Threenager
Alternate Title: The Annual Post Where Mr. Lady hates me
So I would just like you all to know that this:
Becomes this:
And then today became this emo who didn’t want her picture taken:
And when she heard me call her an emo, she asked: “What’s an emo?”
Happy 3rd Birthday, Poptart.
(we are in so much trouble)
Silver linings
When the Poptart was about 10 months old, she weaned from the breast. I just didn’t offer one morning, she didn’t ask, and while I think she would have taken it if I’d offered, she was okay without. She was fully on solids and still got bottles.
At about the 13 month mark, we switched her from formula in her bottles to goat’s milk. She’d guzzle 4 to 6 litres per week, easy. At some point we switched her to cow’s milk, partially because of the cost, and partially because we could buy cow’s milk in 4 litre (gallon) jugs, rather than 2 litre jugs. And she would only drink milk out of a bottle. Water or juice are good in cups (better in glasses) but milk MUST COME FROM A BOTTLE.
At 18 months, she was still getting a bottle pretty much whenever she asked and going through 8-10 litres per week. I wasn’t overly concerned, but I was starting to think about how to wean her from bottles. Because well, she used them a lot. I knew a lot of it was a comfort thing, but honestly, that’s a lot of milk for a 28 lb toddler. She was gaining, but she’d often forego a snack for milk.
She was, in short, a milkaholic.
******* DANGER, WILL ROBINSON: POO AND PUKE TALK FOLLOWS *********
Last week, when I started Christmas Holidays, she got some sort of flu/bug/stomach thing that resulted in, ah, emanations from both ends, if you get my drift. We switched her to disposable diapers because that stuff? Nas-tay.
Also, for a couple of days, she’d throw up whenever we gave her milk. Well, large quantities of milk. Her Friday night bottle came up at about 4:30 am, which wouldn’t have been so bad if Darren hadn’t been felled by the same virus. I cleaned her up, put her in bed with Darren for a few minutes while I cleaned up her bed and threw on a load of laundry, then took her to the blow-up bed to sleep with me.
On Saturday morning, I popped us both in the shower because we both smelled, and she went to sleep. I went to London Drugs where the cashier started to ask how my day was, then stopped when she saw what I was buying: gatorade, pedialyte, febreeze and carpet cleaner.
Monday, I took her to the doctor, who said it has to run its course and to not give her any milk. She was not impressed with the almond milk I gave her.
Anyways, she’s fine now. So is Darren.
And she refuses to drink milk now. So she’s weaned from bottles. Silver linings.
The other side is that she may just eat us out of house and home. She is a machine since not having milk any more, which I suppose means she was filling up on milk.
Random Poptart Antics
18 months is interesting. We have language and physical abilities explosions, coupled with a lack of judgment. Seriously, child, I cannot leave you sitting alone on the counter while you watch the Wiggles on the computer because when you fall? the kitchen tile is hard and unforgiving. So I have to hang around.
And the language explosions. My god. I suppose this is what my mother meant when she said I have to watch my language around the kid.
Scene: I am wrestling with her carseat trying to get it back in the car. Not a difficult process so long as you have the seat in the right position (duh). I do not. So I am wrestling with it.
Me: Oh, shit. What gives?
Later that evening, the Poptart is sitting on the sofa playing with something and drops it.
The Poptart: Oh shit!
Darren: What did she say?
Me: I don’t know! I’m working on my paper!
And the potty training. There’s lots of naked time involved because it’s easier to get her on the potty quickly when she needs it. The other night, she was running around in the buck and blew some air.
Me: Do you have to poo?
The Poptart: No, gas!
And finally, it seems that there is a lot of hockey going on in our house. Darren is a bit of a (hockey) nut, you see. On Monday, the Poptart pulled one of my old textbooks off the bookshelf. On the back cover was this symbol:
For non-Canadians, that’s the symbol for the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation (CBC). They host Hockey Night in Canada on Saturday nights.
So the Poptart sees the emblem, points at it and says “Hockey!!!”
She is Canadian. Through and through.
It’s a good thing she’s cute
I was late for work on Tuesday, and it’s all the Poptart’s fault.
Sometime Monday evening, she took off with my security card and bus pass. Then she was up until 10:30 (?!!) and up at 4:45 (%$*!). And CRANKY, because hello? NOT ENOUGH SLEEP. She wanted to snuggle, except she didn’t. She wanted breakfast, except she didn’t. She wanted a nap, except she didn’t, crazy lady, which is why she spent 5 minutes screaming while I held her.
When our Nanny got up, I passed her off and went to get ready for work – all I needed was my bus pass and I was ready to go.
We searched high and low, until 10 minutes after I usually leave to make the train, and the Nanny found it. Under the storage sofa.* So I missed my regular train.
She is so not playing with my pass when I get home from work. It is being clipped to the keyholder in my bag when I’m on the shuttle from the station to home.
The upside is that I got to have breakfast with her – meaning she ate most of mine and ignored hers because food always tastes better when it’s from my plate.
The downside is that 7am is way too early for wine.
But, she is cute.
* We have an extra loveseat in the living room which we affectionately refer to as “the storage sofa” because it’s where we dump all our extraneous crappe that we don’t want to deal with. The baby finds no end of amusement with this.
You can still enter my A&D Diaper Rash Products giveaway here
Overheard: She’s Cute Now…
The Scene: Darren is tossing the Poptart up in the air under our vaulted ceiling (otherwise she’d go through the ceiling and there’d just be a bum and two legs sticking out, and while such a picture might make good blog fodder, some people might not like it).
Darren (setting the Poptart down): You’re getting heavier.
Me: Yeah, she’s gained weight.
Darren: I blame all the blueberries.
Me: I blame feeding her in general.
One*
May 17, 2009 @ 6:52 p.m.
May 17, 2010 @ 6:52 p.m.
* Alternate title: WTF?**
**Alternate alternate title: Mr. Lady will hate me even more now.
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes, or Why we are in so much trouble
So my last post, where I talked about the cold turkeyness of recent days here? That’s just a snapshot of the changes we’ve been having.
Since our Nanny arrived at the end of March, the Poptart has:
- learned how to clap (I have trained her to clap at the appropriate times to the song, “If you’re happy and you know it”)
- started handing me things to put on, eat, fill, etc (she will pick up an empty bottle, stick the nipple in her mouth and then give it to me – indicating she wants a bottle)
- gotten her first cold that I’m aware of (and to prove she is our daughter, she didn’t do it halfway: throat and ear infection needing antibiotics)
- we purchased a humidifier
- started climbing the stairs (we purchased and installed a gate)
- Will come up to me, say “Mum” or “Mama” and lift her arms up (or try to pants me as she pulls herself up)
- Started walking (and I was right. We are in so much trouble because now she can walk around and reach things like my wine glass or coffee cup)
Cold Turkey
One week from today, I go back to work full-time. There’s no transitioning in period; I go back fulltime, cold turkey.
I have arranged my hours, my transit pass, my childcare (and honestly, everyone needs a nanny), and refilled my zoloft. The Poptart has weaned, cold turkey. Next week, we are going stateside for a day, I think, to do some shopping as both Darren and I need new clothes.
A few weeks ago, I was pretty much done with breastfeeding. My goal had been to breastfeed through flu season (end of February) and anything beyond that was just gravy.
I am an only child. I am used to having my own space and I enjoy my own company. Of course, I enjoy the Poptart’s company more, but I needed some space. Although we were down to one or two nursing sessions per day, I was just done. I wanted my body back. I was tired of wearing a bra or nursing tank at night. I wanted to be able to exercise without feeling like I had to bind myself with duct tape.
So one morning in March, I just didn’t offer and gave the Poptart some eggs and oatmeal with prunes instead. And she didn’t ask to nurse. She had a bottle a bit later and we snuggled, and she fell asleep in my arms like she usually does.
And that, as they say, was that. I expect she would have nursed if I had offered but she seemed content with snuggling and having a bottle. I expressed to relieve pressure and broke out the pump once when it looked like I had a blocked duct.
About 10 days later, our Nanny arrived. I had to get used to someone else living in my house, cold turkey. This, of course, was made easier by the fact that I didn’t have to clean much any more. But it is kind of weird that there’s someone living in the house that does the cleaning that isn’t me.
This week, I don’t stop cooking entirely, but Monday through Thursday, dinner will be made for us, allowing me to spend time with the Poptart when I get home. I just make sure the groceries are in the house.
And that, as they say, is that. Cold turkey.
Babyproofing gone awry
Alternate title: adding to my bid for the Mother of the Year Award.
Awhile back, we did this to babyproof the TV stand so she wouldn’t whack her head against it, or if she did, it wouldn’t hurt in the same way that tempered, 3/4 inch glass hurts when it collides with a skull:
We thought we were all Clever, and Frugal, and Repurposing with it. It’s just foam insulation that you put around water pipes.
Today I removed it because the Poptart decided it would be a good thing to eat.
That foam, incidentally, does not digest. Just like band-aids.
The mother of the year award is MINE. You can all stop worrying about that.
I know it’s only a week into January, but I really think I’ve cemented the mother of the year award with my uber-good parenting today.
1. Before we went out to Mother Goose, I set up the kitchen and entry so that the roomba could run around in there. I was moving the chairs, etc., into the living room where the poptart was playing with the (metal) heating vent on the wall. Then she yanked a tag off the the chair that I hadn’t removed. By the time I got to her she had consumed about a quarter of it.
2. I picked her up, put her pants on (she hangs out in a shirt only, usually), and went to put her boots and coat on her. When I got to the entry, I noticed there were drops of blood on her pants and shirt. I looked all over my hands for it; turns out she cut her finger open on the heating vent.
3. I took her upstairs, cleaned the cut and put a couple of those little round bandaids on it. Then I packed her in the car and went off to Mother Goose (you see where this is going, right?). When I got to Mother Goose, the bandaids were off her finger. I only found one of them.
It’s okay – it was one of the fabric ones.
And yes, I put new pants on her.
And that was just TODAY. Earlier in the week, I washed her sippy cup in the dishwasher and then filled it and put the lid back on – without the valve. It took me about 4 days to figure out why she was choking on the water all the time.
Just give up. Mother of the Year Award 2010 is MINE.
