To celebrate the beginning of summer, Suzannah and I hit the road with Grandma Griffith yesterday and drove to Bozeman. It's going to be a fast trip -- we're only here until Saturday -- but my days are wide open and I plan to fill them with all my favorite Bozeman things. MacKenzie River Pizza, coffee from the Leaf and Bean (but not, to my great sadness, from the Rocky Mountain Roasting Company, as it apparently no longer exists -- I can't write about that or I'll get too emotional), taking Suzannah to the park, watching her play in the sprinkler, wandering through Vargos and The Country Bookshelf, maybe walking or jogging up the highway if the evening air cools off a bit.
Our first day had a bit of a rocky start for me, though. It took forever to get Suzannah to sleep last night after fourteen hours on the road, and of course she insisted on sleeping with me, and neither one of us slept particularly well. Four hours later I woke up to her bouncing a teddy bear on my face, announcing that she wanted to play. It was just too much, on top of lingering morning sickness and allergies and this stupid cough. I rose with great hostility and a chest full of phlegm, but things continued to improve. My mom relieved me for a bit so I could sneak back to bed for a nap, and when I emerged from the darkened bedroom she made me my favorite soft-boiled egg on toast. I fell back in love with Suzannah too, because she's too stinking adorable for words. A few deer wandered through the backyard this morning, and her delight reminded me yet again that the world is wondrous.
(She can trash a house awfully quickly, though. When we slogged through the front door in the wee hours of the morning, she immediately shouted, "Where's the toys?" She's been a tiny blonde whirlwind ever since, taking small breaks to poke bites of food into her mouth and use the potty. I'm exhausted. Do I blame her, or do I blame her tiny sibling?)
Anyway, things are mostly good. I'm still taking Zofran, but with less urgency. Food is beginning to taste good again. Today I had some time to myself at the Leaf and Bean, and I ordered -- and enjoyed -- my first latte in over two months. As long as I manage to remember to eat at regular intervals, I do pretty well. I miss my husband, but he is enjoying some well deserved time to himself this week. Earlier this morning while we were chatting, he told me he wished he could be here to help me out. I told him not to worry, that he should relax this week because I'm most likely going to be checking into a hotel for a few days when we return. Under a fake name, of course. They won't be able to track me.
But then Suzannah had a nap, and we played in the sprinkler outside, and tonight my dad is grilling steaks and life feels pretty good. I remain the eternal optimist and believe, despite our recent track record with sleep, that tomorrow I will feel healthy and well rested, that I won't have to sleep with a cough drop gluing my tongue to the roof of my mouth or with a three-year-old's feet pressed into my back. And if that happens, well, at least I can drink a little coffee tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
It's a Potty at the Winslow House...
Big things are happening around here! Suzannah's new potty was delivered this week, and ever since then, my little girl has worn underpants all! day! long!
A little backstory:
Suzannah has been "ready" to potty-train for a very, very long time. A ridiculously long time. But she is stubborn in many ways, and this child would hold her bladder for -- I'm not even kidding -- ten or twelve hours some days. She just couldn't seem to relax enough to go. We hoped maybe she'd see the other kids using the potty at daycare and go there (it works with food, since she'll eat things over there that she won't eat at home), but for the longest time, no dice. She'd sit on the potty with no complaints, but she wouldn't actually use it. (This has never been a great source of stress for me; I'm pretty chill about the potty-training thing in that I just trust that it will happen when she's ready. I was never one of those gung-ho mamas who insisted on potty-training at eighteen months by having my child go without pants for a week, tethered to me twenty-four hours a day. But she's not eighteen months old anymore, and I think it would be really lovely to only have one child in diapers come December.)
Anyway, one day after lunch, she was sitting on the potty as usual right before naptime. She was so sleepy that she actually nodded off for a moment, and that moment was all it took for her to relax enough to pee in the potty. She didn't actually mean to, so it kind of surprised her, but from that point on she had no problems going. We sent her in underpants every day and she'd come home dry in underpants every day! Victory!
Except.
She wouldn't use it a home. For weeks she was cheerfully using the potty at daycare, but not a drop at home. We'd started her with a potty Matt's parents gave us a long time ago, and she started sitting on that well over a year ago. Fine. But she didn't ever actually use it. Then we thought, hey, maybe we need a fancy potty, one that she picks out, one that sings to her when she pees in it or something. So we bought this little potty that doubles as a footstool, and the seat can unsnap to fit over a regular toilet. We let her decorate it with stickers every time she sat on it. We read her potty books every time she sat on it. We gave her m&m's for sitting on it. And it actually was supposed to play music when it got wet, but we never would have known that worked if Matt hadn't tested it with a little bit of water from the sink.
In hindsight, it was a ridiculous potty.
Finally -- and I am embarrassed that it took so long to arrive at this conclusion -- I thought that maybe we'd have more success if we bought the same potty they used at daycare. This was almost too much for my husband, who was all, WE HAVE TWO POTTIES, and a potty is a potty, WE ARE NOT SPENDING MONEY ON ANOTHER ONE. But Suzannah never seemed to fit right on the Stupid Singing Potty, could never seem to get comfortable, and plus there was a stupid splash guard thing that flipped up and down and got in the way, and every time Suzannah sat on the potty she'd snap it out and say, "I BROKE IT," and I thought, hey, we'll just hide it, but was THAT okay with Suzannah? You've got to be kidding.
Finally, I told Matt that parenting is trial and error, and sometimes that means buying a THIRD POTTY. I asked what kind they used at daycare, and armed with this new knowledge I ordered the Bjorn Potty Chair from Target. It's not even available in stores, but after reading the online reviews I felt pretty stupid for not asking sooner, since pretty much all of the posters said things like, "We went through twenty-seven potty chairs before we found this one AND NO ONE SHOULD EVER USE ANYTHING DIFFERENT. We recommend this one to all our friends!" Unfortunately, not very many of our friends have had to potty train children, so we missed out on all the recommendations, but we've caught up now. (Friends reading this blog: Consider this my recommendation, whenever you may need it.)
So it was delivered in a big box several days ago, and Suzannah and I opened it together after school.
"Look, Zannah, it's a new potty!" I exclaimed, trying to make it sound as exciting as possible, because I was getting desperate. What if this one didn't work either? My husband would have lost his mind.
"NEW POTTY!" she shrieked. I think she was humoring me, because her reaction was perhaps a little too enthusiastic for a blue plastic pee receptacle, not that I didn't appreciate the effort. Anyway, it worked, IT WORKED, she started using the potty at home that very evening, and we are all terribly excited about it. Although for the first few days she used it as yet another bedtime stalling tactic, insisting that she had to go potty just one more time please. We were too new at this, far too hopeful, to tell her no, you don't need to go potty, so she'd march smugly into the bathroom and squeeze out three drops of pee. I have to admit, after the eleventh trip to the bathroom, long after I wanted to go to bed, I considered whether it would really be that bad to leave her in diapers until the third grade.
A little backstory:
Suzannah has been "ready" to potty-train for a very, very long time. A ridiculously long time. But she is stubborn in many ways, and this child would hold her bladder for -- I'm not even kidding -- ten or twelve hours some days. She just couldn't seem to relax enough to go. We hoped maybe she'd see the other kids using the potty at daycare and go there (it works with food, since she'll eat things over there that she won't eat at home), but for the longest time, no dice. She'd sit on the potty with no complaints, but she wouldn't actually use it. (This has never been a great source of stress for me; I'm pretty chill about the potty-training thing in that I just trust that it will happen when she's ready. I was never one of those gung-ho mamas who insisted on potty-training at eighteen months by having my child go without pants for a week, tethered to me twenty-four hours a day. But she's not eighteen months old anymore, and I think it would be really lovely to only have one child in diapers come December.)
Anyway, one day after lunch, she was sitting on the potty as usual right before naptime. She was so sleepy that she actually nodded off for a moment, and that moment was all it took for her to relax enough to pee in the potty. She didn't actually mean to, so it kind of surprised her, but from that point on she had no problems going. We sent her in underpants every day and she'd come home dry in underpants every day! Victory!
Except.
She wouldn't use it a home. For weeks she was cheerfully using the potty at daycare, but not a drop at home. We'd started her with a potty Matt's parents gave us a long time ago, and she started sitting on that well over a year ago. Fine. But she didn't ever actually use it. Then we thought, hey, maybe we need a fancy potty, one that she picks out, one that sings to her when she pees in it or something. So we bought this little potty that doubles as a footstool, and the seat can unsnap to fit over a regular toilet. We let her decorate it with stickers every time she sat on it. We read her potty books every time she sat on it. We gave her m&m's for sitting on it. And it actually was supposed to play music when it got wet, but we never would have known that worked if Matt hadn't tested it with a little bit of water from the sink.
In hindsight, it was a ridiculous potty.
Finally -- and I am embarrassed that it took so long to arrive at this conclusion -- I thought that maybe we'd have more success if we bought the same potty they used at daycare. This was almost too much for my husband, who was all, WE HAVE TWO POTTIES, and a potty is a potty, WE ARE NOT SPENDING MONEY ON ANOTHER ONE. But Suzannah never seemed to fit right on the Stupid Singing Potty, could never seem to get comfortable, and plus there was a stupid splash guard thing that flipped up and down and got in the way, and every time Suzannah sat on the potty she'd snap it out and say, "I BROKE IT," and I thought, hey, we'll just hide it, but was THAT okay with Suzannah? You've got to be kidding.
Finally, I told Matt that parenting is trial and error, and sometimes that means buying a THIRD POTTY. I asked what kind they used at daycare, and armed with this new knowledge I ordered the Bjorn Potty Chair from Target. It's not even available in stores, but after reading the online reviews I felt pretty stupid for not asking sooner, since pretty much all of the posters said things like, "We went through twenty-seven potty chairs before we found this one AND NO ONE SHOULD EVER USE ANYTHING DIFFERENT. We recommend this one to all our friends!" Unfortunately, not very many of our friends have had to potty train children, so we missed out on all the recommendations, but we've caught up now. (Friends reading this blog: Consider this my recommendation, whenever you may need it.)
So it was delivered in a big box several days ago, and Suzannah and I opened it together after school.
"Look, Zannah, it's a new potty!" I exclaimed, trying to make it sound as exciting as possible, because I was getting desperate. What if this one didn't work either? My husband would have lost his mind.
"NEW POTTY!" she shrieked. I think she was humoring me, because her reaction was perhaps a little too enthusiastic for a blue plastic pee receptacle, not that I didn't appreciate the effort. Anyway, it worked, IT WORKED, she started using the potty at home that very evening, and we are all terribly excited about it. Although for the first few days she used it as yet another bedtime stalling tactic, insisting that she had to go potty just one more time please. We were too new at this, far too hopeful, to tell her no, you don't need to go potty, so she'd march smugly into the bathroom and squeeze out three drops of pee. I have to admit, after the eleventh trip to the bathroom, long after I wanted to go to bed, I considered whether it would really be that bad to leave her in diapers until the third grade.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Twelve weeks
I feel the need to document this.
About fifteen minutes ago, I consumed one whole homemade banana waffle. With syrup. And I poured myself a very tiny cup of coffee and sipped at it.
I have not taken any Zofran yet this morning, and I haven't spent twenty minutes hunched over the toilet bowl. This is significant because, since the end of April, there have been exactly two mornings that I have not spent twenty minutes hunched over a toilet bowl: one morning last week after I got my Zofran and had to take some in the middle of the night, and this morning.
Could this be a turning point? I'm almost afraid to write that for fear of jinxing my good fortune, but if my morning sickness is on its way out, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of me here. I haven't been writing much of anything anywhere, and I haven't even been able to read a book in two months. Every time I try, it feels like I'm reading in the car on a very, very windy road. On a hot day. With no air conditioning.
I'm still queasy, but whatever, I don't even remember what it's like to not be queasy all the time. I've had this irrational fear for weeks now that this is just going to be my life, that I'll always feel a little sick to my stomach from here on out, that I'll have to discreetly duck out of Suzannah's high school graduation party to heave over a toilet. (Of course, this is entirely possible anyway, because yesterday was the seniors' last day at school and I kept thinking wretchedly that someday, my own little girl will grow up and leave me.)
This is also a turning point as far as my wardrobe is concerned. It's funny; I've gained less weight this time around (when I was pregnant with Suzannah, I gained ten pounds within minutes of peeing on the stick; as of last week I hadn't gained a thing this time around, although I don't know how I could, because as soon as food gets to my stomach it decides it hates to stay there), but my belly is pooching out sooner. Then again, I was pregnant with Suzannah in the late fall and winter, so I could wear bulky sweaters. We had a few days in the 90's this week, so no sweaters for me. I thought I was still doing okay with shirts that don't fit too tightly, and this week I dug out a pair of baggy capris that I bought right after giving birth to Suzannah, but my department chair informed me that I won't be able to keep up this charade much longer, especially if I keep resting my hand on my belly. I had no idea I was doing that, but my friend Kyanne was all, "Yeah, I noticed that, too." So today we're heading to the mall so I can buy some of those fabulous maternity shorts and pants, and I can stand in the too-small dressing room behind the filmy curtain and mutter about how no one gets pregnant for the fashion, but secretly I'll just be happy to be comfortable again.
About fifteen minutes ago, I consumed one whole homemade banana waffle. With syrup. And I poured myself a very tiny cup of coffee and sipped at it.
I have not taken any Zofran yet this morning, and I haven't spent twenty minutes hunched over the toilet bowl. This is significant because, since the end of April, there have been exactly two mornings that I have not spent twenty minutes hunched over a toilet bowl: one morning last week after I got my Zofran and had to take some in the middle of the night, and this morning.
Could this be a turning point? I'm almost afraid to write that for fear of jinxing my good fortune, but if my morning sickness is on its way out, you'll probably be seeing a lot more of me here. I haven't been writing much of anything anywhere, and I haven't even been able to read a book in two months. Every time I try, it feels like I'm reading in the car on a very, very windy road. On a hot day. With no air conditioning.
I'm still queasy, but whatever, I don't even remember what it's like to not be queasy all the time. I've had this irrational fear for weeks now that this is just going to be my life, that I'll always feel a little sick to my stomach from here on out, that I'll have to discreetly duck out of Suzannah's high school graduation party to heave over a toilet. (Of course, this is entirely possible anyway, because yesterday was the seniors' last day at school and I kept thinking wretchedly that someday, my own little girl will grow up and leave me.)
This is also a turning point as far as my wardrobe is concerned. It's funny; I've gained less weight this time around (when I was pregnant with Suzannah, I gained ten pounds within minutes of peeing on the stick; as of last week I hadn't gained a thing this time around, although I don't know how I could, because as soon as food gets to my stomach it decides it hates to stay there), but my belly is pooching out sooner. Then again, I was pregnant with Suzannah in the late fall and winter, so I could wear bulky sweaters. We had a few days in the 90's this week, so no sweaters for me. I thought I was still doing okay with shirts that don't fit too tightly, and this week I dug out a pair of baggy capris that I bought right after giving birth to Suzannah, but my department chair informed me that I won't be able to keep up this charade much longer, especially if I keep resting my hand on my belly. I had no idea I was doing that, but my friend Kyanne was all, "Yeah, I noticed that, too." So today we're heading to the mall so I can buy some of those fabulous maternity shorts and pants, and I can stand in the too-small dressing room behind the filmy curtain and mutter about how no one gets pregnant for the fashion, but secretly I'll just be happy to be comfortable again.
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