The horror, the potty!

Before CPT Dick took off for Iraq, he gleefully commented that it was too bad he'd miss potty training. After he said it, I wondered if there was any way I could avoid it.

But it seems not. Here we are, in the thick of it. I waited a good bit to try it. I wanted Munchkin to be ready and hoped to avoid pee-soaked couches during a summer without air conditioning. So for the past week, we've been diaper-free.

Munchkin was not really keen on the idea. He probably still isn't. Every morning, he wakes up and asks for a diaper. But we're persevering. And for the past three days, with the exception of pooping (which, thank goodness he only does once a day), he's potty-trained. (And if anyone has any idea how to convince him it's okay to poop anywhere outside of his pants, I'm listening!)

I thought I'd envy CPT Dick for missing this particular milestone. After all, it's pretty stinky. But I find that it's kind of an amazing thing to experience. To watch Munchkin reason it out, figure out what is wanted and then try to it. To see him try to match me will to will. I daresay that when I'm not mopping the floor, it's even kind of fun.

I wonder whether CPT Dick will recognize this child of his once he returns. This smart, willful little punk who is growing up way too fast.

What He Missed - 10/30/2007

Dear CPT Dick,

Your son suddenly, mysteriously, has learned to count. And as we wandered through France this weekend, every time some stranger stopped to admire him (and this happened more times than I cared to count), he would break out those numbers for them. It was charming.

I have no idea how Munchkin picked up this habit, as I have not practiced counting with him, focusing instead on all of the inane word exercises that have been suggested by the SLPs who can not see him but will lecture me on my OWL (observe/wait/listen) habits after only 5 minutes on the telephone. But he's got it down cold. And now he appears to be moving on to his ABC's and tons of new words.

Bath. Pooh. Shirt. Shrek. Bed. Carousel. Light. Again. And something that sounds way too much like "Oh, shit." (Okay, that one he might have gotten directly from me).

I blame the Sesame Street. Do you think that if I continue letting him watch it, they could handle the potty training?

Once again, when you return, Munchkin has transformed a bit more into an independent little boy. You may not recognize him. But alas, my love, I think that is unfortunately something you are going to have to get used to. And it breaks my heart that you can't go through all of these changes with us as a direct participant.

Love,
NEE

He's home.

And I've been remiss in posting. But I'm sure you can understand. It's so much fun to see him get reacquainted with Munchkin. And yeah, I'll admit I'm also glad to see him.

Of course, now the clock is ticking. How long before he messes up my routine and starts to annoy the crap out of me?

A little down.

Munchkin had another visit with the Developmental Nazis today. And the speech-language pathologist said that he presented just like a kid with significant hearing loss. So we're going to have his hearing checked with an audiologist next week.

I'm both relieved and annoyed. Relieved because it's probably not something neurological, not something that we can't pinpoint and help.

But, dear readers, I have wondered about his hearing since he was about 6 months old. I have stated my concerns to friends, family, pediatricians and specialists. They all told me I was crazy and would not schedule a hearing test. During the first visit from the developmental nazis at our last duty station, they didn't even bother to send a speech-language pathologist to evaluate him. They sent a physical therapist and developmental psychologist intead. They also kept suggesting it could be autism. Don't get me started.

Only once he turned two did someone finally listen and send us to an ENT. Hence the adenoid removal.

But now the adenoids are gone and he's still having some trouble hearing.

I feel guilty. I feel like I should have pushed harder. I know hindsight is always 20/20 but maybe if I had stamped my feet a little louder, intervention could have happened earlier. Maybe we wouldn't be at this point. I don't know.

But I'll tell you one thing, next week can't happen fast enough.

Shiny, happy people.

Everybody says that you take millions of photos of your first kid. And they were right. Poor kid probably thought I had a camera for a face for the first 12 months of his life.

But then Munchkin went mobile.

And since then, between him reaching for the camera to press the buttons or racing towards mortal peril as I try to frame the perfect shot, the photo ops have been few and far between.

And people, there have been serious complaints. I never knew grandmothers could be so damn cranky when they are forced to go a few days without new grandbaby photos. Think about the old days people! You might have had to go months! Years, even! Give the mother of a toddler a break, please!

So to quell the screaming hordes, I've been trying harder to pick up the camera, even when I know that doing so is just going to result in my having to leave it in an unsecure place as I go chasing after my kid.

But today, for whatever reason, it was the perfect opportunity to take Munchkin's picture. Despite outdoor antics and eating lunch with a spoon, his shirt remained (mostly) clean, his face didn't have any discernible scratches or food bits and he was sitting still on the couch giving me the cutest, sweetest little boy smile EVAH.

And so I picked up the camera and told him to say, "Cheese!" A few flashes of light, the tell-tale clicks of the shutter and I had not one but several photos of my two-year-old in this near perfect, totally unheard of state.

But then I looked at the photos.

Somehow, someway, every time I said cheese, he made this weird, totally wacked out grimace face. Not the smile I had seen on his face before I got the shot. The little monster had done funny faces ON PURPOSE. It's at moments like these that even though he is the spitting image of his father, I so know he is mostly mine.

The Grandmas are not only getting these photos emailed but embossed and framed.

I jinxed myself.

CPT Dick is one of God's most pathetic creatures -- a Red Sox fan. And though I joked that I would be decorating Munchkin's room in Yankees gear, when I found this Red Sox comforter set on sale, I clicked order before you could say, "The Green Monstah." We have an old twin bed just waiting for Munchkin for when he's older enough and I figured it would be cute to continue the team tradition.

Apparently, on some unconscious level, Munchkin understood this. Today, he decided it would be funny to start climbing out of his crib.

It was nap time -- not even two hours after I ordered the comforter set -- and we did our normal nap routine. Juice, story, kisses, the works. Five minutes after I sit down to work, who do I see peering over the side of the couch with a shit-eating grin on his face? Oh yes. My son.

We repeated this silliness about 8 more times before I realized that the thrill of the game would make it pretty much impossible for him to go down for a nap today. And this was hard for me to admit, because my son is a serious crank when he is overtired.

I knew this day was coming. He's climbed out of his crib before but only to retrieve his cup. We knew he was capable but, until today, he was perfectly happy to stay in it. And it is at this moment -- and of course when CPT Dick is away -- he's decided that he's done before confined.

Oh well. Onward and upward, as they say. Tomorrow I will drag the twin bed out of the storage room. For tonight, I just took the mattress out of the crib and set him up a little comfy spot on the floor. After gating him in the room (which he can also climb) and laying him down back three times after escapes, he seems to have figured out that he will not get another reprieve today. At least I hope not.

Thank goodness I have wine in the house.

What He Missed

Dear CPT Dick,

Last night, as I looked down at our son, sleeping for what will be one of the last times in his crib, I was shocked at how big he's gotten. I know I've often said that the baby in him is disappearing but I believe that any baby is now completely gone. Wiped out by the blossoming little boy who has captured our hearts. He sleeps diagonally now and still his feet often stick through the bars. It's time for the toddler bed, I know. Funny how I'm the one who's not ready.

For the first week after you left, he knew that you were gone and threw quite a fit. He would look for you around the house crying for "Deedee." He would point to you in photographs. And he didn't want to go to sleep until you came in to say goodnight. Finally, after much snuggling, walking around the room, a few extra hours watching Sesame Street, and, yes, the giving of the sippy cup, he would succumb to slumber. But not without a fight. It simultaneously warms and breaks my heart that he feels your absence so acutely. And yes, it scares me, too, as I know that our upcoming PCS will most likely bring a deployment with it. I hope that I am strong enough to ensure that our son knows how much you love him even when you can't be here.

Munchkin is still stubborn with language, giving up few words. But this weekend, as we went off to a playgroup, he was so excited when he saw so many of his friends playing with new and exciting toys, he jumped up and down and yelled an infectious, "Hi!" to everyone. I could barely contain myself. Maybe that fountain of new words isn't so far away and you were right in that my patience was needed more than any intervention. It wouldn't be the first time you were right but it may be the first time I've admitted it out loud.

Hurry home, baby. I want you to come back before Munchkin stops looking for you, for that would break my heart more than watching him spend so much time searching.

Love,
NEE

What he missed - November 2006.

Do you know Dooce? It is a fabulous blog authored by Heather B. Armstrong. One of the highlights for me is the newsletter, a chronicle/love letter to the author's daughter. These newsletters are both poignant and pee-in-your-pants-funny. I think anyone who is a parent can relate to Heather's adventures in Mommyhood. But a small disclaimer: they are not for the faint of heart. I'm a cast-iron bitch and I've found myself tearing up a time or two during the reading of them.

Taking a page from Dooce's blog, I've decided to start my own newsletter of a sort. Not a month to month one like Heather's (I'm not that much of a copycat, plus I just don't have her energy) but a letter to my husband that documents what Munchkin adventures he missed while away. This will be the first one.

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Dear CPT Dick,

This was a small absence, only three weeks with the gift of a weekend here at home, but you still missed some great stuff. The Munchkin continues to be adorable but his nudist tendencies are increasing. Whereas before his pants would fall down just because his little old man butt was too small to keep them up, he has now figured out how to pull them down himself. As such, our daily battle to get dressed has been taken to a whole new level. I pull his pants up only to have him pull them down. And we continue this dance of power until I manage to roll down the waistband in such a way that he can't figure out how to pull them down (and I fear that I am cutting off all circulation to his lower extremities). It's exhausting. He's also started taking his pants off at school. Just nonchalantly stepping out of them on his way to the swings or the slide. And of course, they don't stay on long here at home either with Munchkin generally opting to take them off when company comes to call. What can I say? Our son is an exhibitionist.

Last night, we hit a major milestone. It was *officially* the thousandth reading of "A Monster at the End of This Book." You may think I exaggerate but I do not. I've been counting. I've read that book so many times now that I can say it in my sleep. I've read it so many times that I just keep reciting the lines even when the Munchkin gets impatient and pages ahead to the climactic ending. Note: We really need to get some new books. I feel like Drew Barrymore's family in "50 First Dates" after each viewing of "The Sixth Sense."

But when we do get those books, we need to make sure that they have Sesame Street characters in them. Because even though we don't have television and we've tried so hard to monitor what Munchkin watches, he shows a decided preference for any muppet. He stares intently at any book, DVD cover, or toy representing his Sesame Street crew. Hell, he'll even sit still while I change his diaper now provided I give him a Pampers diaper to examine first. This, my dear, is why I insist on going to the grocery store alone. I fear that if I bring him with me now, the only food I will end up buying will be co-branded with the Jim Henson company. And man can not live on Grover granola bars and Cookie Monster cereal alone. At least, I don't think he can. In any case, I don't want to find out.

This week Munchkin also took his first trip to the toy store as a non-sleeping infant. I could actually see the sugar plums dancing in his head as he took in all the cars, blocks and balls. I had him safely strapped into a shopping cart, even though I was there for just a small item, to avoid any possible mutiny. But it was absolutely amazing to watch him as we rolled through. I wonder if that brightly colored toy wonderland is the stuff of which his dreams are made. And then I have to wonder how long it will be before the dreams switch to scantily clad girls because our son, CPT Dick, is growing up so damn fast. I don't know when he became a little boy exactly but I do know that each day there are fewer and fewer reminders of the baby he once was. And even though I didn't exactly dig the baby stage, I find myself missing him sweet and needy and so cuddlicious. And yes, I'll admit it, immobile.

As an extra reminder never to leave the boy alone in the bath, he learned to turn on the faucet while you were away. Apparently, he finds this control (and the potential to fatally scald himself) hilarious. I'm desperately searching for some kind of baby-proofing device that can (a) work with our wonky faucet and (b) that I can figure out how to install. So far, I've only come up with duct tape and, as we already know, that is no deterrent for our little Einstein.

Munchkin is still addicted to DVD watching. He continually brings me DVDs (Sesame Street, what else?) to put in the player and when I tell him, "No, we're not watching any TV, sweetie", he breaks the cases open seagull-style on the floor. He can open the entertainment center door, press the eject button and place the DVD in the player itself, but like most of our guests, he can't figure out how the hell we wired up the TV to the DVD player and is quite frustrated when it won't play. But when it does play, he will sit still for half an hour, sometimes longer, and just watch those muppets. When he does get up, it is to dance his little white man's overbite to the songs that I now have memorized and find myself singing in the shower. I'm not sure whether this obsession with Sesame Street, and the things that he's learned to further it, are a sign that we are good or bad parents. Time will tell, I suppose.

And to close, yes, you won the contest. He said "Dada" first (but as I tried to show you in the development books, that sound is easier for babies to make). But now he says "Mama" and means it. Despite the fact that he is still waking up at the crack of dawn, he now wakes up calmly, calling "Mama?" louder and louder until I come to get him. And when I lift him out of his crib, he smiles so big and hugs me with both arms. It makes waking up at 5:30am not only bearable but beautiful. And for a moment, just a moment, in that pre-dawn light I can pretend that my Munchkin hasn't already morphed from a baby into a little boy.

Come home soon, CPT Dick. He's going to be all grown up before you know it.

Love,
Me