Snap Back to Reality, Oops there goes Dignity

It’s been an eventful month.  From the white sandy shores of South Beach to the NBC Studios in NYC…we came, we saw, we conquered.

For three glorious days friends and I lived the good life in Miami, eating, sleeping, drinking and doing whatever it is we please.  Sipping mimosa as we cruised to the Bahamas, lounging by a South Beach pool with the buzz of electronica in our zenned out ears, reading full chapters of our books, eating hot food, drinking cold beers, and wearing heels!  This mama needed a break to refresh, recharge and Miami delivered.

On the plane ride home I was jazzed to see my ladies.  I’d missed their squishy little hands, their giggles, the way the smell like a nice warm shower…I couldn’t wait to give them squeezies, and tell Tiny all about the beach lined with Conch shells as far as the eye could see. 

As the plane touched down, and I turned off Airplane Mode, the phone rings.  It’s Nana presumably to tell me they are waiting outside to fetch me. 

But, its not that simple. It never is.  Liesee has to go potty and she only wants me to take her, they’re on their way in….well, that didn’t take long.  My mom hat officially back on, I rush off the plane, find Nana, hand her my carry on and scoop up Tiny to head for the airport potty.  She pees, I pee…pants up, tutu back on, check, check.   I attempt to exit, doing my best to slide the lock but it won’t budge.  We are trapped.  I’m jiggling, wiggling, pulling, prodding…nothing.  I start banging, knocking, (cursing), kicking…nothing.  We have one choice, and it ain’t pretty.   Our fight is gone, flight the only option…but who do I send under first.

There’s about an 8” clearance between the bottom of the stall door and the grimy tile floor, and the stall is small, really small (hard for two people even though one of them is a toddler to stand without touching the toilet or the door small) and I do a quick calculation in my head and decide Tiny has to go out first.  The possibility of her running out of the bathroom without me seems less risky then the thought of leaving her in the toilet alone to touch and lick whatever she pleases.  She ducks under in two seconds flat, and happily screams “its your turn mama!”  And, the thought occurs to me, she’s actually enjoying this. 

I get down on my knees to try and squeeze under, but the clearance is too low.  I’ve got to bite the bullet and lay flat on my stomach and army crawl my butt out of there.  I’m sick, and not from the tequila two nights earlier, but from the smell of lemon scented disinfectant and public restroom stank that’s washing over me as I slither out.  While the bottom of the door is leaving a nice scrape across my spine, I’m struck by the hilarity of it all.   Less than 24 hours ago I was lying out on a hot sandy beach, and now I’m lying on the cold, gritty floor of an airport bathroom.  This is who I really am: a mama, her mama.  Who else would lie down on the bathroom floor for her?

 Tiny is thrilled, we’ve made it out, and I may as well be a super hero.…we both jump up and down and then perform a surgical scrub in the bathroom sink, making note to burn the clothes on our backs when we get home. Leave no evidence. 

For a few short days I was all mine, and I needed that to reconnect with me. But now I’m all hers... bathroom cooties and all.

Next stop, NYC…

Awwwww….paradise!

Tiny dressed herself for our date night.

Yep…still the happiest kid on earth.

I can't imagine what 'wisdom' Tiny is sharing,
but Teeny hangs onto her every word.
T-R-O-U-B-L-E

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.