This Is How We Parent

This morning W ate three bowls of peanut butter cereal. Yeah, I feed my 2.5 year-old all the Jiff flavored kernels he can stuff in his belly…but it’s the organic kind with panda bears on the box and the proceeds go to protect the furry creatures and the box is made of recycled paper and there are no harmful ingredients in the balls of peanut buttery goodness…so it’s totally okay, right?

The Hubs and I raise our tot with boundaries while letting him have the freedom to be himself, however painful that can sometimes be. We both are (sorta) cool with the fact he’s a night owl and rather than force him in to bed at an early hour, a task that proves hard and exhausting for everyone, we let him stay up to watch the Simpsons with us. Yep, that’s 10 p.m., folks, and quality programming, no? The theme song comes on and he sprints to the bed like a frat boy to the bar at last call. He laughs along with us at the jokes he can’t understand and then asks, “Whas happening, momma?” I can’t remember what I watched when I was 2.5 so I don’t think this will scar him in any way.

We’ve found ourselves with the issue of a tot who wakes in the middle of the night and is in the habit of climbing in to bed with us, which usually ends with the Hubs finishing his dreams in the downstairs bedroom. Bad. Bad. W wakes and sleepily asks for his monster truck and where his daddy is and then points with authority in the direction of the stairs, his eyes still closed. I was able to get him back to sleep in his own bed last night but he still somehow ended up in our bed. I don’t recall bringing him up but I’m sure I’m the guilty party.

W had an “accident” in the bath last night. As the two turd logs drifted to the bottom of the tub, he screamed, big tears filled his eyes and he scrambled up the walls of slippery porcelain like piranha were chewing off his toes. He was totally embarrassed and freaked. I felt bad for him and explained that everything was okay but he needed to tell me when he had to poop (oh how I loathe poop talk). We’re not at the potty training stage yet but it’s looming on the horizon of his upcoming summer. Joy. His school is initiating it so I guess we gotta hold up our end of the booty bargain. It will be nice to have him out of those expensive landfill cloggers but they’re sooooo convenient. Oh well.

It’s great to be back at home and handling the challenges of a growing child. It’s not unlike event planning actually. You can plan and prepare in advance all you want, hammer on details and get certain items in order but you never know what the client is really going to want until you’re actually together onsite. Such is the same with a toddler.

The Poop We're About To Be In

How do you know when it’s time to begin the adventures in potty training? W is only 20 months old but I think I’m seeing some major signage, poop flags, if you will. I’ve heard that teaching little boys is a bit more challenging than teaching girls but I think W is seriously considering some toilet time or headed in that general direction at least. On a regular basis and usually in the morning he comes running into whatever room I’m in and says, “Poop poo,” and then heads straight to his room. He stands next to his changing table with his legs spread and hands griping the table like he’s waiting to be frisked. Usually though, he’s a little too early in his poop prediction and there’s nothing in there but air. What he’s telling me though is that merch is on its way and if I hang just a few minutes more then doodie duty will be on.

I bought him a small plastic potty a while back that I unpacked and assembled for him the other day. He has really been enjoying lifting it’s little plastic lid and having a seat on the squishy blue ring while pointing to the adult toilet nearby and requesting a pretend group effort. “Muh-ma, pooh poo, ” he commands. Ahhh…the candid spirit of the young. This morning he wouldn’t let me out of the house until we had a little loo sit-in. I need to get the Hubs in on this. He likes loo lingering and leaves a library of newspapers, crossword puzzles and time management books in his wake. These two could clock some serious quality time in there.

W hasn’t read any books on the subject or seen any DVDs so I better go get some. If there are any suggestions out there on your favorite poop poo productions, please let me know.

On the health front, I awoke to a normal eye this morning. No more corn flakes hanging off the lashes, thank god. The ulcer on the inside of my bottom lip is finally going away so now I don’t look like I had that botched botox job BUT I’m still battling a ribcage rattling cough that turns my lungs inside out and back again like a pair of athletic socks and my throat is raw, raw, raw. My abs, on the other hand, are like a six pack of Red Bulls. Seriously though, enough is enough. The Hubs is begging me to go to the doc but I heard from a friend this morning that I need to get on some Echinacea and garlic so I hit the GNC earlier. Hopefully this will work. I dread the idea of my doc scripting me with some hard core meds. I just don’t do well like that.

Pooparama

As my child grows and his appetite mirrors his development, his diapers double in weight. What was once a quick swipe of the bum is now a “Mop up on aisle 3!” For a while, W’s bowel movements were saved for the classroom. We had gotten on a reliable schedule of dress at home, dump at school. I’m sure his teachers cringe at the smelly explosions but, hey, that’s part of the gig in the infant room. Lately, W has been saying “Yucky.” It’s probably safe to assume he learned it on the changing table from one of his teachers. For the past few mornings, I’ve been the lucky recipient of his recycled edibles. It’s no mystery when he is laying the Holy Grail of all poops. The room is quiet and he remains relatively motionless, his face the color of a Santa suit. This morning was no exception. The diaper unveiling revealed, well, you know, and lots of it. The funny thing is, if I had someone participate in a smell test, they would be convinced it was a bottle of nail polish remover. Upon inspection, they would also be convinced that I was feeding him handfuls of birdseed when I know last night he ate turkey with gravy, corn, mashed potatoes and 5 animal crackers. When we were at the pediatrician’s office last Monday for W’s 15 month check up, he mentioned that our son’s appetite would probably start to decline. So far, no dice. In fact, recently at a parent/teacher meeting at W’s school the head teacher remarked at how such a tiny boy could consume so much food. His weight is in the 10th percentile but his head is in the 95th. I think it’s safe to say we’re feeding his brain.