It's the eve of the big sonogram tomorrow and I still have no sense whether it's a boy or a girl.
I also still don't care one way or another. Still I can't wait to find out.
However, this week I have caught myself referring to this baby as a she. But I've chalked it up to semantics. In Croatian the word for baby is feminine so it's natural I'd think of the baby as a she.
I have a tendency to refer as she all English nouns that Croatian are feminine, even if it makes no sense in English. (Like turtle, squirrel, bird are all female nouns for me, although in English they have no gender.)
More importantly, I just hope everything checks out fine.
Friday, July 24, 2009
Sippy Cup Continued II
My sippy cup victory may have been premature. Last night, Andy put Ivan to bed. When I went to check on him, I saw he had the old bottle (Avent bottle) with the super soft sippy cup top. Those were the tops/bottles I "discontinued" months ago.
"He insisted on that bottle," Andy said.
During the night Ivan woke up. He wanted milk. I gave him the first years cup. But even at 2 a.m. he protested bitterly. He wanted another one. So I went back to the kitchen to get the born freen one (with the super big opening). That wasn't what he wanted. As the third choice, because I really wasn't going to fight with him at 2 a.m., was the Avent one. He took it.
The same thing this morning. He wanted the Avent bottle with the soft top. How does he even remember those?
This week, he's woken up three nights so far, insisting to go to sleep in our bed. Since we're repainting the spare bedroom, we had to give in.
On Sunday, he wanted to fall asleep in our bed. But then he didn't. He wanted to come down stairs and fall asleep on the couch. This was very strange as he had never done it before. But I let him do it. I think he was spooked because we had disassembled the spare bedroom, which Andy was painting that evening, so we can turn it into his bedroom.
Tuesday he was fine. Then yesterday evening, our electricity went out around 7:30. It can back half an hour later, but Ivan was fascinated with the fact that there was no light. Not even in the refrigerator and the freezer. When he went to bed one hour later, I tucked him away in our bed. But then got up and insisted to come down. I refused and eventually he settled in our bed. Sunday, Monday and Wednesday nights, he woke up in the middle of the night, in his crib where we transfer him when he's asleep, and insisted to come to our bed.
On those nights, unfortunately, Andy sleeps well as does Ivan. But I get the short end of the stick because Ivan really sleeps close to me, which pushes me to the edge of the bed.
"He insisted on that bottle," Andy said.
During the night Ivan woke up. He wanted milk. I gave him the first years cup. But even at 2 a.m. he protested bitterly. He wanted another one. So I went back to the kitchen to get the born freen one (with the super big opening). That wasn't what he wanted. As the third choice, because I really wasn't going to fight with him at 2 a.m., was the Avent one. He took it.
The same thing this morning. He wanted the Avent bottle with the soft top. How does he even remember those?
This week, he's woken up three nights so far, insisting to go to sleep in our bed. Since we're repainting the spare bedroom, we had to give in.
On Sunday, he wanted to fall asleep in our bed. But then he didn't. He wanted to come down stairs and fall asleep on the couch. This was very strange as he had never done it before. But I let him do it. I think he was spooked because we had disassembled the spare bedroom, which Andy was painting that evening, so we can turn it into his bedroom.
Tuesday he was fine. Then yesterday evening, our electricity went out around 7:30. It can back half an hour later, but Ivan was fascinated with the fact that there was no light. Not even in the refrigerator and the freezer. When he went to bed one hour later, I tucked him away in our bed. But then got up and insisted to come down. I refused and eventually he settled in our bed. Sunday, Monday and Wednesday nights, he woke up in the middle of the night, in his crib where we transfer him when he's asleep, and insisted to come to our bed.
On those nights, unfortunately, Andy sleeps well as does Ivan. But I get the short end of the stick because Ivan really sleeps close to me, which pushes me to the edge of the bed.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Unsolicited sales pitching to moms with toddlers
Ivan and I went to Columbia Mall today. We were in the area (a dentist visit), it was too hot and humid to play outside and, besides, I've been on a quest for a new eye cream.
(After several years of not following what I preach, that is investing in a good eye cream before it gets too late--it's possible it's already gotten a bit late--I decided it's time to do department store research, pick up a few eye cream samples and try to get the upper hand against those emerging wrinkles and crow feet.)
Ivan patiently stood by me as I negotiated samples with a Clinique sales lady at Macy's. Then he explored a fountain before I dragged him away. Then we spotted a crowd of toddlers and moms listening to a duo singing and dancing for kids. Ivan refused to join in, clinging to me instead, insisting that I "nosi, nosi." So we walked away to the nearby Origin store. He patiently stood by as I explored the store, observing the toddler crowd outside.
But then he was done. My grace period was running out, and I still wasn't done with my search.
So we continued walking through the mall a bit. Walking with him is like walking Mariposa. One has to walk relatively fast and steady without stopping; otherwise, if he senses ambivalence, it's gawk at this, get distracted by that or, my favorite, the whiny "nosi, nosi." And carrying him is getting to be a bit hard.
Distractions at a mall are plenty, especially in the form of kiosks where non-store entities peddle their wares.
"Hi mam, what do you use to style your hair," one peddler hollered at me, trying to interupt my determined stride. "Do you have 15 seconds...."
"Sorry, no," I answered pointing to Ivan, plugging ahead without pausing.
I really wanted to confront the guy:
"What do you think I use on my hair? Does my day-old unwashed and unbrushed ponytail with the still visible bedhead parting and 6 month-old roots peppered with gray look that good?"
"And what makes you think that a woman with a toddler, who's about to have a meltdown, really has 15 seconds to spare on your sales pitch?"
"Am I really the best sucker you can pick out from the crowd who you think would give you undivided 15 seconds of attention to listen to your sales pitch, buy the product and really care two days later what my hair looks like?"
I didn't say any of this. But this has been brewing in me for some time now.
Last year, I got suckered into it. I was with my mom and Ivan, who, luckily, was in the stroller. We had been at Montgomery Mall for a while (which really meant we went to two stores), when he started to lose it. But we still hadn't accomplished our intended goal, which was to buy Ivan shoes.
We were almost at Strideride. It was a spitting distance away, when a nice young man peddling some nail buffing/hand cream "secret" stuff spied us from his kiosk. Since it was Christmas time, our guard was down and we got lured in. But the 15-second pitch turned into a good 10-15 minute monologue during which he buffed several of our nails (and neither I nor my mother really care for manicures or like others handling our hands. Too sensitive. Pedicures are another story.) Meanwhile, Ivan started bawling, screaming, throwing a fit in his stroller.
But the young sales guy was apparently oblivious to the screaming toddler and couldn't take a hint that it was time for us to leave. Eventually, we wrestled ourselves from his pitch grip and strolled the tempter tantrumy Ivan into Strideride, where measuring his feet and buying shoes was impossible at that point.
I was livid. I wanted to go back out and yell at the guy, "shouldn't they teach you not to stop mothers with young children. These mothers usually have specific goals to accomplish in a short period of time before the kid melts. So you're wasting your time and their time."
Well, at least he was wasting my time. I don't know, maybe stay at home moms, who, I imagine, have more time to peruse the malls and do other leisurely things are good targets, but not me.
And it's not only young sales guys who are oblivious. Girls are no better.
Like the time I was stopped in Silver Spring by a Greenepeace activist with Ivan in the stroller. "No, I don't have a minute for the environment. Yes, I already recycle. And no, sorry, I'm not giving up my diaposable huggies," I blurted out at her without slowing down. Yet, she persisted and persisted in talking. I just had to ignore her and walk away.
(After several years of not following what I preach, that is investing in a good eye cream before it gets too late--it's possible it's already gotten a bit late--I decided it's time to do department store research, pick up a few eye cream samples and try to get the upper hand against those emerging wrinkles and crow feet.)
Ivan patiently stood by me as I negotiated samples with a Clinique sales lady at Macy's. Then he explored a fountain before I dragged him away. Then we spotted a crowd of toddlers and moms listening to a duo singing and dancing for kids. Ivan refused to join in, clinging to me instead, insisting that I "nosi, nosi." So we walked away to the nearby Origin store. He patiently stood by as I explored the store, observing the toddler crowd outside.
But then he was done. My grace period was running out, and I still wasn't done with my search.
So we continued walking through the mall a bit. Walking with him is like walking Mariposa. One has to walk relatively fast and steady without stopping; otherwise, if he senses ambivalence, it's gawk at this, get distracted by that or, my favorite, the whiny "nosi, nosi." And carrying him is getting to be a bit hard.
Distractions at a mall are plenty, especially in the form of kiosks where non-store entities peddle their wares.
"Hi mam, what do you use to style your hair," one peddler hollered at me, trying to interupt my determined stride. "Do you have 15 seconds...."
"Sorry, no," I answered pointing to Ivan, plugging ahead without pausing.
I really wanted to confront the guy:
"What do you think I use on my hair? Does my day-old unwashed and unbrushed ponytail with the still visible bedhead parting and 6 month-old roots peppered with gray look that good?"
"And what makes you think that a woman with a toddler, who's about to have a meltdown, really has 15 seconds to spare on your sales pitch?"
"Am I really the best sucker you can pick out from the crowd who you think would give you undivided 15 seconds of attention to listen to your sales pitch, buy the product and really care two days later what my hair looks like?"
I didn't say any of this. But this has been brewing in me for some time now.
Last year, I got suckered into it. I was with my mom and Ivan, who, luckily, was in the stroller. We had been at Montgomery Mall for a while (which really meant we went to two stores), when he started to lose it. But we still hadn't accomplished our intended goal, which was to buy Ivan shoes.
We were almost at Strideride. It was a spitting distance away, when a nice young man peddling some nail buffing/hand cream "secret" stuff spied us from his kiosk. Since it was Christmas time, our guard was down and we got lured in. But the 15-second pitch turned into a good 10-15 minute monologue during which he buffed several of our nails (and neither I nor my mother really care for manicures or like others handling our hands. Too sensitive. Pedicures are another story.) Meanwhile, Ivan started bawling, screaming, throwing a fit in his stroller.
But the young sales guy was apparently oblivious to the screaming toddler and couldn't take a hint that it was time for us to leave. Eventually, we wrestled ourselves from his pitch grip and strolled the tempter tantrumy Ivan into Strideride, where measuring his feet and buying shoes was impossible at that point.
I was livid. I wanted to go back out and yell at the guy, "shouldn't they teach you not to stop mothers with young children. These mothers usually have specific goals to accomplish in a short period of time before the kid melts. So you're wasting your time and their time."
Well, at least he was wasting my time. I don't know, maybe stay at home moms, who, I imagine, have more time to peruse the malls and do other leisurely things are good targets, but not me.
And it's not only young sales guys who are oblivious. Girls are no better.
Like the time I was stopped in Silver Spring by a Greenepeace activist with Ivan in the stroller. "No, I don't have a minute for the environment. Yes, I already recycle. And no, sorry, I'm not giving up my diaposable huggies," I blurted out at her without slowing down. Yet, she persisted and persisted in talking. I just had to ignore her and walk away.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Sippy Cup Continued
So Ivan has started drinking milk from the cheap first years sippy cup. He didn't protest when I gave him his crib/morning milk in that sippy cup, nor has he complained about it at any subsequent nap or bed time.
He hasn't wanted the born free sippy cup since yesterday. (This does make me a bit sad because this development, while a significant milestone, also means that he's slowly outgrowing his babyhood. I felt a similar but much more amplified tinge of loss when he stopped breast feeding)
The cup doesn't leak, unless he holds it upside down and then the milk freely flows, which, of course, happens when he's falling asleep hugging his Medic in one arm and the bottle in the other. It's often impossible to pry the bottle out unless he's fully asleep, by when the undrank milk has leaked out onto the sheets. Rancid milk smell.
It cracks me up that I was pondering the best sippy cup choice the same day that Slate ran an actual article about the leak-proof sippy cups. The journalist was trying to solve the same rancid milk smell.
Some of the cups he tested, like The Safe Sippy and Foogo, I saw and considered buying. But since I had decided to splurge 15 bucks on the stainless steel born free water bottle, I couldn't get myself to spend another 15 or so bucks on a similar looking product, especially since I wasn't sure whether Ivan would go for the stainless steel container.
But the two other cups Dr. Brown's Natural Flow Training Cup and Nalgene Grip-n-Gulp Bottle , which the journo rated highly, I don't recall seeing at the store. I just may have to go back to further research and explore and buy.
The rancid milk issue is really getting stale, no pun intended.
He hasn't wanted the born free sippy cup since yesterday. (This does make me a bit sad because this development, while a significant milestone, also means that he's slowly outgrowing his babyhood. I felt a similar but much more amplified tinge of loss when he stopped breast feeding)
The cup doesn't leak, unless he holds it upside down and then the milk freely flows, which, of course, happens when he's falling asleep hugging his Medic in one arm and the bottle in the other. It's often impossible to pry the bottle out unless he's fully asleep, by when the undrank milk has leaked out onto the sheets. Rancid milk smell.
It cracks me up that I was pondering the best sippy cup choice the same day that Slate ran an actual article about the leak-proof sippy cups. The journalist was trying to solve the same rancid milk smell.
Some of the cups he tested, like The Safe Sippy and Foogo, I saw and considered buying. But since I had decided to splurge 15 bucks on the stainless steel born free water bottle, I couldn't get myself to spend another 15 or so bucks on a similar looking product, especially since I wasn't sure whether Ivan would go for the stainless steel container.
But the two other cups Dr. Brown's Natural Flow Training Cup and Nalgene Grip-n-Gulp Bottle , which the journo rated highly, I don't recall seeing at the store. I just may have to go back to further research and explore and buy.
The rancid milk issue is really getting stale, no pun intended.
Talking; and First Full Sentence
"Look, look, I have a bubu," Ivan announced yesterday morning while laying between us in bed and pointing to his shin, which has an assortment of bubus in all shades of blue and brown.
I think this was his first full grammatically correct sentence.
(The last few days I've been bringing him to our bed when he wakes up in the morning. Unlike before when he would be ready to get up and start running, now he actually lays still, drinks his meme, cuddles or plays with Medic while laying/sitting between us in bed. I remember I used to do the same thing. I guess I was a bit older, since I remember it. I would get up and go to my parents' bed and sit and play in the bed while they were still sleeping.)
Today when he woke up cranky from his nap, he told me all concerned "mokra kosa." His room was hot so he was sweaty and his hair was wet.
He watched me put his laundry away. "Daycare bed," he said as I folded his daycare sheets.
"Look, look," is another favorite, as is "rade," the all encompassing Croatian verb for any sort of construction site or equipment.
I think this was his first full grammatically correct sentence.
(The last few days I've been bringing him to our bed when he wakes up in the morning. Unlike before when he would be ready to get up and start running, now he actually lays still, drinks his meme, cuddles or plays with Medic while laying/sitting between us in bed. I remember I used to do the same thing. I guess I was a bit older, since I remember it. I would get up and go to my parents' bed and sit and play in the bed while they were still sleeping.)
Today when he woke up cranky from his nap, he told me all concerned "mokra kosa." His room was hot so he was sweaty and his hair was wet.
He watched me put his laundry away. "Daycare bed," he said as I folded his daycare sheets.
All in all, he's becoming a little chatter box. I was surprised how verbal and chatty he was when he woke up from the nap today.
Other new phrases he picked up recently from daycare include, "Okeey, mama, okeey dadda? Okeey? Okeey?" He keeps saying OK to us and while he pretends play with his animals. I don't think he's really mastered the meaning of OK and the inflection with which he says it is weird. He says it the way I picture a 4-year old girl saying it. In other words, he picked up this phrase from someone in daycare.
Along the same lines, at dinner the other day he asked Andy very seriously "how's your food?" I was floored. We don't really use that phrase regularly. It must be small talke that Ms. Yvonne conducts with them during lunch at daycare.
His bossiness has also increased. "Come mama, come dadda," have really become imperatives not invitations, especially when he grabs us by the hand and leads us to whereever we need to be directed to go."Look, look," is another favorite, as is "rade," the all encompassing Croatian verb for any sort of construction site or equipment.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Milk and Bottle vs. Sippy Cup
While I haven't written about bedtime bottle vs. sippy cup conundrum in a very long time, the issue hasn't really gone away. I still neurotic and anxious that because Ivan goes to bed with a bottle and doesn't let us really brush his teeth, that his teeth will be black, rotten and falling out by the ripe old age of four.
However, I've made some incremental progresss in the last two weeks.
Ivan still goes to bed with his born free bottle. But lately (maybe even the last few months) he increasingly finishes drinking "meme" while I'm drying him off and attempting to put "jammas" and diapers on him (there is a lot post-bath going to to bed resistance constisting of jumping on the bed and sheer refusal to allow me to dress him). Once it's time to go to bed, he sometimes asks for more meme, sometimes he doesn't.
(He's also been doing a lot of bed hopping lately, sometimes wanting to fall a sleep in his crib, "drugi krevet" meaning the spare bedroom, or our bed. I haven't been able to decipher whether there is a pattern to his bed preference.)
The incremental progress of the last few months consist of:
1. Getting him to drink from the hard-plastic born-free sippy cup nipple, after some serious refusal and crying. The soft kind used to be preferable because he'd have to suck the milk out and it was softer to chew on.
2. Not promply replacing the hard-plastic nipple once the hole gets too big and too much milk starts flowing. He used to complain but not anymore. So now, he really just drinks from it and uses the nipple to chew on.
3. Getting him to finish the milk before he actually is put to bed. Sometime he asks for more milk, sometimes he doesn't. This still doesn't fix the problem of brushing his teeth after milk and before bed time, but we're getting closer. (We brush his teeth before he gets into the bathtub. And in the two weeks or so, he actually willingly opens his mouth and lets us brush the teeth. It didn't used to be so; he'd insist of brushing his own teeth, which really meant sucking the toothpaste of the brush and then wanting to put more paste on the toothbrush. All by himself of course.
4. Last week, while we were at Whole Foods buying milk and kupit yogurt, I bought a small tetrapack of milk. The kind that looks like juice and comes with a straw. I know he likes to drink from a straw, and he likes those juice boxes, when he sees them at birthday parties. The boxed milk was my experiment. Would he drink milk out of something other than his born free bottle? When I tried this experiment in the past, he'd throw a fit, as he did two weeks ago when I tried giving him milk from another bottle that had a big sippy cup spout.
But this time at Whole Foods, he grabbed the box, "ma box," and attempted to put the straw in. I helped. As he took his first sip, I crossed my fingers. Would he be shocked to taste milk instead of juice and reject it? Nope, he drank the milk. As he repeatedly told the cashier from his perch on the cart, "ma milk, ma milk."
5. Yesterday, we went to Babies'R Us. I was on a mission to find another sippy cup contraption from which he could drink milk and water without the liquid getting spilled everywhere. Spilled milk--all over his clothes and his sheets--has been the unfortunate side effect of not replacing the hard born free nipples. Since the nipples now basically have a huge hole in them, the milk just spills out, especially when Ivan drinks from it laying down or tilts his head back and the cup all the way up to drink it. (Stale and sour milk smell smells really rancid, as poor Medic knows.)
For water, I settled on the stainless steel born free water bottle. It had the best spill-proof lid when not in use and since it's made of steel not plastic, it won't get dingy or stinky.
For milk, I couldn't find what I had envisioned, which was frustrating. All these bottle and sippy cup companies proclaim their complicated and spill-proof designs and technology to be superior to one another. But I found fault with most of them. They either have some commercial characters, ala Dora, Thomas, etc on them. Why do they have to be all girly and pink or macho and blue? They don't have a lid, which is a problem for his lunch box. They're a bottle nipple, while I'm after a sippy cup. They use a flippable straw, which I think is hard to clean (and Ivan will gnaw on it, destroying it in a second.)
I realize I'm spoiled and petty with all these options in front of them. They are options. (Most are ridiculous and unnecessary but still, they're options.) I wonder what moms in poor countries use. I wonder what did my mom use to teach to me drink. I'm sure that despite our latest and greatest Chicco imports, the bottle and sippy cup selection in communist Yugoslavia 36 years ago was quite inferior to the Babies'R Us wall options available to me now.
While I was pondering this wall of options, Ivan insisted of getting something. Finally, I picked up the "right" sippy cup he was pointing at. A munchin two bottle package with straws. Since he wanted it so badly, I bought it. Heh, it didn't seem like a bad choice after all.
Today, he drank milk from it. Except the milk spills out when he lays down or tilts the bottle. Also, he can't get all the milk out of the bottle because the straw doesn't pick it up. So today, I had to keep unscrewing the bottle so he can drink the milk from the cup itself.
I finally put milk in one of those cheap First Years disposable sippy cups with hard, non-chew sippy cup lids. It was worth a try, since he's been so open to drinking milk from a variety of cups in the last few days. He drank from it as well. And oddly enough, the milk didn't spill when he tilted the bottle.
Maybe that was the answer after all. The cheap non-engineered First Years sippy cups. I didn't have a chance to put it to the bedtime test.
Since we were late putting him to bed, Ivan actually couldn't wait for me to put him in his crib. I could barely dry him off and put diapers on him, he was soooo tired. He didn't even wait for "meme."
However, I've made some incremental progresss in the last two weeks.
Ivan still goes to bed with his born free bottle. But lately (maybe even the last few months) he increasingly finishes drinking "meme" while I'm drying him off and attempting to put "jammas" and diapers on him (there is a lot post-bath going to to bed resistance constisting of jumping on the bed and sheer refusal to allow me to dress him). Once it's time to go to bed, he sometimes asks for more meme, sometimes he doesn't.
(He's also been doing a lot of bed hopping lately, sometimes wanting to fall a sleep in his crib, "drugi krevet" meaning the spare bedroom, or our bed. I haven't been able to decipher whether there is a pattern to his bed preference.)
The incremental progress of the last few months consist of:
1. Getting him to drink from the hard-plastic born-free sippy cup nipple, after some serious refusal and crying. The soft kind used to be preferable because he'd have to suck the milk out and it was softer to chew on.
2. Not promply replacing the hard-plastic nipple once the hole gets too big and too much milk starts flowing. He used to complain but not anymore. So now, he really just drinks from it and uses the nipple to chew on.
3. Getting him to finish the milk before he actually is put to bed. Sometime he asks for more milk, sometimes he doesn't. This still doesn't fix the problem of brushing his teeth after milk and before bed time, but we're getting closer. (We brush his teeth before he gets into the bathtub. And in the two weeks or so, he actually willingly opens his mouth and lets us brush the teeth. It didn't used to be so; he'd insist of brushing his own teeth, which really meant sucking the toothpaste of the brush and then wanting to put more paste on the toothbrush. All by himself of course.
4. Last week, while we were at Whole Foods buying milk and kupit yogurt, I bought a small tetrapack of milk. The kind that looks like juice and comes with a straw. I know he likes to drink from a straw, and he likes those juice boxes, when he sees them at birthday parties. The boxed milk was my experiment. Would he drink milk out of something other than his born free bottle? When I tried this experiment in the past, he'd throw a fit, as he did two weeks ago when I tried giving him milk from another bottle that had a big sippy cup spout.
But this time at Whole Foods, he grabbed the box, "ma box," and attempted to put the straw in. I helped. As he took his first sip, I crossed my fingers. Would he be shocked to taste milk instead of juice and reject it? Nope, he drank the milk. As he repeatedly told the cashier from his perch on the cart, "ma milk, ma milk."
5. Yesterday, we went to Babies'R Us. I was on a mission to find another sippy cup contraption from which he could drink milk and water without the liquid getting spilled everywhere. Spilled milk--all over his clothes and his sheets--has been the unfortunate side effect of not replacing the hard born free nipples. Since the nipples now basically have a huge hole in them, the milk just spills out, especially when Ivan drinks from it laying down or tilts his head back and the cup all the way up to drink it. (Stale and sour milk smell smells really rancid, as poor Medic knows.)
For water, I settled on the stainless steel born free water bottle. It had the best spill-proof lid when not in use and since it's made of steel not plastic, it won't get dingy or stinky.
For milk, I couldn't find what I had envisioned, which was frustrating. All these bottle and sippy cup companies proclaim their complicated and spill-proof designs and technology to be superior to one another. But I found fault with most of them. They either have some commercial characters, ala Dora, Thomas, etc on them. Why do they have to be all girly and pink or macho and blue? They don't have a lid, which is a problem for his lunch box. They're a bottle nipple, while I'm after a sippy cup. They use a flippable straw, which I think is hard to clean (and Ivan will gnaw on it, destroying it in a second.)
I realize I'm spoiled and petty with all these options in front of them. They are options. (Most are ridiculous and unnecessary but still, they're options.) I wonder what moms in poor countries use. I wonder what did my mom use to teach to me drink. I'm sure that despite our latest and greatest Chicco imports, the bottle and sippy cup selection in communist Yugoslavia 36 years ago was quite inferior to the Babies'R Us wall options available to me now.
While I was pondering this wall of options, Ivan insisted of getting something. Finally, I picked up the "right" sippy cup he was pointing at. A munchin two bottle package with straws. Since he wanted it so badly, I bought it. Heh, it didn't seem like a bad choice after all.
Today, he drank milk from it. Except the milk spills out when he lays down or tilts the bottle. Also, he can't get all the milk out of the bottle because the straw doesn't pick it up. So today, I had to keep unscrewing the bottle so he can drink the milk from the cup itself.
I finally put milk in one of those cheap First Years disposable sippy cups with hard, non-chew sippy cup lids. It was worth a try, since he's been so open to drinking milk from a variety of cups in the last few days. He drank from it as well. And oddly enough, the milk didn't spill when he tilted the bottle.
Maybe that was the answer after all. The cheap non-engineered First Years sippy cups. I didn't have a chance to put it to the bedtime test.
Since we were late putting him to bed, Ivan actually couldn't wait for me to put him in his crib. I could barely dry him off and put diapers on him, he was soooo tired. He didn't even wait for "meme."
Eye Infection Continued (Penicillin Allergy)
By last Monday, Ivan was fine--fever free and with good looking eyes and ears--so we send him to daycare (I think this was the day when he got scolded).
But when we came home that evening, I noticed the nape of his neck was red--full of welts and red dots. If it hadn't been for the welts, I would've thought it was a heat rash. But the welts made me wonder, did he get into some poison ivy and where? Then I thought, well maybe they forgot to put sunscreen on him. But then why would he have welts, it's the middle of the summer.
His entire body was covered in red dots. They were bigger and further apart than the heat rash ones I've seen in the past. Chicken pox, I freaked out.
We called the doctor. Luckily, doctor Madden was on call, so there was some continuity with this entire two-week sick saga. She advised us to give him benadryl, take photos of the spots and come in in the morning.
Ivan was reluctant to take a bath that evening--the spots must have itched--by he eagerly posed for photos as we tried to get good shots of his neck, back and legs.
The spots were still there in the morning, despite the benadryl. Andy took him in.
Allergy to amoxicillin, Dr. Madden said. She had suspected as such when we called her the night before. We stopped givig him amoxicillin, as per doctor's instructions, although we were four days short of completing the course. Amoxicillin is a penicillin antibiotic, which kind of sucks because penicillin is still the first and most widely used antibiotic.
But if Ivan's allergic to penicillin, this was good way to find out because the allergy wasn't severe. I called Andy's mom later to chat (in the absence of my mom). Apparently, Andy's dad and one sister are allergic as well. I deduce it's genetic.
I talked to Beth, one of the playgroup moms about it over the weekend. Ethan, her son's allergic as well. She didn't seem that phased about it. It may be an allergic reaction they will grow out. Who knows.
By Thursday, the spots were gone and we stopped giving Ivan benadryl, which was much easier to administer to him, with the syringe, than the amoxicillin. I guess cherry flavored syrup does taste better than the white caramel-raspberry-orange amoxicillin concoction. Why would anything think that would taste good, when just the plain pairing of those flavors sounds gross.
All seemed good until Saturday when Ivan's eyes got all red and gooey again. This time it was the left eye that was oozing goo, while the right eye looked bruised. We called the doctor and went in yesterday, Sunday morning.
Dr. Madden was off and we saw another doctor in the practice. I hoped she'd be the one to see us but oh well.
The eyes and ears and throat all looked good, Dr. Gitterman said. No infection anywhere. He said that Ivan's probably having allergies (his nose is a bit stuffy and he does sneeze occasionally), and that the undereye bruising may be a bit of eczema. He gave us some eye drops and said to put Eucerin under his eyes.
I hope the doctor's right because now, a day later, Ivan's eyes look as bad as they did yesterday.
It's kind of ironic that all these doctors trips happened now when my parents are away. Ivan's been sick a couple of times in the last two and a half years, which, compared to other kids who seem constantly to be fighting off something, is really remarkable.
And now that my parents, who do help us a lot, are away, we had to take him to the doctor's three times. Logistically, it's been a nightmare. Everything falls onto Andy since he's the one with the car, and since my work commute is so long. The problem is that we need to wait until 8:30, which is really closer to 9 a.m., to get a hold of the doctor's office to make an appointment for later that day. So real takes up the entire work day. If my parents were here, then I and my dad could've taken him to the doctor's, instead of Andy having to do everything.
These last two weeks really made me appreciate my parents' help even more. It also made me appreciate my relatively flexible work set up, where I am able to work from home, if I need to say home with a sick child.
But when we came home that evening, I noticed the nape of his neck was red--full of welts and red dots. If it hadn't been for the welts, I would've thought it was a heat rash. But the welts made me wonder, did he get into some poison ivy and where? Then I thought, well maybe they forgot to put sunscreen on him. But then why would he have welts, it's the middle of the summer.
His entire body was covered in red dots. They were bigger and further apart than the heat rash ones I've seen in the past. Chicken pox, I freaked out.
We called the doctor. Luckily, doctor Madden was on call, so there was some continuity with this entire two-week sick saga. She advised us to give him benadryl, take photos of the spots and come in in the morning.
Ivan was reluctant to take a bath that evening--the spots must have itched--by he eagerly posed for photos as we tried to get good shots of his neck, back and legs.
The spots were still there in the morning, despite the benadryl. Andy took him in.
Allergy to amoxicillin, Dr. Madden said. She had suspected as such when we called her the night before. We stopped givig him amoxicillin, as per doctor's instructions, although we were four days short of completing the course. Amoxicillin is a penicillin antibiotic, which kind of sucks because penicillin is still the first and most widely used antibiotic.
But if Ivan's allergic to penicillin, this was good way to find out because the allergy wasn't severe. I called Andy's mom later to chat (in the absence of my mom). Apparently, Andy's dad and one sister are allergic as well. I deduce it's genetic.
I talked to Beth, one of the playgroup moms about it over the weekend. Ethan, her son's allergic as well. She didn't seem that phased about it. It may be an allergic reaction they will grow out. Who knows.
By Thursday, the spots were gone and we stopped giving Ivan benadryl, which was much easier to administer to him, with the syringe, than the amoxicillin. I guess cherry flavored syrup does taste better than the white caramel-raspberry-orange amoxicillin concoction. Why would anything think that would taste good, when just the plain pairing of those flavors sounds gross.
All seemed good until Saturday when Ivan's eyes got all red and gooey again. This time it was the left eye that was oozing goo, while the right eye looked bruised. We called the doctor and went in yesterday, Sunday morning.
Dr. Madden was off and we saw another doctor in the practice. I hoped she'd be the one to see us but oh well.
The eyes and ears and throat all looked good, Dr. Gitterman said. No infection anywhere. He said that Ivan's probably having allergies (his nose is a bit stuffy and he does sneeze occasionally), and that the undereye bruising may be a bit of eczema. He gave us some eye drops and said to put Eucerin under his eyes.
I hope the doctor's right because now, a day later, Ivan's eyes look as bad as they did yesterday.
It's kind of ironic that all these doctors trips happened now when my parents are away. Ivan's been sick a couple of times in the last two and a half years, which, compared to other kids who seem constantly to be fighting off something, is really remarkable.
And now that my parents, who do help us a lot, are away, we had to take him to the doctor's three times. Logistically, it's been a nightmare. Everything falls onto Andy since he's the one with the car, and since my work commute is so long. The problem is that we need to wait until 8:30, which is really closer to 9 a.m., to get a hold of the doctor's office to make an appointment for later that day. So real takes up the entire work day. If my parents were here, then I and my dad could've taken him to the doctor's, instead of Andy having to do everything.
These last two weeks really made me appreciate my parents' help even more. It also made me appreciate my relatively flexible work set up, where I am able to work from home, if I need to say home with a sick child.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Got scolded today
Ms. Yvonne asked Ivan four times today to stop peeling the paint of the walls. He disobeyed. She scolded him. He got time out.
But then Ivan gave them the slowmotion quivering lip, followed by a "protest" (laying flat on the floor). Ms. Yvonne said Ms. Azeb couldn't take it and had to hug him.
Ms. Yvonne told Andy all of this, who told me.
This was the first time that they saw the lip and the protest. We know, the lip is especially hard to resist. One just has to hug him.
I'm sure that of all the kids, they never expected Ivan to give them trouble and disobey them. The lip definitely disarmed them.
It's funny this happened. Over the last few weeks Andy and I have been discussing the need to start disciplining Ivan. My strategy for doing so it to say "no," accompanied by the pointed finger. But as Andy remarked, "no" should be used sparingly for chosen occasions, so not to dilute its meaning.
Most of the time, it's hard to scold him because whatever he's doing is really funny and I have to try hard not to burst out laughing. This is especially true when I try to stop him from doing something or try to take something out of his hands and starts yelling these quick high-pitched "nos" as he's trying to run away from me. It's too funny. I just want to pick him up and squeeze him, not scold him.
He's also learned to give me this disarming, twinkly look, that just makes me want to giggle.
I've also tried the "stop doing that. If I come over, I'll...[fill in the blank] take it out of your mouth, etc." It doesn't really work. Instead he tries to test the waters and limits, to see how far he can push something. For example, I tell him not to put a wire in his teeth (or mouth) and I can tell he does it on purpose, looking at me daringly, as if what are you going to do. So I go to him. He takes the wire out of his mouth, only to put it back in as soon as I return to my original place.
And for temper tantrums, including the floor protests, we do our best to ignore them. I only intervene if the protest is happening in a spot where I don't think he should be laying in, such as the cold porch floor, or the disgusting obgyn's office.
This weekend, Daria and I were discussing discipline options. Then the following day, Jo talked about disciplining Seger. I guess this is the age when this starts.
Daria told me that she heard through the (Russian) grape wine that one of the mom's has a policy of never saying no to her child (and the nanny has to obey.) Instead she tries to redirect the child toward doing something that's allowed and positive, without ever explicitly telling the child no for the negative action the child did (such as running away from the playground down a trail).
Daria and I pondered whether that tactic could work. We were not so sure. We agreed that we think it depends on an individual child's temperament.
Apparently, the culture of not saying no is how Japanese parents raise their children. The theory is, according to Daria, that if parents constantly tell a child no that then the child will never feel confident enough to try things and be daring. Except I don't think that one can compare American culture where our kids will grow up in with the homogeneous Japanese culture where the culture itself puts on various breaks on children, indirectly forcing them to fit in and obey the wider society and elders. There is nothing comparable to that in this crazy everything goes society. So I find parental controls a bit more necessary.
(Well, I was definitely told no all the time as a kid, and who knows maybe I'm not as daring as I could've been, maybe I'm too malleable to authority, and maybe I'm just a chicken overall as a result of this. Who knows?)
Then the following day at the playground, completely unrelated to Daria and my conversation from the evening before, Jo said that she's been trying the 123 rule with Seger. If she can't get him to do something (like get ready to leave the house), she tells him she'll count 1 2 3. If he doesn't obey by 3 that then the window of opportunity for doing whatever was at stake has passed. Apparently by now, Seger asks her if she will count. Again, she doesn't the word no.
Apparently, some parenting book about the 123 principle exists, as Melissa from work told me, but Jo had no clue about it when I mentioned it.
Daria has been using the time out approach with Bella, who is a bit more wild than Ivan. She picked up the technique from the Super Nanny show. A child gets put in a time out for as many minutes as his age. So the two year-old Bella has to sit still for two minutes on a bench in their foyer. When she gets up, Daria puts her back repeatedly, until the two minutes are up. And when the time out time is done, she gets to her eye level, explains to her why she was put in time out, then hugs her to reconcile and that's it.
I remember this technique from the Super Nanny as well, but not in so much detail. But next time Ivan's naughty, I'll try it, especially, since he got his first time out in daycare.
Except I know that the quivering lip will get me. It always does.
But then Ivan gave them the slowmotion quivering lip, followed by a "protest" (laying flat on the floor). Ms. Yvonne said Ms. Azeb couldn't take it and had to hug him.
Ms. Yvonne told Andy all of this, who told me.
This was the first time that they saw the lip and the protest. We know, the lip is especially hard to resist. One just has to hug him.
I'm sure that of all the kids, they never expected Ivan to give them trouble and disobey them. The lip definitely disarmed them.
It's funny this happened. Over the last few weeks Andy and I have been discussing the need to start disciplining Ivan. My strategy for doing so it to say "no," accompanied by the pointed finger. But as Andy remarked, "no" should be used sparingly for chosen occasions, so not to dilute its meaning.
Most of the time, it's hard to scold him because whatever he's doing is really funny and I have to try hard not to burst out laughing. This is especially true when I try to stop him from doing something or try to take something out of his hands and starts yelling these quick high-pitched "nos" as he's trying to run away from me. It's too funny. I just want to pick him up and squeeze him, not scold him.
He's also learned to give me this disarming, twinkly look, that just makes me want to giggle.
I've also tried the "stop doing that. If I come over, I'll...[fill in the blank] take it out of your mouth, etc." It doesn't really work. Instead he tries to test the waters and limits, to see how far he can push something. For example, I tell him not to put a wire in his teeth (or mouth) and I can tell he does it on purpose, looking at me daringly, as if what are you going to do. So I go to him. He takes the wire out of his mouth, only to put it back in as soon as I return to my original place.
And for temper tantrums, including the floor protests, we do our best to ignore them. I only intervene if the protest is happening in a spot where I don't think he should be laying in, such as the cold porch floor, or the disgusting obgyn's office.
This weekend, Daria and I were discussing discipline options. Then the following day, Jo talked about disciplining Seger. I guess this is the age when this starts.
Daria told me that she heard through the (Russian) grape wine that one of the mom's has a policy of never saying no to her child (and the nanny has to obey.) Instead she tries to redirect the child toward doing something that's allowed and positive, without ever explicitly telling the child no for the negative action the child did (such as running away from the playground down a trail).
Daria and I pondered whether that tactic could work. We were not so sure. We agreed that we think it depends on an individual child's temperament.
Apparently, the culture of not saying no is how Japanese parents raise their children. The theory is, according to Daria, that if parents constantly tell a child no that then the child will never feel confident enough to try things and be daring. Except I don't think that one can compare American culture where our kids will grow up in with the homogeneous Japanese culture where the culture itself puts on various breaks on children, indirectly forcing them to fit in and obey the wider society and elders. There is nothing comparable to that in this crazy everything goes society. So I find parental controls a bit more necessary.
(Well, I was definitely told no all the time as a kid, and who knows maybe I'm not as daring as I could've been, maybe I'm too malleable to authority, and maybe I'm just a chicken overall as a result of this. Who knows?)
Then the following day at the playground, completely unrelated to Daria and my conversation from the evening before, Jo said that she's been trying the 123 rule with Seger. If she can't get him to do something (like get ready to leave the house), she tells him she'll count 1 2 3. If he doesn't obey by 3 that then the window of opportunity for doing whatever was at stake has passed. Apparently by now, Seger asks her if she will count. Again, she doesn't the word no.
Apparently, some parenting book about the 123 principle exists, as Melissa from work told me, but Jo had no clue about it when I mentioned it.
Daria has been using the time out approach with Bella, who is a bit more wild than Ivan. She picked up the technique from the Super Nanny show. A child gets put in a time out for as many minutes as his age. So the two year-old Bella has to sit still for two minutes on a bench in their foyer. When she gets up, Daria puts her back repeatedly, until the two minutes are up. And when the time out time is done, she gets to her eye level, explains to her why she was put in time out, then hugs her to reconcile and that's it.
I remember this technique from the Super Nanny as well, but not in so much detail. But next time Ivan's naughty, I'll try it, especially, since he got his first time out in daycare.
Except I know that the quivering lip will get me. It always does.
This Weekend's Activities
When our big Saturday plans for being productive got derailed due to lounging around, we ended up at Wheaton park. All four of us, including Mariposa. That was the point, to find an activity where she can come with us.
Everyone had a blast, especially those "everyone" who counts, like Ivan and Mariposa. Posa was in 7th heaven because there were so many little and big hands wanting to pet her.
Ivan had a good time too. First, he and I went on the merry-go-round. While waiting our turn, I though that the merry-go-round was going a bit too fast (watching it was making me dizzy), that the ride lasted too long (what if Ivan freaks out and wants to get off?), and that the horses were going to high up. But since we had gone on a merry-go-round at Dutch Wonderland two weekends ago, I figured he'd be fine. Actually, as the ride before us was clearing out and people started leaving through another gate,Ivan rushed for that gate, "ma turn, ma turn."
So I sat him on his horse, and held onto him. The ride was fine. It wasn't as fast as it looked and its length was perfect. Even though Ivan wasn't smiling during the ride, I could tell he was enjoying it. He was very serious and focused on something.
After the carousel, we went on the chu-chu train. He loved it. It was a 10-15 minute ride through the woods, and over a meadow, over a bridge, and in tunnel. He was funny. As some older kid in front of us stuck his hands out of the train, Ivan said "no, no, no touch, no touch." He was concerned because he knew such behavior wasn't allowed.
Then he swung a bit on a swing, before it was time to go home for a (non)-lunch and a nap.
In the evening, I wanted to go for a solitary exercise walk. But he insisted on coming with me. So we strolled to 29 and back, stopping at that new playground, where now we meeting with Sunday Morning Playground Moms. "Ganggound, ganggound," So we stayed and played. Sophia and Bella were there. He kind of played with them but mostly ran around and swung on the swing.
This morning, we went back to the playground. And like he's done for the last month, he refused to get out of his stroller for about 1 hour insisting we go "kuci." Since I refuse to give in, he eventually gets out of the stroller and starts playing.
What broke the ice this morning, where the icecicles that Meg brought. All kids congregated and had some, including Ivan. Then he was ready to play.
The sitting in the stroller insisting on "kuci" behavior has worried me a bit. He always needs a bit of sideline intro time before he jumps in to play, bit this playground stroller behavior is new. I guess he's going through a shy stage. Who knows.
In the afternoon, Andy, he and I went to check out a local outdoor pool--Martin Luther King Jr, of New Hampshire. He had a blast. Andy and he went into the toddler pool where they splashed around. Then Ivan noticed a drinking fountain with a water hose faucet. He was mesmerized. He spent a good half an hour playing with it. Then they went into the big pool, where they say in these inflatable donuts and flew down the "slow river." He had the biggest grin on his face.
For my taste, the pool was way too crowded. There was really nowhere to swim. But no one really goes to do laps at outdoor community pools. They're really for kids to splash around.
For most of the time, I was relegated to sitting in a chair with our stuff. That seemed to be the mommy duty. I was surrounded by other moms doing the same thing. Expect I started wondering whether they're just sitting there guarding the stuff, or are they maybe sitting there because they don't know how to swim. Many of them seemed to be Latino and African immigrants, so it was a possibility that passed my mind, especially for those women who weren't even wearing bathing suits.
I actually didn't mind sitting down because I thought the pool water was too cold anyway.
Everyone had a blast, especially those "everyone" who counts, like Ivan and Mariposa. Posa was in 7th heaven because there were so many little and big hands wanting to pet her.
Ivan had a good time too. First, he and I went on the merry-go-round. While waiting our turn, I though that the merry-go-round was going a bit too fast (watching it was making me dizzy), that the ride lasted too long (what if Ivan freaks out and wants to get off?), and that the horses were going to high up. But since we had gone on a merry-go-round at Dutch Wonderland two weekends ago, I figured he'd be fine. Actually, as the ride before us was clearing out and people started leaving through another gate,Ivan rushed for that gate, "ma turn, ma turn."
So I sat him on his horse, and held onto him. The ride was fine. It wasn't as fast as it looked and its length was perfect. Even though Ivan wasn't smiling during the ride, I could tell he was enjoying it. He was very serious and focused on something.
After the carousel, we went on the chu-chu train. He loved it. It was a 10-15 minute ride through the woods, and over a meadow, over a bridge, and in tunnel. He was funny. As some older kid in front of us stuck his hands out of the train, Ivan said "no, no, no touch, no touch." He was concerned because he knew such behavior wasn't allowed.
Then he swung a bit on a swing, before it was time to go home for a (non)-lunch and a nap.
In the evening, I wanted to go for a solitary exercise walk. But he insisted on coming with me. So we strolled to 29 and back, stopping at that new playground, where now we meeting with Sunday Morning Playground Moms. "Ganggound, ganggound," So we stayed and played. Sophia and Bella were there. He kind of played with them but mostly ran around and swung on the swing.
This morning, we went back to the playground. And like he's done for the last month, he refused to get out of his stroller for about 1 hour insisting we go "kuci." Since I refuse to give in, he eventually gets out of the stroller and starts playing.
What broke the ice this morning, where the icecicles that Meg brought. All kids congregated and had some, including Ivan. Then he was ready to play.
The sitting in the stroller insisting on "kuci" behavior has worried me a bit. He always needs a bit of sideline intro time before he jumps in to play, bit this playground stroller behavior is new. I guess he's going through a shy stage. Who knows.
In the afternoon, Andy, he and I went to check out a local outdoor pool--Martin Luther King Jr, of New Hampshire. He had a blast. Andy and he went into the toddler pool where they splashed around. Then Ivan noticed a drinking fountain with a water hose faucet. He was mesmerized. He spent a good half an hour playing with it. Then they went into the big pool, where they say in these inflatable donuts and flew down the "slow river." He had the biggest grin on his face.
For my taste, the pool was way too crowded. There was really nowhere to swim. But no one really goes to do laps at outdoor community pools. They're really for kids to splash around.
For most of the time, I was relegated to sitting in a chair with our stuff. That seemed to be the mommy duty. I was surrounded by other moms doing the same thing. Expect I started wondering whether they're just sitting there guarding the stuff, or are they maybe sitting there because they don't know how to swim. Many of them seemed to be Latino and African immigrants, so it was a possibility that passed my mind, especially for those women who weren't even wearing bathing suits.
I actually didn't mind sitting down because I thought the pool water was too cold anyway.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Eating (or not)
The last time I remember Ivan eating heartily, ocassions which are few and far between, was at Mila's birthday party over the Memorial Day weekend. That was over a month ago. To my astonishment, he had scarfed down two "sarmas," stuffed cabbage rolls. Well, he ate the meat no the cabbage. But still. The day before he had eaten two hotdogs at Dave's.
Since that he's been progressively eating less and less. It's really becoming a concern. Granted he's been sick this week, and with an inflammed throat, it probably hurt to eat.
He's even stopped eating his ever-so-loved yogurt. He asks for it, we open it and then "no wan it." There were four open yogurts in the fridge this week. We finally through them out.
The same thing with sandwiches. He asks for one or see me eat one. I make him one--his favorites: cream cheese, or pbj. As soon as I put it in front of him, "no wan it."
He keeps asking for pizza. So he's eaten pizza several days now, including cold left over pizza as breakfast. But even pizza has become dubious.
He's still into ketchup, which he calls "kepop." Except he wasn't to eat it by itself, with a spoon, not as a topping. We made burgers last night. Meat, as a food group, used to be one thing he'd eat. Nope, he maybe ate a few bites, and spat it out. But the kepop was all gone.
Even the cheese stick and crackers, which used to be his staples, seem have been rejected now. He wants to open the cheese package, but then strings the cheese into pieces and hands them to me instead of eating it. And crackers, he'll hold a cracker in his hand but not really eat it.
He's not eaten veggies or fruits in months now. But he will gladly eat a cookie. There always seems to be a room for a cookie, which, of course, we give him sporadically.
Now, everyone says it's normal. Toddlers are finicky. Except all other moms I talk to report their toddlers eat all this variety of food. In some cases, I've witnessed it myself. I saw Lisa's Sam eat fruit: strawberries. Ethan munches on cucumber slices. I could only dream of that. Actually, at Beth's 4th of July BBQ, one of the deserts was a strawberry jello pudding/cake/mousse. Ivan wanted a piece ("cake") so I hid an actual strawberry in the pink mousse and gave it to him. He promptly spit it out. No strawberry for him.
As our pediatrician said this week, if his throat is sore, he probably won't eat. But he'll make it up later. Except, I've started to wonder what and when is later. What if he has some sort of acid gas reflux thing or some other medical issue and doesn't want to eat? Should we be taking his pickiness and finickiness more seriously. The kid can't live of milk. And we certainly won't indulge him and solely feed him cookies and cake.
Also, I'm concerned because I feel that I have a limited amount of time when I have complete control over his eating habits before he becomes aware of all sorts of junk. In another year or two, he'll be too aware of commercials and junk that other kids are eating that will getting him to eat healthy will be even more of a challenge.
Also, I see other moms push a lot of snacks, granola bars, cheese puffs, goldfish, cheerios, etc... I'm not big on snacks. I wasn't raised on snacks and neither Andy nor myself are snackers. So it doesn't occur to me to buy then. Crackers and cheese is what Ivan gets when we're out and I know that snack time is approaching. I'm also not so sure I approve of that excessive and constant snacking. It seems to me that it sets kids up for poor eating habits. Insead of snacking, I want Ivan to rely on eating three square meals a day, plus a snack here and there between mealtime.
Except at this point, I guess I would just like him to eat.
Since that he's been progressively eating less and less. It's really becoming a concern. Granted he's been sick this week, and with an inflammed throat, it probably hurt to eat.
He's even stopped eating his ever-so-loved yogurt. He asks for it, we open it and then "no wan it." There were four open yogurts in the fridge this week. We finally through them out.
The same thing with sandwiches. He asks for one or see me eat one. I make him one--his favorites: cream cheese, or pbj. As soon as I put it in front of him, "no wan it."
He keeps asking for pizza. So he's eaten pizza several days now, including cold left over pizza as breakfast. But even pizza has become dubious.
He's still into ketchup, which he calls "kepop." Except he wasn't to eat it by itself, with a spoon, not as a topping. We made burgers last night. Meat, as a food group, used to be one thing he'd eat. Nope, he maybe ate a few bites, and spat it out. But the kepop was all gone.
Even the cheese stick and crackers, which used to be his staples, seem have been rejected now. He wants to open the cheese package, but then strings the cheese into pieces and hands them to me instead of eating it. And crackers, he'll hold a cracker in his hand but not really eat it.
He's not eaten veggies or fruits in months now. But he will gladly eat a cookie. There always seems to be a room for a cookie, which, of course, we give him sporadically.
Now, everyone says it's normal. Toddlers are finicky. Except all other moms I talk to report their toddlers eat all this variety of food. In some cases, I've witnessed it myself. I saw Lisa's Sam eat fruit: strawberries. Ethan munches on cucumber slices. I could only dream of that. Actually, at Beth's 4th of July BBQ, one of the deserts was a strawberry jello pudding/cake/mousse. Ivan wanted a piece ("cake") so I hid an actual strawberry in the pink mousse and gave it to him. He promptly spit it out. No strawberry for him.
As our pediatrician said this week, if his throat is sore, he probably won't eat. But he'll make it up later. Except, I've started to wonder what and when is later. What if he has some sort of acid gas reflux thing or some other medical issue and doesn't want to eat? Should we be taking his pickiness and finickiness more seriously. The kid can't live of milk. And we certainly won't indulge him and solely feed him cookies and cake.
Also, I'm concerned because I feel that I have a limited amount of time when I have complete control over his eating habits before he becomes aware of all sorts of junk. In another year or two, he'll be too aware of commercials and junk that other kids are eating that will getting him to eat healthy will be even more of a challenge.
Also, I see other moms push a lot of snacks, granola bars, cheese puffs, goldfish, cheerios, etc... I'm not big on snacks. I wasn't raised on snacks and neither Andy nor myself are snackers. So it doesn't occur to me to buy then. Crackers and cheese is what Ivan gets when we're out and I know that snack time is approaching. I'm also not so sure I approve of that excessive and constant snacking. It seems to me that it sets kids up for poor eating habits. Insead of snacking, I want Ivan to rely on eating three square meals a day, plus a snack here and there between mealtime.
Except at this point, I guess I would just like him to eat.
Baby Kicked?
While sitting here at my computer browsing Old Navy's website for maternity wear, I think I just felt the baby kick. I pressed back to see whether the baby would kick back but I'm not sure. It really wasn't a kick but more like deep slowmotion rumbling inside my stomach. I've been waiting for this for a few weeks now. I thought I felt the baby kick, a real little kick, when I was at the obgyn's a two weeks ago. But since I hadn't felt anything since then until now, I think that probably must have been gas.
I go for my next obgyn appointment at the end of next week. I will be 19 weeks at that point. I'm also going to do the sonogram at that time as well. I hope everything goes well. Since we've already gone for the nuchal translucency sonogram, I'm a bit more at ease that everything will be OK.
We will find out the sex, of course. I have absolutely no sixth sense about who this baby will be, a boy or a girl. It will definitely be one or the other. With Ivan I was so set on wanting a girl and so convinced that it would be a girl (although I do recall I did have a sneaking suspicion that it would be a boy) that we almost didn't find out the sex. A little dark haired girl actually appeared to me in a dream. It was a gentle dream and she fluttered into focus. A smiling dark-haired girl. The experience was akin to what I imagine people see when Virgin Mary appears in their dreams. But good thing we did find out the sex. Because Ivan turned out to be a blond boy (the blond part didn't become known until after birth, of course. "He has red hair," were Andy's first words when Ivan made his birth debut.).
This time, I have no premonition one way or another. And it truly doesn't matter. Andy, however, thinks it will be another boy. A complete opposite of our little easy going Mr. Sunshine. A dark-haired moody boy, he says.
One thing that I do wonder about, which is a bit silly, but still, is that I can't imagine loving another child as much as I love Ivan, and splitting that love between them (and of course, I must not forget Mariposa. Although she's technically a dog, she's still our baby. Our first baby). But if I have to split this love further, it's easier for me to conceive of loving a girl than another boy. I know this is silly, because in the same line of thinking, when I was pregnant with Ivan, I remember imagining I have a little Mariposa in my stomach, because I couldn't conceive of loving a child at that pre-parental time. And now, I can't imagine that there was a time that we didn't know that Ivan would be Ivan.
Ivan's sonogram:
With Ivan, I was also at super ease, thinking that the sonogram would just be a routine exam. I didn't except the technician to say that she couldn't measure one head dimension properly due to Ivan' position. She didn't alarm us, but calmly said that it was simply due to his position. However, since we had the obgyn appointment right after the sonogram, Andy and I babbled and blurted and relayed the technician's comments to the super flighty doctor whom we didn't like to begin with. Our assumption was that she had looked at our file and had seen the sonogram's results. But apparently she hadn't. Instead, going off of our comments, she completely freaked us out. "Did I travel abroad?" I had, to India of all places. There is some food borne or something virus that I could've caught, we need to go to see a genetic counselor for our options, etc... She completely freaked us out. Luckily, Andy was composed enough to ask whether she had read our file. It turned out she hadn't. She promptly walked over to the sonogram room to consult with the doctor. She returned apologizing profusely and profoundly, echoing what the technician had told us. Nothing to be concerned about. A head measurement couldn't be taken properly because of Ivan's position. But the damage had been done. I was a wreak for the rest of the day, actually a week. "A pinhead baby, was all I could think about." And Andy and I had taken that day off because we were going to do our first baby gear overview shopping trip to familiarize ourselves with the needed baby stuff, which was a territory at that time. Except that with the pinhead baby news, we really weren't in a shopping mode.
We had rescheduled another sonogram in three weeks. That time, everything checked out fine. And as a bonus, Ivan yawned at us. It melted our hearts. The yawn was recorded on the sonogram camera. That was our first official picture of Ivan.
I go for my next obgyn appointment at the end of next week. I will be 19 weeks at that point. I'm also going to do the sonogram at that time as well. I hope everything goes well. Since we've already gone for the nuchal translucency sonogram, I'm a bit more at ease that everything will be OK.
We will find out the sex, of course. I have absolutely no sixth sense about who this baby will be, a boy or a girl. It will definitely be one or the other. With Ivan I was so set on wanting a girl and so convinced that it would be a girl (although I do recall I did have a sneaking suspicion that it would be a boy) that we almost didn't find out the sex. A little dark haired girl actually appeared to me in a dream. It was a gentle dream and she fluttered into focus. A smiling dark-haired girl. The experience was akin to what I imagine people see when Virgin Mary appears in their dreams. But good thing we did find out the sex. Because Ivan turned out to be a blond boy (the blond part didn't become known until after birth, of course. "He has red hair," were Andy's first words when Ivan made his birth debut.).
This time, I have no premonition one way or another. And it truly doesn't matter. Andy, however, thinks it will be another boy. A complete opposite of our little easy going Mr. Sunshine. A dark-haired moody boy, he says.
One thing that I do wonder about, which is a bit silly, but still, is that I can't imagine loving another child as much as I love Ivan, and splitting that love between them (and of course, I must not forget Mariposa. Although she's technically a dog, she's still our baby. Our first baby). But if I have to split this love further, it's easier for me to conceive of loving a girl than another boy. I know this is silly, because in the same line of thinking, when I was pregnant with Ivan, I remember imagining I have a little Mariposa in my stomach, because I couldn't conceive of loving a child at that pre-parental time. And now, I can't imagine that there was a time that we didn't know that Ivan would be Ivan.
Ivan's sonogram:
With Ivan, I was also at super ease, thinking that the sonogram would just be a routine exam. I didn't except the technician to say that she couldn't measure one head dimension properly due to Ivan' position. She didn't alarm us, but calmly said that it was simply due to his position. However, since we had the obgyn appointment right after the sonogram, Andy and I babbled and blurted and relayed the technician's comments to the super flighty doctor whom we didn't like to begin with. Our assumption was that she had looked at our file and had seen the sonogram's results. But apparently she hadn't. Instead, going off of our comments, she completely freaked us out. "Did I travel abroad?" I had, to India of all places. There is some food borne or something virus that I could've caught, we need to go to see a genetic counselor for our options, etc... She completely freaked us out. Luckily, Andy was composed enough to ask whether she had read our file. It turned out she hadn't. She promptly walked over to the sonogram room to consult with the doctor. She returned apologizing profusely and profoundly, echoing what the technician had told us. Nothing to be concerned about. A head measurement couldn't be taken properly because of Ivan's position. But the damage had been done. I was a wreak for the rest of the day, actually a week. "A pinhead baby, was all I could think about." And Andy and I had taken that day off because we were going to do our first baby gear overview shopping trip to familiarize ourselves with the needed baby stuff, which was a territory at that time. Except that with the pinhead baby news, we really weren't in a shopping mode.
We had rescheduled another sonogram in three weeks. That time, everything checked out fine. And as a bonus, Ivan yawned at us. It melted our hearts. The yawn was recorded on the sonogram camera. That was our first official picture of Ivan.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Chef Picasso
As recounted to me by Andy:
Yesterday, Andy spent the day at home with Ivan who has an eye/ear infection.
He spent most of the afternoon on the porch, playing with playdoh on his toy table. For some reason, he was wearing pants, but was shirtless.
Then he wanted yogurt. He wanted to eat it on the toy table. (The last few days, he wants to eat the yogurt and other food in various places--on the table, on the coffee table, on the porch table, on the toy table which is on the porch).
Andy let him.
Then some 10 minutes later, Ivan returned to the kitchen, where Andy was marinating chicken to put on the grill, demanding to get the big plastic water bottle.
"Watr, watr," he said.
Andy was intrigued, but he filled the bottle with water and gave it to him.
Ivan rushed back to the porch.
Andy could hear him swooshing something on the table.
He had smeared with the spoon yogurt, playdoh and water across the entire table and the surrounding area.
"Cooking, cooking," he told Andy.
Andy took photos. Ivan looks like a little Picasso working on his oevre.
Later, then ate "chicken from the fire." With ketchup, of course.
Yesterday, Andy spent the day at home with Ivan who has an eye/ear infection.
He spent most of the afternoon on the porch, playing with playdoh on his toy table. For some reason, he was wearing pants, but was shirtless.
Then he wanted yogurt. He wanted to eat it on the toy table. (The last few days, he wants to eat the yogurt and other food in various places--on the table, on the coffee table, on the porch table, on the toy table which is on the porch).
Andy let him.
Then some 10 minutes later, Ivan returned to the kitchen, where Andy was marinating chicken to put on the grill, demanding to get the big plastic water bottle.
"Watr, watr," he said.
Andy was intrigued, but he filled the bottle with water and gave it to him.
Ivan rushed back to the porch.
Andy could hear him swooshing something on the table.
He had smeared with the spoon yogurt, playdoh and water across the entire table and the surrounding area.
"Cooking, cooking," he told Andy.
Andy took photos. Ivan looks like a little Picasso working on his oevre.
Later, then ate "chicken from the fire." With ketchup, of course.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Eye Infection (Bad Mommy)
After a fun-filled weekend of Dutch Wonderland and 4th of July BBQ, on Sunday morning Ivan woke up with a somewhat puffy eye with a huge sleep in it.
"Hm, that's unusual. He's never had sleep in his eyes before," I thought, but then promptly dismissed it as no big deal.
We got ready when mattress shopping, which was Sunday's agenda. Ivan had a great time, running around in mattress stores, jumping on beds (much to the chargin of salemen who were helping us). But the sleep kept returning to his eye, even after we'd clean it off. By the end of the day, it was clear that something was wrong.
On Monday morning, Andy took him to the doctor's. "Eye and ear infection," the doctor said.
I did notice earlier in the week that his right ear seemed to be dirtier than usual and that he wouldn't let me clean it, but I dismissed it as him being propriatery of his body. (It goes along with all things "ma," or mine.)
Andy opted to stay home with him on Monday and Tuesday, while the highly-contagious eye infection clears up mainly because he thought he'd have an easier time wrestling with Ivan to get him to take antibiotic syrup and administer eyedrops.
Otherwise, Ivan was in good spirits, and they actually had fun together.
Then he woke up on Tuesday night around 11 p.m. screaming "dadi, dadi, mami, mami." He was hot and sweating, running a fever over 103F.
After getting some chewable Tylanol, he calmed down and fell asleep in our bed, snuggled against Andy. (He wouldn't return to his crib.)
In the morning, he was fine, chipper and his usually bubbly morning self, so we decided to take him to daycare.
While we were talking to Ms. Yvonne, trying to find some form to sign so that she could administer eyedrops, Ivan's mood changed. Suddenly, he seemed kind of lost, standing sad, confused, gripping his arms in the middle of the room. Ms. Yvonne decided to take his temperature. He went completely limp in her arms, as the thermometer kept climbing and climbing above 101F.
It was time to take him home. I felt like such an awful failure mommy. What was I thinking of sending him to daycare.
On the way home, we called the doctor's office. They wanted to see him. The doctor said that his eyes and ears look much better (and that had she not seem him on Monday in the throws of the infection, she wouldn't think he had one now) but that his throat was "terrible." Hence the fever. He was fighting something. It wasn't strep, she said, because the antibiotics would kill it. She took a finger prick blood sample to check for viral or other bacterial infection. Surprisingly enough, the nurse who pricked Ivan was so smooth that he didn't even realize she pricked him. Instead he was very, very intrigued to watch her collect droplets of blood.
The blood test came back normal for both infections. So the bottom line was that he's fighting something that either the antibiotics are taking care of (e.g. bacterial infection) or his own immune system (viral infection.)
I stayed home with him yesterday and today. He had a little bit of a fever last night. Otherwise, he's been fine--alert, happy, chipper. His bubbly self.
Getting Ivan to take his antibiotic syrup and his eyedrops has been quite a challenge. For the first eyedrops, Ivan let Andy put eyedrops in one eye very willingly. And that was it. "Trust has been broken," Andy told me. It was hard to put the drops in the second eye.
So, Andy devised a tatoo system. It kind of worked on Monday. After administering him eyedrops and getting him to take his "candy medicine," which must taste awful because he absolutely refuses to drink it, Ivan gets a tattoo. It worked on Monday day.
On Monday evening, we eventually bribed him to administer eyedrops (it was a two person job, this time) and take the syrup. He wouldn't drink it from the spoon, so we wrestled him down and used a syringe to squirt it down his throat. He got a tatoo and a cookie. It was supposed to be one or the other, but he got both.
On Tuesday, the same deal: tattoo for eyedrops and syrup. Eye drops got easier, while syrop was a deal breaker. It must really taste nasty.
On Wednesday evening, Ivan asked for a tattoo, after he took his medicine, without Andy mentioning the tattoo ahead of time. A quick study.
Today, I had to wrestle with him to administer the drops during the day. It wasn't as bad as I feared it would be. I don't blame him. I don't like eyedrops in my eyes, either, and I'm a rational adult.
"Hm, that's unusual. He's never had sleep in his eyes before," I thought, but then promptly dismissed it as no big deal.
We got ready when mattress shopping, which was Sunday's agenda. Ivan had a great time, running around in mattress stores, jumping on beds (much to the chargin of salemen who were helping us). But the sleep kept returning to his eye, even after we'd clean it off. By the end of the day, it was clear that something was wrong.
On Monday morning, Andy took him to the doctor's. "Eye and ear infection," the doctor said.
I did notice earlier in the week that his right ear seemed to be dirtier than usual and that he wouldn't let me clean it, but I dismissed it as him being propriatery of his body. (It goes along with all things "ma," or mine.)
Andy opted to stay home with him on Monday and Tuesday, while the highly-contagious eye infection clears up mainly because he thought he'd have an easier time wrestling with Ivan to get him to take antibiotic syrup and administer eyedrops.
Otherwise, Ivan was in good spirits, and they actually had fun together.
Then he woke up on Tuesday night around 11 p.m. screaming "dadi, dadi, mami, mami." He was hot and sweating, running a fever over 103F.
After getting some chewable Tylanol, he calmed down and fell asleep in our bed, snuggled against Andy. (He wouldn't return to his crib.)
In the morning, he was fine, chipper and his usually bubbly morning self, so we decided to take him to daycare.
While we were talking to Ms. Yvonne, trying to find some form to sign so that she could administer eyedrops, Ivan's mood changed. Suddenly, he seemed kind of lost, standing sad, confused, gripping his arms in the middle of the room. Ms. Yvonne decided to take his temperature. He went completely limp in her arms, as the thermometer kept climbing and climbing above 101F.
It was time to take him home. I felt like such an awful failure mommy. What was I thinking of sending him to daycare.
On the way home, we called the doctor's office. They wanted to see him. The doctor said that his eyes and ears look much better (and that had she not seem him on Monday in the throws of the infection, she wouldn't think he had one now) but that his throat was "terrible." Hence the fever. He was fighting something. It wasn't strep, she said, because the antibiotics would kill it. She took a finger prick blood sample to check for viral or other bacterial infection. Surprisingly enough, the nurse who pricked Ivan was so smooth that he didn't even realize she pricked him. Instead he was very, very intrigued to watch her collect droplets of blood.
The blood test came back normal for both infections. So the bottom line was that he's fighting something that either the antibiotics are taking care of (e.g. bacterial infection) or his own immune system (viral infection.)
I stayed home with him yesterday and today. He had a little bit of a fever last night. Otherwise, he's been fine--alert, happy, chipper. His bubbly self.
Getting Ivan to take his antibiotic syrup and his eyedrops has been quite a challenge. For the first eyedrops, Ivan let Andy put eyedrops in one eye very willingly. And that was it. "Trust has been broken," Andy told me. It was hard to put the drops in the second eye.
So, Andy devised a tatoo system. It kind of worked on Monday. After administering him eyedrops and getting him to take his "candy medicine," which must taste awful because he absolutely refuses to drink it, Ivan gets a tattoo. It worked on Monday day.
On Monday evening, we eventually bribed him to administer eyedrops (it was a two person job, this time) and take the syrup. He wouldn't drink it from the spoon, so we wrestled him down and used a syringe to squirt it down his throat. He got a tatoo and a cookie. It was supposed to be one or the other, but he got both.
On Tuesday, the same deal: tattoo for eyedrops and syrup. Eye drops got easier, while syrop was a deal breaker. It must really taste nasty.
On Wednesday evening, Ivan asked for a tattoo, after he took his medicine, without Andy mentioning the tattoo ahead of time. A quick study.
Today, I had to wrestle with him to administer the drops during the day. It wasn't as bad as I feared it would be. I don't blame him. I don't like eyedrops in my eyes, either, and I'm a rational adult.
Ivan's Six Pack
It's been two weeks since my mother left for Croatia on a Thursday. That entire week (and probably the week before), Ivan kept telling her "kupit jogurt." She had the best intentions of taking him to buy yogurt but in the end it didn't work out. She left before they were able to buy yogurt together.
Ivan, however, wasn't phased by it. He just continued, and still continues, telling us to "kupit jogurt." We've bought yogurt several times now. Those little Stonybrook Farm, sixpack Baby Yoyos. He tells us to buy yogurt even when he have some in the house. It's become his tag line, "kupit yogurt."
Ivan's been obsessed with that yogurt for over a year now. No, probably longer than that. That yogurt was one of the first baby foods he tried. He would eat nothing but that yogurt. So eventually, I had stopped buying them and had him eat regular plain yogurt instead. A few months had gone by. Then sometime in late winter, like February or March, he saw one of those yogurts at Bella's house. He remembered them. I was surprised. I didn't think we would.
Since then every time we're in the store, if he sees the yogurt, we need to buy it.
He used to point to the yogurt and get really upset if we wouldn't put it in the cart. A few months ago at Trader Joe's, I put a sixpack in the shopping cart. He was sitting in the shopping cart, as well. As soon as I put the yogurt in the cart, he started turning around, desperately trying to reach for it. I really wasn't paying attention to his actions, until I realized that he had managed to pull off the cover of one of the yogurts. So, he ate the yogurt in the middle of the store.
Now, that he's verbal, he likes to run toward the yogurt display, yelling "find it, I find it," and get the yogurt.
Those yogurts are really good and creamy. Full of sugar too. All babies love them. No all babies seem to be addicted to them. Like Ivan. I've started to think that they put some sort of special additives in the yogurt that appeal just to babies. Or maybe, it's just plain fat and sugar, that are the magical ingredients.
Eating yogurt wouldn't be a problem, if Ivan were satisfied with just one package. Instead, once he starts eating them, he ends up eating the entire six pack in one day: Three or four for breakfast and the remainder in the evening.
I wouldn't mind this either, if he were to eat something else as well. But unfortunatelly, after such a sugary and fatty sixpack, there is rarely room for anything else. (Unless the else, is the "Happy birthday. Cake," or cookies.)
Ivan, however, wasn't phased by it. He just continued, and still continues, telling us to "kupit jogurt." We've bought yogurt several times now. Those little Stonybrook Farm, sixpack Baby Yoyos. He tells us to buy yogurt even when he have some in the house. It's become his tag line, "kupit yogurt."
Ivan's been obsessed with that yogurt for over a year now. No, probably longer than that. That yogurt was one of the first baby foods he tried. He would eat nothing but that yogurt. So eventually, I had stopped buying them and had him eat regular plain yogurt instead. A few months had gone by. Then sometime in late winter, like February or March, he saw one of those yogurts at Bella's house. He remembered them. I was surprised. I didn't think we would.
Since then every time we're in the store, if he sees the yogurt, we need to buy it.
He used to point to the yogurt and get really upset if we wouldn't put it in the cart. A few months ago at Trader Joe's, I put a sixpack in the shopping cart. He was sitting in the shopping cart, as well. As soon as I put the yogurt in the cart, he started turning around, desperately trying to reach for it. I really wasn't paying attention to his actions, until I realized that he had managed to pull off the cover of one of the yogurts. So, he ate the yogurt in the middle of the store.
Now, that he's verbal, he likes to run toward the yogurt display, yelling "find it, I find it," and get the yogurt.
Those yogurts are really good and creamy. Full of sugar too. All babies love them. No all babies seem to be addicted to them. Like Ivan. I've started to think that they put some sort of special additives in the yogurt that appeal just to babies. Or maybe, it's just plain fat and sugar, that are the magical ingredients.
Eating yogurt wouldn't be a problem, if Ivan were satisfied with just one package. Instead, once he starts eating them, he ends up eating the entire six pack in one day: Three or four for breakfast and the remainder in the evening.
I wouldn't mind this either, if he were to eat something else as well. But unfortunatelly, after such a sugary and fatty sixpack, there is rarely room for anything else. (Unless the else, is the "Happy birthday. Cake," or cookies.)
Toddler Prerogatives
On Saturday, for 4th of July, we went over to Beth's for a pot-luck BBQ. There were several kids (Beth's kids and their neighbords) who were a bit older than Ivan. He was intrigued by them and kind of played with them. He observed them playing in the sanbox (but didn't really go in.) He did however fully participate and enjoy catching bubbles generated by the bubble machine. He was in 7th heaven.
"Bubbles."
He also was very intrigued by the bug zapper light that Andy initially pointed to him. He stood there and observed it.
He also mowed the lawn with a toy lawn mower and walked a scooter around.
Sam, Lisa's boy, was there as well. He's two months older than Ivan. He also kind of played with other kids, but not really. He had his own prerogatives, just like Ivan.
Like Ivan, he is a gentle, sweet natured kid. I think they'd get along really well, if they actually played together.
While they didn't play together on Saturday, they did have an interesting toddler run in.
Sam's obsessed with all things Thomas the Train. He likes to pour over the Thomas catalogue and look at different trains. He's on a sticker reward system, where if he sleep until 7 a.m. he gets a sticker. And five stickers get him another train.
Ivan, on the other hand, could not care less about Thomas. He has the train set at home, and occasionally plays with it, but he really couldn't care less. When he plays with the set, he's actually more interested in putting the track together than actually have the train roll by.
He did, however, have a Thomas the Train tattoo on his arm. (We got a bunch of tattoos as party favors at two recent birthday parties.)
Now Ivan, ever since he discovered the meaning my "mine" about a month ago, has gotten really possessive and vocal about these possession (ma car, ma bed, ma house, ma yogurt, ma zica, etc....)
So on Saturday, Sam and Ivan crossed paths. Sam noticed Ivan's tattoo. He tried to get a better look at it by pulling on Ivan's shirt so Ivan would turn around. Ivan, however, was trying to escape, yelling "ma shirt, ma shirt, ma shirt."
Sam couldn't figure out why Ivan was upset. Ivan couldn't figure out why Sam wanted his shirt.
It was really funny.
"Bubbles."
He also was very intrigued by the bug zapper light that Andy initially pointed to him. He stood there and observed it.
He also mowed the lawn with a toy lawn mower and walked a scooter around.
Sam, Lisa's boy, was there as well. He's two months older than Ivan. He also kind of played with other kids, but not really. He had his own prerogatives, just like Ivan.
Like Ivan, he is a gentle, sweet natured kid. I think they'd get along really well, if they actually played together.
While they didn't play together on Saturday, they did have an interesting toddler run in.
Sam's obsessed with all things Thomas the Train. He likes to pour over the Thomas catalogue and look at different trains. He's on a sticker reward system, where if he sleep until 7 a.m. he gets a sticker. And five stickers get him another train.
Ivan, on the other hand, could not care less about Thomas. He has the train set at home, and occasionally plays with it, but he really couldn't care less. When he plays with the set, he's actually more interested in putting the track together than actually have the train roll by.
He did, however, have a Thomas the Train tattoo on his arm. (We got a bunch of tattoos as party favors at two recent birthday parties.)
Now Ivan, ever since he discovered the meaning my "mine" about a month ago, has gotten really possessive and vocal about these possession (ma car, ma bed, ma house, ma yogurt, ma zica, etc....)
So on Saturday, Sam and Ivan crossed paths. Sam noticed Ivan's tattoo. He tried to get a better look at it by pulling on Ivan's shirt so Ivan would turn around. Ivan, however, was trying to escape, yelling "ma shirt, ma shirt, ma shirt."
Sam couldn't figure out why Ivan was upset. Ivan couldn't figure out why Sam wanted his shirt.
It was really funny.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Cake
On Monday, Andy took Ivan to see his parents. Since my parents are away for a month, we're taking turns taking care of him on Mondays and Fridays, when he doesn't go to daycare.
They had a blast, Andy said. As soon as they arrived, Ivan headed for the cookie jar (funny how he remembers that), then proceeded to the pantry to get Ritz crackers of which he ate like 20. Then he mosied around and played...until he discovered a cake in the kitchen. Andy's mom always has a cake (a bundt cake) out on a kitchen counter, resting in a cake platter. He got a piece, of course.
The rest of the day he spent playing around. He ran up and down their yard....until he tired himself out. They had a great time, Andy said. Ivan wasn't shy at all. I was afraid he'd act a bit shy at their house. But I was wrong.
He didn't nap. He never does at their house. When they left around 6, he fell asleep in the car. He was still asleep when they arrived here so he was transported directly to bed. He protested being laid down in his crib, so he ended up sleeping in the spare bed, until we put him back in his crib. He slept the entire night.
He woke up around 6 a.m. in the morning.
"Did you have fun at Mimi and Papi's house," I asked him.
"Cake," was all he said very self-assuredly, nodding his head and smiling.
They had a blast, Andy said. As soon as they arrived, Ivan headed for the cookie jar (funny how he remembers that), then proceeded to the pantry to get Ritz crackers of which he ate like 20. Then he mosied around and played...until he discovered a cake in the kitchen. Andy's mom always has a cake (a bundt cake) out on a kitchen counter, resting in a cake platter. He got a piece, of course.
The rest of the day he spent playing around. He ran up and down their yard....until he tired himself out. They had a great time, Andy said. Ivan wasn't shy at all. I was afraid he'd act a bit shy at their house. But I was wrong.
He didn't nap. He never does at their house. When they left around 6, he fell asleep in the car. He was still asleep when they arrived here so he was transported directly to bed. He protested being laid down in his crib, so he ended up sleeping in the spare bed, until we put him back in his crib. He slept the entire night.
He woke up around 6 a.m. in the morning.
"Did you have fun at Mimi and Papi's house," I asked him.
"Cake," was all he said very self-assuredly, nodding his head and smiling.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Best Friends Again---Ivan and Medic (and Other Bedtime Friends)
Medic and Ivan are back to being best friends. Ivan's inseparable from Medic at bedtime and drags him around, playing with him and roughhousing him, during the day.
I'm thrilled.
There is still a faint smell of stinky sock mold at several of Medic's seems, but one has to smell him really well to notice it. Also, there is a new faint smell of milk. This time, I'm letting it go. No more baths for Medic for a long time.
This past week, Ivan's added new bedtime buddies. First, it was the phone receiver with the wire. I left the received but retreived the wire. The second night, the entire wire arsenal had to be left on the bed with him. It was promptly take away. The third night was the silver radio. All these nights he's been falling asleep in the spare bed. When he's asleep, we tranfer him to his crib. (Maybe it's time to buy him a real big boy bed.)
That night, he woke up in the middle of the night, pre-bird chirping time and pre-dawn. "Mama, mama," he was standing up in his crib, holding the bottle and Medic in the crook of his arms.
He wanted to come to our bed. I laid him down. "Donit radio," he whispered. So I had to go and find the radio, so the radio can be in bed with us as well.
Tonight, he went to sleep with Medic, the radio and the phone receiver.
I'm thrilled.
There is still a faint smell of stinky sock mold at several of Medic's seems, but one has to smell him really well to notice it. Also, there is a new faint smell of milk. This time, I'm letting it go. No more baths for Medic for a long time.
This past week, Ivan's added new bedtime buddies. First, it was the phone receiver with the wire. I left the received but retreived the wire. The second night, the entire wire arsenal had to be left on the bed with him. It was promptly take away. The third night was the silver radio. All these nights he's been falling asleep in the spare bed. When he's asleep, we tranfer him to his crib. (Maybe it's time to buy him a real big boy bed.)
That night, he woke up in the middle of the night, pre-bird chirping time and pre-dawn. "Mama, mama," he was standing up in his crib, holding the bottle and Medic in the crook of his arms.
He wanted to come to our bed. I laid him down. "Donit radio," he whispered. So I had to go and find the radio, so the radio can be in bed with us as well.
Tonight, he went to sleep with Medic, the radio and the phone receiver.
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