The Roar of the Toddler
I had some things I wanted to post, but the sounds of a no-napped, milk-refusing, won't-eat-dinner, doesn't-want-to-wear-his-pajamas-or-diaper toddler chased all thoughts from my head. So now I sit here with a sleeping newborn on my lap as Adam tries to get the aforementioned child to bed in a peaceful manner.
What was there to say? My mother, aka Nana, made it safely to Boston. Suffice it to say, in a mere few hours, she proved herself to be the superior caregiver. She not only calmed children, did food shopping, but in her down time she... painted our new shed. Thanks for the help, Peter, but let's face it: someone who both changes dirty diapers and does manual labor wins hands down (although, come to think of it, Peter, I don't believe you changed any diapers).
Of course, she hasn't always been the most positive influence on my older child. Nana enjoys a single glass of red wine with dinner. Which would be fine if on Friday nights, we didn't have our Shabbat juice--grape juice in a wine cup--and allow Doodles to have a sippy of juice (don't tell him but it's actually about 1/4 juice and 3/4 water). When Doodles saw Nana with her wine, he got very excited. "Shabbat juice! Shabbat juice! Doodles Shabbat juice!" Nana is now forced to sneak her wine in the kitchen before her meal to avoid the Shabbat juice meltdowns.
Nana also turned my child onto ice. Nana requires copious amounts of ice for both her water and her ever-present Diet Coke (note to Nana: I believe there are twelve-step programs that can help you. Repeat after me, "My name is Nana, and I'm a Diet Cokeaholic"). Doodles now requires ice, which to his chagrin I will only allow in a sippy cup (I'm afraid of him choking on it if he has it in a big boy cup). However, Nana has been a huuuuuuge help and I live in fear of the day (which is one week from today) that Nana goes home. How do people do it with two kids? HOW? (That is not a rhetorical question: please tell me!)
And on a related note: a happy birthday to Nana, who turns, um, 59 again, tomorrow! Yeah! Happy birthday!
What else to report? Sweetie Pie is not sleeping even remotely through the night. She has horrendous gas, and I've given up eating, well, just about everything. But she had her one-month doc visit today and the doc said that if the gas hadn't improved after my being off of food for just about a full week now, then it probably isn't caused by anything I'm consuming and I can go back to eating. It's most likely simply an immature digestive system. However, there's no worries about Sweetie Pie getting enough to eat; the roly poly cutie pie is about 25th to 40th percentile for length and a whopping 95th percentile for weight. If there's one thing, apparently, that I do well, it's make milk. Mooooo!
This isn't at all what I had meant to blog about, but for the life of me, I can't remember what I had intended to write. I'm so far beyond tired that I can't even think what would be beyond tired. Last night, I had every intention of going to bed at 9 p.m. Let me rephrase that. I had every intention of going to sleep at 9 p.m. Because I did go to bed. I just had to get out of it to walk Sweetie Pie who decided she wanted to be gassy and tired until close to midnight (although in all fairness, Adam did much of the walking). Man, does that kid have lungs! I hate it when she gets gassy and upset, but I have to confess, I think she's so cute when her little face scrunches up and turns bright red and that tiny mouth opens wide. Okay, I must be getting delirious. Time to rest before the next round of Sweetie Pie's gas.
(P.S.--I finally posted a bunch of new photos! If you need the password, drop me an e-mail.)
What was there to say? My mother, aka Nana, made it safely to Boston. Suffice it to say, in a mere few hours, she proved herself to be the superior caregiver. She not only calmed children, did food shopping, but in her down time she... painted our new shed. Thanks for the help, Peter, but let's face it: someone who both changes dirty diapers and does manual labor wins hands down (although, come to think of it, Peter, I don't believe you changed any diapers).
Of course, she hasn't always been the most positive influence on my older child. Nana enjoys a single glass of red wine with dinner. Which would be fine if on Friday nights, we didn't have our Shabbat juice--grape juice in a wine cup--and allow Doodles to have a sippy of juice (don't tell him but it's actually about 1/4 juice and 3/4 water). When Doodles saw Nana with her wine, he got very excited. "Shabbat juice! Shabbat juice! Doodles Shabbat juice!" Nana is now forced to sneak her wine in the kitchen before her meal to avoid the Shabbat juice meltdowns.
Nana also turned my child onto ice. Nana requires copious amounts of ice for both her water and her ever-present Diet Coke (note to Nana: I believe there are twelve-step programs that can help you. Repeat after me, "My name is Nana, and I'm a Diet Cokeaholic"). Doodles now requires ice, which to his chagrin I will only allow in a sippy cup (I'm afraid of him choking on it if he has it in a big boy cup). However, Nana has been a huuuuuuge help and I live in fear of the day (which is one week from today) that Nana goes home. How do people do it with two kids? HOW? (That is not a rhetorical question: please tell me!)
And on a related note: a happy birthday to Nana, who turns, um, 59 again, tomorrow! Yeah! Happy birthday!
What else to report? Sweetie Pie is not sleeping even remotely through the night. She has horrendous gas, and I've given up eating, well, just about everything. But she had her one-month doc visit today and the doc said that if the gas hadn't improved after my being off of food for just about a full week now, then it probably isn't caused by anything I'm consuming and I can go back to eating. It's most likely simply an immature digestive system. However, there's no worries about Sweetie Pie getting enough to eat; the roly poly cutie pie is about 25th to 40th percentile for length and a whopping 95th percentile for weight. If there's one thing, apparently, that I do well, it's make milk. Mooooo!
This isn't at all what I had meant to blog about, but for the life of me, I can't remember what I had intended to write. I'm so far beyond tired that I can't even think what would be beyond tired. Last night, I had every intention of going to bed at 9 p.m. Let me rephrase that. I had every intention of going to sleep at 9 p.m. Because I did go to bed. I just had to get out of it to walk Sweetie Pie who decided she wanted to be gassy and tired until close to midnight (although in all fairness, Adam did much of the walking). Man, does that kid have lungs! I hate it when she gets gassy and upset, but I have to confess, I think she's so cute when her little face scrunches up and turns bright red and that tiny mouth opens wide. Okay, I must be getting delirious. Time to rest before the next round of Sweetie Pie's gas.
(P.S.--I finally posted a bunch of new photos! If you need the password, drop me an e-mail.)
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