The mouths of babes

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.

Dry.

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.

Lazy, right?

You betcha!

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?”

Him: “Yes.”

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.

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Clearly I’m too busy trying to take a photo to enforce table etiquette rules.

 

Messages

With Valentine’s Day coming up, the older two kids have been working on their cards for their classmates.  Daughter got it in her head that I have to make heart-shaped cookies for her entire class.  She has reminded me every day this week.  This morning I received another reminder in the form of a note. She wrote it so I wouldn’t forget to go to the local Bulk Barn and look for a cookie cutter in the shape of a heart.

photo 1(1)Her brother then decided he had to write me a note as well (keep in mind this all went down while I was struggling to get their coats and boots on as we were running late, again!).  He will be 4 years old in April and has only been drawing consistently for a few months.
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This is only the second smiley face he’s drawn and I am completely in love with it.

So now I must do my duty and get everything I need to make vanilla cookies tonight.

 

Deep thoughts.

Why must a 3-year-old take 10 minutes to brush his teeth? Why does he have to drink water from the exact same cup with precisely 3 cubes (because that’s how old is)?

Why do you have to ask your 6-year-old repeatedly to do a simple task? Why must she insist on doing it in her own sweet time? Is it because she knows it infuriates her mother and it’s her only source of power?

Why do I have to read the same bedtime story every.single.night for weeks on end? I can practically recite Herbert the Timid Dragon by heart. “Take that, you varmint!” “What’s a varmint?”

When and why does the obedient, smiling toddler become the infuriating and disobedient child? Is it to drive parents to drink? I’m starting to think so.

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An Unexpected Gesture

I have several families in my practice who have delayed vaccinating their children.  (Don’t get me started!)

One such family came in today for the final vaccination of the childhood series.  The little boy is 4 years old and he was receiving his second dose of MMR and varicella (conveniently packaged in a single dose vaccine called MMRV).  He was a little scared, of course and asked me a question as I was preparing the vaccine.

“Can you put it right here?”

I turned to look at him as he pointed to the inside aspect of his forearm.

“Well, the needle has to go in the fatty bit of your arm and there isn’t enough fat there.  How about we put it up higher on the back of your arm?”

He agreed with a nod of his head.

I cleaned the back of his arm with a swab of alcohol and gave him the needle. There was not a whimper.  He took it like a man.

As I was back at the desk, finishing up the clinical note and completing his immunization record he walked over to me and said “Thank you, Doctor” and gave me a hug.

A hug! For giving him a vaccine.

Well, I’ll be damned.  He just made my day.

Tuesday Morning.

(Stumbling out of bed headed to the baby’s room).  “N…. N….!!!”

“Yeah, Mommy?”

“Time to get dressed for school!”

(Groaning) “Awwww… but I just started playing!”

“Get dressed please.”

(Walking into the baby’s room) “Good morning, little man!”

“Babba dadda mama mama mama hi mama mama!”

(Daughter walks in, naked) “Mommy, can I wear a dress today?”

“No, sweetie.  It’s very cold out. Put on pants and a sweater and warm socks.”

“Okay. Oh and mommy, this is my friend Lily.” (She gestures to the empty air beside her.)

“Hi Lily.”

“Lily is my imaginary friend.”

(Changing the baby’s bottom) “Okay, honey. Go get dressed please”

“Can Lily stay and watch you change J’s bum?”

“Sure.  Lily you can stand there while I change J’s bum. Wait, is Lily dressed for school?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, well  you go get dressed and then head downstairs for breakfast.”

(Daughter leaves the room)

(Son walks in, gesturing with his imaginary bow and arrow) “Hi Mommy.”

“Hi honey.  What have you got there?”

“Oh this is my bowen arrow.”

“Your what?”

“My bowen arrow.”

“What are you shooting at?”

“Targets.”

“Hmm… can you put it away and take Lily downstairs for breakfast?”

(Without a pause)  “Okay Lily, let’s go downstairs.”

(Meanwhile on the change table) “Baba dada mama mama mama buh buh buh hi.”

“I need coffee.”