Archive of ‘life with baby’ category

Three Things I Look Forward To Telling Her First Boyfriend.

Ahhh, motherhood. Sure, it’s fantastically rewarding…but am I alone in periodically finding it absolutely infuriating? This has been a particularly tough day (and one that started at 4:30 a.m.), which means that I’m feeling less protective about my daughter’s future feelings  than I usually am.

So here, for her future embarrassment, are a few things that I’m sure will mortify her as an adult.

She is obsessed with bras. When she was an infant, she wanted nothing to do with boobies. But now? She does a bra check about 50,000 times a day. I have to be reeeaaal careful about what kind of neckline I wear in public, because she routinely tries to pull my shirt down to reassure herself that I am, indeed, wearing a bra. And if she finds that I’m not? Well, she just won’t leave the topic alone until I address the problem. There’s only so many times I can stand hearing, “Mommy’s bra?” Before I give up and go put one on.

She likes to hide when she’s pooping. Despite early potty training success, we are firmly in the domain of all diapers, all the time (and likely will be until she’s five). If I catch her with that peculiar, red-faced stoop, I will try to put her on the potty. So she’s taken to hiding behind furniture or running for another room when she feels the urge. And if I follow her? She stops what she’s doing and pushes me out of her line of sight.

She has an unhealthy obsession with hair. I’m guessing that her boyfriends will all have gorgeous long hair, because my girl? Likes nothing better than a handful of hair to pull. It’s a comfort thing, I think. She reaches for my hair when feeling insecure, or tired, or worried. That’s not all that weird. But you know what is? She likes to eat it. Seriously. She’ll latch onto a chunk at the roots and suck on it as she pulls it through her teeth. If she could, I think she’d wrench it from my head and swallow it whole.

There’s more, but I think I’ve embarrassed her future self enough (and I am really frigging tired). So why don’t you tell me what you look forward to telling your children’s future partners?

Six-Legged Balls of Fun.

Bugs. I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of them. I’ve even been known to run screaming from the sight of a particularly icky Nasty.

Still, I’m determined to keep Tori from being a screechy little girly girl. Which means, of course, that we have to spend time exploring the insect kingdom.

I’ve let her put her hands in spider webs (shudder). Watched as she let ants crawl over her hands (double shudder). Even let her pick up one of our arachnid friends (I deserve some sort of award for that one).

But I’ve never enjoyed doing it. Until today.

This afternoon we were puttering around outside when she pulled me by the hand over to the rock border around our front garden.

“Bugs Home?”

I looked at her blankly—until I remembered the events of the night before. An ant had been ambling across the floor of her room and without thinking twice, I squished it. But not before she saw it. So since I didn’t want to have to admit that I’d killed it,  I told her the bug went home. To his house outside. In the rocks in front of our garden.

She bought it.

So now she wanted to see the bugs at home.

Sighing, I knelt down in the grass and flipped the biggest rock upside down. Sure enough, there was an army of the little suckers milling around under there. As my stomach flipped in protest, she squealed in delight.

“Bugs!”

Seeing how happy she was, I decided to put my disgust aside and get into the spirit of things. So I took another look. And attached to the slab of limestone were 15 or 20 rolly poly bugs.

Yummy pill bugs

Tori's newest friends.

“Wanna see them do a trick?” I asked Tori.

She nodded.

So I reached out and touched one. He, of course, obligingly rolled up into a little ball. She shrieked with laughter—the excited peals echoing off the nearby houses.

Hearing it made me giggle too, so we did it again and again and again until every single one of the poor little bugs was curled up in a defensive ball. Then I hefted another rock over and we did it all over again.

Eventually I had to tell her that the bugs needed to go night night, or we’d probably still be out there (although I’m sure that won’t be the last time I torture pill bugs this summer).

The moral of the story? Everyone should hang out with a two-year-old every once in a while. The world’s a whole hell of a lot more fun.

Is The Perfect Potty Out There?

A few months ago, I got just about the best news a diaper bag-toting mom can get. My daughter, her teacher told me, was showing an interest in potty training!

So I did what any overly enthusiastic first time mom would do. I ran right out to Target and got my  precocious 18-month-old daughter her very own potty chair.

Fisher Price Cheer For Me Potty

Cute as a potty can be.

And not just any old potty chair. Nope, the one I got looked just like a regular toilet! And had a place for toilet paper! And sang every time the potty-er actually did what they were supposed to (i.e. pee in the potty)! I thought it was adorable.

Tori did too. When I got it out of the package, her face lit up, and she couldn’t wait to  try it. In fact, for several days, she would take me by the hand every chance she got and lead me to the bathroom where her potty was so she could practice sitting on it.

Everything was going swimmingly—until the day she actually peed on the potty.

When the first drops hit, it started to sing. And when it did? She didn’t know what to think. First she looked afraid, then confused, until finally curiosity won out.  She immediately got up and peered at the potty chair beneath her. Then she bent down and stuck her hand in it—quickly locating the little sensor. And sure enough, that happy song blurted out again (this time, over the sounds of my horrified, “Tori, no! No putting your hands in your pee pee!”).

I hoped she would soon forget what she had learned, but alas, she had discovered the potty’s secret and never wanted to pee on it again. Instead, she liked to climb in, over and on it, seeing how many different ways she could set off the sensor.

Next, she decided she wanted to pee on the Big Person’s Toilet. And after it became clear that she was either going to sit on the Big Potty or fall in trying, I ordered her a training seat and her very own step stool. Make that a series of step stools.

The first was too low, and almost resulted in Tori getting her very first swirly.

The second was too high, and very nearly ended up with Tori splitting her head open on the corner of the sink.

The third almost worked…but my still klutzy toddler still had to struggle to position herself on the toilet.

Clearly, we need a better option—especially since she’s now getting to the age when real potty training progress might actually be made.

Baby Bjorn Potty Chair

Our potty training savior?

This past weekend, I did my research.  I checked reviews on Amazon. Googled “best potty chair.” Read articles like this one on Slate about the search for the best potty. And they all seem to agree—the Baby Bjorn potty chair is the way to go.

So I ordered one. In yellow, of course, since that’s both her favorite color and her favorite word (other than owl). It’s scheduled to arrive tomorrow.

Will it finally get us started on the road to potty training success? Hard to say.

But at least I won’t have to hear it’s overly cheerful voice singing about toilet paper in the middle of the night (The Fisher Price one sings for no apparent reason. Often at 2 a.m.).

Wish us luck. Oh, and if you have any potty training advice? I’m all ears.

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