We Meet Again.

In parenthood, and mostly likely motherhood specifically, there exists a kind of amnesia.

You know, you decided to have a second child because you forgot the woes of pregnancy, the pain of delivery, and the sleepless nights. When they come around the second [or third, or fourth] time, you feel gobsmacked. A, “WHY, OH WHY, DID I/WE DO THIS AGAIN?” moment.

It’s even bigger when it involves ages of your children.

I forgot how much “fun” two is. Fun like a migraine. Fun like having a tooth pulled. Fun like having a two & a four year old in the same house at the same time & just barely managing to keep all of your hair on your head.

Because, yes, I have considered tearing it all out lately. There’s an episode of Sid the Science Kid where the kids are pretending to be different ages. At one point, Sid’s friend Gerald looks at him & asks what they can do to pretend to be two years old. Sid thinks for a minute, then starts shouting, “No! No! No! No! No!” [I tried to find a video of it, but even searching the PBSKids site didn’t help me. Boo.]

Guess what Bear’s favorite word is.

Everything is, “NO!” right now. Just as emphatically as it looks, too. Really, everything is pretty emphatic with him right now. If we turn off the TV, he shouts, “BACK ON!” at us. He will sometimes throw screaming/crying fits when he doesn’t feel like having his clothes changed. Just tonight, we got home from the grandparents’ house & he threw a tantrum because he didn’t want to take his coat off.

His coat.  You’d have thought I was murdering him for all the shouting he did.

Thank goodness this is the last time we have to do this. Because I don’t know if I could handle it again. I really don’t.


From the Archives: I Can’t Make This Stuff Up

As I was going through some of my old posts – primarily to see where I was roughly two years ago – I came across this post from December 11, 2010.

I laughed so hard I cried, again. Enjoy!

Today was my first day alone with both kids.

Oh, I know I could have called my mother in law at any point, and she would have come to help. M even suggested calling a friend who lives nearby [purely for adult conversation], but I wanted to give it a go of things alone. And it didn’t really get bad until after the visiting nurse left.

There were a lot of tears today. Some from Butter, a lot from me, and several bucketfuls from Little Bear. I swear I’ve never been happier to see my husband walk through the door with a bottle of wine in his hand as I was tonight.

Because of his NICU stay, Little Bear got orders for home healthcare. We think it’s going to be two visits, but at this point no one is really sure. Around 9:15 this morning, I got a phone call from the visiting nurse to say she wanted to stop by around 11:30. I’ll leave out the part where I was thoroughly annoyed with her wasting twenty minutes of my time asking for various directions to my house, because what part of “the street is closed between where you want to come and my house from EVERY DIRECTION YOU’RE GIVING ME” didn’t she understand? I’ll also leave out the part where 11:30 was really 12:15 by the time she got here.

Shortly before the nurse was supposed to get here, I nursed Little Bear. He only ate on one side, and then he fell asleep. A few minutes later [aka, after I put him down to try to do something around the house and he woke up because OMGMommyWhyAren’tYouHoldingMe24/7?!] he started to chew on his hands, so I tried to nurse him again.

Didn’t work.

The nurse called 20 minutes after she was supposed to be here and said she was still 10 minutes away. I continued to try to nurse Little Bear. We went through all the pleasantries while she was here. Butter tried to get her attention [typical of a two year old], and SuperMom let him watch Sid the Science Kid so I could concentrate on what the nurse was saying.

After she left, I put Butter down for a nap. Only, he didn’t think he actually needed to sleep.

Two and a half hours later, I decided there was no way I was winning the Nap Wars, so I came up to get him, and this is the part where “I Can’t Make This Stuff Up” comes into play.

I opened the door to the bedroom to find Butter had taken off his jeans as well as his diaper. Unfortunately, we haven’t installed a urinal in his room, so he substituted with a color teaching poster that M had yet to hang up. He proudly told me, “Mommy, I go potty!” I promptly shut the door, because I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I took a minute, grabbed the stuff to clean up what little he actually got on the carpet, and went back into the room. He was pantless already, so I sent him to the potty [have I mentioned that M taught him to pee standing up?] while I cleaned up the floor.

I cleaned up the mess, asked Butter why he did it [“I go potty!“] and went back downstairs to the screaming infant who refused to nurse and/or take a bottle at this point.

Anyone have a puppy that needs to be paper trained out there? Butter can do it for you for the low, low price of a million dollars.

For the record: I cried at first. When I told M about it later, I laughed so hard I woke the screaming beast baby up.

And if you think I’m not telling this story to every single person Butter ever brings home to meet us, you are sorely mistaken.

Toddlers Stink.

Okay, maybe Butter isn’t still a toddler.

When does he transform into preschooler/big boy/etc? Because the toddler attitude he’s had recently is just killing me. I say no more often than I should. I’ve made him cry no less than three times a day for the last week because he’s not getting his way.

Any suggestions on how I can fix this? Because OMG I think I might cry myself. [Okay, I totally HAVE cried myself.]