49. Ready, Aim...

Did I really not post ANYTHING about potty training? I've failed you, my readers. By now I've completely blacked out those memories and there's no going back. You'll have to trust me that there were shenanigans and accidents and the bud peeing on one of my friends' beautiful rugs while we were at their house for a playdate. (From his peers, to me - "Why did he do that? Why did he stand there and pee on the rug?")

We do still have the night time training. I couldn't pass up this doozy so here I am for your entertainment, and my catharsis. We chose to wait on the night time training until, well, I (we) golly darn felt like addressing it. Golly. Darn. It. So we're in the thick of it now. Which means we're doing our best to limit liquids before sleep and we wake him up twice a night to pee. The book we're following is very optimistic (my paraphrase - "He'll be so groggy you'll be able to sit him on the potty half asleep so he can do his business and the whole ordeal will be done in 2 minutes."). NOT SO, LADY! NOT SO. This is the bud, EVER HEARD OF HIM? He is aware, and opinionated, and loves his sleep. He does not like to be woken up under any circumstances. And you think he'll be so groggy that he won't notice being put on the potty? Are you drunk? No, no. This kid starts negotiating the moment he senses me leaning down to scoop him up. "No, no, my bladder is empty! Bladder says he's empty!" To his credit, this is sometimes true, because it was emptied into his jammies and sheets. Also, we refer to his bladder as "Bladder" as if the bladder has a name. Naturally, we talk to Bladder and check in with him frequently.

One night recently I was on duty for a night time potty stop and I found Emmett snoozing peacefully in dry jammies. Silent fist pump, CHYA! I quietly scooped him up and he didn't complain. Another win! He nuzzled his head into my neck and I reiterated our usual plan with a whisper into his ear. "We’re taking Bladder to the potty. I'll help you with your jammies and undies if you want, and then you'll sit on the potty and hold your penis down so that Bladder can put the pee in the potty."

I should mention that Emmett has learned to make sure the penis is pointing downward while he sits on the potty so the pee ends up IN the potty and not NEAR the potty. This has been a crucial step for us, and also seemingly an indicator for Emmett's brain to release the pee.

Now moving right along in the story -

So we were in the bathroom. Emmett was seated on the potty and he started to protest. I was sitting on the edge of the tub in front of him. His first argument - "No, there isn't any pee! Bladder doesn't have to go!" I rebutted (pun!) with a convincing argument to hold his penis down - I was certain pee would come out if he indicated!

Sidebar: it's super weird talking to a person about the logistics of holding their peter. I think it's especially weird because I don't have one. End sidebar.

We were going back and forth a bit. Neeearly there. And then. I noticed the shocked look on his face a split second before the pee hit my shirt. A strong, steady stream hit me squarely in the chest. Time stopped for a second and I took a mental picture of us, Norman Rockwell style, sitting in the bathroom together, eye to eye, with the bud's pee attacking me like an arrow. A quaint little scene. Back in reality, here we are in the bathroom in the middle of the night with a stream of pee connecting us. His face: shock, horror, embarrassment. My face: calm, cool, collected. My brain: WTF, is this for real right now. Like REALLY real. Did I just use my best-available creative adult brain functions to get this dude to point his penis down into the potty and in turn I am getting pissed on?

I impressed myself with my quick action of cupping my hand over the crotch area to deflect the stream. Clearly, Bladder doesn't know who he's messing with. Your pee doesn't scare me, BLADDER.

The bud was rather concerned and cried a bit and I reassured him that everything was fine and we're okay. We got cleaned up and situated him back into bed. Another learning checkpoint for us both was now behind us.

I put myself back to bed and wondered if I might be able to commission that Norman Rockwell-style piece for the bud's 21st birthday.

48. Carrot snack at 3am.

Things have been changing in the Miller household. The bud is in the middle of potty training and started climbing out of his crib. So, toddler bed and potty training all at the same time. I was warned to avoid this combination of transitions at all costs. Alas, we are following the bud's lead on these things. We weren't going to say, 'No, thanks, don't go in the potty we'd rather keep changing yo' nasty diaper,' and we also weren't going to allow climbing out of (and into!) his crib.

So here we were, the third night of the toddler bed. The stage is set, everyone large and small knew the plan. Normal bedtime routine, get into bed, stay in bed, and mom/dad would "be back in five minutes [actually 30 seconds] to check on you." The door wasn't even latched before Bud popped up and - turned on both lamps, got out a book or ten to read, came out of his room to try any number of half baked ideas to lure us in, crawled quietly to the kitchen doorway and peered in as if we wouldn't be able to see him, invited Addy (cat) to go in his room, asked for water, claimed he needed to go potty, etcetera, etcetera. After two hours of this circus of insanity, Emmett finally fell asleep. Wayne and I congratulated each other. We went to bed.

We've all heard these stories of trickery and toddler shenanigans that leave parents mind-boggled, frayed, and LAUGHIIIING (and/or crying) because it's just downright good comedy. The looks on his face and the things he came up with. I applaud him. But then...

I woke up to the silhouette of a tiny person saying, "Daddy, will you help me open this, please?" First off - yeah, manners! Secondly, WTF? Who are you, what time is is, and what the hell are you trying to open? And, wait, why are you calling me daddy? I got out of bed and ushered the bud out of our room quickly, because, SURPRISE, the tiniest one is still sleeping in a pack 'n play in there (UGH - that's a convo for another post!). I took the thing he was trying to open and could tell by the feel of it that it was a full tupperware container that came from the fridge (I had to go by feel because, sleep-blind). I picked him up and we went to the kitchen, where I saw that it was 3:02am. The light from the fridge revealed the container was full of sweet potatoes. The fridge light also revealed that the bare buns I thought I felt when I picked the bud up were, in fact, bare. He was only wearing a shirt. No pants. No pull-up. I took him to the bathroom and found a discarded pair of pajama pants and lightly used pull-up crumpled on the floor. He sat on the potty and told me about going to the potty by himself earlier. Mm-hmmmmmm... 

We went into his bedroom to get him re-dressed and there I found the small lamp on, a pile of books out, and a bag of mini carrots (yes, a CARROT bag) that used to have a handful of carrots in it. It just had one carrot left when I found it. "I was reading books and had some carrots!" He was very lively and matter-of-fact about his escapades. I started to really wake up by this point, but put the carrot bag on the table with the lamp as a reminder for my future self that, yes, this really did happen. Naturally, Emmett wanted to read a book. Nah, brah. He went into bed, I turned off the light and left the room. He popped up and we went through the routine of shenanigans several times. I stuck to The Plan and eventually he stayed in bed.  GOOD EFFING NIGHT!

Of course I barely slept thinking about all the dangerous and messy things he could get into if he were to get up again. I kept poking Wayne (who did a good job of never fully waking up but was still engaging enough) to check the monitor.

The next morning (i.e. 3.5 hours later) I was out the door to the gym and DIDN'T LOOK BACK. Good luck, suckas! When I got home I noticed an empty bread loaf bag on the ottoman with some crumbs sprinkled around. I figured things were just a little wild with Wayne and the boys while I was at the gym. I didn't ask questions. Later Wayne and I took a beat to laugh laugh laugh laugh laugh at what had gone on during the night and as we recounted the absurdity, Wayne mentioned that he found the bread bag in the living room. He said there was one last piece of bread in there the day before but it was empty when he found it. The Carrot Caper strikes again.

So...I guess it wasn't just a ploy when the bud said he wanted a snack at 8:45 the night before?

And 5 months later...#47

Just wanted to say, really quick-like, that sometimes this little bud (aka Wes, aka, nugget) holds a boob like a Capri Sun pouch.

What is this, intermission at a soccer game?

46, a Budism

The bud, walking down stairs holding Wayne's hand, farts and says, "...'scuse you, I tooted."

#manners

45th

I'm here breastfeeding this person at 3:30 in the morning, clinging to my phone for company, entertainment, cameraderie...and I can't stop this thought from swirling in my head (entitled as it may be), 'What did women do before the smart phone?' Okay, I can get past the smart phone thing because, whatever, that's fine. Even though I'm attached to my breastfeeding tracker app like white on rice - I can consider other, non-electronic ways of the breastfeeding life. Like, using a pencil and paper for tracking feeds. And, reading a book instead of scrolling news articles (okay YOU GOT ME, my thumb always goes to Instagram first). But. What. The. Hell. Did. Women. Do. Before. Electricity. Breastfeed by candlelight? 'Hey just a sec baby, I need to light this tiny fire next to us so I can fumble my boob to your face.' I'm in the BF zone now so feeding in the near-blackness of my bedroom at 0-dark-30 isn't a big whoop, but sometimes things get crazy and I just need a lamp. Like when dude has an explosion of spitup (or poop). Shine a little light on that.

But really the entertainment thing. Like with Emmett - he regularly fed for 45 minutes (low supply, WOOF thanks). That amounted to hundreds and hundreds of hours of breastfeeding. I binged on Netflix so hard I got down to the Ken Burns documentaries. So when I think about people not even having the convenience of turning on a lamp to read a damn book I am just baffled. BAFFLED.

And then, when I imagine life before indoor plumbing-!!!!!!! HOW HOW HOW. NO NO NO. WHY GOD WHY.

And THEN. Then I am so filled with gratitude that I can barely stand it. So filled that my cup overfloweth into this blog post. Which I write using my smart phone. Full circle.

44. The Waiting Room

Wesley - have I mentioned Wesley yet? We call him Wes, and other things. He was Inside Baby just six weeks ago. Now he's outside, BABY! I like him a lot more on this side, out of reach of my bladder and ribs.

So, Wes and I were in the waiting room of my OB for my six-week check-up. It was a busy day and there were probably 8ish other people waiting, waiting, waiting, including a couple people with anxious toddlers. It was silent in there and you could cut the MY-APPOINTMENT-WAS-SUPPOSED-TO-BE-20-MINUTES-AGO tension with a knife, or speculum, or pap swab.

Wes is chilling in the stroller and then, "Pfffffft!" A fart. A really good one. There was a small chuckle from one of the ladies and I said, "Excuse you, Wesley!" And then the little girl toddler (complete with high pigtails and ribbons - I DIE) says with a sly grin on her face, "Baaaaabyyyyy." I died again and everyone laughed. It was possibly my proudest moment of Wesley so far.

43. Back in the game.

It's been several weeks since my last post. These silent weeks were arguably the juiciest, blog-worthy weeks of my life so far what with all the EXTREME PREGNANCY and DELIVERING A HUMAN and then KEEPING A TINY HUMAN WORM ALIVE. But I was busy.

The bud offered a moment today to get me back in the game.

I was changing his diaper and he said, quite matter-of-factly, "Mommy workin' the poop." 

Yes, bud. Mommy is most definitely working the poop.