Potty training: Adventures in wee puddles

The changing table sits in the corner of the living room - an overflowing, all-purpose trap for all things diaper and cleaning related.  Wipes, towels, clothing changes and random bits of baby equipment fill its shelves.  It was a life saver in the early days, but is beginning to out live its nesessitiy. And it's charm.  

Ethan has been able to request nappy changes when needed for a few months and has even taken to climbing to the top the changing table on his own.   We can all tell it's time for the next stage.  

We bought the potty, made a big thing about how cool it was, but he could smell us out.  You could almost see his little cogs turning, thinking, 'So now you want me to do something new, do you? Well, we'll see.'  Ethan has never been one to do things in demand.  It's all on his schedule.  There was a long period where we knew he could walk, he knew he could walk, but he just didn't want to, almost as response to our wide-eyed, you-can-do-it encouragement.   But in the end, he did it when he was ready.  Not a moment sooner.

And the same seems to be unfolding with potty training.  Every attempt to talk about the potty has been met with a sort of 'Yeah, whatever!' as he trundles off towards something else.  But I know the key to all attention - M&Ms! So we made a big deal of it - going to buy the big boy pants, placing the M&Ms in sight but out of reach like a colourful, enticing temptation.   We put a his favourite shows on the iPad, whipped that nappy off and waited.  

We waited for 2 hours.  He drank juice.  He drank milk.  He sat on the potty intermittently, but preferred to roll his full bladder around on the sofa and other soft furnishings.  Turns out, that boy can hold it.  Finally, the smallest trickle of wee made it into the potty, and at a time when he just happened to be perching on it.  Hurray!  Lots of M&Ms and snuggles!  I put his new tiger-print big boy undies on him and said that if he had to do another wee, we could use the potty instead of a nappy.  He nodded, but looked a little stunned.

I went to the kitchen for a moment, feeling like super mom, but I had no idea a little guy could have such a massive bladder.  As I returned to the living room, he was awkwardly trying to sit back on the potty, as he peed with full hurricane force through his new tiger pants.  Still I was proud of him aiming for the potty, so even more M&Ms which he stuffed in as fast he could.  

Still fairly pleased, I set about mopping up the wee puddles.  Wondering what kind of cleaner one uses for these things and if they make a special one for potty training, like the cleaners for dog messes.  But the seal had been broken, and I was only in the eye of the wee hurricane. He sat himself on the floor - in another pair of new dry pants - and an even larger puddle starts to spread from under him.  I must say, I really underestimated the amount of wee those nappies must hold.  I used up almost a whole roll of kitchen towels!

But we are off to a start.  We revisit the potty most days and expect he will just decide when he's ready to make the change.  Even the M&Ms don't fool him, he's on to us and our tactics.  In the meantime, I'm enjoying the last bit of babyhood before we pack that changing table away and reclaim the living room.  Truth is, I don't know whether to smile or cry.

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Transatlantic Two Year Old

I'm a good long haul flyer.  I can fall asleep before take off, stay hydrated and turn up feeling ready for anything.  Now that I am a mommy, everything is naturally more complicated.  And it is not a question of whether I'm good at it, but how well I can manage the embodiment of hurricane force tantrums at 30,000 feet.

 

 

Ethan and I are now in the states, visiting my parents and I am amazed to say that I have survived a solo transatlantic flight with a two year old.  My husband couldn't make it with us, but we decided it would still be a good time for Ethan to see his grandparents.

In the days leading up to the flight, I panicked a little.  On an everyday shopping trip on a hot day before the flight, I gave Ethan an ice cream.  He didn't eat it, just held it, until it melted all over his hands and dripped down his legs.  I took it away, and he threw a massive tantrum complete with flailing arms smacking my face and full body convulsions.  He seemed to want to chuck himself headfirst onto the ground.  As people stared, I held back my impulse to blurt out, 'Just eat the damn ice cream!'

Ethan was deaf to anything I had to say, anyways.  Many tears later and covered in sticky melted ice cream juice, I thought, 'how am I ever going to manage this flight alone?'

That evening, I told Thom that I was worried.  His advice -Man up.  And after being a bit miffed about it, I decided he was right.  I am the mom. I'm not going to be pushed around by the two year old in tantrum mode.   In fact, if I wanted to make sure he didn't actually crack his head open mid-tantrum, I needed to wo-Man up!

I had many more carry on's than I would in the old days - filled  with snacks, toys, extra clothes and kilos of nappies and baby wipes.  I felt like a commando approaching a potentially deadly mission.  The day started before the sun came up and tiredness alone could have turned my little cherub into a screaming banshee in a moment.  I had to be sharp and ready to improvise.  Being soft would not do.

As soon as we waved goodbye to dad, I took a deep breath, got down to look Ethan in the eyes and said, 'Now, I want you to be good and listen to mama. We are going on the plane.' He nodded, maybe a little surprised, but did exactly that, even to the point of letting the security people frisk him (we set off the metal detector) and holding his baby-chino very carefully with two hands as we waited at Starbucks for our gate to be announced. 

I was impressed by what I could see.  He was a pretty switched on, grown up boy in the seat next to me.  But he is a two year old after all, and probably entitled to his fair share of tantrums.  The funniest ones, in hindsight, were after looking out the window as the plane took off, saying 'done' and that he wanted to go in the car now.  He was not pleased that we had to stay where we were for what is an eternity in two year old time.  And also in those seemingly endless minutes when the pilot demands everyone stay seated with seatbelts on after landing, Ethan yelled 'Go? 1, 2, 3...Go!'  And then when it was time to leave the plane, he decided he wanted to stay and fell to the floor at the exit screaming that he wanted to stay on the plane, as all the other weary passengers were piling up behind us. 

It wasn't all about being tough, though I learned.  It is also about a good dose of keeping him engaged when he's bored and relaxed when he's upset.  Finding ways to have fun when you're cramped into two small seats for 9 hours takes creativity and lots of energy.  So different from my long haul sleeps of my pre-child life.   Finding  and enjoying the sweetness in him was essential. Things like when he yelled, 'Weeee!' after some bumpy turbulence and yelling 'Crash!' just before the landing.  Gotta love that funny child outlook!

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What in the heck is 'Gammato', Part 2

I think I will be sad when Ethan talks in the same language as us and leaves his own little expressions behind.  In his first few months he used make a little chirping squirrel sound, now gone.  Then it was endless 'da-da', then 'uh-oh', now also changed and used in only appropriate times, like when he sees dad or spills something, rather than the constantly repeated syllables they once were.   In a strange way it seems to suddenly hit me that he is far from that little baby he once was.

He understands more of us than we do of him these days.  I say, 'Don't touch that!' or 'Wait for me, please.' or 'Be patient, just a minute.' and he knows what I mean.  I think the words he has picked up tell us a little something about what ignites his young imagination.  Cars, colours, numbers, cooking utensils, dirt - are all things he has words for.  Numbers especially get him very excited.  So much so, that we have to limit the times of day he can watch one of favourite kids shows, the NumberJacks. 

They are like little number-shaped superheros that live a sofa and come out to help kids solve counting and maths related problems.  Sounds innocent enough, but it sets him off.  He is so excited by it that if he sees it too late in the day, bath time becomes a real battle and he jumps around in bed for a while before finally going to sleep. But he loves it, so now and again we give in.

The other day the Number Jacks were helping to solve a problem where people were counting wrong.  Ethan was chiming along, repeating his favourite numbers.  'Five! Eight! Twenty-nine!'  The went to a bakery and a woman was piling endless cream filled cakes and buns onto a tray. 

'Gammato!' Ethan yelled out.  Thom and I looked at each other, puzzled.  What is this Gammato?  Is it a cake instead of a tomato?  I asked Ethan, what is a gammato? 

'Yes', he answered , matter of factly.  We are none the wiser.  But it makes me a little sad that one day he will be able to tell us exactly what he means and Gammto will be gone.  

What in the heck is 'Gamato'?

Thom is rushing Ethan around the grocery store the other day.  As he scurries down the aisles, Ethan is pointing his little finger everywhere, exclaiming, 'Dinosaur.  Rawr!'

Thom couldn't see any dinosaurs, and after a while asked, 'Where?'

Ethan turned his finger around to reveal a tiny dinosaur sticker on the end of his pointer.

And so it goes, as the little man soaks up language like sponge and then surprise us with it later.  He still has a language all his own, and it frustrates him when we don't get it.

For several weeks, he would turn to us and say, 'Gamato' with such certainty and be wildly upset when we couldn't figure out what it was.  At first we offered tomato, but that wasn't it.  It reached the height of desperation one evening with Thom peering into the fridge with Ethan on his hip, pointing to various food items to find out what was Gamato.  Every item got a big 'No!' from Ethan.

We would spend evenings stewing on it.  Discussing it and mulling it over into the night.

Finally, the other day we BBQed and I was cutting up a tomato to add to dinner.  Ethan pipes up: 'Gamato!'  Our jaws drop.  We only offered him tomato about 300 times when he'd pleaded for Gamato before.

I held one up to him.  'Is this Gamato?'

'Yes', he stated matter a factly, reaching for it.  We sat down to dinner.  And you know, he didn't eat a single one.

Two years on....

My baby is grown.  He is a little boy.  Running,  chatting,  sprouting an ever bigger personality.  It’s a wonderful time, but my mind has not caught up.  I still see him as my little cuddly bundle.  It's only when I see 6 month-olds that I realise how far away we are from baby-hood.  He can still be my sweet baby, crawling up into my lap for snuggles from mom at those times when he needs a little recharge.  The he's up and off, going about his grown up business.

As I look back, I've learned a lot.  Also, I can't think of what life is about, if not this little family that we have.  What did I ever do before?  I wonder even, what was important to me before? It's like looking back into another existence, another lifetime.  I've learned about children, obviously, but I've learned more about people, life, relationships and myself.  

Seeing this tender life come up, I'm constantly reminded that the most important thing - the only important thing! -  in life is love.  How much time I wasted worrying about the pregnancy, how to feed him, what stuff we would provide him.  Now that I have had a chance to get to know him, to see what a child really needs, I worry less about the periphery stuff.  I want to give him whatever he wants, if I can.  But I know the most valuable thing I can give is love.  Whatever life has dealt us and whatever it will bring, love is what he will measure his life by.

And two years on, Noah is still in my heart.  I feel like I want to share that I still cry, almost daily.  Sometimes just a silent tear or two whenever his memory feels near to me.  I don't fight it.  I see it as part of my special role as his mother.  I will cry for him forever, missing him with every fibre of my body, like a pain.  I possibly miss him more as I see Ethan's personality grow.  I wonder.   I 'what if'.  I get angry.  I cry for his pain.   But that's the role I accept out of the love I have for him. 

Yesterday, after some celebrations, presents and cake, Thom and I found a quiet moment to light a candle and think about that day two years ago.  Two years ago, when we met our two little boys.  We just sat in the silence, watching the candle flame flicker, holding hands and letting the joy and sadness sweep through us for a while.  Wishing it could have been different and yet thankful.  Complete in happiness and broken in painful grief.  Two years on, and it amazes me how there can be two such different feelings at the same time; how I can hold such sadness and such joy.