Cold Turkey

Sadly, I had another (two in one day!) conference with Jellybean's teacher at school yesterday. When I picked her up at the end of the day, I learned that she bit another classmate. Body count is at 4.

So, last night was it. Yup, we've pulled the plug on the na na and are discretely tossing every pacifier into the trash. Sadly, this will come as a rude surprise to Jellybean when she goes to bed tonight.

Yes, that's right. We're going cold turkey. No na na for bedtime tonight. May g*d have mercy on our souls (and ear drums).

Body Count

So, yeah. Not sure how to start this one. But let's just say the body count is piling up at Jellybean's school.

This past weekend, M and I went to Paris to celebrate our 30th birthdays (snort, chuckle). We left both girls at home with Granddad and Nana Carter, and really enjoyed ourselves. It was wonderful.

We had never left Jellybean before. M had traveled for work, but I'd never been away from her longer than a working day. And we'd certainly never both left at the same time - at least not for longer than an evening out. So she wasn't too pleased about it.

(Sidebar: Monkey was thrilled to have Granddad and Nana watching her for the weekend, and keeps asking me when they are coming back. And could Granddad bring some more mints? And they can have pizza again? And isn't the dress that Nana gave her pretty?And do I like the swim goggles Nana gave her? And can you see why she's FINE when we leave?)

In addition to wandering around the apartment looking for us (oh, so sad!), Jellybean also went on a food strike, popped a fever, broke out in a viral rash, and generally was off her game this past weekend. Which meant that she used her pacifier (the "na na") a lot.

And, since her Montessori school stopped using her na na a while back, when Jellybean got to school on Tuesday she had a rough time.

Yesterday? Well it got worse.

She bit three classmates.

The na na has to go.

All I want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth, my Two Front Teeth....

So. Can we talk about Jellybean’s tushie for a minute here? I know, I know, just WAAAY too much sharing going on here. But really – let’s talk.

For the past two or more weeks, this kid has been teething. Not “kind of” teething. Not teething “a little bit.” But HARDCORE teething that drives her so mad with itchiness and sore gums she’s repeatedly:

1) chewed on my collarbone (um, ow);

2) thrown her head back in the air and bared her gums as if airing them out would magically make the itchiness go away (imagine a lion roaring and you’re close to the image you should have – it would be impressive if it wasn’t so funny);

3) gnawed on her pacifier, her toys, her clothing, her fingers, the palm of her hand, my hair, my clothing, my fingers, the spoon……anything that can be shoved into her maw; and

4) wait for it………had constant awful teething diarrhea.

Yup, diarrhea. Ruin your clothing diarrhea. Make a mess on the crib-sheets diarrhea. Wake you up at night diarrhea. Wake mom and dad up at night diarrhea (ok, maybe just mom). And…..give you diaper rash so bad diarrhea that poor Jellybean is now on her SECOND kind of prescription butt-cream.

Ow.

For the record, she’s completely on the mend. And M and I won’t be traumatized (forever) by the image of the raw, open, skin on her bottom. (gah, just typing that makes me shudder. It was so bad that it made my physically ill to think about it, still does to be honest).

And now? Finally? SHE HAS A TOOTH! A chopper on the top!!

...............
..........................
......................................................oh wait. One.

Yeah, one.

Crap. How many more teeth does she have to go?

Still paci free

I am somewhat dumbfounded to announce that not only are we still pacifier free, but Monkey has not thrown any fits about it! Not one single tantrum. Yes, she's asked for it several times, but each time we just remind her that she threw it away, and that ends the discussion. Miraculous, I tell you! I am going to have Monkey "decide" to do all momentous things from her on out. It stops whining in its tracks. Powerful shit, this "you did this so no whining" mantra. And I couldn't be prouder of my big girl. She is a rock star.

However, she is also a rock star that decided to wake up at 5:40am this morning. While M is out of town on business. So that my shower became a quickie bath and hair up in a ponytail (super professional, but it's my go-to hairdo) while Monkey chattered away in the bathroom, talking to me about water.

Then, I made Monkey's lunch while she watched Moustache. Moustache, by the way, is a cat that is helping teach Monkey French. Ok, so far she doesn't actually speak any French, but it is educational and she loves it. Thank you Moustache, for my five minutes.

Tonight we straighten up the apartment because tomorrow Grandma and 'Andpa come to town! Woo hoo!!!!!!!! M and I are driving up to the Berkshires this weekend for our friend's wedding, so Monkey will stay with the grandparents here in the city. I anticipate a lot of time in the park, and many many popsicles! Good times.

God bless our garbageman! He's a regular little mother's helper....

This past weekend was a momentous one. Not only did M and I install (incorrectly, and then correctly) our new set of surround sound speakers without swearing or getting mad at each other, but Monkey THREW AWAY HER PACIFIER!

Let me repeat myself. Monkey willingly threw away her pacifier. It is gone. As in literally in the garbage, in the garbage truck, now in some godforsaken landfill...the point is, it is GONE FOREVER. Yes, my abuse of caps indicates how proud I am of my little girl. Ahem - my big girl.

Monkey has been addicted to the paci (aka the "please") for a while now. She was doing really well without it, and then got that nasty upper respiratory infection that required us to gas her with a mask three times a day. She (and we) were so traumatized by this that we let her have the pacifier whenever she asked for it, and lately, she asked for it all of the time. Literally it would be the first thing she asked for when she woke up. Before mommy, before milk....it was the please. And, since she wanted it in her mouth all the time while talking, it had to go. We didn't want her language to be delayed because she was talking around a pacifier.

Last Friday M and I went into Monkey's montessori daycare for a meeting on how to ditch the paci. We met with her lead teacher, Veronica, who told us this wonderful crazy story about how Roman (Monkey's favorite classmate) had given his pacifiers to the garbageman, and since he's obsessed with garbage trucks this worked brilliantly for him. I thought it was a great story, but M and I were going to just have Monkey collect and throw all her pacis into the garbage, then bring the garbage to the basement. No showy theatrics with the garbage truck for us. And besides, we didn't know what the garbage collection schedule was.

We'd been telling Monkey that her paci was going to go away for a while now, so this weekend wasn't a surprise. She's not a fan of surprises, and likes to know what is going on - routine is a toddler's friend, I tell you.

Saturday morning Monkey asked for a bagel for breakfast (I told you she's a New Yorker!). There weren't any in the apartment, so I threw on a sweatshirt and baseball (yes, Yankees) cap and out we went to the deli. With a paci.

On the way back, I noticed that the garbage was being collected. I decided what the hell - let's go for it!

We walked up to one of the garbagemen, and asked if we could throw away her pacifier. The guy must have kids, because he gave me a wide smile and said "whatever you need...". They even paused what they were doing to accomodate us.

Monkey gave the pacifier to the garbageman and said "bye bye paci", he made a big show of throwing it into the back of the garbage truck, and then they flipped the switch and crushed the garbage in the back! Something crunchy was in there because it made a lot of noise and splinters came flying out. It was awesome. I was SO proud of her! And god bless those garbagemen, pausing in their thankless job to help us out. They were wonderful.

We went upstairs and collected the rest of her pacifiers with daddy's help. Each time she threw one in the garbage bag we whooped for joy and clapped, and told her what a big girl she is. Then we ran back downstairs and got lucky enough to find another truck going by. Monkey threw the bag in the back of the truck and we were done!

She's asked for it since, but each time we remind her that she threw them away. And you know what? She's been just fine. My little girl is such a big girl!

Love

Monkey's sleep schedule has sucked lately. She's been staying up late, waking up early, and - this is the hardest - waking in the middle of the night with much crying and fussing, gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair. Ok, everything except for the hair pulling.

Last night it was a midnight run. Monkey woke up and was inconsolable. Tylenol was administered, the paci was inserted, and the bottle was proffered when she asked for it specifically. (she only took two sips, but what can you do)

I was so tired I was limited to monosyllabic grunts and gutteral mutterings.

Monkey's daddy? He's the rock star of this story, my grey cloud's silver lining.

Once we settled Monkey back down again, we nestled into bed with Ollie, our geriatric cat (who also insists on performing vocal acrobatics at midnight). And after wishing me (another) good night, he gave me a kiss and said something about how we'd muddle our way through.

I was so tired I don't really even remember what he said. All I remember is feeling comforted, safe, loved and understood. My god, what else could an exhausted mother wish for in life? (other than a healthy, happy baby of course).

So this post is all about you, beloved husband. Whatever it was that you said? It was perfect. And I love you.

The dam's about to break...

Banana

Please (as her outstretched hand reaches for my cell phone, or her paci)

Emma

Hadley

Dance (accompanied with two fingers pointing in the air and much butt wiggling)

Dog

Apple

Elmo (of course! he's her love....)

Meow meow (meaning kitty cat)

Bark

Ollie (as she hugs our saintly cat)

Apple

Bottle

Bath (as she runs streaking through the house dragging her pink towel....)

Nose (with a pointed finger, in case we didn't get it...)

I love you (oh, wow. I do NOT care that she was just repeating us. She said it!)

These are just a few of the things she's said in the past few days. The water is spilling over the dam! Here comes an avalanche of language!

don't try this while driving

monkey's b new trick? she walksareon the house holding her blankie with just her chin pressede against her chest, with elmo on the blanket getting  a ride, all whilev humming and chewing on her pavi.

shes got mad skillzzzz 

but one SKill  is not helping mom type on the comphter. she is hlpgin me right now. thNAKS MUCH

Raindrops keep falling on my head....

It rained this morning.

Monkey didn't like the rain shield, wouldn't keep her lap blanket on, tossed out her books, generally didn't want to be in the stroller, wouldn't hold my hand when out of the stroller, and went nuclear when she couldn't find her pacifier in the regular hiding spot.

Therefore, because life was conspiring to thwart her every desire, she decided to lie down on the pavement in a puddle and cry.

Normally, this sort of a morning would make me want to pull my hair out.

Usually, as Monkey goes ballistic, I imagine that everyone within hearing distance of my (air-raid-level) keening child is thinking "walking birth control." And then (as luck would have it), usually some perfectly-put-together family will walk by, shaking their heads at me, grateful their children are well behaved....

But today? Today was different.

For whatever reason (good sleep last night? getting all the dishes done before I walked out the door? getting a great kiss goodbye from my gorgeous husband? having a beloved friend fighting nephrosis and MS to put my "problems" into perspective?? who knows...) I decided that it was OK for Monkey to fling herself into a puddle.

I even started humming "Raindrops keep falling on my head" and did a softshoe shuffle, to entertain myself and wait for the tantrum to wind down.

Then I picked up Monkey, randomly pointed out a nearby sparrow, and watched the most amazing grin spread across her face. She laughed and pointed and completely forgot to continue her tantrum. Blessed little grey birds!

Dirty little secret

The worst part about this morning? And Monkey's trantrum over the pacifier???

I gave in.

Yup, I gave in and gave her the damn paci.

I know, I know, I rewarded the very behavior I want to suppress/prevent. I know this. And yet, in a supreme moment of cognitive dissonance, and well, because my ears were bleeding and I was panicking as Monkey was shrieking and crawling around on the floor like she was dying....I gave it to her anyway.

I want to share a dirty little secret with you: sometimes a tantrum, like terrorism, works. Sometimes they garner whatever it is the tantrum-thrower wants.....just to stop the wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and the rending of garments. Anything to stop the noise and pain.

And to think that Monkey is only 17 months old. I better man up before she becomes a teenager, or I'm screwed.

All aboard!!!!!!!!!!

Woo wooo............hop on the tantrum express!!!!!!!!! All abooooooard.

Three freaking tantrums this morning. Over the pacifier. Oh. good. lord. help. us. now..............

All before 8am.

Twelve Steps

Monkey is addicted to her pacifier. All the parents in the room nod and say, mmm hmm, yes we've seen that before. And by "that" they mean a toddler's increased reliance upon and desire for their pacifier, their binky, their paci, their -insert pet name here- little gobbet of silicone and plastic that they adore.

Only our daughter? She has a problem. Here are two reasons why we think she needs an intervention:

One: She has secret stashes of pacifiers.
This weekend (she's teething, so we've been kind/pushovers and let her have it from time to time) we took the paci away since she was in a good mood, and she made a beeline to the stroller bag, stuck her hand in a pocket and fished another one out. She popped it into her mouth and toddled away in her Frankenstein's monster waddle, humming away and happy as can be. She even looked pleased with herself! She's like the alcoholic that stashes liquor bottles in the toilet, or behind the cereal....

Two: She is willing to stand still, tethered to her stroller, just to get in one more suck on that paci.
And I have the photos to prove it (will post once uploaded...promise). She will stand still, humming, with the pacifier in her mouth, tethered to her stroller for minutes at a time. And that is the equivalent of years in toddler time. Glaciers could roll on past her...

The pathos of it all. I'm just hoping that we can start on step one soon. Think there is a baby sign for "addiction"?

Some observations from the mother of an insane toddler....

For the record? I love my daughter. In fact, love is a weak word to describe my feelings towards her.


However, sometimes I have to just laugh.....here is why (at least this week):


1) The pacifier is now known as the "nuclear option" (as in, when she goes nuclear...). It used to be affectionately known as the "mute button" before we learned that Monkey's wails were loud enough to peel paint off the walls while simultaneously piercing eardrums. Why the wailing? See items 2, 4, 5 and 6, below.

2) The only acceptable food groups for Monkey include: a) cheerios; b) fruit; c) fake crab; and d) cookies. All other food/food groups are suspicious and must be licked with a wrinkled nose before potential rejection. Also, all foods must now be transported into Monkey's mouth by her hands, and her hands only. Spoons and sporks are to be rejected or recycled as weapons of mess and destruction. Ok, busted - you're right, I'm exaggerating: she will also happily ingest any random tidbits of cheerios, fruit, dust, paper or other delicious detritus she finds on the ground.

3) Monkey loves to walk, fast, and if at all possible will reject the offer of a helping hand to balance her or otherwise slow her down. Added to her "suicide gene," which prompts her to head right into traffic/towards danger, this means that we are constantly scurrying around half-bent over, keeping her out of harm's way.

4) Never the less, she manages to find harm's way. Yesterday, while at the park, within arm's reach of mom, dad, nana and granddad, Monkey bent at the waist to inspect the laces on her new sneakers. She stood there, gravely inspecting the laces when...she fell forward. Face plant. She has a faint pattern of scratches/bruises on her forehead that looks exactly like the asphalt. Just in time to go to school this Thursday.

5) Speaking of school, Monkey's lead teacher from montessori daycare/preschool came to our apartment this past Friday to meet Monkey. I was all set to comb Monkey's hair into pigtails, and put her in a smashingly-cute (or at least clean) outfit to make a good impression. So of course, not 30 minutes before the teacher arrived, Monkey was toddling past a speaker and wiped out, bashing her face on the edge. Although she was no longer sobbing when the teacher arrived, her hair was uncombed, she was still in her pj's smeared with breakfast, and her eye had puffed up sufficiently to prompt the teacher to ask if we wanted to reschedule so we could take her to the doctor/ER. Now that's what I'd call a memorable first impression.

6) Amidst the trauma and melodrama, some seriously funny behavior....Monkey adores her pediatrician but is woefully afraid of his stethoscope. Having it placed on her back caused her to shake, shriek, and sob for a good 10 minutes AFTER he hid the infernal device from her sight. So, being a good godmother and a good pediatrician, my cousin Heather brought over her own stethoscope to help Monkey with this phobia. At the sight of it, Monkey's eyes grew wide and her lip started to tremble in anticipation of tears. A compromise was reached and the stethoscope was nonchalantly hung on the back of a chair, while Monkey played on the other side of the table, out of sight. Perhaps 5 minutes passed, and then....Monkey tried to sneak up on the stethoscope! She crouched down low, put her hands out in front of her, and - with her eyes glued to the stethoscope to make sure it wasn't moving - she snuck around the edge of the table and another chair to take a peek at it!! My little huntress!!! Heather laughed so hard I thought she was going to fall out of her chair, and I had Elmer Fudd's voice running through my head ("Shh, be vewy vewy quiet, I'm hunting a wabbit..."). While this does not bode well for future doctor's appointments, we did discover that stringing the stethoscope through the handles to the china cabinet will stop Monkey from attempting to break through the babyproofing. Excellent (ab)use of a phobia, wouldn't you say? I thought so.

That's all for now. Stay tuned!
MamaCarter

(Editor's note - Monkey is fine, healing nicely, and that nasty speaker is now swaddled in foam...oh and Social Services has yet to appear, so apparently we're in the clear, for now....)