Friday, April 30, 2010

With a Capital S

We talk in various ways with Daniel about the baby brother soon to be joining our family. In yet another view on a preschooler's concept of "time" - every time I head to the doctor's office for an appointment, he asks if I'm coming home with the baby. I smile, and explain that it will be summer, and warm, and practically his birthday before he gets here. (If only it were so easy!) He will also randomly tell me about how he will help with the baby when he gets here. This includes things like changing his diaper, and pouring milk into his cup. Hmmm. Breastfeeding may take a little explaining... And when we were coasting through the kid's department of a store yesterday he picked an outfit off the rack and asked if it would be good for the baby. The clothes were a near-fit for Daniel, so I explained that his little brother would need to grow into something like that. It's all been very sweet.

Moments above alternate with the days that I have to hold onto my patience with both hands as my independent-minded four year old and I butt heads over every. Little. Thing. Clothes to wear for the day are not right, by virtue of the fact that Mommy picked them out. We can't leave the house while he struggles with his coat zipper. He appears to be living on tortillas and string cheese lately. And once, this past winter, he was determined to help me move a pile of snow out of our driveway. To the point that he moved my pile of snow back into the driveway so that he could move it out himself.

And we've been in a potty-training conundrum for quite some time. Daniel has peed on the potty like a champ for awhile now. Wears underwear to preschool, doesn't have accidents... but when it came to the inevitable poop on the potty, he requested a pullup and to go do it in his room. Nothing, not even outright bribery of every kind could dissuade him. He'd proclaim to one and all that he would get this or that prize if he pooped on the potty, but when it came to the moment there was so much fussing and crying over it all that I would give in and it would be a pullup in his room for the deed.

Grandma and Grandpa came to visit last week. There was some cajoling, and fussing, and one missed day of "going." The next day he agreed to sit on the potty. I could hear him chattering away to himself, flipping the pages of a book while he sat. And then. I could almost hear a catch in his little voice as he said: I did it! Daddy took him to Target, to pick out a grand potty prize. And while there's some work to be done regarding the logistics of such things as wiping, we've been going on the potty ever since.

I feel slightly silly, and maybe it's just pregnancy hormones, but I found myself tearing up at the jubilation in his voice at his accomplishment. Here's to my stubborn-sweet son, who does it all "My way!"

Saturday, April 17, 2010

The Complaint Closet

If I'd known that a whole lotta my maternity clothes wouldn't fit me anyway the second time around, I might not have held onto so much. My top half is covered pretty well, but I have yet to find bottoms of any kind that aren't annoying the heck out of me (binding, sagging, just not fitting or uncomfortable in general...). Since the weather has flipped from pretty nice to 40s and wet, I'm lucky I'm able to leave the house.

On the plus side, I'm counting my blessings that H made it out of Scotland before the Iceland volcano went kablooey. What a mess. I feel for those poor travelers, and I'd really be outta my mind if H were still stuck overseas.

I did find some only mildly uncomfortable maternity pants to wear, and got out of the house with some of my local Mom friends last night. Unknown to me and to Melissa, another preggo Mom due around the same time, the ladies had conspired to make this our "baby shower." They wouldn't let us pay for dinner, and we each got a Target gift card to look out for some baby things... Yummy appetizers and dinner, lots of laughs and conversation - I have the best friends.