Ok. Seriously Now.

I am terrified of something. It haunts me as I lay next to Lila during story time at night. It creeps up on me when she wakes up in the morning and wants to sit on my lap on the couch. It eats at me a song I like comes on the radio and she declares, "I LOVE THIS SONG"!!!

I am afraid that this is the most I will ever like my kid.

We're not talking about "LOVING" because I am pretty sure I would (actually do) subject myself to all manner of torture to ensure that she doesn't suffer. But LOVE is not the same as LIKE.

My profile pic says it all.

As many of you know, I started this blog because motherhood is sometimes hard and sometimes boring and sometimes frustrating and sometimes just sucks. I also had pretty severe post-partum depression and spent the first several months of Lila's life not "liking" her very much. She screamed 16 hours a day for 6 months and slept in 20 minute spurts and that meant that I slept in 10 minute spurts because it took me at least 10 minutes to fall asleep. Needless to say, I was pretty sure that my child was sent specifically to punish me for whatever the hell I did in my past life.

If I invented shit like this, I probably deserve it.

The other problem is that over the last 4 years, I have struggled with major depressive disorder and that pretty much makes you not like anyone or anything. I spent a lot of time just trying to stay sane, and having a toddler around (and then a preschooler) generally accomplished exactly the opposite of that. Although I absolutely adored her and knew that she was the most wonderful child anyone has ever had (and I'm not saying that because I am her mother, I am saying it because she totally is) and I wanted to enjoy spending time with her, kids are kind of a huge pain in the ass.

As you can see, age 3 was worse than age 2.

And then last summer, something happened. It all started with my nervous breakdown and a brief trip to a "recovery resort" (read: mental hospital). When I came home, I was still weak but something had clicked while I was away. I felt different. Suddenly I felt like I was really a mother. Perhaps it was just some delayed reaction or maybe it was the drugs they had me on, but I like to think it was because Lila had turned 4, and suddenly she was learning all these cool things and not throwing so many tantrums and actually learning that it isn't okay to scream in the house.

This feeling has been a constant since then. Lila is a really good kid. She is smart and funny and loving and well behaved (when she isn't at Grandma's). I find myself excited to spend the day alone with her where before the idea of it terrified me (seriously, I would have panic attacks). I love doing bedtime with her because she talks about the things she loves and always includes me. She likes whatever I like, wants to do whatever I do, and I know everything about her.

And that's when the fear kicks in. What happens when she goes to school all day? She will learn about things that I can't control. She'll make new friends and those friends will begin to teach her things that I don't want her to know and she'll start realizing that the things that I like are actually really awful and lame and she'll tell me so. What if I just don't like the person she becomes?

What if she thinks this ass basket is cool?

YES, YES, I know this is probably not going to happen like that. That I am ignoring all the incredible things that she will be doing and that in all likelihood, I will grow to enjoy her even more. But this isn't about being rational. This is about realizing that I lost time during my darkest periods and fearing that this happiness will be fleeting (by the way, I totally got all teary-eyed typing that last sentence and that is why I am would rather just complain all the time).

This is when I need to be assured that it isn't just my medication (because I don't trust that at all) and that at some point I will realize that it isn't just a fluke (at least until she hits the awful teen years).

The Future Stalker

We go out to eat a lot.  Not that we're so rich that we can afford it because believe me, we probably shouldn't be doing it.  It's mostly because we both work and are just too lazy to cook and Lila is still too short to reach the microwave.

Several weeks ago, we loaded Lila into the car and since we couldn't really decide what we were in the mood for and wanted someplace that has an array of fat-filled and classic "American" junk foods, we settled on Applebee's.  The meal was pretty uneventful, and although we enjoyed the food and fun-filled, but oddly "flair" free experience, it was pretty much forgotten.  Well, Ben and I forgot it.

Every "neighborhood" has at least one creepy stalker type.

Flash forward to last Friday night.  Once again, we were debating the merits of Friendly's versus McDonald's and since we couldn't decide, we asked Lila where SHE wanted to go to eat.  "Let's go to Applebee's,"  she said.  "I can see my friend there." 

We had no idea what the hell she meant about her "friend" but we both kind of shrugged and said ok. 

Lila wanted to get "fancy" (her word) to go to dinner and proceeded to put on eyeshadow and lipstick and asked me to give her an "updo" (where I do the old double the ponytail over itself trick).  She got her fancy purple purse and insisted on wearing her scarf - because that is what she considers accessorizing. 

The whole way there she kept asking what the guys name was that waited on us last time, and if we were going to have the same waiter again.  And we told her at least 16 times that we didn't know.  When we pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car, Lila started yelling "AARON!!!  HIS NAME WAS AARON!  I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE AARON!!!!!"  We kind of didn't believe her so we did the whole condescending "Yeaaaaaaah...Mmmm Hmmmm....Suuuure it is" thing and went into the restaurant.

Applebee's was crowded and in the commotion, for about 5 minutes, she forgot about Aaron.  We were seated and our server (not Aaron) came over to get us drinks.  Lila got situated and started to look around.  She noted that this time we were NOT sitting next to the 101 Dalmations poster and that she liked the table we sat at last time better.  Then she saw him.

Aaron was working the next section over.

"Mommy it's AARON!  I want to go say hi to him!  He's here!  It's AARON!!!  He IS here tonight!  Can we go say hi to him?  AARON!  AARON!!!!  OVER HERE AARON!!!!!!!!"

Aaron did not respond.  When our server came back, Lila begged me to ask him to get Aaron to come over so she could say hi.  He said he would.

A few minutes later, Aaron came over and he actually remembered Lila from the last visit.  He even remembered her name (which I found a LITTLE creepy but the guy's MAYBE 20 and IS pretty cute) and this thrilled her to death.  He said he would come over to say goodbye before we left, and I was happy that this would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

For the next 45 minutes, the only thing Lila talked about was Aaron.  "Is Aaron going to come over?  There's Aaron.  AARON!!! HI AARON!!!  COME OVER HERE AARON!!! I want Aaron to come back over.  Why isn't Aaron waving back at me?  Why can't Aaron come over?  Will he come over again?  I just want to say HI to AARON! How do you spell Aaron?  Why are there two As in Aaron.  Can we move over into Aaron's section? Is Aaron going to cook our dinner?  AARON!  AARON????"

My attempts to distract her with markers and a coloring book were fruitless.  She was all about Aaron.  Ben and I decided that this was actually a good sign because if she was like this as a teenage girl, there would be nothing to worry about.  Lila would be officially labeled by those high school boys as WAAAAAY too crazy to date.

As we were getting ready to leave, Lila had a mini-breakdown.  Although Aaron had come over a few minutes before to say goodbye and tell us to just ask to sit in his section next time, that was not sufficient.  Lila wanted to "give him a kiss and hug" and "say see you later alligator".  She cried that awful heartbroken cry which is different than the "I'm just being a brat" cry and ignoring Ben's obvious disapproval, I told her we could wait a minute to see if Aaron came back out.  He did.

Lila bravely dried her tears and walked over to him and asked him for a hug.  She was too shy to ask for a kiss, but she did wave with a big smile on her face and yell out "see you later alligator", to which he responded as expected. 

When we got in the car I asked Lila if Aaron was her new boyfriend.  "NO!!!"  she replied indignantly.  "We're just friends."

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.

Say Hello to My Little (annoying) Friend.

Lila has a best friend. 

There is a little girl who lives 3 houses down (we'll call her "J")  who is 5 and she and Lila are apparently infatuated with each other.  You would think I would be thrilled that Lila has someone so close by to play with.  But my kid is obsessive.  And as I am learning so is her little friend. 

For the most part, they play together wonderfully.  Lila has no problem letting J play with all her toys and actually encourages J to take the first turn on any toy they have to share (as I was writing the last sentence, there was a knock at my door.  It is J wanting Lila to play.  It's 9:30 in the morning.  More on this later).  Lila is a tremendously gracious host and for a 4 year old, very polite.  J is not so much.  She is demanding and bossy.  She is high maintenance.  She can't play with any one thing for more than a few minutes wanting to go inside, then outside, then upstairs then back outside then needs to poop all in a matter of minutes.  Lila does not play like this.  It frustrates her, and makes me insane.

The fact that J can't sit still is actually the least annoying thing about the situation.  We can see J's yard from our living room window.  Practically every 3 minutes for 5 months now, Lila goes to the window excitedly yelping, "I think J is home! I want to go play with her!" or "I want to go play in J's yard!".   This isn't awful in itself, but it's impossible to get her to come and have dinner when she SEES J playing in her back yard. 

And J spends a LOT of time outside.  I am pretty sure that her parents send her outside for hours at a time by herself, which makes me extremely nervous to send Lila over there.  I realize that we live on a dead end street and that their yard is completely fenced in, but I still want to watch my kid to make sure she doesn't get hurt or abducted.  She's only 4 for Christ's sake and we haven't begun to terrorize her with "Stranger Danger" quite yet.  Needless to say, when they play together it's either at my house or with me sitting outside watching them.  This consumes way more of my time than I would like. 

Yesterday, I had the day off and my mother took Lila so that I could get some housework and errands done.  At 9:30, J came to the door asking if Lila could come out to play.  I told her that Lila was at her Grandma's and wouldn't be home until close to dinner time.  She accepted this and walked away.  About 15 minutes later, my front door opens and J takes off up my stairs!  "You can't just walk into people's houses," I tell her.  "Plus, I told you Lila isn't home.  Go home and I will send Lila over when she comes home later." 

At 10:30, I just happen to look outside and see that J is in my yard playing with Lila's soccer ball and net.  "You can't play in my yard when Lila isn't here and with no one keeping an eye on you," I tell her.  She goes home. 

At 11:15, my doorbell rings.  Guess who?

At 12:00, Ben comes home for lunch.  J comes running down the street asking him if Lila is home.

At around 1:00, I go to take a shower.  When I turn off the water,  I hear DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG, knock knock knock knock, DING DONG DING DONG DING DONG.  J is assaulting my doorbell and rabidly knocking at my door.  I decide to ignore her.  This continues while I get dressed, brush my teeth, apply makeup, and blow dry my hair for about 20 minutes.  When I finally go downstairs and open the door, she asks "is Lila home?"

REALLY?  I think.  Seriously?  "It isn't dinner time yet, is it?" I say.  "No," she tells me.  I explain to her that if someone doesn't answer the door after the SECOND time you ring the doorbell, that they are either not home or they are too busy to answer the door, and further, that it is not good manners to keep on coming over after I already told her that Lila isn't home and won't be home until much later. 

When I come home from running errands at 4:00, guess who is sitting on my porch?

As I was writing this (about 20 minutes ago), J came to the door.  She and Lila played for about 5 minutes and J wanted to "run home for a minute."  This means I have to go out onto my porch and watch her (because regardless of what her parents allow, I am not going to be held responsible of something DOES happen to her).  She came back with a Justin Bieber photograph, and stayed for about 3 minutes before needing to "run home again." 

Image removed because I was tired of seeing the searches used to find my blog were overwhelmingly filled with "Justin Bieber Bulge".  SERIOUSLY.  WHO THE HELL IS SEARCHING FOR THAT???

I am SOOOO glad she starts full-day Kindergarten tomorrow.

They really do resemble the mentally ill.

I have heard it joked that having a small child in your house is like living with a crazy person.  And I am here to tell you that I can confirm that it's absolutely true, although to be more accurate, it is like living with a ward full of psychiatric patients.  I know because I just left there.

As many of you know, my depression has been excruciating lately and I was not finding a lot of help from the professionals that I contacted.  Last Saturday, I had finally had enough and I checked myself into the psych ward at the hospital (you were wondering where I was, weren't you?).

I waited until Lila was out and about with her dad for the day and then called my mother and begged her to take me to the hospital (actually, she was more than willing and thought it was the best idea).  I didn't think they were actually going to check me in because I was not threatening to kill myself or anyone else (for a change).  When the doctor told me she wanted me to check in voluntarily or else she was going to check me in involuntarily with a required 72 hour stay, I signed the papers all the while crying and trying to convince the doctor that my child would never survive without me. 

Even in a state that can best be described as desperately useless, I was more worried about my kid than I was about myself.  I felt guilty for leaving her - for NEEDING to leave her.  I felt like I had been so removed and uninvolved for weeks now, and I was finally doing the inevitable.  I was leaving her.  My mother convinced me that she was in very able hands (her Dad is a fantastic father) and that this would truly be better than letting her see me in such a state of utter breakdown.  I knew she was right-in my head.  But my heart told me that I was a deserter.

The ward was a hospital ward with a long hallway with patients' rooms on one side and offices and other useful rooms on the other.  In the middle of the hall was a large open room with a TV and several tables in it.  The TV was always at full volume and the fluorescent lights and linoleum floors make the room harsh and uncomfortable. 

But it isn't the decor that I think was the important part of this story.  It was the people.  They don't separate the truly insane or disruptive patients from those who are depressed or anxious and the crazies ran the place. 

The first person I saw was a guy with a thick black beard and shaved head who just stood in the hall smiling to himself.  He just stood there.  Didn't look up.  Then he tentatively took half a step before smiling to himself again.  I was instantly afraid.  He was totally in his own head and I realized then that I was here with truly ill people. 

There was also a guy who constantly paced the length of the hallway all day and half the night.  When he sat down, he would try to talk to you or concentrate on something to no avail.  He would get frustrated and jump up to walk again. 

There was a woman who barked.  She mostly barked but also liked to repeat everything that people said when she was in the mood.  The first night I was there, they were watching some show on Telemundo that was like America's Got Talent but only showcased children.  At one point, a dance team came out enthusiastically gyrating to annoying techno music.  She heard the music, jumped up and started imitating the dance moves.  Here was a 50+ woman who barked doing some really athletic dance moves.  I was pretty sure she was going to hurt herself. 

There was a guy who was essentially catatonic in a wheelchair who would piss himself and then come to life fighting the nurses who tried to change his pants.

There was a girl who confined herself to her room most of the time except that several times a day (and often in the middle of the night) would come out into the hall screeching, howling and hooting as if she were at some fantastic dance party that only she could see. 

But my favorite memory will always be of The Yeller.  The Yeller was a 70 year old man who came in complaining and bitching but in completely nonsensical sentences.  He literally yelled utter nonsense for 4 entire days, quieting down for 3 hours here and there but mostly going on non-stop.  He just could not shut the fuck up.  He yelled all kinds of interesting gems and I was convinced that if I could just transcribe it, there would be some sense to be made of it.  But I doubt it.  He would walk up to you for no reason looking like you somehow offended him and he'd point at you and say something like (and I quote) "You can tell me abracadabra and put it in the dryer.  But you have to get the user's manual that's in the refrigerator because the sponges need a bath."  After 4 days of him yelling day and night, I decided that ready or not, I needed to go home.

Coming home was really strange for me.  My house looked weird.  Lila looked like she had grown up, and I just felt completely out of sorts.  I knew that the relief I felt from the excessive sadness and anxiety was mostly due to being away from my real life and I knew that it was going to be hard to disappoint Lila, who thought that since I was coming back from the hospital that I was going to be all better.  I am not. 



But all that being said, I found out that I have an incredibly well-behaved and well-adjusted child.  Lila missed me and asked about me often but only cried about it once, at bedtime on the second night I was gone.  In fact, I would often call her at my mother's house during the day and on more than one occasion when my mother asked if she wanted to talk to me she shrugged and said, "not right now, I'm playing."  When I told my doctor about this, she asked if that hurt my feelings and I had to be honest:  I was completely relieved that she was secure in the idea that I was coming back soon.  She wasn't traumatized by my absence and that freed me up to do some of the work I needed to do to get myself in good enough shape to get out of there. 

Like any stay in the hospital, coming home did not mean I was "cured".  It only meant that the crisis had been averted and that the hard work of really getting better was beginning.  Before I left, they made me a prompt appointment with a therapist and a psychiatrist, which boggled my mind since every shrink I had called in the last month told me they were either not taking new patients or wouldn't be able to see me until October.  I have new meds (which I already think need adjusting) and I am still having a ton of anxiety and sadness. 

But now I know that there is help out there.  And I have something that I didn't have when I went in there.  Hope.

They say they know VERY early

As a mother, I often feel the need to prescribe meaning to every little thing my kid does.  She likes to wear tappy shoes?  She needs to take tap lessons.  She wants me to buy her paint?  Maybe she'll be an artist.  Everything and anything becomes some prediction of her future.  I know this is insane but when she said what she said, I obviously raised an eyebrow.

http://monedesignz.spreadshirt.com

The other night I was chatting with Lila, all relaxed and cozy and ready for bedtime when the subject came to her friends at preschool.  Devon is her BEST friend and she has to walk out holding hands with her every day.  She has professed her LOVE for Devon on many occasions and the two often kiss on the lips.  I just chalk it up to her being best friends with this other overly affectionate little girl.

Then she said something to me that I partially applauded and which also made me nervous.  "Mommy," she said.  "I think Devon is my boyfriend but she's a girl.  Is that okay?" 

"Of course it's okay," I said, as open-minded liberal free love mother of the year.  But somewhere inside (and this is a HUGE confession because I am completely in love with the gays on every level) I was nervous.  What if she is (gulp) a lesbian???? 

When I was pregnant Ben and I joked about how we wanted her to be a lesbian so that we wouldnt have to worry about teenage boys and I totally know that when it came down to it I wouldn't care.  But being gay is still a hard life in this country.  Who wants their kid to have to grow up doubting and being made fun of and not being able to marry who the hell they want?  Or being this guy:

They always go just a LITTLE too far...
image via MSN.com

Then I stopped myself because I realized that she is not quite four and likely just has a little friend crush and isn't interested in boys yet.

But most people that I know DO say that they knew when they were VERY young...Shit.


On a totally unrelated side note, when I searched for a picture of lesbians, I couldnt get any to come up because there were too many explicit images.  There is something very wrong with that.

I'm not ready.

(Or Lila finds a new way to make Mommy insane)


"Lila, it's time for school.  You have to get up."
I'm not ready.
"Lila you have to eat some breakfast.  We need to get going."
I'm not ready.
"It's time to get dressed.  Come on.  We need to go in ten minutes."
I'm not ready.

"You have five minutes and then it will be time to go to the doctor."
I'm not ready.
"Can you get ready?"
I'm not ready to get ready.
"In five minutes you need to be ready."
I don't think I will be ready.

"Lila, it's time for dinner. Wash your hands."
I'm not ready.
"I need you to help me set the table."
I'm not ready.
"Well, it is time NOW so ready or not, I need you help me."
I'm not ready NOW.

"Lila, look at the clock.  In 5 minutes it's time for a bath."
I'm not ready.
"Right.  When the clock says 7:15 you need to be ready."
I'm not ready.
"Ok.  That's why I am telling you to watch the clock."
I'm not ready to watch the clock.
"Ok.  Well you have 5 minutes."
I won't be ready.

"We need to get your pajamas on and get ready for bed."
I'm not ready.
"ok.  Well, We have to do things we aren't ready for sometimes."
I'm not ready.
"Lila, if you don't get your pajamas on you don't get a bedtime snack."
I WANT MY SNACK RIGHT NOW!!!
"Well, I'm not ready."

CRAP-TASTIC! - No, seriously.

I dont know why Lila sees the toilet as being pure evil.  It's not like I showed her this:

Image from http://yippie-kai-yay.blogspot.com/

Well folks, after a year of begging and cajoling and trying ever suggestion (including bribery, trickery and just leaving her alone) Lila managed to take a crap on the toilet on Tuesday.  Not only that, she has crapped Wednesday and this morning as well.

I wish I could say it was her choice.  I wish I could say that I did what any loving and attentive parent would have done and let her come around on her own.  But I didn't.  I simply refused to buy any more pull-ups and it just so happened that she was sick and couldn't really hold it anymore.

I wish I could give credit to the gazillion suggestions I received from you all.  I wish I could say it was because I bribed her with a trip to Target for a new Barbie or because I told her I would take her to Friendly's for ice cream (Yes, I told her both of those things) but it wasn't.  It was just because Ben has a shitload of patience with her begging and crying that I don't have.

He was the hero in this one.  After me trying to talk her through it for about 15 minutes while she cried in sheer terror that she could not properly explain (because she is three), I gave up and called in the big guns. 

Ben went in and offered to take all the water out of the toilet so there would be no splash.  This helped but did not in any way make her want to go.  I sat in the hallway crying because this was obviously mean and cruel but I reminded myself that I had never heard of anyone so traumatized by having to shit on the potty that they became mass murderers.

Ben started asking her about school.  About who was sick and who was the "leader" and all of a sudden I heard her stop crying and squeak out a little, "I think I did it."

And she did.  She was so proud of herself and so we had to act like crapping in the toilet was the most incredible thing we had ever witnessed.  We told her she was brave and so big now and she just beamed with pride!

from cafepress.com

And of course, yesterday we went to Target where I managed to spend $22 on a Barbie and some other crap toys just to keep the momentum going.

So to all of you who reassured me it was going to be okay and that my kid would eventually stop crapping her pants, I say THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT.

Now I have to figure out how to properly wipe a kid's ass when she is half standing up.

Lila ruins everything

They say that imitation is the highest form of flattery.  Tell that to any mother of a preschooler and she'll tell you that it actually destroys worlds.

Every mom wants to share the things she loves with her children.  For example, a favorite song or book or movie. 

I used to love Joan Jett.  I have seen her in concert a few times and always thought of "I Love Rock and Roll" as the summation of my childhood (I was a strange kid).

Lila also loves that song.  In fact, she loves it so much that when I played the CD one time while driving her to the sitter, she "rocked out" through the whole song, then merrily shouted, "AGAIN!"  By the third time, she was singing along to the chorus and "OOOOOW"-ing in that high-pitched voice of hers.  Luckily, it only took 3 times to get where we were going.

But it didn't stop there.  She needed it every time we got into the car.  Some time around the 218th time in a row I heard it (and nothing else) while driving, I told her that I forgot the disc in the house.  A full-on heartbreak ensued and she cried the entire trip to the grocery store and back.  And even though I could have simply put it on because I was obviously lying, I didn't want her to know I was lying and so instead I endured her tears and whining.

Needless to say, I cringe when I hear it now. 

She did the same to my favorite color, which used to be purple.  Lila LOVES purple.  And after painting her room purple, and getting her purple sheets, a purple rug, purple curtains, a purple bookcase and pretty much any toy that contains purple in it, she started to insist on wearing something purple every single day.  We have A LOT of purple socks and underwear and she would only wear one pair of shoes (can you guess what they look like) every day if I would let her.

She has done this with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which was my favorite Disney movie.  I hate it now.  This happened with Tom and Jerry cartoons.  It happened with a children's book I kept around BEFORE I EVER EVEN THOUGHT I MIGHT HAVE A KID, Ferdinand the Bull, which Lila wore out in a matter of days.  It happens with foods, with games (I was thrilled the FIRST time she wanted to play Candyland.  The 7,586th time?  Not so much.). 

Because preschoolers are nothing if not obsessive.



(Image from  http://www.last.fm/music/Joan+Jett/+images/5113011)

A confession. Then a small victory. I think.

I have posted about a lot of the stupid ways that motherhood makes me hate life, but this is one that I feel somewhat ashamed of.  Because I know better. Not that it's been reason enough for me to knock this shit off until now. 

Here's my confession.  I lay down every night with my kid to make her go to sleep.  This is insane, I know.  But wait until I tell you how this evolved, because my kid NEVER slept in our bed.  It's ridiculous and even more insane. 

When Lila was an infant, she was evil and colicky (or just pure evil, if I remember correctly).  There were a lot of nights where I would get up so often that I would finally just bring a pillow and lie on her floor so that I didn't have to walk as far.  I never brought her into our bed because her room had great dark curtains that blocked out the light and in the summer in AZ the sun comes up at like 4:30 in the morning and there was NO WAY I was starting my day that early.  So she needed to be in her room so that she would sleep until a still absurd 6am.  To bring her into my bed just meant I would have to get up again to move her back and I am sure that would have been the ONE NIGHT where she slept for 8 hours straight and I would have had to get up anyways. 

I also rocked her to bed every night for a long time.  Too long by most standards. We tried the cry-it-out method and learned that the kid could literally cry for 3 to 4 hours easily.  For at least 3 nights in a row (and this was when I still gave her a bottle at bedtime).  All the "experts" swore that they wouldn't cry for more than an hour or two AT THE MOST and that they would finally tire themselves out and that by the third night the crying would substantially decrease.  Not so much with this one.  Our kid had super-human stamina.  She would scream and scream and scream and scream.  She was able to out-cry our patience and I am sure would have cried until morning had we not intervened around the 3 and a half hour mark.  Even after crying for 3 hours, half the time she still refused to go to sleep.  And so after the fourth night of traumatizing our kid by allowing her to cry for longer than she would likely even sleep, we decided that we just wouldn't do that method.  But I decided that I would not rock her to sleep anymore.  I started to put her into her bed but stayed in the room with her.

At first I simply sat in the rocking chair.  I would talk to her a little and sing to her a little and she would eventually doze off.  But honestly, it wasn't very comfortable and I began bringing my own pillow in and laying on the floor next to her crib.  Ben did it on his nights too.  It was just how we got our kid to sleep. 

When Lila got her big girl bed I really thought that it would come with a "big girl" attitude and that when I told her I was not going to sleep in there with her that she would somehow be all "mature" about it (I know how stupid that sounds...she was 2).  But instead she thought it was great because I could just get into bed with her.

(There's more to this story.  You can read the post from back then here)

First off, if you have ever seen a toddler bed, you know how stupid this was.  Here I am, a grown woman, a little overweight, in a bed that is about 4 feet by 2 and a half feet.  Here is a helpful illustration as to how that looked for those of you with poor imaginations:


I looked like this in her bed, but not as cute.

I would lie there with my whole ass hanging off the side of the bed and we would do our story that way and talk for a few minutes and then I would tell her she needs to be very still and shut her eyes and go to sleep.  About half the time, she would be tired enough to do this.  But the other half of the time I would have to tell her repeatedly and get pissed off because I had other things to do (Lost was on back then). This was also when we got rid of the bottle and tToo complicate the issue, there was an infant sleeping in the bedroom directly below Lila's.  And since HIS parents would tend to him as soon as he cried so as not to wake Lila, I couldn't be the asshole who lets her kid scream uncontrollably all night.

When we moved into our new house last October, Lila was upgraded to a twin bed.  Mostly because she was constantly flinging herself out of the toddler bed since it was nowhere near big enough to accomodate the amount of interpretive-dance style movements she seems to enjoy acting out when she's dreaming. 

It also meant that I could now COMFORTABLY do bed time and lay there and talk with her.  I thought that I would LOVE doing bedtime now because we could talk in the dark and cuddle and tell secrets.  And that truly is what it's like some nights  - for the first 15 or so minutes.  But it always seems to degenerate into me telling her it's time to be quiet and close her eyes, and her "remembering" that she needs to get a different pillow or that she didn't have a drink of water or that she suddenly had to take a crap.  And I always yell at her and say the word "NOW!" a lot. 

And she HATES going to sleep.  She fights and fights and fights it.  She will start to doze and suddenly shoot up straight to tell me "something really really important that she forgot today" but now she can't remember.  And as soon as I make her lie back down and cover her up, I try to tell her that we can talk about it tomorrow but I am interrupted by snoring because she fell asleep in the 6 seconds it took to get her to put her head back onto the pillow. 

Every night now, I find that I am yelling at her and threatening to go downstairs.  And this is shitty.  Every night I have to tell her to be still, be quiet, close her eyes, over and over and over.  And I don't want to be this parent.  It's super, overly control-freakish to me.  It feels mean for me to tell her she isn't allowed to move again or "I am going to leave her alone".  I try to explain that if I go downstairs she can stay awake as long as she wants as long as she stays in her bed but she swears she's going to be quiet.  Then about a minute later she starts singing some song or talking to her stuffed cat. 

When I do leave the room she cries like I am leaving forever.  And I usually come back.  I will come back because I think that she BELIEVES I am abandoning her.

The last couple of weeks with her have been especially challenging.  I am having a pretty bad relapse into depression regardless of the fact that I am medicated and she has been sick on and off and is totally acting up.  I blame my lack of attention and short temper for her behavior and feel guilty that I am not being the best mother I can be and I think I project a lot of my childhood insecurities onto her (like the abandonong thing above). 

And then today, I read a post by a fellow blogger (Pampers and Pinot) that suddenly made me understand WHY I feel so frustrated with the way she's acting lately.  She's manipulating me. 

Any of you who have known a kid from the time they started talking will probably know that they are expert manipulators.  I am pretty sure that I could send my kid to the CIA and they could learn some fantastic new tactics for emotionally destroying the detainees at Gitmo.  She knows EXACTLY the right buttons to push.  And although I am SURE she really hates it when I yell and scream, I also know that somehow she is purposely eliciting that exact reaction from me.  Because when I don't do it, she gets confused and has to change tactics.

A friend recommended I watch Supernanny (which I hate) and I was all negative about that suggestion at first.  Until I remembered some of the dumb parents I have seen on that show and realized how many times that womansays things like  (start cockney accent here) "Yo' chi-old is run-ning this house!  You'oo ahhh the pah-rents."

My kid is sadly mistaken to believe that she wears the pants in this family.  And I do realize that it is perfectly normal for them to try to do this.  But I will be damned if I am going to raise a kid who is a total asshole! 

So today I sat her little ass down, and said, "Mommy is going to make a deal with you.  From now on, if you are good, I will not yell at you.  And if you are bad, I will not yell at you, but I will put you in the corner for a time out.  And I am only going to warn you once.  Do you understand me?"  She nodded. 

I knew that I would need to remind her throughout the day but I was determined not to lose my cool today.

She was actually pretty good.  There were about 3 different times where I had to say, "you remember the deal, don't you?  Are you being good?" and that made her behave. 

And then at lunchtime when she threw a fit because I asked her if she wanted chicken soup and she said yes, but then changed her mind as soon as the bowl was put in front of her, I reminded her of our deal.  She crossed her arms and refused to eat and DEMANDED macaroni and cheese.  So I got down on her level and insisted she look at me.  And I said, "you are not getting macaroni and cheese...LISTEN TO ME...stop being a brat and eat your lunch or you will go in the corner for a time out."  She stomped her feet telling me she hated chicken soup.  So I picked her up and stuck her in the corner. 

She refused to stand up so I sat her on the floor.  I told her I was setting the timer for 3 minutes and she continued to scream as I walked away.  I told her that she could come out when she heard the beep, and that she should stop screaming so she didn't miss it.  She kept screaming.

She did this horrible hyperventalating-type cry that is usually reserved for real-true awful things (like when balloon pops or something) and as I scrubbed the toilet (yes, this is what I did to distract myself so that I didn't go back to get her) I realized that she has learned that it's okay to be an asshole to me.  Further, she has learned (partially from my mother never letting her cry even slightly without giving in) that the more she wants something, the bigger the dramatics.  

When the timer went off, I went over to her, crouched down and asked if she was ready to eat her lunch yet.  She said she really wasn't hungry and I told her that she only needs to eat 5 spoonfuls.  I told her that if she didn't want to do this, she could simply stay in the corner until she was ready.  Crying and sobbing she reached up to hug me (this is the hardest part for me because I DO NOT ever want her to think I am withholding affection) but I insisted that she eat her lunch.  She said ok and I asked her to say sorry for yelling at me.  She did.  Then I hugged her.  I brought her to her seat and she kept crying and wanted me to hold her (this really bothers me because I cannot tell if she is playing me or if she really desperately wants me to just love her).   I sat down with her and told her I am not mad at her, but that it is not acceptable for her to throw fits about what I make her for lunch.  EVER.   She ate exactly 5 spoonfuls.

She was good for the rest of the day.  Until bedtime.  There is no good way to do a time out at bedtime.  Bedtime IS the time out.  I am not going to get her OUT of bed to teach her a lesson so this one is more complicated.

I intended to start the "you're going to sleep on your own" thing on Friday so that she would have the weekend and then Monday night to figure out how to not be up all night.  I was planning to stay there with her tonight.  We did our regular bedtime routine and talked for a few minutes, then I told her it was time to be quiet now.

For about 4 minutes she was good.  Then she started the fidgeting.  Fingers, hands, rubbing the wall, making noises with her mouth.  I told her that I was only going to tell her one time that she needed to be still, OR she could stay awake for a while and I would just go downstairs. Not a big deal. She didn't want me to leave.  I told her that I do not want to have to yell at her, and that it is time for her to go to sleep.  I told her that she needed to be quiet with her eyes closed and that if I had to tell her again, I would simply get up because she is can stay awake without me there, but must go to sleep if I am there.  She kept "remembering" things that she needed to tell me. 

I told her once that we will talk in the morning.  She kept going.  So rather than yell at her, I got up and walked out.  It was heart-wrenching.  She kept begging me, "Mommy please come back.  I'll be a good girl.  I won't move at all!"  And I felt SOOOOO fucking guilty, not so much for walking out but for setting up this dynamic in the first place.  I DON'T WANT HER TO THINK SHE'S BAD BECAUSE SHE CAN'T FALL RIGHT TO SLEEP!  I sometimes don't fall asleep that easily.  And here I have created this awful situation where I lay in bed with her (to provide love and security) only to yell at her and make her think she's being bad when she has trouble doing something that everyone struggles with sometimes. 

This made me feel like a failure. 

I went to her room and sat on her bed and explained to her how it isn't good for her or for me for me to yell at her to go to sleep.  And since she is really big now, she can learn to sleep like big kids do, without their parents yelling at them to go to sleep all the time.  I told her that I would leave her door open and we would be right downstairs.  I told her I would come back in thirty minutes (I told her what numbers the clock would say) and check on her.  Then I kissed her and walked out. 

She cried for about 5 minutes, then stopped.  I assumed she got up to play but when I went up (as promised) she was fast asleep. 

So now tomorrow I will make a big deal about how proud I am of her and we will try this again tomorrow night, but without the option of me sleeping with her.  She has school the next morning so the stakes are higher but I am determined to stop this now.  Because I seriously cannot allow her to control my emotions or my evenings like this forever. 

(In the interest of whatever laws apply, I stole that cat pic from the Cheezburger site.  It isn't actually mine.)

Annoying. (Or what it's like to be three)

"Mommy.  Mommy.  Mommy.  Mommy.  MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY!"

She isn't paying attention.  Daddy keeps on talking to her but I need her NOW! 

"Mommy Mommy MOMMY MOMMY MOMMY!!!!"

I don't want to hang on a minute.  I don't want to wait until she's finished talking.  I have to tell her something REALLY REALLY REALLY important!  I have to tell her NOW!  I have to tell her right this minute because I really really have to tell her!

"MOM-MY.  MOM-MY!"  "MOOOOM-MY!"
Maybe if I just whine a little bit, "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMY!" But not too much because then she won't let me tell her.  I'll just make the sad face too.  "MOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMY!"

Um...She's looking at me now. I want to tell her something but what is it? She stopped talking and she's waiting for me to tell her what.  I have to tell her something and I want her to know that....hmmm......Look!  There's my Strawberry Shortcake Doll.  I'm going to go over and get it. 

"I like Strawberry Shortcake, Mommy!"

........................................................................

From the prompt found here:

Mr. Sunday Night Special

Do you know this man?

My kid does.  OH YES, she does.

This is Tom Bergeron.  You may know him from Dancing with the Stars.  But this is not where we know "The Berge" from. 

Lila is obsessed with Tom Bergeron.  Every Sunday around 4 pm, she gets all ornery and starts demanding we eat dinner right away so that she can have her bath and be ready in time for what she calls, "The Berge".  You see, there was a time not so long ago, when we had the DVR and we could watch old episodes of what Lila calls "America's Homiest Funniest Homiest Videos" whenever it struck her fancy.  Several months ago, however, we gave up the cable TV, so now we only get to watch The Berge and "people getting hurt" (her other name for the show) when it is airs on ABC at 7:00 on Sundays.

I am personally kind of shocked that AFV is still on TV.  I mean, with all the viral videos that are all over the interwebs and all...but that show continues to delight my kid no matter how many kittens she sees swinging from ceiling fans; no matter how many douchbags catch a railing to the balls; no matter how many grandmas miss their chairs and plop down on their Depends.  It just does not get old for her.

On a related note, some of you are by now aware of my crush on Bob Sagat.  I love Bob Sagat because many people see him simply as the fun-loving dad on Full House or the once goofy commentator/host of AFV (in the days BEFORE The Berge).  But if you have ever seen his comedy routine or read the tabloids, you know that he is the filthiest, foul-mouthed, weird, creepy, older guy to ever spend months hanging around the Playboy mansion.  And I LOVE that about him!

Lila DOES NOT share my enthusiasm for Bob Sagat.  In fact, not too long ago, we watched a 20th (or 15th or 25th I am really not sure what it was) Anniversary show and The Berge was joined by my horndog crush Mr. Sagat.  Immediately, Lila's face soured the minute she spotted him. 

"WHO IS THAT GUY???"  She spit out at me. 

"That's Bob Sagat," I told her.  "He's really funny.  Mommy really likes him.  It is going to be an AWESOME AFV with this guy on!" 

She wasn't even remotely seeing it.  "I DO NOT like Tom Begeron's friend!"

I wondered how my other weird crushes would fare in her opinion.  Would she appreciate Joe Biden's hair style?  Would she accuse Louis CK of being a filthy ginger? It's a good thing I am OVER Stephen Colbert because I am sure she wouldn't appreciate his tone.

So tonight (actually in about ten minutes) just like mostly ever other Sunday evening will be spent with The Berge, along with Lila, Ben and our cat, The Asshole.  If I'm really lucky we will have a few laughs and some nice quiet time eating popcorn and being one big happy not-so-funny family.

A Little Squeeze?

My kid is the Goddamned Ketchup Nazi. 

She insists on ketchup with every meal.  Eggs with Ketchup for breakfast. Grilled cheese with ketchup for lunch.  Pasta with ketchup for dinner.  And although I cringe to think about the sheer amount of high-fructose corn syrup she ingests every day, I am happy that there is something that makes her eat carrot sticks or non-nuggetized chicken.  Plus, I hear that in school cafetierias they actually consider ketchup a vegetable. 

But this new phase is really getting on my nerves.

Lila refuses to share her ketchup with the rest of the family.  We rarely eat foods at home that ACTUALLY require ketchup so in that way, I guess we're lucky. 

But we go out to eat a lot.  I realize I should be ashamed of how often we eat out but I just wrote a piece for Band Back Together about accepting that I am not perfect and not eating at home is one of those things that I just don't give a shit about, broke or not.  I WILL eat out twice a week.  It's my guilty pleasure. 

So as I have mentioned in a previous post (see here) we go to Friendly's a lot.  The last time we were there, I ordered a burger (which I never do because I am terrified of raw ground beef) but I was premenstrual and needed some iron so I ordered one.  When the server brought our meals, Lila snatched the ketchup and happily squeezed several small dots around her plate of Friendly Frank and mac and cheese.  I waited until she snapped the top back on and set it down so that I could ask her politely to "please pass the ketchup."

The look on her face was one of utter disgust, as if I had just asked her to pass the kitten entrails.  She just stared at me.

"Um...Lila...can I have the ketchup, please?  Now?"

She leaned forward as if she was considering my motives.  Did she think I was going to molest the ketchup or something?  Did she think I was going to use it for evil?  Then she slowly picked up the ketchup bottle and set it on the seat next to her.


This is what I saw in my head.

"Lila.  GIVE ME THE KETCHUP.  SERIOUSLY.  KETCHUP NOW OR NO ICE CREAM!"

Of course, through all this, her father is just sitting there next to her blissfully (purposely) ignoring the ridiculous power struggle that was taking place right in front of him.  When Ben reached over and helped himself to the bottle of ketchup, completely oblivious to the fact that I was asking for it just seconds ago, Lila snatched it out of his hand and clutched it to her chest, having rescued her "Precious" from the grip of doom.

"Seriously, Lila?  Really?  You can't just share the ketchup?  That's fine.  The next time I am having something that I really like, I will refuse to share it too.  Hey, guess who isn't sharing my french fries?  Guess who isn't getting my Reese's Peanut Butter Cup off my sundae?  Guess who is never, ever, EVER getting a sip of my soda again?"

She just clung to her ketchup bottle.  Ben, in the meantime, had simply gotten up and gotten another bottle of ketchup from the next table.  He never gets the underlying POINT of making her do things she doesn't like to do.  He tends to believe that these stupid power struggles are best left unfought.  I (obviously) tend to get sucked right into them and turn into a kid myself saying stupid things that just make her think it's funny to upset me.

After we were all finished with dinner and had put in our order for ice cream (because it is seriously just MEAN to not allow a kid to have ice cream at Friendly's no matter how unable to behave they may be), Lila put the ketchup back on the table and said, "You can use it on your ice cream if you want.  Can I still have your candy?"

"Mother Fucker!" I thought.

Water Trauma and Other Signs of Insantiy.

There is a new fantastic way I have found to completely traumatize my kid.  I found it by accident, since I NEVER would have seen it as something that would create such an overblown and emotional reaction and I really try not to do it but she is traumatized by it at least a few times every day. 

Every time Lila washes her hands, she ends up coming out of the bathroom having suffered what sort of resembles a total nervous breakdown.  If we don't dry her hands enough, she will cry and shed actual real tears because she says her sleeves are wet.  Apparently she also has super human ability to detect moisture because I almost never feel anything remotely wet and don't really understand why this is so upsetting to her suddenly.

This is a kid who would pull a chair up to the kitchen sink at her grandma's house and come away looking like she was thrown in a pool.  She never wiped her own hands and used to think it was hilarious to run up to me with her wet hands and get her hand prints on me. 

Tonight before dinner, her father went in to "help her" wash her hands (because suddenly she is afraid to do it herself) and she got a DROP of water on her shirt.  She cried and cried and cried and cried.  She cried like someone ran over her puppy, it was so pathetic.  She cried some more, and when I asked her to show me where the water got, she couldn't.  Because her tears had gotten her shirt ALL wet.  Needless to say, we had to change that shirt.

Is this something kids go through or is this just another obvious sign that my kid is going to be insane?

Why don't I own stock in this?

Lila's favorite place in the entire world to eat is Friendly's.  For those of you in places where they don't have them (one of the many things wrong with Arizona) basically, it's a family restaurant that is actually better known for their fantastic ICE CREAM.  Basically, if Baskin Robbins and Denny's merged and then got WAY better food at pretty reasonable prices, it would kind of be like that. It's pretty awesome. 

For the first two years after we moved back from Arizona, we lived about 4 blocks from a Friendly's and because it's pretty affordable (and just too fucking easy) we went there ALL THE TIME.  Seriously.  I should be embarrassed by the fact but in the interest of being totally honest with all of you who take the time to let me into your heads, I will just fess up: There was a time where we literally went there AT LEAST once a week.  I say "at least" because for a lot of the summer months, we would go one day a week (usually a Friday or Saturday evening) and have dinner, and then another week night (or two or three) we would walk there after we ate dinner, just to get ice cream.  Some weeks, we would also have lunch there.  And although they do have fantastic (and cheap) breakfasts, we only went for breakfast twice (both times meeting some friends with children).

If this sounds totally excessive, I want you to know that you will find no argument from me.  It IS excessive.  And I have the gigantic pants to prove it.  And although I would love to tell you that when we moved to our new house in October and started needing to budget our money a little better that dinners at the Friendly's have stopped, I cannot do that.  Our new house is less than a mile from our old house, and so I can safely say that the walks for ice cream are probably in the past.  And since it isn't QUITE as convenient, we are eating at home more.  See, now that we are in our own house, we only go to Friendly's when we have a coupon, which is pretty much every week because I have signed up for their email list (I'm a BFF - Best Friend of Friendly's) and they send them out pretty often. 

And there's another component to the fact that Lila BEGS for Friendly's all the time.  You see, last fall Lila became somewhat "enamored" with one of the servers there, a 20-something named Corey.  Corey is tall and handsome and has a giant diamond earring in his ear.  And Lila calls Corey her best friend.  Lila makes cards and colors pictures for Corey and we bring them on our next visit.  It is a very difficult dinner to get through when we get all hyped up to go to Friendly's and then it turns out that Corey took the night off.  Generally, Lila will cry and refuse to eat her food until the server properly engages her in conversation, and then she will spend the rest of the meal looking for "her new friend".

We went there tonight and it struck me just how much we actually go there because Corey said to us, "I haven't seen you guys in a while," and I thought about it and realized that "a while" was about 2 and a half weeks.  Then I started thinking about how much money we must actually spend there and I think I can safely say that I may single-handedly be the reason they were able to buy snazzy new carpets...

And just as I was getting tired of their food, they introduced a new seasonal menu with like 8 new items and they're fucking fabulous.  They're so good that I actually took the time to email Friendly's corporate office to tell them how fucking incredible the food was, especially considering that Friendly's isn't somewhere you go to have a mind-blowing meal (these are the people who created the giant cheeseburger served between two big grilled cheese sandwiches).

I seriously need a life...

I wonder if I wasn't exhausted all the time if I would feel a little less like having someone else do the cooking and cleaning up.  I wonder if my kid ate at home HALF as well as she eats at Friendly's (because of the incentive of a ridiculously fancy sundae at the end of the meal if she actually eats) if I would be more inclined to cook healthy food at home.  Because no matter how much I plan and make lists and stock up so that we can eat at home and save money, there inevitably comes a day where I am just too tired after work to cook, and Lila is begging and I just don't have it in me to say "no". 

I should just look into buying a Franchise.  I mean, who wouldn't want to take some credit for this fucking brilliant idea:



See the vegetables in there?



IT'S OVER!!!! WHY CAN'T YOU GET THAT THROUGH YOUR HEAD?

Like most of us, I cannot WAIT to get my holiday decorations put away and forgot about.  But for a three year old, there is no limit to how long one can go on singing The Chipmunk's Christmas Song over and over and over and over...

The tree is gone.  The new clothes have all been washed, and yet every time I turn around I hear ..."I still want a hoooooola hooooop...."

PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!

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."

My Kid Has "Friends".

At least I know where she gets it...

From some random child psychology study:

Approximately thirty percent of American children between the ages of three and six develop an imaginary companion.

In many cases this fantasy friend is thought of as real by the child, so real in fact that a child will often accommodate for the companion’s physical presence, sleeping on only one side of the bed, for example, so the friend can have room to lie down.
Many children even believe they can see and hear their imaginary playmate while they converse with them.

My kid does not have an imaginary friend.  My kid has an entire troop of them.  Lila has always been a social kid.  She loves to be the center of attention, loves the sound of her own voice (which I believe is why she never shuts up) and is always most pleasant when she is around other children.

Up until a couple of months ago, Lila hated to play alone.  She would beg and cry and throw things when we were trying to do other things and apparently she got the idea that we just had other things to do because suddenly she just stopped doing it.  One day, I was doing dishes and when I turned off the water I heard her talking.  I thought she was just sort of reciting her inner thoughts to no one but then I realized that she was carrying on a conversation, acting like someone was answering her and she was responding.  Not wanting to disturb this precious quiet time, I just stood still and listened.

"Now Max, you and Ruby need to go over here and sit down.  We're going to have tea as soon as Toot and Puddle get here...Yes, that is them at the door, will  you please let them in?...Oh thank you.  You look very beautiful too." 

My kid probably watches too much TV.  But she plays with Max and Ruby and Toot and Puddle (and Caillou and Leo and Clementine and Xavier...and all of Caillou's 16 or so friends) all the time now.  She picks them up and puts them in her purse to bring them to Grandma's.  She makes me set out little paper plates for them when I give her dinner.  She accuses me of sitting on them (which she finds completely traumatizing) and feels the need to open and close the front door 8 times in a row to let each of them in (This last thing was cute in the summer...not so much now that it's freezing outside). 

But cartoon characters are not the only "friends" she plays with.  Since she started school the number of pretend friends has grown into an assembly.  She has pretend versions of the kids at preschool and the two little girls she plays with at my mother's house.  She now plays with anyone she's ever seen on TV, including Tom and Jerry,  Hannah Montana, and Stephen Colbert (I think he's somebody's dad or something).

Occasionally I have seen her get angry at her pretend friends for not coloring on the paper when they are supposed to be coloring together.  She gets upset with them when they want to play a different game than she does.  She tells them to quiet down because Mom and Dad are talking.  She yells at them, fights with them, shares with them and begs me to let them spend the night.  Basically, in all respects, she acts like they are real, living people. 

This terrifies me.  Although I know that it's totally normal to have an imaginary friend, a posse of them is a little much.  Do you know how long it takes to wash everybody's hands in one bathroom sink?  Or get everyone strapped into the car?  Do you have any idea how difficult it is to NOT get pissed and say "NO.  THEY'RE NOT REALLY HERE AND YOU CANNOT GIVE EACH OF THEM A SEPARATE BATH/ PLATE/ COOKIE/ BOOK/ SHIRT!!!"  I have tried to say, "tell your friends they have to play by themselves so that you can come and have dinner," which is responded to with tears and pleas of "But Ruby's hungry too!"

Her preschool teacher assures me that she's seen before and that it's actually a good sign that she is learning to work out her difficulties, fears, and concerns in a safe way that doesn't hurt anyone's feelings.  And I agree.  I hear her practicing her pleases and thank-you's and excuse me's and yelling and pouting and telling them to "GO HOME THEN!"  And I don't interrupt.  Except to occasionally let her know it's time to eat.