stay at home mom

diapers for life

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Watch

We’re stuck. Stuck in potty land with nothing to show for it. Austin has officially revolted against the potty at home and school. Last week, he even refused to set foot in the bathroom during school. Needless to say, we’ve taken a few steps – or, ridiculously large leaps – backward.

What we are dealing with is downright defiance, and, to be honest, I’m lost. I have no clue what to do.

We’ve tried several suggested methods. We’ve tried to force it, and we’ve tried to be relaxed about it. We made a potty chart with stickers and prizes. We still bribe with M&Ms and bite-sized candy bars. He has big boy undies and several potty options to sit on. He runs around butt naked daily. We cheer and praise and have only stopped short of throwing him a potty parade… which is not totally out of the question. Who has the number for a reputable Grand Marshall?

Our latest trial came off the recommendation of a couple friends: the Potty Watch. You set it to play a song every 30, 60 or 90 minutes. When it plays, Austin is supposed to sit on the potty. We set it for every 30 minutes to start. Even after bedtime, I could still hear the tune mocking me in my head.

He was fairly excited about his new watch, but he didn’t want to wear it. So, I did. You won’t find that trend in InStyle magazine. It didn’t take long or many public outings before he decided he no longer wanted to share. Thank goodness. He began wearing it everywhere, and, at first, wanted to sit on the potty when it played the song. Several successes later, he dumped the watch.

Suddenly, I found him trying to silence the watch every time it sounded. Or, as soon as it went off, he would quickly pee in his pants and let me know he no longer needed to sit on the potty. Fantastic. We still sat him on the potty after those stunts, but it usually resulted in flailing legs, tears and being sent to his room. And, then back to the potty and repeat.

I’m beginning to think Austin and Everett will be potty trained at the same time. Remember when I mentioned paying someone a million dollars to potty train this kid? Yeah. That’s starting to sound like a realistic plan. Donations can be accepted through PayPal to help fund Austin’s potty training 😉

Or, we’ll just plan to purchase diapers for life. I suppose there’s always Depends.

waiting on that rainy day

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I love cold, rainy days when there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, and no one to see.

We spend a bit of the day in bed, snuggled beneath the covers, cartoons in the background, toddler feet in our faces, a bubbly baby rolling between us, and laughter to fill the room.

These are the sweet moments that I lock away in my heart. For a time, there is no fighting, no crying and no whining. Just smiles and giggles and precious whispers between us. Just our family of four.

How fleeting these moments seem as we have mile-long to do lists, a rowdy three-year-old to chase and a finicky infant to please. It’s not easy to push that list to the back of my mind. More than ever, I feel our family runs on efficiency, making the best use of our time. Fewer time for snuggles and lounging and just being.

When I think about how we interpret what is best, we focus on laundry, cleaning, work, errands, bills, and so much more. Today was our first cold, rainy day of fall. We spent it not relaxing, but, instead, running a garage sale and cleaning house. As I recap the day, I feel regret. Wishing we had made time for those special moments I cherish. Wishing there had been less time spent on edge and frustration and more jokes and enjoyment.

It’s a hard line to walk between feeling productive and trying to snag those moments with our kids. But, we run, run, run all week. So, what if we take a breather from all that running, and move snuggles, playing with our children and laughing to the front of that list? Sure, the laundry would pile up more than ever. The house would truly be a disaster. There would be less running over work. And, I would have to find a way to condense the dozens of errands.

But, being together, loving together, laughing together seems to be the best use of our time. Period. Everything else should have to wait.

When that next cold, rainy day arrives, you’ll know where to find me.

twizzlers and jerky

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Beef jerky, Twizzlers, Cheeto puffs, graham cracker sticks.

This is my grocery list. No, we are not adopting a college student. This is all for my 8-month-old.

Before you run off and call Child Protective Services, he doesn’t actually ingest half of it. These are all tools for occupational therapy. And, to be fair, the OT is the one who made the grocery list. The hubs and toddler wish she would make our weekly lists, too.

We started Everett’s feeding evaluation on Tuesday fairly normal. I offered him baby food – sweet potatoes. One of his “faves.” He refused with dramatic gestures, as though I had just served him a sweaty sock. She makes a note and pulls out a bag of Cheeto puffs. Maybe she’s hungry? Nope. Two Cheeto puffs land on Everett’s tray. That’s a little different, but, really, Cheeto puffs are pretty close to Gerber puffs. No biggie.

Then, she breaks out the Twizzlers and beef jerky, and into his hand goes the Twizzler. He begins to gnaw on it whole-heartedly. At this point, I’m not sure if I should rip it from his hands as if she had just given my child a pair of scissors, or, contemplate on why I never thought to give my baby candy. That’ll get him eating. She explains it’s for texture, and he won’t actually ingest it. Oh, right.

We left with a new regime for breakfast, lunch and dinner. A five-step process. One part is to let our little guy get wild, crazy and messy in his puree. I’m not going to lie. This gives me a touch of anxiety. I’m cool with mess. You have to be with kids. Laundry hiding the floor. Okay. Food crumbs in every hidden crevice of the home. Sure. A car that now resembles your kid’s trashed closet no matter how many times you clean it. Yep.

What gives me anxiety is how he suddenly feels compelled to touch his helmet once his fingers are oozing with baby food. That helmet, that is not supposed to get wet or dirty and costs nearly $4,000 out of pocket. THAT gives me anxiety. And, we do take it off occasionally, but, we only have an hour window for the entire day. That makes for some super sonic eating and an expedited bath time.

We’ve had a few days to practice the process, and it’s a bit of a beating. The most successful of the steps is the beef jerky and Twizzlers. It’s basically the same concept as eating his feet or shoes, but much more sanitary.

Overcoming a sensory food aversion is nothing I imagined. It feels a little bizarro world. It will be a slow day in, day out filled with menus my toddler hasn’t even tasted. And, by the way, try explaining to big brother why his little brother can have a Twizzler for breakfast, but he can’t. ::smacks head::

Apparently, my idea of giving the kid a cheeseburger wasn’t too far fetched. Would you like fries with that?

more than a little picky

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aversion

Everett has a sensory food aversion. It’s not real severe, but it’s there. And, it will be a long, slow process to overcome with the occupational therapist. I can’t help but feel my Everett is being picked on. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

On the drive home, I started mentally tallying all the obstacles he has faced in his short little life:

Two abdominal surgeries, NG tubes, loads of medications, open heart surgery, reflux, physical therapy for torticollis, plagiocephaly, the helmet, most likely another helmet, and now a sensory food aversion.

Then, I ended my pity party because, really, there are far more things to be grateful for than not.

I am thankful he is home in my arms. I am thankful it’s not his heart that brings us to the hospital this time. I am thankful he is healthy. I am thankful for his smiles and that he is happy. I am thankful that he can hear the “I love you’s” and sweet lullabies we sing. I am thankful he can see the wonders of this life and how his older brother delights him. I am thankful he has the voice to laugh and cry and say “Ma Ma” – and, eventually “Da Da” 😉 I am thankful he can roll and scoot to explore the world around him. I am thankful he can feel my kisses and snuggles. And, I am thankful he can take food through his mouth even if he’d rather not.

I am thankful he is ours.

While today I am thankful, that doesn’t mean I won’t feel frustrated or upset tomorrow or the next day or the day after. I’m only human. Each day we have a choice. We can feel sorry for ourselves, or we can focus on our blessings. And, some days we just want to feel sorry. Some days we need that pity party. But, for me, that day is not today.

On a day that I didn’t get the answer I wanted, and I would much rather pout, I give thanks instead. I am thankful.

one thousand loads of laundry

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In a time before animal cracker crumbs were a staple in our bed, before 7 a.m. was sleeping in, and a clean house lasted more than 15 minutes, I spent my spare time doing things other than laundry.

In fact, I actually enjoyed laundry. Laundry day was once a week, and on that day, one or two loads were accomplished. And, that was all that was needed. I would turn on the television and frivolously flip through channels as I lazily folded each piece of clothing.

Fast forward to reality where I am routinely six feet under piles of laundry, and folding clothes is a race against two ticking time bombs. Forget putting it away. Grab and go as necessary, which is why my home is often dotted with miniature shirts, socks and undies. Currently, I do three – sometimes four – loads a day. Let’s look at that for a minute.

Before children, we’ll say two loads of laundry a week. That’s roughly 8-9 loads a month and approximately 104 loads a year.

After children, we’ll play conservative and say three loads a day. That’s 21 for the week, and a grand total of 1,092 loads of laundry a year. Uh. Wow. And, I only have two children.

If this trend continues, we still have approximately 18 years before our youngest moves out. Multiply that number by 18. Nauseating.

Now, I’m hopeful it won’t always be like this. Right now, Everett is a spitter. Not a dainty dribbler, but a full impact soaker. When he spits, he leaves a wave of destruction on anything within a three-foot radius. You can hear the splat across the room. Ew. We clean out our arsenal of bibs and burp cloths every single day. I hear by one year, we should be done with the spit. Fingers crossed.

As for Austin, well, I wash a lot of Lightning McQueen and Thomas the Train undies – and, sheets. Yay for potty training…

I’m beginning to think the stereotypical “smelly kid” label might not be so bad after all.

Looking back, maybe I should have registered for stock in Tide or Dreft, as opposed to a million different socks, blankets and lotions that have all been used once.

Perhaps, it’s time to visit my nemesis, Pinterest, and see how many ways I can make my own laundry detergent. Brilliant. I’ll just squeeze that into my schedule between 1,092 loads of laundry.

potty fail

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This afternoon, when I asked Austin if he would like to sit on the potty, I received a glare. Then, in total silence, he carries his potty into the office, sets it down, and closes the door – him on one side, the potty on the other. He shakes his head without making eye contact and scurries away.

So, obviously, it’s going really well. ::smacks head::

Things began amazing with Austin. There were few accidents. He wanted to sit on the potty, and he loved the rewards. We went all out with intense enthusiasm and praise, not to mention the M&Ms and prizes from the dollar store.

But, a few days in, and he’s decided he is so over the potty.

Apparently, he is still doing well at school the couple times a week that he attends. But, at home, he has decided to boycott the potty… again. I’m not sure what changed, other than my child’s incredible stubbornness in the first place. I’m not sure where he gets that trait…

Now, when I encourage him to sit on the potty, he throws a tantrum – an over the top, kicking and screaming, mommy is going to rip her hair out kind of fit. The thing is he hates diaper changes, too. I really think he would be content walking around in a diaper for the rest of his life. Try to get a girlfriend in those, Austin. We usually put him in regular underwear at home, and when he wets himself, it doesn’t even seem to bother him. He could care less if he is soaked.

Since he can’t be bothered by wet diapers, wet undies or even going commando, where does that leave us? In a pile of pee, I guess.

Time to re-strategize. Score Austin 1,347, Mommy and Daddy 0. But, the final score will be Mommy and Daddy WIN. You will be potty trained, son. Just you wait.

i’d rather eat my foot

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Every morning and every evening, we select one jar of baby food, open it, and then promptly throw it in the trash. At least, that’s how it feels.

Everett detests solids. Over a three month period, we’ve tried four or five different brands, different consistencies, real food, and even puffs – you know, sugar air – but, always we are met with pursed lips, overly dramatic grimaces, gags and spitting. On the rare occasion, he will actually down a small jar of sweet potatoes or squash. It has to be orange. Odd. But, even those “favorites” are often met with the same distaste.

It’s baffling to me honestly. That child will stick everything under the sun in his mouth and gnaw at it – a cooking utensil, our fingers, a shoe, our phones, Austin’s toys, or a personal favorite, the foot. But, the moment we slip in a bite of actual food, it is not up to his standards. You know, his high standards of feet and shoes.

It’s difficult not to compare our own children, but Austin was an eater. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, he loved his meals. You had to keep your fingers to yourself during mealtime less you lose one to that chomper. It took him a while to learn the concept of sharing one’s food.

And, thus, we are left with the question of whether Everett is just ridiculously picky, a late bloomer, or if he has an aversion, which apparently is common in kiddos with medical issues off the bat. Feeding evaluation should be scheduled for next week.

Maybe he just wants a cheeseburger.

i am yours, and you are mine

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On this day three years ago, Austin entered our lives in the darkness of early morning. This is the day I became a mother. This is the day I appreciated my own mother more than I ever had in my life. This is the day I learned the true definition of unconditional love.

Before we had children, I never held babies. Really. Never. I can name a single occasion that I held a baby without coercion from a friend or family member. They were such fragile, foreign creatures, and, frankly, I didn’t know what to do with them. Even while six months pregnant with our first, I reluctantly held a friend’s newborn. Needless to say, I was hoping this natural mothering instinct would kick in fast.

Every night, the hubs and I would lie in bed, watching Austin have a party in my tummy. We would talk to him. We would sing to him. We would pray for him. But, it still didn’t feel real.

Then, at 34 weeks pregnant, I started having contractions. Real contractions. I was given a steroid shot to speed up his lung development, and, immediately placed on bed rest in hopes that he would cook a little longer. That’s about the point I realized my time was up. I’m about to be a mom.

Much to the doctor’s surprise, that little boy held out for another four weeks, and, at 38 weeks pregnant, our precious Austin entered this world with a little bit of oxygen and only minor complications. As I cradled him for the very first time, my fears of inadequacy and instincts drifted away. I memorized every inch of his face in a split second, and I stared in awe at this amazing gift from God.

I was a mother, a mom, a mommy. I am his mommy for now and always.

Often we debate whether a woman becomes a mother during pregnancy or at birth or even after. There is no correct answer. Everyone comes to it in their own time. For me, there is no question. While I understood the concept of becoming a mother while pregnant, my complete heart and soul were not there until I looked into Austin’s big, beautiful eyes for the first time. There is no doubt I loved my child before he was born, but I believe becoming a mother is more than a label.

The day I became a mom, I knew it. I felt it. It became a part of me. My heart was fuller than I knew possible. He was mine to love, to kiss, to teach, to guide, to share. I knew I would do anything for my child.

On this day three years ago, I never could have imagined what the next few years would hold. Most days are incredibly hard. But, even on the hardest of days, that sweet giggle or impromptu “I love you” from the mouth of your child renews our spirit and gives us strength. The strength to love them unconditionally.

What an incredible gift to be called mom.

You, my sweet Austin, fill my life with laughter and pure love. You teach me. You open my eyes to see. You bring joy and light to a world full of darkness. I am blessed to be your mother. I am yours, and you are mine. Always.