I thought Neal was a squirmy baby. People told me, "He's a boy! Boys are much harder to change than girls. Girls lay still, boys are more… physical."
What a load of HOOEY! Ever since Ella learned to roll over, changing her diaper has been like competing in a wrestling match. Now that she's pulling herself up to a standing position, I feel like I am sparring with a worthy UFC contestant. Watch out George St. Pierre.
Today was an exceptionally rousing sporting event.
I could tell that Ella was wet when I lifted her out of her crib after her nap. What I came to realize, en route to the change table, was that she wasn't just wet. She was dirty… really dirty. Poop was oozing out of her pant legs and sleeves. She was like one of those play-doh dolls that sprouts limbs when you push on their heads. In nearly three years as a parent, I had never seen an explosion quite like that, and, as mother to Neal James, that is saying a lot.
I soon realized that there was fecal matter on my clothes. Disgusted, I knew that trying to contain this mess was a lost cause.
I know this is an unpleasant topic, so I am going to attempt to describe the following scene as politely as possible: There was kicking, punching, screaming. And, there was shit from here to Shubenacadie (to those of you unenlightened, that is a real place in Nova Scotia.)
After stripping Ella and giving her a pre-rinse, I threw her in the tub, and shed my own soiled clothes and hopped in the tub with her. Neal, who had just learned to dress and undressed himself, thought this was the perfect excuse to practice his skills. What's could be better than watching Winnie-the-Pooh, while Mommy is distracted with his poopy sister? Why, watching Winnie-the-Pooh in the nude, of course!
He ran into the bathroom to inform me that he was also going to take his diaper off.
"Neal! Please, leave your diaper on! And NO! For the love of God, whatever you do, DON'T take your socks off. Morley's already thrown up twice today." (Morley eats socks. More information for the unenlightened)
I finished bathing Ella and put a diaper on her, confining her to a playpen prison while I, armed with bleach and determination, set out on a mad quest to disinfect every surface in the bathroom. I hopped back in the tub for a post-cleanse shower for good measure.
Wrapping a towel around my torso…my lower torso, the girls on display, I was about to run downstairs to get clean clothes when, through the front door window, I spied two well-dressed ladies on the sidewalk. They were approaching our gate. Instinctively, I crouched to the floor and hobbled back to the bathroom (there is no way of to get past our doorway to my closet, without being seen by these broads).
Ella, content in her playpen cell, was engaged in one of her favourite activities: brushing her teeth. Neal on the other hand, still nude, was getting curious. Morley, not to be left out of the chaos, suddenly discovered the existence of the aspiring trespassers and began barking excitedly, and as ferociously as is possibly for a doodle. This caused Neal to start jumping up and down, yelling: "Mommy, Mommy, someone!" Yes jumping… buck naked in front of a wide open living room window.
"Neal! Come here!" I hissed from the hallway.
"NO!", the typical response. The doorbell rings.
Morley was proudly defending her territory while Neal is performed his dirty dancing act at the window. I was essentially paralyzed, impotent. "Go away!" I silently urged them.
The bell rings again.
At this point I ran out of options. I popped my head out the bathroom window and though I couldn’t actually see the strangers at the door, I maintained my composure. "It's not a good time, I'm...um...bathing the baby!" I announced.
"That's okay. Could we leave a copy of our magazine for you and maybe come back another time?"
"Magazine?"
"It's called, The Watch Tower."
"Er...No Thank you"
The Jehovah’s Witnesses at my door left without further ado, and I breathed a long sigh of relief.
Once the coast was clear, I hurried downstairs and quickly got dressed. I then returned to dress the kids. It occurred to me that the team Watch Tower cheerleaders had come to my door to "save" me. I did in fact need saving that afternoon... I had been defeated in battle on the change table and it stunk - both literally and figuratively.
To quote the German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche: "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger." I hope ol’ Freddy knew what he was talking about because at the rate Ella is growing, I'm going to have to be stronger than I’ve ever been in my life if I'm to contend with her when she starts walking.
Jehova, help us all...
Monday, 30 January 2012
Saturday, 21 January 2012
January Melt Down
For most of my adult life, I have despised the month of January. It's cold. It's dark. It's anti-climactic. After the pageantry of Christmas it feels like punishment – a hangover if you will. The commercials try to sell gym memberships and fad diets, but frankly, I would rather hibernate and eat comfort food until spring.
This year, I'm on Maternity leave. Despite the daily 6:00am morning wake-up call, a shrill "MomEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" that douses me with an icy glass of water over the head, I am grateful to be at home during this harsh month. I may not get to sleep in under cozy warm covers, but at least I don't have to battle the traffic and drive on dangerous roads. I get to see the limited daylight and I can enjoy my Starbucks Mocha after the morning rush.
Most days, I credit my dog Morley for helping me to stay sane. She still has her sock fetish, and some days (today for instance) I wonder a little about her own sanity... Morley's disappearing sock act seems to bear an inverse correlation to her number of park excursions. Two walks a day keeps the sock snatcher at bay. I have learned that I too need to be exercised or at the very least exposed to sunlight twice daily, or else I go a little batty and OD on chocolate chips.
So, at 9am on most weekdays you will find me running through Bowness Park, pushing two kids in a double stroller, with dog in tow. Impressed? You should be.
The price of sanity sky-rockets in January. Neither of my children are particularly enamoured with the double stroller. It takes a considerable amount of bribery, cajoling, and "tough love" to get them settled into it. On cold, wintery days, only a mad woman (me) would embark on such a painstaking mission, but I've almost got it down to a science.
The trick is to get myself ready first, both physically with the right outerwear, and mentally, with the right inner harmony. Then I get a little help from Scooby-Doo while I wrestle the two year-old into his Spider-man snowsuit. During this time, the 10 month-old writhes about on the floor, kicking, bellowing, and sputtering baby curse words. I ignore her cries of protest and proceed to package her up in her mammoth baby snowsuit with built-in feet and mittens.
Eventually we make it to the door. The two year old is now more than ready to get into the stroller because he sees that I have his Flintstone vitamin ready to bestow on him once he is buckled into his seat but the baby is still displeased. I assume the neighbours think that I am a cruel, cruel mother but I remind myself that THIS is the price of sanity, ironic as that may be.
It truly is. For the moment we pass through the gate, everyone settles down, and a blissful peace settles over us. I will admit that some days, during my run, the park, still and frosted with silver , luminescent sun-beams penetrating the trees providing a sparkle as only occurs in the dead of winter, is… in fact...kind of breathtaking.
Last week, I messed with the system. I just didn't have it in me to run through the rigmarole, but Morley was looking at me accusingly- and eyeing up Ella's socked feet, licking her chops, so I knew we had to get out.
"Hey Neal! I'm going to let you walk on your own through the park today and Ella's going to get a backpack ride!"
"Okay. I hold Mommy hand!"
The adventure held promise. Ella squirmed less as I dressed her in her "bunny" snowsuit and plopped her in the backpack and even though the sidewalks and roads were treacherous with packed snow, we made it to the park gates unscathed.
The first thirty minutes were fabulous. Neal and I played fetch with Morley until she got tired. Then Neal and I found sticks and started to draw in the snow. Our last mission was to check to see if Eeyore, and Piglet were home in the "hundred acre wood" on the east side of the park (they weren't). The sun started to set and it started to get cold.
This is when things went to hell in a backpack. Little Ella was no longer enjoying her ride. Her baby legs started to kick. The sputtering started up and increased in intensity until it was a howl.
It was time to go home but Neal was not ready to go home. He was ready to play catch-me-if-you-can- Mommy.
Me (Nice, calm voice): Neal, we need to go home now, Ella is cold and hungry.
Neal: NO!
Me: (Still calm): Neal, okay, but Ella, Morley, and I are going home. I'm going to have hot chocolate when I get home. With marshmallows. If you want some, you'll have to come to.
I walk towards home, anticipating that eventually Neal will follow.
Sitting in the snow watching me walk further and further away, he calls my bluff.
Me: (taking a deep breath): Neal, I'm going to count to THREE. Then I'm coming to get you and I will not be happy and there WILL NOT BE ANY HOT CHOCOLATE!
Neal: (Big goofy grin on his face): hee heee heeeee.
I get to three and my two-and-a-half year-old hasn't budged. I have to put on my stern, angry face (not difficult at this point) and fetch him. Just as I am about to catch him, he jumps to his feet with a big smile on his face and obliges. As he canters in my direction, I breathe a sigh of relief. We are back on track for all of thirty seconds when I hear, "hee hee hee", look over my shoulder and see my itty bitty Spider-Man or should I say Venom (Yes I now know the difference. I know the names of other Marvel characters too.), veering away from me, skating over the icy road and heading for the ice burgs in the river.
Ella is bouncing up and down and pounding on my back as I sprint over the arctic terrain. She is not happy about it. I don't know what cowboy movies she's managed to see in her brief ten months but somehow she's managed to free her hands from the built in snowsuit mitts and she is using my hair as reins, pulling with all her might and screaming ferociously.
I snatch Neal up and carry him under my arms back across the frozen field. He isn't exactly light, and the little monkey thinks this is fantastic. Wild giggles flow freely from his throat. I am seething. This is my so-called empath child. How can he not sense my frustration?!
My arms have turned to jelly and I simply cannot carry him anymore and we are still not out of the woods.
"Neal, you have to walk. Hold my hand!"
"Carry ME!!!!" he responds.
I take his hand and literally drag him across the snow. Ella continues to scream bloody murder and my hair is at the mercy of miniature clawing hands. Morley, definitely sensing my mood, wanting nothing more than to please her owner, is pulling the lot of us up the bridge across the lagoon. Lips pursed, eyes fixed, forehead crinkled, my mind chants a mantra: BREATH IN, BREATH OUT, BREATH IN, GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
A manly looking lady with a grey, yappy lap-dog approaches us. I attempt a tight smile as I notice her taking in our situation.
"I know how you're feeling dear," her husky voice says. She suggests that I need to go home and have a nice hot cup of tea.
"TEA?? I'm going to need something stronger than TEA," I mutter to myself as we charge up the hill.
"Mommy, I have hot chocolate? Neal asks sweetly as we make our way through our gate.
I look at him and am struck by his smiling angelic features. Despite my recent hardship I can feel his happiness and it is contagious. Was this outing really about improving my sanity? On the surface it was but I feel I might just have picked up a little lesson on inner peace too.
…But from now on, as a rule, we will be taking the stroller on cold winter days.
This year, I'm on Maternity leave. Despite the daily 6:00am morning wake-up call, a shrill "MomEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE" that douses me with an icy glass of water over the head, I am grateful to be at home during this harsh month. I may not get to sleep in under cozy warm covers, but at least I don't have to battle the traffic and drive on dangerous roads. I get to see the limited daylight and I can enjoy my Starbucks Mocha after the morning rush.
Most days, I credit my dog Morley for helping me to stay sane. She still has her sock fetish, and some days (today for instance) I wonder a little about her own sanity... Morley's disappearing sock act seems to bear an inverse correlation to her number of park excursions. Two walks a day keeps the sock snatcher at bay. I have learned that I too need to be exercised or at the very least exposed to sunlight twice daily, or else I go a little batty and OD on chocolate chips.
So, at 9am on most weekdays you will find me running through Bowness Park, pushing two kids in a double stroller, with dog in tow. Impressed? You should be.
The price of sanity sky-rockets in January. Neither of my children are particularly enamoured with the double stroller. It takes a considerable amount of bribery, cajoling, and "tough love" to get them settled into it. On cold, wintery days, only a mad woman (me) would embark on such a painstaking mission, but I've almost got it down to a science.
The trick is to get myself ready first, both physically with the right outerwear, and mentally, with the right inner harmony. Then I get a little help from Scooby-Doo while I wrestle the two year-old into his Spider-man snowsuit. During this time, the 10 month-old writhes about on the floor, kicking, bellowing, and sputtering baby curse words. I ignore her cries of protest and proceed to package her up in her mammoth baby snowsuit with built-in feet and mittens.
Eventually we make it to the door. The two year old is now more than ready to get into the stroller because he sees that I have his Flintstone vitamin ready to bestow on him once he is buckled into his seat but the baby is still displeased. I assume the neighbours think that I am a cruel, cruel mother but I remind myself that THIS is the price of sanity, ironic as that may be.
It truly is. For the moment we pass through the gate, everyone settles down, and a blissful peace settles over us. I will admit that some days, during my run, the park, still and frosted with silver , luminescent sun-beams penetrating the trees providing a sparkle as only occurs in the dead of winter, is… in fact...kind of breathtaking.
Last week, I messed with the system. I just didn't have it in me to run through the rigmarole, but Morley was looking at me accusingly- and eyeing up Ella's socked feet, licking her chops, so I knew we had to get out.
"Hey Neal! I'm going to let you walk on your own through the park today and Ella's going to get a backpack ride!"
"Okay. I hold Mommy hand!"
The adventure held promise. Ella squirmed less as I dressed her in her "bunny" snowsuit and plopped her in the backpack and even though the sidewalks and roads were treacherous with packed snow, we made it to the park gates unscathed.
The first thirty minutes were fabulous. Neal and I played fetch with Morley until she got tired. Then Neal and I found sticks and started to draw in the snow. Our last mission was to check to see if Eeyore, and Piglet were home in the "hundred acre wood" on the east side of the park (they weren't). The sun started to set and it started to get cold.
This is when things went to hell in a backpack. Little Ella was no longer enjoying her ride. Her baby legs started to kick. The sputtering started up and increased in intensity until it was a howl.
It was time to go home but Neal was not ready to go home. He was ready to play catch-me-if-you-can- Mommy.
Me (Nice, calm voice): Neal, we need to go home now, Ella is cold and hungry.
Neal: NO!
Me: (Still calm): Neal, okay, but Ella, Morley, and I are going home. I'm going to have hot chocolate when I get home. With marshmallows. If you want some, you'll have to come to.
I walk towards home, anticipating that eventually Neal will follow.
Sitting in the snow watching me walk further and further away, he calls my bluff.
Me: (taking a deep breath): Neal, I'm going to count to THREE. Then I'm coming to get you and I will not be happy and there WILL NOT BE ANY HOT CHOCOLATE!
Neal: (Big goofy grin on his face): hee heee heeeee.
I get to three and my two-and-a-half year-old hasn't budged. I have to put on my stern, angry face (not difficult at this point) and fetch him. Just as I am about to catch him, he jumps to his feet with a big smile on his face and obliges. As he canters in my direction, I breathe a sigh of relief. We are back on track for all of thirty seconds when I hear, "hee hee hee", look over my shoulder and see my itty bitty Spider-Man or should I say Venom (Yes I now know the difference. I know the names of other Marvel characters too.), veering away from me, skating over the icy road and heading for the ice burgs in the river.
Ella is bouncing up and down and pounding on my back as I sprint over the arctic terrain. She is not happy about it. I don't know what cowboy movies she's managed to see in her brief ten months but somehow she's managed to free her hands from the built in snowsuit mitts and she is using my hair as reins, pulling with all her might and screaming ferociously.
I snatch Neal up and carry him under my arms back across the frozen field. He isn't exactly light, and the little monkey thinks this is fantastic. Wild giggles flow freely from his throat. I am seething. This is my so-called empath child. How can he not sense my frustration?!
My arms have turned to jelly and I simply cannot carry him anymore and we are still not out of the woods.
"Neal, you have to walk. Hold my hand!"
"Carry ME!!!!" he responds.
I take his hand and literally drag him across the snow. Ella continues to scream bloody murder and my hair is at the mercy of miniature clawing hands. Morley, definitely sensing my mood, wanting nothing more than to please her owner, is pulling the lot of us up the bridge across the lagoon. Lips pursed, eyes fixed, forehead crinkled, my mind chants a mantra: BREATH IN, BREATH OUT, BREATH IN, GGGGRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
A manly looking lady with a grey, yappy lap-dog approaches us. I attempt a tight smile as I notice her taking in our situation.
"I know how you're feeling dear," her husky voice says. She suggests that I need to go home and have a nice hot cup of tea.
"TEA?? I'm going to need something stronger than TEA," I mutter to myself as we charge up the hill.
"Mommy, I have hot chocolate? Neal asks sweetly as we make our way through our gate.
I look at him and am struck by his smiling angelic features. Despite my recent hardship I can feel his happiness and it is contagious. Was this outing really about improving my sanity? On the surface it was but I feel I might just have picked up a little lesson on inner peace too.
…But from now on, as a rule, we will be taking the stroller on cold winter days.
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