Baby No Name

List of Potential Baby Names

Dana

Dante

Holden

Sebastian

Spencer

Simon

Gianvincent

Rocco

Theodore

Jude

Silas

Dillon

Gabriel

Harrison

Sawyer

Jasper

Greg

Oscar

And there we are. 

Fresh Mouth

Apparently it's normal for 4 years old to have a fresh mouth.  However, I feel that Leah's is super fresh. 

Supa fresh.

I spoke to her teacher today about it and she told me that it's important for Leah to understand that failure to listen to mom and dad and/or fresh mouth will result in losing fun stuff. 

For Leah, the absolute worst thing you can do to her is not allow her play outside with her friends.  OH MY GOD THE HORROR OF HAVING TO STAY INSIDE WHILE ALL THE FUN IS GOING ON OUTSIDE WITHOUT HER!

This week has been particularly trying for us and each night has brought a special kind of hell that has made us re-think the decision to add to this family, despite it being way too late.

Tonight Greg is working late so it's going to be just me and Leah from 3:30 p.m. on.  I am hoping that the rain stays away so we get some outside play after school.

And other than that, I am hoping that my 4 year old doesn't reduce me to tears with the fresh mouth.

Is Jesus a Bad Word?

We are very much into bad words these days.  As far as Greg and I can tell, the only bad word she is currently sure of is stupid,which she refers to as the "PS Word."  We have no clue why. We have thought about it over and over and over, and...we've got nothing.  PS Word?  What the hell?

But, she loves asking me if words are bad.  Just this morning she asked me if totally and buttitude are bad words.  The second one baffles me as much as it baffles you, but she claimed that Martha from "Martha Speaks" says buttitude.  I told her that both of those words were in fact not bad and then made a mental note to pay more attention to "Martha Speaks."

My favorite memory on the subject of bad words goes back a couple of years when she asked me if Jesus is a bad word.  We are not a religious household and I was taken back by the question, but I answered honestly, figuring she had heard of a guy named Jesus and thought, hey, I wonder if that's okay to say.  So, I told her, "No, Jesus is not a bad word."

A few minutes later, Ruby walked by and rubbed up against Leah, and I heard,

"JESUS Ruby!  Don't do that!"

And I thought, Oh, that's what she meant.  Ah, well, oops.

Parenting is obviously not my day job.

Code Red

Do not be fooled.  This child is naughty.  Do not let her smile convince you that she really needs a doughnut.  She says that to everyone, several times a day.  Consider yourself warned.

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Going To The Mazoom

Today was Leah's last day of school and parents were invited to attend an end of year party.  Greg and I both took the day off.  The plan was to head into NY after school and have lunch, walk through Central Park, and maybe end up at the Museum of Natural History.

And then a monsoon hit NJ.

So, we headed to the Children's Museum in Paramus.  Not as cool as the AMNH, but fun nonetheless.

Thoughts

I think of my mom every day and probably will forever. Sometimes it stings and sometimes it doesn’t. I know that they say that if something doesn’t hurt then it no longer means something to you, but I don’t care. I’d rather be able to think of my mom and not have it hurt. I’d rather it just be a thought in my head, along the lines of “buy pull ups” and “dvr Glee.”




Marco, Adriana, and I took my dad out for brunch on Sunday. Afterwards everyone came over to my house to swim. Marco threw everyone in the pool. The family raft was a big hit. Bella fell asleep in the stroller. I made pastina and then ordered pizza. We sat in the shade. Greg kept changing the station. Leah screamed “god bless America” like a mad patriot.



And I didn’t really think of my mom. And it was such a good day.



Yesterday was a good friend’s birthday. Happy Birthday, Gabrielle. Sorry you missed out on your birthday party.

Crazytown

There are times when I look at my daughter, my smart, beautiful, wonderful, strong-willed daughter, and think to myself,

Was I ever this strange? 

No, she gets that from her father.

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Dearest Leah

Yesterday, our first day spent together, and things were really crazy.

I expected my time off in between jobs to be extremely lazy.

However, you seemed to forget that naps are given,

and that if you do not take them, you will not be livin'.

Throwing your blanket in a pile does not a bed make,

And Jesus Louise, the Little People carnival gives me a royal headache.

You sure do eat a surplus of snacks and watch a lot of Backyardigans,

And I am reminded that you spend too much time with your dad every time you fart again.

However, today was glorious, like a different little kid,

Except when you disappeared under the rack at Sears and hid.

And I guess during this time off I could be using a cloth and mop,

But we are having so much fun going from shop to shop.

You still scream at me when I don't get Bubble Guppies on fast enough,

But compared to yesterday, today was definitely not rough.

We have our disagreements, like any other pair,

And I will not budge, in the shower you MUST wash your hair.

So, let's see how the next two weeks go, my little feisty adorable hemorrhoid,

But if you throw your shoe at my head while I'm driving again, all bets are null and void.

Just Sit On The Toilet Already

Oh, has it been that long?  Sorry about that.  Let's just jump into some lamenting about my life, shall we?

We've been working on discipline with Leah.  I've mentioned before how I am trying to teach her cause and effect, especially with regards to her behavior at daily tasks.  I expect everyday common situations to go effortlessly--teeth brushing, bed time, meals--I mean, we've done these things hundreds if not thousands of times, and I shouldn't still have deal with whining and fooling around and general assy-ness when it comes to those tasks.  I expect a lot from her, but she's almost three, and she should be able to figure out that when I've said not less than forty nights in a row that failure to sit on the toilet before bed will result in no bedtime gels and ointments, that I really mean that. 

Up until recently, she wasn't getting it.  I was dealing with the nightly, "but I don't hafta go pee" lament, and I was following it up with, "if you don't at least try then you don't get teeth medicine" and this was happening every night.  But, last night was wine night, and I needed to get Leah into bed as fast as possible, so that I could get back to my ladies in the dining room (and my wine) as fast as possible, and, since I didn't want Joan and Gab to hear just how loud my voice could really get to, I vowed that I was going to keep it together.

She brushed her teeth.  Refused to sit on the toilet.  I didn't say a thing.  We walked to her room and she said, "So, uh, I can have teeth medicine?" and I said, "No, you can't and you know why." And she said, "Oh, yeah, I hafta go pee!" and she ran back to the bathroom.

I nearly fainted but kept my cool and the rest of bedtime went smoothly.

A similar thing happened on Wednesday night when she kicked me and was forced to go to bed early.  The next morning she apologized, without being prompted, for kicking me and making me sad.

We don't spank, so we are forced to come up with different ways of disciplining her, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit to sometimes wanting to kick in the face whoever invented the Time Out.  I spend an inordinate amount of time talking to Leah and explaining, and I have no qualms about painting the picture of life exactly how it is: sometimes unfair and not always roses.  So, when she picks up on a lesson like Post-Teeth Brushing Pee Effort=Hand Lotion In Bed, it makes me feel like I'm getting my point across.  That my parenting choices might just be pretty good ones.  That I'm not messing up this kid too much.




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Doodle Guitar

Greg works late on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, so it's my job to gather Leah from whichever babysitter she is at on those days and head home.  I will occasionally attempt to cook a meal, and we will usually sit down together to eat the meal.  I will then try to clean up the kitchen, as well as the forty million items that are out of place in my house by that point.  After that is done, the plan is to sit with Leah and entertain her until bedtime.  However, on most nights, she's the one doing the entertaining.

This is what she calls "Doodle Guitar" and, forgive the poor picture quality, but it's her rendition of a girl eating a cheese doodle playing an air guitar.

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Raising Dana

Growing up, one of my favorite things was going down the doll aisle at toy stores.  I would inspect and study each and every doll--what she looked like, what she wore, what she came with, what she could do, if she pooped, everything.  I would get so excited to visit toy stores because a trip always, always included a stroll down the doll aisle.  I would jump from doll to doll, narrating my moves: This one has diapers!  I saw this one on TV!  Oh, I love this one so much!  This one comes with a potty!

And, if we're being honest with each other, I still enjoy perusing the doll aisle.  Even before I had Leah, if a store I was visiting contained a doll aisle, I always made sure to take a glance before I left.

I don't know why it surprises me, and delights me to no end, but Leah is obsessed with the doll aisles, too.  The first few times she begged to be let out of the cart once we reached the aisle, so that she could get a better look at the merchandise, I thought it was only a fluke.  But it's been happening now for a while, and this characteristic, along with a few other select ones, are so similar to things that I did as a child and it just amazes me each and every time I see them.

Dis one has a ba ba!  Dis one has siddy hair!  I wike dis one!  Dis one is cwying for a ma ma!

I am so grateful that I had a daughter first.  I know you're not supposed to say that, but I don't care.  I am.  I feel like it was a blessing in disguise.  Having a daughter so soon after losing my mother taught me to not take for granted one single tiny minute in this life with her.  I will never be accused of not teaching her enough, or speaking to her enough, or giving her enough, because I know how important it is to create the mother/daughter bond, because I know what it's like to lose it. 

I am in a position where I can give her things--whether material or experience-based--and I do that as much as I can.  I don't care if other people thing she's spoiled, or that I should share the wealth with a second child, or if I am doing her a disservice.  Because I know what a daughter remembers about her mom when she's no longer around.  I know what a daughter is grateful and thankful for from her mother.  I know what a daughter cherishes and holds close to her heart about her mom when her mom has passed.

It's things like sharing the experience of walking the doll aisle.



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The Life I Signed Up For

If my mother had died before I was pregnant, I probably wouldn't have had a child.  I wanted a baby, and my mother was going to help me raise it.  Package deal.

If my mother hadn't died, Greg and I would have probably taken several weekend trips by now, and maybe even one that lasted five days.  Instead of no weekend trips, and nothing close to five days.  I don't trust anyone to watch Leah; there's nothing like the trust you have in your mom.   We would have been able to do more things with each other, without Leah.  Maybe go out to eat more...Christmas shop together...take more trips into NYC.

If my mother was still alive, I probably would have had more children by now.  She would have been my house every day in the summer, when she wasn't working, and probably would have used up more of her sick and personal days to spend time with her grandchildren.  My nights wouldn't have been parenting solo while Greg worked, and my weekends would not have been attempting to run an errand with a toddler and feeling like I got nothing accomplished.

There would have been more gifts and treats and a lot more spoiling.  My children would have run to her when they saw her, got excited when she arrived, and threw fits when she left.  They might have even liked spending time with her more than with me.

I never would have been stuck with no sitter.  Never would have had to say no to something that I wanted to do because I felt guilty leaving Leah.  Never would have felt that all-too-familiar hesitation when I dial a number to request some babysitting. 

I never wanted to be a mother if I didn't have my mother with me.  I never would have entered into what is the most difficult job I've ever held without her.  Never would have created this situation while living 40 minutes away from my closest family, with only one parent who's my dad, while my in-laws live several states away.

And I would have never written this post.

If I seem different to you, uncomfortable, unhappy, and unsettled, you must forgive me.  I'm not living the life I signed up for.



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Leah still wears diapers.

There.  I said it.

Potty training is pretty non-existant.

I could beat myself up and say that if I was a stay-at-home-mom I would have potty trained her by now, but I'm not going to do that.  Kids whose parents work eventually stop wearing diapers! 

I'm ok with her not being trained; some people complain about how much they hate it, but it doesn't bother me that much.  I don't have to keep a potty in the car for emergencies; I don't have to find the restroom in every single facility we visit; I don't mind the cost of diapers.  (Because I sleep on a bed of dollar bills.  No, really because they're not that expensive.)

We've always raised Leah by following her lead on what she needs.  By stepping back and paying attention, I've been able to figure out what she's saying, thinking, feeling. 

I bought her a potty before she turned one, because I thought that I could coax her into training early.  But, I should have known better.  She'll do it when she's ready.  

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Where It's At

We've got a lot of anatomic talk these days.  Lots of "penis", "gina" and "butt" and who's got what and who doesn't have what.  There's a bunch of "I see you naked!" and there's the self-taught "butt dance."

There's music requests: Soul Sister, Like a G6, and Muffin Man are most frequently asked for.  She dances in slow motion during the slow parts on Dog Days are Over and then speeds it up on the fast parts.

There's a lot of blowing drying hair, and applying lip gloss, and "I need eye shadow" and "Let me go do my hair before we leave."  There are attempts to put hair ties and barrettes in.  There's a lot of hair brushing.

There are requests for showers, not baths.  There are requests for the blue shirt and the crocs, NOT that purple dress!  No, the blue one.  And maybe with the rain boots.  Definitely not the winter coat!  But, perhaps the vest.  NOT that vest, god, mom.

Oh, yes, there's a lot of MOM.  Not Mommy, but MOM.  But, there's also "What's that, Mama?"  And when she wakes up in the morning, it's always "Mommy." 

"Oh my goodness!" never gets old.  And "yes please" when the answer only needs to be yes.  

~Leah, are you in your bedroom?
~Yes, please.

~Leah, do you think I should wear my black flats with these jeans?
~Yes, please.

There's drama.  ALWAYS so much drama.  Everything is so cool! Or so sad! Or so nice! Everything is such a big deal!

There's a lot going on.  Lots of changes.  Lots of baby, but lots of big girl.  Lots and lots of big girl.

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Baby Tai-Yu

My friend Lan had a baby three weeks ago.  Baby Tai-Yu.  And he is scrumptious. 

I am trying to spend as much time with him as possible because I want to help Lan out, I want to squeeze her baby, and because I love to watch Leah with him.

I just can't get over how she acts with him.  It's all don't cry baby...ok, give me kiss, baby..I love you little baby...here's your little blanket baby...all while kissing him and tickling him and playing with his fingers.

She always wants to hold him by herself.  And she has to hold him a certain way, with his head on her left side.  She wasn't too happy about being forced to hold him with a pillow underneath, but she's gotten used to it. And I caught her a couple of times this weekend attempting to pick him up and carry him away. 

I'm always wondering how she would act if I had another baby, and before Tai-Yu came around, I used to think that she'd be really jealous.  But now I'm not so sure.  I think she'd handle it really well.  Which just amazes me.  She never ceases to amaze me.  She is just so amazing.

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My Baby Loves Babies

So, can we just talk about how adorable my child is with little babies?  Recently, it seems like a lot of people we know have had babies, or are about to.  I tell her about them; show her pictures of them.  We practice saying their names.

She talks about them non-stop.  She tells me she's going to give them bottles, passies, and tickle them.

She wants to hold them...with NO HELP please and NO PILLOW on her lap please. 

She gives her dolls their names.  She calls me back into her room after I put her to bed so that we can talk for just a little longer about them. 

Oh, and when we see them:  it's kisses galore!

I've mentioned that my friend Lan had a baby recently and we've brought some of Leah's things to her so that she can borrow them.  I thought that leaving Leah's bouncy seat and bumbo chair would not go over well, but boy, was I wrong.  She loved letting the baby use her things and didn't mind leaving them with him either.

She's been getting so big lately, getting so much more mature, saying so much more.  There are still tough times and days in which I am wondering where I keep my rope (to tie her down for like one minute!  Not to hang myself or anything, ha ha HA HA HA) but I can see us turning a corner on the bad behavior.  I can see the light sorta glimmering through at the end of the tunnel. 

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Trance

I'd love to tell you that she is currently entranced by a Scientist that I have come to the house every Wednesday night to go over the teachings of Einstein, the music of Beethoven, and the musings of Confucius.

But, actually, she's watching The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, and it's the episode where Goofy rides his bike upside down, and that's pretty mesmerizing to a two year old.

We're keeping it real here.

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The Big Fish Bowl in the Sky

I put Leah to bed 30 minutes ago.  We followed the same routine as we do every night:

1) She puts her finger out and I apply "teeth medicine" (Ambesol) for her to apply to her gums.

2) She puts her finger out and I allow her to dip her finger into the "lip gloss" (Vaseline) to which she applies to her lips.

3) She then looks at me and says, "Ooh, my beddy (belly) hurts.  I need some beddy medicine." And then I open the Vicks and let her take a dab to put on her belly. 

Editor's note: I would let her apply the Vicks without the pretend pain, but I love hearing her pretend, night after night, that her belly starts to hurt at the exact moment that we complete the lip gloss routine.  I play into too.  "Oh, your belly hurts?  Well, then we better get some medicine for that!" 

And then while she situates herself amongst her 40 blankets and NumNum (a stuffed Snoopy) I feed Fishy, her blue beta fish that I have hated taken care of since my wonderful sister gave Leah the fish back in June. 

Except tonight, Fishy was not swimming amongst his plastic cave and vegitation. 

Because Fishy is dead.

Just floating there on the top of the bowl, sideways.  I made a face when I noticed and flung my head back a bit, to which Eagle Eyes over there said, "What happened Mom?  What happened?" 

To which I replied, "Oh, Fishy is so hungry tonight!  He surprised me!" 

And, for once in her life she just accepted that and didn't ask to witness the event. 

So, I left dead Fishy in the bowl and continued with the bedtime routine and texted Greg the minute I got out of there that he had a funeral to hold tomorrow morning.

So, what exactly should we tell her?  This isn't our first pet that has died, but this is the first pet that has died in the house.  This will certainly be the first pet that is flushed down the toilet, and, considering that it's very difficult to do anything in this house behind a locked door, she might very well witness the event.  She is older now than she was when we lost Doozer.  She remembers things now.  She talks in full sentences now.  She tells me when I have boogers in my nose and when I dribble food down my shirt.  Things are different now and I'd rather not scar her this early in life.  There will be many times in the future for that.

Should we say that Fishy is in heaven?  That's what we say about Doozer.  Also, about Grandma Pat.  However, I don't think she really knows what heaven means, as a couple of weeks ago she screamed, "Grandma Pat!  Grandma Pat!" as a woman who lives around the block and has the same hair cut as my mother did, drove by.

I was like, "What?!  That's not Grandma Pat!  That's ____________ (I'm protecting the innocent.)!  Grandma Pat?  Wha?  She's in heaven.  Do you remember that?  That means that she's not driving down our street in her Camry.  Really?  Grandma Pat?  I uh, here, have a lollipop."

So, anyway, back to Fishy.  If there is anyone reading who has been in this situation, how do you suggest we do this?  Comments welcome!
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Let Me Clarify

So, I think that I might have portrayed myself as slightly agitated last week.  You post one little list of things that suck and before you know it, your friends are afraid to answer your calls, your sister won't look you in the eye, and your husband is planning an Anger Intervention. 

Yes, I might have been having a rough week, but I didn't mean to come off as an outraged, bitter hag.  And I'm afraid that people are going to caese inviting me to their homes for fear that I'll judge their clutter.  Fear not, friends, I am not judging your clutter.  I didn't write that list about your clutter.   I wrote it about the clutter of strangers.  Honestly, I apologize for judging and for admitting that I judge and if I could take one thing off the list it would be the sentence about how I'm judging your clutter.  I'm not.  Believe me.  For real.  I'm too busy sneaking a glance in your medicine cabinet.  See!  Not seeing your clutter!  Seeing your Advil!

But, I think the one thing that I mentioned on the list that struck a chord with most people was, well, it was obviously the one that spoke of my hatred of John Lithgow.

hehe.

No, it was the one about having another child.  Listen, asking me and Greg if we want more children is fine.  Questioning us on if we are thinking of having other kids is acceptable.  Telling us how life changed when you went from one to two, or four to five or whatever, is cool.  Giving advice on how you think having more than one child is beneficial is a-ok.

Telling me that I am wrong when I say I have one child right now and that's how I like it is unacceptable.  And I shouldn't have to apologize for that. 

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Brought To You By Coffee

Sometimes having kids feels like doing time for a crime you didn't commit.  I mean, yes, technically, with regards to Leah, I did "commit the crime."  I mean, we wanted her, and she's here due to us.  But, there are times when taking care of her seems really exhaustive and heavy and just plain tough.

I was talking to a co worker who is child-free, by choice.  He spent the weekend babysitting his 5 year-old neice, and today, Wednesday, he's still recuperating from the weekend.  He just doesn't understand how people can do this day in and day out, like deal with kids, all the time.  And, he's right.  I don't know how I do it.

We spend a lot of time in the car.  And Leah must talk, question, comment, and narrate the entire time she's in the car.  There's a lot of "Look, Mommy"s too.  It's non-stop.  When I pick her up from my sister's house on Wednesdays and am in the thick of a 45-minute commute in rush hour traffic after working for 9 straight hours, the last thing I want to do is "Look at my knee, Mommy!  Look at my sock!  Oh, man!  There's a bus!"  And if she doesn't get a reaction she will keep going, louder and louder, until she does.  So, we have a conversation for the duration of the entire ride.  Every ride.  Every day. 

Now, I don't want you all to think that I'm complaining about parenthood, because I'm not.  Much.  I knew it would be tough and challenging.  Not as tough and challenging as it actually is, but still, I had an idea.  What I'm saying is that despite the challenges, we still do it.  We still have kids.  We still run ourselves ragged taking care of them and tending to their needs.  We still think about them and worry about them.  We kiss, hug, cuddle, and snuggle them.   We love them to pieces.  More than we ever thought possible.  It's worth it.  It must be, right?

Despite being woken up at 5 a.m. this morning to the words, "I want pancakes now!" I never regret the day Greg and I decided to become parents.  I can't even remember life without Cha Cha.  And I don't want to...because I was probably well rested and energetic and richer.  And, really, who wants to think about that?

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