Early Morning Conversations

It is a random Sunday morning. I can tell by the light coming in through the blinds that it is probably around 6ish.  It is too early. The house is quiet.  I am hoping that this will be one of those rare mornings when the kids sleep until 7:30. I close my eyes and attempt to go back to sleep, and of course, I remain awake. Within a few minutes, I hear the wake up call of my son in the next room, the hollow clink clink clink of his pacifier against the wooden rails of his crib. I open one eye and try to focus on the clock.  It is 6:30.  I know that I can leave him in bed for a little longer. He sneezes and I wait for his second sneeze.  Ah, there it is. He is a double sneezer. I hear him say "Besh you."

That makes me smile.

I love this stage of baby development. He speaks fairly well for his age, and people outside of our family can understand some of what he says, but I treasure being his baby language translator.  He speaks and I translate, sometimes even to my husband.  It makes me feel like he and I share this untouchable connection, this secret baby language.  The ability to communicate, understand, and translate his language is one of the most validating and fulfilling aspects of motherhood for me.  He tries out a new word, and I can almost see his brain and his mouth working together, as he rolls the sounds around in his mouth.  He stares out the window, watching the birds at our bird feeder.  I say "See the birds eating their breakfast? Eat your bird seed birdies!" He turns to me with a serious face "Eat eat bur see. Eat eat beh-fuss burs!" He will repeat his version of a word until I repeat the correct translation back to him. If I don't guess correctly, he says it again. I say the right thing and he rewards me with a smile. I went through this stage with my daughter and it never occurred to me that she was teaching me as I was teaching her.   As I listen to my son, I am reminded of my high school French class when Madame informed us at the beginning of the year that we would speak exclusively in French.  I was so intimidated.  Babies aren't intimidated.  I don't know how they manage day to day while trying to talk.  Sure, there are times when he gets frustrated trying to get his point across, but it amazes me how infrequently that happens.

He is still in his crib and his conversation is picking up.  This is one of those times that I wish I had a video monitor.  He tries new words in the early morning during these chats with himself and his toys. I hear him say "Uh-oh Nemo!" Nemo was taken out of his crib last night and is sitting in the rocking chair.  He starts repeating something that sounds like boy  "umB-ooooOOOYY! umB-ooooOOOYY!" The "oy" gets louder each time.  The crib creaks as he stands up and sits down.  He says urgently "Pappy (paci)! Pappy, uh-oh Pappy," as he puts his pacifier back in his mouth.  "Mow-mow. Morning Mow-mow" The cat must have walked past his room.  "Mommy?  Mommy? Peeek up! Peeek up!" "Mor-ning Mommy. Mor-ning Mommy."

Then, from down the hall "Po Po is that you?"  His sister calls him Po Po.  "Po Po was that you or Trin Trin? I don't know if you said that or if it was our kitty."

"Mor-ning Eh-yit! Mor-ning Eh-yit!" He is now saying good morning to himself.

I am so tired, so so tired. They are both awake.  There is no going back to sleep now.  I pull the covers back, get out of the bed and peek my head into my son's doorway. He is standing up in his crib with hair askew and eyes still sleepy.

He smiles at me from behind his pacifier and points to his backside "Poop! New nem-mies." He thinks he needs new jammies.

I sigh, "Alright Sweet Boy, let's get a dry diaper."    

I place him on the changing table and our first conversation of the day commences.

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Thoughts on Baby Boy Clothing

Macho Man

Tough Guy

Stud Muffin

Mommy's New Man

I have seen all of the above sayings on baby boy clothes. I am talking teeny tiny, 0-3 month old baby boy clothes.

It. Drives. Me. Crazy.

Why are we in such a hurry to make our little boys into men? 

My baby boy, who is now nineteen months old, is still just a LITTLE boy.  He has deliciously curved baby cheeks and a belly that leads the way when he walks.  He speaks in two and three word sentences. He does not need to wear a onesie that says "#hideyourdaughters". 

It is OK, and will continue to be OK, for my son to cry. It is OK for my son to push a baby doll in her stroller and feed her. He loves to play with the toy kitchen.  He wears his sister's bracelets and necklaces. He plays dress up with her and is the Anna to her Elsa all of the time.  I hope he never loses his love of books. All of these things are not stereotypically viewed as masculine activities.  We are OK with that.  

Why are we sending the message that our boys have to be tough? Or that their goal in life is to be a ladies' man?  I see people write passionately about the lack of STEM themed clothing for girls, and the overabundance of pink and purple  (believe me, I agree and I have something to say about girls' clothing too), but I never see the same enthusiasm for changing the trend in clothing for boys.

I don't want him to be a tough guy, a stud muffin or a macho man.  I want him to be a curious, playful toddler with a developing imagination.

He isn't my little man.

He is my little boy.

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Motherhood Makes Us Animals

The urge first struck me one August morning when my daughter was a few weeks old. I was sitting in my usual nursing spot on the loveseat, feet resting on a little step stool and my daughter's tiny body was in my lap. Her feet were tucked up in her gown.  She was milk-drunk and sleeping. I was mesmerized by her face, the wispy newborn baby velveteen hairs that rimmed the edges of her ears, and those impossibly tiny fingers. I just stared and stared at her watching her breathe....and then... I wanted to put her little curled up fist in my mouth.  I literally wanted to put her fist in my mouth.

I have heard people say things like "Oh, she is so cute I could eat her up" or "I could just bite those chubby thighs."  I thought I understood what they were saying, but I truly did not until that very moment.   I want to clarify that I never actually put her fist in my mouth, but the urge never went away. In fact, the more those little hands puffed up with baby fat, the more I wanted to eat her.  I was so drunk in love with her that I just wanted to eat her up. I thought about females in the animal kingdom that eat their young. I think that they just can't help themselves. They are awash in that hormonal soup of overwhelming love coupled with sleep deprivation and they literally put the baby's hand in their mouth and just can't stop. I, however, am a rational (most of the time) thinking human and can stop myself.

Motherhood makes us animals.

We become nocturnal, prowling around our houses in the dark.  We don't use our tongues to lick our children clean, but we lick our fingers to rub dirt off of their cheeks, or to smooth down a crazy cowlick.  We use our teeth to trim a little one's snagged fingernail. We sniff their bottoms. We intensely inspect their body parts. We pick through their hair, pulling out twigs, bugs and dried up pasta sauce from last night's dinner. We are sheepdogs, constantly running around the perimeters of our kitchens, our yards, and the grocery store.  We round up our little people and herd them from one place to the next. We crane our necks and howl up to the moon in the middle night when we are so exhausted that the only thing we can do is cry out for help.  We alertly sit with hawk's eyes on playground benches surveying the area for any out of place movement.  Our bat ears  wake us up from a deep sleep when a child whispers "Mommy" from down the hall. We become scavengers. Mealtimes consist of swooping down like a seagull at the beach, to snatch up the half eaten grilled cheese discarded by a picky toddler. We will rip off your face, like a rabid hungry mountain lion with PMS, if you do something that threatens the safety of our kids.

Once you let the animal out, my friends, it can not be tamed.

The motherhood animal-takeover was slightly different for me when my son was born. I didn't have the urge to put his hand in my mouth, but I did love the way his breath smelled. He had the sweetest buttery baby's breath and I admit it, on any given day, you could catch me taking a whiff.

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When Kids Get Sick

Sometimes, you have good intentions, and life just gets in the way. I have fallen off the post something every day wagon for NaBloPoMo.  First it was computer issues, then a sick kid.

Priorities, right? 

On the topic of sick kids...kids are so damn resilient when they are sick. I want a scientific study done to find out at what age a person loses that capability. It has always amazed me.  For example, last night, my three year old daughter doesn't want to eat dinner, says she is tired, and wants to read a story.  This isn't completely abnormal behavior for her. She is usually a good eater, but I figured, we all have days when we aren't that hungry. I let her lay on the couch while we finish dinner. She doesn't say one thing about her stomach aching, or not feeling good. My husband reads her a story and at the conclusion of the story, she stands up, coughs, and then the flood gates open. Vomit everywhere. The one year old sees it happening, takes the pacifier out of his mouth and exclaims "UH OH! UH OH!"  Ya got that right, buddy, uh oh.  After the initial tears from the shock of throwing up, she calmed down right away. She was totally content the rest of the night laying on the beach towel covered couch, watching Super Why and chatting away. If I throw up, it is OVER.  I can not stand throwing up. I would be in bed, miserable, sipping Sprite and nibbling saltines (ok, at least that is what I would have done pre-kids).  If it was my husband, forget about it...we all know how men get when they are sick.

So let's talk about the boys.  Last month my son had the croup. He took his course of steroids and by day 2 the couch sounded better. A week later he still had a residual cough and developed a fever one day. I thought, eh, maybe he has a cold. He was acting totally fine. We had family pictures taken the next morning. Does this look like a sick kid? He was happy the entire time.

The next day, the kids were scheduled for their flu shots. I talked to the doctor about what had been going on. Turns out, he had PNEUMONIA!  We spent our morning getting a chest x-ray. It blew my mind. He was acting 100% normal, just a lingering cough.  So at what age do men lose that resiliency and revert to being a "baby" when sick?  Inquiring minds want to know. (I really just dated myself with that reference, didn't I?)

I am happy to report that it was a one and done vomit occurrence for the girl. All surfaces have been wiped down in the house and doorknobs/handles/light switches disinfected.  Now I am just playing the dreaded waiting game to see if anyone else falls victim...ugh.

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How to Change a One Year Old's Diaper in 35 Easy Steps

Today's NaBloPoMo prompt: Write a "how to" post about anything you've got skills for, small or large.

A Step by Step Guide to Changing a One Year Old's Diaper:

1. Catch baby after chasing him around the couch.
2. Lift baby so his bum is in front of your face.
3. Conduct whiff test to confirm, yes, he pooped.
4. Carry squirming baby to the changing area.
5. Place baby on his back on the changing table.
6. Commence taking off baby's pants as he tries to roll over.
7. Place baby on his back on the changing table, again.
8. Repeat steps 6 and 7
9. Repeat steps 6 and 7
10. Open changing table drawer.
12. Remove clean diaper from drawer.
11. Quickly scan the drawer's contents to find an object to distract the child. (Fingernail clippers, thermometer, diaper cream, lotion, medicine dropper etc.)
12. Hand child the $45.00 temporal thermometer. It beeps. He will like it.
13. Remove child's pants.
14.  Undo tabs of diaper.
15. Assess the size of the poop and mentally calculate the required ratio of wipes to poop.
16. Grab needed wipes from dispenser.
17. Begin wiping baby while he tries to roll over.
18. Get poop on your hand.
19. Grab more wipes, try to quickly wipe poop from your hand.
20. Grab more wipes to remove the poop that is now on baby's heel.
21. Hear the thud as the temporal thermometer hits the ground.
22. Roll up the offensive diaper with one hand, while the other hand holds the baby's feet.
23.  Give the baby the wipes box to play with.
24. Slide the new diaper under the baby and bring baby's legs down.
25. Fasten tabs of new diaper as he tries to roll over.
26. Hear the thud of the wipes box as it hits the ground.
27. The diaper is now securely on the baby.  It is crooked, but on the baby.
28. Commence putting each of the baby's kicking legs into his pants.
29. Baby has now kicked the pants off.
29. Repeat steps 28 and 29.
30. Give up on the pants and carry pants-free baby into the bathroom, while trying not to touch him with your poop hand.
31. Wash baby's poop foot in the sink.
32. Set him down on the floor.
33. Wash your poop hands.
34. Notice your baby's eyebrows are turning red as he is making "the face".
35. Start over, beginning at step 2.

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The Twilight Bark

Do you remember the Twilight Bark from the movie 101 Dalmatians? The dogs bark to one another all across the city to talk to each other, gossip, and ask for help. My youngest sister and I gave birth to our sons on the same day, 5 hours and 456 miles apart.  These baby cousins started communicating in uetero.  They talked by means of a Morse code of pokes and kicks, about how warm and cozy they were in there and how they didn't want to leave.  They were both a week overdue.  We both had to be induced.

During the early weeks of the boys' lives, my sister and I texted each other in the middle of the night, a life line after dark. When the babies started sleeping more regularly, our late night/early morning texting stopped. We talked on the phone during the day, comparing notes.  The boys were at it again. If one slept through the night for four days, then on the fifth day was up from 1am-3am, the other had done the same thing.  We joked that they were talking behind our backs.

I thought of the Twilight Bark one night as I was lying on the floor of the baby's room. He had been up several times already.  I was determined that he would not wake again.  I did not dare get up until I knew he was in a deep sleep. So I shut my eyes, curled up under a blanket and attempted to relax. That didn't happen. My hips and neck ached from lying on the floor, my arm kept falling asleep, my mind would not turn off. I thought that there must be parents all over the world, maybe even down the street, that were doing the exact same thing at this moment. I thought of my sister. Was she lying on the floor at this very moment too? I imagined that our boys were communicating in some cosmic cousin way.

It was then that I recalled the Twilight Bark. Here was the scenario: my baby would cry out his message in North Carolina, setting off a chain reaction of babies crying all the way to Ohio, where my nephew would receive it. I thought this must work for parents too. We are stretched out on bedroom floors lying motionless, awkwardly sitting in rocking chairs at an angle because the baby stopped crying if you lean to the left, spooning a little one in a twin bed with your back against the bed rail. We are all awake, willing our children to sleep. So, I send out a silent message to my sister, "I am awake, are you awake too?" I imagine my message is received by the dad down the street that is pacing back and forth in his kitchen with his newborn daughter, and he passes it on to another parent keeping vigil in the night, and the chain continues.   My Twilight Bark message makes it all the way to Ohio, where my sister is awake, barely rocking in her glider, afraid to move, with my sleeping nephew curled against her.

Now, when I find myself on the floor of the nursery in the middle of the night, I think of the Twilight Bark and send a out a little silent message. It gives me comfort to think of the other parents and caregivers doing what I am doing, that my sister may be lying awake on the floor 456 miles away.  Try it sometime. It just might work for you too.

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