Sep
7
This morning was my daughter’s first gym class at the Little Gym. And she was two and a half. In the usual way.
I think the classes will be a great thing for her. She will learn about what a teacher is, and learn to follow instruction, and share, and take turns, as well as all the movement and gymnastic-type things. But in order for all this stuff to occur, we have to get past the two and a half business.
Being two and a half means squirming and fussing when you should be sitting and listening. It means wandering off and exploring when you should be paying attention. It means dancing to the beat of your own drummer when you should be following the rhythm of the song that we’re all singing. It means barging into lines and taking other kids’ turns and running round and round and round in circles on one side of the room when everybody else is learning a skill on the other side of the room.
Le sigh. My kid was SO VERY two and a half today.
But the thing I like best about the Little Gym classes is that they are totally okay with that. They encourage kids to explore (safely), and express themselves (safely), and figure things out on their own (safely), and try things when they are ready and gain confidence (safely). The instructor will tell the parents at the start of class that if a child wanders around to explore, let him. Just keep an eye on him to be sure he is safe, but encourage his exploration and independence. When there’s a group activity going on, as parents we are encouraged to just participate and let the child come back and join in when they are comfortable enough or interested enough to do so. Stuff like that.
They do seem to understand kids.
So I was okay with the whole Cheese debacle this morning.
Now, the Cheese is a big ol’ crashpad shaped… well, like a wedge of cheese. It’s triangular. Whether it transmits subliminal messages that only Stinkerbelle can hear, or it has some undetected Stinkerbelle magnetic power or something, I don’t know. But whatever the reason, from the second we are asked to sit on the big activity mat in a circle to start class and sing some songs, That Baby is all “WHOA. I NEED TO GO ON THE CHEESE. OR I WILL DIE.”
I spent half the morning calling her to join us in the circle, as she bounced and marched and rolled around and periodically laid down for a tiny rest on the slope of the Cheese. She would come over and do a couple things, run in a circle with all of us, whatever, but the moment there was a break in the action, she was all CHEESE CHEESE CHEESE CHEEEEEEESE.
And then, after chatting up some of the finer selling points of the other pieces of equipment and nifty mats and other fun things to do, I finally I got her distracted long enough from the Cheese to walk on the balance beam.
“OMG THE BEAM DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN WALK ON IT BACK AND FORTH AND BACK AND FORTH OMG IT IS THE BESTEST I MUST WALK BACK AND FORTH NOW A BILLION TIMES OR I WILL DIE!!11!1!1!!eleventy!11!1″
So that was a hit. And she walked back and forth across the beam, bellowing “WALK-ING! WALK-ING! WALK-ING!” for another ten minutes, as the class went on around us. I was grateful — at least I was working with her, and she was having fun, and it was not the damn Cheese.
And then the class moved on to their “skills” section, which was: learning to do a roll DOWN THE CHEESE.
OHMYDOG THE HUMANITY.
That Baby was BESIDE herself with The Excitement. We were going to PLAY ON THE CHEESE! ALL TOGETHER! “OKAAAAAY! AWWWWWWWWRIIIIIIGHT!” So, as the teacher tried to guide the children in how to do a barrel roll down the Cheese, there was Stinkerbelle, barging into the lineup, marching up the Cheese when kids were rolling down, shouting about the Cheese, and causing three-kid pileups wherever possible.
It’s fair to say that she was being about as two and a half as she could POSSIBLY be.
I was, as you might imagine, duly mortified.
But then, the good thing about classes at the Little Gym is that while my kid is being a two and a half year old weenie, she’s not alone. There was the little boy who wailed and sobbed and cried whenever we moved on to anything new (which was every couple of minutes). There was the little boy who would sit down to play with something with Stinkerbelle and then just take it away from her again, and again, and again. There was the little girl who did not want to try ANYTHING that the class was doing. AT ALL. There was the little girl who insisted on having ALL THE BALLS.
So in actual fact, my kid fit RIGHT IN. The Cheese may stand alone, but she’s in good company.
It’s a blast. It’s chaos, to be sure, but it is mostly merry chaos, and two and a half year olds can be exactly who they are and have a whale of a time doing it.
By the end of class, when bubbles were blown and hands were stamped (I had to make mention of the fact that today’s colour of ink stamp, brown, might not work well on children with brown skin, just sayin’, and maybe not yellow either, how about blue?) and it was time to leave, Stinkerbelle was worn out. She was pooped right out. We sat down to get our shoes on and she said, quite emphatically, “BED!”
Anything that is that much fun for her and wears her out so entirely is totally 100% worth the money we paid for it. (Not to mention the Child Fitness Tax Credit. WOOT!)
So my child is now tucked up in bed having a long, deep sleep. And I myself am pretty pooped out too, I can’t lie.
What I wouldn’t give right now to have a nap. And a Cheese of my own to crash out on.
Aug
11
These are the dog days of summer. At least, I think they are — because honestly, I don’t know what, exactly, the “dog days” are. If, by “dog days”, they mean OMFG IT’S TOO FRICKING HOT AND HUMID then, yes, they are. What, do dogs sweat a lot or something? Because the phrase “sweating like a pig” also comes to mind, and, in that case, perhaps they should be called the “pig days of summer”.
There you go. I’ve coined a phrase, and a catchy one at that. And at the same time, I’ve let the dogs off the hook for the responsibility for these arsingly humid days. AND I’ve given pigs some much-needed facetime in current vernacular. So. You’re welcome.
Anyway, it’s frigging hot. But for whatever reason, I’ve chosen these days to DO ALL THE THINGS. Which could indicate that the heat is melting my brain. I am running around doing errands and making calls and going to the grocery store like some kind of wizard.
In a car with busted air conditioning. Yep. Heat melting my brain.
It’s okay. If we’re not outside doing things, then we are at home and That Baby is shouting “WHY! WHY! WHY!” at me, to indicate “PUT ‘SUPERWHY’ ON THE TELEVISION, YOU STUPID WOMAN, FOR THE LOVE OF DOG I AM BORED”. So rather than hear the SuperWhy themesong ONE. MORE. TIME., we go out.
Today, we went and did a name change for Stinkerbelle’s health card. It’s just one more tiny part in the endless bureaucracy of adopting a child, and one we have been slacking about. So we booked an appointment for today, and off we went.
Nine in the morning is a fair time to drive one’s air-conditioning-deficient car on a stupidly hot and humid day. It is still cool and the fans are blowing cool air on the occupants. So we arrived cool and fresh as a daisy at the government office.
And OMG what an office! This is one sexy building. Cool and terraced inside with glass and tile and the smell of government money — it was NICE. I may just go sit in the lobby on the next hot day and let Stinkerbelle run round and round in the revolving door.
But today was not for such amusements. Today we had an APPOINTMENT. So while That Baby shouted her brains out about doG knows what and did her high-steppin’-I-got-the-rhythm-in-me-I-can’t-stop-it thing all around the office, I did the paperwork for her name change.
It went mercifully quickly, and we got out while it was still cool-ish.
So, feeling optimistic, I decided we should head over to The Little Gym and have a little look-see and check things out. Which we did. And, as the temperature in my tin can car got exponentially hotter as we drove along, by the time we arrived I was sweaty like I had jogged there.
The woman at the desk was pleasant, and asked if we had 45 minutes to try a class out and see if we liked it.
This was a surprise, but I figured, hey — air conditioning. So I said yes.
A word to the wise: Air conditioning means little in an industrial building full of running around kids. Just sayin’.
But we stayed, and we participated, and it was good. It was good enough to convince me that this would be a good program for Stinkerbelle.
So, at the end, I said we’ll sign up for the September session.
And she said, “That will be $375 please.”
GULP.
I hesitated. I had scanned their website sixteen ways from Sunday and had not seen a fee schedule. All I saw was that a membership cost $35, and so, somewhat naively I grant you, I just assumed…
No. It was much, MUCH more than that.
I tried not to stagger backwards and hiding my surprise behind oh-so-cool stammering, stuttering and waffling, I debated walking away. But Stinkerbelle really enjoyed herself, and the program would be very good for her. And it was almost 6 months of exercise, interaction with other kids, and organized class time.
So, we’d have to cut out one of the other programs in town we wanted to register her for in order to afford this one. Fortunately, my attempts to sign her up for another program yesterday failed SPECTACULARLY — do not ASK me to recount it for you; suffice it to say it involved a voice message that essentially said, “We know that demand for these programs is high, but even though our advertising says ‘Call this number to register’, we are not answering the phones to register people. You should come and register in person. But we know that not everyone can do this. So, if you leave a phone message, we won’t call you back. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”
Soooo… Decision made. (The Little Gym will get your money, government organization bastards. HAHAHAHAHAHA.)
I registered That Baby for her program, and off we went, out the door considerably poorer and into the scorching midday heat. Where we got into our mobile sauna of a vehicle and drove off to the grocery store.
Sweat pouring off us, we did a quick run into the mercifully air-conditioned grocery store for a couple of items for supper. I am making calzones for dinner, so I wanted to buy some pre-made bread dough. If you have not purchased this before, it can be found in a freezer in the bakery and it costs next to nothing. You let it rise when you get home and voila! Instant fresh bread.
Except when you have to drive in zillion-degree heat. In which case, your bag of bread dough goes POOF! and puffs up like a startled cat in the three minutes it takes to drive home.
Le sigh.
So this afternoon, it’s a couple of episodes of SuperWhy in the air conditioned comfort of Stinkerbelle’s playroom, followed by a dunk in the kiddie pool in the backyard. To be followed by more air-conditioned goodness. And poofy calzones.
And tomorrow, when it is stinking hot again, rather than get a bee in my bonnet to run off and do some stupid errands, I’m planning to do exactly nothing and leaving the day to the dogs. Or the pigs. Whatever.
Aug
10
Summer will soon be drawing to a close, and so in many communities, it’s that time again: the time for registering children for their fall and winter activities.
For Stinkerbelle, this is a Very Big Deal. She is coming to an age where she will be soon be able to participate in a whole bunch of new activities, things she has had no exposure to before. Things like dance classes, sports programs, social programs and memberships generally start when a child is 3 or 4, and at almost 2 1/2, Stinkerbelle is going to be able to attend some pre-preschool sorts of things this fall.
She needs to get into some programs. While having a stay-at-home mom is a benefit to lots of kids, one of the drawbacks is that, unless the child’s mom is well connected with friends with children, the kid’s going to spend a lot of time playing alone. Stinkerbelle sure does. So it is time for her to get out and meet new kids and play and socialize.
When we met That Baby, two years ago now, the caregivers we spoke to said she was a very social baby. If she fussed or cried, all they had to do was put her down next to another child and she was as happy as can be. She loves other children, and always has done. So I feel bad that she was saddled with a mom who is old and has few friends with kids her age, and one that is unable to connect with other moms well enough to have playmates for her to visit.
She needs some time with other kids. It’s time.
So I have been spending some time this week looking at what to enroll her in for the fall. I don’t want to overprogram her; as a minor sports coach, I have seen kids who are way overprogrammed by their overly ambitious parents, and it is not pretty. But I do want to find a couple of programs she can attend during the week and have some fun.
First off, we always look at swimming. Stinkerbelle loves swimming (her visit to Grammy and Grandad’s and her reluctance to get in the pool we’ll put down to her being sick). The problem with swimming lessons is the age divisions. When That Baby started swimming lessons, she was a Duck. The Duck age division is something like 1 year to 3 years of age. That means that she has been a Duck for 3 sessions of lessons already, and will be for two more.
Even for a water baby like Stinkerbelle, it’s a bit repetitive.
So we are going to have to find something a little different. I want to keep her swimming, and so maybe a program that combines activities and playtime AND swimming might be in order. Or, maybe we’ll have to just suck it up and be Ducks again this year.
Another option I want to pursue is to enroll her in our local Little Gym. Stinkerbelle really seems to love running and jumping and the like, so maybe a gym class might be something fun for her. It’s also a segue into some gymnastics and dance and karate classes as she grows, if she likes the Little Gym and the environment. So we will probably give it a try.
So, that will be two days a week. That’s pretty good.
We’ve also got some drop-in programs at our Early Years Centre, as well as offered by the various social programs in town, that we could look into. I am hopeful that some of these might appeal to us as well. That way, when it is getting colder and we are feeling housebound, we can get out of the house and play for a couple of hours.
What we really need is a regular, reliable playdate, for some fun, unstructured playtime. Our weekly playdates will be ending shortly as Stinkerbelle’s little buddy will be going to daycare and his mom off to work, so we won’t have that time to get out and play as we are used to. So, that’s something I am going to have to work on.
Soon, I am also going to have to find some structured programs for That Baby where I just drop her off for a morning or two somewhere. You know, something preschool-like. Gah. Can time be flying that quickly, that we’re soon going to have to start thinking about preschool? Well, not this year, but this time next year, she’ll be 3 and it will be time. So we have to start looking to reserve a spot.
That prospect intimidates me to no end. And saddens me. Our time with Stinkerbelle as a baby seems to have gone by so fast. Too fast. And when I think of the fact that there probably won’t ever be another baby in our house…
Excuse me. I have something in my EYE.
In the meantime, I have to continue to find things for That Baby to do in the fall and winter. She will have a busy social life — certainly moreso than her mom, at this rate.
I can’t lie — I am comforted by the fact that we still have to plan her social life around naptime. My baby is still a baby for a little bit longer.
Jul
23
It’s been a busy week here at the House of Peevish. Some weeks are like that. But it has been “good” busy, so that helps a lot.
- Early in the week, we managed to get out for a walk on an overcast morning. We walked up to That Baby’s favourite park. It was amazing how still and quiet it was. Everybody was either at work or out of town for holidays, it seems, because it was quieter still than a regular work day morning. So we played there for awhile, and then began to explore. We followed a path into the nearby schoolyard, only to find a path leading through some trees to a hidden park. Houses were built around the perimeter of this grassy space, where there was a baseball field and a soccer field and some climbing equipment and a slide. It is all completely hidden from the roads and neighbourhoods around, and completely sheltered and green and quiet. We’ve lived here ten years, and walked by hundreds of times, and I never knew it was there. It’s like a secret garden.
- My kid is a water baby. She loves to be in the water (provided it is warm enough). Just like her parents. I am amazed at how brave she is. Yesterday we went for our regular play date with our friends, and they suggested we go swimming in another friend’s pool. Well, hot and sunny… OF COURSE WE WILL. So we got there and got our gear on and off we went to the pool. Stinkerbelle went in without hesitation — well, a little hesitation, and she got used to the temperature of the water — and within minutes she was jumping in off the side of the pool. She has no problem going underwater, although her standard response to any exciting or interesting situation is an open-mouthed, open-armed “O-face”, and so whenever she’s excited and in the water, she ends up getting a snoot-full of water. So under she would go, and I’d haul her up and out and onto the pool side coughing and sputtering but grinning, where she would choke out “MORE! MORE! MORE!” and leap off the side again. She even went off the slide a few times yesterday. The kid’s part fish.
- Stinkerbelle has some issues with eating — specifically, she won’t eat anything that is a) not pureed to some degree, or 2) not solid and crunchy. She likes the taste of almost everything we offer, but she can’t seem to handle the textures. This makes mealtime a challenge as she will choke on things, doesn’t chew, and will cry if she thinks she can’t handle swallowing something. She doesn’t self-feed much, because we’re so concerned with keeping her full and her weight up that we can’t afford to spill much. Mealtimes can take hours. So we have been concerned about this for some time. Related to this, her speech is not progressing as it should be. Her communication is advanced; her speech is not. So we’ve been stressing. On Wednesday, we finally got our appointment for an assessment with a KidsAbility team of an occupational therapist and a speech therapist. It was FANTASTIC. We were relieved to find that she hasn’t likely got any sensory disorder issues, because of the things she CAN do. So that was good. What we have learned is that she is delayed in eating and speech, most likely by the first five months she spent in the transition home in Ethiopia. As they had one standard size of bottles, nipples and soothers for all the children, it likely was too much for her to handle as an infant. That first 6 months of oral development is key, and hers was likely affected by the giant, fast-flow nipples and whatnot. Therefore, the sensors in her mouth did not get a chance to learn to cope properly with what she was being given, and she is still learning to cope with different shapes and textures, and learning what is safe and what she can handle. So, we have a lot of work ahead of us, but we were relieved to find that it’s very easily remedied with time and patience.
- Based on the assessment we had, which was so much fun — they played with Stinkerbelle and were so impressed by how bright and funny she is, and once they had her belly laughing they were COMPLETELY smitten — we got a few referrals. We’ll be seeing a speech therapist to work on speech and an occupational therapist to work on chewing and the technical stuff around eating. We’ll also be seeing a nutritionist to help us plan out her introduction of new foods and textures, as well as how to load up her food nutritionally until we get fully into the solid stuff. We’re also signed up to be part of an organization called Trellis, which is a huge community resource that we can use to find specialists, childcare resources, day cares, and other resources for us and for That Baby until she is school aged. It sounds really awesome. I never realized how much is out there for parents to access to help raise their kids. But my favourite part of the assessment was hearing the therapists say “Oh, we can’t WAIT to write up this assessment! It’s going to be so much fun! Stinkerbelle is just AWESOME!” It’s great to get validation that your kid is doing well, and that as a parent, you’re not screwing up. All that worry has just vanished, knowing that my kid is healthy and happy.
- We are working on documentation for Stinkerbelle’s citizenship. (“Ontario — where paperwork is a way of life.”) After having our paperwork for her name change rejected THREE TIMES, once it finally came back we were all “SCREW YOU, GOVERNMENT” and could not face doing any more for a little while. But now we are back at it, and we needed some photos for our citizenship application. So off we went to the mall to get photos done. And let me tell you, taking passport photos of a toddler is no mean feat. The photographer got her to stand atop a step stool. Keeping a toddler ON a step stool, and still enough to photograph is, we have learned, a LOT of work. We had to make sure Daddy was not in the shot, so holding her up there while keeping out of camera sight took some coordination. Then, we had to get her looking AT the camera, which involved me standing behind the cameraman, who was waving a fuzzy toy bunny at her, and me also waving a toy, and simultaneously calling her name, snapping fingers and/or clapping. We finally got a shot fit to print. And, having seen it, now we don’t want to give it away to the citizenship people, because it is so CUTE.
A busy week, to be sure. But it was a good one. And now, the humidest, rainiest day of the summer thus far is upon us. So, aside from a trip to the grocery store (if we even do that), it will be nice to have a down day.
Jul
19
One of the things I was dreading about becoming a mom was Mommy Politics.
In many respects, a lot of women never leave high school. They may be older, and have children and homes and cars, but they are still the same girls jockeying for popularity and being catty to each other that they were as teenagers. And that is when you see the Mommy Politics come out.
I was never good at the teenaged girl thing. I didn’t try to be one of the popular girls, and I went to an all-girls high school after one year of a public high school taught me I’d had enough of the cliquey-ness and the popularity contests and all that. An all girls’ school leaves you lots of room to be anonymous and blend in, and there’s usually a group for everybody so there’s little exclusion.
But now that I am a mom, I am noticing it still exists, and among grown women who you’d think would know better.
We have a neighbour who is not a very nice woman. She’s always jockeying to be the Queen Bitch of the Cool Mommies Club. She has a reputation as a nasty gossip, and if you watch her body language as you approach, you will see that same lean-in heads-together whispering-behind-the-hand that you remembered the “cool” girls did to you in high school.
I do not like her, having seen her bitchiness in action for years now. And it’s pretty clear that she doesn’t like me. It could be because I am not a girly mom, or I am fat, or I don’t dress well, or maybe because I became a mom later than the rest. I don’t know. Doesn’t really matter.
She is friends with the woman across the street, who has two small children, one of whom is Stinkerbelle’s age, and the other who is four. Sometimes, the kids and their mom will come out and talk to us, or come across the way and let the kids play all together in front our our house.
And invariably, at these times, The Queen will come out of her house up the street, and holler at the four-year-old, interrupting whatever conversation that might be going in between his mother and I. But what is more irritating is that she will call him to come over and see her.
What that does is take the four-year-old out of the play mix. So then, his little two-year-old sister will follow. And that means, their mom will have to follow and at best, retrieve them, but usually stand and supervise as they get involved with playing at The Queen’s house.
And that leaves little Stinkerbelle, standing alone in our yard, with nobody to play with. All because this woman does not like me.
Now, Stinkerbelle is two. I am working hard to set boundaries for where she can play safely, and she is very good about obeying those boundaries. So this woman knows, if she calls the kids away, Stinkerbelle cannot follow.
She’s not proven in the past to be a nice person, so I don’t want Stinkerbelle over there at the best of times. But it is a matter of principle for me to ensure that I stick to consistent boundaries and not allow Stinkerbelle to wander out of the safety of our yard, so even if this woman was not so horrid, I still feel it is important to keep to the rules when out with That Baby.
I have tried to wander over to this woman’s house when she has done this in the past, supervising and extending the boundaries in order to allow That Baby to continue playing with her friends. But when that happens, The Queen makes a point of ignoring her anyway. So what happens is that Stinkerbelle is left standing in a stranger’s driveway while her friends are taken up onto the porch or into the garage and read to or played with or whatever.
In those times that I have tagged along, The Queen has made a point of manipulating the conversations with the mom of Stinkerbelle’s two playmates to things that the two of them have in common and, essentially, excluding me from their conversation. Or, more pointedly, taking our mutual neighbour aside completely to leave me standing with nobody to talk to.
It’s all very high school. And so I choose not to play. When she comes out now, I stick to the rules — Stinkerbelle must stay within her boundaries, and I stay and play with her. At least, if she and I stay in our yard, she still can run and play, even if it is just with me, and neither of us gets treated like shit.
And since I am not a very social sort, it’s not a big deal for them to ignore me. But what is hard is watching my little girl, who was having such a lovely playtime with her little friends, suddenly left standing, alone, on the sidewalk.
I can handle the cruelty and the bitchiness of high school. I have been there, and moved on. But my little girl has years to go before she should have to deal with the cattiness of other women. It breaks my heart to see her open, trusting face fall as she, at the age of two, falls victim to Mommy Politics.
Jul
15
It is yet another steamy week here in Suburbiaville. It is uncomfortably humid and warm. This means that it will be freezing cold and rainy for the one week we have booked to go home to Nova Scotia for a visit, as well as teeming with mosquitoes, and there will be a coating of ice on the pool.
Le sigh.
Today, we will be going for our regular weekly playdate with friends, except today? We are going swimming. This is good and bad.
It is good, obviously, for the fact that we can beat the heat and humidity for a little while. I like this. It is also good because this is the one day of the week where I can sometimes have our SUV to drive. My almost-fifteen-year-old car no longer has functioning air conditioning — the car’s worth $1500, and it would cost that much to fix or replace the A/C, so that’s a big NO — so on days when it is very hot and we have to drive to visit our friends, BDH lets me take the truck and he takes my car.
He’s a good man. A good man, who is right now sweating and putt-putt-putting along on his way to work, deafened by 4×60 air conditioning.
But back to swimming. It is also good because That Baby loves the water. She loves to splash and paddle and jump. She loves to float on her back in a life jacket. Mind you, swimming lessons were months ago, a distant memory in Toddler Time, so perhaps she will get to the pool today and freak out and DEAR DOG WHAT IS THAT THING FULL OF WATER??? It’s hard to say. But I think she will have fun.
Now, it’s not all sunshine and skittles, this swimming thing. For one thing, this means I HAVE TO BE SEEN IN A SWIMSUIT. There comes a certain age where you figure that when you purchase a swimsuit, it should also come with a supply of protective goggles for all those around you who must be subjected to the horror of Middle Aged Woman In Bathing Suit.
I have reached that age. It’s like trying to pack twenty pounds of sausage in a five-pound bag.
Normally, it’s not so bad if you are going to be somewhere, like swimming lessons, where you are surrounded by people who are also mom-shaped and enduring the trauma of wearing a bathing suit when they really do not want to. But today, we will be around people we KNOW. People who I would rather only see me fully clothed from head to toe — possibly even in a parka to hide all the unfortunateness of my mid-life figure. But I can’t, so I will suck it up because my kid wants to swim.
The other unfortunate thing…
*****TMI ALERT! TMI ALERT!*****
*****LOOK AWAY, SENSITIVE TYPES!! THIS MEANS YOU!!*****
*****PROCEED WITH CAUTION!!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!! *****
The other unfortunate thing about going out in public in a swimsuit, is that, as a woman, and in particular a Stay-at-Home Mom type of Woman, it involves a fair amount of *ahem* “Womanscaping”.
If you are a SAHM, some days you are lucky to have even put on clothes that didn’t have some sort of stain or food substance or boogers or whatever on it, let alone wear something nice. Showers are, some days, a distant yet pleasant dream. You get up and put on WHATEVER and stumble through your days.
So on days when you actually DO manage to get showered and shampooed and shiny clean, tending the Ladygardens is the last thing on your mind. So when faced with the prospect of wearing a swimsuit in public, it requires a level of awareness and preparation that requires digging into the distant long-ago reaches of your consciousness, when you used to be an Attractive and Social Human Being.
I mean, oh my DOG. You want me to WHAT??? WHERE??
It’s not for the faint of heart.
*****END TMI ALERT. YOU ARE SAFE NOW.*****
It’s a dodgy proposition, this going swimming business. I mean, I don’t even know if I remember how to swim. I might just land in the water and sink like a rock. A fat, spandex-encased, well-groomed rock.
But you do these things for your kids. Because you love them. And you hope they will remember, and choose a nice home to put you in when you are old.
One without a swimming pool, of course.
Jul
14
If ever there was a doubt in anyone’s mind that That Baby was meant to be my daughter, it was completely, 100%, completely erased yesterday.
Yesterday, on the 25th anniversary of LiveAid, we began our day of listening to the performances from that day in 1985 with what has been recognized as the greatest live rock performance of all time: Queen’s set at Wembley.
Over her morning waffle, Stinkerbelle sat riveted, bopping her head and telling me “Boy! Walk!” as Freddie strutted around the stage in front of her. She was enchanted.
And then, in due course, the clip was over.
And That Baby? Her little face just crumpled, and she CRIED. She began to wail with a great sadness. And cried “MORE! MORE! MORE!”, big tears rolling down her cheeks.
I was so proud. My kid loves, REALLY LOVES, music. Just like her mama.
We watched Freddie a bunch more times yesterday, That Baby singing along, and once breakfast was done, she spun and hopped and danced around the kitchen. My little African rock-and-roll baby, singing along with me to the original, the great, African-Asian rock star, celebrating the day of music and awareness that began life’s pull on me towards Africa.
Sometimes, the fates get it right.
Jun
16
I had a moment of pure joy yesterday, because I was lucky enough to observe a moment of pure joy.
I took my daughter out for a walk yesterday afternoon. We walk around the block and she pushes her babies in their stroller. She gets some exercise and fresh air and a change in her environment and gets to see people and things. And I get… something. Anyway. It’s something we enjoy doing.
Our street is full of small children, and many of them are Stinkerbelle’s age, or close to it. Across from us is a little almost-2 year old girl and her big brother, who is almost 5, and next door to them is a quiet 7 year old girl. A few doors down is a little almost-2 year old boy and his sister Leah who is probably 4. Up the street are two sisters, aged 5 and 9, and next door to them are two girls aged 4 and 7. Up the street further still is a shy little fellow, too shy at 3 to speak to us but not too shy to walk around the neighbourhood in his new big boy underpants, and his sister Rachel, who loves Stinkerbelle’s hairdos and regularly asks her mom to imitate them — a challenge with her fine, wavy blonde hair.
There are more, many more, but they are the closest.
Anyway, we often see kids when we are out walking, and That Baby loves to see them and yearns to play with them, but she is usually too little. Or, more accurately, they don’t know her because her somewhat antisocial, older and unpretty mom doesn’t know their younger, thinner, wealthier moms, and so they don’t want to play with her. This has been bothering me, that my daughter may not have friends on our street to play with because I don’t have friends on our street that I play with. So I have been making great efforts recently to say hello to parents and kids we pass when we are out walking, rather than just quietly shepherd That Baby by as I have grown accustomed to doing.
It takes a lot of effort. It is not what I am good at.
Anyway, back to yesterday. I decided to take Stinkerbelle out for a walk. She grabbed her stroller and her babies and off we went. We started up the sidewalk, up the hill. We were pushing along up the hill, when, about 100 yards away at the top of the hill, two little girls appeared on the sidewalk. It was Leah, on a bike, and Rachel, walking.
Then I heard the most wonderful sound. Leah and Rachel began shouting, “MOM! It’s Stinkerbelle! Stinkerbelle is out! Mom! MOM! STINKERBELLE IS HERE!” And I saw them dancing with impatience.
Stinkerbelle heard her name and looked up. Leah and Rachel were rushing down the sidewalk towards us, calling her name.
And that is when I saw the most incredible look of pure joy come across Stinkerbelle’s face.
FRIENDS.
It was the first time, EVER I think, when Stinkerbelle has had little friends come running to see her. The realization that there were other children who wanted to see her, who were happy to see her and wanted to play with her, caused her to erupt in a little dance of pure joy and start barrelling up the sidewalk to meet them.
And seeing that look on my daughter’s face made me well up. With joy. With relief.
The realization that my child has friends, and the joy I felt sharing in her happiness.
The relief that I have not completely screwed up my child. Not yet, anyway.
I watched them, chattering and squealing and dancing around as excited little girls are wont to do. It was wonderful.
And, as I walked my happy, glowing baby home after her little visit, I wiped more than a few tears from my eyes.
Jun
15
Two is an interesting age. Stinkerbelle is two, in all its random, emo, listening-impaired glory, but it has its good points as well as its struggles. I plan what I do with my time when she is awake with her twoness in mind. I am trying to temper my reactions to everything That Baby does with, “Well, you’re TWO.”
And if you can do that, then there’s some of the battle won. But it is not always easy.
Today, we are trying to spend some time outdoors. It is warm and breezy, so we can sit in the front of the house where there is shade in the morning, and then plan to be out back in the sun and shade after naptime. So I have been trying to come up with things to do outside with a two year old.
Some days, she likes to walk. And walk and walk and walk. Whether she is pushing her babies in their stroller or just walking with Dorothy in hand, she likes to walk.
But not today. Today? Is NOT for walking.
Believe me, I tried.
We walked with her babies, for a bit. Say, 200 metres. And then, she decided to sit down on the sidewalk amid someone else’s drawings in sidewalk chalk. And go no further. So I found myself cajoling and compromising with and exhorting and just generally nagging at a small person covered in purple and yellow chalk who has absolutely no intention of recognizing my presence.
There will be NO WALKING TODAY. So we went home.
There’s not much for a two year old to do at home today, apparently, outside. There are no kids to play with, or at least, none outside today, which is unfortunate because they are an excellent way to keep That Baby amused for quite some time. So we must look to ourselves for amusement. And that is a challenge. Blowing bubbles held no appeal today. Reading books diverted her only momentarily. And many toys are not a good option. We live on a hill, so riding her bike, playing with a stroller, playing with a ball, ALL are ill-advised. Unless you wish to a) supervise constantly to keep whatever rolly object she is playing with from rolling away down the hill to much baby giggling, or 2) allow your child to careen out into traffic on or in pursuit of said rolly object.
Neither looked like much of an option today.
All That Baby wanted to do, for AN HOUR, was sit and lick my keys. So, I grabbed our weed puller and a basket to take care of the front lawn, while she sat on the step, keys in varying degrees of hand and mouth.
Well, there are worse things in the world to lick. The cat, gravel, and the car all come to mind. Believe me, she’s licked them all. So in the grand scheme of things, my keys are not so bad. And it keeps her mostly in one place as she is too absorbed in having the keys in her mouth to do anything else.
It works for us.
But that, too, eventually became boring, and I would look up from my weeding to find my daughter had somehow teleported over to the neighbour’s porch.
She did this a couple of times. So, either the keys/mouth combination has some magical time/space altering properties, or That Baby is getting bored AND fast.
So we needed to find something else to do.
But here’s the thing: on days like this, Stinkerbelle has no discernible intention of listening to my suggestions of going for a walk, or reading some books, or whatever, and her own suggestions of wandering off, licking various things, and running out into traffic are not going to work for me. Don’t even THINK about suggesting going into the backyard — a safe, enclosed, flat expanse of grass and toys and other fun things, but where there is NO POSSIBILITY OF KIDS!! — without Teh Big Drama, and lots of crying and wailing and gnashing of teeth. So, no matter what we choose, there’s bound to be either boredom or tears from That Baby a lot of the time.
Another problem is that the average two year old has the attention span of a gnat or a bowl of pudding or a soap dish, and so even if you DO find something to amuse them, it will last only about 45 seconds, if you are lucky, before they are on to the next thing. So once the book is “read”, it is heaved off the porch. Once the playdoh is “played with”, it is chucked off the tray. Once the shapes cease to amuse with their varied shapey-ness… well, you get the idea.
And often, when this happens? It is YOUR FAULT. Or the TOY’s fault.
Well, it is SOMEBODY’S FAULT. Oh, the humanity!! And a great wailing will occur.
But then, the upside is that a two year old’s day lasts, what, 5 hours or so, from breakfast to lunch, and a goodly portion of that time is occupied with eating and changing diapers and such, and then comes the blessed naptime and then it’s like a NEW DAY, as she wakes up renewed and refreshed and starts over again with an optimistic attitude and a renewed outlook on Things To Do Today.
Some days, it is very hard being two. But as long as I can keep perspective, keep reminding myself that This Is TWOOOOOOO!!! (“This Is SPARTAAAAAA!!!!”) and just going with WHATEVER with a sense of humour and calm, then it is not so bad being a two year old’s mother.
Jun
4
Okay, so BDH has taken some vacation time this week and next. He’s been working, like, STUPIDRIDICULOUS HARD lately, so it was time for time off.
We like time off. Vacations are good. And what do we do with Vacation?
GO SHOPPING.
We like to shop. We often have no money, in which case it’s just shopping for windows. Sometimes, we are bargain shopping, of which I am a BIG fan. Or maybe it’s just time for That Baby to wear herself out by running headlong through the mall, looking down at her feet in the manner of OHMYGODIHAVESHOESON!!1!11!!eleventy!1!!11!!! and then falling splat in the middle of a busy mall thoroughfare, or running smack bang straight into the arse of another shopper.
Good times.
Anyway, yesterday was a bargain shopping kind of a day. We went to Children’s Place at the mall, where there has been a sale of late. We got Stinkerbelle some cute little sundresses with bloomers, very girly girl and perfect for hot days and very colourful in a 60s Partridge Family Bus sort of a way that I LOVE. But she also needs summer jammies, the kind where her feet and legs are free, as opposed to foot jammies, for warm nights this summer.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but where I have been shopping there are not a lot of girl summertime jammies for the under-two set (That Baby is a long skinny kid so she’s still in 18-24 clothes). But on the rack with the sundresses, I noticed some blue rompers — the t-shirt and shorts all-in-one combos. I thought, these would make PERFECT summer jammies! And at $6 per pair, I picked up two.
So I headed to the till with a blue and purpley flowered sundress, and two blue striped rompers. And a blue plaid hat that would match all of them.
The rompers? BOYS’ ROMPERS. With the tag “Handsome and Huggable” on them. I didn’t notice the tag until just now, as I was tidying up and putting some things away.
Good thing That Baby can’t read. Talk about confusion.
And so this morning, we thought it might be a good idea to get Stinkerbelle out and running around a bit again. Shopping tires her out, so she naps and sleeps well. So we got her up and fed and dressed in the cutest little yellow frock with bows on it, with yellow and pink flowery yoga pants on underneath, and bright pink shoes.
And we took her to Home Depot, where she ran happily amok among the lumber aisles, laminate flooring and power tools.
Good thing we’re putting lots of money away for therapy.
Jun
2
We are a family of three. People usually assume we will want more than one child, and so often ask when we’re going to start our next adoption.
The answer is alternately “we’ll see” or “we’re not”.
It’s a very personal decision, whether to have kids at all, let alone if and when you will have more. And it is one that people should not take lightly. Generally speaking, most families plan the number of kids they want, and how far apart to space them for purposes of ages, or ease, or expense.
Some don’t, obviously. I sometimes see, in families growing through birth or through adoption, a “collection” mentality. Like puppies or handbags or computer upgrades, there’s an obsession with obtaining the next one. As soon as one arrives, the rush is on to get pregnant again or get the paperwork for the next one underway. And the next one, and the next one, and the next… until there is a mob of kids around, and barely the time for parents to actually parent their children. You’ve all seen these families, especially the famous ones. You know the obsession.
Fortunately, the majority of families don’t work this way. Large families or small, generally the decision is a well-thought-out one.
But, on the flip side of the coin, people also don’t expect you to willingly stop at one child. And in a lot of respects, I think people are taken aback and think you are kind of weird when you tell them you may only have one child.
For us, it’s something we waffle on periodically. I think we had, early on, thought we would have a number of children. But circumstances being what they were, biological children were not going to be an option. And so, adoption became the way we grew our family.
Adoption is wonderful, and something I have wanted to do for as long as I can remember. I can remember for most of my life thinking I did not want to have biological kids but knowing that I wanted to adopt. So our adoption of Stinkerbelle was a dream come true in many, many ways. But, being as challenging and as expensive as adoption is, doing it again would require some careful consideration on our part.
The bottom line is that we cannot afford to do it again without carrying some serious debt. Some families are okay with that, and good on them. We are not sure we are. There are ways to offset the debt, tried and true in the adoption community, such as loans and fundraising and the support of churches and whatnot. None of those are suitable for us.
Some families will research various programs and agencies and find one that is less expensive or has better timelines or whatever, to help make the expense more bearable. And some families are simply drawn to different countries for various personal reasons. This is also not an option for us. Ethiopia is the only country we want to consider. Beyond the fact that it is part of us now, and part of Stinkerbelle’s heritage, it is also the only country we ever considered when we first started out. And it is the only country that I ever wanted to adopt from, since I began thinking of adoption as a teenager. Ethiopia has been a part of my consciousness almost my whole life. Now, maybe with research and time and reflection, that could change — there are many great possibilities. But right now, it doesn’t feel right for us.
Beyond the debt — let’s say we decided we could afford to do it — there are a lot of logistics involved. Not least is the fact that there is only one agency that we would consider, even if there were many options available to us, and they are not taking new clients at this time.
Then there’s the whole issue of paperwork. We know what to expect having done it before, and have a good social worker to guide us, but still — anyone can tell you, the paperwork is stressful and is a real pain in the ass.
And then there’s the wait. Some will tell you that once you get your child, the pain and anguish of the waiting just fades away. I am here to tell you that it doesn’t at all — at least, not for all of us. I remember it like it was yesterday, and believe me, our wait was a walk in the park compared to the experiences of many families. You have to really steel yourself against the stress and hurt and shifting expectations and pain in an adoption wait. Maybe we would be better at it this time, I don’t know.
But aside from all the practicalities, there’s a very personal thing to consider. There are days when I feel that we need to ensure that Stinkerbelle has a sibling, that she needs someone to grow up with and be with when we are gone. But many days, I am not sold on the idea.
There are days, like today, when I am tired and lacking patience and feel like I need a break, and I just don’t know if I want to do it again. There are days when I miss the tiny baby part of having a child. There are days when I love the cuddles and the snuggling and the hilarity and the firsts of having a child. But there are just as many days when I am tired and struggling to get housework done and missing a little down time. Is it all worth it? Of course it is. But that doesn’t mean it is easy.
And then there’s the whole issue of lightning striking twice in the same place. One of the big things we discuss, when we discuss possibly adopting again, is the fact that we got so unbelieveably lucky with Stinkerbelle. She is a joy to parent, a pleasant, easygoing, funny kid. I read about other parents’ experiences and I talk to other parents and I realize just how lucky we are.
But I also realize that, perhaps, I am not cut out to parent a more challenging child. Could I have the patience to parent a difficult child who has more anger or more sadness or presents more serious parenting challenges to me? In many ways, because Stinkerbelle has been so easy, I still feel very much like a rookie parent. I don’t see myself with the patience or the energy or the parenting skills that some parents of more challenging kids have, and I wonder if I would fail miserably for all involved if I were thrust into that situation.
There’s no way to know, obviously, without trying it. But I don’t know if I am prepared to take that chance.
Being a parent, and raising children, and doing it decently well, is a heck of a commitment. It takes a lot of effort and a lot of energy and a lot of time and a lot of money. Whether it is through adoption or birth, it requires a lot of thought beforehand in order to do a good job at it.
And I know that we will continue to waffle and discuss and look at all the various issues and considerations. Some days we’ll say we might want to do it again and other days we will say we won’t. And we may never decide, and maybe that will be the decision made FOR us.
May
28
This week, despite being hot and sticky and us being sick, is still a special one around here.
It is, first off, the birthday week of Stinkerbelle’s most excellent Auntie Heather. She is Swedish, so her birthday celebrations — ALL celebrations, actually — take on a festival quality and last much longer than a single day. And as she has gone and kicked cancer’s ass this year, it is truly a time to celebrate. So happy birthday Heather!
But beyond that, and I happen to think more than coincidentally, Auntie Heather’s birthday shares the very same day that, two years ago, we received our referral for That Baby, and saw her gorgeous face for the first time. It was an excellent day.
We don’t celebrate our referral anniversary in any special way anymore — the first year, yes we did. But now there is so much more to celebrate. Our lives are full every day of the joys that that first day would one day bring. It still holds a special place in our hearts, though, and of course always will.
I look back on those first photos and can’t help but cry. She was so tiny. She was barely 6 weeks old. She had such long fingers and such big eyes and such awesome hair. And she was ours.
Every single day since that day has been a blessing I could never have imagined, but always hoped for. She is a child of superlatives. She is so good, so good-natured, so happy, so well-behaved, so funny, so beautiful, so full of love. We could never have hand-picked a child so perfect and so perfect for us. She is the child of our dreams.
We look back and, while it was hard for us at the time, we realize how incredibly fortunate we were in our adoption of Stinkerbelle. I will never forget the agonizing waiting periods, the frustrating paperwork, the whole heartwrenching process. But we are reminded regularly that it was, compared to many families’ experiences, so easy.
Every day, I hold her close, and I remind myself just how incredibly lucky we are. How blessed.
Our lives started over again on that day in 2008. Like another birthday. We were given the chance to live a life we had only ever dreamed of. And we are making, and will continue to make, the most of every single day together.
May
18
It has been almost two years, but I still have a lot to learn as a parent.
- At the park today, my daughter was desperately trying to join in with the other kids. I was hovering constantly, trying to keep her from taking other kids’ toys, kicking up sand with her crazy-happy-kid dance, and pissing off moms we don’t know. I have to learn to just let go and relax and let her be a kid, and whatever happens, happens.
- Also at the park today, my daughter ran off, following a group of about 6 kids and their parents across the park towards the swings. She was joyous, running through the grass, happy to be a kid and wanting to be part of the group. I called her back, because she shouldn’t just follow strangers like that, but also because there were not enough swings for the number of kids and I didn’t want her to be hurt and in the way of the swings. And in so doing, I broke her heart utterly. And it made me cry. I have to learn that the tough decision is the right one sometimes, no matter how much it hurts.
- The little girl across the street came over to play for awhile today, and after lots of playing together and hand-holding and walking together, was up in Stinkerbelle’s face trying to hug her. And hug her. And hug her. Until they both toppled over and Stinkerbelle banged her head on the sidewalk. It was purely innocent, but still it went south pretty quick. And she’s fine, but still she banged her little melon and she cried big tears. Was the hugging and friendship worth the tears? I have to learn when to intervene and when to let these situations go their natural way.
- I am not the most socially adept mom on the planet. I am not young. I am not stylish. I am not thin. I am not an experienced parent. I am not the same colour as my kid. I am not above raising my voice and saying no to my child. All these things work against me in playground/playgroup politics. I need to learn to fit in and get along and make friends, so my child will fit in and have friends.
This parenting thing is always a challenge.
May
14
So, my daughter is two years old, and she is black. She’s cheerful and pleasant. She’s funny and as good as gold and really, strikingly pretty. But lately, we’ve been having some issues. Or maybe I’m just imagining we’re having some issues. I don’t know.
We live in a fairly multicultural region in southern Ontario. It’s not unusual to see people of all shapes, sizes, colours, cultural dress, every day in every situation. It’s no biggie. And in my lifetime, it never really has been. It’s just normal. And we’re smack in the middle of a region containing 4 universities, so we’re also in a fairly well-educated and solidly middle class region full of students and instructors and graduates of all walks of life.
So, for many months now, we’ve been going out on playdates with a dear friend who has a two year old son. We take the kids out to get some fresh air or walk together or play, and they get along famously. They are great pals, as are my friend and I. But one thing I have started to notice is, whether we’re at the park or out walking on a trail or in a playground or play facility, sometimes when people come upon our kids together, they will start talking to and fussing on and cooing over this little boy while completely ignoring my daughter. Like, not saying a word to her, barely acknowledging her presence. The two of them are standing there, side by side, and they are acting as though my little girl doesn’t exist.
What is really ironic is that, sometimes, it’s people of other ethnic backgrounds who are doing it. Yesterday, it was several women in head scarves, likely middle eastern. And a woman who was of Chinese background. I thought, naively it seems, that if anyone would be accepting of a little black girl, it would be someone else from a minority. But no, in this situation, they completely ignored her.
But it’s not always people of other ethnicities. We were out a few weeks ago on a trail frequented by dog walkers. Our two little ones ran up to a pair of white middle-aged women who were walking their dogs. Both kids were happy and eager to meet the dogs and pet them, and were well behaved and respectful. And yet these two women did not say one word to Stinkerbelle, and didn’t offer her the option to pet their dogs. I actually had to intervene and help her pet the dogs, and the women didn’t do much to acknowledge me, either. They just turned their attentions to my friend and her son.
I don’t know what the reason for these reactions could be, which makes it harder to know how to appropriately react when they occur. I don’t know if it’s because people don’t know what to say, because they’ve never met a real live actual black person before, or if it’s something uglier and more hateful rearing its head. I know sometimes people will OVERcompensate and fuss on her — it’s almost a situation of “LOOK! I’M NOT A RACIST! SEE HOW MUCH I COMPLIMENT HER?” — but I’ve not anticipated this sort of bias.
It’s not all the time, but it’s happening enough that I am beginning to notice it. My daughter doesn’t notice it, but she’s two. Soon, she will. And it’s starting to break my heart, a little bit.
I’m grateful that we have never encountered any hateful overt comments, and I don’t anticipate we will, very often, just by virtue of where we live. But this ignoring and lack of acknowledgment is just as hurtful. They are sending the signal to her that she doesn’t exist or have any value while the white child she is standing beside is loved and accepted.
All parents want their kids to be surrounded by love and acceptance. And I just don’t know how I am going to prepare my beautiful, bright, funny child for a world that pretends she doesn’t exist merely because of the colour of her skin.
May
12
It’s rainy and cold here this week. We’re stuck indoors, and That Baby is the PICTURE of bored. She is bored out of her skull. She is bored like a bored thing that is really, really bored.
So this morning, I just couldn’t stand it anymore. We went to the mall.
We’re lucky in that we have a really good mall about 2 minutes’ drive from here. On warmer days, we could walk, and it’s only about 20 minutes’ walk. But since it’s cold and rainy, we opted for the drive.
I packed a diaper bag with diapers and a change of clothes and a sippy and some toys, and off we went. I wasn’t entirely sure what we’d do there, but Stinkerbelle needed new shoes so I thought that might be something. But beyond that, since BDH and I have started another 100 Day exercise challenge, I’d get in my exercise walking around the mall.
We strollered into the mall, and it was nice and quiet. A few older folks, some young women, and a whole lot of stroller moms. I guess I was not the only one feeling housebound with her kid today.
We stopped in and got some shoes at the kids’ clothing stores. Some sandals at Oshkosh, some runners and water shoes at Children’s Place… and dancing with the staff at Children’s Place. (Yeah. My kid’s got the rhythm in her. She can’t stop it.) So that was good — I got something done, quickly and easily. Already the morning was a success.
But beyond that, it was all about the walking. Up and down the hallways, around into other wings, up, down… it’s a decent walk. I know it’s a popular indoor walking destination in winter (but one that we hadn’t taken advantage of yet).
I let Stinkerbelle out to get some exercise, too. She needed to get her ya-yas out something fierce. So I watched and followed along as she marched, and trotted, and danced, and babbled and waved at strangers, and just generally had some fun. She was a bit loud — she’s big on cheerful, boisterous self-expression — but nobody seemed to mind this morning.
And she has a tendency to run headlong into a store and start boogie-ing it up between the displays if she hears a tune she loves — so I am sure the folks at the lingerie store and the mens’ clothing place got a kick out of her, too.
That Baby loves the wide open spaces in the mall, the different coloured tiles on the floor, the skylights and high ceilings. She pointed to everything, and explored everywhere. But after about an hour, she was getting bored.
So I decided it was time to go upstairs and check out the Early Years Centre.
I don’t know if other places have programs like the Ontario Early Years Centres, but doG love our gub’mint for coming up with the idea. They have drop-in programs where kids up to the age of six can go with their parents or caregivers and just play, and they have registered programs for playing, learning and special needs as well. All free of charge. We had never been before, other than to peek in and see what was what, but many of our friends had been to their local OEYC and loved them.
We went in and the foyer was FULL of strollers. So there was a ringing endorsement. And the staffers who met us were welcoming and pleasant. There was a drop-in playtime today until 1 pm, so we filled in our initial registration for the Centre and in we went.
Stinkerbelle was ENCHANTED. There was a WHOLE ROOM full of TOYS. There were KIDS, mostly babies, but still. KIDS. We went through the door and she was OFF. She immediately sat down with two younger babies, and stole one of their balls.
Whoops. Not a great first impression, there, Kid.
But I headed her off before there were tears, and redirected her to a toy I thought she would LOVE: a ball yard. It was a soft swimming-pool-like contraption full of plastic balls. I plonked her in.
If there’s one toy That Baby loves above all others, it’s a ball. So, to be in a bin FULL of them?
She was in HEAVEN.
Stinkerbelle played in that bin for the ENTIRE time we were at the Centre. Kids came and played with her, one by one, until it was a swimming pool full of under-2s. And even as they then drifted off to try other toys, there she sat, buried in balls, and as happy as a pig in poop.
I tried to take her to play with another toy once. She wailed a huge WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH of sorrow and heartbreak.
I put her back.
Eventually, it was lunchtime, time to leave. Oh the tears! Oh the sadness! Oh the wailing!
The Early Years Centre was a hit. I could tell.
We packed up and came home, but That Baby was miserable through lunch. She was EXHAUSTED from all the dancing and the walking and the playing. I put her down for her nap, and there was barely a peep for two hours. And she woke up happy and ready to go again.
What started as a lousy, cold, boring day turned out to be a fun-filled morning for Stinkerbelle and a productive and pleasant one for me. I guess you can’t ask for much more on an average day.
And now that we know… We’re pencilling in a regular playtime at the mall.
May
11
Somebody, when we were not looking, threw the Two Toggle on us. Our daughter is suddenly TWO. IN ALL ITS GLORY.
It was bound to happen. Although her birthday was back in April, we were kind of hoping against hope that maybe it would just pass us by… but nope. She’s two. And doing all the two things that two-year-olds do the world over.
Most of it of a WEENIE nature.
For example, she has discovered a keenly developed sense of IGNORE. As in, we have to shout her name repeatedly for her to acknowledge our presence. We know she has great hearing — she can hear the bubbles container being opened from across the room, and can hear the front door opening from miles away — and yet, when we are trying to get her to listen to us, answer a question, do something… suddenly and without prior warning, she is DEAF. Well, possibly not deaf — more like LISTENING-IMPAIRED.
Good thing we did all the sign language with her, right? I KNOW.
She also has discovered a very dramatic streak. It rears its head when we, the MEANEST PARENTS IN THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE, wish to impose our will upon her. You know, with things like (are you sitting down?) CHANGING HER STINKY POOPY DIAPER. In the middle of PLAYTIME.
I know. It’s a wonder nobody has called Child Protective Services on us.
Changing her diaper when she is playing, bringing her in from outdoors, basically any change she has not approved previously with the appropriate forms completed and signed in triplicate, are met with a WAIL of faux-sorrow. A giant WAAAAAAAAAAH of angst.
Emo Baby is emo.
Mind you, there are rarely any tears. Just the WAAAAAAAAAAH of discontent.
Whatever. I am not falling for it, lady.
Going to bed is also becoming an issue. It seems that Stinkerbelle, despite the yawning and eye-rubbing and signing “sleep” and “bed” and “story”, has suddenly developed a terrible allergy to her bed. We put her in it after all the regular naptime or bedtime routine, and OHHHHHH! THE HUMANITY!!!11!!1!eleventy!!11!
She’s not ready. In theory, mind you, because some nights she’s literally asleep within moments. But not without a good wail of protest.
On nights she doesn’t fall instantly asleep, you wait a couple of minutes, and there will be the most sorrowful crying, sobbing, emanating from her monitor. Now, Stinkerbelle wears a silk bedcap to bed. She LOVESLOVESLOVES her bed cap. It’s a big, fun production to go get it and put it on before she goes to bed. But for some reason, recently, she will take her hat off a few minutes after she goes to bed. And then there’s a cry of real sadness, real sorrow. And we’ll go back into her room, and she will be sobbing REAL TEARS, clutching her hat close like a teddy bear, like her bestest friend EVER.
So we’ll put it back on and tell her to lie down and go to sleep, and tell her to leave her hat on.
And then she’ll take it off and cry again.
Lather, rinse, repeat.
She’s genuinely upset that she’s taken her hat off and can’t get it back on again. To which we always say, “Well, don’t take the damn thing off, then!”
Oh, but that doesn’t work… BECAUSE SHE HAS WHATEVER WE TELL HER ON IGNORE.
And round and round and round we go.
So yes, the inevitable has happened. Although our daughter’s birthday was last month, she has now, suddenly, officially, turned TWO. Somebody threw the switch in her, and she’s the embodiment of two. A year of TWO stretches out before us in a haze of shouted, repeated, ignored commands and dramatic episodes.
Oh well, we can’t complain. At least it isn’t THREE.
Apr
28
I sucked at being a mom this morning.
Seriously. I was the angry, shouting, cranky mom that nobody likes and nobody likes to see. I have been feeling sick for a couple of days — something has settled in my chest making it hard to breathe and making my throat raw, and I am tired. So I woke up this morning and was just a bitchfest in blue jammies.
Nothing Stinkerbelle could do this morning was the right thing. All the normal toddler things that normal toddlers do were irritating the hell out of me. She had pulled her hair out this morning when I went in to get her out of bed. She wouldn’t stop fidgeting when I was trying to do her hair. She was throwing toys (into her toybox, no less). She was trying to climb on stuff. She was trying to climb on me.
SHE WAS ASKING TO BRUSH HER TEETH.
None of these things are major infractions by ANY stretch of the imagination. But when you are sick, and when you are tired, it is sometimes hard to see your way clear to being, you know, RATIONAL.
I was annoyed and shouty and not at all nice.
Finally, I decided that I! HAD! HAD! ENOUGH!
It was 9:30 and I had just had my second bucket of coffee, and I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stand ME anymore.
I turned to That Baby and asked her, “Do you want to go to the park and go on the swings?”
The light bulb that turns on in my kid when she is happy is like nothing I have ever seen. She just GLOWS. And the glow can melt even the coldest hearts. Even the coldest, bitchiest, sickest, tiredest, most-PMSing hearts can’t resist.
With that one question, I was rewarded with that glow.
I told her we’d have to brush our teeth and get dressed before we could go, and off we went to get ready. We brushed our teeth, and Stinkerbelle climbed and played on The Big Bed while I dressed. And then we had a big tickle fight on the bed before heading back downstairs.
We got dressed and got That Baby in her stroller, and off we went to Her Park.
It was FREEZING cold, with a bitter wind whipping us the entire way. I was miserable. But That Baby didn’t care. She was happy to be out.
We got to the park, and she ran around, and shouted with joy on the swings, and danced through the grass, and went down the slide over and over and over again. The sun was shining, my child was as happy as she could be, and I felt better.
The cold and the wind and the exercise had cleared out my head, and cleared out the bad mood I had woken up with. I could not stand there and watch that little bundle of happiness and not feel a little bit of it myself.
And now, as That Baby naps after playing hard, I feel bad about being so miserable this morning. But it’s okay. My kid is very forgiving. And I’ll go and get her up, and one big smile from her will clear out any remaining regrets. Nobody’s perfect.
But she comes pretty darn close.
Apr
26
Sometimes, parenting is a total guessing game.
You spend your days trying to figure things out about a small person who has no means, and sometimes no intention, of clear communication. You try to make decisions based on random clues, folk wisdom, and a wing and a prayer. And you hope they are the right ones. Sometimes you’re right, sometimes you’re not. But if you have been doing your job well, your instincts tend to lead you in the right direction and your parental fails are few.
The last 12 or so hours have been a guessing game around here. And it can be stressful.
First off was the wail that emanated from Stinkerbelle’s room at 1:30 this morning. There was inconsolable crying from our daughter, who normally sleeps really well. So we jumped up and went to her.
She was very upset. Now I know from my reading that kids begin really dreaming around age 2, and so the chance of nightmares is always out there. I had mentioned it to BDH a couple of times over the last month or two, that we had to be prepared for nightmares, so we just assumed that was the problem.
How do you know? She’s too little to tell you what’s wrong. But with the fact that she was clearly upset, that the first time we tried to put her back to bed she was having NONE. OF. IT., and that only a tight cuddle from Daddy would do to comfort her, we just assumed that this was her first nightmare. So Daddy came in to slay the monsters under her bed.
Now, Daddy puts That Baby to bed every night, reading her a few stories first. And one of the routines we have had, from the very beginning, is to say goodnight to everyone before bed, just like in Goodnight Moon. “Goodnight wardrobe. Goodnight friends on top of the wardrobe. Goodnight books. Goodnight crib friends — we’ll see you in the morning for playtime. Goodnight Cinnamon…” And on it goes through the residents of her room, her favourite toys, and her kitties, and her family. So last night, despite it being 2 in the morning and pitch dark, BDH snuggled his sleepy girl and made sure she knew everything was okay, and they said goodnight to everyone again before settling her back in to bed.
It seemed to work well. She slept, and so we assumed that nothing was wrong besides a bad dream.
The whole family woke up tired this morning. We had to go and wake Stinkerbelle up at 7, which is unusual, but she was sleeping soundly on her stomach when we went in. BDH took her to change her for her day, and called me in to check on what looked like a rash. She had several spots of reddish bumps, in patches of maybe the size of a toonie, on her tummy, at her diaper line, on her chest… all on her front. None on her back. But she didn’t seem bothered by them, and really, they didn’t look too bad, just a little bit of splotchy redness. And she’d been sleeping on her tummy, so… who knows? So I said I’d keep an eye on them during the day, and we dressed her in some loose cotton clothes that covered all the spots so she couldn’t get at them and fuss, and we went about our day.
Around 10:30, Stinkerbelle came and asked for a snack. I popped her into her chair and put on Monsters Inc., and she proceeded to pound down a metric ton of goldfish. And a couple of rice cakes. She was COATED in cheesy starchy goodness and happy as can be. But eventually, I declared the party was over, and wiped her hands and face (and every nearby surface within gooey hands’ reach or flinging distance of bits of goldfish). And that’s when I noticed the red patch on her cheek. I kept an eye on it, but it didn’t seem to bug her.
When she came back at noon, it was clear that this red patch WAS bugging her. She was itchy, and the redness had become hives. And over the course of lunchtime, if she scratched her face or rubbed her eyes, more hives would appear.
Now, I know from hives. Being someone who is allergic TO. EVERYTHING., I get hives on a regular basis. But you know what? I know hives on ME, but I have never seen a person with brown skin who has hives. So to check what to do, I called TeleHealth.
As usual, TeleHealth rocked. I got through instantly, and we talked through everything that might be relevant. Fever? No. Peeing and pooping? Oh yes. Coughing or difficulty breathing? None at all. Behaviour? Normal. But when we got to the hives discussion, I had to admit that, being a white mom to a black child, I am only familiar with hives on white skin — I was PRETTY sure these were the same thing, but my frame of reference was decidedly white. (So, transracial parenting fail THERE.) But if I had to take a guess, I was 95% sure these were hives on That Baby’s pretty face.
Fortunately, TeleHealth’s best guess was hives, too. And they gave me some treatment advice, and stuff to look out for, and I felt better.
So the guessing game means I will try some Benadryl on That Baby this afternoon after her naptime and see how she does. Now 95% sure is not 100% sure. I can’t ask her any questions about how she is feeling or what she’s been touching or whatever to see if I can nut the problem out. It’s just a matter of “this is what I think it is and so we are going to try to fix it.”
But that’s what makes the guessing game a little stressful. You are making decisions all the time about why your child is up crying in the middle of the night, or what their particular health problem might be, and if you are wrong? Well, you don’t like to think about that. And, realistically, most of the time a parent’s instincts are correct.
It doesn’t make you worry any less. And it doesn’t make you stop wishing that kids came with a troubleshooting manual, or looking forward to the day when they can tell you what is wrong.
Until then, your guess is as good as mine.
Mar
30
Well now. I can state with absolute certainty that being possibly dead for the last little while has never been so exciting. I also think that 64 comments of mostly unabashed silliness is more fun than I have had here in awhile — at least, since the Great Beans Incident of Ought-Nine. So my ever-hilarious peeps, I thank you from the bottom of my mostly-undead heart.
So, what else is new (besides possibly not being dead) you ask?
Well, nothing really. We are in for a few days of 23-ish degree weather, which means That Baby and I will be spending some time outdoors. This will be wonderful, if only for the fact that it WEARS THAT KID OUT. And then she SLEEPS. And then I get to pretend I am a single, wholly-independent entity again for an hour or two, instead of the Person Who Is Here To Serve. So I am totally in favour of anything that uses up the energy in That Baby’s tank.
Today we did a walk to the park. I got Stinkerbelle dressed in shoes and coat, I got myself dressed, and we got the stroller out. Now, I made what could have been a HUUUUUUUUGE error in judgment today. As we were setting out on our walk, I asked That Baby, “Would you like to go to the park and go on the swings?”
(Insert alarm bells going off here. Or maybe even that car crash sound.)
Experienced moms are right now doing a collective ::FOREHEAD SMACK:: and thinking to themselves, “Dude. You should NEVER actually SAY those words until you are THERE!” Because most kids? All they hear is “PARK” and “SWINGS” and they will want it NOWNOWNOWNOWNOW! NO WAITING! WANT!
And for a moment there, I felt the urge to suck those words right back down my throat, as they hung in the air, and I waited for a Toddler Freakout of Epic Proportions to commence.
Fortunately that didn’t happen. Stinkerbelle is generally speaking The Most Easygoing Kid on the Planet, which means she tends to be patient. And she’s also WAAAAAY smarter than we give her credit for. She didn’t wig out. She got excited, yes, and there was much shouting of “YAYAYAYAYAYAY!” and much squirming and saying and signing “SWINGS!” But she happily rode along in her stroller and chattered away.
When we go to the park, we go to a park in an older neighbourhood that is well kept, but not used much. It is generally fairly kid-free, which means there’s lots of space for Stinkerbelle to play and, more importantly, no lineup for the swings. So, let’s say for ease of discussion that this park is on Oak Street.
Oak Street is a good 20 minutes walk from here, if you go straight there, and 30-45 minutes if you are walking for exercise and go there as part of one of my longer routes, as is usually the case. So, on our way to Oak Street, we pass the schoolyard park on Pine Street, and the park on Maple Street, and the park on Hickory Street… we pass a NUMBER of parks. We generally don’t stop at any of those parks, though. We stop at Oak Street, and that’s that.
So as I am walking along with Stinkerbelle, and we come upon a park, I used to brace myself for a toddler freakout. ZOMGWTFBBQPARKPARKPARKPARK!
But it never happened. That Baby will yell, and point, and tell me she sees a park, and swings, but that’s about it. She gets really excited if there are kids there, but that’s all it is: baby happy shouty chatter. She still rides along, not freaking out, periodically telling me that we must go to the PARK and go on the SWINGS, I guess so that I do not FORGET.
But then, we turn on to Oak Street, and That Baby sits BOLT UPRIGHT in her stroller. And the SECOND those swings come into view, That Baby starts to get excited fit to EXPLODE.
OMG! OAK STREET PARK! MY SWINGS! GOGOGOGOGO HURRYHURRYHURRYHURRY YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!
She KNOWS. She knows this is HER PARK.
This makes life immeasurably easier for Mom. I can get a workout in, walking with her, before we go to the park, and I know she won’t wig out until it is time to get out and play (well, except for when we are getting close to that little park on Spruce Street, but that’s another favourite little rest stop). She will be patient and talk and sing and generally ride along until it’s time to play.
I am VERY lucky. I know this. And I know it might not last so I am making the most of it.
This is also true of walking. I take Stinkerbelle out of the stroller from time to time on our walks, usually in a quiet neighbourhood or on a long, flat stretch of sidewalk, to let her walk and faff about and dawdle along and explore. Generally speaking, we do this on Pine Street by the school, or on Walnut Street or Cherry Street which, being in quiet suburban neighbourhoods, are virtually empty on a workday morning.
She knows these spots now, and although she will ask periodically if she can get out and walk, she won’t fuss if I tell her no. She just waits for one of these regular walking spots to come along.
This also makes for a good walk for both of us. I am usually ready for a break in one of my 8 or 10 km walks when these streets come along, so slowing down so Captain Dawdlepants can stop every three feet and look at a stick or some schmutz or a spot on the pavement is way okay by me. I can have a drink and a rest and she can have some free time.
I know that this, too, might not last — so I am enjoying it while I can.
A lot of this is, I know, down to Stinkerbelle’s laid back personality. But a lot of it is routine. We walk as frequently as we can, and we are as consistent as we can be about the rules. She knows where she is allowed to get out and play, or where she can walk. It’s routine.
But also, we’ve worked really hard to establish some basic Rules of the Road, if you want to call it that. She knows that she MUST stay on the sidewalk, and that when I say “STOP!” she must stop IMMEDIATELY and wait for me. And she knows that she has to hold someone’s hand if we are crossing the street.
A lot of this is down to repetition. But we walk so far, and so often, it’s what has to be done. No questions. And we’re lucky to have a kid who’s okay with that.
Let’s just hope I can remember all these rules and locations and whatnot when, sometime in the future, That Baby is pushing ME around in my chair. And let’s hope I am as easygoing about it, or I won’t get to go to our favourite park on Oak Street.
Mar
19
Okay, my mommy peeps. I have a question.
Do any of you have kids who pull out their own hair?
Stinkerbelle has started the somewhat alarming habit of pulling out her own hair. Usually, it’s during naptime or in the morning, when she is alone in her crib. We will go in and find hair all over the place. Curls litter the blanket, the sheets, the floor beside her crib. Right now, when I went to get her from her naptime… holy hell, the mess! I gathered it all up, and there’s a hairball the size of a cottonball in there.
I am starting to get a little concerned.
When she first started doing it, we thought that the hairstyles we were putting in (mostly puffs) were hurting her. She was jamming her fingers in where her part was up in front, and we thought maybe it was just pulling and tight and bugging her. But she was doing it enough that it was starting to get a little thinner up there. So this week, we’ve been leaving her hair all natural in just a headband. And it has actually been getting worse.
I did a search on Teh Intertubes, and I guess kids do this. For some it’s self-soothing, when they are upset or anxious or bored. Well, That Laid Back Baby is definitely not anxious, and she’s not upset at all when she’s in her crib. She is, if anything, bored. So, this is what she does when she is alone and bored? NICE. It’s not like she hasn’t got a CRIB FULL O’ TOYS in there. Surely there’s something she could play with?
So, if this hypothesis is right, and she is bored… am I supposed to forego naptime so that my kid is not in her crib unattended, and getting bored, and pulling out her own hair? Because that is nuts. Kids NEED to nap. Or at least to have a rest time. And so do moms. And if I have to pass on her naptime, when I can get a shower and have a little time to do whatever by myself, then it will be ME pulling out my own hair.
Still, seeing the floor littered with hair when I walk in there is really alarming. And her ‘fro is puffed out HUGE from all the messing around she has done with it during today’s naptime. I guess we are going to have to go back to styling her hair, since it seems our hypothesis about the hairstyles hurting her were incorrect. And I guess we should start trying to put a nightcap on her (which she will, of course, take off) and see if it helps.
Me, I’m tempted to get it all cut short and keep it that way until she outgrows this habit.
Honestly, when I thought I would have to learn how to care for my kid’s hair — this is NOT what I imagined.
Feb
25
That Baby’s nap schedule has been ass. We all know it.
But it has its upsides.
When she’s tired, she has recently enjoyed sitting on the sofa and watching School House Rock. YEA! WOW! HURRAY! (as they say in “Interjections!”) Right now, we are getting our Grammar Rock groove on with “Conjunction Junction” and “Interjections” and “Lolly Lolly Lolly Get Your Adverbs Here.” I grew up on these cartoons, and I remember the songs all these years later. I love them with all my heart. I. AM. SO. HAPPY.
And I love that she is trying to say all the interjections.
Feb
23
Things around here have been fairly effed up of late. It’s been stressful, and confounding, and annoying.
And it all has to do with That Baby’s nap.
When we first brought her home, she was a terrible napper. She only did a couple of catnaps throughout the day, and they were at inconsistent times and she woke with a shriek. Then, as she grew, it progressed to maybe 45 minutes to an hour, twice a day, but still she woke inconsolable.
Then we got her down to one nap a day. One nice, long, reliable nap. It was awesome. It started out as about an hour and fifteen minutes, but slowly we stretched it out until it was TWO HOURS. Two hours of BLISS.
Because let me tell you, there is NOTHING useful that can be done in a 30 or 45 minute naptime. It’s just not enough time. You can’t make any headway in the laundry. You can’t cook much. You can’t get a decent amount of housework done. You can’t work out and shower. You certainly can’t sit down and keep up on your blogs. NOTHING. So when the nap stretched out to two hours, I suddenly had TIME. Time to DO THINGS.
And I had time to myself. This is a precious thing in the life of a stay-at-home mom. I had two hours, all to myself, to do whatever I wanted. I was productive in those two hours. I got a lot done around the house, and often, was able to work out too.
But something has changed. I don’t know what it is, but ever since our vacation in January and a particularly nasty molar coming in around that time, That Baby’s nap schedule is completely buggered. I don’t know why, but it is like we have stepped back in time a year. Suddenly, she wakes with sobbing and wailing after 45 minutes. And when I go in to get her, she is EXHAUSTED. She is usually crying and signing “SLEEP!’ like mad. She will wail if I pick her up and walk out of her room with her to get some Tylenol or something, because all she wants is to sleep.
I don’t know what is going on — the vacation is long over, and the molar is in and done — but none of us are happy about this development.
Stinkerbelle is overtired from the lack of sleep in the daytime. I am tired and frustrated and cranky, because my carefully planned schedule is messed up. I don’t get any time of my own in the daytime anymore. My workout is pushed to night time, along with any chores to be done, and any updating to my blog — if I am not just too tired and ready to go to bed (as I have been, as you may have noticed from the sporadic posting and 365 photo posts. Sorry about that.)
Stinkerbelle is also clingy now, because she is tired. So I have a toddler who shadows me and wants to sit on me and climb on me ALL. DAY. LONG. So that doesn’t make for a productive time, either.
BDH had a hard time, at first, understanding how this new development impacts my day. After all, he’s not here in the daytime, so he doesn’t get how our schedules work and what my time means. So I said to him, “You know those days when you are so busy with work that you don’t get to take a lunch, or get out of the office to get your hair cut or run errands or whatever? THAT’S what it’s like.” He understood that feeling well.
But it didn’t really hit home for him until this past weekend, when That Baby would NOT let him out of her sight, and was constantly at him, clamoring to be picked up and sit on his lap and play with him. He was getting just overwhelmed by toddlerness.
So today, as I faced another day of fractured naptime, and I was just losing my shit completely, he was very understanding. But really, there’s nothing he can do except be sympathetic, and there’s nothing I can do except keep going. We can’t figure out what the problem is, and so we are just either going to have to adapt or get used to the new normal.
It’s hard, though. Because as much as kids need a reliable routine — so do many adults. And it’s amazing how a snafu like this can impact your days, and your mood, and your outlook.
Feb
19
Yesterday was our weekly play date with That Baby’s best buddy Austin and his mommy, Stinkerbelle’s Auntie Sandy.
It has been quite a few weeks since we have had a play date. During that time I have come to realize how important these play dates are for us. Most obviously, it’s good for That Baby because she rarely has other kids to play with, and she and Austin have a roaring good time when they are together. They are close enough in age that they can run around and snatch toys from each other and make a huge mess. And they find each other TERRIBLY FUNNY.
But it is also so good for me to get out and interact with Sandra too. We are both stay at home moms now, and we are also without family close by to talk to about stuff, or ask questions about things, or just figure out this whole mommy gig. So we can compare notes, and share what we are learning, and commiserate on the regular frustrations of being a mom. But it’s also nice to just have another adult to talk to, and someone who can provide you with some perspective. We can sit and have tea and just talk, like real people do. And that is one of the best things of all.
Yesterday’s play date was a much needed one for all, I think. And we had a great time. That Baby spent half her time just belly laughing — she watches Austin run around and thinks he’s the funniest thing going. And since we went to their house, the chance to play with new and interesting toys, and run and dance in their kitchen, was just so much fun for Stinkerbelle. And she adores her Auntie Sandy, and whenever Sandra gets up and leaves the room to check on something in the kitchen or whatever, she soon has a little shadow in Stinkerbelle, who must know WHAT IS SHE DOING and WHERE IS SHE GOING and follows her everywhere.
Meanwhile, I got to play with my little buddy Austin, who appreciates the fact that I am not a girly girl and love to roughhouse and run and yell. He understands me. Also, he seems to be of the impression that my singing voice is tolerable, and so we can sing and dance together. And if I am very lucky, I get some demands to be picked up and that is always awesome.
It’s great for all of us to see SOMEONE DIFFERENT. And while we enjoy our daily lives, and would not trade them for anything, we all have to admit that it’s just fun to play with someone else for a change.
Feb
5
Things I Don’t Like About Being a Parent of a Toddler in Winter:
- Keeping after her to keep her socks/slippers/shoes on
- Finding ways to amuse her indoors
- Trying to get her boots and snowsuit on
- Keeping her mitts on her hands
- Walking with a dawdler on a cold day
- Parents who think it’s okay to let their sick children play with yours (or go to school, and interact with yours)
- Remembering never to mention that her nose is running, because that instantly prompts her to wipe her nose all over her hands and face
- Listening to her laboured breathing and coughing and sneezing in the middle of the night as she struggles with a cold
Things That I Love About Being a Parent of a Toddler in Winter:
- Fun hats
- The novelty of fresh snow
- Footprints
- Seeing the awe on her face the first time we venture out into the woods
- Seeing how tiny she is among the pines
- How she stops and looks and points at absolutely everything
- Listening to her chatter on excitedly as you carry her home from your adventure
- Snuggling to warm up after playing outside
