Entering the Terribleness

Dear Monkey,

Let me start off by asking, “WTF?” (and when you’re older, in case someone tells you that WTF is an acronym with a bad word in it, they’re lying. It means “What the flapjack?”) So, anyway. Monkey, WTF!?? Up until last week, you were so well behaved, had such a sunny disposition, and were so much fun to be around. Okay, so I may have my rose-colored glasses on; I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re a freakin’ handful too, but overall, happy! And well behaved! And lovely! And then? Then? Last Friday, you got back from your nana’s house and I asked if I could take your jacket off, and you were all shrill screaming, and arm-flinging, and your interpretation of foot stomping (although neither foot actually makes it off the ground and it sometimes results in you falling down), and fake tears like I have seen no other! And I was all, “Ummm, okay. If you really want to keep your jacket on, I mean, I guess that’s fine. And by the way, it’s nice to see you too.” And the evening continued in this way. Until we put you to bed and looked at each other and shrugged, and said, “It must be teething.” And then the next day. More of this. Like when you wanted some yogurt and I readily agreed and got out the container of yogurt you had started at breakfast. But you didn’t want THAT yogurt. You wanted the OTHER yogurt. The yogurt in the DRAWER. THAT HADN’T BEEN OPENED YET, AND THEREFORE WAS UNTAINTED BY YOUR GERMS. And I kept saying, “Monkey, I have your yogurt, it’s right here.” But you did not listen to reason. YOU WANTED THE OTHER YOGURT. And. you. did it. again. The arm flinging, and the shrill screaming, and the fake tears, and this time you actually did fall down. And your father and I had to turn away because we were laughing so hard and we don’t want you to think that we’re encouraging this type of unruly, inappropriate behavior. But let me just tell you, it is dang funny to watch your still mostly uncoordinated body try to throw the most massive fit that you possibly can muster. The screaming on the other hand. Not so funny.

Then, that night at dinner, a family dinner no less, at a restaurant, with your nana and grandpa and your uncles and your aunt, you refused to eat. I mean RE-FUSED. And you used to be such a FANTASTIC eater. You eat cucumbers and cherry tomatoes and other foods that kids older than you would NEVER eat. And we were offering you some of your FAVORITE foods. Like, chicken! And rice! And suddenly you were contorting your face, and throwing your head back, and slamming your mouth shut, and scrunching up your eyes, as if I was trying to force you to eat a live insect! I mean, where did you even learn to do that?? You didn’t even agree to eat after I let you use the adult-sized utensils, which honestly are just weapons at this point. Usually this works. But not that night. So fine. Don’t eat then.

It’s not like I didn’t expect this. I just didn’t see it coming. Overnight. Like a light switch. I mean, I did expect it because your pediatrician recommended a book about it at your 12-MONTH CHECK-UP. That should have been my first clue. Apparently, she, being far more experienced in these matters, could see that you already were exhibiting certain characteristics that some may say are “spirited.” That’s why I went out and got three books — THREE BOOKS — that would help me navigate this entry into the terribleness. In fact, the books, (“Making the Terrible Twos Terrific,” “The No-Cry Discipline Solution,” and “The Happiest Toddler on the Block,”) all three of which I have modestly started, warned me about it. While they all said that this could happen around 18 months, THEY DID NOT SAY that this would happen OVERNIGHT. WITH NO WARNING. WTF!!???

Monkey, I’m not ready! You didn’t give me enough time! I thought I would have more time! You’re only 17 months! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING! I haven’t finished any of the books!! You’re not old enough to reason with! And the situation is compounded by your limited ability to communicate. While I am unbelievably impressed with the 30 or so words that you can say, THAT LEAVES A LOT OF WORDS, MONKEY! And it seems that you’re most frustrated by my inability to understand what your dramatic pointing and stomping means. Have I mentioned that I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!??

Monkey, I should tell you that you totally redeem yourself when you kiss my knees and ask to kiss the baby belly. And one of the things I have picked up from the books is that when you’re having one of these colossal meltdowns you’re often frightened by your own reaction, and that I should hug you a lot. So, I’m giving you a lot of hugs, but I think I need to arm myself with more knowledge than that, because as great as hugs are, I don’t think hugs alone are going to get us through the next, oh 12 months.

(Sigh). I have a lot of reading to get done. Like right now.

Giggle Attack

Normally we’re all business when it comes to going into Monkey’s room after bedtime. Typical reasons for a visit include because she can’t find her Nuk, or she threw her lovey out of the crib. We don’t engage in any talking, or entertaining, or smiling. Certainly no laughing. We want to avoid sending the message that bedtime is fool around time. We simply go in, resolve the outstanding matter, give her a pat, lay her down and walk out.

We’re actually kind of fanatical about her sleeping habits because she wasn’t a great napper when she was first born — like I could set an oven timer for 22 minutes and she would be up — when she was two weeks old! I was going out of my mind with exhaustion. The kid just NEVER wanted to sleep (unless of course I was holding her). I was determined to amend this situation and whole-heartedly gave myself over to The No Cry Sleep Solution by Elizabeth Pantley, which has tips for napping and nighttime sleep. My cousin recommended the book after having great success with it. By the time Monkey was four months old, her napping and nighttime sleep had gotten into really good rhythms. And by the time she was seven months, old she was sleeping 10 hours straight!

I feel somewhat validated by my strict adherence to sleep policies given an article this week from CNN that talks about how enforcing bedtimes, especially early ones, improves kids’ health. It also reiterates my two key take aways from The No Cry Sleep Solution – toddlers between the ages of 1 and 3 needs 12-14 hours of sleep (that’s A LOT!), and well-meaning parents mistakenly believe that keeping their babies/toddlers up later will help them sleep later and/or better, when actually it backfires and overtired kids take longer to fall asleep and wake more frequently at night. A lot of my friends make fun of me for putting Monkey to bed between 7 and 7:30 p.m., but she sleeps until 7 a.m.! And she still takes one two-hour nap a day!

Anyway, last night after Monkey had been in bed, asleep for about an hour, we heard a loud clunk. My husband turned to me and said “I think she just hit her head.” Loud crying ensued. The crying where you know it’s for real and not just a fake attempt to get attention. We both ran in there and she was sitting up, crying, in a somewhat daze. I crouched down next to her crib and whispered, “Are you okay?” and smiled at her. She stopped crying and smiled back. Then I giggled. Probably because we don’t normally interact with her when we have to go in her room after bedtime. Then she giggled. It was one of those slaphappy, half-awake giggles. And it was so funny! So I started giggling more because of the way she giggled back. Before you knew it, we were both consumed in a full-on giggle attack! And her laughter made me laugh harder. Pretty soon my husband was laughing too. We all just sat there in the glow of her fish tank soother, LAUGHING. I was laughing so hard I was crying. Then she really got revved up and started jumping up and down in her bed laughing. And then she got the hiccups. From all of the laughing. I finally composed myself, managed to squeak out a “night night,” and left the room. Only to break out into the giggles again. I probably had a smile on my face for three hours afterward. Why? Because it reminded me of some of my favorite moments with my two best girl friends. The ones where whatever it was that was funny in the first place, isn’t even why you’re laughing anymore. You’re laughing because the other person is laughing. Until you’re all laughing so hard that you can’t even breathe, or see, and you have throbbing “laughing” pains in your head from the force of all your laughter. I think this goes down as one of my favorite simple moments with Monkey. I am so looking forward to more silly moments with my daughter.

Ordinary Vacation

So my vacation hiatus is over. It should have been over last week, the week we got back, but it took me a while to get back to the blog. Mostly because I didn’t have some hilariously embarrassing story about something Monkey did at an inconvenient time. I mean, there was the typical restaurant meltdown, which consisted of Monkey throwing the menu, trying to throw the salt and pepper shaker, ripping off her bib, throwing food everywhere and screaming. LOUDLY. Actually, that happened more than once. But, as young toddlerhood goes, that’s pretty standard fare. Before the vacation, I also thought that perhaps I would get tired of constantly conforming MY vacation around her every whim and desire, and maybe, just a teensy bit, wish she wasn’t with us. But actually — it didn’t happen. I think there was maybe one hour, during the fifth trip to the beach, that I wished it could just be my husband and me. Alone. Relaxing. Laying in the sand. And reading. And then going in for a swim. Instead of one of us manning the beach so that Monkey didn’t hijack everyone else’s toys, and the other standing 1.5 feet into the water so that she didn’t trip and drown, while Monkey ran back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. A trip to the beach definitely isn’t what it used to be.

But honestly, aside from that one hour — I didn’t get tired of spending that much time with her. Or not really getting to do what I would have chosen, sans a child. And we really didn’t “do” much. Park. Nap. Beach. Ice cream. And it was FUN. I mean, watching her face light up and her body wiggle with sheer joy when we asked “Do you want to go to the beach?” It was like the highlight of my day. The equivalent to someone asking me, “Do you want to meet Keith Urban?” Like, “OMG, that is THE MOST INCREDIBLE THING TO HAPPEN TO ME IN MY ENTIRE LIFETIME,” instead of something we’ve been doing for the past four days. In fact, I had so much fun with her that after the vacation was over I was hit with that all-too familiar post-vacation depression. Toss in the pregnancy hormones and voila! I was back to the crying and despair I felt when I first went back to work after she was born. And I still miss her.

What I’m struck by is how different those vacation days were to the one day a week that I spend with Monkey when I’m not working. When we don’t have something planned, those days don’t seem all that fun. And I wail to my husband, “It’s just not as much fun as I thought it would be.” Sometimes those days just feel so bogged down in the mundane. And I think I realized the difference. I spend so much time looking forward to that one day where I get to spend all day with her, that I think it needs to be really “special.” And I get disappointed if we don’t do something out of the ordinary. And what I realized is that it doesn’t take something extraordinary for Monkey. It’s just the park, or being outside, or having a Popsicle. And letting go of MY idea of what the day “should” be; just like on vacation. Throw in a visit to my Grandma, or lunch with a friend, or maybe an ill-advised trip to story time at the library — and that’s the icing. From now on, I’m going to concentrate on embracing the ordinary. Because honestly, I just can’t believe how fast this is going. And oooh, there go those hormones.