No matter what you say, it's a shitty job.

When you become a mother, there are hundreds of things that no one warned you about.  The bleeding nipples, the constant worrying, how you can both love and want to strangle your child at the same time.  For me, ALL OF MOTHERHOOD was a shock because I never really paid attention when people with kids talked before. 

But the thing that I am finding the most surprising, or perhaps the most difficult to deal with is that it has made very clear exactly what my mother did right.  Lately though, it is becoming more and more obvious what she did wrong.  Not that I didn't already go through therapy for a hundred years and deal with all my Mommy blame issues.  Up until recently, I really thought I had forgiven her.  I had decided that I was going to just use what I knew to not make the same mistakes with my child.   And I do a really good job of providing Lila with structure where I had none.

There are plenty of things that I already knew about my mother.  My mother (just like I do) suffered from a debilitating depression through most of my childhood.  Because of this, she had little patience for my greedy desire for attention and would disappear at night to see her friends to be someone else for a few hours and forget her problems.  The depression also made it hard for her to commit me to anything.  No instrument lessons or dance or extra-curricular activities because committing me meant a commitment for her. I also know that she never pushed me, never gave me chores, never taught me to sat goals, never gave me boundaries.  I always just slid by.  I was smart.  I was pretty.  I was a kid and didn't know that I was lacking life skills because I was always able to talk myself out of any setback. 

As a mother suffering from depression, I often find that I am too overwhelmed or exhausted to hear another whiny plea for a toy.  I desperately want to just give in and let Lila watch TV all day and eat whatever the hell she wants because it is REALLY FUCKING HARD to sit there any listen to her cry when I ask her to do the things she needs to do.  But I don't.  Because my job as a parent doesn't allow me to.  And as much as I want to take a handful of Xanax and walk away sometimes, I CAN'T.  I understand the avoidance and withdrawal that my mother needed in order to preserve what little energy her illness left her with each day.  I understand how much easier it would be to just decide I don't really care and just give in.  It is easier to see your child happy than unhappy.  I forgive her for feeling that way.  Because I feel that way every day.

My mother is long recovered from her depression.  She found medication that keeps the worst of it away and has worked out some of her own demons with a therapist.  But here's the thing.  As my child's daycare provider, the person who Lila spends several hours each day, my mother STILL does all these things.  And it fucking infuriates me.

All the things that I demand of my child, all the ways that I try to mould her into a well-behaved, appreciative, cooperative kid is undone every single day.  It seems that each time I pick her up, there is some argument with my mother because she has again disregarded my wishes and given something or allowed Lila to do something I have told her not to.

For example, (and believe me, this is just one) Lila was getting stomach aches.  It occurred to me that she ate grilled cheese sandwiches a lot and those give ME stomach aches.  So I told my mother not to give her any for the entire week to see if she still has stomach aches.  And what did Lila have for lunch THE DAY AFTER I told my mother this?  A MOTHERFUCKING GRILLED CHEESE SANDWICH.  And when I asked my mother why the hell she gave Lila a grilled cheese sandwich, she shrugged and said, "that's what she wanted for lunch."  I often have to remind my mother that Lila is 4.  She wants an elevator in her bedroom closet and wants to get a pet Lion.  Four year olds are not allowed to make every decision in their lives.  That's why they need babysitters.

Of course, my mother maintains that she does these kinds of things because she is a GRANDMOTHER and that grandmothers are supposed to spoil their grand kids, which would be fine if Lila went over there once a month.  But that's not even the point.  Little things like this only remind me of why as an adult, I have such a hard time with moderation and why I am  (illogically) crushed if I cannot get people to give me the things I want. 

I have posted a few blogs about my mother spoiling Lila, and you will find plenty of examples here,
here, and also here of how my mother refuses to listen to me with regard to how I choose to raise my child.  In her mind, I turned out just fine and so she must have done things right.  BUT I DID NOT TURN OUT FINE!!!  I am selfish (I was given whatever I asked for), I am lazy and unmotivated (there was never an incentive for doing anything or a punishment for not doing it) , I am very smart but cannot finish anything (no one ever made sure I did)  and I have always been an underachiever (how do you push yourself if no one ever pushed you to do ANYTHING you said you didn't want to do?).  Additionally, it never clicked that other people actually SET GOALS for the things they wanted to do and worked toward them until I was 26.  I always just had things "happen" to me.  Don't even get me started about money problems (my parents' view of money and credit are seriously fucking ridiculous - my mother believes in signing up for every credit card that she possibly can, and then maxing them out and making the minimum payments because "I won't be around that long anyway.  I might as well get the things I want now before I'm dead.  NO I AM NOT JOKING). 

(I have already posted about how shitty I am as an adult HERE)

I KNOW that she gave these things to me. I blame her because my father just went along with whatever my mother said.  And at some point in my mid-twenties, I realized that it was no longer her responsibility and it was up to me to try to change these deficiencies.  And I really thought I had forgiven her because when I became a mother (and subsequently a mother with depression), I UNDERSTOOD why she did the things she did. 

But I look at myself with Lila and I can't help but to be angry at my mother.  Because I don't want to have to instill those things in her.  I don't have any idea how to, because I suck at them myself.  In fact,  I want to be left the hell alone most of the time.  But I know what I have to do.  This isn't some transcendental knowledge or wisdom that I have.  This is what fucking parenting is.  It is all about responsibility.  It is about loving someone enough to do what they NEED even of they fucking hate you for it.  It is filled with difficulty and discomfort and headaches and insanity.  But that's all just the basic part of the job.

Why did she do what was easy with me?  And why does she refuse to listen when I try to tell her that love is not just buying Lila toys and letting her throw several blobs of raw cookie dough at the ceiling so she can laugh when it sticks (nope, not kidding about that either).  It is about setting limits so that she knows what to expect.  It is about making sure she is getting the foods she needs to grow and learn and feel good. It is about telling her that you will not tolerate bad behavior because you don't want her to grow up to be a total asshole.  She does not understand this.  She says she does, but she reverts to the things that I described the next day. 

This makes me feel disappointed in her.  I am disappointed that she didn't do better with me.  I am disappointed that she never bothered.  I am disappointed that she thinks love is about temporary happiness, even if it destroys the future potential.  I am just so fucking sad about it. 

Sick Kid, Broken Mirrors and Sparkles

Lila is sick again.  Last night we ended up taking her to Urgent Care because she had a fever of 103.5 that wouldn't go down with Tylenol.  Turns out she has Strep Throat.  And because I love my kid (don't tell anyone) and wanted to make sure she got her Motrin and antibiotics every 6 hours, I brought her to bed with me. 

There is a very simple reason why I NEVER let Lila sleep in bed with me.  Because although I LOVE the idea of her cuddled up next to me with her little head nestled in the crook of my arm, in reality she wakes me up every time she moves, talks in her sleep and physically assaults me throughout the night.  She literally slapped me in the face THREE TIMES.  IN THE FACE! 

So I am waiting for her to wake up and get the hell out of bed so that her father can watch her all day and I can go BACK to bed and get some sleep.  Which is a shame because it's damn near 70 degrees outside already and it's only 10 am. 

So to amuse you this morning, here is the Sunday Stealing you have all been waiting for.


Sunday Stealing: The Her Head Is Part Missing Meme

1. What is your most annoying habit?

Going online to check my bank balance (or some other really quick little thing) and coming away 4 hours later not knowing what the hell happened.

2. What habit would you change of your partner's?

(I added the apostrophe and it made MUCH more sense...)  All of them?

3. Horrors or Chick Flicks?

Porn?

4. What is the most outrageous thing you have done in the back row of the movies?

Fell asleep.  I saved all my outrageousness for basements and back seats.

5. When have you lied to get a job?

Never.  The Jedi mind trick has never failed me.

 

As you can imagine, that line works like a charm.

6. What one thing is on your list to do before you hit 30, 40, 50 or whatever significant birthday is next?

Convince everyone that I am their savior.  Then sit back and laugh as they formulate a world-dominating religion around me.

7. Classic or modern films and why?

Both because I am not a pretentious "film" asshole. 

8. If you were a vampire who would be the first person you would bite?

Myself if I sparkled. And I would spend the rest of eternity apologizing for being one of the douchy Twilight vampires.

 

 

I couldn't pick which one I liked better.

9. If you had the power to make one thing better, what would it be?

My poor sick kid.

10. What makes a great blog?

Honesty.  And pictures stolen from the Internet with witty captions.  Especially if someone is offended.

(This is what REALLY makes a great blog)

11. What was the inspiration that brought your blog to the blogosphere?

All you need to know is the name of my blog.  No one wanted to admit it and I was like "yeah, well it fucking sucks.  So there."

12. What easily ticks you off (puts you in a bad mood quickly)?

Stupidity, people who can't spit out what they're trying to say, people who ask me what the hell I'm talking about.

13. How many children do you have?

One.  And seriously.  That's more than enough.

 

It's only a matter of time...

 

14. Is there anything you have ever regretted writing on your blog?

No.  Except for some of these answers.

15. What’s your favorite blog post you have written this year so far?

It's been a pretty rough year for writer's block.  I haven't written much.  Maybe this one. Or this one about the non-genderized kid.  Notice they're both angry rants...

16. Do you ever enter other bloggers competitions, and have you ever been lucky?

I don't because I am literally the unluckiest person alive.  Want to hit the lottery?  Ask me to pick 45 numbers and play the ones I don't pick.  Seriously. 

This is how I start my day.

17. If you could be anyone else for the day, who would you choose and why?

Lila.  That kid lives in the lap of luxury.

18. If you could time travel to any period of history what era would you visit?

25 A.D.  I want to see what Jesus was really all about.     

19. If you had to be genetically modified, would you rather have a third arm, a third leg, a second head or some other modification???

I would want a third penis. 

20. Which Disney character can you most relate to?

Any of these guys:

Not a resolution...Just total bullshit.

I started drinking coffee when I was about 4 years old.  Not regularly of course, but my Grandmother used to see nothing wrong with handing me a lukewarm cup loaded with sugar and milk as a treat.  She was also always yelling at me to "knock it off" and "quiet down" and "sit the fuck down you goddamned lunatic."  For some reason she was always worn out when I left and constantly threatened my parents that she would not babysit me anymore because I was too wild (?).

Coffee is my one vice.  I don't really drink.  I can't handle drugs (pot turns me paranoid).  I don't have the money or the credit to shop.  So I drink like 6 cups of coffee a day.  I love it.  I love trying new flavors and roasts.  I buy the good stuff because I am going to spend all day with it so it should be awesome. 

I am pretty sure it is.

Then about a month ago, I started noticing something strange.  I was getting nauseous around 4:00 every day.  I was having heartburn for several days in a row.  I talked to my mother about it and she said something that shook me to my core.  "It's the coffee."

"HA!" I said.  No way.  Coffee is my friend.  We're close.  Coffee would never hurt me.  But deep down inside, I knew it was true.  I was going to have to dramatically cut down on my coffee consumption. 

I stocked up on a few different kinds of tea (TEA!  An abomination). I knew that when you are used to having that much caffeine it isn't smart to just stop.  The plan was simple.  I would have ONE cup of coffee in the morning, then I would switch to tea for the rest of the day.

I need to have this right now.

I have been doing this for about 10 days (why wait until the new year.  It's a necessity, not a resolution) and I have noticed a difference where I am feeling less pukey throughout the day.  But here's the thing.  Now I am waking up with heartburn.  And although it is uncomfortable, I am not ready to walk away from my coffee completely.  I take a few Tums and knock one back.  Usually that does the trick.

Getting old is total bullshit.

Battlefield: Dinner

I am a firm believer in family dinner times. And experts seem to agree that family dinner time, where the ENTIRE family sits around a table for dinner and communicates and enjoys themselves is essential for a happy, functioning family.

This is how I imagine dinner time should be.

But what do you do when no one enjoys it?  My kid has turned dinner time into this drama-filled temper tantrum and by the end of it, her dinner is not eaten and Ben and I are the ones flailing on the floor kicking and screaming.

Lila does not like to eat.  At least not actual food.  I refuse to call her a picky eater because it doesn't really matter if we serve her the one food she is willing to eat this week (which is usually either mac and cheese or chicken nuggets) she still refuses it.  She's more like a non-eater.  Not that she isn't hungry.  As soon as dinner is cleared from the table she asks for ice cream or cake or cookies and cries because she's "starving".  We offer to heat up her chicken nuggets or mac and cheese and she cries and goes to bed hungry.  We don't give in.  But for some reason she STILL doesn't get that eating crap like ice cream and gummy fruit snacks are not acceptable dinner time foods. 

This is what I actually see at dinner time.

And this is almost entirely a dinner time problem, when we are all sitting down at the table.  At lunch time, when it's just her and I, she usually eats with no problem (although she isn't a big eater and has never finished an entire meal) and at breakfast, when she is usually eating alone, it is no problem at all.   It's as if she is completely against it, which I don't understand because this is what we have always done, and it's always been a problem for her.

In addition to refusing to eat and generally being totally bitchy about it, she also has to go to the bathroom as soon as the food is set on the table and has hundreds of excuses to get up every 45 seconds.  Even when we order pizza and eat in front of the TV, something about sitting together with us at dinner time causes her to not be able to sit still or concentrate on the task at hand, even though when there's no food in front of her she can sit catatonic for an hour and a half watching Alvin and the Chipmunks.

For me, not having dinner together isn't an option.  This is important to me.  My parents made every effort to have dinner at the table whenever they could and as an adult I really appreciate those times where no one was too busy or preoccupied with work and we got to just sit and focus on chatting. 

There is one train of thought that says that you should never force your kid to eat and should just let them do what they want and eat when and what they want and they will come around.  But honestly, I don't believe that we should work around her and her whims.  She's FOUR.  If it were up to her she'd want nothing but Lucky Charms and Popsicles and would eat dinner just after brushing her teeth, hearing a story and turning out the light at bedtime.  She refuses to "snack" when I just leave decent foods like carrot sticks out for her to nibble on and seems to only want to eat something when I am in the middle of a task that I cannot drop to prepare something for her. 

There is the other faction that says that the eating habits they learn early such as eating a variety of foods (my kid doesn't) and viewing eating in a healthy way (she obviously finds it stressful) will be carried on for life.  If this is the case, my kid is going to be either a "food is comfort" over eater or processed food junky.  Perhaps she will develop an eating disorder since her entire goal in life seems to be to use what little control she has to refuse to put healthy food into her mouth.

What do you guys think.  Should I just stop with the family dinner times? 

I aim for some kind of middle ground and it just isn't working.  I fear that my kid is going to have some serious food issues if I don't get this under control.

Holy Shit! It's JUST A SCRAPE!

My kid scraped her leg yesterday.  This should not be blog worthy news but there are some things about her that you need to understand.

1. She has NEVER bled.  I am not kidding.  This kid has this weird inpenetrable skin and has never gotten a real cut.  Only bruises and bumps and scrapes that don't bleed.  Therefore:

2. Lila believes that a scrape is the most painful thing that can befall a person.  There is no way to convey to a kid her age that there are things like broken limbs, head gashes and period cramps that she may have to look forward to.

SO last night Lila was screaming like a banshee because her scrape was hurting her. 

I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I am serious when I say she cried for 3 fucking hours about a scrape.  I am not downplaying this.  See if you can spot the scrape on her little knee:

Yeah it's hard to see.  Here is a super enhanced version with scrape seeking technology so that you can actually find the thing that caused 3 hours of misery:

Yes.  It's there.  No, it isn't a shadow.  It's a little scrape.  Did I mention that she cried about it for
3 fucking hours?????

After the first hour and a half, it was clear that no amount of pain relief ointment or band aids were going to help.  Because she just insisted that it made it hurt more.  And finally I had to resort to the mean trick that I swore I would never do.  I told her that if it hurts that much, we should go to the hospital and have it removed.  The leg. 

It's funny how she calmed right down and suddenly it didn't hurt as much anymore.  In fact, it felt so much better that she wanted to run around and have some ice cream. 

Just like her mom!

All mothers love it when their little girls put on their shoes, jewelry, perfume, etc., and turn to us and say "I'm just like you Mommy!"  But I am finding that I am passing on other things.  Not just my shitty attitude, mood swings, and perpensity to swear like a trucker either.

Lila had her first "treatment" today.  For any of you who are fans of the sci-fi show "Dollhouse," you know why that makes me snicker. 

That's (not) me in the suit.

But all kidding aside, last night Lila tossed and turned all night waking up crying and frustrated because she simply could not breathe.

Lila has finally developed Mommy's asthma.

My poor kid.  Last night was awful.  It's seriously the worst feeling in the world when you can hear your kid wheezing and struggling for air but she doesn't complain enough for you to think its an emergency.  I wanted to take her to the hospital but knew it would just scare her and so I had to let her just suffer through it until morning. Until we could get her into her doctor.  Until they could give her the "treatment" and send us home with a nebulizer contraption.

It's kind of like this.  (But not really)

She did a fantastic job.  She was completely terrified by the thing.  She was scared about "breathing the stinky smoke".  But the doc and I assured her it would make her feel better so that she could play with her little cousins later on today.  So she sat there all pissed off at me for making her do this and when it was done cheerfully picked out as many stickers as she wanted because the doc was so impressed that she was so scared but never cried once.  My kid is a bad ass like that.

And so for a week, every four to six hours, I have to strap the thing onto her head and force her to breathe in the vapors and pray that she lets me.  Because with all the other fun battles (eating, sleeping, what to wear, not being an asshole) I truly don't want to have to fight another one.

And because the doc said that it is likely just a side effect of the extremely high pollen count and the moisture that is causing an outbreak of mold, she is optimistic that she will not need the treatments every day of her life. 

Which I hope is true.  Because being the sickly kid with asthma would be terrible for my kid's reputation as a trouble maker.

More Trauma by Poop

Jesus Christ.  My kid is terrified of pooping. 

No really.

She is still refusing to poop on the toilet and is really freaked out now about going in a pull up.  EVERYONE has assured me that I should just LET HER and that she will decide when she's ready to try the toilet. 

deviantart.com

(Many of you know that several months ago I wrote about her fear of pooping on the toilet.  If you haven't read it, click here)

I've read her the books.  I have ignored it and attempted to let her "come around herself" (for almost a full year now).  I have pleaded and tried to bargain with rewards and bribe with fantastic gifts.  I have done breathing exercises with her on the toilet.  I have let her "read" for an hour in the bathroom.  She will NOT let a number two loose on the toilet.

Recently, it occurred to me that she may be actually phobic of it.  She panics when she feels it coming.  She gets scared.  She even tries to get me not to take her pull-up off because she is afraid she (in her words) "made a bad poop".  My mother believes that I have convinced her that pooping is bad because she is so afraid of being cleaned up after going in a pull-up.  I assure you, I do nothing but tell her how normal it is.

And after today, I am convinced that she will never shit again.
(WARNING: THIS IS NOT FOR THE EASILY GROSSED OUT)

Lila spent the day at my mother's house while I was at work today and apparently complained much of the day that her belly hurt her.  She told my mother that she needed to put a pull up on and as always my mother complied.  A few minutes later, Lila was no where to be found.  My mother found her playing with a flashlight in her closet (the smell was overwhelming) and told her that it was time to come out and get changed.  Lila started to panic. 

When she tried to put her down, Lila arched her back and started screaming.



Lila told her it was "a really big poop" and my mother assured her it was okay.  Lila told her it was really messy, and my mother told her it wasn't a big deal and she would just clean it up.  Lila told her she didn't want to lie down to get changed but my mother insisted because Lila is ALWAYS freaked out by pooping.  Lila immediately started screaming that there was poop on her.  My mother then realized that there was literally a SHIT LOAD of diarrhea and it was coming out of Lila's pull up and all up the back of her.  Up her back, and into her fucking hair (how did she not realize this?  I don't know...she's old).

Lila was completely fucking freaking out. 

When Ben showed up to get Lila, she was in the bathtub crying and freaking because there was now poop in the bathtub (I have no idea why my mother didnt just shower her...but whatever). 

After getting her dried up and dressed, Ben took her home and gave her a good bath with shampoo and bubbles and all that.  She was fine.  Like nothing ever happened.

Until she thought she had to poop again.  She freaked out.  She had a pull up on and suddenly remembered and asked me, "am I going to have diarrhea again?"  I said, "I don't know, Lila.  But it's okay.  Let's see." 

She freaked and told me she didn't have to go anymore.  I tried to talk to her but she got all uptight ant weird so we let it go. 

At bedtime, she told me she needed a pull up.  I put it on her and we waited.  She got really freaked out again when she started to feel like it was coming.  Then she told me she just peed a little and she was not going to poop tonight.  I knew from the smell that she hadn't peed.  And that she still has diarrhea and was now trying to hold it.  "This is going to be AWESOME tonight when she wakes up covered in shit," I thought.  But she refused to try to go more.

So what the hell do you do with a kid who is shit-phobic?  Seriously?

All images courtesy of Google Image Search. 

Saturday Shitlist

I spent a lot of time tooling around the interwebs this week and thanks to #1, I really found a minimal amount of things to put on the list this week.  Feel free to add your own.  I will even give you a grade for participation!

1. The Cold Virus or the Flu, whatever the hell this shit is.  It LOOKS like a cold- all coughs and sneezes, but it FEELS like the Flu, in that I am so exhausted and miserable that I called in sick to work and haven't left the house since Tuesday. 

2. Harry Hunters.  Jesus H. Christ on a crutch! Have you seen these assholes?  (If not, read this )
Yeah, you're going to find Prince fucking Harry and marry him by stalking him for several weeks before his brother's wedding.  I am sure he'd be thrilled to marry some slutty American chick who has a stash of postcards of him and his brother rubber banded together and shoved in her bra. 

I think Harry said it best:

Good luck ladydouches.

3. The entire world.  Has everyone gone fucking crazy?  Because I thought that crazy was my domain.

Hot off the runway for Summer '11.

4. My local community health center.  For adding an large dollop of stress onto my already thoroughly thinly stretched finances and still not managing to cure me.  It's bad enough that I don't have health insurance and have to sit in the ghetto-ass waiting room but then you can't even get my paperwork right so I'm not billed $400 for a Thyroid test that I only got because you told me it was going to cost "next to nothing"?  AND you can't find the results!  FUCK YOU ASSHOLES!!!

5. Thomas the Tank Engine.  Wait a second!  I LOVE the NORMAL Thomas.  The simplicity of narrating a bunch of model trains around a neat little model city.  And two of my FAVORITE people on earth narrated!  FANTASTIC!  What I'm talking about is this bullshit computer animated, the trains all talk and have different voices bullshit.  Now it's just another lame cartoon.  And nothing even blows up!

And there was this.  Now it's a lame cartoon.

5. Old Navy's new annoying "Layer Player" bullshit commercial.  As I mentioned above, I have been sick in the house for several days and I don't have cable.  So on my 6 or so channels, I have seen this fucking commercial about 4,793 times.  I have broken down the dance moves in my mind.  They are playing it one every channel during every show.  No, really.  I refuse to embed it on my blog, but here's the link if you want to torture yourself with it:  LINKY

6. The Lottery Mega Millions $312 Million Jackpot.  I don't play the lottery because I am the unluckiest person I know.  But Ben did play and I would have been happy if he matched like 2 of the 6 numbers.  He played 10 different quick-picks.  You know how many of the final 6 numbers he had TOTAL on all his plays?  ONE.

The other reason I don't play the "numbers".
(If you don't get this one, you're not a Lostie)

7. Which reminds me, I am STILL FUCKING PISSED about the ending of Lost. 

A Typical Scene....

There was at least 2 feet of fresh snow on the ground as I got out of the driver’s side door to grab Lila from the back seat. When I opened the back seat door, she looked sad and weak and miserable. Her nose had yellow crusted snot around it, and her eyes were set inside deep pools of purple. I unbuckled the stupid car seat, which she begged me not to put her in, and she whined that she wanted to stay sitting down. “C’mon sweetie. We’re gonna see if the doctor can help you feel better.”

I hate taking my kid to the doctor. As a former Hypochondriac, I was surprised to find that I tend to be exactly the opposite with my child, favoring “waiting it out” over calling the doctor’s office nearly every time. Last night, she woke up crying at least 4 times and was saying that her throat was scratchy and I just shrugged it off as another cold. Then this morning, Lila woke up and proceeded to throw up all over her Tinkerbell comforter and was screaming that her throat really hurt and so I called them and they suggested I bring her in right away.

Lila rested her sick little head on my shoulder. As I struggled to carry her limp body, my bag fell from my shoulder into the crook of my arm and swung around my knees further complicating my walk to the door in the ankle-deep snow. We got inside and I signed her in. I picked a seat in the empty waiting room. On the giant plasma TV, Finding Nemo was playing and Lila turned her head to see it. She sat there, face pressed against my chest, as I wrestled her heavy purple coat from around her arms.

About 3 minutes into our wait, the door opened and a chilly breeze slapped me in the face. Behind that breeze, a mother with a baby carrier and a little boy about Lila’s age came waddling in. The boy was excitedly talking about Nemo and ran over to the little activity table and started pushing the brightly colored beads over and through and around he tracks. At this, Lila’s head perked right up.

Lila told me she wanted to get down. “Lila, you’re pretty sick. Stay here with me so that we don’t get this little boy sick too, okay?” The other mother looked at me and made a face as if to say, “don’t worry about it…it’s a doctor’s office and I am sure the toys are filthy to begin with” (at least that’s how I read it).

So I let her off my lap knowing that she was SOOOOO incredibly sick and miserable that we had to rush to come here right away and that in a minute or two, she’d be whining to crawl back into my lap.

But that is NOT what happened. Just at that moment, the nurse called Lila’s name. And Lila enthusiastically jumped up and down and went sprinting toward the nurse asking her if she was going to get a sticker.

“You have GOT to be kidding me, Lila.” I said staring incredulously as the nurse looked over Lila’s file in her arm. “Yes,” I said. “I swear to God, until about a minute and a half ago I was pretty sure my kid was going to need emergency fluids and a bed at the children’s’ hospital, and only for about the last thirty seconds has she appeared to be fine.” The nurse rolled her eyes obviously thinking that I over-reacted when I told her on the phone that my kid was wailing and crying about her painful throat and had a hundred and four fever just an hour or so ago.

Then Lila was the perfect little patient, smiling and showing off on command. The doctor swabbed her throat and it turned out that she definitely had a Strep infection but other than that, she seemed to be fine. I was completely ashamed and horrified that I came off like one of THOSE mothers who hears a cough and demands priority treatment.

Lila got her sticker and as we walked to the car holding hands, I asked her if she felt better. She smiled up at me and said she did. Then as I was attempting to get her arms through the straps of her car seat, she started crying suddenly and puked all over the arm of my coat.

“AWESOME!” I thought.

..............
 
This was inspired by this:
 

Imagine you are meeting someone for the first time. You want to tell them about yourself.

Instead of reciting a laundry list of what you do or where you're from, please give us a scene from your life that best illustrates your true self.

- I am not sure that this is exactly what they were looking for, but it is what came to mind.
-Selena

I know nothing about children

Seriously.  I am an idiot when it comes to small humans.  I had no younger siblings, I didn't do a whole lot of babysitting as a teenager, and I was never one of those people who just LOVED children.  It was actually quite a surprise to me that I would even have one.

The other night, we all went out to eat and Lila was complaining that her "mouth hurt".  It's a pretty vague complaint and since she just sat there and whined and refused to eat and also refused to elaborate in any way about exactly WHAT hurt, I just ignored her and kept telling her to eat her (Goddamned) dinner.  We got home and she was tired and miserable so I gave her some Tylenol and put her to bed.  She was up all night being miserable and crying.  She threw up once and I thought, "Maybe she has a stomach bug."  I slept with her and let her kick and nudge me all night.  Neither of us got much sleep which sucks because I am battling my own sinus infection that just will not go away.

First thing in the morning, I decided to give her a bath.  She was fevery and refused to eat breakfast or take Tylenol and I truthfully just wanted her to stop whining for a few minutes.  When I got her shirt off, I realized that she was BRIGHT RED.  Seriously.  Her whole torso, front and back looked like she spent 3 hours out in the sun.  It was JUST her torso and the back of her neck and I thought it felt warm so I figured it must just be from the fever.  After a 20 minute bath (where she informed me that she felt MUCH better) the redness didnt even begin to subside, even though her skin was no longer hot. 

Her back was like the middle one, her
front was like the one on the right..
and bumpy-ish.

I dried her off and thought, "wow.  Her skin sure is dry.  I better put some lotion on it."  A few minutes later, she was crying and miserable again and still refused to eat anything. I started to think that MAYBE the bright red skin and the sore throat might be somehow connected so I called the doctor requesting a call back just to ask about it. 

When the nurse called me back, I told her about the lack of appetite, the fever, the "mouth hurting" and the fact that she was bright red.  The nurse asked if her skin felt scaly or sandpapery and I said, "why yes..but it's just dry."  She told me to bring Lila in right away...she probably has Scarlet Fever and a Strep Infection. 

I was suddenly the worst mother on Earth.  Lila has a STREP INFECTION and STREP THROAT and I was just writing it off as "not feeling good."

Part of this I chalk up to my lack of knowledge of childrens' illnesses, and part of it I assume is because although I am a hypochondriac, rationally I know that most of the time it's nothing.  But what I really blame this oversight on is the fact that I have no health insurance.  When you don't have insurance, there are only two options.  Either you go to the terrifying health clinics that are located in the worst parts of town or you wait until you are near death to make a doctors appointment.  On a Saturday, when the clinics aren't open, you tend to do the latter.  And you rationalize this decision by telling  yourself, "I'm sure it's nothing".

You will be happy to know that LITERALLY 24 hours after starting her antibiotics, Lila is acting like nothing ever happened.  She is eating and playing and tellling me "I don't feel sick anymore today."  Later on, I am going to take her for ice cream.

The Shitter.

"According to Freud, success at this stage is dependent upon the way in which parents approach toilet training. Parents who utilize praise and rewards for using the toilet at the appropriate time encourage positive outcomes and help children feel capable and productive. Freud believed that positive experiences during this stage served as the basis for people to become competent, productive and creative adults. "

-My kid is obviously fucked.


What my kid sees when she has to poop.

Lila is potty trained.  Mostly.  Several months ago with the help of a personal potty chart and some stickers, Lila threw aside the confines of baby diapers and a little 9-inch high potty chair for the big time.  She peed on the regular toilet.  From that day forward, she was very proud of her self restraint when she felt that "pee thing" coming and with hardly a single accident (except once when we were out at a restaurant and she didn't like the auto-flush mechanism) she joined the ranks of those of us who MUST sit to pee.

Now, let me reiterate that I swore up and down before the kid came that I would NEVER, EVER, be one of those people who talked about their kid's excretions.  But I swear, when you have them you just cannot help yourself.

Lila refuses to poop on the potty.  When I started the mission of getting her to stop sitting around with shit and piss in her pants, I expected some setbacks.  But there was nothing immediately.  I stopped putting her in pull-ups and let her wear her princess (or Dora or Tinkerbell or whatever) panties except for overnights, and she was fine with that.  Until the 3rd day, when she finally HAD to poop.

She asked for a pull up.  My instant reaction was to drag her to the bathroom and set her on the toilet and give her some books and tell her to work it out (no pun intended) on her own.  After about 15 minutes she started crying because she couldn't make it happen and begged for a pull up.  So I put one on her.  I consulted the Internet (because honestly, where else does anyone get guidance anymore?) and read that you should absolutely NOT get into a power struggle about it, and that in a few weeks, she'll be ready and will just do it herself.

For nine months now, Lila has refused to crap sitting on the toilet.  Every now and then (usually when I am on my last pull up and don't want to spend the cash to buy more) when she asks to put a pull-up on so that she can poop, I will suggest that she sit on the potty for a little while and see what happens.  But she has made it clear that even though she will sit there, she WILL NOT poop without a pull-up on.  We have tried emptying her poop into the toilet and although she thinks its fun, she will not deposit it directly from her ass to the toilet under any circumstances.  And although I have told her that she must at least poop in the bathroom, and she will sit on the toilet with a pull up on, she will not poop until I let her get up. 


If the cat can do it, my kid can too!


My pediatrician told me that her own daughter did this for a while.  Once the child started waking up in the morning with dry diapers consistently, she just stopped buying them.  She explained that the kid had a choice - she could poop on the toilet or she could go in her pants.  No one would yell at her but she would have to help clean it up.

So a few nights ago, when Lila declared that she was ready to sleep in her panties because she was big and wouldn't pee during the night, I let her  She did great.  And has done so for the last 5 nights.  She told me she was proud of herself and I told her I was proud of her too!  We called Grandma and she continues to tell every person we see.

The next time Lila told me she needed to poop, she asked for a pull-up again.  And I told her that the pull-ups are gone and she would have to go on the toilet like a big girl.  Lila cried.  But I gave her a pep talk and assured her that she would be fine.  We went into the bathroom and she tried.  Nothing happened.  She told me she knew it was right there but couldn't make it come out. I sat with her for 20 minutes.  I tried to get her to do visualizations.  I tried to distract her.  I made her take deep breaths.  I tried to make it a game.  Nothing worked. 

The pediatrician also told me that once you make the decision to take away the pull-ups, you SHOULD NOT go back on it. She said that if the kid holds it, then after a couple of days, give her a laxative and make magic happen.  So I told Lila that she can try again later and she begged for a pull-up.  But I was determined. 

Later that day we tried again.  Nothing.  The next morning she came to ME saying she was ready to try the potty again and so we did.  As she sat there it was obvious that she was proud of herself and I saw in her eyes the determination to make me proud too.a  But after about 15 minutes it was obvious nothing was going to happen.  She said she still had to go, that she could feel it, but she felt scared.  I gave her the usual, "there's nothing to be scared of" chat.  She asked for a pull-up and I said I didn't have any.  She started to cry.  Not a real cry, but a whiny "give me my way" kind of cry.  I held my ground.  I told my mother (who would be watching her for the day) to hold hers as well.  Lila begged for a pull up and the more she did that, the more mad I got.  This is something that kids her age do.  They beg and hassle and whine until you give in, and then they continue to manipulate you until you have no control over them anymore.  I would not be that parent.  We got her dressed and she told me her belly hurt and I told her she HAS to poop ON THE POTTY when she gets to Grandma's house.

A few hours later my mother called me.  Immediately she started in on me.  "Lila's belly hurt and she couldn't go on the toilet so I let her go to the bathroom in a pull-up and it hurt her so bad that she cried and she wouldn't let me hold her or go near her and I think there was a tiny bit of blood...I can't believe you made her hold it for 3 days!"  "First off," I said, "it wasn't 3 days.  It was 2 days and that isn't abnormal for her".  I tried to explain what the doctor told me.  My Mother explained that Lila was scared that I would find out that she went in her pull-up because she thought I was going to get mad at her.  My mother said Lila cried about that too.  And that was after the most traumatic shit anyone has ever taken by a person (I added that last flourish. My mother only IMPLIED that part).  My mother also told Lila that it only hurt because she held it for too long and that I should just let her have a pull-up when she asks for it.  Wow...Thanks for telling my kid how much I suck as a parent! And thanks for not allowing me to determine how I will proceed with these kinds of things.

But as the day wore on, the anger at my mother faded.  Now I was the worst mother in the world.  It wasn't that she was being a manipulative asshole, she was constipated and KNEW it was going to hurt.  The pressure from me trying to make her do what I wanted her too made it impossible and she suffered for it.  Plus, my poor kid thinks I am going to be mad at her for NOT being able to perform, and I am forcing an issue that every professional on earth (except obviously, for Lila's doctor) tells parents NOT to force.  And although everyone says "you never see adults who are afraid to poop on the potty walking around so she will obviously grow out of this," I cannot help but to imagine that Lila will always have some emotional scar because I tried to force her to shit on the toilet and instead she tore her ass out.  This will likely be the one thing that causes her to turn to teen sex, recreational drugs, and finally a career in porn.  I have ruined my kid forever.

That night as I left work, I felt horrible.  I thought she would be somber and mad and a little stand-offish.  I got to my mother's house to pick her up and I cautiously opened the door.  Lila's face lit up, and she ran to the door screaming and happy to see me as usual.  Apparently, she didn't even think about it and wasn't even slightly concerned that I had ruined her entire life.  Because I hadn't.  I talked to her about it but she kind of shrugged it off and when I told her we could try again the next time she felt it coming, she didn't seem nervous or upset but gave a smile and said, "Okay, as long as I can bring a book."

When the kid is sick

I have been really lucky.  For most of Lila's short existence, she has been pretty healthy.  She's never had an ear infection.  She's never needed to go to the hospital.  So when she actually does get sick it's kind of a novel experience for me. 

I don't do well with throw up.  Or Shit.  Or mucus.  Actually, now that I think about it, every single time Lila has thrown up, shit outside of her pants or coughed up an phlegm ball, its somehow ended up on me.  It seems she saves all her best presents for Mommy!

Now, I don't know what the proper response is when your kid throws up but I know I always feel a little guilty about mine.  Some moms will cuddle their kids and hold a bucket under their chins and tell them gently, "let it out sweety...".  That has not been my typical conduct. 

Lila started out the week with what we all assumed was a nasty cold.  She was sneezing and coughing and miserable but there wasn't much of a fever and for the most part she wasn't too miserable (she felt no need whatsoever to sleep or nap or rest - much to my disappointment).  But as the week progressed, the coughing got worse at night, the nose blowing became more productive (and colorful) and she actually refused a Popsicle at one point (see, that's how we gauge how sick our kid is...if she still wants candy, ice cream or frosting then there's no need to spend the money on a doctor visit). 

On Thursday morning at the crack of dawn, I heard her in her room sort of half-crying.  Then I heard "NOOOO I DON'T WANT MY THROW UP TO COME OUT!!!"  I ran in and scooped her up just in time for me to hear her sputter a little bit out and then project puke across my sweatshirt.  Like I said, my reactions are not super nurturing, so I sat her on the side of the bath tub, told her to stay bent over in case more came out and as she cried for me to hold her I walked quickly to my room, stripped off my clothes, and quickly grabbed a shirt to throw on.   I came back into the room and grabbed a wet washcloth preparing to strip her pajamas off as well.  However, Lila (somehow) had ZERO puke on her.  She managed to completely spare herself any kind of residue except on her chin and when I came back in the room and got her some water to rinse her mouth she informed me that "it feels all better now!"

AWESOME!!!

As an Epilogue to this, I immediately called the doctor because the puke was mostly greenish yellow snot that had drained from her sinuses and I told them I needed to get her in THAT DAY.  By the time we went to the doctor, Lila was acting like nothing was wrong and I felt like an asshole for bringing her in her pajamas when she was obviously well enough to have gotten dressed and partied all day.  It turned out she had a pretty bad sinus infection and she's fine now.  But I can't stop wondering if I am an asshole parent for being so practical when she was obviously so upset by the whole thing.

Something MUST be horribly wrong

I don't feel like bitching lately. Lila is still 2. I am still trying to find a job. I am still bored out of my mind. The only thing that has changed is that Lila is FINALLY (she just turned 2) sleeping through the night more than not. And when I say that, I mean like 5 nights a week. I however, am not.

After being woken up nightly for 2 years, my sleep schedule is full of disruption and I find I am awake starting at about 2am every hour or so, waiting for her to start yelling for me.

On another note, Lila was sick last week. Deathly ill it seemed. She had a high fever and threw up and cried and whined, and when I asked her if she wanted to watch Dora she cried "Nooooooooo" in the most pathetic voice she could muster. So I called in sick to my part time job and called the doctor asking for the first available appointment. "I have a sick kid here," I told her and described Lila's symptoms.

We got ready to go and Lila cried and whined and wouldn't let me comb her hair or take her pajamas off so she went in them. And as soon as we walked into the doctor's office, she decided she really just wanted to play with the toys and run around with the other (sick) kids. It was like nothing was wrong.

The other parents must have thought I was over-reacting and that my kid was a savage being out with wild hair in her pajamas and I got to feel like an idiot for the day.