40 Weeks and 3 Days

Waiting for this baby to arrive has been the ultimate exercise in patience, and I am going out of my mind. I know I should be grateful for having a full-term baby, and that I really have nothing to complain about. But FORTY WEEKS is a damn long time. I am older, crabbier, and far more uncomfortable this time. I am realizing now how spoiled I was with Penny. Everything was a marvel during my pregnancy with her. She also came 4-5 days before my due date, which I now realize was a mercy.

So naturally, I expected to go early again, forgetting what everyone says, that every pregnancy is different. Mr. Baby's due date has come and gone, although not without some excitement. I have already (mistakenly) thought I was in early labor 3 times. I called into work a week ago because I was having contractions. I started my leave of absence, thinking it could be any minute now...any minute now...maybe now?

Each time I go to the doctor, I find out I have progressed very little, so I leave appointments feeling more disappointed. Every ache, every twinge, every cramp has me bolting upright, wondering if this is it. I am making myself crazy. Everyone wants to know, is he here yet? Is he here yet? I have been stuck on "Gold Mother" by James for DAYS.

But I know I won't be pregnant forever. No one is pregnant forever! This may very well be the last time I'll be pregnant again, ever, so maybe I should relish it while I can?

Nah. I know I'm in a bad mood, but I can't bring myself to romanticize the fatigue and the heartburn and the constant peeing and the Braxton Hicks contractions. But, I've been trying to think about the time — the time we've had as a 3 person family, before everything changes.

This pregnancy has been marked by a couple of surprises, one of which is that my doctor, my beloved physician, obstetrician, and Penny's pediatrician has been out of town for the past three weeks. Suddenly I was confronted with the possibility that she might not be delivering this baby, and I had to find another doctor in the interim. But, she'll be back this weekend, so maybe things will work out after all. It wasn't that long ago that we were driving to the hospital to have Penny, and soon we will be going again. I have a vision of how I want things to go, and as time passes, the more I worry that it isn't going to go the way I want...

Meanwhile, this might be the last chance I get to write something for a little while, so I wanted to take the time to say, for Penny's sake, how awesome she is. She can do 42 piece puzzles by herself. She likes to act out scenes from her favorite stories (like when Clara's Godfather fixes her broken Nutcracker, or when Lisa buys Corduroy at the department store), and she takes books with her to bed. Her sense of humor is constantly developing and surprising. Having a baby will help me appreciate the myriad things Penny can do by herself, like getting her own yogurt out of the fridge and a spoon out of the drawer. Like climbing up onto her stool for dinner and telling us about her day at preschool. I fully expect some "regression" in behavior once baby brother arrives. How can there not be some jealousy and resentment?

Our world is about to be all topsy-turvy, so I may kick myself in a couple of days for being so impatient. For now, I'm trying to stay upbeat. Mr. Baby will come. He will. We are ready for him and we can hardly wait.

When Things Happen in Threes

Forgive me if this post goes into too much detail, but I would be remiss if I didn't try to explain the recent chaos in my life and describe what was one of the worst weeks we've had in a long time.

In the midst of changing jobs, I had been wrapping things up with the old job so I could start the new one, which included one last trip out to the boonies. When I returned, I discovered one of my tires had a flat. Fortunately it happened overnight in the parking stall, so at least it didn't blow out while I was driving on the road. I even managed to get the lug nuts off the tire and the car on the jack by the time Britt arrived to help me get the spare on. We shall call the flat tire Rupture Number One.

That weekend, Penny developed a fever and said her ear hurt. She was very specific about which ear was bothering her; it was her right ear, not her left. She didn't have a runny nose or a cough, but I'd had a sore throat for a couple of days, so I figured she was coming down with another cold. I alternated Tylenol and Ibuprofen for her fever and pain, and hoped she'd be better in a couple of days. Note: Ear infections usually resolve on their own, it was the weekend and my doctor wasn't in, and she seemed ok otherwise.

That Tuesday morning, I woke up because of a stabbing pain in my uterus. It was blinding, constant pain—not cramps, which come on and dissipate; this was like nothing I'd experienced before. I couldn't stand up. I started sweating profusely and I felt like throwing up. As I was lying on the nice, cool floor, I calculated where I was in my cycle and concluded there was no way I was pregnant. Penny brought me a blanket and covered me up while I sent Britt a desperate text. He came home as soon as he could and took us both to our doctor. Penny's fever had spiked and she was still complaining of ear pain, so we thought, let's take this party to the waiting room!

The theory is that I had an ovarian cyst rupture; which would be Rupture Number Two. Apparently this happens to women, although this was a new experience for me. It hurts like hell when it happens, and then you're ok. And I was ok, after a couple of hours. Ladies, has this happened to you? How come no one talks about it? Meanwhile, Penny definitely had an ear infection in her right ear and we started her on antibiotics. We also stopped at McDonald's on the way home and Penny and I both got Happy Meals, even though they don't contain any real food. It just sounded good.

Wednesday night, Penny had been asleep for a couple of hours, then woke up crying. I comforted her for a bit, and noticed her hair seemed damp, as if she'd been sweating. She said her throat hurt. I gave her some water and held her for a while, and then she went back to sleep. The next morning, Britt said, "Um, her ear is draining. A lot."



Which brings us to Rupture Number Three.

*We interrupt this post to explain how the middle ear system works:*
Our eustachian tubes help equalize the pressure in our ears. Children have smaller heads, so their eustachian tubes are shorter and more horizontal, so when kids get sick with colds and congestion, the tissues surrounding the eustachian tube swell up, and basically pinch it off. This creates a nice little vacuum in the middle ear space behind the eardrum. The resulting pressure draws fluid out of the membranes in the middle ear, which accumulates behind the eardrum. This fluid is a nice breeding ground for bacteria, so the fluid can become infected when bacteria gets in there and multiplies. In severe cases, the eardrum can rupture because of the build up of infected fluid behind it.


Penny's rendition of a bear with "yucky" ears. :(

So, that dampness I thought was sweat was actually infected middle ear fluid from Penny's ruptured ear drum. She wasn't in pain anymore, as the pressure was alleviated when her eardrum burst. Also, the eardrum is a remarkable thing—it can heal itself. But I felt like a negligent monster. I see kids with draining ears all the time at work, but having it happen to your own child really puts things into perspective. Penny's ear oozed goo for a couple of days; they don't tell you in school that it will get all over clothes and bedsheets and and matted in hair. Yuck.


No fever and no pain; time to mess with the cat.



Anyway, we survived. I was able to pack up my office that weekend, thanks again to Britt, who helped with everything behind the scenes, and I started my new job last Monday. Whew. Looks like I'll be bringing Penny in to see some friends of mine to make sure her ear heals.

The Ups and the Downs and the Screams in Between

Part of my slacking off with regular posting is because we've settled into a rather nice routine, a comfortable, regular routine, and there hasn't been much to report, really. My days off with Penny are sublime, and I look forward to spending time with her. We get up, eat breakfast, go to dance or to story time, we eat lunch and watch Sesame Street, we take a nap (and sometimes I actually exercise instead), we get up again, we make dinner. Nice, right? On the days I go to work, Penny gets to play with her Grandma and they pretty much do whatever they feel like, and then I pick Penny up and she tells me about her day. The good days are very, very good. I can't believe my good fortune.

But there are bad days too. I'm amazed at how quickly my mood changes, depending on Penny's mood. If she's cranky, I am instantly cranky. I have to consciously remind myself that I'm the adult. She angrily SHOUTS demands like a tiny dictator. Where does she get it? Not from me, I swear! I'm polite! I tell her a million times a day to say "please" after each command she issues. Surely there will be a point where she will remember to include it on her own. She does often say, "Thank you, Mama." And that makes me so happy, I can't even tell you.



Meanwhile, she's rude to other people! Especially to her Grandpas. I don't know what that's about. Random people in the store compliment her, and she recoils, shouting, "Nooo!" I'm glad she has stranger danger because that's a good survival skill, but at some point this behavior won't be acceptable. So I'm trying to combat it by modeling polite responses to people, by asking her to say hello, by encouraging her to at least give her Grandpa a high-five if she doesn't feel like hugging him or saying goodbye. Please tell me other children are this stubborn and dramatic.

The drama doesn't end when Penny goes to sleep. Most nights she sleeps fine, but there are some nights were she wakes up screaming. It makes me bolt upright in bed from a dead sleep. So I rush to her bed, to see what's wrong. And she'll ask for water in a perfectly normal voice. What? I thought you were dying! I don't know if she has nightmares, and jolts awake, and if that's so unsettling she screams? She has a little night light, so it's not completely dark in her room. Maybe I should finally convert her crib into a bed so she won't feel trapped? Maybe the crib helps her feel contained and safe? I don't know!

It's plain to me that with each new phase of development, I feel like a brand new parent. I've never had a two (almost three) year old. Just when I think I've got this parenting thing down, my toddler throws me a curve ball and I feel totally incompetent. But tomorrow is always another day, a fresh start. A chance to be the rational, even-tempered mother (and adult) I know I am.

Remind me to rant about the potty next time (another source of frustration and the ultimate power struggle). I've complained enough about my sweet babe for one evening.

Also: Penny announced the other night that Miss Piggy is her favorite Muppet, so that might explain a few things.

To React, or Not?

We are in the thick of toddler life, which means that we are mostly having a lot of fun. Penny cheerfully converses (with me and her dolls) all the live-long day, and she's gotten really good at entertaining herself while I'm cooking and cleaning and doing all of those other things that have to be done. But more than ever, I'm faced with myriad on-the-spot decisions about how to react in any given moment, and it hurts my head. I'm constantly asking myself, "How big of a deal is this, really? What should my reaction be?"

Example 1: Penny is etching the kitchen cabinet with a ball point pen.

Example 2: Penny is constantly sniffing air in and out of her nose to a certain rhythm, even though it isn't running and she doesn't seem to need a kleenex.

Example 3: Penny is dawdling all the way to the car, and once she's in the car, she refuses to get in her car seat, saying, "This how my sit?" as she sits on the cupholders across from her seat. "This how my sit, Mama?"

Example 4: Penny declaring she WANTS to go to time out.

See what I mean? #1 was kind of a big deal, but we'd never actually had a conversation about not scribbling on walls or cabinets before, and since that wasn't some innate kernel of knowledge already stored in her brain, how was she supposed to know? I reminded her that we only draw on paper, not on walls or on cabinets, and she hasn't done it since, nor did she fall apart when she thought she was in trouble, which is an improvement from past experience(s).

#2 drove me absolutely crazy, and she knew it too, which is why she kept doing it. I got her to stop by threatening to use the "booger sucker," which she despises.

#3. This tests my patience to the absolute limit. The dawdling, the messing around, the not getting in her seat. The problem is, I'm usually in a hurry to get somewhere, and then I feel like crap for rushing around all the time and not letting her take her time. Why are we always in such a hurry? Why is it so important to sit right down in her seat? And when she says, "This how my sit?" it is really funny. So I usually try not to laugh go along with it, as long as it isn't raining or snowing on me while I'm trying to get her in her seat.

#4. At the point where I've threatened a time out, and she agrees that it should happen, time out ensues. Call my bluff, will you? Plus I've started adding a minute. Then she's usually ok, as though she really did need a couple of minutes to think about things.

Then there are other thorny issues, like constantly agonizing over whether or not to make her try new things, so she can "be brave," or letting her just be herself. If I intentionally put her in situations she doesn't like, am I forcing her to be someone she's not? How will she know if she likes something if she doesn't try it? Where can I find that balance without adding pressure? This came up at Lagoon, obviously, but there are little things every day, like not wanting to pick a song during toddler group, or not doing something in dance class that everyone else is doing. And I usually just say, "That's fine, you don't have to." Because I don't think I need to be a complete jerk. Because at the end of the day, it's not that big of a deal when you're two. I have to remember that she's only two!



And then there's potty training. We are using cloth diapers 50% of the time at this juncture, which is mostly because I work part time. I'm so tempted to go cold turkey and buy real underwear and have potty boot camp, but the other part of me wants to wait until she warms up to the idea more. But when will that be? If I don't have her try it every day, will she ever want to do it on her own? I have no idea. Will the kinder-gentler approach eventually yield a result, or should I be trying harder to make "potty time" consistent? Do I need to resort to tangible reinforcement with little rewards? I'm not sure I want to go there. Do I even want to push the issue over the break when we'll be traveling a lot in the near future, or should I seize the next 5 days?

Parenting is hard. Note to self: She's only two.

The Little Napoleon

Help! I have a two year old on my hands! I'm not sure where this tiny dictator came from, but she won't listen to reason and loses decorum in the blink of an eye. Where is my sweet baby? Where is my obedient, well behaved, sweet-natured child? Why has she had it with me and logic?

Here are some things I learned this weekend:

1. When in doubt, bring something cool from home. If you are out in public, say, at a friend's baby shower, and someone had the foresight to bring an enjoyable toy for their child, but you forgot to bring something for your own child, you know, because you were at a PARK, and because that should have been entertainment enough, if you expect your child to take turns with said awesome toy, you'd better have something amazing you can produce out of thin air, otherwise, your child will throw the biggest fit of the century in front of everyone, including the expectant couple, who might suddenly regret their impending entry into parenthood. Biggest. Fit. Ever. I had to pry Penny's fingers from her friend's toy, while she was screaming, "MINE! MINE!" For a second, I thought her head might start rotating on her shoulders. We retreated to the swings so she could calm down long enough to hear me explain how turn-taking works. And then it didn't work, all over again.

2. Choose your battles. Let's say you are in the magical land of IKEA, just because you enjoy fantasizing about remodeling your sucky kitchen, and you like to wander around showrooms in your spare time, and your child balks at riding in the cart, but refuses to leave each model bedroom you encounter, because she would prefer to play Goldilocks with each bed, and walking a mere three yards to the next room is a battle that repeats itself over and over to infinity and beyond, maybe it's best to just let your child play while you send your sister on to fantasise without you. You know, because you don't want a repeat of the Biggest. Fit. Ever. Eventually, Penny became so worn out, she capitulated to the cart by the time we were done. Yes! We dodged that one.

Meanwhile, as you are getting ready for work the next morning, and your child insists on taking all of her new cups and plates and bowls to Grandma's (purchased from the IKEA adventure), and you say that she can take one plate and one bowl and one cup, and instead she slips all of the cups and 2 of the bowls into the bag while you aren't looking, maybe it's ok to just let it go, because you have better things to do than to fight with a two year old, and at least she left the plates.

3. Offer choices. When you're at the park, and your child is tired of riding her fabulous new trike, but you are still some distance from you car, offer a choice: You can ride your trike, or you can walk. No, you can't haphazardly push your trike into innocent bystanders. No, I can't carry you that far, besides, I have to push this fabulous trike you suddenly don't feel like riding. Hmm, maybe holding mom's hand and walking and finding birds and squirrels isn't so bad after all.


Don't cross her.

It's not all horrible. When Penny gets mad, she angrily storms off, elbows swinging, to an adjacent room, stands there for a minute, and then returns, saying, "I happy now." Whew, that's a relief. But sweet Baby Jesus, how are we going to survive the next 11 months? Oh, and people need to stop telling me that 3 is worse than 2. I really don't need to hear that.

Failure to Thrive

Ordinarily I try to stick to writing about Penny, but what kind of mommy blogger would I be if I didn't occasionally rant about something else? This week, Jamal, the baby giraffe at our zoo, died in his enclosure. He was 8 months old, and hadn't been growing, so the cause was determined to be "failure to thrive." When I read about it in the paper, my first response was shock, then sadness, then outrage. Why did this happen? Did they do everything they could? Why wasn't he growing at a normal rate? There will be a federal investigation into Jamal's death, which may or may not be conclusive.

I'm not an animal expert, so maybe I shouldn't criticize or point fingers. But I am a patron of the zoo. I have voted for initiatives to help fund projects and new enclosures for the animals. I'm glad I had the chance to see little Jamal this fall, and I'm sad that he's gone. His death is not helping me resolve my conflicting feelings about zoos. I'm not sure giraffes are suited for our climate, at least part of the year, so maybe we have no business turning them into attractions in the first place. I've never liked the concrete enclosure at our zoo, but is it realistic to demand a reproduction of an African savanna in the Rocky Mountains?



But in spite of all that, how does his mother feel? Does she miss him? As mammals, they must have bonded on some level, mother and baby. And what about this vague "failure to thrive" diagnosis? At first I didn't think it was a satisfactory answer. But then I started thinking about that really scary moment we had with Penny after she was born, when I thought she was nursing enough, but she wasn't, because my milk supply was practically nonexistent. I can see how the inability to grow properly could happen to anyone, even to giraffes.

I know animals die every day, in the wild, in captivity, in slaughterhouses across the country. Hell, I'm an omnivore, so I am responsible for the death of something, every day. But that doesn't mean I can't be sentimental about Jamal's death. That doesn't mean I can't question the circumstances or think more critically about how animals are treated.

Rest in peace, little guy. Thank you for giving me pause.