Your Ego Has Left the Building

A conversation from the other day:

P: (Scowling)

Me: What’s wrong, baby?

P: Mommy! No like that green shirt. (Shakes her head for emphasis)

Me: (Pointing to my green tank top) This one? Really? Well, Mommy loves this shirt. (Its tent-like qualities are not to be underestimated, I think to myself.)

P: NO LIKE IT! Take it OFF! Take it off the green shirt! (She tries to pull my shirt up over my head)

Me: Mommy likes it, so Mommy is wearing it!

I pull the hem of my shirt back down. A few minutes pass.

P: Mommy?

Me: Yes?

P: Where’s Mommy’s blue shirt? Like the BLUE SHIRT! CHANGE IT!


I bring this up not because it’s confirmed what I’ve long suspected—I’m not fooling anyone with the “tunic” style tops I favor these days—but to illustrate for you the recent diva-ish mood that has settled over our household.

It all began about four weeks ago with the start of potty training, which was going great. I couldn’t believe my luck that she seemed to totally get it after only three days of accidents. So advanced, I thought, as visions of a teenaged P delivering her valedictorian speech in a cap and gown, an adult P in a lab coat surrounded by other lab coated-colleagues furiously taking notes, an elderly P accepting a medal at the Karolinska Institute scrolled through my mind like one of those old time-y slideshow dioramas. I couldn’t understand what all the potty training fuss was about; it had only taken me three days and a handful of M&Ms. I guess it’s just that easy when you have a great kid, I thought. (So smug!)

Then one lovely morning about a week later, P decided that this toilet thing, it’s not for her. She would rather use the floor, thankyouverymuch. There was no amount of coaxing or M&M pushing I could do to get her back on that little singing potty. As my frustration grew with the situation, so did hers (see previous post).

So I backed off. Out of ideas and chocolate, I did something I thought I’d never do. I asked her what she wanted, for once:

Me: Do you want to wear your diaper today?

P: DIAPER!

Me: Got it. Diaper. Okay, let’s put your shorts on.

P: NO! No shorts! NO CLOTHES!!!

This newfound power, of course, led to her objection to everything, not excluding other people's wardrobe or hairstyle choices. Even the things she used to gladly participate in were suddenly abhorrent to her: bath time, lunch, listening to music. Her new favorite word became “NO!” and it was rarely delivered at an “indoor voices” volume. It took me a few days to figure out the trick was to give her options, let her make some of the decisions, allow her some responsibility of her own. The good news is, it seems to be working. Something as small as picking which color sippy she drinks her juice from each morning or letting her choose her hair clips goes a long way.

As strange as it sounds, I had been so used to making all her decisions for her, I'd forgotten that she’s an actual person with her own set of opinions and frustrations. This happens every couple of months: just when we think we’ve got it all down pat, she approaches a developmental milestone, and without fail, we’re stunned that she’s changed, that our little routine needs tweaking, if not a complete overhaul. It's both gratifying and humbling to realize that sometimes she is the teacher and we are the students.

I suppose all of this is our initiation into the unfairly named Terrible Twos. I can’t predict how it will go, but I can say that this little girl has inspired me to be more present and tuned in than I ever have been. And that doesn’t seem so terrible to me.

Can't Trust That Day

Ah, Mondays. There is something abysmally quiet about summer Mondays. I think it’s because traffic is lighter on these mornings, confirming my suspicions that everyone is still on vacation except for me. Even Trader Joe’s is deserted, which is really my only comfort in these joyless early hours; I have my pick of spaces and don’t have to park on the “Slope of Death,” as my bagger called it this morning, trying to unload my bags with one hand while the other is gripping a downhill-heading wonky cart, to say nothing of the “energetic” two year trying to climb out of it.

Actually, today wasn’t such a rough start to the week. I finally got to chat with my sister Casey who delivered a healthy baby boy, Vincent, on Saturday morning. She and her husband Rob got to take him home today, and when I called, Vincent was taking his very first nap in his new crib. I’m so jealous that everyone in my family has already held him and given him little pet names of their own (which, if you know my family, always lean toward the ridiculous. Some samples of our childhood nicknames: “Bean Bomb,” “Dr. Jones Bones,” and “Prunis”). So I am making due with the dozen or so “first” pictures that are posted on Facebook until I can see him in person sometime in the coming months. From what I can tell, he is perfectly adorable and his dark hair and round head reminds me of a jumbo olive, which, naturally, makes me want to call him “Vince Martini.” (Dibs!)

Aside from that today was just one of those days I powered through my To Do list, thanks in part to our babysitter who took Penelope to the park for a few hours. We finally found some furniture for our back patio project which I picked up today, (“After” pictures coming as soon as our bench cushions are done.), I caught up with all of my laundry, emails, phone calls and thank you notes, and cooked homemade organic mac and cheese with hidden broccoli, for P’s dinner. Unfortunately the broccoli wasn’t hidden well enough, but I felt good about what she did manage to eat before she realized it was whole wheat pasta.

We also made the tiniest headway on potty training today. We started P on a toddler potty about three weeks ago. Everything was going so well the first week and then out of the blue she decided to reject it altogether. I have been warned about this by just about every single person I know, but I can’t explain how stressful it is to have a setback like this. After going cold turkey, I finally had to take a break for a few days after realizing how frustrated P was with her accidents. I hate to admit it, but I think she had picked up on my frustration with the whole process and our panic inducing Labor Day deadline (imposed by the preschool she got accepted into—more on that at a later date). Anyway, my new strategy is to be nonchalant about it--no more over-the-top praise, M&M overloads and singing potties. She was taking it way too seriously (hmm, sounds familiar…) so we are dialing it down to the “Oh, that thing? That’s just a potty. Why do you ask?” strategy. And if that goes well, I will introduce the much-lauded Potty Watch. Anyway, today she did finally have a seat on her training potty on her own. Nothing happened but afterwards she went through the motions of wiping, washing and drying hands. Doesn’t sound like much but it’s more than I can say for what’s been happening here over the last week. It gives me the tiniest glimmer of hope that someday soon my house will stop feeling like a barnyard and I can go barefoot once again.

xoxo