Two years old in a few weeks and he’s giving me more hassle than the other two before him combined.
He expertly climbed out of his crib a month ago. Happy as a pig in shit to do so. Ready for a big boy bed, it would seem. So a big boy bed he got. Trouble is now he won’t stay in it. Oh, eventually he’ll just tire at the gate and shuffle back to bed but when this happens at 1 am in the morning, it comes down to a battle of will.
“Maaaaama, I whan warhm miiiiilk.”
Me, softly, from my bedroom. “Go back to bed.”
Whining ensues. Tired whining.
Me: “Go back to bed.”
“No. Maaaaama. I hugry.”
A few more minutes of whining.
“Daaaaady. I whan warhm miiiilk.”
Sternly, “Go back to bed. Night night.”
This went on for over an hour. Eventually, his will broke and he found his way back to bed. Hmpfh. Hungry indeed. Just stay the fuck in bed, kid.
I am sitting in a salon chair finally getting my hair done. It desperately needs some help and this was the only time I could fit it in. I
work this afternoon and then I am off for almost three weeks.
Three more hours of patient visits to go.
Three more hours of lab reports, consults and prescription renewals.
Three more hours of dealing with other people’s problems.
Yesterday I started to worry that I was getting depressed again. I suddenly just felt … I don’t know, I felt off. I felt like I just didn’t care about any of it anymore. I didn’t want to go home and face the chaos of trying to clean and pack and deal with the kids.
But then I got home and amongst the chaos and dirty faces and piles of laundry to fold, I felt immensely better. I was happy to be home. I can’t begin to describe how reassuring that was to feel. Despite the state of emergency that my house is currently in, I was happy to be home and in the middle of it.
I don’t need a break from my family, house or kids. I need a break from work.
I’m so fried right now, I can barely think straight.
The “baby” has learned how to climb out of his crib. He’ll be 2 next month. I’m not ready for him to be in a big-boy bed but he’s at risk for fracturing something if he keeps this up. And speaking of up, since he’s discovered this little trick, when he wakes up at 6am he no longer talks to himself in the crib. He gets out of this crib, opens his door and comes to my room. This morning he discovered there were monkeys on his pajamas.
“Yes, monkey,” I reply half-asleep.
(Louder) MOMMY!!!!! Monkey!!
(LOUDER) “DADDY!!! DADDDY! Monkey!”
“MOMMY! I hugry. Mommy! I HUGRY!”
“Too early for breakfast,” I mutter.
“DADDY! I hugry!”
“Okay,” in a very deep sleepy voice.
This goes on for about 10 minutes. I finally get up to get the kid some milk and the other two spawn are coming out of their room all bright-eye and bushy-tailed.
They are all smiles, “Hi Mommy! Can we go downstairs?”
Daughter had her fracture clinic follow up this afternoon. I had called this morning to book the appointment only to be told it was already booked and it was in a few hours.
Say again? No one from the hospital called us, it’s only been 5 days since she was seen and yesterday was a holiday, so how can she be booked already?
Sigh. Thank goodness her dad is at home. I called my mom to see if she could come over to watch the baby and then called daughter’s school advising them that she was being picked up early. Husband texted me from the clinic that it was busy and he would be late picking up our son from preschool. I re-arranged my patient bookings so I could pick him up and take him home.
As I was about to leave to get my son, I received this text from husband.
I hated that I wasn’t there for my daughter. I called husband and told him my plan of getting our son, taking him home to my mom and then coming to the hospital. I was going to cancel the rest of my day. I spoke with my little girl and she was obviously crying, “I don’t want surgery, Mommy.” I tried to be as calm and upbeat as I could telling her that the doctors weren’t sure yet and we needed to wait to find out what the x-rays showed. Hubby then took the phone away and said they were going for the x-rays and hung up.
I got home about thirty minutes later and anxiously waited for news. I kept telling myself that its not a big deal if she needs surgery, after all husband had a similar fracture when he was 12, they would have matching scars! But the thought of her being put under a general anesthetic and having her skin cut open and her bones screwed back together – ugh, it was awful.
Finally, I got service back on my phone and a flurry of texts came in.
“New cast for 2 weeks.”
And then … “Done and coming home.”
I gave her the biggest hug when I saw her and her fancy new cast.
Husband is at a rehearsal for a show next week. A friend’s band is doing a covers night and they asked him to sing a song so I am home alone tonight with three kids.
Bedtime gets started early here. The baby was in his crib at 6pm with his bottle. The older boy was in the bath and the eldest was I her room writing something.
She came in to show me. “How to be good”. I was very impressed! She knows the rules! Too bad she doesn’t actually follow them!
Listen. No talking back. Do something the firs time you are asked. Do as you are told. Focus your ears. Do not ignore. And all this information is good.
After bath, I read them a few of daddy’s old Smurfs and Ewoks comic books. Then it was time to get into bed. I told them a make-up story all about Princess Rose and the good transformer who worked with the Prince to rescue her from the bad transformer. But that story wasn’t enough, so I had to tell another one with Spiderman and how he became Spider-transformer after Optimus Prime injected him with nano-bots to assist the Autobots in taking down the bad transformer. (Neither kids has seen the Transformer movies, or the cartoon, but their daddy tells them these make-up stories all the time. I’m sure mine paled in comparison.)
Bedtime seemed to be going so well until it didn’t. Suddenly neither of them were settling down and my voice started increasing in tone and pitch, and I may have tapped her on the back a little harder than I had intended in an attempt to get her attention and stop sitting up in bed. I’d gotten hit in the face at least three times by the Spiderman doll and clearly had enough and that’s when the waterworks from the girl started:
“You never spend any time with me.”
“I just don’t know what to say to you.”
“Why do you always have to work?”
“Why can’t you just spend all your time with us?”
Oy. She’s a master manipulator. At the age of six!
Needless to say, bedtime took about 3 hours. It’s a little after 9pm, I haven’t had my dinner and I’m seriously considering opening a bottle of wine.
I swear I have no idea how my husband does this on a daily basis. He’s amazing.
For the past few nights, our oldest son has asked not to wear a diaper at nighttime. He will be 4 years old in April. Husband and I haven’t really encouraged the no diaper at bedtime mostly because we don’t really want to deal with the potential mess the next morning.
In fact, it was his preschool teacher who told us that he was dry during the day and was using the bathroom with the other kids. She asked that we don’t send him in pull-ups anymore. This was about 4-5 months ago.
Anyway, last night this was my conversation with my son.
As I’m trying to get him to take off his underwear so I can put a diaper on:
Him: “No, Mommy. No diaper.”
Me: “Yes, honey. What if you make a pee at nighttime?
Him: “But I don’t, mommy! I don’t pee in my bed.”
Me: “Is your diaper dry when you wake up in the morning?”
Me: “And then you make a pee in the diaper?”
Him: “No” (His diaper is usually full in the morning, so I’m not entirely sure he understood what I was asking.) “Mommy, big boys and big girls don’t wear diapers at nighttime. I’m a big boy now.”
How could I argue with a statement like that?
He went to the bathroom, made a big boy pee and we put him to bed in his underwear. (We also put a towel underneath him and his mattress also has a waterproof cover so in the event of an accident we’d likely be okay.)
This morning, despite the time change, everyone woke up at 7:30am. Husband called out to son, “Did you pee in your underwear?” The answer back, a proud “No!!”. “Go make a pee then,” husband said.
Frankly, I was quite surprised. I didn’t think he was ready but that little boy proved me wrong. As a reward, I made pancakes for breakfast this morning.
Clearly I’m too busy trying to take a photo to enforce table etiquette rules.