girlfiend

• Yet another sleep regression. Screams and tantrums at bedtime and a few wakeups a night.
• Full of two-year old angst. He’s “difficult” according to grandmom, a “pain-in-the-ass” according to dad, and a “shithead” according to me, the loving mother.
• Can’t stop biting his toenails. Aside from my worry about his toes getting infected, I cannot wait for him to outgrow this habit because it’s disgusting.
• He is skinny. He’ll go for days eating very little then days where he shocks the hell out me by eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for breakfast followed up by a turkey sandwich 20 minutes later.
• Brilliant. Stole one of his brother’s teddy bears and refers to it as a polar bear. When asked why it’s a polar bear responded, “Because it’s not a panda bear.”
• Able to hold conversations with adults and kids alike. He can communicate his wants and needs.
• Super cuddly in the morning. “I want to lie down on you, mama.”
• Still obsessed with trains.
• Likes to play baseball and basketball, ride his bike and run. The kid loves to run.
• Finger paints- he used to be turned off by the messy hands
• He is observant. I walk upstairs to get him in the morning, still wearing just a t-shirt and he says, “you are not wearing pants, mama.” I got home from a wedding wearing flip flops given to the female guests as favors and he said, “you are wearing new purple flip flops mommy.”
• He wants to know things. “Mama, this is your bathing suit or your underwear?”
• Aside from the shithead moments, this kid is awesome. He is so much fun on the beach and on walks. He loves the library and the playground and the sprinkler park. He jumps up and down with excitement when he’s going to see our friends Doodlebug and Baby Doodle. It still makes me melt when he calls me mama or mommy.

When I last posted about the Fiendling I was distraught. I didn’t recognize him anymore and didn’t know how to help him. I was scared I’d lost him. Just a few days after the 27month update he came around. A few good days in a row led to a few more. Since then we’ve had some typical toddler meltdowns, nastiness and tantrums, but my sweet boy has returned. Boyfiend and I agree that he pretty much stopped developing and regressed during the first five weeks of the baby’s life. By week six, the Fiendling’s brain kicked back in and now his vocabulary, sentence structure, and ability to communicate returned full force.

He uses pronouns properly now and corrects himself if he accidentally says, ‘carry you’ instead of ‘carry me.” His sentences have grown more complex and he’s often unintentionally hilarious saying things like, “No I won’t say cheese, I’m playing with trains,” when we try to take his picture. Now he’s getting too smart for us and we have to be careful about what we say around him. It’s not just that he repeats what he hears, it’s that he’s able to draw conclusions. He knows who we’re speaking with on the phone and can figure out what plans we’re making. He also knows when we find something funny and tries to repeat it.

One night he was running around naked after his bath and Boyfiend was taking pictures and videos. Of course he peed on the floor. It didn’t occur to either of us to put a diaper on him as I cleaned up the mess and Boyfiend continued to record him running in circles around the train table and playing with his trains. In mid-recording I looked up and realized he was peeing on the floor again. We laughed and laughed. The next night after his bath Boyfiend tried to get him in a diaper. The Fiendling yelled, “No! I’m going to run and pee on the rug.”

The Fiendling is much better with the baby, even helping me burp him and change diapers. He’s been gentle and understands that he’s not supposed to hit, kick or bite the baby, though he does climb on him and squish him a bit now and again. He’s also been much better with me and tells me he loves me and gives me kisses unprompted.

He sings to himself often, sometimes even in tune. His repertoire consists mainly of songs from Thomas the Tank Engine though Baby Beluga has been a recent favorite. He plays imaginatively for real now, and his trains talk to each other and even argue- “No, I’m not a green engine, I’m a blue engine.” or “Don’t pull this tender, it’s my tender, not your tender.”

His favorite activity is still playing with trains but he loves the playground and the sprinklers and the library. He loves to run, and will run around the block rather than walk or ride in the stroller.

He’s still bossy, telling me to stop singing or stop talking when he’s tired, cranky or just wants my undivided attention. He’s also still a toddler which means he’s unpredictable and insists on doing things all by himself which leads to screams and tantrums.

He’s so big. He’s lost his baby roundness- he’s now this sticky, dirty, skinny little boy running around with skinned knees demanding cookies and popsicles.

But he’s back. He’s sweet and smart and funny and lovable, and spending time with him is fun again.

So far 27 months is miserable. The Fiendling, totally shell shocked from the birth of his little brother, is not himself. Four weeks into big brotherhood and he’s still sad, angry and regressing. Right now I’m stuck in the house with him because after trying to kick his baby brother off of the couch and hitting me when he was in time out I told him we wouldn’t be going to story hour if he hit me again. Of course when he got up from time out and gave me a hug and a kiss he promptly hit me in the back twice as I walked back into the other room. So no story hour.

He might be getting a little better. He’s not hitting, biting or kicking quite as often as he was a few weeks ago, and he’s cuddly with me again, but it’s been a shitty couple of weeks. It doesn’t help that he got some sort of virus that led to a fever, snotty nose, and terrible cough. It also doesn’t help that we’re in the middle of a god-awful heat wave and it’s been in the high 90s with a heat index in the 100s. His third floor bedroom is ridiculously hot and the sound of him coughing over the monitor was keeping me awake so he’s been sleeping in our room. He didn’t accept the mattress on the floor. He preferred to sleep in the pack n play, or the green crib as he calls it, since the baby gets to sleep in the blue crib in our room. I fear we won’t be able to move him out after the illness and heat subside, but at least he’s been sleeping through the night.

He no longer plays nicely with any of his friends, yanking toys from them and shouting, “It’s mine!!” at the top of his lungs. He screams open-mouthed, arms extended as soon as another kid touches anything, whether he wants it or not. It’s embarrassing to have play dates where he argues and fights and whines and cries the whole time but it’s worse when we’re stuck in the house.

Now when he’s tired or sad he’s taken to saying, “Mommy, Daddy, Fiendling,” clearly mourning the loss of our three person family. It breaks my heart to hear it.

Good news? Ummm. Well, I guess he’s getting better at speaking. He speaks in complete sentences a good portion of the time and is using pronouns (usually incorrectly) instead of his name. He plays very nicely by himself and can occupy himself with his toys and trains for long periods of time. He’s interested in longer books these days and has discovered The Cat in the Hat. It’s nice to no longer have to read Thomas stories every night. He’s still sweet and cuddly with me when the baby’s not around and I’ve been spending as much one-on-one time with him as I can. Now instead of taking the Fiendling out when he gets home, Boyfiend takes the baby so the Fiendling and I can spend some special mommy-Fiendling time together.

Sometimes he’s sweet to his baby brother, kissing him and telling him, “It’s okay,” when he cries.

It blows that I just can’t think of anymore nice things to say right now. I love him so much, but things have just been so hard. I dread hearing his screams of “It’s mine,” and I dread being alone with him and the baby. I hate letting the baby cry to get to the Fiendling first and putting the baby down in a room out of sight and out of reach to keep him safe. I feel like I just can’t baby this baby the way I babied the Fiendling and I know he’ll never get the full benefit of cuddling all day long. The poor kid gets yanked and pulled almost every time he’s on my lap when the Fiendling’s in the same room.

Fiendling, I am so sorry you feel so awful. I am so sorry that you’re angry and sad. I am doing everything I can to let you know that you’re loved and wanted and every bit as important to us as you were four weeks ago. I just hope that this stage ends, because I don’t know if I can handle this forever.

I have mastitis. On the holiday weekend. I caught it early and it’s not as bad as it could be but it still sucks that I feel tired and run down and sore. I was hoping for a margarita and all I got was a breast infection. Awesome.

The Fiendling (who has recently added grinding and clicking his teeth to his list of ways to show mom he’s unhappy about his baby brother) is also sick. He has a runny nose, a slight cough and had an unfortunate diaper incident that led to an immediate bath and load of laundry. This morning, after waking up once in the middle of the night, he woke up just before five and couldn’t go back to sleep despite my best efforts. I hope he’s feeling better tomorrow. Though I appreciate how cuddly he is when he’s sick (and his brother isn’t around), I don’t appreciate the excess bodily fluids and the night waking.

Tomorrow is my neighborhood’s sad little Memorial Day parade then we’re going to a barbecue at my in-laws’ house. Hopefully we’ll find time to put the flowers and herbs we bought on Mother’s Day in pots. My garden has been seriously neglected.

I am tired and the baby who is peacefully sleeping beside me smells like spit up and cord stump and desperately needs a bath. I don’t want to wake him, but it’s inevitable.

Caring for a newborn is easy compared to caring for a toddler. The baby is a dream, still all sleepy and hungry, and the Fiendling has been a complete fucking nightmare when it’s just the three of us or four of us, hitting, biting and generally being a shit. Is it wrong to refer to your two-year-old as a shit?

It breaks my heart to see him like that, so unlike himself. He’s usually so sweet and lovable that it kills me to see him so upset. He’s been getting plenty of attention and just about all of our visitors have been thoughtful enough to bring him a big brother gift. I’ve been carefully timing feedings so I can put him to bed and get up with him in the mornings. He’s been getting one on one time with me and with boyfiend and`aside from the obvious addition of a crying, pooping baby in the house his general routine hasn’t changed dramatically.

I know that this kind of adjustment is common and I know the behavior won’t last forever, but god does it suck.

After my ranting about Boyfiend spending too much time on his boat and not enough time on the Fiendling’s new bedroom Boyfiend actually made things worse. Last Saturday he put his boat in the water. He got up in the morning and his brother came over to help him get things set up. Passover dinner at my aunt’s house was scheduled for five. I told Boyfiend I needed him home by four. He agreed.

My morning was fine, but walking takes a toll these days. I was looking forward to nap time. Of course the Fiendling didn’t nap for more than fifteen minutes and woke up miserable, clingy and angry to be awake. I thought I was going to lose my mind. In tears I called Boyfiend to remind him that I really NEEDED him to be home on time. He said he wouldn’t be home by four, but he’d be home by four-thirty. That did not please me. When he wasn’t home by five I got the Fiendling and myself dressed and in the car and left without him. I was furious.

Then he made things up to me. The Fiendling spent last night in his new bedroom- a full 24 hours earlier than originally promised. I doubted him, but Boyfiend came through working until ten o’clock most nights to get the painting finished. The room looks fantastic and with the addition of a train table and a few trains Mix found on the side of the road the Fiendling loves it. After the big unveiling, after yet another day without a nap, the Fiendling spent two hours happily playing in his room by himself while I vacuumed and rearranged things. Then he slept through the night.

The nursery is clean. I washed the gender-neutral newborn clothes, the newborn diaper, and the covers and seat pads for the baby bouncy chair, car seat and swing. The glider is in the upstairs parlor where we spend most of our time and the pack n play where the baby will sleep the first few months is in our room. Nothing is set up in the nursery, but I thought it might be best to leave it empty for a bit, just in case the Fiendling gets it in his head to move back in. I don’t have a bag packed for the hospital, but I did put aside a few nursing tops and pajamas to bring along. Last time I just wore the gown the whole time I was there, but this time since the Fiendling will be there to visit I want to look as normal as possible

I am sick of being pregnant. I don’t remember it being quite so bad last time. I know I was swollen for a lot longer and uncomfortable, but I didn’t have any Braxton Hicks contractions, I could nap daily, and I didn’t have a two-year-old to chase around. My feet hurt, I’m tired all of the time, and all the work I’m doing around the house is exhausting.

Now that I’m ready for the baby I’m sure it will be at least two weeks overdue.

Boyfiend is at the Phillies game. I am having contractions of the Braxton Hicks variety. The Fiendling is screaming for me at his gate. Minutes ago, after the fourth time I went in there, we had a brief conversation that I found very unsatisfying.

Me: You have your trains, your teddy bear and your water. I’ve given you kisses and hugs and cuddles. I’ve rubbed your back and rubbed your forehead. I’ve held your hand and snuggled with you. It is 10.30 at night. It is time to go to sleep.

Fiendling: Don’t want to.

Now he’s yelling, “I’m sad.”

A while back I wrote that the Fiendling was becoming a bit too independent and started trying to leave through the front door. After finding him on the front porch deep in discussion with a neighbor we started locking the door from the inside, using a key well out of his reach.

The other night I was cooking dinner. The Fiendling walked into the kitchen, said “Fiendling need step stool,” looked around, picked it up and left the room. It took me about two seconds to process and I quickly followed him out of the room, through the dining room, down the hall and into the foyer where he put the step stool in front of the door and climbed up. He locked and unlocked the door and put the key in and out of the lock.

I asked, “Fiendling, what are you doing?”

He replied, “Fiendling go outside.”

I said, “No. It’s dinner time and it’s dark out. You’re not wearing shoes or a coat. You need to stay inside.” I put him on the floor, made sure the door was locked, picked up the stool and returned to the kitchen with him running behind me yelling, “Uh-uh dinner time! Fiendling’s step stool. Fiendling go outside. Fiendling’s step stool!”

In two days he’ll be two years old.

The Fiendling, showing no symptoms whatsoever, told me yesterday that his ear hurt. I asked which one and he pointed to his right ear. He napped well and slept through the night so I didn’t think much of it until this morning when he told me again that his ear hurt, this time putting his hand over his ear and rubbing it against his shoulder a bit. Still not showing any signs of distress I let it go until lunch time when it occurred to me that he still has a cough and slightly runny nose, so maybe I should take him to the doctor just to make sure.

I called the pediatricians office (just shy of his second birthday and I’m finally over my habit of calling his doctor the vet) and his doctor actually answered the phone, recognized my voice, and told me to bring him in after his nap. He hates visiting the doctor’s office and screamed while she listened to his chest and checked his ears and throat. He didn’t have any visible infection but his cries were hoarse, his throat was red and both ears were full of fluid- more in the right than the left.

His pediatrician said that even though he didn’t actually have an infection she thought it was best to treat him under the circumstances. I agreed that I’d rather it didn’t turn into an infection, but I felt uneasy about giving him an antibiotic for an infection that wasn’t actually there. She may have rolled her eyes a little when she replied, “He’s almost two years old and he’s never taken an antibiotic. That’s better than 99% of my patients. I don’t think we’re over-medicating him.”

Point taken. Prescription filled. I did appreciate that she told me she was impressed by the fact that he actually told me what was hurting him. If he hadn’t told me I never would have known anything was going on.

The Fiendling loves to read to himself. His memory is excellent and he often “reads” pages of books we haven’t read together in a while without making a mistake.

Unfortunately his love for television is still growing. He’s learned how to turn on the tv and the dvd player, open a dvd case, put it in the player and press play. We get new ones from the library each week so I don’t lose my mind watching the same ones repeatedly.

He now identifies shapes without prompting. Except for octagon and pentagon. He needs prompting for those. But triangle, rectangle, circle, oval, diamond and square he’s got down. He also knows ten colors- ROYGBV (well, purple), black, white and brown.

His toddler thoughts astound me.  The other day in the car he randomly said, “helicopters fly up high.”

Earlier he opened the refrigerator, opened the drawer, took out a handful of cheese sticks, closed the drawer, closed the drawer, ripped on off one of the sticks, put them all on the counter, opened the fridge, opened the drawer, put back the two sticks he wasn’t going to eat, closed the drawer, closed the door, then started to try to open the plastic on the cheese stick himself before he needed help.

When he asks for chocolate milk he opens the fridge and takes out the milk and chocolate syrup. I hate that he learned how to open the fridge.

He’s in a mommy stage where he demands that I do things like make the chocolate milk and feed him dinner when he’s too hungry/lazy/cranky to feed himself.

He likes to sit in a chair without his tray most of the time now. The other night he climbed up in the chair beside me and ate his butternut squash and caramelized onion galette with a fork. He didn’t even hesitate or test the temperature before digging right in. I was so proud.

He’s in a huge “Fiendling do it” stage where he wants to do everything himself whether he can or not. We have to compromise. He can peel oranges by himself. He can’t change his own diaper. He can pick out what color diaper he wants to wear.

Cuddling with Isaac the cat is a new favorite activity. A quote: “Uh-uh, playground! Cuddle with Isaac!”

Playing with trains is another favorite activity, especially playing with Boyfiend’s old (they were his dad’s) electric trains. The Fiendling can turn them on and off, make them go forward and backward, have them switch tracks (though he often screws this up) and he loves to blow the whistle. His 12 piece wooden train set from Ikea is a reasonable substitute when Boyfiend’s not home to supervise. He makes the trains “go through tunnel,” “crash” and often shoves one in my hand and says, “mama have one too.” Then he throws a fit when I push the train in the wrong direction.

I didn’t want to say “no” to him when he was little because I was afraid he’d grow up to be a toddler who said “no” all of the time. Instead of no I ended up saying “uh-uh,” because now he’s a toddler who says “uh-uh” all of the time. “Uh-uh bath!” “Uh-uh bed!” “Uh-uh playground, watch Thomas!” I suppose “uh-uh” is slightly better than “no,” but I much prefer when he says “uh-huh” with a smile.

Bedtime is less of a battle. Now we read a few stories, kiss him good night and leave the room. We have to stand in the hall until he falls asleep because he will get out of bed repeatedly some nights, but when we tell him to get back into bed he does.

Naps still only happen in the car, but I’ll take what I can get. I’d rather have him sleep in the car than not sleep at all.

I think we’re officially weaned. He hasn’t nursed in more than four weeks. I never dreamed I’d nurse this long, but I’m glad I did. I’m also glad we’re done.

His most charming new habit is that he directs kisses. If I kiss him on the head he’ll sometimes cry, “uh-uh!’ and wipe it off. Then he’ll say nose and present his nose for me to kiss. Then cheek. Then other cheek. Then chin. Then other chin which is his neck. Then eye and other eye. Ear and other ear. Hand and other hand. Head and other head which is just a different place on his head. I love him so much.