My 22 Month Old…

July 30, 2010 at 3:21 pm | Posted in As the Months go by..., Baby Weight (Evan) | Leave a comment
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… OMG: two more months and he’s 2.  As in “ALIVE FOR TWO YEARS”.  Whoa.  I’m trying to teach him to say and show “2” when I ask him how old he is.  I figure it will take him a couple months to perfect it.

… is about 27lbs now.  And tall.  Really, really tall.  So tall I can’t remember how tall the pediatrician said measure him.  He’s all arms and legs.  And he knows how to kick and hit.  Hard.

… is talking up a storm… in evanspeak.  Somethings I can pick up: mommy, dada, help, ball, hat, eat, baba, caca (color / cracker / Lilah – not that he’s calling his girlfriend a cracker), apple, car, dog, truck, choo-choo, book, baby, Dora, Gaga (Yo Gabba Gabba), bye, coat, shoe, etc… and other stuff I can’t pick up.  He will look at me very serious-like and point at nothing in particular and say, “Ahbe meh saa”.  I’m all: “Wha?”  Evan: “AHBE MEH SAA!” and stab the air with his finger that’s pointing at nothing in particular.  “Speak English, Evan. Show me.”  He’ll run into another room with me not far behind and point at another nothing in particular, “AAHHH. BEE. MEEEEEEH. SAAAA!”  Still at a loss, I distract him with this question, “Want an apple?” “Yes!  App-ah! App-ah! Yes!”  Crisis averted.

understands almost everything you say.  This creeped me out a little.  If I was talking to him, I’d try to stick with words he knew.  I’d use simple phrases and show him a lot of things at the same time.  One day after he spent that last 2 hours whining about BYEBYE I said, “Fine.  Go get mommy’s shoes, purse and keys and we’ll leave.  I don’t know where, but we’ll go.”  Minutes later I look down at my son still screaming BYEBYE only this time he has my purse hanging off his shoulder, there is a pile of 3 pairs of my shoes and my car keys at his feet.  He managed to get his Crocs on too, albeit on the wrong feet. 

… will answer any question you ask him and try to do what you tell him to do.  Most answers to questions and requests to do things are “NO”.  Sigh.

… is just now getting into the picky eater phase.  When he started eating solids he would eat whatever you put in front of him.  Now he won’t even try most things.  You can let him sit in his highchair, you can wave a time-out possibility at him, you can do the flying airplane of food that flys into the mouth thing and nothing works.  HOWEVER.  I while ago I was eating a wonderful raspberry sorbet I wasn’t looking forward to sharing but couldn’t wait until bedtime.  Evan looked at it so I offered him a bite and he said, “NO!” and I said, “GOOD!”

… is kinda potty training.  I gets sat in there sometimes before bathtime and whenever he asks.  He has two books for the potty and I usually have to read them to him twice and then he will “read” them to me.   Then he wants to do Itsy Bitsy Spider and Wheels on the Bus over and over, (the horn part… no others.  Don’t even freaking THINK about talking about the damn wheels.  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Only!)  I bought some “big boy” undies with the intention of letting him run around the house in them and doing frequent potty breaks and using any accidents as a learning opportunity.  So I haven’t done that yet, but the intention is there.  That counts. 

… still gets a morning bottle and a bedtime bottle at home.  The morning bottle is going to be a tough one to break.  He’ll say BABA before his eyes are open.  Nothing like being woke up via amplified baby monitor to: “Ehhhhhbaaaabaaaa.  Ehhh… mah ba baaaaaaaaa.”

… has way too many toys.  He has a toy overflow room!  Not to mention his “Playroom” is my living room and my feet haven’t grown used to the legos yet.  Evan will help you pick up his toys… but then he will dump everything out again and put the container on his head and say, “HAT!”

… went raspberry pickin’.  Just me and him, Daddy was working.  It’s hard to pick berries whilst holding on to a toddler you guys.  And then when I told him that he had to pick the RIPE BERRIES?  Pfft!  It went downhill from there.  Luckily, they were serving cider slushies and that got me back into his good graces.

… is still in size 4 diapers and 24 month clothes… he’s getting DANGEROUSLY close to wearing 2T clothes.  He does wear some 2T jammies.  His 24 month pants adorabley fall down his legs all the time.  He’s a skinny guy.

… has a hand washing obsession.  If it’s quiet for too long I know to search the little downstairs half bath that houses his potty seat and booster steps.  He’s normally trying to get the soap to squirt on his hands or running the hot water at full blast with his hands in the flow. (!!!) I believe it’s time to turn down the temperature on the hot water tank.

… is taking showers lately.  With Mommy or Dada of course.  He does pretty good.  If you tell him to wash himself he washes his hands *eyeroll* or rubs his soapy hands on his belly and then attempts to stick his pushed out belly in the water stream.  Why isn’t he using a washcloth, you ask?  Well, I’ll answer.  He doesn’t like them maybe?  I don’t know.  He has no problem with us using it on him, but don’t you dare let it float around in the tub or hand it to him in the shower.  EGADS!  The whines go up about 10 decibel if you do that nonsense.

… has a problem with my singing.  I’m no Beyonce or anything but DAMN!  The minute I bob my head in the car and start mumbling, “Mah telephone… mah, mah, mah telephone”, Evan shouts: “MOMMY!”  I’ll stop and say WHAT and he’ll give me a look like don’t ever do that again. So I do what I’m told not to do (probably not a good example for Evan) and turn up the radio and sing louder: “MAH TELEPHONE… MAH, MAH, MAH TELEPHONE… When I’m out in the club and I’m sippin’ that bub then I’m not gonna reach MAH TELEPHONE!”  Evan screams: “MOOOOMMMMEEEEE!!!! NOOO!!!!  No, Mommy!!!”  The look… the horror.  I’m gonna be a great mom to a teenager.  *rubs hands together in an evil manner*

… had his first carnival ride.  He rode a horse that went up and down on a ferris wheel.  I think he enjoyed it.  I hung onto him for dear life and made all of the “OOOOOoooooOOH!  WHOA!  Cool!  This is fun!” sounds to make sure he didn’t freak the hell out. 

… is growing up just too darn fast.  I say this all the time but it’s true.  I want to make another Evan.  Once this one can change diapers and cook a proper meal of course.

Adventures in Potty Training, Part 1 of 3,673

June 17, 2010 at 10:14 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), I shouldn't have even posted this | Leave a comment
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The scene is Daycare.  Evan stops playing suddenly and makes his “concentrate on pooping” face.  They check his diaper and its empty.  They decide to set him on the toilet.  Then he poops.  He POOPS!

Pooooooooooop!  In the potty!

He spent the rest of the day going to the potty.  He was very successful.  I picked him up and dropped him off at home and raced to the Big-Box Baby store to get him a toilet seat.  I raced home ready to tear it from its packaging and drag it and Evan to the bathroom loudly singing some sort of made up potty song.

I arrived to find my husband and son on the couch, sleeping.  Dang it.  No potty song.

When we get home the next day I get all excited and jump up and down saying, “Wooooo!  Potty time!  YAY!  Evan, let’s go TO THE POTTY!  WOOT!”

“no”

“please?”

“no”

So I unload the dishwasher and then lean down to him and say, “You know what I was thinking Evan?  You should go use the big boy potty!”

“yes”

So we head in and I plop him down and… nothing.  And in the week since… nothing.  He spends a lot of time on the pot… just sitting there.  Normally demanding I sing Itsy Bitsy Spider or Wheels on the bus, (but only the horn part, don’t even THINK about talking about the damn wheels!  Beep! Beep! Beep!  Only!).  We’ve read books.  We’ve colored.  He sits for a while and then whines: “Eh, eh, eh… all done.”

So before bath time the other day we sat on the pot for a while.  After about 5 minutes of nothing, I get him down, wash his hands and go upstairs to get his bath going.  I let him run around the house naked. 

Not even a minute later, Evan walks upstairs and with panic in his eyes proclaims, “Uh oh!”

“What?”

“UH OH!”

“What?  Where uh oh?”

He stabs the air with his finger-pointing downstairs.  “UH OH!  HELP!”

He leads be straight to a wet spot on the carpet.  Shoot.  He did.

He crouched down and pointed it out again in case I missed it. “UH OH!”

“It’s OK.  This is the kind of stuff we do in the potty you were on not 45 seconds ago.  We just need to get it cleaned up now.”

“YES!”

So I tear off a couple of paper towels and Evan snatches them and runs to the accident.  He gets on his knees and starts to wipe it up.  I try to show him how to press down on it to soak it up and the tutorial must have been .23850 seconds too long because he shouted “NO!” and continued to do it on his own.

“Fine.”  I walked back upstairs to finish his bath. 

When it’s time I head back down to get him and he is stuffing the wet paper towels in the trash.

This entire scene boggles my brain.  He recognises an accident, comes to me for help, gets the tools to clean it up, cleans it up and then throws away the trash.  Wow.  He’s not a baby anymore.

My only hope is that he has the same reaction when and if he POOPS on the floor.  I hope he wants to clean THAT up by himself too.

I’ve been bitch slapped a few times in my life

March 19, 2010 at 11:50 am | Posted in Baby Weight (Evan), It's OK to be confused... I am | 1 Comment
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When you have your first baby you are completely overwhelmed.  You can try to block it out until you walk into the Big Box Baby Store and you waddle rather quickly out of the store screaming WTFITSJUSTABABYTOOMUCHSTUFFWaaaaa!!  Then you return the next week and register for two of everything.  After you’ve received two of everything, you go out and purchase just ONE MORE of everything JUST IN CASE.  You know, 20 cute newborn excruciating-to-dress-your-newborn-in-but-you-don’t-know-any-better-YET outfits aren’t enough.  One more  – JUST IN CASE.

Suddenly, whether it’s with warning or without, your baby comes screaming out of your body.  Then it spits up on you… it pees on you… it makes you stick a thermometer up its butt… and then it bitch slaps you in the face.  It’s a bitch slap to get you to face reality – to keep you on your toes – to let you know: Why no, you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.  You were all wrong before.  ALLLWROOOONG.  You find yourself in the Big Box Baby Store again, this time to purchase shit you actually need.

Life with baby starts to get easier (HAHAHAHHAHHALOLOLOLROFLLL!!!1!).  The sleep schedule might regulate itself.  The baby holds its own head up.  You both stop being so damn fragile.  You learn what he needs and what to feed him and when to put him to sleep.  It stops being foreign.  You’re a mom.  You’ve been to that war.  You can now share the secret handshake with all the other moms out there.

So I was in the coasting state.  The only thing I know about toddlers is that they become terrible at something when they turn two.  Then I hear it:

… no more bottles …

… NO, not even the morning bottle …

… potty training …

… crib transition …

FORGET the fact that Evan is a runner and even though it’s SO PRETTY outside and LET’S PLAY IN THE FRONT YARD means certain death because ROADS ARE EASIER TO RUN ON.  So let’s go in the back yard, you say?  I say: NO FENCE.  RUNNING TODDLER.  MAMA DOESN’T RUN. 

FORGET the fact that Evan now prefers to sit on the BACK of the couch.  You know, where your head goes. 

Forget that he loooooorves his spoon and fork and how funny it is when mama freaks out when you stick your fork in your eye (The boy has willpower when he hurts himself and you TOLD HIM SO so he pretends it didn’t hurt when you totally know it did but it still doesn’t offer the opportunity to say I TOLD YOU SO like you were told you got to say all the time in your Mommy Contract).

I’ve got the bottle thing DOWN COLD.  Diapers DO NOT FAZE ME.  I can lay Evan gently down in his crib even though I have to get in there a little bit myself in order to do it. 

But it doesn’t matter.  Those things are BABY things.  The potties and sippy cups and toddler beds I ignored in the Big Box Baby Stores are coming back to laugh at me.  I’ve just been bitch slapped.

So I have a question.  Just how in the name of all that is holy am I supposed to keep my kid in his bed when he’s not in a cage crib?  He can open doors, you see, and drawers!  How does he stay safe?  I can see him getting up in the middle of the night and then me waking up in the morning finding every coat in our closet on the floor with a pile of every sharp, shiny thing in our house on top.  He can also climb is damn changing table.  Speaking of changing tables, do you need one of those when you start using pull-ups?  What about wipes?  Do I pull down the pull-ups and wipe him down as he stands?  I don’t want him to smell all pee-y.  And just what do you do about the poo-poo in the potty when it’s all said in done?  Do you plop in the toilet?  How do you properly sanitize that thing?  Toliet bowl cleaner?  Bucket o’ bleach?  Dishwasher (EWW thought, Shoo!)?  Evan likes to stand in the potty right now.  Do I have poopy footprints in my future?

I was getting comfy in my routine.  I was OK with the little strides Evan would make where Wayne and I would look at him and be all OMG DID YOU SEE THAT OUR KID’S A GENIUS!   

Just how bad are the stares if your kid is sucking down a bottle and wearing a diaper at 10 years old?  I can’t be THAT bad.  I could probably deal with THAT.

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