Me: Ok, ok, that's enough. No more hitting.
Baby girl completely ignores my polite, but stern (see: best mom voice) request and curls her tiny fingers in a ball and pounds the middle of her brother's back. Like, really?!
Me: Alright, that's it. You are having a time out.
I swiftly lift her in my arms, pigtails and arms equally flailing, and put her on the very well-worn, well-known, well-used bottom step.
Baby girl: No mama, nooooo!!!
Her back arches, she squints her eyes, tears line her cheeks.
She's upset. But not for long. Her (nearly) 2 year old brain will remember this for exactly eight seco....aaaand now it's forgotten. Yep, she's laughing. She's coldly laughing and rolling on the floor. She's coldly laughing, rolling on the floor and begins yelling, "go back and play" at the top of her lungs. Even the dog looks at her with an unimpressed, "oh no you didn't" look. Jesus, like a warrior returning to battle, she runs back to the living room. Oh, hell.
Have I done something really wrong here? Should I trust her around blunt objects? Just who am I raising?
Am I recreating my not so distant past? Because I remember putting my first, my sleeping wonder, on the "time out step" approximately 5 times when he was 2 years old. It's only 10:30 am and baby girl has occupied that spot no less than half a dozen times. I appreciate her feistiness. Really, I do. She is my spirited, independent, funny little girl and believe me, there is nothing I would want more than for my baby to grow up knowing she can defend herself, that she is strong, that she can get whatever she wants. Except right now she wants her brother's car and she will pinch and hit until it is hers. (for his part, the sleeping wonder takes this all in stride and politely asks her to stop. Or he cries. There's a lot of tears in our house.)
I knew having two would lend itself to a whole new set of challenges (see: losing my mind). Being the eldest of three, I know the kind of fighting that occurs between siblings, I just hadn't anticipated how EARLY this would begin (a detail my mother kindly forgot to mention.) Baby girl is vocal (like, can already yell in your face kind of vocal) and really, it has taken our family for a bit of a surprise. I can't say I'm not a little proud of this super go get' em attitude; I just wish it was a little less, oh, violent.
In the meantime, I struggle for an appropriate response. I yell (which c'mon, is rarely effective), I talk, I rationalize, I reason. There really doesn't seem to be anything concrete that works. She's two, she's the second child. Right, I know, but I can't help but think somehow I am responsible for her tiny fists of fury. She is my sweetest of girls and when she shows joy, and love, and happiness it is all rainbows and cotton candy. But when she turns, she turns fast and be warned, those little pinches hurt.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Sunday, January 27, 2013
And she's all that.
Me: But I want you to stay like this. Stop growing. Pleaaaassseee! (I scoop up my not so little boy in my arms and nuzzle him to my chest. He used to fit right there not that long ago.)
Sleeping Wonder: But mommy, I'm just a boy. I have to grow. (I squeeze him a little too tightly and he moans and tries to push away. I'm still much stronger -for lords knows how long- and pull him impossibly closer.)
Me: But mommy wants you to stop. You're getting so big, so quickly. Come here, cuddle with mama. (I plant little kisses all over his face)
Wonder: (sighing in frustration) But I don't want to. (he perks up) Do you want to watch the Food Network instead?
See? This is what I'm talking about.
Every time I'm shopping with the kidlets, it goes without saying that an elderly woman will stop me and gently remind me to "enjoy" them while they are young, that this is the best age, that they grow up so fast. And yes, all the cliches are true, of course enjoying every moment is ridiculous, however time has taken on this momentum that makes my head spin most days asking where in the hell the last (almost) 4 years have gone.
When baby girl was just over 5 months old, I left her in the living room to make myself a cup of tea in the kitchen nearby. When I returned just a few moments later, I found her under the vintage purple chair in the corner of the room, happily smiling at her accomplished movement. I was shocked (and if I am being honest here, a little disappointed that she was on the go SO early) but if anything, that day foreshadowed everything that baby girl is all about-accomplishing every milestone too soon, too quickly.
Standing in the crib at 7 months. Walking at 11 months. Telling me off since 12 months. Yep, it's all too much. What's next? Locking the liquor up by 3? She did starting "cheersing" us at the table months ago, after all.
So now at 15 months, her and the sleeping wonder are their own little pack. They laugh together, get into trouble together, they fight, they dance and she does every little thing her older brother does. Sure, mama and daddy are still numero uno for now, but really, I can already see them slowly beginning their descent from us. Am I going crazy or does anyone else feel this? Where is the pause button?
Yesterday, the sleeping wonder closed the door to his room, turned up his radio and proudly announced minutes later that he was having his own dance party.
Yep, too much, too soon.
Sleeping Wonder: But mommy, I'm just a boy. I have to grow. (I squeeze him a little too tightly and he moans and tries to push away. I'm still much stronger -for lords knows how long- and pull him impossibly closer.)
Me: But mommy wants you to stop. You're getting so big, so quickly. Come here, cuddle with mama. (I plant little kisses all over his face)
Wonder: (sighing in frustration) But I don't want to. (he perks up) Do you want to watch the Food Network instead?
See? This is what I'm talking about.
Every time I'm shopping with the kidlets, it goes without saying that an elderly woman will stop me and gently remind me to "enjoy" them while they are young, that this is the best age, that they grow up so fast. And yes, all the cliches are true, of course enjoying every moment is ridiculous, however time has taken on this momentum that makes my head spin most days asking where in the hell the last (almost) 4 years have gone.
When baby girl was just over 5 months old, I left her in the living room to make myself a cup of tea in the kitchen nearby. When I returned just a few moments later, I found her under the vintage purple chair in the corner of the room, happily smiling at her accomplished movement. I was shocked (and if I am being honest here, a little disappointed that she was on the go SO early) but if anything, that day foreshadowed everything that baby girl is all about-accomplishing every milestone too soon, too quickly.
Standing in the crib at 7 months. Walking at 11 months. Telling me off since 12 months. Yep, it's all too much. What's next? Locking the liquor up by 3? She did starting "cheersing" us at the table months ago, after all.
So now at 15 months, her and the sleeping wonder are their own little pack. They laugh together, get into trouble together, they fight, they dance and she does every little thing her older brother does. Sure, mama and daddy are still numero uno for now, but really, I can already see them slowly beginning their descent from us. Am I going crazy or does anyone else feel this? Where is the pause button?
Yesterday, the sleeping wonder closed the door to his room, turned up his radio and proudly announced minutes later that he was having his own dance party.
Yep, too much, too soon.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
And she takes her time.
Me: So when you break it down, all said and done, this is my take home. (I stare blankly at the Excel spread sheet in front of me)
Husband: Next to the transportation costs?
Me: No hon, that's not the transportation costs. That's my pay.
Alright, we've been here before. I recognize this dance. Ya, ya the price of childcare is so offensive that the thought alone makes me reach for a vodka (NOT the premium brand, mind you). But when I looked long and hard, the numbers just didn't add up. Like add up to eating 5 days a week and maybe the occasional Saturday. Daycare for 2 little kiddies just wasn't go to work. But there was something else at play here. Something that I didn't entirely feel with my sleeping wonder the first time I went back to work. It wasn't guilt-nope, that feeling is always in my peripherals and recognizable. It wasn't sadness, although I can't get through Modern Family without shedding a few tears(seriously, is it just me?!). It wasn't excitement about getting back to my students, about wearing clothes other than jeans and my sister's old t-shirts, about actually blow drying my hair and showering in the morning again. No, this feeling was akin to dread. Unlike those first day of school jitters, this was total and unshakable dread.
Oh.My.God.
I wasn't going back. I couldn't go back.
And so here I am, officially off of my mat leave, and home with my kiddies. And just to add to my already busy library/drop-in/park/play-group day (are you ready to join me yet??), I have decided to add a third to the mix. No, I am not preggers, (Jesus, people!) but I am taking care of a lovely 2 year old boy. Yep, I am unrecognizable even to myself.
So understand that my extreme *cough* absence from this blog has nothing to do with lack of material. Please, I have a potential post every day in this zoo. It's just that at 8:30 pm, when the kids are in bed (mercifully they sleep 12 hours straight) and dishes are cleaned, floors are swept, and the house mildly resembles the one I wish I had, I can't do anything except maybe watch 20 minutes of reality TV. I like to think that this particular post is a renewal of sorts, a commitment if you will, to devote more time to my little blog.
Here goes nothing. Ooh look, Breaking Amish is on.
Husband: Next to the transportation costs?
Me: No hon, that's not the transportation costs. That's my pay.
Alright, we've been here before. I recognize this dance. Ya, ya the price of childcare is so offensive that the thought alone makes me reach for a vodka (NOT the premium brand, mind you). But when I looked long and hard, the numbers just didn't add up. Like add up to eating 5 days a week and maybe the occasional Saturday. Daycare for 2 little kiddies just wasn't go to work. But there was something else at play here. Something that I didn't entirely feel with my sleeping wonder the first time I went back to work. It wasn't guilt-nope, that feeling is always in my peripherals and recognizable. It wasn't sadness, although I can't get through Modern Family without shedding a few tears(seriously, is it just me?!). It wasn't excitement about getting back to my students, about wearing clothes other than jeans and my sister's old t-shirts, about actually blow drying my hair and showering in the morning again. No, this feeling was akin to dread. Unlike those first day of school jitters, this was total and unshakable dread.
Oh.My.God.
I wasn't going back. I couldn't go back.
And so here I am, officially off of my mat leave, and home with my kiddies. And just to add to my already busy library/drop-in/park/play-group day (are you ready to join me yet??), I have decided to add a third to the mix. No, I am not preggers, (Jesus, people!) but I am taking care of a lovely 2 year old boy. Yep, I am unrecognizable even to myself.
So understand that my extreme *cough* absence from this blog has nothing to do with lack of material. Please, I have a potential post every day in this zoo. It's just that at 8:30 pm, when the kids are in bed (mercifully they sleep 12 hours straight) and dishes are cleaned, floors are swept, and the house mildly resembles the one I wish I had, I can't do anything except maybe watch 20 minutes of reality TV. I like to think that this particular post is a renewal of sorts, a commitment if you will, to devote more time to my little blog.
Here goes nothing. Ooh look, Breaking Amish is on.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
And she's funny like he is.
Me: Three years.
Husband: Crazy, eh?
My sleepless, turned sleeping, wonder is three years old.Jesus, three years.
2009
Me: I think I peed the bed. Good god, I finally did the ultimate low while pregnant.
Husband: Ummmm....that's not pee.
Me: Wha? Oh. Oh........
And so it began. It would be 26 hours in labour later before we met our not-so little wonder. And what a wonder he's been. Oh, I'm warning you now: I run the risk of a lot of eye rolling with this blog post (or a lot of eye dabbing with a tissue, depending who you are. SEE:My mom). It's just that I feel differently this birthday. He's certainly not a baby any more. He's not a toddler. Nope. He's my curious, questioning, ever talkative, young soul. And he's fun. Like, really fun. Like, all consuming, can't get enough of you fun.
Is this what I expected of parenthood? If I'm being totally honest, no. And it certainly didn't start this way. Having a baby changed everything in our going out on Saturday and sleeping all day Sunday lives. And lord knows I was tired after he was born. So, so tired. But he amazed me. Still does. He loves music, so much so that he remembers the lyrics to songs on the radio, makes requests on his dad's MP3 player, and dances on his own in the living room. He's clever, loving, and still asks for a cuddle at night.
I am excited to see him grow, to watch him navigate his life, to see him form close bonds with his aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. I am excited to see him spend the night at his Nana's house and have him call me in the morning. I am excited to see him solve a problem, to make a connection, to have a light bulb moment. I am excited to see him love his sister, to laugh with her, to comfort her, to make her smile. I am desperate trying to remember every little thing, every great moment.
He's not perfect. He certainly knows how to throw a tantrum. He yelled at his dad tonight at dinner. Up until 6 days ago, he rationally explained that the pee isn't "there'" so he doesn't need to go on the potty. Ever.
There will be ups and downs, I know this. God, I've lived this. But this week, it's his birthday. He's three. Three....So, happy birthday, my loveliest of boys. Life has never been the same and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Husband: Crazy, eh?
My sleepless, turned sleeping, wonder is three years old.Jesus, three years.
2009
Me: I think I peed the bed. Good god, I finally did the ultimate low while pregnant.
Husband: Ummmm....that's not pee.
Me: Wha? Oh. Oh........
And so it began. It would be 26 hours in labour later before we met our not-so little wonder. And what a wonder he's been. Oh, I'm warning you now: I run the risk of a lot of eye rolling with this blog post (or a lot of eye dabbing with a tissue, depending who you are. SEE:My mom). It's just that I feel differently this birthday. He's certainly not a baby any more. He's not a toddler. Nope. He's my curious, questioning, ever talkative, young soul. And he's fun. Like, really fun. Like, all consuming, can't get enough of you fun.
Is this what I expected of parenthood? If I'm being totally honest, no. And it certainly didn't start this way. Having a baby changed everything in our going out on Saturday and sleeping all day Sunday lives. And lord knows I was tired after he was born. So, so tired. But he amazed me. Still does. He loves music, so much so that he remembers the lyrics to songs on the radio, makes requests on his dad's MP3 player, and dances on his own in the living room. He's clever, loving, and still asks for a cuddle at night.
I am excited to see him grow, to watch him navigate his life, to see him form close bonds with his aunts, uncles, cousins and friends. I am excited to see him spend the night at his Nana's house and have him call me in the morning. I am excited to see him solve a problem, to make a connection, to have a light bulb moment. I am excited to see him love his sister, to laugh with her, to comfort her, to make her smile. I am desperate trying to remember every little thing, every great moment.
He's not perfect. He certainly knows how to throw a tantrum. He yelled at his dad tonight at dinner. Up until 6 days ago, he rationally explained that the pee isn't "there'" so he doesn't need to go on the potty. Ever.
There will be ups and downs, I know this. God, I've lived this. But this week, it's his birthday. He's three. Three....So, happy birthday, my loveliest of boys. Life has never been the same and I wouldn't have it any other way.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
And she's alright.
Mom: Just go. There is no point in taking the baby and a toddler just for a quick pop-in. Head to the store and I'll watch the kiddies.
Bless her. I can't even describe how difficult a store "pop in" is with two children, a car seat, and a stroller that is so big it consumes my entire trunk space. Wait, yes I can. It sucks.
Me: Thank you, thank you, thank you! I will literally be no less than 20 minutes, k?
I dash for the car, unlock the door, sit down, put 'er in reverse, and whoa....no children in the back seat.
I'm alone.
I'm alone?
Yes!
These times are rare. So rare that I immediately crank up the stereo and fantasize about heading out to dinner, or dancing. Anywhere besides the mundane task of the drug store run
I am currently on.
These times are rare. So rare that when I approach a light, even though it's green, I slow down until it turns red so I can give myself a couple of extra minutes of alone time.
These times are rare. So rare that I begin to think of my car before children. I think of shopping without worrying about nap times, and feeding times, and times when I just want to make it in and out of a store without one child screaming and the subsequent sympathetic looks from other shoppers.
These times are rare. So rare that I really need there to be more of these times. Times when it's just me. Just me and some really loud music. And maybe a prepared meal.
These times are rare. So rare that my husband has picked up on this need of mine and usually takes the children on a nice long walk on Saturday mornings. I use the time to clean. What's wrong with me?
I guess what I struggle with is really being truthful about wanting time away from my little ones. I actually envy my husband's commute to work. I see it as an hour of reading without interruption. And I will say that I have taken extra steps with my second child to ensure that I can get out every now and then. A bottle, for one, has been given to her nearly every day since she was three weeks old.
Do I feel guilty thinking this? Yes, a little.
Am I selfish? Maybe, a bit.
Does that make me a bad mom? Absolutely not.
Alas, when I pull into the driveway and I walk into smiles and giggles and an enthusiastic "mommy!" I am happy to be home.
Bless her. I can't even describe how difficult a store "pop in" is with two children, a car seat, and a stroller that is so big it consumes my entire trunk space. Wait, yes I can. It sucks.
Me: Thank you, thank you, thank you! I will literally be no less than 20 minutes, k?
I dash for the car, unlock the door, sit down, put 'er in reverse, and whoa....no children in the back seat.
I'm alone.
I'm alone?
Yes!
These times are rare. So rare that I immediately crank up the stereo and fantasize about heading out to dinner, or dancing. Anywhere besides the mundane task of the drug store run
I am currently on.
These times are rare. So rare that when I approach a light, even though it's green, I slow down until it turns red so I can give myself a couple of extra minutes of alone time.
These times are rare. So rare that I begin to think of my car before children. I think of shopping without worrying about nap times, and feeding times, and times when I just want to make it in and out of a store without one child screaming and the subsequent sympathetic looks from other shoppers.
These times are rare. So rare that I really need there to be more of these times. Times when it's just me. Just me and some really loud music. And maybe a prepared meal.
These times are rare. So rare that my husband has picked up on this need of mine and usually takes the children on a nice long walk on Saturday mornings. I use the time to clean. What's wrong with me?
I guess what I struggle with is really being truthful about wanting time away from my little ones. I actually envy my husband's commute to work. I see it as an hour of reading without interruption. And I will say that I have taken extra steps with my second child to ensure that I can get out every now and then. A bottle, for one, has been given to her nearly every day since she was three weeks old.
Do I feel guilty thinking this? Yes, a little.
Am I selfish? Maybe, a bit.
Does that make me a bad mom? Absolutely not.
Alas, when I pull into the driveway and I walk into smiles and giggles and an enthusiastic "mommy!" I am happy to be home.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
And she loves you.
Me: Ok, put on your shoes, grab your jacket. No, please don't touch your sister's face. C'mon let's go.
Sleeping wonder: Why you say that? My touch her. She's ok. Look, she's ok. (he continues to rub his tiny little hands all up in her face-she's getting super annoyed and by the looks of things, is going to lose her shit at any moment)
Me: Listen, I told you to please not touch her. Now, get on your shoes and let's head out.
Sleeping wonder: But why you say that? She's my baby sister. She like it,OK? Mommy, OK?
My baby boy, oh I love him and all his articulate cuteness, but he tries to rationalize and explain everything. This is particularly grinding on my already fragile nerves when we are late and we have to get out of the door. Like 10 minutes ago.
How could we ever make a quick get away in an emergency?
Having my first child was life-altering. Gone were the days of spontaneous dinners, beach vacations, watching a movie with no interruptions, and any hope of ever going out on a Saturday night. Sure, as baby grew, small glimpses of our former life started to creep through, but parenting took precedent over any "unnecessary" luxuries. Hence, my worn three year old boots. Sigh. With baby girl, these changes, these sacrifices, these moments of chaos getting out of the door are nothing new. Friday nights spent watching 20/20? Yep. Been there, done that.
Her transition to our little family has been marked with moments of pure joy and absolute terror. My biggest doubt? How do I share me, my very tired me, with two little ones? Do they always get the best me? Absolutely not. But once we are out the door and the chaos returns to a relative calm, I give what I have and dream of a Friday night without Barbara Walters.
Sleeping wonder: Why you say that? My touch her. She's ok. Look, she's ok. (he continues to rub his tiny little hands all up in her face-she's getting super annoyed and by the looks of things, is going to lose her shit at any moment)
Me: Listen, I told you to please not touch her. Now, get on your shoes and let's head out.
Sleeping wonder: But why you say that? She's my baby sister. She like it,OK? Mommy, OK?
My baby boy, oh I love him and all his articulate cuteness, but he tries to rationalize and explain everything. This is particularly grinding on my already fragile nerves when we are late and we have to get out of the door. Like 10 minutes ago.
How could we ever make a quick get away in an emergency?
Having my first child was life-altering. Gone were the days of spontaneous dinners, beach vacations, watching a movie with no interruptions, and any hope of ever going out on a Saturday night. Sure, as baby grew, small glimpses of our former life started to creep through, but parenting took precedent over any "unnecessary" luxuries. Hence, my worn three year old boots. Sigh. With baby girl, these changes, these sacrifices, these moments of chaos getting out of the door are nothing new. Friday nights spent watching 20/20? Yep. Been there, done that.
Her transition to our little family has been marked with moments of pure joy and absolute terror. My biggest doubt? How do I share me, my very tired me, with two little ones? Do they always get the best me? Absolutely not. But once we are out the door and the chaos returns to a relative calm, I give what I have and dream of a Friday night without Barbara Walters.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
And so it begins....
11pm
Me: This might be labour. Or not. Do we even have a hospital bag packed?
Husband: The hospital said to wait until they are regular and they hurt. Try to rest, k?
1:13am
Contractions painful. 2 minutes apart.When did that happen?!
It's go time.
Husband drives the most heavily constructed road in the city.I feel every bump along the way. Mental note: Kick husband's butt at a later date.
2:20am
Contractions hurt like a son of a bitch. 1 minute apart.
Nurse: So I can see you are already in a great deal of pain. What is your pain control method of choice?
Me: Drugs. Whenever you're ready to give 'em.
3:37am
Contractions never end. Loop o' pain.
Nurse: You're doing great, Carolyn. Just keep breathing.
In the quietest of whispers, I respond.
Me: I can't do this. Drugs. Please. Now.
Husband: The anesthesiologist is on the way. It won't be much longer now.
In an even quieter voice....
Me: Please, I am begging you. I need drugs.
Husband: I know...I know.....
2 agonizingly long hours later.....
5:02am
Nurse: We are ready to go, darling. Do you feel any pressure?
Pressure?? No wait, we can't go. Where the hell are the drugs?! I'm scared.
Me: I need to get up. Bathroom. Now.
Nurse: Whoa, hold on....
Me: Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!
Nurse: (in frantic voice) Stop pushing, Carolyn. The baby is here. Stop pushing! Call the Dr.!
5:06am
Contractions have stopped. A less than quiet scream emerges. She is here. I'm in love.
6:08am
Tea in hand, Nana and Meemaw in room, husband with baby, sister on the phone-wants to help with labour. Have to tell her the baby is already here. It seems the little one couldn't wait to meet us, too.
Me: This might be labour. Or not. Do we even have a hospital bag packed?
Husband: The hospital said to wait until they are regular and they hurt. Try to rest, k?
1:13am
Contractions painful. 2 minutes apart.When did that happen?!
It's go time.
Husband drives the most heavily constructed road in the city.I feel every bump along the way. Mental note: Kick husband's butt at a later date.
2:20am
Contractions hurt like a son of a bitch. 1 minute apart.
Nurse: So I can see you are already in a great deal of pain. What is your pain control method of choice?
Me: Drugs. Whenever you're ready to give 'em.
3:37am
Contractions never end. Loop o' pain.
Nurse: You're doing great, Carolyn. Just keep breathing.
In the quietest of whispers, I respond.
Me: I can't do this. Drugs. Please. Now.
Husband: The anesthesiologist is on the way. It won't be much longer now.
In an even quieter voice....
Me: Please, I am begging you. I need drugs.
Husband: I know...I know.....
2 agonizingly long hours later.....
5:02am
Nurse: We are ready to go, darling. Do you feel any pressure?
Pressure?? No wait, we can't go. Where the hell are the drugs?! I'm scared.
Me: I need to get up. Bathroom. Now.
Nurse: Whoa, hold on....
Me: Arrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!
Nurse: (in frantic voice) Stop pushing, Carolyn. The baby is here. Stop pushing! Call the Dr.!
5:06am
Contractions have stopped. A less than quiet scream emerges. She is here. I'm in love.
6:08am
Tea in hand, Nana and Meemaw in room, husband with baby, sister on the phone-wants to help with labour. Have to tell her the baby is already here. It seems the little one couldn't wait to meet us, too.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)