The Daily Fuss

Growing a Family Part II: It's Not About Me Anymore

I remember our first week at home with brand new, baby Leighton like it was yesterday. I recall finding it impossible to get anything done. By the time I changed, fed and burped her, then got her down for a nap, the cycle would start all over again.

It took us two hours to get ready to venture out on our first stroller walk in the park - on day four, at home.

How ridiculous.

With Lei, I didn't allow myself to eat, sleep or even pee when I wanted to, for fear of interrupting what became our perfect little routine. 

Ryan and I described the situation as something akin to riding a night train, in the coach level smoking car with lights on and without reclining seats, through the Pyrenees, hoping to NOT get robbed while attempting to catch a nap.

This actually happened to me during my college travels and I swear it's a valid comparison. Not much you can do when the sleeping car is full.

Ryan detailed his foray into fatherhood to my cousin (about to become a father himself for the first time) in this way: "Imagine you just sat down with your favorite beer to watch the World Series, and every three minutes, you are forced to get up and run as fast as you can to the farthest point in the house and come back. Now imagine doing that all night long."

We unapologetically catered to our new little girl's every whim . She loved to nutch her nukka even as she slept. When it fell out (every five minutes) she would cry and we would run in and replace it. She was never wet for more than minute or two. She nursed every three hours, then every four like clockwork. She slept in our bed. She had copious amounts of tummy time and photo shoots and books read to her and faces made at her and toys to play with and so on.

Leighton smiled a lot. 

She still does.

The most notable shock of having that first little baby was that our time was no longer our own. Looking back, it seems silly to have assumed our baby would be like a cute little accessory - that she would travel about with us politely and sleep when we wanted her to sleep and be charming when we showed her off to other people and she would let us watch Meet the Press and have our coffee on Sundays without distraction. 

It's impossible to imagine life with a baby, before you have one.

We waited a little longer than we intended to wait for Miss Leighton. We started trying or "not trying to not get pregnant" right after we were married. We so enjoyed the momentum we had going ... constant change for eighteen months ... that we lept right in.

We had a miscarriage at twelve weeks.

Frankly, it sucked. 

So much hoopla and excitement and elastic-waisted pants and daydreaming and reading "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and I'm finally pregnant and it feels like we're a family of three in the waiting room and the warm goo and ultrasound wand is on my tummy and ... boom.

Nothingness.

The fantasy is vaporized and there's just sadness for a while.  

And that would be the very reason you don't get too excited until after that twelve week ultrasound. It shook us momentarily, but we moved forward with our life together and plans for a family.

However grateful we were to have a happy and healthy little girl the year following that rough spot, losing control over our comings and goings mattered to us.

For a little while anyway.

It was quite an adjustment for Team Freeman, as it is for most new parents, I would imagine.

Then, that longing for sleep and time to ourselves quickly faded into a rythm of providing for and meeting the needs of this little person we loved way more than we loved ourselves.  

She was our best DIY project to date and we were overwhelmed by her awesomeness. We felt we loved her so very much, there wouldn't be anything left for anybody else ... ever.

We believed that right up until Miss Mairin came along ... and everything changed.

Again.

Big News

Getting pregnant with our third was easy. So easy, we really didn't even have to try. 

Yes it may seem disingenuous to have posted about the debate surrounding having a third. However, I had already started working on that post. I just didn't get to finish it before getting myself sprogged up again. 

So I posted it anyway.

We have cleared our first trimester and the hurdles it represents, as we are pleased as punch to share the news.

Speaking of hurdles, instead of the usual first trimester screen for abnormalities, I opted for the MaterniT21 test. It's a simple blood test and more accurate than the first trimester screen. Plus, the fact that I will deliver this baby at age 37 makes me destined to fail the first trimester screen regardless.

MaterniT21 tests for trisomies 13, 18 and 21, as well as X and Y disorders. 

One bonus (should you choose to look at it as such) is that you can find out gender. Since the Maternity21 test can be done as early as 10 weeks, the test basically cuts the normal wait time (20 weeks) in half.

Of course we wanted to know. We always want to know. 

The prospect of having three girls seemed a bit rough in terms of what would certainly be a perpetual emotional roller coaster. Girls are undeniably dramatic.

On the other hand, we are familiar with this drama and welcome the benefits to be gained from having sweet-smelling, jewel-toned, baby rocking, role-playing, show-putting-on types in our lives. We could definitely do a third.

A boy would be wonderful, of course. But, that scenario was difficult to imagine with NO frame of reference for it. Every time I come across a little boy - a friend's son, for example - they shock my sensibilities as a mom.

Boys pee standing up. Duh. They are typically unconcerned with wardrobe choice. They don't love the toys we have at our house. Hmm. Interesting.

Either way, a happy and healthy little baby is all we desire. The debate of which would be easier or more fun, made for a few days of interesting dinner time conversation, all of which ended in, "I would be ecstatic with either. I just want a healthy baby." It feels piggish to hope for anything more specific than that.

The genetics lab called on Thursday of last week and we were told that our baby will almost 100% certainly NOT be affected by the aforementioned maladies. We were also told that there is evidence of a Y chromosome, which I do not possess. This can only mean that we are having a little boy.

We freaked out.

We are so damn excited. I am more excited than I thought I would be. I am quite positive that we are stopping at three. And, the fact that we will get to experience having daughters and a son makes us giddy beyond belief.

Outnumbered: Contemplating baby #3

The entire concept of having children invites opinionated discussion that consumes a large portion of our childbearing years.

Early on there is the trying for baby #1 phase which then morphs into iterations of the expanding the family conversation.

As I've said previously, parenting, like marriage and home ownership, is a club.  All club members are keenly aware of other members' statuses and frequently ask questions to keep their information up to date.

Ask a childless couple who is either married or approaching 40 how many times they have heard the questions, "Are you guys going to have kids?" "Do you want kids?"  My guess is that they lost count a long, irritated while ago.

Once you have kids, you can't possibly imagine NOT having them and grow increasingly astonished by those who choose NOT to have any. It just doesn't compute.

When you have one child, EVERYONE asks when the next one is coming. "Will you have them close together?" "My sister and I are two years apart and it's perfect." It's relentless. Parents of only children comment that it seems there are more families of four than anything else.

Like the couples without kids, having ONLY ONE seems illogical, but I have to say, as an only, there were moments where I thought that having Mairin would ruin Leighton's life in some way. The pros of giving my eldest a sibling definitely outweighed the cons. But still, I had some strange thoughts about it that were obviously colored by my perspective and experience.

Now, speaking from experience again, I can say that having two is lovely. Our awesome foursome is even and balanced and no one has ever questioned our decision to become a family of four.

More often than not, the questions associated with potentially having a third are couched in terms of disbelief or approval of a potential decision NOT to proceed with family expansion. "You're not going to have another one are you?" "Are you going to try for another or are you guys done?" Mostly this is asked by someone who has two kids (or less) and is decidedly, if not almost irreversibly done.

Those brave souls with three or more children tend to ask in a more playful tone , "You're going to have another right?" "Are you going to keep trying until you have a boy?" We say, "I don't know. I think so at some point - just not right now." 

It's funny. The idea of switching from man to man to zone coverage is daunting. People with three or more kids are inclined to agree that, "Once you're outnumbered, you might as well have four or five kids. It's all the same after that."

CRAZY.

My general impression is that our society generally views parents with three kids as everything from expert to irresponsible. Four kids - there is definitely an accidental pregnancy or random twin in the mix. Five or more kids - you are religiously motivated to reproduce.

In reality, there are a number of factors that play into deciding to have kids and ultimately expanding the family. Freedom, financial situation, living space, sanity and sheer tolerance (or the lack of any or all of those things) all have a role in the decision-making process. Depending on who you are, some are more important than others.

We definitely have a third in mind, but aren't ready ... just yet. This wishy-washy flip-floppery leads to the other discussion of, "When will we be ready?" I don't ever remember being ready with either of the first two.

I remember trying for them and thinking I was ready and then having several moments of, "Oh shit, I'm not ready." Such as: the second the test turned positive, the first time I threw up from excessive nausea, the day I tried to rearrange the nursery, the morning I calculated what we should be saving for college, the moment I went into labor, the three days it took to potty train Leighton between Mairin's naps and the start of our first foursome vacation that involved an airplane. 

My friend's brother described introducing the third child to the family in this way: "It's like you're swimming along fine and then the waves start crashing and you suck in some water and suddenly, you're drowning ... and then someone hands you a baby."

Ha! I can't imagine it's that bad.

How many kids do you have? Is three that bad? Are you every ready for another baby? Please post your comments and share your fuss with us!

Is Life Better In Your Twenties or Thirties?

A friend posted today on one of my favorite topics - which decade is "better" age-wise, the roaring twenties, or stable thirties?

It's a good piece and immediately begs the question "what does better actually mean"?

I will tell you that I am happier and more fulfilled now than I have ever been, but I can't put my finger on exactly why I would refer to this decade as better. 

Evie, the author, points out the seemingly obvious trade offs. As a paraphrased example, feeling truly and desperately alone after a breakup in your twenties versus rarely enjoying five peaceful minutes of alone time in a locked bathroom when you have little kids, for example.

When I think of who I was, personally and professionally, in my twenties, juxtaposed against the person I am now, I have no sense of regret. I always live my life as fully and honestly as I can. I make decisions and I don't look back. If I make a mistake, I convince myself it was a necessary and teachable moment. I move on.

Evie makes a point about wanting to pull back some personal time and it's not lost on me.

My biggest issue with the current decade is that with little kids, there aren't enough hours in the day to do what I want, and so I am forced to compromise with my own wants and needs. I like projects - writing, entertaining, discussing politics and other things that really don't matter for endless hours over too much wine ...

Still, you couldn't pay me to be 24 again. Have you seen Girls? The slightly more realistic Sex and the City type show about twentysomethings in NYC attempting to live the dream?

It's taken me the better part of the last decade to resolve my inner Carrie Bradshaw. I find Girls to be an hilarious expose on why being a woman in her twenties is comically and emotionally BRUTAL - even if you're pretty and popular and smart and thin. Or ... not so much. Lena Dunham is a real-life genius so definitely tune in to season two later this month if you are so inclined.

I love the 36 year-old me more than any other me. I'm not as hot as I used to be (working on that), but I'm smarter, happier and have more money and more responsibilties in all areas of my life, than I did in my twenties.

A lot of pain and growth went into the last decade and I wrote about it so I can remember it all one day. Here are my thoughts: 

On having my first child

On suburban living

On identity crisis

On homeownership

On being the neighborhood hilljack

On minivan-ownership

On baby #2 and the worst anniversary EVER

On treading water

On a new job

I love my life and I sincerely hope I feel exactly the same way when I turn 40 three years and five months from now. And, I hope I'm still enthusiastically inclined to tell you about it.

Mern

My little Mairin will turn two next month. She appears sweet and innocent in this photo. And she is ... for the most part.

The wee Mairin wakes cheerfully most mornings. She's been eating well. She even goes down peacefully for a nap these days.

Bedtime is a very different story.

At bedtime, I refer to her as "Mern" (rhymes with Vern).

Even though she has been "weaned" for some time, I feel compelled to use air quotes around the term because she still asks for "boobie dish" or "boom boom" when she's tired.

I can rebuff her advances at nap time. However, the same approach in the evening elicits an argument from Mern. 

She sticks her hand down my shirt, makes sly attempts to negotiate ("May I have some boom boom, please?") and gets pretty cranky when refused. This little game can last an hour or more and I've grown tired of it.

I've tried ignoring her, negotiating with her, explaining to her. I've even tried citrus, but suspect she may have acquired a taste for tartness as a result.

I know she knows I don't want to argue with her over this any more. She's super duper smart. She's been potty trained for months, accesses a vast vocbulary for a teeny tot and can hold a discussion about what happened in The Sound of Music or Dora the Explorer.

The problem with Mairin is that she's the most stubborn person I've ever met.

She's absolutely particular and holds her ground when challenged. She would categorize parties as sheer torture - it takes her a long time to warm up. She simply refuses to eat yesterday's leftovers and can muster the energy to carry a temper tantrum to the highest heights.

Miss Leighton is nearly four. By stark contrast to her sister, she's rather aimiable and will go with the flow when encouraged or distracted. She can find the fun in almost every situation and loves a grand party. She'll try any food at least once and rarely loses her temper.

Night and day in many ways.

The silver lining here is that it's interesting to see how two little girls can grow up side by side in the same house with the same parents and turn out so different. I know the "Mern" veneer will fall away and Mairin will finally stop hassling me about boobie dish once and for all.

I respect my girls, their differences, similarities, stengths and areas earmarked for improvement. I promise I will never take them for granted.

I just felt the need to revel in the ridiculousness of a situation that I will someday probably miss.

Mama loves you, Mern.

Now please keep your hand out of my shirt.

Nothing Game

When I was pregnant with Leighton, imagining Ryan and I as new parents, my mind's eye perpetually flipped through the rosy, picturesque aspects of motherhood juxtaposed against the darker "what if" fears realistically beyond reason.

Both sides of that coin draw tears to a hormone-jacked woman about to give birth. But, until I actually had Leighton in my arms, I had no idea how special the small moments would be.

It's impossible to appreciate the day-to-day silliness children bring until it happens. The dinner-throwing, first-words, first-times, sibling-rivalry, middle-of-the-night-fussing, no-pants-partying, vomiting, teasing, slapping, laughing, questioning and just plain banality of parenting is amazing.

The small moments shore up the monumental ones and keep my relationship with my children in perspective. I make a concerted effort to NOT take my family for granted.

Stringing together the small moments offers some of our most cherished memories. Those moments are fleeting and I don't write about them as completely as I would like. Which brings me to today, and this very moment to be specific.

Leighton takes classes. She genuinely likes school - both the learning and social aspects - so we go with it. Today, she had "Crayons Cooking and Fun".

She loves this class, just as she's adored Gymnastics, Music, Ballet, Head to Toe, Swim, Yoga, Arithmetots and Phonics over the last year. She generally comes home and spills the beans on whatever happened in the 90 minute class.

However, starting this week, when asked "What did you learn at school today," Leighton would unflinchingly answer, "Nothing."

In my opinion, this apathy should not have reared its ugly head for several more years. What the heck? These classes are pricey and we want to know whether she's enjoying them, at the very least.

Is she seriously dismissing me?

Her new "nothing" response obviously bugs her daddy, because he started playing a little game with her. After three days, we refer to it as the "Nothing Game."

The Nothing Game goes like this: If we ask her how her day was or what happened at school and her answer is "nothing". We get to tease her a bit.

It's fun. Here's a typical example:

ME: "Hey Leighton. UPS delivered a package today and it was wrapped in pink sparkly paper and tied with a big, purple, satin bow. I tore it open and dug through the packing peanuts and, you know what was in it?" 

LEIGHTON: "What mom?"

ME: "Noooothing."

And Lei will laugh her ass off. Once she recovers, she will formulate a zinger of her own and keep it going. Then Ryan, then Leighton, then me, then Mairin (who just starts laughing and screeching and so on) and the game continues.

The lesson, of course, is that the answer "nothing" is annoying. The Nothing Game loosens her up, gets her talking. It's like verbal tickle torture. It's hilarious to us.

I can't take credit. Ryan started it. I just fully intend to keep it going as long a the imaginitive cackling continues and she eventually tells us what she did at school that day.

Boom Boom Part II: Lemon Drop

As I may have mentioned, Mairin is still nursing and basically using me as a pacifier at night. What sleep I do manage to get is achieved in a crooked "S" shape on my right side.  

I understand the argument that my youngest will eventually roll her eyes at me and make me drop her off a block before the theater and I will long for the days when she was a wee babe.

I realize that I said I would coast along for another two months and then phase out feedings. I said this as recently as Monday.

But, I can't take much more of this. She and I both need a good, solid night's sleep for a change. Actually, all four of us need it. Mairin's late night fussing has been waking up Leighton, who ends up in our bed, digging her toes into Ryan's spine.

We enjoy the family bed, but sometimes it's an ugly commune-type situation that results in a tough morning. We've had a string of those lately and something needs to change. Plus, my little Marinka Dinka has all but forgotten how to self-sootheas she likes to nurse to sleep. It's unequivocally my job as her parent to help her with that.

At approximately 1:00 am Tuesday morning, I broke free from my crooked "S" and found my iPad next to the bed.  I began Googling "how to wean a toddler," and "toddler resists weaning" and a few other seemingly absurd variations.

Most of what I found on the good old interweb pertained to weaning toddlers from a bottle. This, to me, seemsa much simpler proposition than weaning a toddler form the breast. I've done it with Leighton. I just didn't give her a bottle and talked her through the withdrawal. She was done in two nights at the age of sixteen months - from boobie to baba to batte just like that.

A toddler can't climb into the upper cabinet, fetch a bottle, assemble the nipple, get the milk from the fridge, heat it up, pour it into the bottle, screw on the nipple and have her batte. Toddlers are crafty, but not that capable.

They are, however, able to unbutton a blouse, shove their hands into the neckline of a shirt, stretch it out, throw a temper tantrum, bite through the blouse, pull out your earnings and repeatedly yell, "BOOM BOOM" as loudly as possible to cause a scene.

If I could put my breasts in a kitchen cabinet on some days, I would do it.  Alas, no.

So that brings me back to what the Google machine eventually did reveal. The message boards and blog comments have all the goods - the real answers from real people who aren't afraid you're going to try to sue them for giving worthy advice.  

I stumbled upon a few comments about toddler weaning using lemon juice. WHAT? I know, rubbing lemon juice on my boobs struck me as something akin a dare or a cruel trick to play on a little kid. Still, the desperate women who tried it happily reported that it worked like a charm. Their babies didn't mind much and lost interest fairly quickly.

So,I tried it. I cut a lemon in half and applied it to the targets. Before bedtime, Mairin made her plea for "Boom Boom". I let her try it and she pulled back, made a little face and said, "taste", "taste" while shaking her head. She tried it again with the same reaction. Then, she hopped off my lap and got a book to read.

A little while later, Ryan picked her up for bed. She said, "boom boom?" so I offered it up. She looked at me for a moment and, apparently remembering her previous attempt, changed her mind. She said "no" kissed me good night and went off to bed.

And then, I cried.

Mairin's First Birthday: Book Party

Mairin's first birthday was incredibly fun. And, due to my growing obsession with Pinterest, I went a little overboard on the whole affair.

This post is a collection of pictures, inspiration and vendors that helped make the party a success.

For the theme, we decided on a book party. We have a ton of toys and Mairin loves books, so it seemed like an obvious choice. I tweaked Martha Stewart's book baby shower clip art for a first birthday. You can download the shower clip art here.

The girls wore pink and green BabyGap to match the rest of the pink and green decor.

I settled on pink and green tissue pompons to mimic live carnations mixed with faux boxwood wreaths and topiaries. (I had purchased the boxwood from Ballard Designs several months ago for my Christmas decorations). I ordered three hundred carnations from Fabulous Florals and they were delivered the wednesday before the party.

See some additional pinspiration for the party here.

Kristine Borzych of Darling Baker prepared the color and theme-coordinated sweets: Cookies, cupcakes, marshmallow pops, krispie paddles, lemon puffballs, chocolate brownies and milk and cookies.

Kristine also made the amazing smash cake that we all sampled after Mairin had her way with it.  The sisters shared cake with one another and eventually with mom and dad too.

Leighton's third birthday is coming up in five weeks and I'm not sure I have the energy to try to top this party. Little Lei has already declared a rainbow theme.

A very special thanks to:

Carol Deanda of Bella Photography and Deanda Photography for taking amazing pictures.

Kristine of Darling Baker Chicago for the gorgeous sweet table and desserts. (847) 322-3610

shopsweetlulu.com for festive party accoutrements and lightning-fast shipping.

fabulousflorals.com for selling beautiful wholesale carnations in small lots.

Potbelly Sandwich Shop for catering.

Mary Poppins and Grandma Freeman for wrapping books and pomping.

Have you ever gone overboard on a kids party? Did you have a special theme or exploit your DIY capabilities? Please post a comment and share your fuss with us.

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Smashed Fruit (and Veggies) Revisited

I've previously mentioned my love affair with baby and toddler fruit purees here and here and I thought it best to post my annual update.

We still love these innovatively-packaged wonders. And, we still have a giant wooden salad serving bowl filled with several different brands in our favorite combinations. It's stocked at all times.

It's worth mentioning that in the two years since I wrote the first post on what we affectionately refer to as "Mish Mash" no matter the brand, there are so many more options - more veggies - more combos - more fun!

We still hit the Plum Organics and Happy Baby pretty hard. We've also added Ella's Kitchen and some Earth's Best into the rotation. All have more stages and more vegetable combinations than ever before.

We do a lot of smoothies too with cow, soy, coconut and almond milk. Mairin needs a few alternatives because she's a bit sensitive to dairy all of the sudden. Fresh food is our first option, but we also blend in a mish mash when we don't have enough fruit or veggies in the house. Plus, it's winter in the midwest and selection of good fresh food can be limited.

To the companies who make these wonderful on-the-go treats.

Keep it up!

And, thank you!

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To Mairin, From Mama: Boobie Dish Haiku

 

 

I kiss tiny feet

while peacefully you do eat

on my lap so sweet

Polite Conversation

As a mother of a five month-old and a two year-old, I am definitely in a place in my life where many of my daily conversations revolve around boobs and poop.

I'm sure one day, Ryan and I will be sitting on the couch enjoying a glass of wine, and one of us will say, "Wow. We haven't talked about boobs and poop in such a long time. I really miss having little kids."

I'm not saying that I don't enjoy having wee ones. I absolutely do. I'm simply commenting on the frequency with which I say those words - "boobs" and "poop" on a daily basis. It's stunning really.

The whole "boobs" talk has everything to do with breastfeeding. They're either sore or exploding or Leighton just jumped on my lap and kneed me in one of them or they don't fit in my shirt or I need to pump while driving my minivan to the city for a meeting while taking a conference call and putting on my makeup. Kidding, of course.

The "boobs" talk will terminate when Mairin turns one year old. I will cry like a baby on that day and I can't really go there mentally, so right now I refuse to take the "boobs" talk for granted. Mairin eats like a champ and has since the day she was born. Many moms and babies struggle with breastfeeding and we don't. So yay for small victories and yay for boobs.

As for the "poop" talk, Leighton has been completely and totally potty trained for a while now. Still, most of the time, she tells us what she's doing on the potty when she's about to do it, is doing it or has already done it.

Lei has no idea that the running commentary on her business is not polite conversation. It's so normal for her to announce to everyone in the room, "I have to poop" - mostly because we've been making such a big deal out of it for some time now. And, because we have no less than eleven books on the subject. When she first started using the potty, we would cheer and clap and call grandmas and grandpas and tell anyone who would listen "Did you know Leighton poops on the potty?"

So yes, of course she believes that our neighbors and friends want to hear about it. They do, or they should, because the fact that my twenty-seven month-old poops on the potty every day without fail is AMAZING.

I am a proud mama. I celebrate the simplest things and tiniest victories - several of which involve poop and boobs today.

Indoor Cat

 
Name: Mairin Isabel

Disposition: Cheerful, talkative, doesn't take herself too seriously.

Skills and Activities: Fluent in jibberish, expert at tummy time, can nap nearly anywhere and suddenly will Houdini out of just about any swaddle.

Enjoys: A good wet razz, long soaks in a warm tub and being tickled by her sister.

Dislikes: Sun, clouds, wind, rain, humidity, lack of humidity, bugs, nature, wildlife and basically anything having to do with the out-of-doors.

Latte Batte

I weaned Leighton from her bedtime baba in one protest-filled evening last August,  in much the same way I recently helped her break  her pacifier habit. 

She's been able to drink from a straw since eight months. This little trick came in handy when I forgot to pack an extra bottle or was out and about for a longer stretch than anticipated. And so, we replaced the bedtime baba with warm milk in a straw cup to be consumed prior to brushing teeth and heading up to bed.

This beverage started as straight whole milk, but somewhere along the line, we began adding a splash of Very Vanilla Silk to add some interest. On the rare occasion we were out of Silk, I substituted with hazelnut coffee creamer. It's nuts, I know. This sophisticated version of the nighttime baba was Leighton's evening latte - or batte (bah-tay) as it came to be called.

To add to the ceremoniousness of the whole thing, I would make a cup of hazelnut decaf for myself half hazelnut creamerand Lei and I would sit on two bottom stairs and drink our latte/batte while recounting the events of the day. Both Lei and I looked forward to our latte/batte ritual.

Notice I said "looked" as in past tense. There's a reason. Let me explain.

Leading up to the potty training fiasco, Leighton and I discussed the difference between "Big Girls" and babies and listed many of the activities in which a big girl may or may not engage.

A big girl articulates her needs using her words. Babies cry and babble.

A big girl dresses and feeds herself. Babies need lots of help doing both.

A big girl drinks from a cup. Babas are for babies.

A big girl sleeps in a bed. Preferably her own. Babies sleep in cribs.

A big girl doesn't need a nukka. Pacifiers are strictly for babies with no teeth.

Most obviously to suit the purpose at hand, a big girl wears underpants. Babies wear diapers.

Come on Leighton, you're a big sister now. It's time to start acting like one.

Leighton communicates better than some adults. She dresses herself and buckles her shoes. She feeds herself and drinks from a cup. She moved from a crib to a toddler bed without flinching and although it was painful at first, and she's likely holding a bit of a grudge, she lets her sister sleep in her old crib without a fuss. 

Lei reluctantly ditched her baba but made the best of the batte substitution. By the time she was forced to forfeit her nukka, the big girl sacrifices and big-sister talk began to seriously piss her off. Once we added the underpants pressure, Lei reached her breaking point.

All of this "big girl" talk intesified the difference between baby Lei and big girl Lei and the way she sees herself. The flat out refusal to potty train is my toddler taking a temporary stand on that issue and putting the breaks on growing up. However, she added a few big girl objectives of her own and met them at once with nothing more than self-imposed restriction.

Leighton stopped asking to be carried up and down stairs. She quit asking for her silky ribbon blankets (we have at least fifteen that my mom made) in bed, in the car and even at nap time. And, perhaps to punish me by depriving me of one of my favorite Leighton/mom rituals, she just gave up the batte. Bummer for mama.

I'm still hoping she changes her mind.

Nukka Detox

I believe we're good parents. We try to follow the rules. We make sacrifices to ensure that our kids eat well, sleep properly and are stimulated to the level required by their individual dispositions.

They appear to be intelligent, well-adjusted, happy and doing the things they should be doing at their respective ages.

Except that we let our almost two year-old suck on a pacifier when she's sleepy. Shame on us. 

We introduced it to her way back when to get her to sleep, since she was never much of a self-soother. By six weeks, she was hooked.

At our year dental and doctor appointments, we were told to wean her from it, but we were weak. She gave up her baba and eventually her crib and almost her diapers. But the nukka ... come on!

The recent faceplant incident brought about the change we needed. Because she caused trauma to her front gums and teeth, she couldn't have the nukka anymore. Holy hell.

I knew that first nukka-free night wasn't going to be a walk in the park. We got ready for bed, brushed our teeth, gathered up our best books, took some Advil and climbed into the big bed. The big bed is our bed - the bed she's been falling asleep in and sleeping all night in since Mairin came home.

Once the books were read and we'd called for a cup of warm milk and we went potty three times and inquired as to Mairin's whereabouts, Lei began begging for her nukka like a crackhead for her pipe. "PUH-UH-UH-LEASE can I have a nukka mama?"

It was so sad. She sobbed and wailed for 97 minutes before finally accepting my explanation that the booboo to her mouth would get much worse if I let her have her nukka. I explained that babies can have them because they have no teeth - they need them. Big girls don't.

"I'm not a big girl MAMA. Sniff. Sniff. I'm a toddler."

A solid point, but not one that would sway me, unfortunately.

She wore herself out at minute 96, wiped her tears, rolled over dramatically on her tummy and said, "Tickle my back." So I did.

And she fell asleep.

And that was the end of that.

The next day, Dr. Yum explained to her, as I had, that a nukka simply wasn't appropriate for a toothy toddler - especially one with an injury like hers. This appeared to help her make sense of her loss and she didn't mention the nukka all day.

Later that evening, as we prepared for bed I (and what I was sure would be another bedtime catasrophe) Leighton handed me one of Mairin's nukkas (that she stole right from her little mouth) and said "Here mama. It hurts."

Brilliant. I thought of trying that, but what if it didn't hurt that bad and the whole thing backfired? Then I'd really be screwed. Still, I'm glad she gave it a shot and nutching that damn thing was too painful to continue, because Leighton went to bed that night without asking once for the addictively soothing little device.

And so did Mairin. I prefer NOT to go through that 97 minutes of nukka detox hell ever again, if possible. I'm proud to say that Little Sis is already learning to self-soothe.

What the Fuss? Burpy Bibs

This week's obsession is the Aden and Anais Burpy Bib.™  I have always been a huge fan of the swaddling blankets. In fact, I have eight, and rotate them between swaddling and burping.

Almost nothing beats a giant, muslin burp cloth. The soft, fluffy fabric can be tucked into nooks and crannies while providing great coverage to soak up spitty quickly and spare our clothes. The large size can get a bit cumbersome, but I didn't see much of a choice.

Until Little Sis was born.

When I saw these fabulous, bean-shaped burpies, I knew I had to have some. I added two to my regular order from diapers.com for $7.99 each. These Burpy Bibs did not disappoint.

Aden and Anais says: Great form meets versatile function in our soft, absorbent burpy bib. Our special shape keeps things clean whether used as a bib or a burp cloth. Natural, gentle muslin is as easy to care for as it is to use. And no aden + anais® product would be complete with our chic, exclusive prints.

The clever bean shape covers you when you burp and can quickly be snapped around baby for use as a bib. Clean and modern prints are an added bonus. Simply genius - an instant Fussworthy must-have. 

I definitely wish I'd thought of this.