I Am Crazy Enough to Get Up With My Baby

Hello. My name is Chrissie and I foster a trained night nurser.

That's right. My youngest child is 10 months old, yet I am still getting up in the middle of the night as though she is 10 weeks. I question my sanity on a regular basis because I allow this to happen, but there is a part of me that feels I don't have a choice.

Some of my reasons may resonate with other parents and others may not, but the one thing we all have in common is that we have coffee on an IV drip and a short temper when the previous night was particularly bad.

1. My kids share a room

This isn't actually my family.

Yes, my kids ages 5, 3, and 10 months all share a room. I will admit I enjoy breaking this news to people because I am often met with an expression of utter disbelief. These days it seems every kid has his or her own room, which is crazy when I think about it. Back in the day, I daydreamed about my own room and -- when the day finally happened -- it was monumental. I also had to share a room with a piano in order for it to happen, but I made the sacrifice.

Dare I say my kids enjoy sharing a room with one another, especially since they have known no different. I am confident my 3-year-old son would be terrified in a room alone. The problem with the three of them together, though, is that the baby has a set of lungs that carry across town.

You know what I'm talking about. Those children (or people) who are loud when they are whispering? That is our baby. So even when she's whimpering in the middle of the night, her voice is ear-piercing. This isn't as big of a deal for my oldest, who sleeps like the dead (like me), but my son is a lighter sleeper. I have actually walked into the room to take care of the baby to find that my son had turned on the white noise machine to try and drown out the noise. Poor guy.

2. We tried cry it out one unfortunate weekend

When I had to sleep train my second child, he was 7 months old. My oldest was barely 2 and, with that gauntlet of toddler and infant care I had just gone through with 2 under 2, I had zero tolerance for this whole get-up-at-night thing. My solution was to wait until my husband was traveling for work and allow my daughter to sleep in bed with me. It took two nights to get him trained and the result was heavenly.

Fast forward to child No. 3 and we had a very different experience. First of all, my husband wasn't traveling for work this time, so he had to find somewhere else to sleep. Being 6-foot-3 with a large build, this wasn't easy. He tried to sleep on our air mattress downstairs, but the attempt was futile. I actually received a text message from two floors down around midnight: "The air mattress has a hole in it. This sucks." I admit I laughed in spite of his pain. He ended up sleeping on the couch and -- with the combination of our cats who enjoy batting and nuzzling those that sleep in their territory -- got about 4 hours of broken sleep.

I struggled to sleep as well. I was sharing our king sized bed with our older kids, who seem to be magnets for human beings when they sleep. I posted on Facebook the following morning that my son sleeps like the letter 'E'. I was kicked and poked all night. Hearing the baby scream down the hall was the least of my concerns.

The worst of the weekend, though, wasn't the sleep deprivation of my husband and I ... it was the older kids. Even though they destroyed my sleep with their sleep positioning and appeared to sleep soundly through the night, they were devil's spawn for the entire weekend. They clearly didn't get enough sleep and we spent the 48 hours of the weekend dealing with whining, screaming, and endless amounts of, "He touched me!" and "She's teasing me!"

As I shoved the two of them across school lines that Monday morning, I swore I didn't care if the baby woke up every night until she was 18 years old. I was never experiencing that again.

3. I changed my mind

It's been a few months since that awful weekend and -- as I struggle to focus on my work each day through sleep deprivation -- I have changed my mind about that whole getting-up-forever thing. I'm going to give it another go because, frankly, I'm losing my mind and coffee isn't making the same dent it once did. I'm also hoping to shed my parent title of, Mom Who Is Always Late at my kids' school.

The plan is to wait until my husband is in the Bahamas for work (yeah, I know, I know) and bring the older kids into bed with me. My top priority is going to be to get them good sleep. In other words, I won't have any emotion to give about the baby crying. She's just going to have to figure it out.

That, my fellow sleep-deprived parents, is what I believe to be the solution. You get to the edge of insanity and have no other choice than to break your child of his or her infant-waking habit.

If this attempt doesn't work, though, I may have to resort to bringing the baby into my room in a bassinet and really regress. Just kidding. I think. I hope.

How His Brain Works is Beyond Me

I have to thank my son's teachers for providing material while he's at school. There are a number of Jackisms we wouldn't otherwise be privy to!

Thank you, Sam, for this one.

Jack: "Ms, Sam do you have a baby at your house?"

Sam: "Nope, bud, just baby turtles."

Jack: "Well, why not?"

Sam: "I just didn't have a baby yet. One day I will."

Jack: "Oh okay, you left your baby at the dentist?"

Truly baffling.

Throw Away Your Own Fruit Snacks Wrapper

I know children are self-centered at their core and it is our role as parents to teach them to understand empathy.

I grasp this with my logical mind.

But, despite considering myself a rational adult, there are many moments day-to-day that leave me questioning my own sanity because these miniature human beings are so focused on what they want.

It really is good thing they’re cute.

1. “Can you hold this?”

Photo credit: crappypictures.com

It never ceases to amaze me that my children can look at me holding two backpacks, two lunch boxes, a car seat, my purse, a blanket, three french hens, two turtledoves, and a partridge in a pear tree, and still attempt to hand me an empty fruit snacks wrapper.

Child: “Mommy, can you hold this?”

Me (in disbelief): “What do you think?”

Child (smirking): “… yeah?”

It is in this moment that I look over at my sauntering, empty-handed preschooler and offer a death glare that ultimately misses its mark because she is already throwing said-fruit snacks wrapper on the ground.

Now we must address the issue of littering.

2. “It’s too much work.”

I doubt I’m alone in the fact that I have two school-aged children who are fantastic at following rules for their teachers and awful at following those exact same rules in my home. Cleaning up their toys is a prime example.

It really is a simple rule, right? The child gets something out to play with, so the same child should put that something away when he or she is finished. It is so simple in theory.

Instead of compliant children, however, I am met with (a pathetic, whiny version of), “It’s too much work.”

It is at this point I have to throw out a threat to either tell his or her teacher about this violation of rules (yes, that actually works) or make an empty threat of taking away all toys he or she doesn’t put away.

Let me clarify that the threat of taking away all toys is not an empty threat because I refuse to do it, it’s an empty threat because there are so many damn toys in the house, my kids don’t even miss the ones I take away.

I tested this theory once with my son. Instead of remembering why he had his toys taken away, he shrugged and moved on to something else. Parenting win.

3. “Do you want to hurt me?”

Asking rhetorical questions to a preschooler is never a good idea. They don’t get it. They try to actually answer the question, and the answer is typically one you do not want to hear.

My son is a typical boy who uses his body as a weapon of love. You know what I mean … instead of giving a nice, sweet hug, he chooses to bull rush unsuspecting parties with his head at crotch length. It’s a real treat.

On a number of occasions, he has “loved” me in this way and I have asked him, “Do you want to hurt me?”

He often stops, looking like a deer in headlights, and says, “… yes …”

I know the answer is that he doesn’t, in fact, want to hurt me, but the rhetoric is lost on him and I end up more frustrated than when I started.

Moving on.

4. “No, that’s mine!”

Having young children will magically regress you to a place of having tantrums. Now, you may be someone who has tantrums anyway. If that is the case, I’m not here to judge. Tantrum away.

What I’m talking about, though, is the day you find yourself arguing with your small child over the ownership of an iPad that undoubtedly belongs to you. Why? Because your small child believes everything in the universe belongs to him or her, of course.

Child: “Where’s my iPad?”

Me (in the tone of a pre-pubescent teen): “Um, that’s my iPad.”

Child: “No, it’s my iPad!”

Me: “Did you buy it?”

Child: “Yes.”

See, this is where they get you. You think you have your child cornered with this black-and-white question, but your child really believes they own said iPad.

Unfortunately, there are only three ways to get out of this, and none of them are great. You can grumble something inaudible and hand your child the iPad, attempt to get into a conversation about hard work and ownership of property and watch your child’s eyes glaze over, or say no out of spite and watch a small earthquake erupt in your living room.

Please choose one of these and report back your results. Of course, you’ll have to wait until you get your iPad back first.

Must You Interrupt My Major Life Lesson?

I was reading an article online today about parents teaching their children to respect differences. We should not only teach our kids to see beyond physical differences, it said, but we should make sure they ask questions behind closed doors out of respect. I logged this bit of information and went about my day.

Fast forward to bedtime and I was reading Abby a book entitled, "What Mommies/Daddies Do Best." It's a book that has identical text for both mommies and daddies. "Mommies can teach you how to ride a bicycle; have a picnic with you, etc." Then, "Daddies can teach you how to ride a bicycle; have a picnic with you, etc." Each mommy, daddy, and child is depicted by an animal. There are hippos riding bikes, porcupines going through a bedtime routine, blah blah.

Anyway, we have read this book a few times over the past week and, each time, Abby points to the (very large) hippo mommy on a bicycle on the first page and says, "That doesn't look like a mommy." Earlier in the week, I just brushed this off and didn't respond. Tonight, however, I was armed with having read that blog earlier in the day.

It was time to teach a life lesson.

When Abby pointed to the hippo and stated, "That doesn't look like a mommy," I replied, "Sure it does. Mommies all look different right?"

I was so proud of myself. I mean, I'm passing along major life lessons here. I'm being the mom I'm supposed to be. The next time we see someone in public who looks different, I think, Abby will know that it's okay to look different.

My inflated mommy ego was short-lived, however, when she looked at Evie and started stroking her Pebbles-esque ponytail and said, "Evie's hair is soft!"

Maybe she didn't hear me. There was a lot going on in the room at the time. I wanted to make absolute sure she heard me, though, because this was a big-time life lesson. I needed her to understand that she shouldn't believe mommies to look all one way -- they all look different.

So I reiterated, "Mommies come in all different shapes and sizes, right? Not all mommies look the same."

What does she do next? Points to that same hippo on that same bike and says, "That doesn't look like a mommy."

I sigh heavily and say -- knowing she would have no idea what I was talking about -- "way to buy into the stereotype."

Moving along to the daddy side of the book, she pointed out yet another animal and declared that it "didn't look like a daddy." At this point, I'm completely beyond attempting to teach anything. Clearly she is not in the right state of mind to learn how the world works. I blow off her comment.

We got to the end of the book and there was another picture of the same daddy/child pair, but in a different position. She says, "Now it looks like a daddy." I asked why. "Look at his shirt!"

I quit. Consider me destined to be embarrassed in public when my kid points out that someone doesn't look right.

Name that Parent: Who Do Our Kids Take After?

First comes love, then comes marriage, then come the babies and the two of you spend the rest of your lives debating who they take after.

Husbands and wives love to say, "she gets that from me," or, "he's your son." I'm never sure if we do that out of pride -- good or bad traits -- or fear.

So, let's take a look at my kids and their awesome traits and see who Tom and I think they take after. Tom is actually in the room, so I'm going to poll him LIVE.

Hold on to your butts (name the movie).

The Tyrant

Pretty much.

Abby is a tad ... bossy. And I know I'm not supposed to use the word bossy because feminism and equal opportunity workplace yada yada. But. She is.

We went to my best friend's house for Memorial Day. She has a three-year-old daughter who is also, shall I say, headstrong. The two of them could not play together. They were offending each other left and right. It was like one of those chess matches where the two players are so good no one makes a move because they are anticipating each others moves.

Where does she get that quality?

I say: Me. Yes, it's true. This is the reason I am not someone everyone loves. I want to be in control and that offends more people than I probably realize. I'm going to try and help Abby not offend as many people as I do on a daily basis.

Tom: You. Because you're a thick-headed numbskull.

The Sensy

NO SOUNDS.

Jack has been described as "all boy," which essentially means he is more than happy injuring himself and others. I'm not sure what it means beyond that.

On the flip side, he is also incredibly sensitive to sound (hates horns), touch (hates pants), and Abby (does whatever she wants).

Where does he get that quality?

I say: Neither. I think Jack is a unique bird. His sensitivity comes from Tom. Although, his willingness to do what Abby wants in order to keep her from going nuts may also come from Tom. And I respect that.

Tom: Has no answer because he is engrossed in watching The Bachelor. And apparently me bossing him around to get an answer is not effective.

The Thoughtful One

On to the attractive qualities. Abby is incredibly thoughtful. As much as she can be a huge pain (and I say that with love), she truly loves to see others happy. If we need something, she will help us. Though, there are times we will ask, "Can you do me a favor?" and she'll say, "No. I don't want to."

Where does she get her thoughtful quality?

I say: She gets it from both sides. The fact that she likes to mother her siblings comes from me without a doubt. Thinking of others in terms of special gifts comes from Tom. In other words, we're both incredible.

Tom: Both of us. Because we both offer different qualities that we learn from.

And just like that ... WE WOULD WIN THE NEWLYWED GAME.

The Entertainer

Jack is hysterical. He's strange, I will admit. But he's beyond funny. If you would like some examples, visit the things my kids say page.

Where does that sense of humor come from?

I say: Me. Because I'm hilarious. Duh.

Tom: I don't know. He's his own. I think we allow him to establish who he is.

And now I'm petty. Oh, well.

I will admit, he is a brand all his own. And I love how he rocks it. Both of our "big kids" are pretty kick ass.

Not actually my kid.

That brings me to ... the baby.

Who does she remind us of to date?

I say: Me. Because she conveys her opinion with her eyebrows.

Tom: I don't know. I can't wait to find out. I think she's going to be her own soul. The fact that she just smiles at everything from the jump.

And once again. I'm petty. Do we see why Tom married me? Clearly I'm quite a catch.

Insanity is Contagious ... and I Have It

My husband and I are moving into the keep-your-sanity-at-all-costs parenting phase. Long gone are the days of merely providing physiological needs for our children. Instead we are combating insanity which, I am finding, is both contagious and transferable.

Unfortunately for me, I currently have a bad case of insanity. This is evidenced by a number of symptoms.

I Am Making Up Rules

I was feeding Evie (13 weeks) and Abby (4 1/2) came into the room, looking to irritate me. My husband thinks I'm being harsh when I think this way, but it's SO OBVIOUS.

She picks up one of the hoses from my breast pump and starts flipping it around like a jump rope.

Me: "Stop that."

Abby: "Why?"

Me: "Um, because I said! When I tell you something, you don't ask why, you just do it!"

Holy s*%$.  I am my parents.

I Am Turning into an Adolescent Child

Dig into this story you're sure to love.

I was home alone with all three kids, putting them through their bedtime routine. I threw a pile of clean laundry on the floor in their room. I asked Abby to start sorting it. She refused.

"No, I don't want to."

"I don't care if you want to. I told you to do it, so you need to do it."

Right. She began mocking me in her mind. Or at least that's what I envisioned. Instead of sorting the clothes, she started jumping into them as though they made up a pile of leaves. My blood started to boil as she continued to disregard my instruction.

Finally, I decided to put into practice a tactic I have been using to force my kids to acknowledge the instructions I give. I told Abby, "repeat what I told you to do."

Her reply?

"Repeat what I told you to do."

Me: "Excuse me?"

Abby: "Excuse me?"

Okay. At this point, just consider me a 10-year old. I'm pissed. This four-year old is NOT going to get the better of me. I take her Lego set that she got that day and I put it on the bookshelf out of her reach. She starts going crazy. That's it. I showed her.

I go back to getting the kids ready for bed. Jack is completely nude after a bath. I told him to put on his Pull-Up, but I don't know why I even gave the instruction. I know he won't do this on his own. I then turn around and see that Abby has pulled up a stool to retrieve her Legos from the shelf.

Um. NO.

I lose it. Like ... lose it. I put the Legos on the tippity top shelf and start to say things to Abby that there is no way she's going to comprehend.

"This is about respect! You need to listen to me when I tell you something!"

She is giggling. I'm so far gone. No hope for me now.

It Only Gets Worse

These things just compile on top of one another to the point that the dumbest, smallest thing turns me into a raving lunatic. Fast forward to bath time and the kids were putting their teacups on the ledge of the tub so that overflowing water was spilling onto the floor. I swear, one drop hit the tile and I turned into the Hulk. I may have actually turned green.

Tom laughs at me and wonders how I can let these things get to me. I, personally, think he just underestimates the emotional intelligence of our kids. Either way, the bottom line is that I will win.

I will win.

I will.

I Spy with Preschool-Aged Kids

Yes, a rousing game of "I Spy" can really get me going in the morning (that's what she said), especially when it includes my four-year old and almost-three-year old, who don't quite understand the concept of the game.

Aside from giving "hints" that include the actual answer, the banter back and forth between the two of them is outstanding.

This morning, in the midst of driving in a sea of white thanks to the awesome Michigan weather, we got a game going.

To set the scene, Jack is in the second row of the van holding his Tyrannosaurus Rex that he got at the store last weekend. He is currently obsessed with dinosaurs. Abby is in the very back with her Rainbow Dash Equestria Girl.

Begin scene:

Jack: "I spy with my little eye something that is ... green ... and like the trees."
Me: "The trees?"
Jack: "NO the BUSH. It's LIKE the trees."
Me: "Oh. So. The bush?"
Jack: "(As though I'm brilliant) Yeah!"

As you can see, it doesn't take much to feel like a rock star while playing I Spy with these two.

Abby: "I spy with my little eye something that is ... blue ... with rainbow hair ... and a cutie mark on her cheek ... with boots."
Jack: "Umm ... (thinking hard) Rainbow Dash?"
Abby: "Yeah!"

Jack: "I spy with my little eye something that is ... like sharp teeth and pointy."
Me: "Your dinosaur's sharp teeth?"
Jack: "Yeah!"

Abby: "Okay, my turn! I spy with my little eye something that is ... red on her lips with hair that is blue and orange and yellow and skin that is blue."
Jack: "Rainbow Dash?"
Abby: "Well ... YES, but, Jack, it is actually the red on her lips so you have to say, 'Rainbow Dash lips.'"
Jack: "Rainbow Dash lips?"
Abby: "Yeah!"

So, if you're in the market for feeling good about yourself, come on over for a rousing game of I Spy -- you won't be disappointed.

A cat on Prozac? No, I'm not surprised.

Almost a year ago to the day, I had an incident online that shied me away from posting my personal content online.

Thanks to encouragement from an online acquaintance (Scott Stratten), and a "professional reset" so to speak, I have decided to fire this blog back up. For the past year, I have attempted to publish quality content in other realms in which I have interest -- sports, business -- but the best stuff that I write comes from my day-to-day experience with my kids (and my pets). Oh, and my husband. He counts too.

This brings us to present day.

I am going to have to change the header of this blog because we have added another child: a four-week-old girl. Yep, we just threw her onto the pile and -- so far -- she's surviving amidst the chaos.

Today is a fair representation of my life as I know it. Abby probably has pink eye and both kids have had green snot erupting from their noses for over a week, so all four of us are home together and we will head to the doctor shortly.

I am attempting to write while "Mommy?" "Mommy?" "Mommy!" is being peppered in my direction.

My delivery of "what?" has evolved from patient and loving to carrying a WTF-do-you-want-now tone after they have requested/stated the following:

• Jack: "I love you."
• Abby: "Can I have more waffles?"
• Jack: "Can I have more waffles?"
• Abby: "I want the iPad!"
• Jack: "I love you."
• Jack: "Can I watch Planes?"
• Abby: "Will you play with me?"
• Jack: "Are we there yet?" (We're in the living room)
• Jack: "I love you."
• Abby: "Can you put the iPad in here?"
• Abby: "Can you get me a snack?"
• Jack: "I love you."

I am one who does not do well while being verbally badgered. It is this fact that would cause my husband to dissolve into fits of laughter if he heard me tell someone that I have a "zen mode" when it comes to parenting.

Luke in his immature bliss.

Anyway, to my cat.

This past year can be easily summed up by telling the story of Leia being prescribed Prozac.

Our household had been stressful to say the least and -- apparently -- Leia was having a rough time with that. She was so high strung that she was constantly attacking Luke following any sudden noise, sideways glance or jolting movement. Unfortunately for her, she also isn't the stealthiest kitty, so she would get her tail handed to her (pun intended). After multiple fights in which Luke would essentially own her, she began to resemble Joaquin Phoenix, and now sports a gash of a scar across her nose.

Leia's issue became our issue due to the fact that she was also peeing all over the place while engaging in these fights. Mornings feeding the cats became increasingly stressful for my husband. I would be upstairs in the bedroom and hear a utensil hit the kitchen floor. My husband would then scream, "NO!" and shrill cat noises would follow. I would then come downstairs to find him on his hands and knees, scrubbing the carpet with a foul look on his face. He would then ask if we could sell the cats.

I finally took Leia to the vet. The prognosis? She was so tightly wound, it would be in her -- and our -- best interest to put her on Prozac. To say this amused me is an understatement. I believe my first comment to the vet was, "Well, it runs in the family."

The kicker here was that I had to fill the prescription at a regular pharmacy. Yes, I had to walk into Walgreens with a prescription for an anti-depressant for my cat.

When I handed the pharmacist the slip of paper from my vet, I immediately digressed to make light of the situation.

"Yeah, I'm just here to fill a prescription for Prozac for my cat."

The girl wasn't really fazed. She began typing into the computer. I just sat there. Wondering how this was going to go down.

"Do you happen to know the cat's date of birth?"

Okay, really? Actually, I did.

Also contributing to Leia's stress levels: my refusal to give her snacks.

I was furiously texting this hilarity to my best friend when the girl turned to me and asked, "Does she have any known allergies?"

Okay, this was happening? I said no ... and resisted the urge to state that she was a known allergy, but that probably wouldn't have been as funny out loud as it was in my head.

I said I would wait in the store while the prescription was filled. I walked around for upwards of 20 minutes and my name still hadn't been called. I walked back up to the counter to inquire.

"Um, yeah, I'm waiting for a prescription?"

The gentleman at the counter got my name and then said, "Oh, for the cat?"

It apparently wasn't quite ready yet. So I waiting right by the counter. After a few minutes, he came back and said, "For Leia ... the ... cat?"

This was flat-out ridiculous. If it wasn't so funny, I may have been slightly embarrassed. Okay, not really.

I grabbed the prescription and paid. As I was walking back to the car, I did, in fact, burst into laughter when I saw the name on the slip: "Leia Wywrot Cat".

You'll be happy to know that the Prozac has done wonders for Leia. Thankfully, she has avoided a therapist for now and the medication has given her the ability to relax.

And, yes, it hasn't seemed to change the integrity of who she is as a cat -- she's still got that great personality we've all come to know and love.

So, at least one member of our family is calmed down and in more of a zen state.

As for the rest of us, that is still up in the air. My intention is to get back to writing regularly, so stay tuned to stay updated.

Examples of the amazing content I don't get around to posting (but should)

I look back on this blog and see that there are 37 posts from 2012.

There are only 14 from 2013.

Coincidence? Random happenstance?

Definitely not.

You see, my friends, there was a major event that happened midway through 2012. One Jack Robert Wywrot was born.

While that resulted in a steep increase in blog posts as I tried to find some semblance of sanity during my maternity leave with two under two, that has since become a strong decline in the area of writing for pleasure.

Two children with two working parents is tough. Throw in the fact that Tom and I don't have typical jobs and it's like having three children. Rarely are all four of us together at home at the end of the day.

There are plenty of times I wish I had the time (or energy) to write down awesome moments taking place in my day-to-day life with the kids, but ultimately (and unfortunately) I don't.

I'm going to try and recall some gems now. Lord knows the passing of time could have the same impact as trying to deliver a message through a game of telephone ("No, really, Abby was hanging from the light fixture!), but I'll give it a whirl nonetheless. Could make for even higher levels of entertainment.

THE NAPTIME EXCHANGE
I do have the benefit of G-chat archives, so I can pull up my moment-by-moment account of a "conversation" between Abby and Jack yesterday during naptime.

I had the lofty goal of both my kids sleeping in the same room at the same time. I know. Stupid.

At any rate, I had the pleasure of witnessing this exchange over the monitor.

Jack: ::gibberish::

Abby: "Jack did you throw up? You throw up EVERYWHERE! Do not throw up ANY. MORE. It will get the house all dirty." 

Abby (cont.): "I asked you FOUR TIMES already. FOUR."

Jack: "FOUR."

Abby: "Lay down so you don't throw up again."

Jack: ::gibberish::

The best (or worst) part of this was that Jack had, in fact, thrown up a little bit. I didn't think Abby was right because I didn't hear any throwing up and he wasn't upset. It was just a little bit of throw up. Really. Nothing major. Naturally, when I told Tom he had thrown up a little, he said, "So she was right."

Whatever. Yes. The three-year old was "right". If that's what you want to call it.

I APPARENTLY HAVE FOUR "ELBOWS"
There are those awkward moments when a small child asks about something beyond his or her years.

Abby frequently asks about feminine products and I have no idea what to say. It's not like I'm ashamed or anything, but I don't want to scare the kid. My responses end up being absolutely ridiculous and make zero sense.

Me (stupidly): "Those are ... for ... cleaning."

Abby: "Cleaning?"

Me: "Is that a bird?" (Okay, I didn't really say that)

Well, today, Abby came across a bra and asked if she could put it on. I told her no. I also took note that Abby holding up my bra is the only time it will ever appear incredibly large, but I digress.

After I told her no, she puffed out her stomach and said, "Why, Mommy? I have elbows."

I guess that is what she has decided a bra is for. To hold up "elbows". She then asked to touch mine, confirming (by her grabbing) that she was, in fact, referring to "elbows".

Ah, kids.

SAD, BUT TRUE
There are moments like these that happen almost daily that I don't sit down and write about. I really should. Maybe if I set some sort of alarm to remind me to write about the mundane, but hilarious, things that happen I'll actually do it.

If anything, it can help me feel better about neglecting those baby books I have lying around. Every time Jack smiles I feel guilty that I haven't noted the emergence of his most recent teeth.

I'll just guestimate, he won't know the difference, ultimately. It's really only the first four that matter anyway, right?

Well, we'll see if my post average gets off to a solid clip in 2014!

Parenting is like Family Feud

It's amazing how you have all the answers pre-parenting. I can sit on the sidelines and watch what everyone else "should be doing." It's obvious, right?

It's like watching Family Feud. It's so easy to come up with the No. 1 answer from your couch, but the people who are actually on the show end up with off-the-wall answers.

"One hundred people were surveyed ... Name a household pet in America!"

"... Um ... um ... monkey!"

Cue laughter and the giant red 'X' and the couch-shouting. "WOW are you SERIOUS!? What an idiot!"

I am starting to feel that way right now. I was a parenting expert on the sidelines. Now I'm in the moment and feeling flustered with all the decisions I am going to have to make. What if I yell 'monkey'?

Crossing the line toward discipline

It is so easy to judge other parents ... particularly before you become one.

I am just now realizing how different it is crossing that line between simply caring for an infant -- offering basic, physical and emotional needs -- and parenting. We have crossed that line.

To make a long story short, I'm realizing that I have enabled insane behavior (e.g. Abby screaming bloody murder because I was cutting carrots in the kitchen and not paying attention to her) and that I needed to make a change.

Today I decided to ignore her when she acted like that and give her positive, fun attention when she was calm. The repercussions were amazing.

After her finger foods.

She behaved the entire dinner, she ate FINGER FOODS (sweet potato and turkey burger!) and she seemed to have a ball.

I am just now beginning to feel intimidated at the magnitude of parenting. Realizing that me simply trying to get things done around the house and not paying attention to her was creating a little monster. That little monster will grow to a big, big monster (think Supernanny) without intervention.

Thank God I was enlightened.