A Toddler Turns Two

If our post about "swamp monster-esque poo" didn't gross you out, chances are this post won't either... but you never know. This is a mother's recount of some of the highlights, low lights, and sepia tones of the last couple of years leading up to our son's second birthday because, really... every mother and father of a toddler need a recap.Or twelve. Sorry for the thing we missed... blame it on SpongeBob.

Day One

• It feels like just yesterday that I was waking up at 2:00 a.m. with the worst cramping sensation I had ever felt, followed by 6 hours of pacing the living room feeling like insides were using a battering ram on my girl-parts. That, apparently, is the "Joy of Labor!!!!!" that every about-to-be-mother has to look forward to... and something not adequately described in the one all-day birthing class Man-Mate and I took.
•  I remember the intense satisfaction upon hearing "Oh, wow... you're 5 centimeters dilated already. You're getting admitted..." from the triage nurse at the hospital. After two weeks of false labor, you had better believe I wasn't leaving, not without an epidural sticking out of my back. 
• I remember the intense fear and shock at seeing Dr. Herman, or, "He Who Shall Not Be Allowed To Practice Medicine Anywhere Near Me" in the hallway while the nurse wheeled me along to my room, praying that he wasn't the doctor on call for the day. 
• At some point, the anesthesiologist came in and worked his magic... leaving me pain free in just under 20 minutes. Then, about two hours later, my blood pressure dropped to around 65/40, and I started thinking that I was in Russia. Never been to Russia. Scary time.
• During this entire time, Mr. Baby kept squirming away from the belly monitor. We'd be hearing the steady wub-wub-wub of his heart and, then, "BEEEEEEEEEEP!!!! BEEEEEEEEEEP!!!!", which would bring a nurse or two at a run. They hooked our little man up to a scalp monitor (which he promptly twisted his way out of), then threw in the "You might want to consider a c-section" bomb.
• After 6 minutes of pushing, with the help of a vacuum and Dr. Jolly unwrapping the umbilical cord from around our Squishy's neck, our Sweet Boy was born at 8:51 p.m., to an audience of Mama, Dada, Granny, Dr. Jolly, and the entire Neonatal Intensive Care Unit of Valley Medical Center. 
• He still likes to make an entrance, the little Goober.

Days Two through How The Heck Should I Know?

• It was on the second day of his existence that Man-Mate and I could ignore it no longer; our son looked more like one of the aliens from "Mars Attacks!" than either one of us, or any possible human ancestor. 
• We had a steady stream of visitors that second day, and I was practicing all the self-control in the world when I let anyone other than, say, ME, hold my precious Li'l Bug/Li'l Buggie... which was, in fact, the first nickname I ever gave him. It's still the one I use when he's sick or sad or extra cuddly.
• Unfortunately, time from then on out is a blur. Literally. Have you ever tried to focus on the trees whipping by your car window when you're going about 60 miles per hour? Well, hopefully you weren't the one manning the vehicle, but you get my point; it's impossible. I could say that it was all a blur because I was so in love with our Bundle o' Joy... or even that it was due to New Parent Sleep Disorder... but, no. I had the worst postpartum experience ever. 
• My thyroid, which had been on the low side of 'wonky' for years, decided to sky rocket after giving birth. Having no clue this would happen (or had happened), I continued to take my thyroid supplement at the high dose I was on. Guess what happens when your body gets too my thyroid hormone? You go crazy, that's what. Couple that with your body already having to adjust to fluctuating hormone levels after giving birth and, well, let's just say that Girly lost 37 lbs in 2 weeks, couldn't be left alone for any period of time, and thought the world was, quite literally, crushing her into the ground whenever she held her son. It was the most horrible time of my life, when it should have been the best. 
• Now you see why everything sped by so quickly...!
• Around his 3-month mark, I came back to the Land of the Sane... and started noticing some adorable, endearing, and heart-stoppingly wonderful things about our Boy, and have been in love ever since.

Days _____ through One Year

• He cooed, he laughed, he farted, he smiled, he drooled, he peed, he snuggled, he nursed, he pooped, he clapped, he rolled, he spewed, he stabilized, he stood, he crawled, he scooted, he cried, he tantrum-ed, he hiccuped, he ate, he gummed, he walked, he signed.
• We cooed, we laughed, we farted, we smiled, we drooled, we peed, we snuggled, we nursed (him), we pooped, we clapped, we rolled, we spewed, we stabilized, we stood, we crawled, we scooted, we cried, we tantrum-ed, we hiccuped, we ate, we gummed, we walked, we signed.
• Right before he turned one, Man-Mate and I took him to visit my Grandfather near Orlando, Florida... over the course of a weekend. Never, ever again will we attempt taking an 11 month-old on 4 flights in under 48 hours... no matter how well-behaved said 11 month-old is.

Days One Year through Two Years

• From words to short sentences, from walking to running, from eating to inhaling... the kid is a force of nature. We've lost track (but not really, thanks a certain Mother-of-the-Squish who is obsessed with documentation of Life Events) of how many things our little Dookie-Doo has done that has made us stop and go, "Whoa". Very Keanu, and very appropriate. Here's our attempt at putting some of them down to paper, er, cyberpaper:
• This was the year of "Chowder", the year of "SpongeBob", of knocking on doors, giving kisses and hugs both on demand and freely, of climbing stairs, discovering slides, building towers, getting haircuts, visiting the dentist, learning names and roles, discovering Chicken McNuggets, learning how to be gentle, throwing a ball, taking off coats and shoes, swimming in one (and only one) pool, seeing hydroplanes, and doodling on tables. 
• Words under his belt now include: 
• Please, thank you, mine, no, up, down, Mama, Dada, this, why, what, SpongeBob, Chowder, uh-oh, wow-wow (car), dog, guy, lady, baby, bus, choo-choo, away, move, bye, nigh-night, me, ball, book, applesauce, juice, spoon, cracker, cookie, num-num, Bobo (his monkey), hot, brr, around-around, more, water, boat, dirt, shoes, socks, stop, vroom, roar, weeeeee, airplane, and nine.
• These are just the words he can say on his own... not counting the ones that he seems to know, but is unable - or unwilling - to try out.

I used to hate it when parents would ramble on and on, listing the accomplishments of their children (toddlers especially), as if it were some great race that had to be blabbed about to every (un)willing ear.

I used to swear, over and over, that I would just let my child be a child and experience life on his or her own terms, without feeling pressure from me to perform to a certain level.

Part of that still holds true; I still want our Little Man to grow at a healthy, happy pace where he feels comfortable, loved, and valued just as he is... but I've also matured enough as a Mommy to get where those other parents are coming from. 

If we don't share, in some way (whether verbally, written, or ____) with other, comprehending adults what our child has grown into, how else are we to remember it?
Our best reminders aren't the little sticky notes that we leave, scattered all over our homes, cars, purses, and bottoms of those gym shoes we swear we're going to use sometime in the next millennium; they're other parents, sharing their stories, which trigger the most fond, warm memories of our own Bundles o' Joy doing the same exact thing.

Happy Birthday, my Li'l Buggie... I love you forevers and evers, now and always, near and far.

So... about that "reading" thing, kid...

Oh, Bruiser-Bear.

There are times when all he wants to do is sit in our laps, snuggle, and read "Hop on Pop", "Mike Mulligan and the Steam Shovel", or "Ten Apples Up On Top"... and then that brief moment passes, and it's back to "Bunbamb? Bunbamb?"

If I never see another episode of SpongeBob, it will still be too soon. Even armed with this vehement belief, I was still in for more of a shock this weekend.

After spending some time at a friend's house for a playdate, I had one of those "Mommy a-HA!" moments where the earth slows down, things become clear, and the guilt of thousands upon thousands of moms everywhere come crashing down upon my very soul:
Our son will not learn to read just by sitting on our laps during some (increasingly sporadic) story times. Actual effort will need to be put into this feat.

Me? I'm okay with that.
Man-Mate? I'm fairly certain he shed a tear (or twelve) when I said that SpongeBob has got to be severely reduced.

Luckily, our friend showed us this amazing website that she had just started showing to her son - StarFall.com. There's a section entirely devoted to the alphabet, and learning it phonetically... something that I could feasibly see myself doing with our little Dookie Doo! (See picture) My friend's son, a month younger than ours, was already pointing at the letters of the alphabet, saying what they were, and really getting it!

Anyway, this moment of Mom-Terror was fairly short lived. As with anything, both Man-Mate and I feel that it's best to have things in moderation. Yes, it's okay if the Little Dictator watches SpongeBob... but not nearly as much as he had been before. Yes, it's okay that he's not reading Dickens or Shakespeare at 22 months... but he's going to start prepping for it...!

Oh, the joys.

Popsicles... how I love you.

There are three things in this world that are sure-fire "Tantrum Busters".
Am I proud of employing them, instead of sticking to my guns and riding out Bruiser's reign of terror? No.
Will I continue to use them as I see fit - and implore Man Mate to do so as well - as a method of preserving our (rapidly depleting) sanity? You'd better believe it.

1. SpongeBob SquarePants
How can one animated, yellow sponge bring a toddler so much joy? How can our sweet Dookie-Doo sit for hours (yes... I've let him on occasion, ok??) smiling and clapping along to the same theme song over and over again? How can Man Mate and I stand to watch another episode, knowing that it will be full of the shrill, "Bwaaaaaaahaaaahaaahaaahaa!!"?
I'll tell you how: Bubba loves it.
Whether he's tired, sick, or needing a distraction while I finish making dinner, SpongeBob has become his favorite pal. I would feel guiltier than I do, but he is already phasing him out in favor of his books... so, really, nothing to beat myself up over.

2. The Unexpected Tickle-fest
"What's that, Little Dictator? You're mad at me because I won't let you touch the insanely hot stove, and want to show me your anger through the medium of a tantrum? How about... TICKLES TO YOUR TUMMY!" He can be in the middle of telling us off (as demonstrated by pointing to the offending party and saying "No", before doing his best umpire impression, saying "bye-bye", scowling, and hitching his thumb out to the side)... and all we have to do is aim our wiggling fingers at his neck, armpits, ribs, or waist, and the kid turns into a giggling mass of hilarity. Stove? What stove?

3. Popsicles
Cherry, strawberry, grape, lime, orange... our kid eats 'em all. A recent discovery at our household, popsicles have become as much a part of his nightly routine as his 7:00 p.m. tubby-time. (P.S. - Any other mommies wish THEY could have a regularly schedule tubby-time?) What started as a means to get more fluid into our son during his last bout of sickness quickly turned into Squishy's most loved time of the day. Since we are trying, however, to limit anything containing sugar after he brushes his teeth during tubby-time, Graddy bought him some sugar-free popsicles so that the joy may continue. Granted, Bruiser does look at the sugar-free popsicles like he knows something's different - again, genius - but down the hole it goes, regardless... well, after a brief stint as a paintbrush (he just has to decorate his pajamas in swipes of bright, sticky red) or microphone.

Out of all of the Little Dictator's vices, I'm still pro-tickle. Let's see how he is in his teens...

The Swamp Monster ate my baby!

Or, rather, it ate something and left the remnants of the poor creature in my son's diaper. Repeatedly. And with gusto.

Turns out, daycare isn't the best place to take a child when you want him/her to remain healthy. Go figure, huh? I know that, in the long run, our Little Dictator will have the immunities of a staunchly hardcore Tea Party supporter (i.e. nothing will ever get to (or through to) him) but, until that magical day, our son seems to attract illness like Hot Topic attracts the perpetually emo. Ok, so it isn't as bad now as it was when he first started going to daycare - ear infections every month, diaper rashes that looked like he sat in red paint - but I still feel for the little guy.

Right now, he's just starting to get over a nice round o' Puke & Poop. This current ailment has him pooping what seems to be yellow, watered-down cottage cheese that smells even better than that sounds... and puking when he eats half of his normal amount of anything.
A handful of pretzel Goldfish crackers? Just fine.
Add a half-cup of applesauce? Mount Vesuvius has NOTHING on my son.
It's rare when I can stay home with the little Squish-nugget, but I was able to do so yesterday and take him to the doctor for a quick, panicked, "WHYYYYYY?????"-fest. An hour and a half later, we walked out with an anit-nausea prescription and advice to keep him away from all dairy except for hard, yellow cheeses.

Um... his favorite food is yogurt, and he has been asking for it non-stop. This will not bode well, Doc.  

The real kicker? Night time.
When sick, Bruiser doesn't like to be in his crib... far from his dear Mommy and Daddy, no... he likes to be **thisclose** and snuggle, cuddle, and flip-flop the night away. Unfortunately (for said Mommy and Daddy), he has now added a strange whine-cry-sniffle combination (hereunto known as "The Whicryniffle") to his flipping and flopping. Two nights ago, I believe this lasted for roughly two hours. Two hours in which I repeatedly tried contacting any deity that was awake at the un-deity-like-hour of 2:00 a.m. and promise them eternal fealty if they would just calm down my poor son.

If this is a foreshadow of what he'll be like when he gets sick as an adult, well, may God have mercy on his poor wife's soul. I'll be sure to bring her ear plugs.