Currently viewing the tag: "the horror"
It is time.
According to Graham’s lead therapist we’re ready to get started.
I thought we had more time.
I never really thought this day would come. And yet here it is.
It’s time for “potty training.” Except I detest that phrase. So it’s time for toilet training. Not much better, but not so bad.
I didn’t realize we were at that point, but I guess it makes sense. Graham’s therapists will only be here for a couple more months. Working training into his therapy routine will be a lot easier than trying to do it once he starts school.
I made a few suggestions. Maybe we could get him pull-ups, send him upstairs once every 15 minutes, etc. The therapist said, No. Underwear. He has to feel it. (Easy for him to say, he doesn’t have to clean it up!) I don’t exactly have any experience with this stuff so I’m happy to defer (kind of) and I’m glad that he thinks we’re far enough along to make a go of it.
But.
I’ve been so happily ignoring the possibility of TT. I haven’t worried about it or thought about it. I’ve thrown away coupons for pull-ups and training pants. I’ve continued to mindlessly change diapers and not care much because it’s simply the way things are.
While the therapists will help, this will be a battle I fight mostly alone. Because I REFUSE to be that person whose facebook status says, “Little Joey used the potty today!”
It will not happen.
In fact, I have a no-poop policy when it comes to the blog. So I will not speak of this again. Not until it is over and then I can happily confide in all of you that it is done.
But until then I promise not to speak of it.
Just think of me now and then and wish me luck, okay?
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Blogger friends are excellent to have. Especially when they have extra tickets to stuff. My friend Masshole Mommy had some vouchers for Sesame Street Live and I figured the Bug was finally old enough to attempt a live show.
The show was playing all weekend, from Friday to Sunday. But the evening shows were at the Bug’s bedtime, and most of the matinees were right in the middle of naptime. So instead we went to the Friday morning show, which was at 10:30.
This isn’t the kind of thing I get excited about. And I wouldn’t have bought tickets. When the Bug is old enough to beg for such things I’m sure that will change, but for now it’s just a special treat for him that he doesn’t feel entitled to. (Thank goodness. I’m really not looking forward to that changing when he gets older.)
To make the show and get there early so we could redeem our vouchers for seats and get a little time in the before-show play zone, we left the house shortly after 8. I hadn’t had coffee. Or breakfast. The Bug had eaten a muffin and a glass of milk. I threw a granola bar and an applesauce pouch in the Baby Bag and we were on our way. Tessa started out cooperative.
I didn’t see any other option than to stroller it up with Tessa in her carseat. I figured I could feed her at the show and she was in a good mood.
Our ride required a bus, a transfer to a train and then a transfer to another train. The first two weren’t a big deal. The bus with the stroller is old hat, though it’s a lot nicer when it’s not crowded and you can move the seat up so you don’t clog the aisle.
Our first train ride was no big deal. An elevator. A donut stand so I could grab an iced coffee. And a train arriving just moments after we arrived on the platform.
The Bug, ever in motion
After that? Not so friendly. I had a strong suspicion there would be no elevator at our transfer point. I’d used that station before, but never to make this particular transfer. Sure enough, we were confronted with well over 2 flights of stairs. So I broke down the stroller, grabbed the carseat in one hand and the frame in the other, and had the Bug walk right behind me as we went down the mountain of stairs. Which would, of course, be followed by a mountain of stairs going up shortly thereafter.
Fortunately a nice guy (who was actually going the other way) grabbed the stroller frame for me so I could hold the Bug’s hand and Tessa’s seat. Back at the top we put the stroller back together, walked along the concourse, then took two elevators to get to our train. You know, no biggie.
To get to the show we had to take the Green Line. We used to live on that line and I despised it. Half of the green line runs underground and the other half runs on the street. For whatever reason, you have to step up on to these trains most of the time. Occasionally there is a train with a handicap entrance that’s close to ground level. Otherwise it’s three large steps to climb on board. Worse, to catch fare evaders, they’ve started only opening the front door at the street stops. The trains have a small aisle so this means everyone has to go in and out through the same door and push through the same crowds. It is not good.
Sure enough, our train didn’t have a handicap car. I was just about to break down the stroller again when another young guy helped me carry it up the three steps. Once we got in our seat, I did actually break it down so we’d have a little more room and I’d be able to get off quickly.
I can’t tell you how glad I am I decided to get an umbrella-fold stroller. Life without it on the T would be miserable.
Finally, we arrived at our destination. We got our tickets and made our way inside. I’d been a little unsure about what would happen to the stroller once we got there. There was a roped off area under the stairs that seemed not-exactly-safe, but at least there were lots of security people around. I broke down the stroller (seeing a theme here?), took Tessa out of her seat, and we headed up to the Play Zone.
The Play Zone opens an hour before the show. I was expecting play. What it really was was mostly photo ops. Sesame Street backdrops where you could take your kid’s picture. Several had lines. There were tables with coloring supplies but the Bug was having none of it. So instead we went to our seats, bypassing the merchandise tables and the refreshment stands. (The latter had a sign saying “Adults at this show are limited to one beer.” I understand wanting to avoid drunk parents at Sesame Street, but it still feels kind of mean. Couldn’t we at least use a buzz? Especially since someone is kicking the back of our seat the whole time?)
Then I just had to entertain the Bug at our seats for a while. I fed Tessa, who was angelic, sleeping through most of the show and quietly watching the rest. Graham found his seat “scary” and didn’t want to sit. Luckily the seat was taller than he was so standing up wasn’t a big deal. We managed to pass the time. (I tried to download a Sesame Street app but my connection wasn’t good enough.) And then it began.
I was nervous about how the Bug would handle himself. If we needed to we could leave any time. I didn’t want to make him do it if he didn’t want to. Luckily the crowds at this kind of show are loud and no one cares if one kid occasionally shouts, “No!”
Once things got started he was pretty rapt.
He occasionally demanded that Elmo or Ernie or Oscar return to the stage when they left. And he didn’t understand why he couldn’t go on stage to say “hi.” Luckily he was convinced to wave hello from his seat, which he did several times.
We made a quick trip to the bathroom to give Miss Tess a diaper change and got back just in time to catch the big finale… before intermission.
At this point I had to wonder: who thought it was a good idea to give an arena full of preschoolers intermission??? Entertaining them at their seats isn’t exactly easy. And going up and down the steep stairs isn’t easy. But pretty soon I had the answer to my question.
The Elmo-balloon-selling fatcats. That’s who thought intermission was a good idea. The people who made the merch for this show were smart. There were lots of things with lights so that all the kids could see who had a special star or whatever. And during intermission, the floating Elmos gradually swarmed all over the arena. It was a serious case of peer pressure.
Of course I wanted the Bug to have an Elmo balloon. He definitely wanted one. But I never got Elmo balloons and such growing up and I believe I’m a better person because of it. Or at least, that’s what I tell myself.
So the Bug went without. Which was also a good idea because the balloons had to be smushed under your seats once the show started again, 15 interminable minutes later.
The wiggly preschoolers were now hyper and anxious to get out of their seats, so the second half required a lot more action from the beefy guys who guarded the stage. It also seemed the parents were less concerned about keeping their kids in their seats because more than once I saw some little ones make a break for the stage. And a whole flock of them stood, unsupervised, at the foot of the stairs just waiting to throw themselves at whatever character made an expedition down into the stands.
As for Graham, he was pretty much the same in the second half. I occasionally asked if he wanted to leave but he insisted on “more show.” He finally agreed to go about 5 minutes before the show ended. Perfect timing. We were able to get our stroller and get on our way. Of course the Elmo balloons were out for purchase in the lobby. ($10. Hell no.)
I’d survived a live Sesame Street show. And I still hadn’t eaten. So we walked across the street to find somewhere with “milk,” the Bug’s sole request. He vetoed pasta and pizza so that left us with only one option.
Lunch al fresco with a picky eater. (@ Chipotle Mexican Grill w/ 2 others) http://t.co/bIq6ESse
@jessicaesquire
Jessica
Lunch had pros and cons. Pro: Bug ate all his beans. Con: No inside tables available. Pro: Outside table available. Con: Outside table has only one chair. Pro: Next table over has an extra chair. Con: Lady with two kids at next table over says she’s saving the seat for her husband. Pro: She lets us have the chair anyway. Con: “Until her husband comes.” Pro: I sit facing away from her so I don’t see when her husband comes and thankfully they leave us alone.
Lunch was when Tessa’s patience ran out. She was cranky on and off from lunch until we got home. That meant she was cranky while we got our after-lunch cake pops from Starbucks. And she was cranky while we waited for the train. (Another young guy helped us with our stroller again, which was pretty necessary since it was a very crowded train.) And then while we rode the train, and the next train. And while we waited forever to get a bus. (I had literally just sat down to feed her when the bus pulled up. She was not happy.)
While on the train I was seeing if she’d take a pacifier when a lady yelled at me from across the train not to force the pacifier on her. (I wasn’t. Tessa sometimes takes a while to decide if she wants it or not.) And for the last time we found a young man coming to our aid, this one retorted, “Don’t tell her what to do with her child.” After that the lady continued her conversation in Spanish, I’m sure so we wouldn’t understand her badmouthing my parenting skills. And I was grateful that the thuggish looking guys had sat next to us.
We finally got home over 6 hours after we’d left. It was a crazy expedition. The Bug fell asleep in my lap on the bus going home. We’d had quite a lot of cuddling on our many train and bus rides. The good old-fashioned cuddles were probably my favorite part of the day. Who needs Ernie and Elmo?
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The madness of Organized Egg Hunts is something I could live without. But when I heard that our town’s egg hunt was for kids 2 to 6 I thought there was at least a decent chance that it could be a fun experience for the Bug.
So on Saturday morning we got all ready. First, we did a practice egg hunt. The Bug was pretty clueless at Halloween despite much coaching so a practice run seemed like a good idea. I placed 3 eggs around the living room and he practiced putting them in his basket. He had the hang of it and since the eggs I “hid” were empty he hadn’t yet figured out that eggs = candy.
We headed out to the park. To make the day even better for the Bug, we took the bus.
Tessa came along for the ride, bundled in her outside fleecy suit. And my sister Sarah was in town for the weekend to join in the fun.
The park is pretty tiny and there were 5,000 eggs there. Which basically means there were eggs EVERYWHERE. The grass was blocked off with Caution tape which made it look more like a crime scene than a children’s event. (Like a brutal egg massacre had taken place and all the poor little eggs were waiting to be zipped into little egg body bags.) We weren’t too early but were able to get a prime spot right by the designated toddler area for the 2 and 3 year olds.
Graham did a great job waiting despite the fact that the eggs were all right there in front of him.
As the time grew closer I started to get more nervous. The park was now full and people were lined up along the sidewalk behind the fence. There were kids much older than 6. There were giant strollers everywhere. (WHY? WHY THE STROLLERS??) It was starting to resemble a big egg hunt in a bad way.
Fortunately I wasn’t too worried. The Bug was right up front. Assuming he didn’t get trampled, he’d get eggs. And the Bug is pretty nonchalant about this kind of activity. I didn’t see him getting upset. He was in a great mood, even while he had to wait.
Finally the moment came, the CAUTION tape came down and the kids went flying. I was on the other side of the fence on picture duty. And all around me parents were picking up their children and dropping them over the fence. It’s not really high, but it was crazy enough that a few kids, after being deposited on the grass, just stood there crying as all around them the eggs were snatched up right and left.
It never ceases to amaze me the way adults get about this stuff. I know the kids can get all riled up. (Case in point: when we did the Bug’s own mini egg hunt on Sunday morning in our front yard, another neighborhood kid saw the eggs on the lawn, screamed, “EASTER EGGS!” and ran straight for them.) But the parents are supposed to be the voice of reason.
Apparently when it comes to egg hunts, the adults are the problem.
Observe:
Smack dab in the middle of this photo, you can see the Bug with his green and yellow basket, calmly picking up eggs. Sarah and Eric are in the background (you can see Sarah’s black coat but not her head) watching and making sure he’s okay.
But what are the mothers in this picture doing? PICKING UP EGGS. I thought this egg hunt was for kids 2 to 6, but apparently it includes all ages because I don’t think those ladies are 6 years old. One of those kids doesn’t even look 2 yet. So they are hunting eggs…. why??
Oh, the insanity. I believe this will be our last community egg hunt. While the Bug was happy with his 4 eggs and had a great time, I’m not sure he’ll be untouched by the fray next year when he’s a little older.
Consider this scene:
Eric is pointing out a hidden egg to the Bug. It’s in the branches of this bush. The Bug, being only 2 and a half, is not exactly sure where Dad’s pointing and spent a couple minutes looking around. About 30 seconds after this picture was taken, a kid swooped in, grabbed the egg, and dashed off. The Bug didn’t bat an eye. We quickly decided to call it a day and left the park without him noticing what had happened. I’m not so confident that a 3-year-old Bug will be so cool about such an incident.
In the future I expect we’ll do the homemade hunts, possibly with other neighborhood kids. And we’ll have egg limits. (I saw one kid who looked about 5 with a basket FULL of eggs, at least 25, while plenty of other kids were crying with no eggs at all. His Mom didn’t seem to care. *eyeroll*)
I am not really a crowds and frenzy kind of person. And I see no reason to expose the poor Bug to the madness. While most of the kids there seemed perfectly happy, there were a significant percentage of them with tantrums or sobs or tears. (I’ll say this for the organizers: they saved eggs for the kids who got none. An excellent idea.) He enjoyed our home egg hunt quite a lot, too.
After the madness, we decamped for donuts and then got the scruffy Bug a haircut. He was looking much more dapper on Easter morning with his new gifts.
Tessa slept through the festivities, but she looked quite sweet in her Easter dress.
One unfortunate side effect is that the Bug has discovered jelly beans. (There were 2 beans in each of the 10 eggs I hid for him.) He already knew what they were but had never eaten them before. This morning he demanded jelly beans for breakfast.
“No, jelly beans are a treat for after dinner,” I said.
“Dinner!!” he insisted.
This kid. He is too smart.
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I’m new to this breastfeeding stuff, and even though it’s going well I still feel like there’s so much I don’t know. So here are some questions I have for the more experienced ladies out there. My boobs thank you in advance for your time and attention.
When will I be able to sleep without a bra again?
Will I eventually be able to go without nursing pads?
How come they bother making cloth nursing pads when they don’t work? (Am I buying the wrong ones? Am I just a super lactation machine?
If my nursing bra is sticking out all the time, why don’t they make it in cute colors and patterns so people will just think it’s a cute tank top?
Will it always hurt when I take a shower? Man, those things turn into rocks the minute I step under the water. And let’s not even discuss when I dry myself off.
When will I get to reclaim my boobs as a part of my sexuality? They look awesome, so I’d really like it to be soon…
Is it just me or do they always smell vaguely of milky sweat?
I’ve totally dropped the ball on lanolin for the last couple weeks. Will there be lasting consequences?
Seriously, folks, all answers appreciated.
This post is part of my New Moms Series. Check out all the other posts here.
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I’ve been planning to write about recovery from childbirth for a while. I started a draft before Tessa was born. But I’ve had to start over several times now because I don’t exactly know how to approach it.
My two recoveries were vastly different. After Graham my body was completely outside my control. I was miserable and in pain for weeks. I worried I’d never get back to normal. This time, after Tessa, I felt pretty normal after just a week and things continue to go well.
I don’t want to scare people too much by talking about my recovery from Graham. I don’t want to paint too pretty a picture by focusing on my second experience. So I’m kind of flummoxed about how to go about it.
But I’m going to do it anyway. Pregnancy has its fair share of unpleasant surprises, and postpartum recovery is more intense and even less talked about. (Although if you really want to know, get your mom girlfriends a few drinks and they’ll probably tell you more than you ever wanted to know. Motherhood WTF and Honest Mom know what I’m talking about, don’t you ladies?)
Ideally, when they take you up to your recovery room, a nurse should tell you all this stuff. But they don’t. At least they never have for me. So I’ll do it for you. I’m nice like that.
When I went in for my 6-week postpartum checkup after Graham was born, they gave me a form to fill out with a list of problems on it so I could circle what I was experiencing. I wish someone had given me that form 6 weeks earlier, so that’s what I’m going to try and pass on to you.
Since my experience is limited (in particular to vaginal deliveries) I’d love to get feedback and comments from those of you who are willing to share. Let’s make it a little easier for the newbies.
The First 24 Hours
I won’t lie, they’re the worst. After the meds wear off the pain starts to kick in. Somehow the fact that you’ve just pushed a baby out of your body doesn’t entitle you to the hardcore pain meds. When your nurse comes with Motrin you’ll probably want to throttle her until she gives you the good stuff. (I had to convince a nurse I was in enough pain to merit an oxycodone.)
To help you out there’s the mesh underwear, followed by a giant maxi pad, which is them topped off with a big old ice pack. The ice pack feels great for the first couple minutes. Until you have to move or sit.
You will have to move. You’ll want to just lay there, but you have to move. Your butt will eventually go numb, no matter how you adjust your hospital bed. And then your nurses will make you pee. I still don’t understand exactly why they make you pee, but they do. And no one will rest until you pee.
This is worse than it sounds. Because you may not be ABLE to pee. Your body may not actually remember how to do it. With Recovery #1 I sat in that bathroom with two nurses for what seemed like eternity while I tried to get my brain to reconnect to my bladder. (Trick: have someone turn on the bathroom faucet. I know it’s a lame cliche, but it’s very effective.)
Even if your bladder is still in working order (yay Recovery #2) it’s still not the most comfortable thing. Everything is swollen and sore. You’ll get a handy dandy squirt bottle to wash yourself with and you can only use toilet paper for the softest of pats.
Another tip: have your partner fill the squirt bottle for you. Cuz once you start the water running… you know. You may feel like you’ve exposed all of yourself to your partner before, but this is definitely something of a game changer. Asking your husband to help you get ready to pee is probably not what you envisioned when you took your wedding vows. But it’s way better if they’re there to do it.
And While We’re Talking About Pee….
Yeah, you should probably be prepared for this one. And it’s not like it’s totally out of the blue. We’ve all heard of women who have “issues” with sneezing or laughing after they have kids.
What I wasn’t ready for was how long it took in Recovery #1 for my bladder to start working again. It was ROUGH. I wasn’t prepared to lose control on a daily basis. And then I’d break down in sobs every time it happened.
This was the biggest thing I worried about. It took a long time to get better. But you know what? I was back to 100% within a couple months. Despite those weeks of thinking I’d be stuck in adult diapers for the rest of my life, it all healed. I can even sneeze and laugh pee-free. (If you are in the no-feeling-in-your-bladder situation, I recommend hourly bathroom trips. It helps.)
And All the Weeping
I didn’t just cry about peeing myself. I cried about everything.
When everyone was sitting around watching Planet Earth I had to leave the room when a baby elephant wandered away from its herd. Because THE BABY ELEPHANT! HE WILL DIE ALONE!!
I came into Recovery #2 expecting similar hormonal awesomeness but I’ve been strangely disappointed to have pretty much the full use of my normal emotions. There have been a few hiccups here and there, and I’m more prone to tears than usual, but it’s not so bad.
I have no idea why my hormones were so much less active this time. Tessa’s delivery was much less traumatic so I get that my physical healing has been easier, but I have no idea why the hormones have laid off. But let me just say, Thank you, Hormones, I did not miss you.
Revenge of the Period
So your period’s been gone for 9 months. But now you will get plenty to make up for it.
First, there’s the uterine cramps. They’re bad enough on their own, and they’re plenty worse when the nurses start kneading your belly. They also kick in when you breastfeed. They fade after a while, but that first week they’re pretty intense.
Second, there’s the blood, or to use the medical term “lochia.” You’ll want to take some of those giant maxi pads home with you until you’ve stocked up on a box at the store. You’ll need them for a few weeks.
And Finally… The Poodge
Don’t be surprised if you leave the hospital looking 6 months pregnant.
And don’t be surprised if you haven’t lost much weight. (I’d only lost 10 pounds when I came home from the hospital. I looked at my scale and cried, “SERIOUSLY??”)
You may hear that breastfeeding will help you lose weight. So far it’s helping me, but I’ve heard from plenty of women who found it no help whatsoever.
I’m 3 weeks out and I look about 4 months pregnant still. And I’m okay with it. I expected it. I comfort myself by knowing that at least I get to wear a shirt over it as it isn’t cute and tight like a baby belly. Instead it is lumpy and saggy and covered with creepy stretch marks.
With Graham it took me 18 months to lose my baby weight. (I gained about 32 pounds during his pregnancy.) So far I’m on a better track with Tessa, but I still don’t expect to lose the remaining 15 pounds to get back down to my pre-baby weight until 2013.
Don’t put stress on yourself about losing the baby weight. It’ll happen when it happens.
For now, find pants you’re comfortable with. Get a belt, even if you’ve never worn one before. The jelly belly isn’t nearly so good at holding up your pants as your old one.
Okay, moms, now it’s time for you to chime in with your experiences. What am I leaving out? What are your experience with recovery from a c-section? Tell us about your postpartum recovery.
This post is part of my New Moms Series. See all posts here.
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You guys. My Mom left this morning. It’s about to get very real. We’ve lost our reserve troops. The cavalry has left.
For the last two weeks, Eric and I have taken shifts with the baby at night, letting my Mom sleep and then take care of Graham in the morning. Eric and I can nap as needed during the day and both kids are always covered.
So much for that.
In addition to having Graham covered, she also did the laundry, made our meals and cleaned the house. We have been coasting along in this lovely world for a while and it’s going to be kind of crazy to suddenly be without it all. We didn’t ASK her to do anything besides watching Graham, she just does it. If we tied her down, she would escape her bonds and clean the house anyway.
When she arrived, we got back from the airport around 9 pm. She started work right away. And didn’t even comment on the squalor we’d been living in.
She is a saint.
Balancing out this sense of order has been Miss Tessa, who does her best to add some entropy to our lives. She will not sleep in her bassinet. To get through the night we take shifts. Eric sits up with her and I take her to the twin bed in Graham’s room where we co-sleep. (Our bed has a pillowtop, a lot of bedding and Eric who tends to roll and flail and not wake up.) Our nights will be significantly better once she starts sleeping in something.
We are currently working on getting her to sleep in the new PackNPlay (Thanks, Mom!!) in hopes that we’ll have to wake up only for feedings from here on out.
Not that it’ll be that simple. The last few nights she’s been fussy. I sat with her for an hour last night before she calmed down enough that we could go to sleep. We aren’t sure yet if it’s just baby fussiness or an issue with my diet. The fussing tends to happen after she eats or before a diaper change and I’m not experienced enough with this stuff to know exactly what’s up.
So I’m quitting dairy for a week. I am NOT happy about it, but I would enjoy getting more sleep. Especially since Eric will go back to work in a couple weeks and then I’ll really be desperate. I can’t say I’ll remove 100% of the dairy from my diet as I’m not that meticulous (and I just got some yogurt pretzels), but I tend to eat a lot of it so if it makes a difference we should see it soon. I don’t know if I want it to work or not. More sleep? Great. No dairy? Not great.
Still, things are going pretty well. Especially compared to where we were this far out with Graham. She’s eating like a champ. I’m feeling mostly like a human being. I’m getting pretty good at sleeping on the fly, which I never managed to master with Graham. I can leave the house and walk around.
This having-two-kids thing is weird. Instead of having two I feel like I just take turns having them one at a time. Graham continues to be interested in and pleased by Tessa, but it’s rare I have to tend to them both at the same time. I know that will start changing now that we’ve lost our advantage (there’s now as many of us as there are of them). Fortunately I think it’ll be a few years before they figure out how to team up against us.
In typical parent fashion, we are already calling both kids by the wrong names.
Tessa hasn’t yet adopted any new nicknames (besides the previously chosen Tess and Tesser) though she is often called Baby Girl or Baby Doll. I expect this will change once she’s a little more awake and starts showing us her personality. Though so far we know she is a champion squirmer and has freakish leg strength and giant feet. We wonder if she’ll be a swimmer like Aunt Sarah.
Oh, and have I mentioned: DOUBLE CHIN!
I will warn you now: if you bring this baby to Costco in the middle of the day you will be swarmed by well-meaning old people, like hobbling cute zombies shuffling towards you. BAAAAYYY-BEEEEEE BRAAAAIIINSSS!
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Find the Mess
My Life’s a Mess and That’s Okay
Jess is a procrastinator, a former working mom who is suddenly staying at home, a Dr-Dr's wife, a non-practicing lawyer, an Autism Mom, a devoted reader, a penny pincher, a coupon clipper, a new New England-er, a low-key agnostic, a nice girl, a top-notch speller, a hardcore blogger and a Twitter fiend.
The blog covers everything from coupon tips to Autism support to adorable toddler pictures to hilarious tales of my daily grind with the occasional review & giveaway thrown in for good measure.
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