I think that definitely my favorite recent mommy moment happened on Friday evening.
Ivan's nose has been slighly snotty over the last few days with an ocassional rivulet of clear snot protruding from his right nostril. Not the most appealing sight, but still definitely far from the excessively and continuously snotty noses many other toddlers are accessorized with year round. This used to gross me out before I had kids, and still continues to gross me out today. (Snotty noses are right up there with sticky hands and food smeared mounths.)
Eventually, the snot in question coagulated into a buggy which I could see in his nose. I tried all day Friday to get him to blow his nose, which he adamantly refused to do.
He was trying to pick the nose himself to get the buggy out. (This is something new he's been doing for the last few weeks. And when he succeeds, he triumphantly hands me the buggy. "Buggy, mama.")
But the Friday buggy was unpickable. So I attempted to pick the buggy out of his nose. It became my obession for the day. "No touc ma buggy," was the response I got every time.
This futile buggy picking went on the entire day.
That evening we went out to eat to a local Thai restaurant. The small, narrow, mom and pop restaurant was packed. The crowd was probably heavier than usual because the place had just been named the best Thai food in town.
Also, it was a bit later in the evening than would have been optimal for taking Ivan out to eat, but we hedged our bets. He was more or less cooperative, not on his best behavior but definitely far from a full tempter tantrum.
And then Ivan decided to get the buggy out. With no success.
"Ma buggy, mama, my buggy mama."
He wanted my help.
By now, the thing was humungous and crusty and well implanted in his nostril. But I was thrilled to finally be able to get this buggy picking mission accomplished.
So, in the middle of this small packed restaurant with people enjoying their Friday evening dinner, here's a mom picking her toddler's nose.
I tried being discreet, shielding his face and nose with my body and one hand, while doing the picking with the other.
It wasn't a smooth operation. The buggy was huge and well encrusted.
It took me a few tries to get a good grip on it to yank it out of Ivan's nose. It must have hurt as he got vocal about it, which probably attracted additional unwanted eyes to us.
But finally the mission was accomplished. The buggy was out and Ivan's nose was clear. And it a few Friday night dinners got spoiled in the meantime, oh well.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Monday, October 19, 2009
Recent Conversations with Ivan
Over the weekend I jotted down some of the current growing repertoire within Ivan's vocabulary.
He's increasingly stringing words together into sentences, both in English and Croatian, is trying to hold conversations with us, and likes to asks questions, or more precisely, ask the same question over and over and over again. He also promptly repeats, and misprononouces, everything we say:
Counting:
"4, 5, go" (which seems to have replaced the "ready, 4, 10")
"4, 5, 6, 'leven"
Conversation and question sample:
"Pour me jos sok."
"You need jos sok, mama?"
(Pour me more juice. YOu need more juice, mama?)
Sometimes he says "more juice" instead of "jos sok"; he uses Croatian and English interchangeably.
"Dat one not yours. Dat mines."
(This one is not yours. This one is mine.)
"Dat dadas."
(That's dadda's.)
"Ladies ciste ma kucu."
(Ladies are cleaning my house.)
"You have aqilo bite?"
(Do you have a mosquito bite?)
"You have a socks."
(You have socks.)
"Mama, open dat light."
"Mama, offed dat light."
(Turn the light on. Turn the light off)
"You cooking, mama?"
"Yes, I'm cooking."
"You cooking, mama?" he repeats the question, over and over again, as he's watching me cook.
Or the newest acquisition from yesterday when he woke up cranky.
"NO! Don't look me."
He's increasingly stringing words together into sentences, both in English and Croatian, is trying to hold conversations with us, and likes to asks questions, or more precisely, ask the same question over and over and over again. He also promptly repeats, and misprononouces, everything we say:
Counting:
"4, 5, go" (which seems to have replaced the "ready, 4, 10")
"4, 5, 6, 'leven"
Conversation and question sample:
"Pour me jos sok."
"You need jos sok, mama?"
(Pour me more juice. YOu need more juice, mama?)
Sometimes he says "more juice" instead of "jos sok"; he uses Croatian and English interchangeably.
"Dat one not yours. Dat mines."
(This one is not yours. This one is mine.)
"Dat dadas."
(That's dadda's.)
"Ladies ciste ma kucu."
(Ladies are cleaning my house.)
"You have aqilo bite?"
(Do you have a mosquito bite?)
"You have a socks."
(You have socks.)
"Mama, open dat light."
"Mama, offed dat light."
(Turn the light on. Turn the light off)
"You cooking, mama?"
"Yes, I'm cooking."
"You cooking, mama?" he repeats the question, over and over again, as he's watching me cook.
Or the newest acquisition from yesterday when he woke up cranky.
"NO! Don't look me."
Monday, October 5, 2009
This pregnancy
is definitely harder on my body than Ivan's was. And it's so true that all the aches, pains, ailments and a multitude of previously not experienced issues is hitting me sooner.
First, the entire sneeze/pee combo, otherwise known as stress incontinence, is really getting old. It hit me much sooner than last time. Hopefully, it will go away after birth.
Then, two Fridays ago, I failed the 1-hour glucose test, which meant I then had to take the 3-hour test. This included fasting the night before, and getting poked with a needle four times in three hours. For the last week, I've looked like a beaten up junkie with black and blue bruises up and down my arms. However, no one has called me to tell me I failed that test, so I assume that my sugar levels are OK.
Then, for the last month or so, I've been experiencing this increasingly painful pelvic pain. I first heard it mentioned by a yoga teacher. Then I mentioned it to the obgyn. They both dismissed it with a wave of their hand. Oh, it must be pubic synthesis, or the stretching of the pubic bones....or something similar. Wikipedia had a nice long medical entry on it. Well, this pubic synthesis is slowly but progressively getting unbearably painful, especially after I sit for long periods of time or get up in the morning.
And according to wikipedia and babycenter.com there doesn't really seem to be much I can do about it, but just weight it out. It may get worse before it gets better. And it may takes months after delivery for the pain to go away. Basically, I need to try to move my legs together as one unit. And apparently, yoga or swimming may help, which I don't understand how because most yoga poses and swimming are all about spreading legs apart to create space for the baby.
I hope it stabilizes because this evening, I can barely walk.
Who knows maybe all this pain and stretching now will make the actual birth easier, which, after 56 1/2 hours of labor, definitely wasn't the scenario with Ivan.
First, the entire sneeze/pee combo, otherwise known as stress incontinence, is really getting old. It hit me much sooner than last time. Hopefully, it will go away after birth.
Then, two Fridays ago, I failed the 1-hour glucose test, which meant I then had to take the 3-hour test. This included fasting the night before, and getting poked with a needle four times in three hours. For the last week, I've looked like a beaten up junkie with black and blue bruises up and down my arms. However, no one has called me to tell me I failed that test, so I assume that my sugar levels are OK.
Then, for the last month or so, I've been experiencing this increasingly painful pelvic pain. I first heard it mentioned by a yoga teacher. Then I mentioned it to the obgyn. They both dismissed it with a wave of their hand. Oh, it must be pubic synthesis, or the stretching of the pubic bones....or something similar. Wikipedia had a nice long medical entry on it. Well, this pubic synthesis is slowly but progressively getting unbearably painful, especially after I sit for long periods of time or get up in the morning.
And according to wikipedia and babycenter.com there doesn't really seem to be much I can do about it, but just weight it out. It may get worse before it gets better. And it may takes months after delivery for the pain to go away. Basically, I need to try to move my legs together as one unit. And apparently, yoga or swimming may help, which I don't understand how because most yoga poses and swimming are all about spreading legs apart to create space for the baby.
I hope it stabilizes because this evening, I can barely walk.
Who knows maybe all this pain and stretching now will make the actual birth easier, which, after 56 1/2 hours of labor, definitely wasn't the scenario with Ivan.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
You know it's bad
that the house is in disarray when your two and a half year-old spontaneously declares one evening, "yucky house," as Ivan did last night.
I was floored.
He, of course, repeated it first thing this morning. "Yucky house."
Now, the term "yucky" has entered his vocabulary in the last few weeks, and everything he doesn't want to eat (or he half ate) or things that he thinks are dirty, he declares "yucky."
However, this was the first time he used it to describe the house. And the house was truly yucky. It was very messy and it hadn't been cleaned in two weeks. The cleaning ladies were supposed to come on Friday but I had to cancel them. Andy and I were so busy with work this past week that we (or shall I say I) had really let the house go.
I just never expected Ivan to care and to declare "yucky house."
However, he is much more observant and aware of things that we give him credit for. As I guess all toddlers do, he notices and stores information to retrieve it at a much later date. It's happened several times now that he's shocked me with something that I didn't expect him to know or understand.
I was floored.
He, of course, repeated it first thing this morning. "Yucky house."
Now, the term "yucky" has entered his vocabulary in the last few weeks, and everything he doesn't want to eat (or he half ate) or things that he thinks are dirty, he declares "yucky."
However, this was the first time he used it to describe the house. And the house was truly yucky. It was very messy and it hadn't been cleaned in two weeks. The cleaning ladies were supposed to come on Friday but I had to cancel them. Andy and I were so busy with work this past week that we (or shall I say I) had really let the house go.
I just never expected Ivan to care and to declare "yucky house."
However, he is much more observant and aware of things that we give him credit for. As I guess all toddlers do, he notices and stores information to retrieve it at a much later date. It's happened several times now that he's shocked me with something that I didn't expect him to know or understand.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
The First Why and Where?
"Why did Posa eat her din, dins?" Ivan asked pointing to Mariposa's food dish, while we were getting ready for work/daycare this morning.
His first why question.
This was followed by a "Where is box?" a some time later, while he was holding the key to the black jewelry box, which I don't use, and which is one of his toys instead. He wanted to practice locking and locking it. (The locking fascination runs close to the wires, plugs and general "boops" fascination)
His first where question.
In general, since last night, I noticed a huge leap in Ivan's speech. I was astonished. Overnight, he's become so much more verbal and articulate. He no longer says words, but attempts full sentences and narrates things. We can actually hold a conversation.
His attempted sentences are half in English, half in Croatian, sometimes all in English, other times all in Croatian. But nevertheless, full sentences.
I didn't see him for about 24 hours on Sunday-Monday, because he spent Sunday night and Monday day at my parents house. When I saw him again on Monday night, and especially again when he woke up this morning, he was a completely new kid.
For example, on Monday evening when we were at the Silver Spring water fountain, he pointed to a stroller and said "baby sleeping, baby has no shoes."
This morning, he woke up at 5:40 and proceeded to talk to himself and Medic in his crib. Some 15 minutes later, he was done with the crib and wanted to come to our bed. Since it was still pitch black outside, I convinced him that he should continue sleeping (because the crickets, which come out at night, were still singing). He laid still, more or less, but continued whispering to himself and Medic. He was practicing talking. It was too low for me to discern any actual words, although he was right by my ear, but still I could tell he was practicing talking.
Then around 6:10 he declared: "No more sleeping." It was time to get up and go "dole."
(Also, when we were at the pool on Saturday, after 30 minutes of class time, he declared, "I finished," and insisted on getting out of the pool).
His first why question.
This was followed by a "Where is box?" a some time later, while he was holding the key to the black jewelry box, which I don't use, and which is one of his toys instead. He wanted to practice locking and locking it. (The locking fascination runs close to the wires, plugs and general "boops" fascination)
His first where question.
In general, since last night, I noticed a huge leap in Ivan's speech. I was astonished. Overnight, he's become so much more verbal and articulate. He no longer says words, but attempts full sentences and narrates things. We can actually hold a conversation.
His attempted sentences are half in English, half in Croatian, sometimes all in English, other times all in Croatian. But nevertheless, full sentences.
I didn't see him for about 24 hours on Sunday-Monday, because he spent Sunday night and Monday day at my parents house. When I saw him again on Monday night, and especially again when he woke up this morning, he was a completely new kid.
For example, on Monday evening when we were at the Silver Spring water fountain, he pointed to a stroller and said "baby sleeping, baby has no shoes."
This morning, he woke up at 5:40 and proceeded to talk to himself and Medic in his crib. Some 15 minutes later, he was done with the crib and wanted to come to our bed. Since it was still pitch black outside, I convinced him that he should continue sleeping (because the crickets, which come out at night, were still singing). He laid still, more or less, but continued whispering to himself and Medic. He was practicing talking. It was too low for me to discern any actual words, although he was right by my ear, but still I could tell he was practicing talking.
Then around 6:10 he declared: "No more sleeping." It was time to get up and go "dole."
(Also, when we were at the pool on Saturday, after 30 minutes of class time, he declared, "I finished," and insisted on getting out of the pool).
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Mr. Social
This past Sunday we went to the playground. We missed the last few playground Sundays because we were either away (like the previous Sunday at the beach) or other moms weren't there. So we hadn't seen our neighborhood friends for a few weeks.
As always, we was excited to go to the playground. Since I expected the same scenario that had been playing itself over the summer where we get to the playground and then he sits in his stroller, observing kids and crying "kuci, mamma, kuci," I didn't think about it too much.
Except this time, he actually got out of the stroller and sat next to me on the playground edge for a few minutes before wandering off to play and interact with kids.
I was thrilled. The shy spell must be over. I actually read on BabyCenter recently that the wanting to go home behavior could be a sign that a child is stressed-out about a situation. I don't know why he could've been unconfortable at the playground but I'm glad I didn't push him over the summer.
On our way home from the playground, we swung by the other smaller playground that's closer to our house. He wanted to go down the slides. He first went down the little slides a few times, like he's done numerous time before. Then he climbed up to the big, twisty slide. The one I always have to come down with him. So down we went. But then, he climbed up again to go by himself. Several times. Again, I was thrilled. He had been slide-averse for the last few months and had never wanted to go down the twisty slides by himself. And now he did it.
All it its own time.
As always, we was excited to go to the playground. Since I expected the same scenario that had been playing itself over the summer where we get to the playground and then he sits in his stroller, observing kids and crying "kuci, mamma, kuci," I didn't think about it too much.
Except this time, he actually got out of the stroller and sat next to me on the playground edge for a few minutes before wandering off to play and interact with kids.
I was thrilled. The shy spell must be over. I actually read on BabyCenter recently that the wanting to go home behavior could be a sign that a child is stressed-out about a situation. I don't know why he could've been unconfortable at the playground but I'm glad I didn't push him over the summer.
On our way home from the playground, we swung by the other smaller playground that's closer to our house. He wanted to go down the slides. He first went down the little slides a few times, like he's done numerous time before. Then he climbed up to the big, twisty slide. The one I always have to come down with him. So down we went. But then, he climbed up again to go by himself. Several times. Again, I was thrilled. He had been slide-averse for the last few months and had never wanted to go down the twisty slides by himself. And now he did it.
All it its own time.
Latest Ivanisms
Ivan has become quite a little chatterbox.
He practices talking to himself, talking to his toys, talking to Medic. It becomes a random hodge-podge of words and phrases he's heard us use, and he repeats things he heard a while back. He also practices things he's heard in daycare. He practices his interaction with other kids or teachers. It's really cute. And so obvious that that's what he's doing.
It's also clear that in daycare they're teaching them colors and numbers. And he obviously has absolutely no concept of either. They must be working on the color "green." According to Ivan, everything is green, including all the things that are not.
The same goes for numbers. For a while now, he'll count "one, three, nine," or some other number combination.
This week's favorite has been "Didi, leady, four, ten," as he'd try to tell my dad, "ready, one, two, three," when they were playing with the ball.
He's still mixing up English and Croatian in the same sentence. He understand both and can "talk" in both. However, lately I'm noticing that English is becoming a bit more dominant. It makes sense. The pool of English speakers around him is much wider and during the week he's more exposed to English than to Croatian. But that's OK.
A selection of recent random Ivan phrases:
"Didi sjekao notkici"
"Yucky cips."
"Drinking a voda."
"Do dat, dadda"
"No bones, Popo."
"Move grass."
"No touc it"
"No go kuci," as he kept insisting today as we were driving home from daycare.
And the all time favorite: "My do dat."
He practices talking to himself, talking to his toys, talking to Medic. It becomes a random hodge-podge of words and phrases he's heard us use, and he repeats things he heard a while back. He also practices things he's heard in daycare. He practices his interaction with other kids or teachers. It's really cute. And so obvious that that's what he's doing.
It's also clear that in daycare they're teaching them colors and numbers. And he obviously has absolutely no concept of either. They must be working on the color "green." According to Ivan, everything is green, including all the things that are not.
The same goes for numbers. For a while now, he'll count "one, three, nine," or some other number combination.
This week's favorite has been "Didi, leady, four, ten," as he'd try to tell my dad, "ready, one, two, three," when they were playing with the ball.
He's still mixing up English and Croatian in the same sentence. He understand both and can "talk" in both. However, lately I'm noticing that English is becoming a bit more dominant. It makes sense. The pool of English speakers around him is much wider and during the week he's more exposed to English than to Croatian. But that's OK.
A selection of recent random Ivan phrases:
"Didi sjekao notkici"
"Yucky cips."
"Drinking a voda."
"Do dat, dadda"
"No bones, Popo."
"Move grass."
"No touc it"
"No go kuci," as he kept insisting today as we were driving home from daycare.
And the all time favorite: "My do dat."
Swim Lesson
I signed up Ivan for swim lessons. Our first lesson was last Saturday at Maryland. Since the indoor pool was undergoing some serious cleaning, the first lesson was scheduled at the outside pool. This probably sounded like a swell idea when they were preparing the schedule. However, last week the weather turned cold.
(It was actually kind of perfect timing. Labor Day weekend Sunday, the weather was perfect and we went to the beach. More on that later. But Monday turned cold and rainy. As if on cue, it signalled the unofficial end of summer and the beginning of another year--school year, professional year, fall, etc.)
So the Saturday in question was cloudy. The temperature barely rose to 64 degrees by 9:30 a.m. when the lesson started. Luckily, the pool was nicely heated to a comfortable 83 degrees.
Based on Ivan and Andy's previous pool excursions and his delight at being at the beach the weekend before, I hoped he'll love the swim lesson, but I wasn't sure.
There were several classes taking place simultaneously--parent and tot (our class), three year-olds, four year-olds, etc. swim lessons.
Our tot class had some 8 parent-tot couples.
Instructors wanted the kids to walk into the pool themselves, instead of being carried. Ivan, of course, refused. He insisted I "dingut, dingut," him. Our instructor came to help to lure him into the pool, but he basically shooed her off. So I releted and carried him in.
Once in the pool, he loved it. We had a wonderful time. He was beaming with joy. The instructor had us do all sort of get your-kid-accustomed-to-the-water games. They included the wheels on the bus, where we walked in circle spashing water around, lifting the child up and down in the water, etc. We also played Humpy Dumpy Sat, where we sat the child on the pool edge and then let him fall back into the water int our arms. We also got little watering buckets to dump water on the child, or let the child dump the water on the parent. Then the instructor gave us foam letter to throw in front of us in the water and have the child reach for them. This idea was swell, except that all kids, including Ivan, held tight onto those letter and would let them go. "Mine, mine."
Then everyone started getting cold. Being in the water was a bit less fun. So after half an hour, the lesson ended. But we had a great time. I can't wait to take him back on Saturday.
I, however, felt like a humongous duck. My bathing suit, which fit OK the week before, was suddenly snug. I felt like boobs were flying everywhere and the tankini top kept riding up my belly. At first I was self-conscious but then I hoped that no one really cared nor paid attention to me. Everyone was engrossed in their own kid.
My parents came along for the lesson as Andy was working. I was glad they came. They also had a blast watching Ivan enjoy himself so much in the pool.
(It was actually kind of perfect timing. Labor Day weekend Sunday, the weather was perfect and we went to the beach. More on that later. But Monday turned cold and rainy. As if on cue, it signalled the unofficial end of summer and the beginning of another year--school year, professional year, fall, etc.)
So the Saturday in question was cloudy. The temperature barely rose to 64 degrees by 9:30 a.m. when the lesson started. Luckily, the pool was nicely heated to a comfortable 83 degrees.
Based on Ivan and Andy's previous pool excursions and his delight at being at the beach the weekend before, I hoped he'll love the swim lesson, but I wasn't sure.
There were several classes taking place simultaneously--parent and tot (our class), three year-olds, four year-olds, etc. swim lessons.
Our tot class had some 8 parent-tot couples.
Instructors wanted the kids to walk into the pool themselves, instead of being carried. Ivan, of course, refused. He insisted I "dingut, dingut," him. Our instructor came to help to lure him into the pool, but he basically shooed her off. So I releted and carried him in.
Once in the pool, he loved it. We had a wonderful time. He was beaming with joy. The instructor had us do all sort of get your-kid-accustomed-to-the-water games. They included the wheels on the bus, where we walked in circle spashing water around, lifting the child up and down in the water, etc. We also played Humpy Dumpy Sat, where we sat the child on the pool edge and then let him fall back into the water int our arms. We also got little watering buckets to dump water on the child, or let the child dump the water on the parent. Then the instructor gave us foam letter to throw in front of us in the water and have the child reach for them. This idea was swell, except that all kids, including Ivan, held tight onto those letter and would let them go. "Mine, mine."
Then everyone started getting cold. Being in the water was a bit less fun. So after half an hour, the lesson ended. But we had a great time. I can't wait to take him back on Saturday.
I, however, felt like a humongous duck. My bathing suit, which fit OK the week before, was suddenly snug. I felt like boobs were flying everywhere and the tankini top kept riding up my belly. At first I was self-conscious but then I hoped that no one really cared nor paid attention to me. Everyone was engrossed in their own kid.
My parents came along for the lesson as Andy was working. I was glad they came. They also had a blast watching Ivan enjoy himself so much in the pool.
Is Medic a Girl?
Over the last month or so, Ivan has rechristened Medic into Mimi. Actually, he refers to the stuffed bear as both, sometimes it's Medic, other times it's Mimi.
I'm stumped. When and why did the change occur? I'm not sure.
However, Ivan and Medic continue to be inseparable, although Medic is, once again, stinky. He's due for another spa treatment, e.g. a cold water, gentle spin in the washer, and a thorough drying in the dryer.
Now Ivan talks to Medic ("no cry, Mimi, no cry") or talks about Medic ("Medic crying, change diapers Medic"....)
He also plays with him, this often means he also inadvertently sweeps the floor him.
Medic also gets pretend-fed and gets his diapers changed, for real. He even sometimes gets "everywhere," otherwise known as underwear.
I'm stumped. When and why did the change occur? I'm not sure.
However, Ivan and Medic continue to be inseparable, although Medic is, once again, stinky. He's due for another spa treatment, e.g. a cold water, gentle spin in the washer, and a thorough drying in the dryer.
Now Ivan talks to Medic ("no cry, Mimi, no cry") or talks about Medic ("Medic crying, change diapers Medic"....)
He also plays with him, this often means he also inadvertently sweeps the floor him.
Medic also gets pretend-fed and gets his diapers changed, for real. He even sometimes gets "everywhere," otherwise known as underwear.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Falling
Yesterday, while crossing the street, I apparently didn't raise my foot high enough to get on the sidewalk so I tripped and fell flat on my face.
Did I fall of my belly, someone asked. Of course, how could I avoid it! I badly bruised my knees; one just got scraped, but the other one is rather skinned, with a big red bloody mark on it. No bleeding however.
Ivan, the bandaids king was very excited to see that mamma has a bubu and a bandaid.
I blame heat, as well as my huge tights, which don't let me make big strides any more for the fall. And of course, there is the stomach itself. And there is just my natural clutziness. Last time I tripped and fell walking down the street 10 years ago in Boston, I broke two fingers. This time I just scraped the knees.
However, I was badly shaken. But since I wasn't bleeding or experiencing any out-of-ordinary aches and pains, I decided there was on point on going for a doctor check up.
That's what the amniotic sack is for, as several people, including my mom said, to cushion the baby.
I hope this baby is OK. Between Mariposa and Ivan inadvertently jumping and sitting on my stomach all these months, and now this fall, this baby has been in for one rough belly ride.
Did I fall of my belly, someone asked. Of course, how could I avoid it! I badly bruised my knees; one just got scraped, but the other one is rather skinned, with a big red bloody mark on it. No bleeding however.
Ivan, the bandaids king was very excited to see that mamma has a bubu and a bandaid.
I blame heat, as well as my huge tights, which don't let me make big strides any more for the fall. And of course, there is the stomach itself. And there is just my natural clutziness. Last time I tripped and fell walking down the street 10 years ago in Boston, I broke two fingers. This time I just scraped the knees.
However, I was badly shaken. But since I wasn't bleeding or experiencing any out-of-ordinary aches and pains, I decided there was on point on going for a doctor check up.
That's what the amniotic sack is for, as several people, including my mom said, to cushion the baby.
I hope this baby is OK. Between Mariposa and Ivan inadvertently jumping and sitting on my stomach all these months, and now this fall, this baby has been in for one rough belly ride.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Potty Training Bootcamp, Take 2, 3
Yesterday, the potty training sergeant was Andy. The pattern basically repeated itself:
Andy and Ivan got up around 6:30. They went downstairs to eat. They returned upstairs to change for the day. After some back and forth, Andy got Ivan to put on a pair of underwear.
They went to the basement to play. Ivan peed and pooped in the pants but didn't say anything. They came back upstairs to change. He sat on the potty when we took his pants off, but there was nothing to pee or squeeze out. All had been done. Lots of pee and the same bean paste as the day before. Andy offered to wash it off (yeah!).
I cleaned Ivan in the meantime.
We haggled over underwear. Ivan didn't want to put them on. Andy convinced him to. Then he left to walk Mariposa. Not even five minutes later, wearing a new pair of underwear and shorts, Ivan peed on the bedroom floor.
"Ah," he said when he saw the pee puddle at his legs.
I changed him into a fresh pair of underwear. Since we were down to one pair of clean shorts, I let him just wear underwear. I also figured he may be more likely to say something, if he needs to go potty. We played in the room for a while and then went to the basement to put a load of wash to dry and another one to wash.
In the time that it took me to put a load in the dryer and another in the washer, Ivan peed again. Another floor puddle. "Ah," he said again.
So off to the bedrooms we returned. I changed him and cleaned him. He wouldn't let me put another pair of underpants on, so I let him run around naked. An half an hour later, when he had to pee again, he went to the potty and peed.
So, basically, if he's naked he'll use the potty, but if he's wearing underpants, he will just go in his pants.
Some time later, while I tried to on another pair of underpants, he insisted "mamma, cange diaper, cange diaper, cream, wipes." He then brought me a diaper, his butt cream and wipes.
It was 11 a.m. again and I capitulated. I put him in diapers for the rest of the day. I also really had no more clean underpants and shorts.
Today:
More or less, the same scenario. Ivan peed in his clothes. Andy brought him up to change him. While we were in the process of changing him and he was naked, he ran to the potty to poppy and pee. (A nice hard turd. Why couldn't he have pooped them yesterday and Friday!) We ceremoniously flushed the poop in the toilet.
We dressed him in clean clothes, and he basically peed his pants two more times. On our 4th pair of clean clothes for the morning, I took a gamble to take him to the playground, wearing underwear. Just in case, I brought a clean pair of shorts and a diaper along.
We were at the playground for one and a half hours. No wet spots. I was pleased. I put him in the stroller and went home. When we got home, some 5-10 minutes later, there was a bit wet spot on his butt. He had peed in the stroller without saying anything.
"No wewe," he said when I changed him.
I aborted the potty training mission and put diapers on since we were driving to my parents' house. I didn't want to risk a big pee stain on the car seat.
I also took this morning's assortment of soiled shorts and underpants to my mom's to wash, since he was out of clean shorts again. Ivan's spending the night at their house and the day with my dad. I gave him thorough instructions of how to attempt potty training, however, knowing my dad, I doubt he'll follow through. No, he'll have a better way, his way of doing it because, of course, my way is probably inadequate.
Andy and Ivan got up around 6:30. They went downstairs to eat. They returned upstairs to change for the day. After some back and forth, Andy got Ivan to put on a pair of underwear.
They went to the basement to play. Ivan peed and pooped in the pants but didn't say anything. They came back upstairs to change. He sat on the potty when we took his pants off, but there was nothing to pee or squeeze out. All had been done. Lots of pee and the same bean paste as the day before. Andy offered to wash it off (yeah!).
I cleaned Ivan in the meantime.
We haggled over underwear. Ivan didn't want to put them on. Andy convinced him to. Then he left to walk Mariposa. Not even five minutes later, wearing a new pair of underwear and shorts, Ivan peed on the bedroom floor.
"Ah," he said when he saw the pee puddle at his legs.
I changed him into a fresh pair of underwear. Since we were down to one pair of clean shorts, I let him just wear underwear. I also figured he may be more likely to say something, if he needs to go potty. We played in the room for a while and then went to the basement to put a load of wash to dry and another one to wash.
In the time that it took me to put a load in the dryer and another in the washer, Ivan peed again. Another floor puddle. "Ah," he said again.
So off to the bedrooms we returned. I changed him and cleaned him. He wouldn't let me put another pair of underpants on, so I let him run around naked. An half an hour later, when he had to pee again, he went to the potty and peed.
So, basically, if he's naked he'll use the potty, but if he's wearing underpants, he will just go in his pants.
Some time later, while I tried to on another pair of underpants, he insisted "mamma, cange diaper, cange diaper, cream, wipes." He then brought me a diaper, his butt cream and wipes.
It was 11 a.m. again and I capitulated. I put him in diapers for the rest of the day. I also really had no more clean underpants and shorts.
Today:
More or less, the same scenario. Ivan peed in his clothes. Andy brought him up to change him. While we were in the process of changing him and he was naked, he ran to the potty to poppy and pee. (A nice hard turd. Why couldn't he have pooped them yesterday and Friday!) We ceremoniously flushed the poop in the toilet.
We dressed him in clean clothes, and he basically peed his pants two more times. On our 4th pair of clean clothes for the morning, I took a gamble to take him to the playground, wearing underwear. Just in case, I brought a clean pair of shorts and a diaper along.
We were at the playground for one and a half hours. No wet spots. I was pleased. I put him in the stroller and went home. When we got home, some 5-10 minutes later, there was a bit wet spot on his butt. He had peed in the stroller without saying anything.
"No wewe," he said when I changed him.
I aborted the potty training mission and put diapers on since we were driving to my parents' house. I didn't want to risk a big pee stain on the car seat.
I also took this morning's assortment of soiled shorts and underpants to my mom's to wash, since he was out of clean shorts again. Ivan's spending the night at their house and the day with my dad. I gave him thorough instructions of how to attempt potty training, however, knowing my dad, I doubt he'll follow through. No, he'll have a better way, his way of doing it because, of course, my way is probably inadequate.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Ivan's art
When I picked up Ivan from daycare on Wednesday, he insisted I lift him up near his basket (where all his belogings are). On the wall above it, was a collage. He wanted to show me. He was very proud of it.
"Should we take it home," I asked. "No, no, leave it," he said. So we did.
Andy said he did the same thing last week. Every day, he'd point to his artwork, which was hanging on some mobile in the classroom. (I assume it was drying out.)
On Thursday, both of us picked him up. He insisted Andy lifts him up to where his basket was. He wanted to show dadda the collage as well.
Andy said it was the same piece he was pointing out last week.
This is a new development -- Ivan being so proud of his creation and wanting to show it to us.
"Should we take it home," I asked. "No, no, leave it," he said. So we did.
Andy said he did the same thing last week. Every day, he'd point to his artwork, which was hanging on some mobile in the classroom. (I assume it was drying out.)
On Thursday, both of us picked him up. He insisted Andy lifts him up to where his basket was. He wanted to show dadda the collage as well.
Andy said it was the same piece he was pointing out last week.
This is a new development -- Ivan being so proud of his creation and wanting to show it to us.
Our first baby conversation
Yesterday, when we went to pick up Ivan from daycare, Emma, a cute talkative three-year old in Ivan's class, was showing us her "baby." A doll she had put under her shirt. I don't know if she has a younger sibling or not.
Today, Ivan got his stuffed dolphin and stuck it under his shirt. "My baby, my baby," he told me. Had I not seen Emma do this yesterday, I would've been concerned where he got it from. But it made sense.
"Mamma has a baby in her belly, too," I took the opportunity to tell him. It was our first baby conversation. I'm sure he has no clue what it actually means, but he did show interest in my growing stomach and the baby that's inside.
Maybe this makes more sense to him now, than our elusive "don't hit mamma on the belly, gentle with mamma, etc" warnings.
I suspect that he's been aware for at least a month now that something is going on with mamma. Ever since the sonogram to which both he and Andy came, he's been acting more clingy around me. When I hold him, he doesn't just relax and lay limp in my arms, but rather hugs me back with all this toddler plump might.
I especially noticed it this week at daycare. Each morning when we dropped him off, he really didn't want to let go of me. When he saw me in the afternoon, he'd rush to me and hug me real tight. He'd rush to me past Andy, even though in the past he'd always primarily go to him not me, since he's the primary daycare drop-offer and picker-upper. And Ivan, like all toddlers, is all about a routine.
Today, Ivan got his stuffed dolphin and stuck it under his shirt. "My baby, my baby," he told me. Had I not seen Emma do this yesterday, I would've been concerned where he got it from. But it made sense.
"Mamma has a baby in her belly, too," I took the opportunity to tell him. It was our first baby conversation. I'm sure he has no clue what it actually means, but he did show interest in my growing stomach and the baby that's inside.
Maybe this makes more sense to him now, than our elusive "don't hit mamma on the belly, gentle with mamma, etc" warnings.
I suspect that he's been aware for at least a month now that something is going on with mamma. Ever since the sonogram to which both he and Andy came, he's been acting more clingy around me. When I hold him, he doesn't just relax and lay limp in my arms, but rather hugs me back with all this toddler plump might.
I especially noticed it this week at daycare. Each morning when we dropped him off, he really didn't want to let go of me. When he saw me in the afternoon, he'd rush to me and hug me real tight. He'd rush to me past Andy, even though in the past he'd always primarily go to him not me, since he's the primary daycare drop-offer and picker-upper. And Ivan, like all toddlers, is all about a routine.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Potty Training Bootcamp, Take 1
It lasted all of four hours this morning.
Knowing that Ivan will refuse to wear underwear, I asked Andy to make a big deal out of wearing underwear when he was getting dressed this morning.
Ivan finally relented. He allowed Andy to put a pair of underpants on. However, not the red Elmo pair that I was trying to put on him. He had to go and choose his own pair. Fine. He returned with a blue Grover pair. Maybe it's Elmo on the underwear that he doesn't want to wear, not the underwear itself, I thought.
We dressed him in a pair of pants and then Andy left for work.
I repeatedly told Ivan to let me know when he needed to go potty and pooppy so we can go on the potty. He didn't acknowledge any of my heedings. He was too busy playing.
Some two hours later, while he was engrossed in play, I noticed a big wet stain on the front of his pants. He didn't say anything, nor acknowledged it when I said his pants were wet and let's go to change.
Nothing.
I got concerned that maybe he doesn't feel the wetness or that maybe it doesn't bother him. Either one, of course, would be bad from the potty training perspective. I found it weird though because every time his pajamas get wet, because his diaper is too full or somehow wasn't positioned properly, he loudly complains to change him. "Change diaper."
We attempted to go upstairs to the bedroom several times to put on some new clothes, but somehow we'd always end up back downstairs playing. Eventually, half an hour later, we made it upstairs. He proceeded to play, completely ignoring me.
Meanwhile, Andy's mother called and I told her about my dilemma. Should I change him or should I wait for him to acknowledge that his pants are wet? She didn't know. But Ivan heard me talk to her about underwear, and quickly ran to his room to bring a pair. So he's been listening all along.
Still, he wouldn't let me change him. I let him play in his room, where he was busy neatly spreading out on the floor his various bedspreads, while I stayed in our bedroom. A few minutes later, he rushed in crying. A bean-infused aroma, or shall I say stench, enveloped his little frame, like some sensory aura. He had popped his pants.
He still refused to get changed, but engrossed himself in play in the bedroom.
OK, this is some sort of potty training resistance, I thought.
Eventually, off to the bathroom we went to get cleaned up.
Instead of popping a few nice firm nuggets that I could just toss in the toilet ("bye, bye poppy, we always tell the poop when he clean diapers and flush its contents into the toilet), the poop was of bean paste consistency that was stuck to his underwear and butt, and smeared all over his legs.
Great! Underwear isn't disposable diapers, so I was thrilled to have to clean that up.
We lingered in the bathroom. He sat on the potty a few times to pee, which he did. (Always requesting gobs of toilet paper to dry himself off, to the point that the toilet got stuck.)
Then he played in the bedroom butt-naked. When he had to pee, he rushed to the potty. So he knows when he needs to go, I confirmed.
But he absolutely refused to let me put underwear back on. I got out the entire Sesame Street collection to let him choose. He picked the orange one. I forget which character that was.
"Too tight, too tight," he protested when I pulled up the pants. They're the right size and fit fine. But the underpants feel different than diapers, and he doesn't like it. I would say more comfortable, but then I haven't spent my whole life in diapers, like he has. His safety blanket.
Then, he brought me diapers, pleading with me, "change diapers, change diapers, mamma." I acquiesced.
So by 11 a.m. with one peed and pooped underpants, he was back in his diapers.
Tomorrow's bootcamp sergeant will be Andy (he doesn't know it yet). I hope he fares better.
Knowing that Ivan will refuse to wear underwear, I asked Andy to make a big deal out of wearing underwear when he was getting dressed this morning.
Ivan finally relented. He allowed Andy to put a pair of underpants on. However, not the red Elmo pair that I was trying to put on him. He had to go and choose his own pair. Fine. He returned with a blue Grover pair. Maybe it's Elmo on the underwear that he doesn't want to wear, not the underwear itself, I thought.
We dressed him in a pair of pants and then Andy left for work.
I repeatedly told Ivan to let me know when he needed to go potty and pooppy so we can go on the potty. He didn't acknowledge any of my heedings. He was too busy playing.
Some two hours later, while he was engrossed in play, I noticed a big wet stain on the front of his pants. He didn't say anything, nor acknowledged it when I said his pants were wet and let's go to change.
Nothing.
I got concerned that maybe he doesn't feel the wetness or that maybe it doesn't bother him. Either one, of course, would be bad from the potty training perspective. I found it weird though because every time his pajamas get wet, because his diaper is too full or somehow wasn't positioned properly, he loudly complains to change him. "Change diaper."
We attempted to go upstairs to the bedroom several times to put on some new clothes, but somehow we'd always end up back downstairs playing. Eventually, half an hour later, we made it upstairs. He proceeded to play, completely ignoring me.
Meanwhile, Andy's mother called and I told her about my dilemma. Should I change him or should I wait for him to acknowledge that his pants are wet? She didn't know. But Ivan heard me talk to her about underwear, and quickly ran to his room to bring a pair. So he's been listening all along.
Still, he wouldn't let me change him. I let him play in his room, where he was busy neatly spreading out on the floor his various bedspreads, while I stayed in our bedroom. A few minutes later, he rushed in crying. A bean-infused aroma, or shall I say stench, enveloped his little frame, like some sensory aura. He had popped his pants.
He still refused to get changed, but engrossed himself in play in the bedroom.
OK, this is some sort of potty training resistance, I thought.
Eventually, off to the bathroom we went to get cleaned up.
Instead of popping a few nice firm nuggets that I could just toss in the toilet ("bye, bye poppy, we always tell the poop when he clean diapers and flush its contents into the toilet), the poop was of bean paste consistency that was stuck to his underwear and butt, and smeared all over his legs.
Great! Underwear isn't disposable diapers, so I was thrilled to have to clean that up.
We lingered in the bathroom. He sat on the potty a few times to pee, which he did. (Always requesting gobs of toilet paper to dry himself off, to the point that the toilet got stuck.)
Then he played in the bedroom butt-naked. When he had to pee, he rushed to the potty. So he knows when he needs to go, I confirmed.
But he absolutely refused to let me put underwear back on. I got out the entire Sesame Street collection to let him choose. He picked the orange one. I forget which character that was.
"Too tight, too tight," he protested when I pulled up the pants. They're the right size and fit fine. But the underpants feel different than diapers, and he doesn't like it. I would say more comfortable, but then I haven't spent my whole life in diapers, like he has. His safety blanket.
Then, he brought me diapers, pleading with me, "change diapers, change diapers, mamma." I acquiesced.
So by 11 a.m. with one peed and pooped underpants, he was back in his diapers.
Tomorrow's bootcamp sergeant will be Andy (he doesn't know it yet). I hope he fares better.
Dancing, Singing Ivan
Back in spring, Ms. Yvonne told us that Ivan likes to dance at daycare. We were shocked. He never wanted to dance at home, and if I tried to dance, I'd get a big, "no, mamma, no," in return. He also absolutely hated the music class we took him to last fall. He kept wanting to leave the room.
Then a month ago, when Ivan and I drove my mother, who had just returned from Croatia, back to her house, the first thing Ivan did at the house was to run to the radio to turn it on. Then he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with mardi gras beads strung around his neck (they hang on the pantry door). He went up to my mom to dance with her. Apparently, that's what the two of them do when he sleeps at their house. They get the newspaper "nonine, nonine," he watches my mom make coffee (who puts "secer" in the coffee) and then they dance.
Over the summer, I have noticed that he'll sometimes kind of bounce around to the music, but didn't make much of it. But the last few days, he's been holding Medic by its arms, jumping around, singing "dance, dance, dance, dance." It's hysterical.
He's also apparently really taken by music. There was the time at my parents' house when he was mesmerized by the Josh Groban concert.
Then about a month ago, at Andy's parents house, while Andy took of for his float-down-the-river-drinking-beer trip to Maine and I went to a quilt show with Andy's mother, Andy's dad and Ivan had quite a nice little morning to themselves. They got some crackers, sat in Pappi's den, and listened to nine tracks of Enya's Christmas album. Ivan was apparently mesmerized.
My parents said that the other week when we woke up at their house, he first turned on the radio to listen to some Dalmatian klapa music. He sat quietly on the sofa, with his hands crossed in his lap, enjoying the music for some 10-15 minutes, my mother reported.
Today, he insisted we put on some children's music. The spent the whole morning singing "people, up and down, up and down" while we was trying to stand up and squat down. Finally, I realized he was singing "the Wheels on the Bus."
I, however, am not really allowed to sing. He says "no, mamma, no." Now, I'm not sure whether it's because my voice is so bad that even toddler's ears are jarred by the sound of my off-singing, or whether he just doesn't like it because it's not something that mamma does.
Then a month ago, when Ivan and I drove my mother, who had just returned from Croatia, back to her house, the first thing Ivan did at the house was to run to the radio to turn it on. Then he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with mardi gras beads strung around his neck (they hang on the pantry door). He went up to my mom to dance with her. Apparently, that's what the two of them do when he sleeps at their house. They get the newspaper "nonine, nonine," he watches my mom make coffee (who puts "secer" in the coffee) and then they dance.
Over the summer, I have noticed that he'll sometimes kind of bounce around to the music, but didn't make much of it. But the last few days, he's been holding Medic by its arms, jumping around, singing "dance, dance, dance, dance." It's hysterical.
He's also apparently really taken by music. There was the time at my parents' house when he was mesmerized by the Josh Groban concert.
Then about a month ago, at Andy's parents house, while Andy took of for his float-down-the-river-drinking-beer trip to Maine and I went to a quilt show with Andy's mother, Andy's dad and Ivan had quite a nice little morning to themselves. They got some crackers, sat in Pappi's den, and listened to nine tracks of Enya's Christmas album. Ivan was apparently mesmerized.
My parents said that the other week when we woke up at their house, he first turned on the radio to listen to some Dalmatian klapa music. He sat quietly on the sofa, with his hands crossed in his lap, enjoying the music for some 10-15 minutes, my mother reported.
Today, he insisted we put on some children's music. The spent the whole morning singing "people, up and down, up and down" while we was trying to stand up and squat down. Finally, I realized he was singing "the Wheels on the Bus."
I, however, am not really allowed to sing. He says "no, mamma, no." Now, I'm not sure whether it's because my voice is so bad that even toddler's ears are jarred by the sound of my off-singing, or whether he just doesn't like it because it's not something that mamma does.
The Nap Boycotter
This past month, Ivan has become anti-nap. He still needs a nap but he absolutely refuses to be put down.
It all started the week of July 20, when daycare was closed for the week, and I was home with him. He'd wake up at his regular time, between 5:30 a.m. and 6 a.m. and would be dead tired by the time lunch rolled around. However, he started resisting his naptime. First, he'd try to stave off the nap, but by 2:30 or so he'd give in. "Sleepy, sleepy" and I'd put him down in his crib.
Then he started refusing to nap in his crib, preferring either our bed (drugi krevet) or the spare bedroom (before it got dismantled, but that's another story, loosely related to resting bed time).
Then he started refusing to go and take a nap at all.
After a week of this, he returned to daycare. Ms. Yvonne said that he goes down for a nap during the regular nap time between 1-3 p.m. There is nothing else to do, as all kids must take a nap. He doesn't have to fall asleep but he has to rest, she explained. However, he always willingly goes down and easily falls asleep, unlike some other kids who put on a show. He just watched them from his cot. At 3, she said, when it's time to wake up, she actually has to wake him up from slumber.
Well, that definitely has not been his behavior at home. As the month progressed, the nap boycott became more pronounced to the point that we've just given up.
So last Friday, when we came home from the pediatrician's, he was about to fall asleep in the car but we got home before that. He was sleepy and limp in my arms as I carried him into the house. But as soon as we got to the bedrooms, he threw a fit that he wanted to go "dole." So, dole we returned. I sat him on the couch and went to the bathroom. He looked positively groggy, almost drunk. By the time I returned a few minutes later, he was fast asleep. He slept for two hours.
Two Sundays ago, neither Andy nor I could get him to lay down. So we let him be. Kris and Olexa were coming over for a BBQ around 5:30. While Kris and I were chatting in the living room, Ivan suddenly quited down and disappeared. He fell a sleep in the dining room on the floor. He basically slept through the night.
Today, even thought he had been up since 5:30 and I could tell he started getting tired as early as 11 (as did I), he started adamantly proclaiming, "No nap, mamma, no nap." By 2 p.m. or so, these proclamations escalated into downright yells.
I wasn't allowed to take a nap either. I laid down on the couch while he was playing but he would come over to hoist me up.
So I let him be. I was too exhausted to keep fighting him.
Around 3 p.m., I went to the kitchen to eat some mac and cheese. A few minutes later, I realized that the ruckus in the living room had quited down. I got concerned. But when I turned the corner into the living room, I found this:
I scooped him up and took him to his crib. The "no nap, mamma" boycotter slept until 6:30.
Some toddlers drop naptime all together because they no longer don't need it. But Ivan does.
Ivan, I think, is doing the other typical toddler thing: he doesn't want to take a nap for the fear of missing out on things.
It all started the week of July 20, when daycare was closed for the week, and I was home with him. He'd wake up at his regular time, between 5:30 a.m. and 6 a.m. and would be dead tired by the time lunch rolled around. However, he started resisting his naptime. First, he'd try to stave off the nap, but by 2:30 or so he'd give in. "Sleepy, sleepy" and I'd put him down in his crib.
Then he started refusing to nap in his crib, preferring either our bed (drugi krevet) or the spare bedroom (before it got dismantled, but that's another story, loosely related to resting bed time).
Then he started refusing to go and take a nap at all.
After a week of this, he returned to daycare. Ms. Yvonne said that he goes down for a nap during the regular nap time between 1-3 p.m. There is nothing else to do, as all kids must take a nap. He doesn't have to fall asleep but he has to rest, she explained. However, he always willingly goes down and easily falls asleep, unlike some other kids who put on a show. He just watched them from his cot. At 3, she said, when it's time to wake up, she actually has to wake him up from slumber.
Well, that definitely has not been his behavior at home. As the month progressed, the nap boycott became more pronounced to the point that we've just given up.
So last Friday, when we came home from the pediatrician's, he was about to fall asleep in the car but we got home before that. He was sleepy and limp in my arms as I carried him into the house. But as soon as we got to the bedrooms, he threw a fit that he wanted to go "dole." So, dole we returned. I sat him on the couch and went to the bathroom. He looked positively groggy, almost drunk. By the time I returned a few minutes later, he was fast asleep. He slept for two hours.
Two Sundays ago, neither Andy nor I could get him to lay down. So we let him be. Kris and Olexa were coming over for a BBQ around 5:30. While Kris and I were chatting in the living room, Ivan suddenly quited down and disappeared. He fell a sleep in the dining room on the floor. He basically slept through the night.
Today, even thought he had been up since 5:30 and I could tell he started getting tired as early as 11 (as did I), he started adamantly proclaiming, "No nap, mamma, no nap." By 2 p.m. or so, these proclamations escalated into downright yells.
I wasn't allowed to take a nap either. I laid down on the couch while he was playing but he would come over to hoist me up.
So I let him be. I was too exhausted to keep fighting him.
Around 3 p.m., I went to the kitchen to eat some mac and cheese. A few minutes later, I realized that the ruckus in the living room had quited down. I got concerned. But when I turned the corner into the living room, I found this:
I scooped him up and took him to his crib. The "no nap, mamma" boycotter slept until 6:30.
Some toddlers drop naptime all together because they no longer don't need it. But Ivan does.
Ivan, I think, is doing the other typical toddler thing: he doesn't want to take a nap for the fear of missing out on things.
Just another morning
There is nothing like abruptly being woken up from deep slumber before 5:30 a.m. by a screeching toddler who's desperately crying out "mamma, mamma," with an urgency of someone being tortured. I rush into his room, concerned about what's going on. He is desperately trying to take off his pajama pants and diapers, asking for "meme." I tumble down the stairs, more by feel and touch than by sight, praying that I won't miscalculate the number of stairs and twist my ankle, and aiming not to step on the sleeping dog, who's sprawled on the stairs landing, all to the not-so distant background music of a toddler screeching.
It's pitch black outside. I waddle into the kitchen, open the fridge door, shielding my eyes from the bright fridge light (squinting my eyes again, oh no more wrinkles, I think someplace deep in my subconsciousness), pour the milk, and waddle back up the stairs into Ivan's room to deliver the milk. He no longer wants the milk, but is still trying to take off his pants. I take off the pajama. He cries louder, I give him the pants back, "wan that," he says, and throws them across the room.
I pick him up in an attempt to console him. He cries even louder and wants to be put down. He rushes to the gate, pulling on it, like a monkey behind bars, "dole, dole." Downstairs he wants to go.
So, unwillingly I open the gate again, really wishing this episode would end and he'd go back to bed, because that's where I want to be, but no, he sits on the step to say hi to Mariposa, who's wide awake now, wagging her tail.
We go down the stairs into the kitchen. At least he walks, and doesn't insist I carry him, which is good because at his hour I'm still unsure of my balance on the stairs.
I'm ordered to open the fridge door. He wants "senvich." I get the bread and cream cheese. He takes it to the table and orders me to "mamma, mamma, sit there". He tells me to cut the bread in half. I oblige. I spread cream cheese on it. "No mess, mamma," he advises. I give him the sandwich. "Wan it," he says and he pushes it away. I didn't really think he was going to eat it anyway.
But he goes back to the fridge. "Ccc butter," he asks. So I pull out the pbj ingredients. Again, I cut the bread in half. He wants peanut butter on one half and jelly on the other. Usually, we combine the two sandwich halves into one. But no, he wants them apart. He bites into the peanut butter, "wan it," he says and lays on the bench in protest. I didn't think he'd like it either. Peanut butter by itself is too thick to eat. In a second, he comes around the table to spit the contents of his mouth into my hand.
Then he's back at the fridge. I follow him to open the door. Beans, is what is wants. He pulls out the beans tupperware container. I get the spoon. We sit back at the table. I twist the jar open. The pungent smell of Cuban style beans hits my nostrils. The smell is a bit too much at 5:40 a.m. But Ivan eats them with gusto. I want to gag, but instead I turn on this computer, in an effort to distract myself and not to fall asleep while trying to block out the offensive the beans smell. Luckily, a pregnancy side-effect is my constantly stuffy nose, "it's the extra mucus" as pregnacy books helpfully explain, but right now, the extra snot blocking my nasal passages is a rather welcoming buffer to the super olefactory beans molecules that are desperately trying to chisel their way up my nasal cavity.
Seeing me turn on the computer, Ivan declares "ma turn," and I think "great, now I won't be able to peel him of my computer holes into which he'll try to plug and unplug the mouse." But instead, Ivan runs over to get his toy computer. He sets it on the table and turns it on.
"Bunnies, bunnies," he says pointing to the computer. "Bunnies dole." Apparently, bunnies live in the body of computer. He's very concerned about them. Then he points to my computer. Bunnies apparently live in my computer as well. "Bunnies tu, bunnies tu," he says, pointing to the disk drive. Who knew?
These imaginary bunnies keeep cropping up everywhere these last few weeks. Bunnies are everywhere, according to him, even though the only bunnies in the house are a few of his stuffed toys. But no, those don't seem to be the bunnies he refers to.
Like the other day, when he dolefully declared "no more bunnies," as if there were ever bunnies in our back yard. Or the time a few weeks back, when he starred at the window telling me that there are bunnies in the back yard, while Mariposa was vigorously barking at someone/something through the porch door, facing that same direction. I spent a good half an hour looking for this invisible bunny. I have never seen a bunny in our yard. Still it creeped me out, as I thoroughly tried to examine the empty back yard. Nothing but grass back there. Still Ivan was talking about a bunny and Mariposa was barking. I kept thinking, is it a white rabbit from the Jefferson Airplane's song, or maybe an Alice in Wonderland character.
(There are a bunch of bunnies in Andy's parents backyard but not our yard.)
By 6:14 a.m., Ivan has long finished eating his beans, making a big mess in the process both on the table and his shirt, and is demanding "affle." "You want a waffle," I ask. "Affle," he affirmatively nods. So I pull out a frozen French toast from the freezer and plop it in the microwave. "Affle, affle," the screaming continues. A toddler absolutely has to have that instant gratification, and even a two minute delay to warm up the bread is a wailing eternity. Finally, the toast is done. I cut it in into little squares and pour maple syrup on it. He eats it.
It's 6:30 by this time. Everyone is wide awake. Andy is up. Mariposa was let out to pee. I'm wide awake as well, no chance of going back to sleep, now. And Ivan, in his diapers and the beans-smeared pajama top, is busy playing on the kitchen floor with his assortment of plugs, wires and his radio.
The sun has not even come up yet.
And I still have no clue what was so offending about his pajama bottoms an hour earlier.
Just another ordinary morning.
It's pitch black outside. I waddle into the kitchen, open the fridge door, shielding my eyes from the bright fridge light (squinting my eyes again, oh no more wrinkles, I think someplace deep in my subconsciousness), pour the milk, and waddle back up the stairs into Ivan's room to deliver the milk. He no longer wants the milk, but is still trying to take off his pants. I take off the pajama. He cries louder, I give him the pants back, "wan that," he says, and throws them across the room.
I pick him up in an attempt to console him. He cries even louder and wants to be put down. He rushes to the gate, pulling on it, like a monkey behind bars, "dole, dole." Downstairs he wants to go.
So, unwillingly I open the gate again, really wishing this episode would end and he'd go back to bed, because that's where I want to be, but no, he sits on the step to say hi to Mariposa, who's wide awake now, wagging her tail.
We go down the stairs into the kitchen. At least he walks, and doesn't insist I carry him, which is good because at his hour I'm still unsure of my balance on the stairs.
I'm ordered to open the fridge door. He wants "senvich." I get the bread and cream cheese. He takes it to the table and orders me to "mamma, mamma, sit there". He tells me to cut the bread in half. I oblige. I spread cream cheese on it. "No mess, mamma," he advises. I give him the sandwich. "Wan it," he says and he pushes it away. I didn't really think he was going to eat it anyway.
But he goes back to the fridge. "Ccc butter," he asks. So I pull out the pbj ingredients. Again, I cut the bread in half. He wants peanut butter on one half and jelly on the other. Usually, we combine the two sandwich halves into one. But no, he wants them apart. He bites into the peanut butter, "wan it," he says and lays on the bench in protest. I didn't think he'd like it either. Peanut butter by itself is too thick to eat. In a second, he comes around the table to spit the contents of his mouth into my hand.
Then he's back at the fridge. I follow him to open the door. Beans, is what is wants. He pulls out the beans tupperware container. I get the spoon. We sit back at the table. I twist the jar open. The pungent smell of Cuban style beans hits my nostrils. The smell is a bit too much at 5:40 a.m. But Ivan eats them with gusto. I want to gag, but instead I turn on this computer, in an effort to distract myself and not to fall asleep while trying to block out the offensive the beans smell. Luckily, a pregnancy side-effect is my constantly stuffy nose, "it's the extra mucus" as pregnacy books helpfully explain, but right now, the extra snot blocking my nasal passages is a rather welcoming buffer to the super olefactory beans molecules that are desperately trying to chisel their way up my nasal cavity.
Seeing me turn on the computer, Ivan declares "ma turn," and I think "great, now I won't be able to peel him of my computer holes into which he'll try to plug and unplug the mouse." But instead, Ivan runs over to get his toy computer. He sets it on the table and turns it on.
"Bunnies, bunnies," he says pointing to the computer. "Bunnies dole." Apparently, bunnies live in the body of computer. He's very concerned about them. Then he points to my computer. Bunnies apparently live in my computer as well. "Bunnies tu, bunnies tu," he says, pointing to the disk drive. Who knew?
These imaginary bunnies keeep cropping up everywhere these last few weeks. Bunnies are everywhere, according to him, even though the only bunnies in the house are a few of his stuffed toys. But no, those don't seem to be the bunnies he refers to.
Like the other day, when he dolefully declared "no more bunnies," as if there were ever bunnies in our back yard. Or the time a few weeks back, when he starred at the window telling me that there are bunnies in the back yard, while Mariposa was vigorously barking at someone/something through the porch door, facing that same direction. I spent a good half an hour looking for this invisible bunny. I have never seen a bunny in our yard. Still it creeped me out, as I thoroughly tried to examine the empty back yard. Nothing but grass back there. Still Ivan was talking about a bunny and Mariposa was barking. I kept thinking, is it a white rabbit from the Jefferson Airplane's song, or maybe an Alice in Wonderland character.
(There are a bunch of bunnies in Andy's parents backyard but not our yard.)
By 6:14 a.m., Ivan has long finished eating his beans, making a big mess in the process both on the table and his shirt, and is demanding "affle." "You want a waffle," I ask. "Affle," he affirmatively nods. So I pull out a frozen French toast from the freezer and plop it in the microwave. "Affle, affle," the screaming continues. A toddler absolutely has to have that instant gratification, and even a two minute delay to warm up the bread is a wailing eternity. Finally, the toast is done. I cut it in into little squares and pour maple syrup on it. He eats it.
It's 6:30 by this time. Everyone is wide awake. Andy is up. Mariposa was let out to pee. I'm wide awake as well, no chance of going back to sleep, now. And Ivan, in his diapers and the beans-smeared pajama top, is busy playing on the kitchen floor with his assortment of plugs, wires and his radio.
The sun has not even come up yet.
And I still have no clue what was so offending about his pajama bottoms an hour earlier.
Just another ordinary morning.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Food update--mo laisins
A few weeks ago, it appears that Ivan's appetite has kind of returned. So after two full months on subsiding on milk, yogurt and air, Ivan has started to eat again.
He's still picky and doesn't eat that much, but it's definitely an improvement from before.
Raisins now rule. "More laisins, more laisins," he yells all the time. I started buying raising about a month ago, in an effort to get him to eat something that at least used to be a fruit.
He's still on a fruit boycott. All fruit, except bananas, which he willingly eats and goes to get himself, are a no go. He did put a blueberry in his mouth a few weeks ago, as if to dare me, but he promptly took it out. And blueberries were last year's one and only food item.
He even backed of yogurt for a few weeks, but that was short lived. However, he's now very peculiar about his yogurts. He wants to pick the one he wants to eat from the fridge. He opens it. Sometimes he eats it, but other times, he declared "no want it." And that's it. The yogurt goes back into the fridge. I try to give it to him later, but he refuses to eat an open container. He wants to open a new yogurt. As a results, lots of yogurt got wasted in the last few weeks.
The veggie boycott also continues. Although a few weeks ago, at a birthday party, I did manage to feed him a few carrot sticks dipped in hummus. After that, I optimistically bought carrot sticks to serve with hummus, but he caught my gimmick. No carrots have been eaten since the original birthday party tasting.
He regularly refuses to eat dinner with us. We've been making a big deal about dinner lately. We all sit down as a family to eat a nice square homemade meal. While Andy and I eat ours, Ivan plays with his food, or pushes it away declaring "no want it."
Yesterday, he did take a couple of bites of his corn on the cob, which was a major improvement over the previous time we served corn last week, when he systematically pierced every kernel, as if it were bubble wrap.
But today, he positively shocked us. We ate burgers with boiled potatoes and green beans. He pushed his plate away, even though "kepops" was generously doled out on the meat. We didn't expect him to eat the green beans and potatoes, since he's never touched them before. On his plate, there were served more as a decoration than a part of the meal.
Then Ivan got off his bench and wanted to sit in my lap. Once on my lap, he actually picked up a green bean and ate it. Then he helped himself to several more. Andy and I were too afraid to say anything, lest we'd break the grean bean eating spell, so we just looked at each other in shock. Then Ivan actually got a few potatoes pieces of his plate and ate them. Again, we were speechless.
This entire spell lasted only a few minutes. And soon Ivan was back at the fridge, demanding we open it, so he can peak in. He wanted hummus and "cips," which we let him eat.
And later he wanted yogurt.
(On Sunday at my parents house, while we all ate stuffed peppers and mashed potatoes for lunch, he refused to eat. But once we were done, my mother continued hanging out with him in the kitchen. Somehow she got him to eat. He ended up eating three small plates of stuffed peppers-stuffed with ground meat and rice--and mashed potatoes. We're still talking about this eating spree four days later because it was so unusual.)
He's still picky and doesn't eat that much, but it's definitely an improvement from before.
Raisins now rule. "More laisins, more laisins," he yells all the time. I started buying raising about a month ago, in an effort to get him to eat something that at least used to be a fruit.
He's still on a fruit boycott. All fruit, except bananas, which he willingly eats and goes to get himself, are a no go. He did put a blueberry in his mouth a few weeks ago, as if to dare me, but he promptly took it out. And blueberries were last year's one and only food item.
He even backed of yogurt for a few weeks, but that was short lived. However, he's now very peculiar about his yogurts. He wants to pick the one he wants to eat from the fridge. He opens it. Sometimes he eats it, but other times, he declared "no want it." And that's it. The yogurt goes back into the fridge. I try to give it to him later, but he refuses to eat an open container. He wants to open a new yogurt. As a results, lots of yogurt got wasted in the last few weeks.
The veggie boycott also continues. Although a few weeks ago, at a birthday party, I did manage to feed him a few carrot sticks dipped in hummus. After that, I optimistically bought carrot sticks to serve with hummus, but he caught my gimmick. No carrots have been eaten since the original birthday party tasting.
He regularly refuses to eat dinner with us. We've been making a big deal about dinner lately. We all sit down as a family to eat a nice square homemade meal. While Andy and I eat ours, Ivan plays with his food, or pushes it away declaring "no want it."
Yesterday, he did take a couple of bites of his corn on the cob, which was a major improvement over the previous time we served corn last week, when he systematically pierced every kernel, as if it were bubble wrap.
But today, he positively shocked us. We ate burgers with boiled potatoes and green beans. He pushed his plate away, even though "kepops" was generously doled out on the meat. We didn't expect him to eat the green beans and potatoes, since he's never touched them before. On his plate, there were served more as a decoration than a part of the meal.
Then Ivan got off his bench and wanted to sit in my lap. Once on my lap, he actually picked up a green bean and ate it. Then he helped himself to several more. Andy and I were too afraid to say anything, lest we'd break the grean bean eating spell, so we just looked at each other in shock. Then Ivan actually got a few potatoes pieces of his plate and ate them. Again, we were speechless.
This entire spell lasted only a few minutes. And soon Ivan was back at the fridge, demanding we open it, so he can peak in. He wanted hummus and "cips," which we let him eat.
And later he wanted yogurt.
(On Sunday at my parents house, while we all ate stuffed peppers and mashed potatoes for lunch, he refused to eat. But once we were done, my mother continued hanging out with him in the kitchen. Somehow she got him to eat. He ended up eating three small plates of stuffed peppers-stuffed with ground meat and rice--and mashed potatoes. We're still talking about this eating spree four days later because it was so unusual.)
Pregnancy Yoga
I signed up for pregnancy yoga over the summer. I debated whether to do it or not, citing the lack of time (and disposable resources) as the main obstacle. But I'm glad I did. Once the summer session ends in two weeks, I'll sign up again for the fall so that yoga gets me through the entire pregnancy.
Since I've basically thrown exercise to the wind two years ago when Ivan was born, I have progressively gotten rather out of shape (except for unstructured daily lifting of a human free weight, e.g. the toddler, whose weight keeps increasing and is now up to some 30 pounds.)
I've had the best intentions of going to the pool for regular swims, like I did the summer I was pregnant with Ivan. But so far, we've been to the pool once, and I didn't even get in the water. I was the mom guard, in charge of guarding our stuff, while Ivan and Andy soaked in the water. (Not that it mattered, there were so many people in the pool that any attempt at swimming would've been futile.)
But yoga was been wonderful, even more therapeutic than I remember it with Ivan. It's amazing how a few isometric stretches and poses, which look impossible to do but actually feel really good, make me feel like I’m in control of my body. I stand taller and straighter, and feel more graceful, even comfortable in my gigantic waddling body, after each session. The slightly sore muscle pain actually makes me feel fit. The practice is also very calming. And the shavanasana (sp) pose that each practice ends with, is simply to die for, no pun intended. It's the most relaxing experience, more restful than an undisturbed night of sleep.
Even on hot and humid days, like this past Saturday and today, when doing anything other than laying down felt like an uncomfortable exertion on my growing girth and when I had second thoughts about going to the practice, an hour and a half of yoga makes me feel light, fit and able.
This morning, my shoulders were killing me. The area between my shoulder blades was so tight and sore that I all I wanted to do was lay down. Coincidentally, the focus of this evening’s practice was on body twists. These twists do wonders for shoulder and back stretching. The pain I felt all day today, has simply dissipated.
Yoga teachers and other yoga aficionados, especially the earthly mother types and those into natural mid-wifey homebirths, advocate for yoga for helping in childbirth. The mantra that yoga teachers give throughout each class is geared toward natural homebirths.
I like to hear that view. In principle, I’m all for it. I tried to espouse it with Ivan—the natural birth part, not the homebirth part. But I’m not sure whether it worked. I would like to think that yoga did help me birth him, although after having endured 56 ½ hours of labor, of which the last 10 hours were spend under the relaxing drip of an epidural, I wonder. On the other hand, how closed would’ve my hips been had it not been for yoga.
It did however help me labor. All labor techniques that I employed I remembered from the semester worth of yoga, not from a six-hour hasty hospital-sponsored Lamaze class.
So this time, I’m doing yoga for myself and my physical well-being rather than for the supposed childbirth benefits, even if I still like to hear the holistic and earthly messages yoga teachers imbue each class with. However, I still plan to birth this child as naturally as I can possibly endure it. Hopefully, Ivan’s 56 hours journey through the birth canal has paved the way.
Since I've basically thrown exercise to the wind two years ago when Ivan was born, I have progressively gotten rather out of shape (except for unstructured daily lifting of a human free weight, e.g. the toddler, whose weight keeps increasing and is now up to some 30 pounds.)
I've had the best intentions of going to the pool for regular swims, like I did the summer I was pregnant with Ivan. But so far, we've been to the pool once, and I didn't even get in the water. I was the mom guard, in charge of guarding our stuff, while Ivan and Andy soaked in the water. (Not that it mattered, there were so many people in the pool that any attempt at swimming would've been futile.)
But yoga was been wonderful, even more therapeutic than I remember it with Ivan. It's amazing how a few isometric stretches and poses, which look impossible to do but actually feel really good, make me feel like I’m in control of my body. I stand taller and straighter, and feel more graceful, even comfortable in my gigantic waddling body, after each session. The slightly sore muscle pain actually makes me feel fit. The practice is also very calming. And the shavanasana (sp) pose that each practice ends with, is simply to die for, no pun intended. It's the most relaxing experience, more restful than an undisturbed night of sleep.
Even on hot and humid days, like this past Saturday and today, when doing anything other than laying down felt like an uncomfortable exertion on my growing girth and when I had second thoughts about going to the practice, an hour and a half of yoga makes me feel light, fit and able.
This morning, my shoulders were killing me. The area between my shoulder blades was so tight and sore that I all I wanted to do was lay down. Coincidentally, the focus of this evening’s practice was on body twists. These twists do wonders for shoulder and back stretching. The pain I felt all day today, has simply dissipated.
Yoga teachers and other yoga aficionados, especially the earthly mother types and those into natural mid-wifey homebirths, advocate for yoga for helping in childbirth. The mantra that yoga teachers give throughout each class is geared toward natural homebirths.
I like to hear that view. In principle, I’m all for it. I tried to espouse it with Ivan—the natural birth part, not the homebirth part. But I’m not sure whether it worked. I would like to think that yoga did help me birth him, although after having endured 56 ½ hours of labor, of which the last 10 hours were spend under the relaxing drip of an epidural, I wonder. On the other hand, how closed would’ve my hips been had it not been for yoga.
It did however help me labor. All labor techniques that I employed I remembered from the semester worth of yoga, not from a six-hour hasty hospital-sponsored Lamaze class.
So this time, I’m doing yoga for myself and my physical well-being rather than for the supposed childbirth benefits, even if I still like to hear the holistic and earthly messages yoga teachers imbue each class with. However, I still plan to birth this child as naturally as I can possibly endure it. Hopefully, Ivan’s 56 hours journey through the birth canal has paved the way.
(Lack of) Potty Training
It has been my summer goal to potty train Ivan. I can't say I've been successful. Well, I haven't gone all bootcamp on him, like I've been advised to do, to just do it one weekend.
I've had the best intention of doing so, but it's just been difficult to find a few days when we can be home, without going anywhere, to accomplish this training period. And I'd really like to fully train him over a long weekend, so he doesn't have too many accidents at daycare. It just seems like that would be unnecessarily embarrasing.
So potty training has been more of a gradual process, which started a few months ago when we bought the potty.
He knows when he needs to go--he's aware of the sensation to pee and poop. And if he's diaper-less, he'll tell us when he needs to go. Before bath time, he likes to sit on the potty and, occasionally, pee. Otherwise, if he's wearing diapers, he tells us (most of the time) after he poops. And he wants us to change the diapers then because he's obviously uncomfortable then.
The problem has been that he's absolutely adamant about not wanting to wear underwear. I've tried everything. I bought Elmo underwear. I keep talking about how both mamma and dadda wear underwear... But to no avail. He won't let me put them on. He asks for diapers.
I could let him run naked and have a few accidents, but I'd rather not. I want him to embrace underwear instead.
But since the summer is almost over, I'm thinking that Labor Day weekend is my last chance to do a bootcamp potty training session and get it over with.
I've had the best intention of doing so, but it's just been difficult to find a few days when we can be home, without going anywhere, to accomplish this training period. And I'd really like to fully train him over a long weekend, so he doesn't have too many accidents at daycare. It just seems like that would be unnecessarily embarrasing.
So potty training has been more of a gradual process, which started a few months ago when we bought the potty.
He knows when he needs to go--he's aware of the sensation to pee and poop. And if he's diaper-less, he'll tell us when he needs to go. Before bath time, he likes to sit on the potty and, occasionally, pee. Otherwise, if he's wearing diapers, he tells us (most of the time) after he poops. And he wants us to change the diapers then because he's obviously uncomfortable then.
The problem has been that he's absolutely adamant about not wanting to wear underwear. I've tried everything. I bought Elmo underwear. I keep talking about how both mamma and dadda wear underwear... But to no avail. He won't let me put them on. He asks for diapers.
I could let him run naked and have a few accidents, but I'd rather not. I want him to embrace underwear instead.
But since the summer is almost over, I'm thinking that Labor Day weekend is my last chance to do a bootcamp potty training session and get it over with.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
