Ain't No Potty Like a Big Girl Potty 'cause the Big Girl Potty Don't Stop

We’ve been putting Babe-O on the toilet pretty much since she was big enough to do it without fear of accidently flushing the kid (remember the Lindbergh baby?). We started doing it after I very scientifically realized that every night before her bath, when the cool air hit her warm butt, she’d pee all over me. So we started putting her right on the toilet and she quickly got the idea that peeing in the potty is a good thing.

After a while, we stepped it up a notch and got her a little potty seat that allowed her to sit on there by herself. The seat is covered in pictures of Elmo is scuba diving, which is a bit of a strange mental image when you consider the context.

Babe-O doesn’t use a ton of words yet, but she has learned to make it known when she needs to poop. Today was a typical example as she and I were playing and she stopped what she was doing, grunted, and pointed at her diaper. I took her to the toilet, she dumped one in the money hole, and we went about our business.

That’s how it’s done.

And we very, very rarely need to change a pooped-in diaper. Maybe once every two weeks.

We’re not quite as on top of the pee situation, but she’s starting to understand the subtleties there, too.

Either way, this kid is excreting at about a first grade level.

A prodigy? I think so.

Happy Halloween

Tonight was Trick or Treat night in the little town where Amy’s parents live, so we took Babe-O out there to make the rounds.  She is just over a year old, so she is really at the height of Halloween costume cuteness, particularly as she toddled around in her ladybug suit.

Babe-O is also young enough that it is tricky to guess how she’s going to react to crazy situations like staying up past her bed time to panhandle door to door dressed like an insect.  No worries, though, she loved it.  After about two houses she figured out the protocol and began charging up the sidewalk grinning on the way to the candy buckets.  She had a tiny felt treat bag that she would wave wildly in one hand while hanging on to Amy or me for balance with the other.

We only did about a dozen houses and spent a little bit of time hanging out with Amy’s family and then headed home.  It was an excellent dry run for this weekend, when we’ll do Trick or Treat in our own neighborhood.

Once we got home, Babe-O was obviously pooped so we pretty much took her right up to bed.  And, for the record, holy crap what an adorable kid.  Just as she started getting sleepy, she put her arms out and reached for Amy.  Amy picked her up, and Babe-O slumped over her shoulder.  Then Babe-O, completely sleepy and eyes shut tight, started to pull her head back, kiss her mom, and put her head back down.  She did this four or five times and then laid down in the bed, now just barely awake.  She snuggled up with her baby blanket, which she lifted up and down for a few quick rounds of silent peek-a-boo before she drifted off.

Between the two very beautiful girls doting on each other and the sleepy acts of affection from the little one, it was one of the nicest things I’ve ever seen. 

The wrong side of the bed, apparently

Yesterday pretty much sucked.

 

Still, last night I got some work done and was quite happy as I settled into bed a little after midnight, tired, but looking forward to a high quality Wednesday.  Here’s how it went down from there:

 

Babe-O slept through the night, which is rare.  Usually good news, but this time caused some trouble.  First of all, I was sleeping so soundly by morning that I didn’t bat an eye when my cell phone alarm went off at 5 a.m.  So at 6:30 (the hour also known as way to late to make it to the gym before work) when Babe-O woke up fussing, I was immediately miffed that I had overslept and angrily shut off my apparently persistent cell phone buzz, which had been going strong for an hour and a half.

 

Then I started to get up to get Babe-O from her crib.  I swung my legs over the side of the bed and landed with the usual sleepy Jedi precision squarely inside of my black Nike sport sandals, narrowly avoiding direct contact with the cold-in-the-morning bamboo floor.  When I took that first step towards the bedroom door, my foot slid wildly out from under me and I landed with a thump on the floor next to what I would later identify as an extremely slippery puddle of dog vomit.

 

From there I went to get Babe-O, stuck her in bed with Amy, and build the usual little pillow fortress along my side of the bed so that she doesn’t roll off onto the floor (because, you know, that’s where we keep the dog vomit).  After that, things started looking up a bit.  But based on that first minute or two of the day, Wednesday might have shaped up to be an ugly one.

 

Oh yeah.  I did clean up the dog vomit before I left.  I also gave both of the dogs some dedicated attention for a while, as at least one of them, I assume, has the swine flu.

 

 

 

Bad and badder (but which is which?)

Today I had a really crappy day at work.  I was scrambling to deliver a project and had to work through lunch, which is something I almost never do.  No matter how busy things are, I’ll generally bring work home with me before I’ll skip seeing Babe-O at lunchtime. 

 

Anyway, today I had to skip seeing Babe-O at lunch.  And it turned out that today was a crummy day for that.  That’s because, back on the home front, Amy was having a really rough day with the baby, who was being generally difficult to please.  After all, my lunchtime pop-in is as much to give Mom-O a break as it is to give Babe-O her lunch.

 

Basically, I spent the day getting myself completely stressed out and Amy spent the day getting completely stressed out by the cranky kid.  So when I walked in the door, I was completely at the end of my rope, as was Amy.  I grabbed a beer and – since my stress wasn’t child related – took over baby duty for the night.  Finally, in the kind of small favor that makes it possible to get through the day, Babe-O went quickly to sleep right after her bath.

 

That little piece of good news turned out to be enough to get us grinning like idiots as we finish up the day and try to get some work done around the house.

 

As for the question at hand:

 

Who had the crappier day, Josh with work stress or Amy with baby stress?

 

Yes.  Absolutely.  By a mile.

Unstoppable

There I was, five minutes ago, just settling into bed and working on a guest blog post for www.makesmomhappy.com.  Using an uncanny ability (shared by her mother) to sense when my butt is just settling into something comfy, Babe-O started to cry.  So off I went.  I scooped her up (she was sitting up in her crib, fussing loudly) and took her downstairs, as is our routine.  We walked back and forth for about two minutes and then I plopped her back into her crib.  Thanks to the creaky floor, she immediately woke up again when I tried to make my escape, but after a few quick pats on her bottom, she was sleeping soundly once again, this time enough for me to sneak out into the hallway.

 

So here I am, back in bed, sleeping baby, getting some work done.  Like I said.  Unstoppable.

Early (rude) awakening

Lately I’ve been feeling pretty good about my level of fitness following my jogging stroller runs with Babe-O.  Most days it would be a race-pace 5k and my times were generally good, even though I haven’t done any serious training in years.

 

Today, I got up in the morning around five, moved Babe-O from her crib to out bed, and hit the gym.  I jumped on the treadmill, cranked it up to around the pace I’d been running on the road and set it for thirty minutes.  About ten minutes in, I realized something was up. 

 

I was seriously winded, pretty queasy, and despite moving at close to top cruising speed, waaaay off pace.

 

Then it hit me.  I’d been basing my workouts on the odometer built into Babe-O’s stroller.  And as it turns out, the odometer built into Babe-O’s stroller is (apparently) way, way off.

 

Thirty minutes later, owchiwawa.  My legs ached, my lungs burned, and I’m pretty sure I had a mid-sized aneurism at the 18 minute mark.  I guzzled some water, took a long shower, and went to work.

 

Looks like getting back into shape isn’t going to be quite as easy as it might have seemed.

A good night

Driving home with Amy and a sleeping baby tonight, I ended up with a really bad headache that stuck around after we got home (and in fact, is still sticking around as I type). I was getting kind of bummed because it has been cramping my Sunday routine, but then I had a thought.

We were just in the last few miles of a return trip, driving on a very dark, two lane road at about 50 mph. A very nice-sized buck started to dart across the road.

I hit the brakes, keeping one eye on the buck and another eye on the asshole I had noticed just a few minutes ago to be tailgating me pretty badly. The buck made it halfway into the road and I let off the brakes as I saw him turn to run alongside us, which gave Dr. Ride-My-Bumper just enough room to keep from slamming into the back of us. I drifted over onto the shoulder so that the buck head some more room, now thankfully thinking “$500 deductible if he decides to get personal with the driver’s side of my car” instead of the much more intense “holy shit, don’t wreck” that was going through my mind a few seconds before.

About a mile later, another much smaller deer darted across the road, going from guardrail to guardrail in about two bounds. This time we just slowed down enough to be sure that it was running alone.

Then, about a half mile from home in a residential area, out popped one more, this time a very small buck that made it across just like the previous one.

I am going somewhere with this:

Any one of these three animals (not to mention any others that were running around out there in the darkness) could have really screwed up our night. It could have been as bad as a deer coming through the windshield and causing a really serious wreck or as relatively minor as getting sideswiped and picking up a hefty repair bill. Either way, whether we ended up with cosmetic damage or stranded in the woods with a wrecked Subaru and no cell service, it could have been a much crappier night that it was.

Any automotive mishap I’ve ever had – accident, ticket, whatever – I always went to bed thinking “man, this day really wouldn’t have sucked if that hadn’t happened.” Well tonight, it didn’t happen. And I’ll go on record with automotive karma and say that I’m really thankful that it didn’t.

I still have a headache. And a touch of sore throat that just might be the piggy flu.

But that’s okay. It was a good night.

...at the Y-M-C-A

We joined the Y the other day, which gives us access to a handful of the various Y locations around town. We joined downtown, but yesterday got to check out a newer location closer to our house. I'm loving having access to the stuff (including childcare).

This time out, I played with Babe-O in the pool while Mom-O swam laps in the lap pool. Mom-O hasn't trained in a while, so she didn't spend a ton of time doing laps, but it was more than enough time for Babe-O to splash around and have a good time.

She has started to enjoy perching on her butt on the edge of the pool and then jumping off into the water...pretty impressive as far as I'm concerned, especially considering that I was about 14 before I had the guts to do that (I'm not much of a swimmer. Have been around water and watersports all my life, but never learned to swim beyond what you need to keep from drowning.)

Anyway, it was a great time and we'll be back there often.

One downside to this particular YMCA: very odd locker room layout. Let's just say that there are lots of unmarked doors and it isn't hard to imagine how one might find themselves marching buck-ass naked into the family swimming area. So yeah, I'll watch out for that.

A very quick reflection on 3 a.m.

Super-frustrating combination:

1. Very tired.

2. Baby sleeping in her crib but ready to immediately scream if you stop patting her bottom.

3. Really having to pee.

Dad-O is Flab-O

When my wife and I first met, I was in really, really good shape.

In retrospect, that sucks. Because over the years, she hasn't forgotten.

She'll be the first to tell you that my property value has declined a bit in the last few years.

And let's face it, I'm a little bit grossed out, too, especially when I'm winded going up a few flights of stairs that I used to be able to tackle with a dude clinging to my back.

So with our brand-spanking new YMCA membership now official, I'm going to see if I can recommit to being a fit guy. Besides, I'd like to clean myself up a bit before Babe-O knows the difference. That's me over there, evidently hovering right between overweight and normal, which believe it or not works out to being about 40 pounds heavier than I was in college. I'm not sure if I'll keep up with the Wii Fit thing regularly, but I figured I'd at least use it to keep track of my progress. It doesn't help that I had to pull batteries out of every device in the house to get the remote and balance board up and running after much disuse (141 days, according to the Wii).

Wish me luck

Rough Night, Rougher Morning (and Dad Rule #9)

Okay, last night was rough.

 

Babe-O has some molars coming in and they are obviously causing her much pain.  When I put her in her crib, she was out cold after swimming earlier in the day and I was sort of expecting an easy night.

 

Dad Rule #9: Don’t expect an easy night.  The universe resents that and will make you pay.

 

It was about one in the morning when she first woke up crying.  In late-night TV time, it was Craig Ferguson hour.

 

I went and got her and she pretty much immediately slumped over on my shoulder and went back to sleep.  I rocked her for a bit and put her back in the crib, where she immediately started crying.  We repeated this exercise a few times, until I finally gave up on that and went downstairs with her and started walking in circles to soothe her into a deeper sleep.  If I stopped walking, she’d cry.  If I sat down, she’d cry.  If my nose itched and I moved my hand from her back, she’d cry. 

 

I was really tired, so I was forcing myself to walk for another ten minutes once she fell asleep again.  Every time I walked through the kitchen on my little circular route, I’d glance at the clock on the microwave (1:35, 1:35, 1:35, 1:35, 1:35, 1:35, 1:35, 1:36, 1:36…).  I can’t even tell you how long it felt like it took.  Once I hit my completely arbitrary ten-minute mark, I went back upstairs and laid her down in her crib again.  Still sleeping.

 

I stepped away from the crib and the floor – just like it always does – creaked. 

 

Immediate, hysterical, gasping-for-breath crying.

 

Shit.  I scooped her up again and tried to rock her back to sleep.  More crying.  Screaming.  Getting worse.

 

Back downstairs.

 

Back to doing laps around the kitchen (1:50, 1:50, 1:50), which got her back to sleep.  Finally (2:01, 2:01, 2:02), she was sleeping soundly enough to take back upstairs.  I got her back in the crib and decided to hold still for a while so that she could settle in before I navigated the unavoidable floor creaks to get out of the room again (Indiana Jones fans: Jehovah starts with an “I”).  Because I was at my wit’s end, I forced myself to count down from 60 before moving a muscle (57…56…55) and the whole time I stood there, she didn’t make a peep (35…34…33), though let me add that I really had to pee at this point (10…987654321).

 

I crept out, watching every step as I went.  Made it to the door.  Made it into the hallway.  Closed the door.  And then slowly, turned the knob so that it wouldn’t click in the latch.  The sound of the doorknob turning did it.

 

Immediate, hysterical, gasping-for-breath crying.

 

I let her cry for just a minute while I got some Tylenol for her and opened it up, figuring that since she isn’t usually this difficult (at all), she must be in pain.  After scooping her up, I tried to give her the medicine, and she completely freaked, which was all the more disheartening since she loves the taste of the stuff and usually settles right down.  While she closed her mouth tight and shook her head and squirmed, I got frustrated to the point of snapping at her a little, telling her to knock it off and behave…something that Mom-O later told me she had overheard with surprise, as I’ve never really been so short with Babe-O before.

 

Eventually, the medicine went down, though not without getting the sticky liquid crap all over my hands. 

 

Back downstairs.  More laps. (2:45, 2:45, 2:45…)

 

By this point I was really, really mad at Babe-O.  Like I’ve never really been before.  Completely frustrated, completely spent.  Mentally fried, defenses down, and worrying about EVERYTHING.  Rational stress, irrational stress, just fretting until I felt like I was going to develop an ulcer overnight.

 

Then Babe-O arched her back suddenly and started fussing all over again.  But suddenly, I was calm.  Really calm.  And not mad at the baby.  For some reason, it hit me that she wasn’t being a little asshole or trying to give me a run for my money.  She was tired.  And not feeling well.  And in pain. 

 

She just wanted to be held and didn’t want to go to sleep on her own.

 

Suddenly, I felt better, and could have walked with her until the cows came home.

 

I took some more laps (no counting, no watching the clock), and eventually took her back upstairs, where she curled up in her crib and slept until morning.

 

And then it got really ugly

 

After my rough night up with Babe-O, I got up at five, planning to go to the gym.  I haven’t really worked out much since the baby was born.  And by “since the baby was born” I mean “since way before the baby was born.”  Yesterday we joined the YMCA, mostly for Amy and the little one, but I’m also pretty stoked about having a decent place to work out.  So anyway, today was going to be my get back in the swing of things workout. 

 

Five o’clock is pretty dark in these parts, but the super dark house got me to thinking that I probably don’t need to spend a ton of time at the gym on my first real workout in years.  I don’t need to be to work until 7:30, so I figured I’d have some coffee and check my e-mail before I got dressed and headed to the Y.  By this time it was about 5:30 and within about two seconds of logging into webmail, I realized that I had screwed something up the day prior and needed to get it straightened out post-haste.

 

In retrospect, my little snafu wasn’t a big deal, just putting a fire out like any other, but at the time it seemed like such a big stinking deal it was overwhelming.  I was so pissed at my mistake and so frustrated with myself that I could barely stand it.  And once I got everything straightened out (now about 6:30 a.m.) I was still FURIOUS.  Everything seemed overwhelming.  I was thinking that I could still squeeze in a quick workout, but suddenly felt completely overwhelmed by the logistics involved.  Driving there, getting dressed, working out, showering, packing my bag up, getting dressed – it all seemed like a huge ordeal.  I fretted about this until it was really too late to go to the gym and I just jumped into the shower at home.

 

Then it was time to get dressed.  It felt like it took forever.  I found myself resenting men’s fashion, violently hating stuff like shirt buttons and my belt.  I clearly remember HATING whoever it was that came up with the idea of belts and cursed pants designers for not making them fit better unaccessorized.  I remember being terribly angry at my feet for being wet from the shower and at my socks for not wanting to slide on over wet feet.  If my shoes had laces, I probably would have thrown them out the window and gone to work in my Uggs, I was that mad.

 

Then, believe it or not, I got in the car, started driving to work, and felt much better.  By the time the sun was up and I was at my desk, everything seemed just dandy.  I no longer resented mankind for not agreeing to all wear the same colored one-piece jump suits like you always see in the movies on people from the future.  Aside from having missed my workout, I felt fine.

 

Weird, huh? 

Guest Post at MakesMomHappy

Check out MakesMomHappy.com for a quick guest post on (gulp) cloth diapers.