My kid rocks at puking

Let's label this as yet another thing I never thought I would be talking about-- let alone bragging about-- before I had kids. But I am so proud of FunnyKid and his new puking skills that I had to share (it's the little things in life, you know?)

Up until this past weekend, FunnyKid had thrown up on two separate occasions. Both times, he was asleep in his bed when he threw up pretty much all over his face and hair, woke up crying and had to be stripped and rushed into the shower, where one parent got him clean while the other one stripped and remade the bed.

I felt awful for FunnyKid when this happened because the only thing worse than being sick is being pulled out of your bed, stripped of your clothes and being thrown into a shower when you were blissfully asleep just moments before. The poor kid would huddle under the water crying and begging to go back to bed while we explained why he was showering (multiple times in one night) and rushed to get him clean.

But that changed this weekend. We were staying at my dad's house for one night (the one fateful night). FunnyKid, who had exhibited no symptoms of not feeling well and had been running around just minutes before, was brushing his teeth when he suddenly started crying, asked for water and then began vomiting in the hallway outside the bathroom.

When he was done, he calmly asked to take a shower (he didn't need one as he had neatly avoided getting anything on himself, but I suspect he now associates puking with a shower afterward). After a nice, hot shower, we got FunnyKid into bed and prayed he wouldn't throw up all over a bed that doesn't belong to us, a rug that isn't ours and some various antiques and other nice stuff in the room he was staying in.

About half an hour later, FunnyKid called me upstairs and in a fairly calm manner told me he had to throw up again. I rushed him into the bathroom and held him while he threw up into the toilet like a seasoned pro. I denied him a shower after that round and he went back to bed and fell asleep.

Around 11:30, as the Pretend Husband and I were falling asleep, we heard FunnyKid call for us again. I met him in the hallway and again swooped him into the bathroom as he told me he had to throw up again. Another round of puking in the toilet and this time he got the shower he requested because if that's all your poor, sick kid wants, that's what he gets.

I feel like FunnyKid is growing and maturing in so many ways, and waking up to puke is one of them. Not the biggest deal, of course, but it makes for a happy mama who doesn't have to remake a bed for the fourth time and explain to a kid why he's showering at midnight.

That "Super Nanny" technique where you put the kid back into bed again and again again? It's exhausting.

Last week, for various reasons, we decided it was time to move FunnyKid out of crib and into his new, twin bed. Not only that, but he was moving out of the nursery into a bigger bedroom (where, although he was only slightly impressed, he found a train table waiting to be played with).

After a few nights of me sitting in his room for two hours putting him back into bed again and again and again and again (and again) until he wore himself out and fell asleep, I was ready to throw in the towel. I called up a bunch of my mom friends and cried, "What are we doing wrong?" And the answers were plentiful... and not at all hopeful.

Basically, they all described the transition from crib to bed as one of the worst times of their lives and all said it would take weeks of tears (mine) and sleeplessness (mine and FunnyKid's) to get it to stick. So, we pulled ourselves up by our boot straps... and decided to take a break.

We moved the crib into the new room to give FunnyKid a chance to acclimate to the new room and decided we would try the bed again next week. The best nephews in the world (and an awesome niece) are in town this week, FunnyKid turns two later this week and we just thought it was a little too much excitement to throw a bed transition into the mix.

So, FunnyKid went to bed in his crib the first night... and the second night. And the third night, he climbed into bed, yelled for about two minutes and then went right to sleep! Worried it was a fluke, I didn't have much hope for nap time yesterday, but he did it. He actually played quietly for an hour in his room then climbed into bed, pulled a blanket up over him and conked out. And last night took a minute of yelling at the gate across his doorway before he got back into bed and promptly fell asleep.

What?!? The Pretend Husband and I keep looking at each other saying, "How did we get so lucky?" We're guessing he was just ready after having some time to acclimate to his new surroundings and the idea he can get out of bed if he wants to. It's tough to declare anything truly, finally "done" with a toddler, but I'm going to venture onto a limb here and say we (and he) did it.

I'm not just writing this all out to brag (although, if I may, my kid is pretty stinking awesome!) but to give other parents hope. While every one of your friends and family members will tell you how terrible the transition is-- and it usually is-- there are always the exceptions. And you might join us in being lucky enough to be one of them (fingers crossed).

Oh Lord, when did my son turn two?!?

FunnyKid isn't actually two yet, but he sure is acting like it these days. A few examples:

- Everything is dramatic. Everything includes the need for tears and yelling and struggling against me if it's not done exactly as he wants it (which changes daily, of course). These traumatic events include having his diaper changed (thank goodness we only have to do that six times a day!), being asked to get dressed and-- although I have no idea why-- having his hands washed.

-Diapers are now a curiosity. As in, FunnyKid likes to check out what's in them and-- to put this delicately-- doesn't always leave things inside. There was an incident a week ago in which the Pretend Husband thought FunnyKid's crib was covered in blood... until FunnyKid pointed at the mess and proclaimed, "yuck!" You can guess the rest.

-Diapers also serve as practice sessions for FunnyKid's Houdini act. The other day, I heard splashing in our bay window. Thinking the kiddo was pouring the water from his sippy cup into the window where he had climbed up, I turned around... just in time to watch him finish peeing on the window and start dancing in the puddle to make it splash. I couldn't even find his diaper at first. He had shed it in the kitchen before getting up on stage for his performance.

-Nothing gets said once around here. A typical diaper change includes me saying, "FunnyKid, let's change your diaper. Come here, bud. Kiddo, time to change your diaper. Are you listening to Mommy? Let's go. Diaper change." Then I chase him through the house, bodily bring him to where his new diaper is and try to hold him down while completing the challenge. I often break a sweat before it's over. Then, just a few hours later, we get to do the whole thing again.

Oh, and today we hung out with a couple of three-year-olds. Where I learned this crazy behavior that is testing me and sometimes pushing me to my limits is not going to end anytime soon. I'm scared.

We should have named him "Jeeves"

FunnyKid is going through an awesome phase right now where he wants to help in any way he can. It started with him wanting to help feed the dogs in the morning so we began with him helping us carry their bowls from the counter to their mats. We're now at the point where he gets the cup of food out of the pantry and brings it to me at the counter. Then he gets the dogs' bowls from opposite ends of the kitchen and brings them to me. I fill the bowls and give him the cup back, which he takes back to the pantry. Then he carries each bowl to the dogs' mat and "places" it down (which sometimes meaning lowering it slowly and sometimes means dropping it from chest height). I give it another two weeks before he's the one doling the dog food into the bowls while I sit comfortably on the couch giving directions.

As if that wasn't enough help, I pulled out the coffeepot this morning and when FunnyKid pointed to it, I said, "Mommy's making coffee." The little smarty immediately walked over to a cabinet, opened it and pulled out a can of coffee, which he walked over to me! I just need to buy a step stool so he can climb up and finish the job.

Lastly, this morning, I casually mentioned, "We need to clean up the family room so Mom can vacuum" and realized a few seconds later that FunnyKid had disappeared. I found him in the hallway, where he had opened the closet door and pulled out the vacuum. He was in the process of rolling it to the family room when I got to him.

People told me I would love having kids, but not because they would do all my work for me! I'm loving this. Now, if I can just nurture this work ethic into his teen years... I may never have to lift a finger.

Alcohol, hors d'ouevres and me pulling my boobs out in the middle of the party (or: how my husband finally learned to deal with me)

If there is any area where the Pretend Husband deserves a "Most Improved" Award, it's in the "What To Do When Your Wife Cries" category. Seriously, the man used to be terrible. If I started crying about something, he would try to pretend I wasn't. He would look anywhere but at me and try to carry on a conversation as though I wasn't sobbing loudly with tears running down my face.

I have spent *years* training the guy to A) not ignore the fact that I'm crying and B) do or say something that makes me feel better. It took many, many times of me telling him to just sit next to me and hold my hand or rub my back. He doesn't have to even say anything-- just be there.

Well, the PH was tested last week and I'm proud to report he has finally learned the lesson I began teaching when we were dating. Last week, I abruptly stopped breastfeeding FunnyKid. It had been coming for awhile, he was down to just one feeding a day and I knew he was only doing it as a comfort thing before bed and no longer needed it for nutritional purposes. I knew we were going to stop soon.

But I wasn't prepared for the night we were putting FunnyKid to bed and everything fell perfectly into place for us to try putting him to bed without that last feeding. And-- this is the part that especially ripped my heart out-- he rolled right over and fell asleep without protest.

The PH and I walked downstairs and I just stared at him. "Are you going to cry?" he asked. "I don't know," I replied... and then I burst into tears. And-- shocker of all shockers-- the PH said he understood and rubbed my back as I let it all out. "I know this is for the best. I'm ready and he's ready," I said, "but I didn't realize last night would be the last time I ever breastfed him. He's growing up so fast."

Then, the guy who used to try to chat about football while I cried actually offered to throw a party to celebrate the end of breastfeeding. "And in the middle of it, you can have your one last time," he proposed. I'm still not sure if he was serious or just trying to make me laugh, but it was the perfect response to the situation. Ok, maybe not perfect. Bringing home some "end of breastfeeding" jewelry the next day would have been perfect. But it was close enough for me.

Giving it to you straight about motherhood... or I haven't used the bathroom without an audience in over a month

Yeah, yeah, there's a ton of books, blogs and other resources out there about what it's really like to be a mother. But I'm going to give you the straight poop with a look into my life from just the last 45 minutes.

Motherhood is:

-Holding your son's attention for a minute or two by singing, dancing, clapping, waving and any other inane thing you can think of... and him turning around, finding the tote bag we keep library books in and having it hold his attention for almost 10 minutes.

-Learning to use the toilet while a little one is using your legs to pull himself up to standing. Privacy? What's that?

-Being so tired, you mess up the lyrics to "Old McDonald Had a Farm." Apparently, around here, ducks say, "duck, duck!" rather than "quack, quack!" If FunnyKid ends up having to repeat pre-school, I'm going to feel so responsible...

-Using your child as a dumbbell by lifting them from the floor to the ceiling multiple times. Hey, anything that gets me into shape and keeps FunnyKid laughing is a win in my book.

-Feeling good about yourself because the kiddo bumped his head and was immediately comforted by your touch and voice. Then immediately not feeling good about yourself when he bites your shoulder. Hard.

-Being able to write this post one-handed while simultaneously wrestling a baby. Don't get me wrong, he's still winning the match. My only victory will be hitting "Publish Post" if only I can get my hand free to do so.

Thumbing his nose at life...

FunnyKid has a new and very strange habit. His habit is sticking his tongue out and leaving it there for minutes at a time. Like this:
I don't know where this habit came from or what, exactly, the kiddo is trying to do. And I HATE when I tell him what's for dinner or where we're going and that's his response (the Pretend Husband isn't so thrilled when I say, "Daddy's home!" and FunnyKid responds like that, either).

But it has proven itself to be handy in some situations. How much do you want me to pay for gas?!?
You're in front of me in the grocery store express lane with well over the 10 item limit?
You're predicting rain for the fourth day this week and, oh, Easter isn't going to be such a great day either?
What? I didn't say it. FunnyKid did.

The difference between men and women...

When I got into my car this morning, I smelled poop. After checking both FunnyKid and I (and not finding anything), and having my dad not smell anything when he got into the car a short time later, I figured it wasn't anything to worry about. Until about 20 minutes later, when I adjusted the heat and my dad started gagging. He thought the smell was more like a dead animal than poop and we theorized something crawled into the engine and died in one of the heater vents.

In a bit of a panic, I called the Pretend Husband to tell him about what happened and told him I would take the car to our mechanic on my way home from the store. That's when my dad and the PH both began mocking me, saying I could end up paying the mechanic for three hours worth of work if he had to take the dashboard apart to get to the animal. Their suggestion? Buy a couple of air fresheners to mask the smell until it goes away.

My suggestion? Paying whatever it takes so I don't have to ride around with the smell of a dead mouse in my car. But, alas, the guys won and I will be purchasing every vanilla air freshener in the store the next time I go out.

You know you're a mom when...

You instinctively use your hand to block your son's pee (and that's not even the grossest thing you touched that day!)

Lately, I have been putting FunnyKid's tub in front of the stove in the living room for his bath time (I tell him some people pay a lot of money for a spa experience like that). While I do put towels on the floor to protect the rug from the kiddo's splashing, they weren't going to be enough this morning. When the little geyser erupted (and started arcing over the towel toward the rug), I quickly jumped in and used my hand to send it splashing into the tub instead.

Of course, I'm all casual about this, but let's be honest, what's a little pee? Now, if it had been vomit or poop, I'm not sure I would have been so quick to jump in and start catching it in my hand. In that case, I may have just opted to buy a new rug.

How long do I have to do this before I'm no longer a rookie?

In the three months FunnyKid has been with us, I've had my share of days when I have rocked this mothering gig. Conversely, I've had those days where things... didn't go quite so well. The Pretend Husband and I refer to "rookie mistakes" whenever we mess up with FunnyKid when we should have known better. Examples include me getting pooped on after ignoring the warning signs and the time I went outside with FunnyKid in my arms to go for a walk with SJ without bringing the car seat the kiddo needed to be in.

Luckily, the PH makes enough rookie mistakes that I feel like we're pretty even and I'm not the most terrible parent in the world. The other night, I had given him two diapers to take up to the kiddo's room-- one for that night and the other for the morning. After the PH had changed FunnyKid's diaper, played with him for a bit and dressed him in a sleepsack, he gave him to me for a feeding.

A few minutes later, I noticed two diapers on the changing table and asked the PH, "Did you put a diaper on FunnyKid?" The PH's eyes grew wide as he said he didn't think so. Turns out FunnyKid was going commando in his sleepsack. Which would have been disastrous in ways I don't need to describe if it had gone unnoticed. And would not have been discovered if I hadn't happened to give the PH only two diapers and then notice those same two. Disaster averted (and a little satisfaction for Mama that she wasn't the one who made the mistake... this time)

Ack! I've been hit!

Yesterday, the pretend sister-in-law asked me if I had been pooped on yet. I proudly said no. An hour later, FunnyKid got me.

The Pretend Husband and I were standing behind our vehicle while I changed FunnyKid in the back area. I had gotten one diaper off and was wiping him down when all of a sudden, poop shot out of his butt and hit me up one arm and across my stomach-- which was more than two feet away at the time. Two feet!

The PH almost fell on the ground from the effort of not laughing at my predicament. I had mercy on him and told him he could laugh. I would have been laughing at the kiddo's talents myself if-- you know-- I hadn't been covered in poop and all (and me having used the last wipe in the diaper bag!)

I'm chalking this one up to rookie error and vowing it will never happen again (while secretly proud of my son's firing abilities!)