Adventures in Potty Training

Motivational potty chart.  Use the pot, earn a sticker, and eventually getchaself a book.  Also a pretty accurate pictorialization of the contents of the toddler's thoughts. "Rainbows! Firetrucks! Melting toilets! Chaos! Bleeaarrgh!!!" 

I did not think that Edie would be difficult to potty train.  Who, after all, wants to think, "hey, my kid isn't going to be all hoity toity about sitting in her own waste.  She's totally going to be cool about it."  I, for one, thought she'd want to do it because it was grown up and clean and because it made me wildly happy.  Turns out convenience is king, and seeing me slap myself on the forehead is more entertaining than a hug.

And then came Eli, and Edie's butt grew three sizes that day.  I was told that my first would look huge when the second came.  No one was specific about her butt, but it definitely made an impression on me.  Plus, a kid who potty trains her stuffed animals, recites the potty trained mantra ("If you only poop and pee in da potty, you wear unda-wear!! Yayy!!" *pees self*]), and who can take her own diaper off at will is more than ready for full on potty independence.  I have been trying to make it happen naturally for months, but it was time for a nudge.

So, my dearest Edie is in underwear. And sometimes she doesn't soil them for hours at a time.  That's... something!  She likes the stickers and loves the books.  I'm just crossing my fingers that she gets the hang of this before we need to sell off our worldly possessions to finance this reward system.

One Month In: Poop is Ruining Lives

And so we pass the minutes into hours upon the changing table; parents, trying not to get peed on, and the babe, performing feats of digestive speed heretofore unknown to us.

Baby Eli passed the one month mark a couple days ago.  Geez, is this kid cute!  This time around, the falling in love part happened the second I saw him.  With Edie, I was confoundingly - though genuinely - surprised to find that an actually baby had materialized.  Between my disbelief and perceived incompetence, it took me awhile to learn how to bask in my baby.  I am not wildly more competent, but I am at least practiced.  And with proof under my belt as to where babies indeed come from, I was actually looking forward to meeting him.

For the first week or two, Eli was the sleepiest creature I've ever had the fortune to know.  When he opened his eyes, he would furrow his brow as if what was going on did not merit the effort necessary to stay awake, and would quickly drift back asleep.  The only thing that woke him up was eating and pooping. 

Oh, the pooping.  He is almost 5 weeks old now and still his GI system has not decided to get on board with his circadian rhythm.  He poops all day, and he poops all night.  2 am.  3:30 am.  Again at 5:15 am.  And finally, time to wake up, because it's 7 am and Eli needs to poop! It is unreal.  I pass Boy Wonder off to his father for one diaper shift a night, but since I am the only one who can feed him, and given the fact that we do depend on his paycheck to pay our mortgage, Will sleeps with wife-sanctioned ear plugs most nights.

Eli also does not favor soiling his diaper.  I mean, he does soil it, but he usually saves several rounds for the changing table itself.  To oblige this really quite reasonable preference, this means that a lot of al fresco time is spent on the changing table.  The pictured loin cloth is not for modesty but to avoid, say, getting your glasses peed on in the waiting process. 
 
And so it goes, life in love with a super pooper.  I am quite tired, since this little habit wakes us both up quite thoroughly and quite often. But I am looking forward to telling him all about this when he is of age to give me some spectacular eye rolls. 

Would that I could sleep when he slept.

Oh hi, sweet baby.  Mind if I lay down with you? Oh. I see.  Well, sorry then... 

Hey! No need to get nasty about it. I'll show myself out.

Very, very common and very, very well-meaning advice for moms with newborns: sleep when they sleep.  It is, however, time to DEBUNK this mess. Newborns sleep a lot.  But this is a fact insufficient in and of itself to suggest that it is possible to rest up along side them. Why? For starters, tiny babies sleep for completely unpredictable lengths of time.  You can roll the dice and try to lay down after they fall asleep, but it is a gamble at best.  Furthermore, there is no sound louder to an infant than the sound of his mother laying down.  A two year old may scream in his ear, dogs may announce the UPS guy, and thunder may crack, and the babe will sleep.  But the seemingly imperceptible sound of a mom's head touching her pillow is almost certain to jar the child awake in a most angry state.  And, though it is doable for a few days, eventually your mental state will require you to participate in the land of the living.  Though your offspring may not have a circadian rhythm, you do.  And you'll want to be able to acknowledge this by putting your feet on the ground and a cup o' joe to your lips.  Also, do you know where newborns like to sleep?  In your lap while you are eating? Yes!  In your arms during a visit from friends? Absolutely!  In some strange arm position that is binding your trapezius muscle into a monkey fist? Oh boy, yeah. On your nipple for any amount of time but off your nipple for zero minutes? Mmm-hmmm.  On their own? Eh. Occasionally.  So, unless your friends and family are cool with you up and chloroforming yourself in the middle of everyday activities, and, of course, presuming your nipples are completely numb, then - congratulations - you will get some rest.  Lastly, a woman can only take so much disappointment.  When a baby wakes up after fifteen minutes and you've been emptying the dishwasher or reading blogs, you sigh, get going, and get baby.  When baby wakes up after fifteen minutes and you had *just* drifted to sleep, you die just a little.  It is a crushing defeat, and one that sometimes particularly on my most exhausted days, I cannot face.

So when you see a mom with a newborn, and you note the circles under her eyes, her skirt tucked into her underwear, and a burp cloth stuffed into her bra (just for example.  I perpetually look fresh as a daisy, of course.), don't reprimand her as if she's not getting enough sleep out of stubbornness.  Maybe your babies slept like rocks for two hour naps from the day they were born.  And that's great.  But also know that no one likes you.  But anyways. Just buy her a latte and say that sounds rough.  And lie about her looking good in spite of it all.   Lie, lie, lie.

Hitting a wall

 This is all so worth it.  Just one nuzzle in that mess of hair reminds me of that.

Well, I've gotten to that point that a new mom inevitably gets to where you are just down for the count.  Except that instead of down, you are on your feet, doing laundry, emptying the dishwasher, slicing watermelon, breastfeeding around the clock, and pleading, pleading, pleading with a two year old.

Eli is three weeks old tomorrow, and time is sort of flying!  In a lot of ways, these have been a long (long) three weeks.  But when it comes to seeing these newborn days tick past, soon into oblivion, nothing could feel faster.

Physically, I feel remarkable.  Child birth messes you up, no doubt.  You end up with skin stretched to frightening degrees, your kidneys are ain't where they're supposed to be, and just generally you're a shaken up and depleted vessel of a person.  I'm not "looking good" in the bounce back sense; at some point, my butt and thighs must have decided to get on board with my growing stomach, and my stretch marks quite literally scare small children (or at least the one in my bedroom this morning who almost got teary-eyed upon seeing her never-again bikini ready mom change her shirt).  But, still, I think that my recovery in as far as feeling strong again one day soon is going quite well.

Exhaustion-wise, I feel rough.  Eli sleeps a lot, but still hasn't gotten a real strong hold on a circadian rhythm, so we're up a lot at night.  Nursing and pooping.  The nursing I expected.  But the around the clock pooping is new.  Midnight poops? Oh, poor baby, let's go change you! 2 am poops?  Geez, pal, you really ate a lot, huh? Let's go change you.  4:15 am poops?  Wake up, Will.  Wake up and take your son.  This will pass, I know.  And I also know that being woken up frequently at night is not where I shine as a mother.  I do what needs to be done, but it frazzles me.  No matter how tired I am in the morning, I can rally and accept the fact that daytime demands action.  But sleeping in 60 to 90 minute intervals to be awoken to a baby who may or may not fall back asleep in the following 60 to 90 minutes unhinges me.  I'll get my REM cycle one day.  Probably not today.

Emotionally, I do not have vast resources at the moment.  But I am much more stable than in the days right after the birth.  Want to know how to get a woman with a two-day old to cry?  Ask her if how she's doing.  It worked like gang busters for everyone who unwittingly tried it on me!   You brought us a casserole! Thank you! How am I? *Sob* No, it's safe for you to leave now, don't worry! These helpless children will be just fine, I swear it.

So, that's where we are.  Honestly, I think it's all par for the course at this point.  Though of course I have low moments, especially when it comes to how well I am helping Edie cope with her new sibling (i.e., I don't help well).  Neighborhood friends have been amazing about helping with meals and general encouragement.  I could not be more grateful.  Will's work schedule has not been very forgiving, but he is, as always, a (usually) patient and kind partner.  With gratitude and a yawn, I'm off to pick up a baby.

The Birth Story (circa 2010)

Psych! That baby is my 2 1/2 year old! Gotcha! The other one is still baking.  Or else, I will be starring in TLC's newest hit "I Thought I Was Pregnant: Tales of Hysterical Pregnancies."

I'm five days past that pesky estimated due date now, so I don't have a 2012 birth to reminisce about yet. But it occurs to me that I never committed the full story of Edie's birth to print.  And perhaps this new baby wants me to complete all unfinished business before making his/her appearance.  Like a poltergeist! Scary! In the past two weeks, I've detailed my car, finished sewing two baby blankets, wrapped up all freelance work for the time being, and even cleaned out my unholy crisper drawers in the fridge.  Perhaps this, however, will actually do the trick! (Also, Edie goes to preschool tomorrow and so I have plans to get a haircut. Then later plans to go out with moms - no kids - in the evening, so I am pretty suspicious that this kid might be the wiser and come tonight on account of my attempts at leisure activities.)

In the days before Edie was born, I was busy trying to get a foothold into life in Munich.  I was taking intensive language classes four days a week.  Mastering the public transit.  Figuring out where to grocery shop (never quite got the hang of this one).  I also had plenty of time to sleep, meditate, take walks, practice yoga, and generally be peaceful.  I truly believed that I would carry her past my due date. My mom arrived a week or so before the birth and we had planned to go to IKEA together on the actual due date.  Well, that didn't happen, because at around 3 am on January 28, my contractions started.

It wasn't painful or scary when it all began.  I was surprised how clear it was that, yes, these were contractions.  You have so many sensations when you're pregnant, and at the end, it's a good size baby up in there, so the sensations are sometimes intense.  I didn't have any Braxton-Hicks preparatory contractions during my pregnancy, so until the show began, I didn't know what it would feel like.  I felt happy and excited when they started, and I tried to sleep.  But I was too jazzed, so I told Will what was going on, that he should sleep, and that I was going to take a bath and then try to return to bed.  My husband was also excited, but a lot more able to fall back asleep.

We both got up between 6 and 7 am, at which time I called my mom to let her know what was going on.  Will made pancakes.  We had a really nice morning.  The birth house (Geburtshaus Muenchen) was called, and the midwives told me to come in at 9.  At the appointment, I got the news so many first time moms get.  Yep, those are contractions! But, no, that baby isn't coming any time real soon.  2 cm dilated, I believe.  So, I was told to go home and try to stay rested.

I planned a day of knitting and watching TV.  But as the contractions got more intense I couldn't keep my mind off of them.  Which is a shame, but I doubt uncommon.  Everything was peaceful, but I was getting really tired.  At around 5 pm, a midwife came to my house, said I was still only 2 or so cm dilated, so no need to come in.  At around 9 pm, I came to the decision that if I was going to be moved, it was now or never.  I also decided that I wasn't going to wait for or get in another cab (we had no car in Munich).  So Will asked our landlord / lower level neighbor to drive me.  Robert, the landlord, was so nice about it. His wife, Tanya, was pregnant at the time too.  About 4 weeks behind me.  Robert was very interested in what I was experiencing and was pop quizzing me about what made me know it was time to go to the Geburtshaus.  I was not terribly responsive at this point.  I believe I said something like "Arghhh....." ... "I just know....."

We got to the birth house and then I got to climb up two flights of windy stairs.  Fun fact: stairs during labor lead to more contractions!

After reaching the summit, I get in and meet the midwives who will be doing the birth.  It was an on call system.  Normally, I would've met all of them before, but I started my care there at 33 ish weeks due to moving to Munich so late in my pregnancy.  So I didn't make the rounds to everyone.  I ended up with a midwife named Susanne, with another midwife in a more assistant role, Therese.  Susanne's English was very limited.  Not nearly as limited as my German.  But quite limited. Had I known about this communication problem, I would've been nervous.  But as it turned out, as life does, she was the perfect person for me at the time.

I was still only 4 or so cm dilated when I arrived, but it was clear to Susanne that I needed to be there - or at least she was nice enough to say so!  I labored in a tub for, I believe, two or three hours.  Susanne stayed at my side, marking down contractions, keeping the water warm, and probably reading a book.  Will took a nap in a chair, waking up to live-Facebook my labor from my iPhone.  For my end, I sort of slept in between contractions.  It was surreal.  Labor was so much quieter and personal than I ever pictured.  No yelling, no constant monitoring, just waiting.  I was really exhausted at this point.  I hadn't slept properly since the contractions began early that morning.  But it wasn't a dramatic or frightening experience at all.

I had packed well for the trip. I brought drinks and snacks, a loaded iPod, various night shirts.  But, it turns out, I was one of those no-noise, no-touch, no-clothes types.  The only thing I did want was a pony tail holder, which I didn't have, so Therese pulled hers out and gave it to me.  Loved that.  All in all, it was very, very quiet up until the end.

After finally reaching 9+ cm of dilation (they gave up on the Holy Grail of 10 and decided we'd start getting the show on the road a little beforehand), we got down to business.  I tried to psyche myself up a bit, so I proclaimed that I did not want to be pregnant any more.  I sort of chanted it.  It sounds like a strange thing.  But this sense comes over you soon before the birth that, eh, maybe I'll just come back tomorrow.  This is a little much.  It makes no sense, and I didn't expect to feel this way, but after talking with other moms and reading some books as well, this is apparently quite normal.  So a little bit of game day talk in this regard seemed to help me.  Therese also told me that she promised her kids she'd be home before they went to school, so I needed to help her out.

I pushed for a long time.  An hour and a half, or thereabouts.  I never had the urge to push, which was another unexpected thing, but Susanne and Therese coached me through that.  I was holding onto Will's legs, squatting between his legs while he sat behind me on the bed when Edie was born.  Therese, having caught sight of our big Nikon camera, decided to play paparazzi at the end and snapped a goodly number of photos of me in full giving-birth mode.  Now, I am someone who doesn't like to wear a two piece.  But this, for whatever hormone, I-am-woman, reason, did not phase me.  A class trip could've been paraded through and I truly would not have flinched.  So, camera clicking, sun near rising, Edie was born at 6:16 am on January 29, 2010.  She was exactly 6 lb, and 20 inches long.  We didn't know her sex until she was born, so we'd never really called her by a name, though we had our girl and boy names picked out beforehand.  It was amazing and oddly surprising to see an actual baby before me.

Susanne and Therese lifted me by each arm back onto the bed, propped me up, and put Edie on my chest where she rested for sometime.  After the umbilical cord stopped pulsing, Will was the one to cut it.  Soon after, he held his daughter, and seeing him with her was one of the most profound moments of my life.  It was all such a haze for me. I had trouble settling into reality after the birth.  But seeing Will cradle his daughter was real. And it was so beautiful.

We left only 4 hours later, which was physically difficult to do, but I was so very relieved to be home.  On our way out the Geburtshaus, Will turned to me and told me how amazing the birth was, and how we should have our next baby here as well.  I was really. really. not in the mood to discuss a second baby.  But it was sweet to hear.  And now, number two is just about knocking on our door.

Have a good day, little monkey!

 Ze Monkey Lunch Box

This morning, my little Edie starts preschool.  It's a part-time gig, from 9-1pm twice a week, but it's a lot for us.  I am excited for the toddler-free time - though soon enough it will be time filled with a newborn.  And I think that Edie is really going to like it.  My daughter loves to learn. And she relishes stopping foolishness, micromanaging, and speaking her mind.  Perfect teacher's pet!

Excitement aside, I am really going to miss her!  We've been two peas in a pod since she was born.  It took me almost two years to have her baby sat, and we've only been apart for entire days for me to take the bar exam and for a couple difficult - but admittedly cathartic - solo vacation weekends away from her during this pregnancy.

Soon after you have your first born, people like to talk about how you "need" to get away, "need" to let someone else care for them.  I really don't understand this advice.  I felt physically unable to leave Edie in anyone's care for a long time, and since I was far away from family or friends who would (well-meaningly) insist on babysitting, and also since I have a partner who is arguably a bigger sap than I am when it comes to leaving Edie outside of parental care, I just didn't leave her.  This is not to suggest that I was never over-whelmed - I was quite often during that first year.  Nor do I mean to imply that I was or am always Mary Sunshine.  More like Mary Partly Sunny with a Chance of Scattered Showers.

I think that my inability to let someone else care for my child has been something, for me, that was correlated not at all to my super-momness, but instead by my insecurity as a mom. I worried everyday about my ability to figure this whole thing out and so I just couldn't imagine that anyone else could step in and solve the impossible riddle that was my baby.  Seems like it also has to do with the child at hand, and mine was long a mama's girl.  Separation anxiety just ebbed and flowed, never quite ceasing.  She nursed about 18 times a day for the first six months, as I remember.  Maybe neither one of us was quite confident that the other was going to make it, so we just grabbed on for dear life and didn't let go.

In a moment of mind-expanding culture (i.e. Will was out for the night and so I did secret things with Hulu), I was watching 16 and Pregnant the other day.  Teen Mom's mother convinced her that she needed to go out for the night and learn to let someone else care for her newborn baby.  Teen Mom was despondent, frowning and looking into nothing as she answered "Yeah, I guess so."  I wanted to shout "No! She's not a competent mom yet and she knows it! Let her learn to trust herself!"  I didn't shout it, though, because it was an MTV rerun.  And I'm not crazy.

But here we are today.  Edie is almost 2 1/2 and we're both ready for this.  Not ready a little too.  But mostly ready.  She is still very attached to me, but also very confident and her independence grows by the day.  My little love bug, she recently went around the circle in music class and gave a hug to every last parent there during hug-your-mamma(or daddy or nanny) time, to a chorus of "oooohs."  I really hope her teacher gives hugs.

I will be sending her off with a meticulously packed backpack, along with a lunch packed in her brand new monkey lunch box - an impulse buy picked out by the lady herself during a Target run.  I have big plans to walk the dogs, bathe the psycho hot spot licking dog, sew a bit, and maybe even some yoga.  Then, pick that big kid up at 1 pm and try not to cry as I hug her for a little too long.  Oh yeah, and maybe shake this other baby loose while I'm at it.

The dogs make their presence known

Worse indignities than a dented, plastic cone?  How about one decorated in rainbow stickers by a two-year old who can pull rank on you.

Hello, Due Date! G'bye, Due Date!  It's now the morning after and I am really tired.  But not birthin' tired.  Terrible dogs tired.  Billy has decided to ring in the new family member by giving himself endless hotspots - that is, patches of skin compulsively licked and bitten raw.  First his paws, now his rump.  And hence the cone atop his Schnoodle head.  Edie is very fascinated with the cone.  She would like to try it on, in fact.  Which has caused me to draw an unanticipated line in the sand for my general liberal policy on letting my daughter express herself.  Can she call her mom "Stinky Butt"?  Yeah.  She's two.  And it was pretty funny.  But when she sits on the floor, sticks her own foot in her mouth, and says "Yookit, mommy! I chew on my foot! I can wear cone now?"  the answer is, I'm afraid, no, dear. 

And then last night, as Will and I began our night's sleep, both a little excited that maybe, *just* maybe, that baby would come calling pretty soon, we begin to hear a "HACK!! HACK HACK!! *phlegm sounds* HACK!!"  Hmmm.  Doesn't seem like a labor sign.  But should I google it? No, that's Sugar.  The decidedly dumber but usually less psychosomatically afflicted dog.  It's midnight, so I do what every good dog owner does.  I reach over the bed and poke her, saying "Hey! Stop hacking!" She does not. And my poke reveals something far more putrid than the animal herself.  Vomit.  And lots of it.  So we are up.  And we attend to one of the most vile trails of dogs-eat-disgusting-things-and-then-their-people-pay that I have ever had the misfortune to deal with.  There is disinfecting, throwing out of dog beds, mopping, and full dog bathing.  I will say one thing, Will and I really are a good team during moments like this.  We aren't exactly gazing lovingly at one another, but we are both in there, getting things done, and not giving a lot of guff.

So, HI DOGS! We know you are here.  We will continue to feed and walk you.  Edie will pet you.  PLEASE CALL OFF YOUR CAMPAIGN OF GROSS.