The Poop Chronicles

I would really love to be able to say I have more to talk about than poop.

But I don't. My life revolves around poop right now.

Potty training is going really well. Except for number two. G absolutely refuses to go in the potty. Not even for chocolate chips. Not even for TWO stickers. Not even for a chance to go to the train store.

Clearly, I'm not above bribery.

The other day while at my parents, I had the bright idea of letting him go in their raspberry patch and eat to his hearts content. I mean, there's no way he'll be able to hold it once he's eaten his weight in raspberries.

Right?

Wrong. He held it and held it and held it. He ran around the yard clutching his little bottom. He begged for a diaper.

I finally convinced him to go poo poo in the yard like a doggy. Then I followed him around with a shovel. Not one of my proudest moments.

And yes, I know this is questionable parenting. But seriously, I can't deal with the poopy undies. Beyond gross. (I did see Thea's suggestion on my last post to let G change his own poopy undies and I've taken it under advisement).

Preschool starts in about three weeks. Admittedly, I don't think we're going to have him fully potty independent by then, we may have to postpone enrollment for a month or so.

But good lord, I could really use those three hours, two times weekly to chill. And by chill I mean run around like a madwoman trying to run all the errands that are nearly impossible with two kids in tow.

And I also fully realize that if my son ever reads this post, years down the road, he will be mortified and will probably be putting me in a horrible nursing home.

But really? He really should be changing MY poopy underwear. It's only fair.

I'm Really Reaching Here, People

I need to write and I am so, so stuck. The term 'writer's block' is so cliche. But yeah, I think I've got it. That, or I'm brain dead from my ingenious idea to do potty training bootcamp whilst juggling a super cute yet super needy baby.

The potty training. Oh. My. Stars. Talk about frustrating. We've been working at it for about a week now, and only in the last four days have I seen progress. Except yesterday was a total regression and cleaning poop out of underwear now nears the top of my list of possible tortures for P.O.W.'s. Nasty.

But I charge ahead...the only way G is going to preschool is if he's fully potty trained. We toured a preschool on Thursday that I really loved and I think will be a good fit, but he's got to be fully independent in the bathroom. Oy. My great hope is that his desire to go to school (and he talks about it constantly) will override his stubbornness over toilet training. I know he can do it. The kicker is if he WANTS to.

Up until last week, I was going mellow route. Asking everyday if he wanted to wear big boy underwear. If he said no, well, that was that. But now we're going whole hog. I'm OVER changing a 3 1/2 year old's diapers. Barf.

Er. So after that HUGE digression, yeah, I'm needing to write, for my sanity, but all that is on my mind is, well, poop.

In an effort to try to break out of my brain lock, I'm just going to do one of those random posts. Yes, I'm totally indulging myself. Whatever. And I'm doing bullet points, cause I like them and I'm the boss of this blog.

Let the randomness begin!

- I'm in love with quinoa. I make a bunch and mix it with roasted veg and balsamic vinaigrette. So good, hot or cold. The rest of my family won't touch it, of course.

- Can I just say I am SO tired of this post pregnancy body? Nothing fits. I know I need to exercise. I'm planning on starting the C25K program. I just need to figure out if I can take the baby in the jogging stroller yet - I think she may still be too small. But back to the body hate thing - getting dressed is such a chore. I used to love putting outfits together. Now I want to wear muumuus. Waistbands are torture.

- A few weeks ago I had the realization that I haven't worn heels in forever. I used to wear heels to work everyday. Now? They are all sitting in my closet blanketed in a layer of dust. It's tragic. And yesterday, I considered dragging out my fifteen year old Birkenstocks because my feet are killing me with all this baby pacing. It's official, I'm going crunchy. If I wear wool socks with my Birks, please track me down and kick me in the shins. It's just not acceptable.

- I got my first crown last week, narrowly avoiding what would have been my first root canal. The saddest thing is that I actually enjoyed my time in the dental chair and found it relaxing. It must be a 'mother of young children' thing.

- My son accidentally watched the Honey Badger on YouTube. It was an accident, but now he is obsessed with honey badger. I will let him watch it, with the sound off. Mother of the Year, right here. I'm balancing it out with the Duggars. He is also obsessed with them and can name all the kids, in order. So proud.

And that's all I've got. I'm so tired and my brain hurts. If anyone has any questions or ideas for posts, please share. Seriously. Inspire me, I'm begging you!

My Dogs are A$$holes

Before I had children, I scoffed at people who unloaded their pets once baby arrived. Our dogs slept in our bed, enjoyed doggy day care, thought nothing of climbing up on the couch.

Basically, I was an idiot. And we created two monsters. Stinky, hairy, loud monsters.

We have two dogs and two cats. The cats know their place. They have acclimated to moving even further down the totem pole quite nicely.

The dogs are going down kicking and screaming. Make that barking and whining.

Sadie, the elder and supposedly 'smarter' (according to my husband, I have
my doubts) of the dogs is the ringleader. She has coordinated several jailbreaks from the backyard that have resulted in a trip to doggy jail. You'd think we had them chained up or in a 5x5 pen.

Oh no. No no no. Our dogs have our ENTIRE backyard. And it's not small. What have they done with this expanse? Dug it up, destroyed landscaping, crapped on every square inch. Thrown themselves at the gate until it splintered and they could squeeze out. Littered the grass with the plush dog bed they disemboweled.

Then, when they finish their rampage of destruction, they camp out against the sliding glass door. For hours. Forget playing or running out some energy.

Since they can't be left outside when I'm gone under threat of escape, leaving the house becomes a huge exercise in dog proofing. No diapers, clean or dirty, can be accessible, or said diaper will be shredded and strewn about the living room. This also goes for nursing pads and used kleenex.

They are walking purveyors of filth. I sweep, I'm not even kidding, at least five times daily. I need to buy stock in Swiffer. If I do something as stupid as mop, they will track in mud immediately. Even if it hasn't rained in days.

The dogs have recently taken to pacing up and down the hardwood floors, scratching at their collars, shaking and incessantly licking their genitals (loudly) JUST as the baby is about to go to sleep.

This is what is going to push me over the edge, I swear. If you've ever had a fussy baby, you know the all encompassing rage that overtakes your being when someone/something messes with that babe's sleep.

Of course, we won't get rid of the damn dogs. My husband thinks they keep me and the children safe. My son adores them.

So they stay. Even though I might accidentally shave all their fur.

- Posted from my iPad! I know!

Live from Tissueville, It's the &:$;@!@ Summer Cold!

I swear I don't just come here to complain.

Okay, maybe I do.

But ugh. The plague has descended upon our house. First G had a runny nose last week. Then the husband had a cold. Then me. Mine consists of a gross phlegmy cough, a faucet for a nose and sore throat.

So I figured we were all done.

But this morning, G woke up and five minutes later put himself back to bed. I knew right away that a) the apocalypse was imminent or b) he was sick.

One wrestling match and armpit temperature later, it was confirmed. Fever. It hit around 102 and at that point I employed the perennial mom move - the Tylenol full nelson. This kid is not compliant in taking medicine, ever.

We're now hanging out at around 100.

The little prince is splayed out on the couch, demanding 'babies' - this is the Duggars. And clearly another post where I explain why he knows them AND ALL THEIR J NAMES is forthcoming.

For now, I'm crossing all my fingers and toes that the baby stays healthy. A two month old with a fever is panic inducing.

And also, G must be feeling better cause he's back to annoying the heck out of me.

Lay off, kiddo. I still feel like garbage. Thanks, your momma.

Happy 4th and Stuff (Mainly Stuff About Screamy Baby)

It's July 4th already. This summer is going by way too fast and with far too little sun for my liking.

But today, it's perfectly gorgeous outside. Which for Northwest Washington on the 4th of July is extremely rare...possibly a sign of the apocalypse.

The explosions in our neighborhood have been consistent for about a week now. Nothing says patriotism like blowing stuff up, yeah? I'm so glad neither my children or my dogs seem bothered. Cause then I'd totally be that neighbor calling the cops.

Funny how lack of sleep and a fussy baby will make you the crazy, stick in the mud neighbor.

Just so you know, I've been blogging in my head for weeks. It's just that none of it makes it here. Typing whilst rocking a screaming baby is impossible.

I have still yet to pinpoint why my babe is so screamy. I'm off dairy, she's on reflux meds. I'm considering going gluten free for a while to see if that helps. I know that MY body seems to function better when I'm not eating wheat.

Here's what I'm scared of: she's simply a high need baby. That's Dr. Sears' nice way of saying super duper don't ever put me down fussy. (I'm reading The Fussy Baby Book right now and it's like it was written about my child. Shoot.)

The best way I've found to cope is to wear her. All. The.Time. It works, and it frees up my arms. I've been using my Moby Wrap, which G calls the 'pocket.' If the babe is crying, G says 'Mommy, put baby in her pocket.'

And I do.

So basically, I'm totally morphing into a crunchy mama.

Breast-feeding, co sleeping, cloth diapering, baby wearing. It's kind of awesome to realize that getting back to the basics is do-able, even for a domestic flunky like me.

And cloth diapering is saving us so much money. Which rocks.

I have so much to write about. Probably boring stuff, but I get to do a lot of thinking whilst pacing.

And I'm mastering typing on the iPad while moving.

Multitasking is awesome.








- Posted from my iPad while baby wearing!

Houston, We Have a Screamer

Apparently I jinxed the heck out of myself by proclaiming I have an easy baby.

Yes, my sleepy little angel has been replaced with Fussy McScreamerson. It all started a few weeks ago. I mentioned her fussiness at her two week well child visit, thinking maybe I'd have to give up dairy or that the doc would recommend gas drops.

But he whips out a prescription for an antacid. Thinks she has reflux.

I was not convinced. Her symptoms simply don't show reflux. But I told him I'd try it. Two weeks in and nothing. In fact, I'd say it's (whatever 'it' is) worse.

Last Thursday I called and left a message for the nurse asking if I could stop with the reflux meds.

The great news is that the nurse that called me back is also a lactation consultant...I didn't know my pediatrician's office even had one. I spoke with her at length.

Here's the thing: I've always been an overproducer when it comes to breastfeeding. Sounds like a great thing, right? Yeah, not so much. The lactation consultant directed me to an article on the La Leche League website that addresses problems surrounding overproduction of breast milk. The basic take away is that baby gets too full on the lactose rich fore milk and never gets the fatty hind milk. This leads to gas, horrible poops and overall fussy baby.

And seriously? Reading the list of symptoms and effects on baby? It was like reading a word for word description of both of my kids.

So, since Thursday I've been following the article's advice on how to make sure baby gets the right balance of fore milk and hind milk while trying to curb my crazy Bessie boobs.

I've noticed a little improvement in baby. She still has a witching hour...okay, hours. So I'm not ruling out colic.

But I'm hoping once I get the milk factories to stop working overtime, we will see more improvement.

Cause I know I'm not cool with the colic. Eff the colic.



- Posted from my iPad! I know!

Hazy

Hey there.

Um. Hmmm. What day is it? Where am I?

I need to face facts. Newborn bliss has faded. I am tired and my life revolves around boobs and poop.

Don't get me wrong. I adore my wee babe. But good god, I forgot how annoying massive boobs are...seriously. Ouch. And how little sleep I can have and still (kind of) function.

And last week, I hit a big wall and ended up calling my doctor, sobbing. I actually scared myself...anxiety like I'd never experienced, crushing anxiety. And I was so irritable and impatient. Forget about a short fuse...I had no fuse.

Suffice it to say, my doctor immediately wrote me a prescription for antidepressants and scheduled me to come into the office asap.

At first, I was absolutely gutted that I needed help. That I couldn't handle things on my own. I don't like to ask for help.

To be honest, I'm still struggling with it - I didn't have PPD with my first child. Why now? What's different?

Logically, I know that this is something I can't control. It's an imbalance. My hormones are all out of whack. And my doctor assures me it'll get better.

Emotionally? I'm kind of pissed. I'll get over it, and I know I made the right decision in seeking help.

For now, I just want to enjoy this precious short time that Baby C is sweet and tiny. I need to remember to soak it in...time is fleeting. I don't want to wake up from this haze and realize I've missed anything.


- Posted from my iPad! I know!

That's It. No More Books.

I knew this day was coming, but I wasn't prepared. I knew the time would come that my child would open his mouth and say something embarrassing. In public.

Today, upon meeting a woman with gray, curly hair, he exclaimed "Hi old lady!"

And then, just in case she hadn't heard him the first time, he referred to her as "old lady" for the next twenty minutes.

I tried to brush it off...he thinks everyone over the age of 30 is old, I said. But I knew that he was calling her "old lady" because she had the same hairdo as the Old Lady in Babar.

I won't be telling her that. Cause I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be taken as a compliment.




- Posted from my iPad! I know!

I Left the House With Both Kids...Where's My Medal?

Yesterday, I attempted my first solo two child outing. First to the pediatrician for Baby C's two week checkup, then to the drugstore.

Honestly? I'm still breaking out in the sweats just thinking about it.

I literally tried to plan everything out on Sunday night. I laid out all of our clothes, packed up the diaper bags with snacks and bribes. I got up before the kids and got a shower. Everyone was fed and dressed and out the door on time.

Once we were at the pediatrician? Uh, yeah. G was in full on three year old drama mode. And? We got the evil nurse. We've had her before, and it's clear she's not a fan of children. She's asking me questions about the baby, none of which I'm actually able to hear, let alone answer. She's giving G the stink eye. I'm contemplating kicking her in the shins.

Somehow the pediatrician fails to notice G is being uncooperative and does nothing to speed the visit along. He does, however, give the baby a prescription for antacid since she's seeming to have some screamy, gassy tummy issues.

Which means we have to hit the drugstore on the way home.

Sweet.

The baby is crying inconsolably upon leaving the doctor. Once we made it to Rite Aid, I found the most deserted place in the parking lot and nursed her. She did not fall asleep, but she stopped crying.

Okay. I can do this, I told myself.

I got a shopping cart. But here's the thing...the carts at this store are miniature. As in, not meant for more than one kid, especially not my three year old who is the size of a five year old, and my massive infant car seat.

So the infant seat is perched on top of the cart, by the handle (don't worry, I made sure the seat clicked onto the cart. Safety first.) And G? He's scrunched up in the lower part of the cart, his knees by his ears.

The pharmacist takes the script and our insurance card and tells me 15 minutes. I set a timer. Seriously. I did. They've tricked me into 25 minutes before. Ice got two ticking time bombs and I'm not messing around.

We walk around for about 10 minutes. I'm strategically avoiding any aisle with toys or candy. So we basically hung out with the maxi pads.

At this point I've got a whiny little boy and a newborn whose upper lip is starting to quiver. I am paged to the pharmacy where I'm informed my child is not on my insurance.

Forget the preschooler...mama's going to throw herself on the floor and have a tantrum.

It's game over at this juncture. I haul the kidlets back out to the car and we go home. I eat peanut butter straight out of the jar then call the insurance company, then my husband. Paperwork for baby's insurance? Never submitted. Stab.

(Insurance is all straightened out now, meltdown averted...and I didn't eat the frosting sitting in our fridge...yay me!!)

This morning? I woke up determined to show that drugstore who's boss. While I was at it, I decided to give the grocery store a go.

And I survived. No baby, little boy or mommy meltdowns. Okay, I resorted to animal cracker bribery. Whatever gets you through the shopping, you know?

So I guess my first outing with both the kids was pretty much a fail. But tonight, baby has her tummy meds and we've got milk and bread.

I feel so accomplished.

Little victories.

- Posted from my iPad! Typing with your thumbs is NOT FUN.

Happy Berfday to Me!

Thank God for Facebook because I pretty much entirely forgot today is my birthday.

I've been a wee bit busy.

But I logged on this morning and was floored by all the birthday wishes. Lots and lots of love. And yes, I cried a little. Are you surprised, really? I figure I can't listen to the radio, watch sappy commercials or any episodes of Glee or Extreme Home Makeover until my hormones stabilize.

What am I NOT teary over? Getting older. Today I'm 33. I don't want to be perpetually 29. And my early 20's? Fugeddaboutit. You couldn't pay me to do that again. Except for the sleeping in part. Yeah, that would be okay.

Right now is good. It's where I'm supposed to be, I can't imagine things differently. I don't lead a glamourous life. Things are most definitely not perfect. But I'm content. Content, for me, is way better than over the moon happy. Super happy makes me nervous. I walk around waiting for the other shoe to drop. Am I a pessimist? My preferred term is REALIST.

Today has been nice and mellow. It's sunny and beautiful outside. My husband is home and planting my vegetable garden (awesome gift, no?). Baby C had a newborn photo shoot this morning. G has been helping Daddy outside and is covered head to toe in dirt. I'm thinking we'll barbecue tonight.

To some, this may sound boring. But I think it sounds perfect.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.