I've Got 99 Problems and Poo is #1 (or #2)

I hate talking about poo.  I really do.  My long time friends know this is a subject I avoid.  Ask my in-laws about my disgust and quick dinner table departures if the subject of their kids’ poo came up.  I HATED the thought of a children’s book titled, “Everyone Poops.” Now, I own it. 

Like any closet shame, it’s time I share; my name is Kate and my Tiny Fashionista won’t poop. And now I must talk about it. Every. Single. Day.

For parents out there that have a “holder” you will sympathize and understand every raw, disgusting word of this.  For those, like the old me, without kids, or with kids without poop problems feel free to skip this post. I get it, and I’ll see you next week.

We have been battling this epidemic for over a year. It starts with a little creeping thought…hmmm.  “Doesn’t seem like I’ve changed a poopy diaper in a few days.”  Then, hmmmm, “did she go at all this week?”

Then there are the horrible grunting noises that you mistake for, “oh my kid is trying to go.”  In reality these are the sounds of a child desperately trying to hold in a poo that wants to escape. (Queue crazy eyes…this is a real thing.)

And, of course there are the fights, the pleas, the closed door deals…”PLEEEASSEEE, if you poop I’ll buy you a puppy.  Seriously, whatever you want I’ll buy it, just please for the love of Christ and all things holy…just poop!!!”

For Tiny, this holding stage started long before potty training.  I’m not sure if its her “type A I need to control everything, including when I poop personality” or the fact that she had a couple of doozies that hurt and now she’s gun shy (she has a mind like a steal trap, and also apparently a butt), but the reality is, it doesn’t matter, if you have a kid that won’t poop, it’s maddening. 

We’ve had doctor appointments that led to conversations about fiber intake, daily doses of Miralax, pro-biotics, potty charts and prize boxes.  I’ve read books, with title’s like “It’s No Accident” and blogs suggesting it’s a phase. But we’re tired.  Oh, so very tired.

Poop is coming between us.  Or, err, the lack of poop is coming between me and my best girl.  (There’s a sentence I never thought I’d type.  See?!? What has become of me?)  Number two is the number one thing we fight about.  We are both frustrated. 

So, if you are waging a Poop War, like me, here are the tips I’ve gathered in my year of research and desperation. These have helped win some battles, but until I get a grip on my own frustration I doubt I’ll see poopoo waving the white flag of surrender. I am no Master General, merely a foot soldier in this messy battlefield with some real tactical experience searching for “land mines.” And here are a few things I’ve learned in the trenches…

1. Patience.  Well, actually I’m still trying to master this one.  But, I know it is required even when I don’t practice this.  (You know what they say, “those that can’t do, teach.”)  The more frustrated I get, the more frustrated Tiny gets and this helps no one.  When I can just learn to relax, and let her drive the proverbial poop bus, miracles happen…or in our case, sh$t happens.
2. Tummy Juice. A magical mixture of Miralax and your child’s favorite clear beverage like Gatorade.  I was very hesitant to throw drugs at the problem refusing to believe I was a parent that couldn’t get my kid to eat her veggies. I desperately wanted to fix the problem with diet and patience, but that didn’t work.  In our case, which is a really tough one, a little extra help is required.  The biggest mistake I’ve made is yo-yo-ing the Miralax; give it to her for a few days and then think she’s cured so I back off and the trouble starts again.  I’ve learned that she needs it every single day so she can have (the squeamish put on your blinders here…sh$t’s about to get real) poopoo that resembles peanut butter vs. boulders.
3.  Hide the Fiber, and Limit Dairy.   Dr. Steve Hodges talks about being a Super Pooper in his book, “It’s No Accident.”  A kid can’t stay on Miralax forever (at least I’d like to think we’ll “Let it Go! Let if Go!” someday), and a diet high in fiber is crucial to graduate from Tummy Juice.  But, if you have a kid like mine that thinks most green vegetables are “gross” this can be tough.  So we play hide the fiber.  We make smoothies with fruit, almond milk, flax seeds, kale and psyllium husk.  We eat Whole Grain waffles with zucchini and make high fiber muffins.  Our cookies are always full of super-pooping ingredients (thanks mom for the “crap” cookie recipe) and our popsicles are just frozen versions of our high fiber smoothies.  We eat Almond Butter and Almond Milk instead of Peanut Butter and cow’s milk.  Our favorite snack is popcorn and we try to mix nuts and seeds into all of our “mixy snacks” (trail mix).  I’m happy to share some recipes I’ve found…if this speaks to you email me.
4.  Master Cleanse.  If you suspect your problem is outrageous, it probably is.  Ask your doc about an x-ray to see if what ails your holder is a giant softball size mass of poop in their rectum.  I’m serious.  Its so, so gross but a real thing.  An x-ray at your doc’s office can quickly answer this question.  And, a master cleanse, as in “colonoscopy-style” may be required. Do this on a weekend, buy yourself a bottle of booze and see #8.
5.  No Big Deal.  Tiny is totally pee-trained.  She hasn’t had a pee accident since the day she decided that the potty was her jam.  But, like Justin and Selena, she has been on again, off again with the potty and #2.  This makes me insane.  But, like that clever little, so sweet you want to vomit, Daniel Tiger says, “when you feel so mad that you want to roar, take a deep breath and count to four.”  Seriously.  Do it.  If you have a holder chances are your child is also afraid to poop in the potty.  They will have accidents, and the biggest thing I can say about this is…try to let it roll off your back and celebrate on the inside that at least she pooped.  A little accident is no big deal, and then see #8.
6. Safe Haven.  If pooping on the potty scares your holder.  Back off.  When she starts telling you her tummy hurts or saying your name over and over in a really weird way, give her an out.  I always offer the potty, but then offer to let her do her business in a diaper in a private room.  This isn’t ideal, but at least she’s pooping. Also, it doesn't hurt to have a panic room for yourself.  When you find you are about to "lose your sh$t," recognize this does nothing to actually make her "lose" hers and go to your happy place.
7. Keep Asking.  Ask and don’t judge, especially when the answer you get isn’t the one you want.  I’ve learned that my kid can hold her pee too.  Everyday I ask her to go potty before we leave the house.  And, if she doesn’t have to, she simply won’t do it.  She goes to school from 9-2, two days a week and has yet to pee there.  Yes, I’m worried.  But, she pees a river when she gets home and all I can do is keep asking.   
8. Throw the Panties Away.  Sometimes the juice just ain’t worth the squeeze.  Wrap those suckers up in a Walmart bag and toss them right in the trash.  Nothing worse than piling on the frustration by scrubbing poop stains and crazy messes out of $2 underpants.  Throw them away, wash your hands of them (literally) and walk away.

Reading this advice may do nothing, but make you feel less alone.   We are a long way from winning the war, but at least I feel like I’ve finally figured out what we are fighting.  Go into your next battle knowing you are not alone, there is a community of parents that feel your pain, and just like you, wish like hell we could make our kids poop without pain and anxiety.   If you have any wisdom on the subject, please share…I’m like a sponge and can’t get enough information on the science of poo. (oh dear god, did i just type that?)

Also, the big duh here…I’m not a doctor.  Ask your pediatrician if you suspect your holder may benefit from any of this nonsense.

This is an actual real life conversation btw
me and my SIL…sometimes it feels like she's
the only one that understands me.

A Poop Fit…and like the stellar mom I am.
First Reaction…grab camera.

We are so very tired.

And, in less sh$tty bathroom news…
the sissies are big enough to take baths together.

Do Monsters Have Butts?

Tiny is a very curious little lady so I get asked a million questions a day.  Some are easy, others down right stumpers, some make me want to beat my head against a wall when I’ve been asked the same question for the 567^th time that day, and some make me stop and go hmmm…how quickly can I make something up so my 3 year old doesn’t think I’m an idiot?  (Siri, remind me later to Google anatomy of a monkey.)  If you had spent time with us in the last couple of weeks, you'd have heard some pretty awesome conversations...

When do we get to meet the princess? 

We're at the Princess Diana Exhibit at The Cincinnati Museum Center and I don't know how to tell her...Ooooo….honey, this fairytale doesn’t end well.  It’s what literature has deemed a tragedy. The Princess?  She dead.

 

You're kidding.  Right mom?

She doesn’t want to eat from your boob.  Why don’t you just pump already?

Touche.  And, can I just say this is disturbing on so many levels.  One, while this is happening Poppy is fussing and playing a horrible game of eat a little, look around a little…this is causing (eewwww) milk to spray everywhere.   I’m frustrated, she’s frustrated and Liesee just wants her toaster waffle without being squirted in the face by a rogue milk spray.   Two, truth be told I’ve been struggling with the decision to give up nursing Poppy and just go to pumping and supplementing…the ol’ Guilt Vs. Sanity struggle.  And, three, Liesee might be a genius…that is until she asks the next question.

Sitting up is my newest trick!

Can we play at Owen’s house today?

Remember when we took that hellacious 13-hour drive just a couple weeks ago after Uncle Mark and Aunt Di’s wedding?  You don’t?  You’ve totally blocked it out?  Ok, well, honey, Owen lives in Cincinnati, and we can’t drive 13 hours for a play date.

Is LiLi going to be on my soccer team?

See answer above.

BFFs in Cincy

Why do you have a weird face?

What’s wrong with my face?  Wait, honey, that’s not a nice thing to say to someone.  If I had a weird look, you could have said…Mama is something wrong?  Saying someone has a weird face isn’t very friendly.  But, I’m panicking…not only do I have to watch what I say, but I also have to watch my ‘weird’ face?    She’s always there, watching, judging.

OK.  Maybe she's right?
This is kind of a weird face.

What was the name of Daddy’s cat?

Me: Daddy didn’t have a cat.

Tiny: Yes, but what was her name?

Me: Daddy didn’t have a cat.

Tiny: Yes, but what was her name?

Me: Honey, like I said, Daddy didn’t have a cat. We don’t all have cats.  In fact, we don’t even have a cat now.

Tiny: Yes, but what was her name?

Me: Princess Pickles

Tiny: Ha! I like that name!  She sounds sooo cute.

 

If Liesee were a cat...

And it goes on and on…..Do monkey’s have thumbs? Do I still have poop on my butt? Do you like carrots? Does watermelon taste like popsicles?  What was the name of that cute boy in my class with the old shirt? Can I have a snack? Why? What’s your favorite color? Why? What’s Poppy’s favorite color?  Why? Can dogs talk?  Do you like milk? Do you have any money?  What’s his name? What’s her name? Am I still 3? And, And, And….And then…

Do monsters have butts? Or no?

Well, some monsters have butts.  Hmmm…actually all monsters eat so I’m sure they all have butts because they have to poop.  But then again, Mike Wolkowski seemed like just a head with legs.  Hmmmm…sometimes you are a monster and you have a butt, so yep, let’s stick with that, monsters do have butts.

Monsters

The Teeny and The Tiny

I've been away.  Not on an exotic vacation, or a sabbatical in Europe…I've been in the cavernous depths of my own humanity, struggling to find my voice in my new role as mama of two.  (Melodramatic? Yes, I live in a house of tiny women, its who I am.)

The Tiny Fashionista became a big sister this winter. And, this new role suits her perfectly (read: she has someone else to boss), and yet simaeltaneously shattered the delicate balance of her Annaliese-centered world.

Poppy, we'll call her the Teeny Fashionista was born on January 27, 2014.  She is a delight in every way.  She's generally happy; she cries when hungry, eats when fed, and sleeps when tired.  Some folks refer to her as 'Angel Baby' because she really is that good.

The Tiny is a kind and caring big sissy to the Teeny.  She plays on the floor with her, shares her toys (even the ones that pose serious choking risks…thank you Squinkies), helps with diaper changes and paci plugs, and finds great joy in making the Teeny smile.

It's me; the Tiny Fashionista has aimed her at times "spirited" response directly at me.  She couldn't peg this emotion as jealousy but my divided attention, my time nursing the Teeny, rocking the Teeny, changing the Teeny, has rocked her boat.  The Tiny Fashionista has to share her mama.  And, this has been our biggest challenge.

There are the obvious challenges.  I sit down to feed the Teeny and at that exact moment the Tiny HAS to (insert any sane or insane action here)_________.  have a snack. go potty. color. spill a box of cheerios. spill a cup of milk. hit the dog. fall down. run away…this list could go on forever, you get me.  Then there is the not so in your face challenges like making sure you're one and only special girl still feels like your one and only even though she's now part of a perfect pair.

Someone once told me that to put yourself in the mind of the newly sibling-fied toddler, to imagine your husband coming home from work one day and saying "Hi Honey!  This is Rhonda, she is going to be my second wife and she's going to live with us and you have to share all your food, clothes, shoes and jewelry…oh and she doesn't love loud noises so you have to use your inside voice and also, if you could be really nice to her too that'd be great, because she is going to live with us…FOREVER."

Of course they lose their minds!  Top this off with the unstable and irrational canvas that is the two-year-old brain anyway, and the adjustment from one kid to two is going to throw the whole family unit into a spiraling messy sea of emotion.

During these first six months I've sat down to write many times, but could not publish.  I needed to find the funny, and on somedays things just weren't.  In the beginning when hubs got home from work I told him "100% of the time, someone in our house will be crying.  And, sometimes that person will be me."  And it was, a lot.

Being a new mama is blissful, and joyous and fills you up with love.  But, being a new mama is also hard and lonely and at times sucks you dry.  Being the mama of a toddler is fun, and crazy and full of laughter. But, being the mama of a toddler is also hard and trying and at times even heartbreaking.  Put these together and the love and fun and joy is palpable, but so is the isolation and loneliness and its ok for both to exist.  I've accepted that this doesn't make me a bad mama, just an honest one.

A good friend of mine is always reminding us to "Find Joy in the Journey" and there is a lot of joy admidst the crazy. So in that spirit here are a few nuggets of joy you may have missed in our six months apart…

HUGE NEWS!! The Tiny Fashionista is Potty Trained.
Bigger news…she doesn't love wearing clothes anymore.

The Teeny had her first taste of real food.
(ewww…can we call a rice cereal and breast milk cocktail that?)

The Tiny loves to match the Teeny…this said,
they do not make enough tutus in the Teeny size.
Also, of note, you can see a hot pink tutu sticking out
of Tiny's dress…this was the compromise.

The Teeny and Tiny (and cousin LiLi) shared in the joy
of their Uncle Mark and Aunt Di's wedding.
As tiny gift bearers, they made it all the way down the aisle
with no tears, no wipeouts and other than trying to scale the alter, no hiccups.

Hipster Babies

Since Poppy's birth, the Tiny Fashionista has worn a tutu
every. single. day. 24. 7.
I'm sure this will be the subject of therapy session down the line.
When pictured without assume a huge battle has just been fought.
Oh, and she also no longer likes wearing shirts.

I am happy to be back on your screen, and I promise (read: will make every reasonable effort) not to stay away so long again.  Here's to holding on to the small moments, and taking big deep breaths during the crazy ones to really soak it in and remember that this too shall pass…and probably much too quickly. 

Tangled Up

Ever see the movie Tangled?  Its one of my favorite new-school princess movies.  The main character, Rapunzel, is flawed but disgustingly cute, and her main squeeze, Flynn aka Eugene, is a nerd trying to be a bad guy.  Can't we all relate?  Well, Tiny and I have watched this movie a couple of times during our snow-paralysis (yes, here is where I admit to feeling horribly guilty about letting my 2-year old watch TV.  I'm sorry it happened.  It will happen again.  And, yes, I'll hate myself every time I pick up a parenting book or read a blog that says I should be finger painting instead.)  …which brings me to my next point...

Tiny and I have felt like Rapunzel these last few weeks.  Trapped in our "tower" err house, just wanting to see the "Lights" (in our case the giant glowing orb that used to rise daily in the sky, also known as the sun) waiting for our life to begin.  We've finger painted and read and done puzzles and made forts with blankets and baked cookies, and, and, and...Cue Disney music….

"Seven A.M., the usual morning line-up
Start on the chores, and sweep 'til the floor's all clean
Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and shine up
Sweep again and by thenIt's like seven fifteen 

And so I'll read a book
Or maybe 2 or 3
I'll add a few new paintings
To my gallery I'll play guitar and knit and cook
And basically
Just wonder, when will my life begin?


Then, after lunch, it's puzzles, and darts, and baking
Paper-mache, a bit of ballet, and chess
Pottery and ventriloquy, candle-making
Then I'll stretch, Maybe sketch
Take a climb, Sew a dress

And I'll re-read the books
If I have time to spare
I'll paint the wall some more
I'm sure there's room somewhere
And then I'll brush, and brush
And brush, and brush my hair
Stuck in the same place I've always been
And I'll keep wondering'
And wonderin'
And wonderin'
And wonderin' When will my life begin?"

You get my point.  It's been a long winter and its only January 9th.  The beautiful thing about living in the south is that its supposed to be warmer here. So, if it snows it happens once a year and its celebrated and cozy for a day until it warms up to 50 degrees the next and we all go back to business as usual.  But, not this year.  This year school/business/life has been shut down for a week at a time, TWICE.  Temperatures hover just below freezing, and a wintry mix is becoming a nightly thing.   

All of this winter shenanigans is annoying no matter where you live.  But, in places like say, Cincy, where I harken from, we have a little thing called "equipment" to deal with winter events…they're called SNOW PLOWS and SALT TRUCKS.  Take note NWA…a few of these bad boys would have paid for themselves with all the lost revenue of two weeks of total commerce shutdown…and if not, I say we start a collection church style.  Pass a basket around every neighborhood, each family chips in a couple bucks and BOOM, snow plow!!  Kate for Mayor!  Maybe I'm over simplifying, but something's gotta give.

Even Tiny has had enough.  Last night I was so confident that she was going to have school today that we made her lunch, washed her nap mat, even picked out her clothes.  

Then this morning I pull myself out of bed, turn on GMA and head to the shower when out of the corner of my eye,  I see 'Bentonville Schools CLOSED' flash across the bottom of the screen.  NO!!!!  

By this time, Tiny is awake and I know I need to break the news to her.  She's standing at her bedroom door and she's practically dancing, "I have school today!"  

And, I have to say, "I'm sorry honey, school is closed today because of the weather."  

She gets angry, "Don't say sorry!!!  School is not closed!  School is not closed!  Its NOT snowing!"  

And, I've got nothing.  A quick glance out the window and a temp check on my phone proves she's right on some level, and it is all the evidence I need to give her the one thing I know will make us both happy.  "Tiny," I say, "let's have breakfast and go to Target."  

She's confused…"Target's open?" she asks skeptically with just the slightest glimmer in her eye.  

And, when I assure her that yes, Target is open, its as if I've promised to show her the "Lights."  We are going to leave our tower!

Snow. Again. 

"Don't say you're SORRY! School is NOT closed!"

Nothing makes a girl feel better than heels and a sparkly dress.
At least for a minute and a half.

…and there's nothing like kicking a man when he's down
like another first round of the playoffs loss by our Bengals.

Temporary sanity saver…Finger Paints!

"Bowling?" you ask. And the answer is, yes.
We are that desperate to get out.

It's Time to Share...

Studying for her new role.

Practicing her big sister skills with her slightly
younger buddy, Ashlyn.  I think we need to
work on her "hugging" technique.

So happy to be holding her little friend Annie.
But, this one kinda looks like a choke hold too.
Mama's got work to do.

And, yes, still making adventurous fashion
choices.  p.s. it was a very sunny day.

Big News.  The Tiny Fashionista will earn another title come January...BIG SISTER!

I'm not one to publicly declare news via Facebook and the world wide interwebs, but I feel like my cloak of denial has lasted long enough.  We're eight months into this thing, and the belly is clearly getting harder to hide under loose fitting Piko Tops...its really happening.  We're having another baby girl!

Although, to step into our casa you'd think to yourself.  Yep, they're still in denial.  Nothing has been done.  By this time in my Liesee pregnancy I had purchased more tiny clothes and shoes than an infant could possibly wear.  We painted, we sanitized bottles and pacis and we delicately washed sheets and clothes in special detergent that babies "have to have."   I'm pretty sure I'd read nearly 25 baby books, and had a birth plan...show up at hospital, get drugs.  Oh wait, that box I can still check.  Birth plan, done.

But seriously, this whole second child thing seems a lot less stressful.  At least the preparedness part.  Cause here's the thing, raising a 2 year old is blowing the lid off my stress-o-meter.  I don't have a freaking minute to worry about whether I've reached my 200 mg of caffeine per day that the baby books say I'm allotted. I drink the coffee because I need the coffee.  Chasing Tiny, and worrying about getting her to school and dance and play group on time with clothes on is about all I can handle.  

Tiny continues to be spirited.  That's the nicest way I can say she's got an opinion about every teeny tiny damn thing, and my life has become a guessing game of Which Which?  She wants to do everything "by myself!!!!"  This includes dressing, diapering, climbing in and out of the car, the high chair, the bed.  But everything takes 10x as long. Couple that with the fact that I'm pregnant (read: angry and slow) and its a real mess every morning.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays when I've dropped her at school by 8:30 (ok, ok 8:40 if we're being honest), I give myself a giant high five in the form of a Gingerbread Latte for a job done.  (Not well done, but she's there and dressed.)

We spend a lot of time talking to Tiny about her baby sister.  She participates in the conversation, but still I wonder if she gets it.  She says there's a baby in mommy's belly, but then sometimes she says there is a baby in her belly.  Like now when she tells me her tummy hurts, she says "my baby hurts."  

We read her books about the baby coming.  Her favorite is a book without words.  The idea is we can make up the story for each illustration to match our own experience.  Daddy reads this to her every night.  So, I'm putting her down for a nap this week and she wants me to "read" it to her.  A couple turns in, there is a page that shows a mommy stepping on a scale.  And, I delicately say, "Mommy steps on the scale every week to make sure the baby is getting bigger inside her tummy."  This upsets her and she starts screaming "Bs! Bs!"  I try to play along but clearly Daddy has different words for this page....when I ask him later, he says, "Oops! I tell her, 'This is where Mommy steps on the scale to find out how many L-B's (as in pounds, ya know lbs.) she's gained.'" And, my gut reaction is to punch him in the face.  Except its funny and the vain part of me knows its the truth.  

So, now when we play the weigh game, Tiny stands next to me and asks "How many lbs. mommy?!"   The flashing number less painful to process, when she high fives me and says, "Yay! Baby's getting bigger!"

Tiny Dancer...ish

1st day of school...so grown up and very excited.

2nd day of school, and already too cool to have
her picture taken.  She insisted on adding the tutu
for a little something extra. And who am I to argue?

So proud! At least school is going well!

Turns out she can stand like this for
30 straight minutes.

This picture perfectly sums up her willingness to
participate with the group.

It's been a big couple of weeks here at the Desmond house.  Tiny has started school and dance lessons.

I use these terms loosely. By school, I mean this great Mom's Day Out program two days a week at a church right by our house. This gives ol' mom a much needed break from my precious darling, and Tiny a chance to spread her wings and fly little bird! fly!

I know we both need this...  Me, for my sanity and to actually get a few things done both professionally and personally.  I'm now responding to emails, and successfully taking showers every Tuesday and Thursday.  I also have been (gasp!) making dinner and have even managed to find the bottom of the laundry hamper and its only week 2!

And Tiny, for the simple reason that I'm afraid she may be smarter than me and I feel I've taught her almost everything I know.  God help us when we get to Chemistry. Being a stay at homer, I want to make sure she's ok leaving the nest, making friends, learning to share, blah, blah, blah. That, and let's be real, its not fair to the world if I'm the only one that gets to see her fashion creations.  She now gets to see and be seen.

In addition to school, Tiny started taking Pre-Ballet and Tap Class.  Every Monday afternoon we squeeze on a leotard that is so cute it should be illegal and head to Kaleidoscope Dance Academy where Tiny learns how to properly shake her booty with Ms. Laine. In theory, this is how its supposed to work.  In reality, let's recap the last two Mondays.

We've got the appropriate attire down (kind of), although both weeks I've had to wake her up from her nap and basically wrestle tights and a leotard on a half asleep Tiny.  She doesn't say much until its on, and then she whimpers..."too tight, too tight."   And, each time I explain its supposed to be tight, they're called tights for a reason.  Following the squeezing, I mean dressing, I'm supposed to make sure she has her hair up.  This is a joke, because Tiny has been boycotting pony tails of any kind for the last 3 months.  If, by the grace of God, I actually get one in, she rips it out within minutes.  She only wants to wear bows, and knowing this is a battle I can't win I let this slide and pretend she's not the only one in class without the proper hair.

So we get to the first class, and I don't know if she's in shock or awe, but Tiny's legs are suddenly made of cement and she doesn't move.  She doesn't boogie, she doesn't bounce, she stares stone faced.  Ms. Laine is doing everything she can to engage her, and yet she continues to stare at her teacher and classmates like this is the first time she has ever laid eyes on the human species.  After class, the teacher tells me, "Don't worry she'll be fine, at least she didn't run away screaming.  Those are the ones we have a hard time getting back."  Now it's my turn to stare, Is she serious?...and yet I'm oddly comforted that we've set the (ballet) bar so low.  I suddenly feel all Lloyd Christmas kinds of optimistic..."So, what are my chances of her becoming a dancer, like 1 in a 100? No, I'd say more like 1 in a 1,000,000.  So you're telling me I've got a chance!!"  And, I leave with a dumb smile plastered across my face, because if it was nothing else it was entertaining and well, the teacher said "I had nothing to worry about," which is almost the same thing as "she's a great dancer."

That is until this Monday...Class #2.

This time, Tiny is supposed to go into the studio with Ms. Laine and the other students while all the mommies and daddies wait in the lobby for their dancing queens to complete their 30 minute session. (The first class we were allowed in the studio to get them warmed up to their teacher and fellow classmates.) Ms. Laine extends her hand to Tiny and she recoils like she is trying to hand her green vegetables.  She grabs onto my neck with a Ninja-like death hold and starts to cry...and I'm having flashbacks to last weeks words of encouragement...."at least she didn't run away crying."   Oh cr@p!

The teacher tells me I can bring her in when she's ready and let's me sit by the door and try to get my little dancer to dance.  But, she continues her hold on me.  Half way through class I can tell she's interested... I caught her tapping her toe! But still she won't let go of my neck.  Class ends, and Ms. Laine suggests we try the Mommy and Me class on Fridays to try and get her used to being there.  And, I can't help but feel like we've been demoted.  We are now the kid you have to worry about.  And, a fear runs through me...Mommy and Me?  Does this mean I've got to squeeze my butt into a leotard too?I just may run away screaming myself.