever asks to be changed. In fact, we often have to pin him down, screaming, to get a dirty diaper off of him. If it was up to him, he'd wear the same diaper until the thing collapsed around his ankles. I think he'd be happy to go from Pampers to pull-ups to Depends for the rest of his life, and never feel that his dignity had been injured in any way.
So, we've got a challenge on our hands. Appealing to his pride at being a "big boy" who stays dry and clean and gets to wear cool Thomas underwear instead of babyish diapers has yielded zilch in terms of performance. Hence the new carrot and stick approach.
The stick: No diapers, except at night.
The carrot: A new DVD (Disney's "Dinosaur") to watch as soon as he makes it through a day with no accidents. When he achieves this milestone, we will add new incentives until the routine has been established. What can I say--we've never been above offering bribes.
He's been shown the DVD in its packaging, and seems pretty jazzed to watch it. But in terms of performance, results have been mixed. He doesn't ask to go potty, but he will go if we remind him and put him on it. So, thanks to our vigilance, things haven't been too messy yet. But we have a ways to go. Yesterday looked promising, but after staying dry during a day of errands and activities, right before dinner he wet all over the floor--right after I'd asked him about 15 times if he needed to use the potty.
Today the DVD was of the table before noon. This is what we're up against: Henry and I were at the park down the street when I saw him make his unmistakable Poo Face. I sprung into action, raced him home, and got him onto the toilet before it was too late. I then spent about 25 minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, singing poo songs, talking about how great it would be if he made a poo on the toilet, and promising a cookie if he performed. It's a very gratifying way to spend a sunny day, let me tell you. I left the room for a time in case this was too much pressure. After about half an hour or so, we gave up and put his shorts back on and started getting lunch ready. When Tom and I weren't paying attention, Henry took a massive dump. In his shorts. Not five minutes after spending half an hour sitting on the toilet.
Sigh. Clumps of my hair, torn out in frustration, may soon be littering the floor, along with Henry's puddles.
Toilet training, or the lack thereof, is one of those things that people can be very judgmental about, as in, "what do you mean, your 3-year-old isn't toilet trained yet?!?". As in, "boy, aren't you a couple of incompetents!" All I can say in response is, "Be my guest." Spend some time trying to toilet train a stubborn, crafty, and completely unmotivated preschooler who does not care one bit about staying dry and clean. Figure out your own system of incentives and strategies, and get back to me with the results. And, have fun!
The $%@*%(@ Potty.
We've decided to fully commit to toilet training over the next few weeks. After some research, I decided the only way we're going to get Henry out of diapers for good is to just get him out of diapers. Yep--no more diaper during the day. We reached a point where Henry can use the potty, and sometimes does for #1, but progress has stalled. See, when it comes to personal hygiene, the kid is pretty much a pig. Wearing a diaper soaked in several pounds of his own stinking waste doesn't bother him at all. He never, ever asks to be changed. In fact, we often have to pin him down, screaming, to get a dirty diaper off of him. If it was up to him, he'd wear the same diaper until the thing collapsed around his ankles. I think he'd be happy to go from Pampers to pull-ups to Depends for the rest of his life, and never feel that his dignity had been injured in any way.
So, we've got a challenge on our hands. Appealing to his pride at being a "big boy" who stays dry and clean and gets to wear cool Thomas underwear instead of babyish diapers has yielded zilch in terms of performance. Hence the new carrot and stick approach.
The stick: No diapers, except at night.
The carrot: A new DVD (Disney's "Dinosaur") to watch as soon as he makes it through a day with no accidents. When he achieves this milestone, we will add new incentives until the routine has been established. What can I say--we've never been above offering bribes.
He's been shown the DVD in its packaging, and seems pretty jazzed to watch it. But in terms of performance, results have been mixed. He doesn't ask to go potty, but he will go if we remind him and put him on it. So, thanks to our vigilance, things haven't been too messy yet. But we have a ways to go. Yesterday looked promising, but after staying dry during a day of errands and activities, right before dinner he wet all over the floor--right after I'd asked him about 15 times if he needed to use the potty.
Today the DVD was of the table before noon. This is what we're up against: Henry and I were at the park down the street when I saw him make his unmistakable Poo Face. I sprung into action, raced him home, and got him onto the toilet before it was too late. I then spent about 25 minutes sitting on the bathroom floor, singing poo songs, talking about how great it would be if he made a poo on the toilet, and promising a cookie if he performed. It's a very gratifying way to spend a sunny day, let me tell you. I left the room for a time in case this was too much pressure. After about half an hour or so, we gave up and put his shorts back on and started getting lunch ready. When Tom and I weren't paying attention, Henry took a massive dump. In his shorts. Not five minutes after spending half an hour sitting on the toilet.
Sigh. Clumps of my hair, torn out in frustration, may soon be littering the floor, along with Henry's puddles.
Toilet training, or the lack thereof, is one of those things that people can be very judgmental about, as in, "what do you mean, your 3-year-old isn't toilet trained yet?!?". As in, "boy, aren't you a couple of incompetents!" All I can say in response is, "Be my guest." Spend some time trying to toilet train a stubborn, crafty, and completely unmotivated preschooler who does not care one bit about staying dry and clean. Figure out your own system of incentives and strategies, and get back to me with the results. And, have fun!
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