40.

I'll be 40 on Tuesday. I've been thinking a lot about 40, as might be expected. And I've been thinking about  babies, specifically a new one of my own. Oh, babies (new, little, soft ones) are so sweet! And being pregnant - mmmmm. I just loved it, feeling this creature moving inside me of its own accord; a completely raw experience of the mystery of life. Oh, and the nursing. I love nursing a tiny baby, the ability to offer sustenance and comfort, to be able to keep alive another human with only my own body. Okay okay, enough of that. I'm aware that this picture in my head conveniently forgets the other side effects of pregnancy (which I will let go unnamed here), plus mastitis, engorgement, irritation that I alone am in possession of the only source of complete comfort, and the accompanying feeling of strangulation and tetheredness. I've been reading over some old posts. They do a lot to help with this visual.

Besides, lately I've been remembering a time when, lying in bed at night with Mitch, we mused that one day we would be able to sleep in. The kids would get up and play or turn on the tv or whatever, and they wouldn't need a pair of eyes on them to make sure they didn't accidentally kill themselves. It was sort of a shock for me to discover that that day has arrived. Actually, it snuck in, slithered up quietly, and now we're here, no idea when that happened. Needless to say, having another would return the train to the beginning of the track.

This is the way it occurs to me now: my 20s were rather a train wreck, my 30s were recovery, and my 40s are all mine. When I thought of it this way, I realized that I am indeed done having little babies.

I am 40.

AND! If that weren't enough evidence, my son wore his last diaper on the day of my (surprise) birthday party. I smell a little symbolism here. We've had someone in diapers, you know, since September of 2006; a good chunk of that time I had two someones in diapers.) I told him at the grocery store as I put the diapers in the cart, "Clark, these are the last diapers we will buy. After these are gone, there are no more diapers; only big boy underwear." He was down with that. Told his dad that night about the diapers and what happens after. The last diaper just happened to fall on the day of my party. And Clark very willingly sat on the potty and then put on his (fabulous exciting Diego) underpants. That was yesterday. We've only had a few accidents and many successes.

I can take the changing table out of his room. We're done with diapers.

Wow.

I put the cloth ones on Ebay this week, most auctions to end tomorrow.

Done with diapers! And I'm 40. 

more of that happy stuff

It's 2:00 and everyone's asleep but me (and I plan to be when I finish this post). Just before naptime we were outside playing in the water table. Frances kept dumping water on Clark's head and I kept telling her to stop that but she didn't and eventually I made her come inside. I was surprised that she didn't throw a fit about coming in but merrily went along and let me strip the wet clothes off her before she sat on her little potty. Then I cajoled Clark to come inside so I could herd everyone in a napperly direction. Frances was still naked as I got Clark's bottle ready and pulled off his clothes and changed his diaper, and the next thing I knew Frances was crouched over a big picture book saying, "Mommy, I pooped." What? But sure enough, there was a tiny poop on the wild animal page.

But the real excitement is that I was feeding Clark his bottle and she was being pesty and squeezing his hand and arm and leg and would not stop bothering him and my patience was starting to wear thin, and just then she asked if it would be all right if she went upstairs to lie down on her bed. Really, she did! She requested that I bring up her snack after I was done with Clark. Oh my. When I went up her eyes were squeezed tight and she was smiling behind her paci.

It's better--see?

And it's 88 wonderful warm degrees here today, a real summer day finally in mid July, and Clark is still in the most adorable baby stage. Mitch tells me Clark's not a baby anymore but I disagree--he still sleeps on his chest with his butt in the air, he still feels soft and pudgy and baby wonderful, he still lies back in my arms and drinks his bottle. He's in the pointing and having you name things stage, not talking yet. Today when I came to get them from the gym kid room, I picked him up and he hugged me and patted my back with his little hand. My baby. I wonder how I'll feel when it is clear he is not a baby anymore.

This too shall pass. But oh it's lovely now.

pooping in nature

A few Saturday mornings ago Mitch and I went hiking with the kids. As we were loading kids into kid backpacks Frances announced she needed to go to the bathroom. There was, of course, not a toilet in sight, but there were lots of trees, so I taught her how to squat and pee. She couldn't do it by herself--she would have wet her pants around her ankles, but I was able to sort of hold/prop her while she went about her business. She thought it was grand. There was another time not long after that when we were out in nature and she needed to use the bathroom, so we did it again. Potty training coming right along.

Last weekend my mom was here for a visit and it happened to be the first weekend of the Lilac Festival. We rode a pony, listened to a high school band in the band shelter, then spread out a blanket in the shade and ate some ice cream. After that the kids were romping around in the grass when Frances came over and said, "Mommy, I need to swat." "You need to swat?" "I need to swat." Ah, yes--squat. She needed to pee. I didn't even try to locate a port-a-john; they were far far away and we never would have made it before an accident. "I need to poop," she said. Well. What to do? Okay, I thought. Here we go. Nearby were some scrubby crepe myrtles surrounded by pachysandra--a ground cover that looks a bit like ivy. I walked her over to the pachysandra, pulled down her skirt and helped her balance. I hoped the few people nearby wouldn't be offended by the half naked child, and really hoped none of them would realize she was doing more than peeing. After a moment or two I said, "You done?" "No," she said. "I have to poop more." I waited. "You done?" "No. I have to poop more." More? Really.

Thank goodness my mom was there to keep her eyeballs on Clark because Frances and I were occupied in the pachysandra for much longer than one would think necessary. Afterward I used a plastic bag I keep in the stroller for walks with the dog and tried to clean up as much as I could but it was kind of hopeless. I just hoped no children would come tromping through the greenery. Again: what to do?

A few days ago during Clark's nap Frances was playing in the yard while I gardened a bit. While I yanked dead limbs off the shrubs in back she came over and said she needed to squat. "You need to use the potty?" I asked. "Let's go inside and use it there." "No, I wanna swat," she said. "I have to poop." I tried to explain that we only squat when there isn't a potty around, that it's much better to poop in the potty because poop is dirty and then we can flush it down the toilet etc etc. She was insistent. I ran inside and brought her little potty into the yard. "Here, Frances, If you want to poop in the yard you can do it here on your potty." I actually got her pants and undies around her ankles and was gesturing to the potty when she completely fell to pieces. "I WANT TO SWAT I WANT TO SWAT! SWAT SWAT SWAT!" Screaming, flinging herself on the grass. My retired widow neighbor came around the fence, gardening gloves on, a distressed look on her face. "What's wrong?" "Being two is hard," I said. Frances was still screaming, still on the grass, her butt still naked. "I've never seen her behave like that," my neighbor said. "That's because it usually happens inside," I told her. My neighbor never had children and really doesn't know what to do with them, how to interact with them. I think she believed Frances never threw tantrums. I could see her adjust her opinion of what kind of kid Frances is. You know, the troublesome tantrum throwing kind.

Just so you know, she pooped in nature again yesterday just as we finished a hike. Again, not a toilet in sight. I wonder if she holds it until just the right time?

big

We're potty trained! Well, mostly. In any case, we are 100% out of diapers during the day. Still use them at night, and we're still having occasional accidents, but we're done with diapers. I say this loosely, of course, since I have a 12 month old who is not even close to done with diapers. Still! Frances is so pleased with herself, and anxious and frustrated with herself when she has an accident. She's clearly struggling with this new direction, this new independence. She often talks in baby talk and wants to be rocked, and she also frequently announces that she's a big girl and a big sister. Today while the babysitter entertained Clark inside, Frances and I jogged together down the block ("Run, Mommy! Run!") and she said, "When I get to be big like you Mommy, I can take care of Clarky and I can chew bubblegum."

"What would you do to take care of Clark?" I asked.

"Fix his bottle, and carry him, and put him to bed, and fix his bottle, and help him, and wipe his face, and take him outside, and bring him inside, and fix his bottle, and take care of him."

Then she said, "And when I'm big like you I will kiss your booboos."

Mighty sweet.

i need a vacation

The potty training must be pretty stressful for Frances; she was up twice last night in the night, stretched out in her bed crying scared and sad like a bad dream. She calmed down right away when I was there and I rocked her for a bit and sang to her until she said she was ready to go back to her bed. Clark isn't sleeping either--he's right on a developmental cusp physically and I've read that these types of transitions are like when you have a presentation coming up at work plus guests coming to stay and the water heater breaks. Just system overload. So he was up three times. The first time I nursed him and the second I tried to just soothe him and rock him but he was so upset that I wasn't nursing him that he nearly propelled himself out of my arms. So nurse again we did. Need I say I was pretty tired today? Plus Frances is giving up her nap, I believe. No wonder today I want a new job. Or at least a vacation.

I put her pull-ups back on her today. It was just too much for me and clearly was causing her anxiety and then we had music class. I was worried that if she had an accident in music class she would be really upset, though I knew I could have her go to the potty just before class and then again afterwards. It's only 45 minutes after all. Anyway.

But in other ways things are good. This morning she'd been watching TV and I told her we were going to turn it off and she could find something play while I worked in the kitchen. I was blending apricots I'd steeped and bananas and then pouring them into ice trays for Clark's meals. At first I suggested she work a puzzle or maybe build with her duplo blocks. She said, "That's a good idea, Mommy!" then started making suggestions herself. Clark was sleeping and it was a nice moment with just the two of us. I need to keep these moments in the front of my brain, especially when I need a vacation so very badly.

potty training is hard.

I don't know if I have the stamina. Maybe we should just put the diapers back on. sigh.

pooping for candy

For awhile Frances was all about sitting on the potty. I think it was the novelty of it--being like mommy and daddy, the pull-ups, the good times. She was particularly excited about the full-size toilet and preferred that to the little potty in the family room. Then a few weeks ago she suddenly decided she was done with that. She no longer wanted to sit on the toilet, didn't fall pray to any suggestion that it would make her a big girl.

Until we resorted to candy.

I'm not above a bribe, and a candy reward, it turns out, is very effective with the girl. At first it was M&Ms, and when we ran out of those I dug out some jellybeans, and now we've moved on to gummy bears. She's not picky. She's so excited about getting candy that she sits on her little potty several times a day. She now can pull off her pants and diaper by herself which is particularly helpful since I often have my hands full feeding or changing or carting around the baby. She'll sit on the potty even when she doesn't have to go, and she's pretty persistent about her success. Even when there's no action at all she'll sit and sit and sit, saying "I poop! I poop--then candy." She gets up, bends over to peer in the potty, then sits back down again. I say, "Are you finished?" and she says, "No. No. Poop, then candy!" She's very optimistic. It's a good trait to have, I suppose.

Growth

C can sit up! By himself! He's like a trick pony! When he teeters to the side he can even sort of catch himself. He also, of course, can propel himself forward flat on his face. It seems to me that all this development stuff is happening faster than it did with Frances. Not that he's ahead of where she was developmentally, but that time is going by more quickly. I suppose that's probably the case, since when she was a babe I was sitting around staring at her and waiting for her to do nearly anything, and now C is changing despite my divided attention.

F has started potty training on her own. She frequently asks now to sit on the potty and she wants to do it all herself--she goes to the bathroom and pulls down her pants and takes off her diaper and climbs up onto the toilet. If I come to help her she hollers, "Go way Mommy, go way!" And then when she needs my help getting her clothes back on she shouts, "Come back Mommy, come back!"

From her car seat in the back of the car she says, "Know why, Mommy?" I say, "Why?" and she starts in on a paragraph of babble: "Doodle skook namina gambi do lala," which perhaps is what our explanations sound like to her.

So big. So big so quickly, and I'm the parent of a short person, not a baby anymore.