Reflections on motherhood...


Thursday, April 19, 2012

A Tale of Two Poops

For the last few months, we've been casually getting Milkbaby acquainted with the potty. It wasn't a conscious decision to start "potty training", if that's even what we're doing, more that Milkbaby has shown some consciousness of his bodily functions and an inclination to give it a go. We've had a few laugh-out-loud-amazing *waving arms in the air in delight* moments, and a few oh-my-god-there-appears-to-be-shit-everywhere total parenting fails.

Tune out now if you don't want to hear my Tale of Two Poops.

Poop number 1

I left Milkbaby, who had successfully done a small poop in the potty already, to go pants free for an hour or so, while I was cooking dinner. "Pah!", you're thinking, "there's her first mistake...what an amateur!". Twenty minutes into dinner prep, Milkbaby comes into the kitchen and announces triumphantly: "big poo!"

"Really?!" I exclaim with enthusiasm, all the while thinking don't panic, it's probably a false alarm.

"Where? Show me."

He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom.

"Here it is!" he yells, pointing excitedly at the potty, which, to my great relief, contains a small poop.

"Yay! There it is!" I yell, genuinely excited and somewhat relieved. He'd gone into the bathroom, pulled out the potty from its storage place under the bathroom sink, and sat down and done his business. Awesome. This. Development. Is. Awesome.

Poop number two

A few days later, the same scenario. I let him go pants free while I'm making dinner. After a little while, he comes to me and says, proudly, "big poo!". I follow him, this time, gulp, into the hall, where he points to a small, and thankfully solid, poop on the carpet in the middle of the entranceway.

"Oh! It's not in your toilet!" I congratulate him on doing a poo and thank him for showing me where it was, and then suggest that maybe next time he could do one in his potty, which I point out.

I leave him pants off, thinking that he's probably done with ablutions for the evening. This is the point at which the more experienced among you will be yelling "NO!"

A few more minutes pass. Milkbaby comes back to me, again announcing "big poo!"

I follow him, this time into the lounge, a rising sense of dread. There, smack in the middle of the couch is a very big poo. And in the middle of the floor, another poo. And down the back of his legs, more poo. And as he runs giddily out of the lounge, more poo falls on the floor.

I won't bore you with the aftermath.

But that, my dears, brings us to the close of The Tale of Two Poops. One which went so right, and one which went so so wrong.

And the moral of the story? I'm open to suggestions on that one.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Don't worry - you know nothing

Captain Boringvoice has a habit of asking questions to which:

a) the answer is blindingly obvious if he just thought about it for a minute; or
b) there is no true answer, only pointless speculation.

Never have questions which call into category (b) above been more infuriating than when they pertain to Milkbaby or some aspect of his behaviour.  I am also averse to answering the Captain Boringvoice's philosophical questions that fall into category (b) - but usually I can wave these off with a "hmm, interesting question".

Perhaps the infuriating bit is not the question itself, but the fact that I don't know the answer.  After all, mothers are supposed to know almost everything, or at least have a skerrick of maternal intuition that would suggest an answer.  But unfortunately becoming a parent doesn't come with a manual of helpful hints (though there are shelves of them at your local bookstore).

Or even to be found on your own bookshelf!
Contains choice child-rearing advice on favourite topics
 such as sleeping, eating, and crying.  More on this later.

Here are a few of my I-don't-have-a-bloody-clue-and-don't-ask-me-again favourites:

Why's he crying?
Unsure.  [Honey, if I knew, I would have solved the problem and he'd have stopped crying by now - right??!!]

Why didn't he like the baby food?
Not sure, he just didn't like it. [Probably because it wasn't breastmilk - duh!]

Well do you think it was the taste or the texture?
Why don't you ask him? [And good luck with getting a straight answer out of an 8-month-old].

If he eats more dinner, he'll sleep better tonight, right?
I have no idea how he's going to sleep tonight. [And no, there doesn't seem to be a scientific correlation between eating and sleeping].

How long will he sleep for?
Anywhere between 45 minutes and 3 hours. [See? No idea.]

Will he sleep through the night?
Probably not. [Has he ever??!!  Where have you been for the last year?!]

Thankfully, these types of questions have become fewer and further between (Captain Boringvoice has been treated to a few ascerbic responses along the lines of the ones above).  I've also become less concerned about the fact that I don't know all the answers.  Here's my conclusion:

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