progress (maybe?)

With the arrival of February came the realization that Malcolm's actually been working at the whole toilet training thing for a full month.

So, although, last time I said I wouldn't talk toilet training around these parts, I feel the need for a brief update.

I think we've made some progress.

Maybe?

Hopefully?

I mean, Malcolm knew what to do from Day 1 on this little adventure ...  It literally only took one accident in his real underpants for him to realize that he needed to let us know when it "was time."

Just one.

So, the kid gets it.

He understands the feeling of having to go.

He knows how to make it to his little potty, pull down his pants, and do it.

He hasn't, to date, had an accident outside of our home.

The (only) issue is whether or not he feels like following through ...  Or cutting his losses and just making a mess of himself.

It's completely up to him.

On his whim.

And it's killing me!

Call me a control freak, but when it comes to loved ones, especially my children, I have an major drive to do whatever it takes to keep those close to me (Malcolm, in this case) happy.

So, when Malcolm was an infant, it meant keeping his belly full and his bottom dry ...

When he became mobile, it meant keeping him safe during his many explorations ...

When he was a toddler, it meant helping him learn to communicate his needs and wants.

And now that he is a three-year-old, it means teaching him the skills he'll need to go off to pre-school on his own (away from me!) this coming fall. 

I always thought that once a child was "trained" and understood the concept of using the toilet (with the exception of regression during times of stress), that the "teaching" part was over. 

Success! 

Job well done!

On to the next milestone!

But, at least for us, this process has been much more than that.

Yes, at its most basic, it's learning to use the toilet ...

But it's also a lesson in trust ... For me and my son.

Me trusting him that he'll let me know when he has to go (and not nagging him constantly throughout the day) ...  And him trusting me that I'll still be there no matter what (even if he does have a messy accident).

So, while I appreciate the conversations where he just chatters on an on while sitting on the toilet, and I like having to fold all the tiny underpants that make it through the wash each week ...  I'm so ready to feel like the "training" portion is over.

I'm not sure when it will hit me that we are done, and he is good to go ...

Maybe when there have been no day time accidents for longer than a month? 

Or two?

After all of this, I truly hope I get a (lengthy) break before Miss Pearl is ready to drop the diapers on her end ...

it's potty time

Although we seem to be in the thick of it, there hasn't been much talk of toilet training around these parts for two main reasons ...

One, that sort of thing doesn't make for the most interesting blog topic (especially if you don't have children at the same stage of development).

And, two, if I'm being completely honest, I'm not really pushing the issue.

As much as I would love to have only one child in diapers, I am of the mindset that the whole process will progress so much more smoothly when Malcolm is ready (really and truly ready) to train ...

Right now, although he pees on his little potty like a pro before nap time and bed time, or before we leave the house (and poops when he wants new toys), I have a little boy who is full of excuses ...

"Not right now."

"Maybe next time, Mom."

"Me just don't like it!"

He has never initiated a trip to the bathroom ...

He is more than happy to just lay around in his wet (and/or dirty) training pants until I make a move to change them ...

Maybe I'm being too relaxed about the whole thing, which is causing my kid to be lazy and complacent.

Maybe I should have been more proactive and started putting him on his little potty from the moment he turned two years old.

I suppose I could hold some sort of "bathroom boot camp" and force him to sit on the toilet every 30-45 minutes (as some family members have insisted) ...  But (again, if I'm being honest), I just don't see the point.

I feel like that sort of technique trains me, not him.

When he's ready, he'll do it.

According to WebMD, the average boy is toilet trained at 38 months of age

Malcolm is right there ...

He took his good old time with the whole talking thing (I have to continually remind myself that my little chatterbox didn't really start talking until about eight months ago!), so who is to say this little adventure won't be more of the same?

As long as I can send him off to pre-school in normal underpants (a little less than a year from now), I think we're on the right track!

contrary

I have written here before about how I want to instill in my children a self-confidence and an attitude that they can be "whatever they want to be."  I don't want them to feel "boxed in" or limited in any way.  I want them to develop their own interests and ultimately go after whatever their little hearts desire.

That said, I've come to the realization that, deep down, despite all my posturing, I'm actually a hypocrite.

There are some caveats.

Well, at least one ...

I absolutely don't want my sweet little daughter to be a princess.

No girlie-girls allowed.

When Malcolm was newly minted, I spent some time reading a book called "Why Boys Fail" so that I could better prepare him for educational success.  Everything in the book (from cover to cover) made so much sense to both my motherly and teacher-ly sensibilities.  I truly want to be the type of mother that really knows how to advocate for her child, whether he be at the top of the class, in the middle, or even somewhere near the bottom ...  And I want to do what I can, on my end, to set him up for the success that he deserves.

Now that I have a daughter under my roof as well, I stumbled upon a different book, "Cinderella Ate My Daughter" and, again, I found myself in firm agreement with its contents.  The color pink has come to symbolize a very superficial view of what it means to be a girl ...  And society has jumped on board.

Everywhere you turn, girls' items are blanketed in pink.

Clothes, toys, home decor ... And, if it's not pink, it must not be girl-appropriate!

While I'm not opposed to pink in general (Pearl has accumulated a healthy amount of pink paraphernalia in her nearly seven months), I still don't see why she has to be covered in it in order to be seen as a "girl."

"Look at Pearl in her little boy sleeper ..."  my sister-in-law announced as I carried Pearl into the room one evening.

The sleeper in question?

White with cartoony dinosaurs on it.

Sure, it used to be Malcolm's, but who says that dinosaurs are strictly for boys?

I know that I loved dinosaurs when I was a kid ...  Why should it be any different now?

Again, my mind goes back to the idea of my kids becoming who they want to become, especially if it is contrary to what is considered "normal" in terms of gender roles.

So what if my son snuggles with stuffed animals at night, loves to cook and clean, and participates in a gymnastics class (yes, we're still at it) once a week?

Does that make him any less of a boy?

And what if my daughter decides she likes dinosaurs, or football (although the Cleveland Browns aren't much fun to root for), or anything besides princess gowns and tiaras?

Does that make her any less of a girl?

While I cringe at the idea of raising a girl that is obsessed with the whole princess machine, and I will try to lovingly steer her clear of some of it, I know that she will ultimately end up liking what she likes.  As Malcolm did before her, she will find where her interests lie and I will support her as she pursues them ...

Still, I'm keeping my fingers crossed she'll be a lot like me.

Dinosaurs are cooler than princesses any day.

endless possibilities

Last weekend was a busy one, complete with lots of face time on both sides of the family.  Not only did this make for an occupied (and the thoroughly exhausted) two-year-old at the end of it all, but it also left a bunch of offhand comments ringing in my head ...

Nothing bad, necessarily.

Nothing even all that memorable.

Harmless, probably, to anyone else besides me ...  The (sometimes) over-thinker.

I guess I should just come out and say that, thanks to an array of childhood/adolescent development and psychology classes, I dislike when people project various expectations on my children, benign as they may be ... 

I don't want Malcolm or Pearl to be saddled with labels.

The smart one.

The crazy one.

The active one.

The shy one.

While, at face value, none of these things are bad, I want my kids to see (and know) that they can be whomever they want to be. 

They can be smart, and crazy, and active, and shy if they want to.

There is no "either/or" involved.

I don't want them to hear something about their sibling, and by default, think that it can't possibly apply to them, too.  But, I guess I come by these feelings honestly ...

Coming from a family with three daughters, I don't think I was ever referred to as "pretty" when I was growing up (at least not excessively). I was skinny, freckled, bespectacled, and something of a tomboy. My hair was always on the shorter side, certainly not long and flowing like my middle sister's hair (the one who got the "pretty" label).  I didn't care, though, I somehow had it in my head that I was pretty anyway and, even better, I was smart. That word, smart, would probably be the one I'd throw out there if a psychologist asked me to pick a word to describe myself (pretty would be at the end of the list), but I'd also venture a guess that that's what I heard the most of growing up ...

"Look at Emily, lost in that book. She's such a smart girl."

"Ask Em. I'm sure she'd know the answer to that."

"Emily is getting straight A's again this quarter."

Most compliments from my parents and/or other adults revolved around my brain ...  And while that's just fine (I like being perceived as smart!), I find it very interesting that it's embedded itself into my thinking on into adulthood. When with my sisters, I never feel like the "pretty one." I'm a little more self-conscious and end up secretly wishing I had cooler, more trendy clothes and/or accessories and a better hair cut.

I'm just Emily, the frumpy (but very smart) one.

Which, isn't bad ...  But isn't the whole picture, either!

I truly, truly hope that Malcolm and Pearl do not fall into the same trap and sell themselves short because of what (often well-meaning) people say.  I want them to grow up knowing that they can be whatever they want to be, liking and doing the things that they want to do ... 

They are still so young, with endless possibilities spread out before them. 

I don't want any of those possibilities to disappear before they even have a chance to explore them ...  Especially because of a few offhand comments.

potty mouth

A couple of weeks ago, Malcolm learned a new word.

When playing in the living room.

"Poop!"

When greeting me after a nap.

"Poop!"

When laying on the floor and watching TV.

"Poop!"

When asked, "What is (or was) in your diaper?" (Which I do many times a day since his little voice, and the way he says "Poop!" is so stinkin' cute.)

"Poop!"

It seemed my kid had poop on the brain, so I did what any proactive mother would do ... I took his little potty chair down from the attic and placed it prominently in the bathroom.

Although I'd love to sit here and type how my genius son potty trained himself in twenty-four hours (or something like that), that just isn't the case ... Malcolm definitely understands the concept (he has been following me into the bathroom since he could crawl), but I can tell that he's not quite ready to take that next step.

For one, although he will tug at his diaper or tell me that there is some poop inside, he, just as often, will sit around in a dirty diaper without any fuss until I grab the diapering supplies and go to it. And as much as he enjoys sitting on his potty chair fully clothed (and wiping his diapered butt with toilet paper), he doesn't seem to have much time for it when he is naked and actually able to use it.

I don't know what "the norm" is for boys and potty training, but I honestly hadn't given any of it much thought until Malcolm decided that "Poop!" was a fun word to say.

I'd love to have him out of diapers before Baby #2 arrives in March, but I'm not holding my breath.

As I've seen firsthand with his verbal abilities, Malcolm works on Malcolm's timetable. He doesn't care if I want him to be able to really communicate with me (although his ASL signing skills have certainly helped in that department). He doesn't care if family members insist that something must be wrong with him and we should get his hearing checked. He doesn't care if the kids around him are spouting off words left and right ...

He does what he wants to do, when he wants to do it.

I have no doubt that potty training will be exactly the same. Malcolm will decide that big boy underpants are cool as soon as he feels like they're worth his time.

So, until that fateful day, the potty chair will sit (gathering dust) in our bathroom, prompting a gleeful "Poop!" from Malcolm every time he notices it.

And I'm totally okay with that.

(Did I mention how stinkin' cute it is when his little voice says "Poop!"?)

credit where credit is due

Malcolm is a good kid.

A really good kid.

He has an agreeable attitude and a laid-back personality.

He's a good eater.

He can occupy himself with books and toys.

He's a great sleeper and partakes in his naps and bedtime quite willingly (and on a pretty consistent schedule).

He follows directions (most of the time).

Yes, he is a wonderful little boy ... Yet I refuse to believe that all of these attributes are merely genetics in action.

A random shuffling of the dice ...

A lucky mingling of a specific sperm and egg ...

As the arrival of Baby #2 is made known to family and friends, the same general message keeps rearing its head:

"You lucked out with your firstborn ... Be prepared for this next kid to be a holy terror!"

But is it all really just the luck of the draw?

I don't think so.

I think that parenting (or "nurture" if you're thinking of the age-old debate) also plays a major role in how a child eventually behaves ... Parents are often blamed when things go wrong with their kids ... So why shouldn't I get some of the credit when my kid is so, so right?

From the very beginning, I was diligent to make sure the Malcolm had a predictable routine to govern his days (and nights). Sure, as a baby, this "routine" was very fluid and mainly consisted of eating, sleeping, and playing at similar times each day ... But, as time went on, the routine remained an important part our day-to-day lives, often signalling when certain activities would end and others would begin.

I remember, when Malcolm was about four months old, mapping out (in a notebook) when he typically preferred to eat and sleep so that I could establish a nap schedule for him ... Set times where he would go down for a nap each day.

Certain family members scoffed at the idea ...

Who puts a four-month-old on a schedule?!

You just don't do that!

But I did.

And it worked.

Malcolm fell into it beautifully.

And from four months on, Malcolm knew what to expect from each day ... And this, I think, has always been comforting to him.

Predictable.

Maybe it's the teacher in me, but who seriously prefers a day that is nothing but chaos? If you are a student, you want to know when class begins and ends ... You want to know what's next, where you are going, what you will be doing ... In fact, it's safe to say that you look forward to certain parts of the day!

So why would a young child (at home) be any different?

I have seen children without a schedule and have heard the frustrations of other mothers whose kids "do not sleep" or "are out of control" on a daily basis. While, yes, a child's personality and temperament play a role (obviously, every kid is genetically different), routine can do so much to alleviate many of the things that drive parents crazy.

Maybe a child isn't "out of control" because they are just wired that way ... Maybe they are tired! Maybe they should have been put down for a nap earlier in the day! Maybe they are bored and need something to do! Maybe they don't realize it is time to start winding down for bedtime because they don't have any signals to tell them so ...

Malcolm has these moments, too (All kids have their moments!) ... But I try to use them to my advantage.

I learn from them.

If the routine has stopped working I tweak it so that it will again.

I am the parent.

I am in charge ... And I strongly believe that Malcolm is growing up better for it.

I guess my husband and I will really see if our parenting is as good as we think it is when the Baby #2 does arrive ... I know we'll continue to use many of the same things that were put in place when Malcolm was an infant two years ago ...

I know that there will eventually be more nap schedules, structured days, and bedtime routines ...

And I know that, despite what genetic differences there may be between my children, a routine will always be a part of our day.

While I will not end up with another "Malcolm" at the end of this pregnancy, I have no reason to dread the "holy terror" that many are predicting.

Famous last words?

Who knows ...

I still refuse to believe nature trumps all.

Good parents deserve some credit, too!

taming the terrible twos

As I mentioned a little while back, someone is well on his way to becoming a two-year-old (less than a month to go, actually!).

So, I figured it was time for the husband and me to discuss how we'll go about disciplining Malcolm when he inevitably stretches his toddler muscles. We both decided that using "time outs" (a la Super Nanny) will be our discipline method of choice ... Because, seriously, what's worse than sitting still if you are a always-ready-to-go-go-go boy? And what's better (for a mom) than getting that "I'm sorry" hug at the end?

We've already used the technique to pretty promising results ... Surprise of surprises Malcolm actually sits still for his allotted minute (and the act of doing so seems to deter whatever bad behavior he was in for). In an effort to bring this "time out" option with us wherever we go (so that it would have similar impact outside of our home), I wanted to make a physical spot that can travel with us, but yet be used at home, too.

Hence the "Naughty Spot" (if said in a British accent like Super Nanny, it is so much better!) was born.

Here's how I made it ...

Supplies came from a local craft store and my personal supply (junk drawer?) and included: Sheets of durable "Foamy" paper in different sizes and colors, glitter glue, sticky letters, permanent markers, scissors, etc.


Because I wanted a literal "spot," I cut the large foamy sheet into a circle (using a 10-inch skillet lid as a template).


Then I created the phrase "The Naughty Spot" and other embellishments with my other supplies, being sure not to make it too happy or pleasant-looking ...



It is a punishment, after all.

wednesday night fever

When he fell asleep on the living room floor at five 'o clock we thought: "How cute! He really tired himself out today!"



When he fell asleep on the couch (maybe half an hour after waking up on the living room floor) we thought: "He must not be feeling well."



When all we could do to keep him happy was let him lay in our bed, in our air-conditioned room, watching Sesame Street videos on my work laptop, we thought: "Poor little guy ... It's going to be a long night!"



But that's what parenting is all about.

I wouldn't want it any other way.

a matter of taste

Although mealtime can be a challenge (sometimes Malcolm does NOT want to sit still, even if it is to fill his face with food), I am often amazed at the variety of foods my son is willing to consume.

My husband and I have laughed that Malcolm has been able to eat things at 20-months-old, that we didn't get to try until somewhat recently.

Take, for example, avocados.

I never touched (let alone considered eating) an avocado until I was well into my 20's. Guacamole and all its deliciousness was lost on me ... That is, until my family's holiday trip to Mexico where all I did was add guacamole to my meals. On my tacos, tostadas, with chips or tortillas ... Yum!

I'm certainly sold on guacamole (or just plain old avocados) today ...

And so is Malcolm.

Throw a little leftover guacamole on some corn tortillas and you'd think the kid hadn't eaten in years. That's how fast he shoves it into his mouth. And if the avocado has browned slightly? He doesn't even notice. He's like a little avocado garbage disposal.

All that to say, our son is a pretty good eater ...

So, I find it rather humorous that Malcolm will not touch hotdogs.

I mean, what kid doesn't like a HOTDOG?

This past Memorial Day weekend, while hanging at the lake, I tried on two separate occasions to sneak a bite of hotdog into his delicate palate.

Fail!

Both times, he was on to me and promptly ejected the errant dog.

Maybe he prefers a grilled hotdog (instead of a boiled one)? Or one overflowing with condiments? Or a chili-cheese dog? Who knows?

I guess, from now on, I'll forget about the hotdogs and stick with what works ... Guacamole.

mother (in-law?) knows best

It's no secret that I have been anxiously awaiting the moment Malcolm decides to say his first word.

From the time he was one year old, I was giddy with anticipation.

Would he say "Mama?"

Maybe "Dada?"

Something else entirely?

It really didn't matter as long as it was a real word.

And I truly believe that is the case. That Malcolm has to choose to do it.

I strongly believe that he has all the tools necessary ... He can hear properly, his mouth and palate are formed correctly, he has plenty of verbal stimulation by way of conversations and books being read ... I don't think there is any reason for concern regarding this small delay.

My son is strong-willed ... Just like his mother.

He will talk when he finally feels like doing so.

Unfortunately, my mother-in-law sees the same things I do and finds reason for concern ... But, I should add, that is her way. She is a worrier. Anxious. Apt to blow simple things out of proportion. An over-reactor. To her, Malcolm's speech delay is a sign of problems. Something that should be looked into sooner rather than later ...

But I (respectfully) disagree.

While I certainly want what's best for my son (as I know she does, too), I don't see the rush in taking him for a hearing test right now. His doctor and I have been monitoring his language development since he was born and he will be tested if adequate progress is not made by the time he goes back for his two-year appointment (in only four months). In my mind, there is no reason to spend the time or money on a diagnostic test that will, most likely, come back normal anyway.

It doesn't help that my husband is right on board with his mom.

"What's the big deal?" He wonders. "There's no harm in having him tested early."

Which is true, too.

And he is the father, afterall ... So his opinion (no matter how strongly I may disagree) matters.

This is one of those times where I wish more people read (and commented) on this blog! I could definitely use some differing opinions on the issue ... And personal experiences to either back up my mother-in-law (and husband) or myself!

My gut tells me that my child is perfectly normal and that it's not a big deal to take a "wait and see" approach until he turns two ...

So far, my gut has been pretty good at this whole "mothering" thing ...

the muppet master

I mentioned a bunch of posts ago, that Malcolm enjoys watching a "Bert and Ernie" DVD while I am trying to get work done during the day. Not only has this DVD been a lifesaver, buying me 15 minutes (or more!) at a time, it has also got me to thinking ...

It's funny (and absolutely fascinating to me) how kids truly do choose which objects they are going to prefer. Even if, as a parent, I want my kid to like (or perhaps ignore) a certain thing, it's the child who ultimately decides how he/she is going to react.

As much as I like to think that Malcolm exists only to make me happy (which in many ways, he certainly does), he really is his own little person with his own little brain ...

For example, after seeing some old school Sesame Street books at my parents' house (books that have been sticking around since my childhood), Malcolm has been all about Sesame Street! His favorite character is probably The Count (they call him "The Count" because he loves to count things!), but he's also a big fan of Bert, Ernie, Cookie Monster, Big Bird, and Grover ... Surprisingly, he doesn't really care for Elmo (the usual kid-favorite).

That's my boy! Going against the grain!

At any rate, this whole Sesame Street phase is all his own.

In no way did I (or anyone else in my family) "push" any of these particular characters on him. He's picked them himself from the various Sesame Street books we have accumulated and the videos we have watched on the Sesame Street website.

He's decided who will be a "favorite" and who will be "just another Muppet."

He pulls the strings.

As his mother, it is so crazy to see these preferences developing. I've heard from other parents, many times over, about how their kids only care about "Veggie Tales," or "Disney's Cars," or "Thomas the Tank Engine," or any host of other kid-friendly fare ... Now I'm living it, firsthand.

My son actually likes something and has quickly created a routine around it. And if he doesn't get to see his Sesame Street friends when he wants to ... Look out!

I can only imagine how many of these preferences will develop through the years. How many likes and dislikes will come and go with the times. How many of these "phases" I will embrace, and how many will cause me to cringe and shake my head.

But, for now, I'm brushing up on my Sesame Street impersonations ...

And wondering if a Sesame Street themed second birthday party is in the cards!

monkey see, monkey do

As has been mentioned before, I am a science teacher.

I like science ... I think I always have.

I like the concept of using evidence to support a claim.

I like to think logically.

I like to problem solve.

But, by the same token, I am a spiritual person.

I believe in a Higher Power and that everything happens for a reason.

That what goes around comes around.

I say all this because, from my current experiences, being both scientifically minded and religious is something of an oxymoron.

It is unheard of.

It is an either/or situation ...

Certainly not both at the same time!

As a teacher (more specifically, a Biology teacher), I am entrusted with educating my students according to the state standards and curriculum that I am given. This semester, part of that curriculum involves the theory of evolution ...

Now, I could ramble on all day long about there is nothing "evil" or "anti-God" about evolution. How a scientific "theory" is a well-supported body of evidence. How it is no less important (or any less "proven") than a scientific law. I could rant and rave about how the statement "it's just a theory" boils my science-teacher blood. Or how species are constantly evolving and adapting to the changing, chaotic world in which we live ...

But you get the idea.

I'll spare you.

While I do believe in God, I agree with (I hate to say "believe in") the scientific claims described in the theory of evolution ... So, it is very difficult for me, when speaking with parents, to hear them say things like:

"I'll just tell my son that what you're talking about in class is all a fairy tale. He knows that God created the world exactly as it is today."

This not only gets me wondering, as a teacher, if I can truly do my job and educate some of my students (especially if they are being told that the material is all lies) ... It also makes me wonder about just how I want to raise Malcolm when it comes to matters of spirituality and belief.

I mean, we currently attend Catholic mass every Sunday. We read children's books about Jesus and virtues and other faith-related themes. We try to live our lives and show Malcolm, by example, what it means to be a "good person."

Obviously, I am teaching my son about religion and faith at an early age.

The Catholic sacrament of Marriage is performed for just that reason ... To produce children and bring them up in the faith, thereby keeping it alive. But, at the same time, I don't want to shelter him from other ways of thinking. I don't want Malcolm to be the ignorant kid that blindly follows me, his mother, because "I told him so."

I want him to ask questions about everything, to educate himself, and ultimately make his own decisions ...

But what if the decisions that he makes are not the same as what I want for him?

What if they deviate from what I believe to be true?

Can I handle that?

Would I consider that a failure on my part?

All of these thoughts are currently swirling around my head ... And the kid is only a year old! He hasn't even said his first word yet, let alone decided if he thinks evolution is a "fairy tale" or a reality ... Or if he believes in the same God that I do.

As I compose this post, I know that there is no easy answer to my dilemma.

While, on one hand, I want my son to follow my lead and example, I also want him to take ownership of his own beliefs. I want him to inquire about science, religion, everything and to know that it is okay to ask tough questions ...

That sometimes a situation resides in a hazy gray area with no boundary between right and wrong.

That sometimes it's not a matter of "either/or," but rather "both/and."

mother, may i?

Malcolm is quite the obedient little fellow.

For example, there is a mini flashlight that sits on my husband's bedside table (he wakes up before it's light out and, at times, needs to locate something in the room without disturbing my slumber) that fascinates Malcolm. Whenever he is close to our bedroom door he gets really excited and squeals to go inside ...

Note: Gosh, I can't wait until I don't have to write "squeals" anymore! "Asks" will be so much more satisfying!

He beelines right for the table and picks up the flashlight, waving it in the air and carrying it around with him the whole time we are in the room. But, no sooner than I ask, "Malcolm, can you please put Daddy's flashlight back?" he scurries off and actually does it.

And he seems quite proud of himself, too.

I find myself somewhat surprised (and thrilled) when he eagerly follows similar directions during the day ...

When asked to bring me a specific item, he promptly locates and retrieves it.

When asked to "help" clean up the mess that is the living room, he jumps right in and starts returning items to their proper places.

When asked if he's hungry or in need of a nap, he actually goes to where the activity would take place ...

Even my parents, after his weekend visit, recounted how he ran out of the room to grab a book after being asked to do so (they were surprised when he returned to the room with the correct one).

I don't know if this is normal, and/or if it is going to last (and for how long?!), but I am finding so much joy in every single minute of it! It's fun to "test him" throughout the day to see what he knows and what he doesn't ... He rarely misses a beat! He may not be saying any words just yet, but he is already building up an impressive receptive vocabulary!

My little Malcolm is transforming into a full fledged person right before my eyes ... A well-behaved full fledged person.

What more could I ask for?!

unopened

My husband has been a little under the weather lately, so, this morning when I woke up, there was a pile of boxes from our medicine cabinet tossed haphazardly on the bathroom counter. As I brushed my teeth, I glanced over at them, reading about the contents of the various brightly colored boxes ...

Cold and sinus caplets.

Sinus and headache geltabs.

Extreme congestion nasal spray.

And, for good measure, infant gas relief drops.

Unopened.

Never touched.

I remember the drama that led up to the purchase of those infant drops ...

One night, while we had some visitors (I won't say who, although those that know me and my family/extended family can probably guess who was over), Malcolm was a little bit fussy.

A teeny, tiny bit fussy.

Barely even noticeable, really.

Since the kid hardly ever cried, let alone fussed, it didn't bother me too much when it inevitably happened ... Sometimes we all just need a moment to be cranky!

Unfortunately, it seemed to signal the end of the world to our visitors:

"He's gassy ... I just felt a little toot!"

"He's bloated!"

"His belly feels so full!"

"Is he having trouble burping?!"

"You really need to get some infant gas drops ... I can't believe you don't have any infant gas drops!"

"He's just fine!" I wanted to shout. "If you 'felt a little toot,' doesn't that mean he is able to relieve whatever gas he may have? And maybe his belly feels full because he just ate!"

Of course, as new mothers tend to do, I just sat there and took the onslaught instead. It would end soon enough, just like Malcolm's bout of fussiness. Even so, my husband felt the need to go and purchase a container of infant gas relief the next time he headed out to the drug store, just in case we might need it down the line.

Well, wouldn't you know?

It turns out we didn't, since they are taking up space in our medicine cabinet ...

Unopened!

I guess that means I was right after all.

easily amused

Did you know that I'm a budding poet?

You didn't?!

Try this haiku on for size ...


Totally content
Carefully stacking boxes
Cheap "toys" are the best!

slap happy

In addition to using his hands to point and/or gesture at EVERYTHING, Malcolm has realized that they are also good for slapping his parents silly. On more than one occasion, he has faked either my husband or myself out by being completely adorable and then rewarded our cuddliness with a major smack to the face.

As I have mentioned before, he gets extremely upset when told "no" about anything ... However, slapping us must be so fun that our reprimands are falling on deaf ears. Instead of looking wounded, Malcolm will shoot us his biggest, broadest smile, slowly lean in, and then rest his forehead against our just-slapped-faces as if to say: "You don't really mean that, look at how cute I can be!"

I am having an increasingly hard time maintaining an angry face through all of this.

My husband, who used to keep a good, stern front, is beginning to crack.

The charms of our abusive little baby are starting to get to us. There are weak spots in our parental defenses ... And he has taken note of them!

We better get this figured out before we have a teenager on our hands ...

taking the good with the bad

Through every stage of Malcolm's life so far, I have noticed that for each negative experience, there is a positive one ...

You know, kind of like Newton's Third Law ("For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction") for mothers!

Negative: Enduring a good four hours of excruciating back labor (with no drug assistance)
Positive: Feeling like Superwoman for a good week after that ridiculous delivery

Negative: Being outnumbered two to one in the household
Positive: Having a "mama's boy" that completely adores you

Negative: Getting very little sleep due to nursing demands
Positive: Having that oh-so-lovable (and cuddly) snuggle time every two hours

Negative: More dirty diapers than seems humanly possible for such a small creature
Positive: The smiles that ensue while on the changing table

Negative: The strobe light that is the baby monitor cutting through the darkness of the bedroom
Positive: Hearing that sweet little sleepy sigh ... Or that giggle ... Or that sneeze ...

Negative: All the extra laundry!
Positive: Seeing that basket of clean and folded, tiny baby's clothes

Negative: Having a crabby, uncomfortable, drooly baby during teething
Positive: The cuteness of a single-toothed smile

Negative: Making "raspberries" with a mouth full of baby food
Positive: How cute those "raspberries" look (even if they are messy)

Negative: Perpetual dirty knees and hands ... And the ability to get into EVERYTHING
Positive: Watching the glee on your child's face as he explores his world

Negative: The whining ... Oh! The whining!
Positive: Putting an end to the whining with the power of a hug and and a cuddle

Negative: Knowing he's just going to keep getting older ...
Positive: Being there to experience it with him

even the best parents screw up sometimes

A haiku ...

Laughter fills the air
Babe slung over the shoulder
BUMP! Watch that door frame!

goody two shoes

For every physical feature that is just like his father, there is a personality trait that is eerily like me.

Case in point: This child is a total rule-follower and does not like to be reprimanded ...

Whenever he hears the word "no," his eyes get big and tear-filled, his bottom lip comes protruding out, and he bashfully retreats from the mean person that uttered the dreaded word. I remember reading in one of my parenting books that children understand "no" by about nine months of age, but whether or not they choose to respond to it is another story. Initially, I thought that that was crazy.

What nine-month-old reacts to being disciplined?

Apparently, mine does.

This morning, while nursing, Malcolm reached up and grabbed at my lip, pinching and pulling it pretty hard with his sharp little finger nails. As more of a reflex than anything, I loudly and sternly said: "Ouch! No, that hurts!"

Immediately, he pulled his hand back, releasing my face from his grip and becoming completely silent. His eyes got bigger than usual and I could see his chest rising and falling at an accelerated pace as he started to work himself up. Finally, a little whimper built up in his throat ...

He looked so sad that I felt really bad for telling him "no" in the first place. Surely he hadn't meant to nearly rip my lip off ... It could have been a lot worse. At least he hasn't taken to biting other sensitive areas! When I noticed the tears surfacing, I picked him up off of the Boppy pillow and enveloped him in a big hug. He just let me cuddle him for a minute, without noise or protest, and I could feel all the signs of sadness slipping away.

When all was well, I apologized for upsetting him during his morning meal and we went back to nursing without incident.

Although he certainly makes me feel guilty about doing it, I think that his aversion to being reprimanded is pretty funny ... Not to mention quite useful. I can only hope that this little character trait continues on through the toddler years and beyond.

Having a little goody two shoes is just fine with me!

waking up is hard to do

All the references to being (or not being) "in the bag" in last week's post got me thinking about some of the other things I don't like dealing with first thing in the morning.

Here they are, in list form:

1. A classroom full of teenagers.
2. My grumpy husband (he is, shall we say, not a morning person).
3. My messy house ... Where to begin?!
4. A pile of cat barf in the hallway.
5. My sweet child (and inside of his crib, bumpers and all) smeared in feces. Lots and lots of feces ...

Can you guess which one I just recently experienced??

Side note: I will never, EVER, put any child of mine to bed in only a diaper and shorts ... Onesies or sleepers will be the norm from now on! Then, at least, most of the poop will get trapped ...