Does That Make Me a Grandma?

Okay, off the bat, no. This has nothing to do with Corey. This is all about one Fynnie Fynn.

Do you remember her traumatic poop incident? Happened in early July, took 'til September to recover. And many dietary changes. And put potty training, which I was so sure was going to be a breeze, on hold.

By mid-October things were really looking up.

Two weeks ago the signs were clearly present, she was ready to potty train again, right before my week off at Thanksgiving. Only we weren't staying home for Thanksgiving. 

A seven hour drive just really doesn't mesh well with potty training.

Fynnie is such a sensitive child. I don't think this is such a bad thing, generally. It has caused me to stretch and grow (okay, yes, and groan).

Unlike her traumatic poop incident, this time I do not know what happened.

I think maybe she connects using the potty with the stress, pain and strain of this summer. But she was the one asking to use the potty recently.

Whatever it was, she quit pooping again. For four to five days at a time.

She went on Monday and then nothing all week during our little vacation up in the Bay Area.

The vacation? 

Unfortunately, the girls didn't often get the two things they need when they needed them. You know, food and sleep.

On the up side, it was better than this summer's trip to Boston in that I only spent about half the time in a darkened room with the girls. Plus, this room's curtains still let a little light in. Said room had a very nice seating area reasonably separate from where the girls were sleeping, too.  And my new phone kept me connected to the rest of the world longer than five minutes at a time.

But unlike Boston, where I attended a wedding and had a brief walking tour of downtown, this time my excursions included a girls' night out with my friend who lives nearby (thank you!), two walks in a shopping center, one of which was during normal business hours. One happy trip to the park (that ended with Madelyn having a meltdown). One very tense trip to the same park (that ended with Madelyn having a major meltdown) after I declined taking the girls to a different park about 35 miles away when no one else could get themselves ready to go for the day until it was the girls' lunchtime.

Did you know lunchtime comes right before nap time? No? Then, like the rest of Tom's family you are either the parents of adults, the parents of your first infant or childless. For the record, I do not expect any of them to automatically understand our girls' needs. However, both of their parents should know this. And the one who is actually related should grow a pair feel comfortable speaking up. It's not even remotely like Tom's family is a pack of wolves. They would understand if they knew. *ohm*

Oh, and we also had a lovely meal on Thanksgiving at Matt and Sarah's, after which everyone but Fynnie and I went for a three hour walk. Why stay back? Because the girls hadn't napped yet, since the meal was scheduled to start at 2:00. True to form for Tom's family, it actually started about 90 minutes later, which means they could have slept.

That tense trip to the park? That was yesterday. It was awesome. Between Mad's meltdown, Fynnie's obvious discomfort and Tom and I searching different parts of the sky for the answers to life's persistent questions... well, I'm glad it was yesterday. After the park, we went back and put the girls down for their nap. Tom and I worked on a little 160 piece puzzle together, solving it almost silently in record time.

Last night we joined the family at this fabulous vegetarian/vegan restaurant. They were very nice and didn't seem at all put off about our party having two littles and a wee bebe. The servers engaged Madelyn and talked with Baby Zoe. They would have included Fynnie but she was only up for being held by Mama.

Dinner was amazing. Seriously, if I could get vegan food like this regularly, I would give up meat in a heartbeat.

The restaurant? Tiny, but very hip.

Since they have do have one highchair, there's a sense that the occasional kidlet does come into the joint.

You know what they probably don't usually get?

A toddler, no longer able to delay the inevitable, using vocalizations... LOUD grunts and gasps while clawing at my shoulders and crying... as she pushed out something unholy that made the back side of her heinie seem to grow by three or four inches.

The upside? Fynnie usually declares, "I'm pooping!" This time? No. But in case people had any doubts about what had just transpired, she did announce, "I want you cwean ma diapah!"

Oh, and me? Yeah, I was the one cheering her on the whole time. Rubbing her back, kissing her sweaty head, giving a big thumbs up and goofy grin to the rest of my table mates. And in case that wasn't clear enough for them? I added, "Successs!"

The single restroom in the joint was occupied (I have my doubts we'd find a changing table anyway), so I carried Fynnie out to my car and changed her in the cargo area.

Right in front of the little Prius that was parked just a few feet behind us.

With a couple that, only moments before, could not keep their hands off one another.

I'm pretty sure they were parked close enough that they couldn't see around me. But I know they quit hanging around and left right after I double-bagged that diaper.

This morning all of Tom's family gathered in the hotel lobby where we stayed and hung out before heading off in separate directions.

Fynnie ate more than she had the entire trip.

About 90 minutes into our drive home she started fussing about having "booboo for you booboo," which is our rather long pet name for nursing. It was almost lunchtime, so Tom pulled off at the next stop. I brought Fynnie into the front seat with me while Tom took Mad in to get lunch.

Not long into it, I realized that Fynnie was acting very similar to last night. I sat her up and held her with her bottom hanging between my legs.

Again I cheered and rubbed and smooched while she sweated and grunted and pushed. Again, her diaper grew by several inches. When I went to change her, however, I found that things had stopped coming out simply because there was no more room. Using the diaper, I pulled while she finished pushing. Seriously, it was like performing a poopectomy.

As I was about to close up her new diaper, I realized that we hadn't gotten everything. So, with her half-naked body not quite fitting across the front passenger seat of my car, I again cheered her onto victory.

It was like delivering twins.

In other news, I am looking forward to having a vacation that feels like a vacation. Some day.

The Real Poop

Since late winter or early spring, Fynnie's been gearing up for potty training. I was actually looking forward to it. I had three goals this summer, potty train Fynn, get her to take naps in her own freakingbedbyherselfsoIcouldactuallygetthingsdonearoundhere *ohm* and learn to french braid Madelyn's hair.

Summer ended three weeks ago for me, and I'll tell up front, I'm one for three. French braiding and potty training are not on my current horizon.

We started off with converting her crib to a toddler bed. I will not say that Fynnie is a difficult child. Really, she's not. But she happened to be born after her rule loving, get-it-right-the-first-time big sister, over whose successes Tom and I would often high five as if we'd really had a hand in it.

Yes, karma spent the first 28 months of Mad's life preparing to backhand us into reality. Success.

But making the switch went pretty well. That was the big one. I put it at the top of the agenda because I just could not spend one more entire summer nursing Fynnie through naps (or holding her in nursing position while she snoozed and drooled in my lap with her spidey senses working around the clock to make sure "her booboo" didn't find its way back inside my bra).

It's not as though I can snuggle her, put her down and walk away, but I can eventually walk away, and that's what matters to me.

Next up, potty training! I was kind of excited. Fynnie was kind of excited (about the promise of getting "canny" every time she used the toilet), too!

With Madelyn, we did the half naked method. It worked great, and I could see no reason why we wouldn't go the same route for Fynnie.

Except that, oh yeah, my girls could not be more different from one another if they were born on opposite sides of the earth to completely different parents.

The big hold up getting started was our schedule. Because of my allergy shots (which are a waste of time happen close to my work), I did not take several weeks off in a row. I worked every Tuesday. The girls went to Grandma's every Tuesday.

And good friends of ours who were expecting twins dropped their two older girls off at Grandma's one day a week, too, but not Tuesdays. So the girls were also there on Wednesday or Thursday each week.

And, because I now actually have something of a life up here in the High Desert, the girls and I often had other places to go.

Three weeks into my summer "vacation," we made plans to start potty training on Thursday morning, with a goal of being done with day training by the end of the weekend.

Mad was essentially done in two days, which I blamed more on me and trying to get started the first day I was home alone with her and her one month old baby sister.

In advance of that, I was occasionally letting Fynnie run around the house half naked, and she was occasionally using the toilet.

The Tuesday night before potty training, we came home and she had a good try on the potty. I let her run around while I went outside to spend five minutes in the garden.

Coming back in, I found my very upset little girl had pooped on the floor.

I was glad she was upset, honestly; it meant she got it.  But I also tried to reassure her that everything was okay.

As we came out of the bathroom from cleaning her up, I saw that our dog, Maisy, had eaten the poop.

But not before walking through it.

Aaand that's when Tom and Madelyn got home.

Two years ago Madelyn somehow managed to train our big galloop of a dog to race back and forth from the door to the back of the house whenever someone gets home.

Over and over.

This is the point where I'd say Fynnie really freaked out.

She'd been upset before, but this scene and the yelling at the dog and the mess all over the place and the smell... I am wondering if she is not scarred for life.

No joke.

Potty training? Over.

For the past six weeks or so, the main focus is what can we do to make Fynnie poop?

She used to go 2-3 times every morning.

Now? It can be three days.

We've altered her diet to the point that she sometimes cannot help but go.

She thinks dried apricots are "gums" and that all the other special treats she gets are the new "canny."

She can spend a day and a half randomly squatting and looking scared. When it can no longer be avoided, I find myself holding this crying, sweating, grunting, shaking little girl. I whisper softly in her ear and tell her it's going to be okay, she's going to feel so much better when this is over and I'm so proud of her for working so hard.

At this point she's pooping every 1-2 days. It's better, seems less painful, but it's still upsetting her.

I'm not sure how to help her move past this.

Did you ever have a kid who withheld poop? How did you help them overcome it?

Help!

Eww!

Today I had my annual physical.  It was sort of wrong on many levels.  Yes, I'm going into them all, so you may want to click away now.


1) The conversation during said exam centered around sweet potato recipes.  Doc favors a candied yam with brown sugar, peach liqueur and a ton of butter, but two of his family members keep kosher, so he was modifying.  I do a baked sweet potato with orange juice and zest and whole cranberries.  Doc thinks he might try it with Cuantro. 


I'm easing you in here, can you tell?


2) The appointment was scheduled during the typical time of what I'm going to call my morning constitutional. I really had to go right before the exam. After debating the added discomfort of not going versus the effort trying to make sure I was as tidy afterward as before, I decided to wait. Not sure if I made the right decision, but I did not embarrass myself.  I do, however, wonder what a woman looks like when trying not to embarrass herself.


3) After doc was done with his part, I realized I've never mentioned to him that I think I may have been stitched oddly after Fynn was born.  So I reached right down there, fumbled around until I found what I was looking for and tried to point it out.  He didn't see anything right away, so I had to do it again.  He felt around and finally found what I was talking about.  Turns out I have a sebaceous cyst that he's going to leave alone for now.  Greaaat.  (Uh, not that I want to be lanced or anything... I would really prefer the magic wand treatment, please.)


4) After he said, "See you next year!" I mentioned that we may have to switch insurances (from one type of giant to another) next summer.  If so, I won't be seeing him.  He hugged me and said he would miss having me as his patient, and that he wouldn't miss all of his patients.  All very nice, but as he hugged me I thought about the fact that I was wearing a very short pink cotton cape backwards and had a large pink square of fabric covering most of my lower half.  I was basically naked.  I've been smelling his cologne all day long.


Well, that's it on my end.

Potty Training, Day One (Not for the Squeamish)

What I've learned today:

• The "five minutes off, five minutes on" method is too much.  I prefer the "10 minutes off, stay on a reasonable time" method.
• My daughter can be taught in three hours or less to stop what she's doing and head to the potty once the oven timer goes off.
• The pause function on the TV is a wonderful feature that helps keep a little girl from feeling rushed so she won't miss Abby's Flying Fairy School.
• You cannot leave poop on the floor with Maisy around.  I left it for 10 seconds while I got Mad to the potty, but it was still gone when I returned.  I almost vomited, but I was also kind of grateful I didn't have to clean it up all by myself.
• That little ladybug-shaped egg timer Mad loves?  Having it go off in the bathroom because you're trying to get her to stay on the seat for 2-3 minutes is NOT a good idea.  Causes a certain little girl to somehow jump off the potty with the seat adapter attached to her backside until she lands in your lap.  (So proud of her for getting back up there later!  She keeps saying, "No wadybug in the potty.  It's too woud in the potty.")
• The idea that you can simply dump poop from a diaper into the potty is freaking ridiculous, especially if your daughter pooped and then hopped and scooted all over her bed while not napping .
• Mad can only bend over and touch her toes for so long while Mama cleans that massive poo in the "you're not a baby, so you don't lay down for diaper changes" way.  And when she falls, she's probably going to land her poopy butt right on the hand that cleans her.
• Telling a child three weeks before you actually start a potty training method, "I'll give you a candy when you pee in the potty, two if you poop!" is bribery.  Bribery is bad. 
• There is nothing like the expressions of surprise and pride that come over Mad's face when she uses the potty.  (Maybe bribery is not so bad after all?)
• Mad fully comprehends the difference between wants and needs.  In between successful trips to the potty today she said, "I want... *looks away wistfully*... I need a candy."

It has been a triumphant day.  I've heard this method can work in three days (or that it can take weeks or even months!).  Wish us luck for tomorrow.

The Numbers, Time Warp, Poop, Vomit and Irritating People Day

So, yeah, a good day all around.


I am in a bind at work.  I have taken on a massive job to help spend money that must be spent in order to protect our grant.  But the job hasn't gone as smoothly as I'd figured and, effective Wednesday, I'll be down to four classes from the usual 18 because of summer schedules.  Those four classes, three of which are low producers, have now got two weeks to do as much of the remaining 45,000 pieces.  It ain't gonna happen.


To complicate things further, I've had one of those weeks with roadblock after roadblock.  For example, Margaret was sick on Wednesday, which never happens.  Nance was stuck schlepping boxes of completed work from schools in three cities to the employer.


Today I stopped at our office to pick up three small jobs that had been dropped off.  I can't lift the boxes, so I asked for help.  Should have been out of there in 10 minutes, max.  Half an hour later I called to see if maybe the facilities guy had forgotten about me.  Nope, he was just stuck dealing with an IT problem so the IT people don't have to come out.


I was so late getting out of there that I went straight to my chiropractic appointment.  I'm usually there for 10-15 minutes.  Today, naturally, I was there almost 45 minutes.  Because of the short schedules for some classes, it meant not being able to get to one of my schools where the big job is being done.


I picked up Madelyn later than I care to on a Friday afternoon.  About two minutes after traffic leading up to the Cajon Pass came to a complete halt, Corey called to say he needs to provide drinks for tonight's band event and can I have them there in half an hour.


Uh, no, but I will get them there.


I called Tom to ask where one could get cold 2-liters of soda.  He suggested checking a pizza place.  Mad and I stopped at Papa John's, where I noticed the distinct aroma of a dirty diaper... coming from my daughter, not the "restaurant."  Not much I could do right then, so we made the purchase and headed over to find Corey... who realized he had forgotten to bring appropriate clothes to school for the big event.  Oh, and call time was in three minutes.


The three of us headed home so Corey could locate his stuff and I could clean up Mad.  Just as we pulled into our neighborhood, Mad puked.  Repeatedly.  All over herself and her carseat.


Change of plans.  I sent Corey in to find what he needed before we raced back to school.


Corey had no idea what time the event would end, so I had him ask his teacher.  Her response?  "When it's over."


Really?  (This woman has driven me nuts all year with her similarly unhelpful and immature remarks to Corey, but I haven't addressed it because of his own behavior.  Sometimes I am compelled to act like an idiot around him, too.)


I have her cell phone number and called to get a better answer, but she didn't pick up.  So I pulled around to the band room, dragged my puke and poop covered daughter out of her nasty carseat and marched into the class, where I asked to speak with her privately.


I expressed, rather clearly, that I had sent Corey for an answer.  Because of the situation with my (smelly) daughter, I couldn't attend the event that night and I needed to arrange for someone to pick Corey up (Tom has trainings down the hill on Friday nights).  And, while I understood that she and Corey haven't gotten along all year, I didn't appreciate her lack of professionalism.


She, the woman who just last night was among the crowd of people laughing when Corey mentioned that his name is really Corcheval, not Corey, had the nerve to say that she and he have been getting along great this semester.


"That's your side, but that's not what I hear.  Now what time can I pick him up?"


She couldn't narrow down a specific time, but I did at least get a ballpark.  I called Tom and asked him to skip the training because I don't want to have to put Mad back into her carseat until I can clean it.


I brought Mad home, stripped her down, tossed her in the tub and flung her into bed.  Well, not quite like that, but she's clearly not feeling well and went to bed without dinner.  I wonder if she'll be up later?


Tom came in and we talked about our days.  Then he mentioned that he made plans for tennis on Sunday. 


Know what Sunday is?  The one day that I've asked him to leave for family things.  Like his birthday.


Calgon?  Anyone?