Well, Poo
I don’t have much to report. Baby Lorelei continues to be comfortably (for her, anyway) camped out in her mommy, so we’re just biding our time. Every time I have a contraction, I get excited and think maybe THIS is the first in a series of contractions that will eventually evict this child from me, but then they taper off and that’s that.
Lorelei has been a bit quieter lately, so she’s either out of room to move, or she’s hunkering down and resting up for her big trip to the outside world. Physically, I feel fine but just so BIG. I never felt this hefty with Charlotte (of course, I never got that big with Charlotte), so this is . . . different. Lorelei is SO LOW, which adds SO MUCH pressure to standing, walking, and squatting down to help Charlotte put on her shoes, pants, or undies, or to help her with potty training. Mercifully, Chris and Mums handle a lot of the potty trips, which is extremely helpful. Really, it’s not getting Charlotte onto the toilet that’s so tricky; it’s getting her dressed again after she goes. Because she uses a full-sized toilet at school (we have an insert at home to keep her from falling in), she has to take a shoe, pant leg, and half her undies ALL the way off, so she can scoot back far enough, legs apart. Comfort with the large toilet is an advantage, because Charlotte is not intimidated a bit by public restrooms, but because she does the shoe-pants-undies thing at school, my ritualistic Charlotte insists on undressing the same way at home. Honestly, I think she likes it because she has the freedom to swing her legs back and forth while she ponders whether or not to reward all our efforts with some piddle.
Despite my snark, potty training continues to go quite well. We managed public restrooms at Costco and Target this weekend, which is quite the challenge when your child is a thumb-sucker. So far, I have successfully kept her from sucking a dirty thumb in a public restroom, but in case I move too slowly to stop her, I sanitize every surface with those blessed travel packs of Wet Ones (seriously, buy stock in whoever makes them—though I’m thinking of moving up to something more powerful like Lysol for bathrooms) before letting her into the stall. I assume my vigilance will eventually dwindle, but for now, I’ll be a little germ phobic.
Want more bathroom talk? Well, last night Charlotte had her first successful poo in the potty, which was as drama-filled as it could possibly be. She had said she needed to go potty, so I put her on the toilet, she didn’t do anything and got off, and I had her wash her hands. I was about to put her into a diaper and jammies for the night, so I let her just finish up her nighttime routine bare-bottomed. I left her standing on the stool in front of the sink and squirting soap onto her hands while I went to her room to toss her clothes in her laundry basket. All of a sudden, I heard HYSTERICAL crying and panicked screaming, and my girl was shouting in absolute distress, “I’m pooping! I’m pooping!” I bolted for the bathroom, checked out her bum, and the poor girl had that poo almost out. I lifted her up—screaming and crying—and plopped her onto the toilet.
Charlotte had both hands up in the air, covered in gooey soap she hadn’t yet had a chance to make bubbly, and tears streamed down her face as she bawled. I told her it was okay to poop in the toilet, to let it go, and so on, and—still screaming—she clutched onto me (I was kneeled on the floor in front of her), so Mommy got slimed with strawberry soap. It was quite a scene. She cried and cried while I literally hugged her on the toilet, repeatedly telling her it was okay to poop. Finally, she let it go. This ratcheted up the crying and screaming higher, as she was now mortified that she had pooped. By now, Chris had arrived in the bathroom to lend an obviously needed hand, and we kept congratulating her and telling her what a great job she did by pooping in the toilet. I got her cleaned up, Charlotte continued to cry, and it wasn’t until she flushed the toilet and watched her big accomplishment circle around and down the drain that she suddenly stopped crying. Calmly as could be, she said, “Bye-bye, poop.”
With the screaming and crying abruptly finished, she pulled it together enough to wash the soap off her hands. We had Charlotte give both of us high-fives, and it started to dawn on her that she had nothing to be ashamed of but rather something to celebrate! Chris helped her pick out one of her itty bitty smiley face stickers she puts on a chart in the bathroom while I snuck into the ex-craft room to get and surprise her with a big Mickey Mouse sticker for pooping in the toilet for the first time. Oh, that sticker was a hit. She proudly put in on top of her hand and ran to show Nana, proudly announcing she had pooped in the potty. (Nana made the necessary big fat deal out of it, thank goodness.) Charlotte kept lovingly looking at her sticker and saying that she was going show her teacher the next day.
I think all the crying and screaming and general excitement wore out that child. She sweetly let me dress her for bed (usually a battle), picked out her books, and we dimmed the lights and climbed into her bed. She snuggled into me extra close, and I could just tell she was extremely relieved, content, and proud. The whole embarrassment and mortification thing is a new side of Charlotte—she tends to be pretty unapologetic as she barrels through life, so it’s disconcerting when she gets so mad at herself for a poop accident (which happens daily—last night’s drama was just her first IN the toilet). I mentioned it to her teacher last week, and she confirmed that Charlotte gets extremely upset with herself when she has such an accident, but they too are reassuring her that it’s okay, even going so far as to make the book “Everyone Poops” a literary staple during circle time to reinforce that poo is NORMAL. I think she’ll eventually get there.
So, poop is pretty much the main big thing going on at our house. (Aren’t you glad you read this post?) In the meantime, my last day of work before maternity leave is on Friday, which is surreal. And kind of a relief. I was blindsided by Charlotte’s birth as far as my work schedule went, so neatly and calmly working my way to a pre-determined end date has been fantastic. We just bought a new freezer, so until Lorelei gets here, I plan to fill my days as a domestic goddess, making lasagnas, casseroles, stews, apple sauce, apple desserts (we have a LOT of apples to consume), and such to fill that baby up and get us ready for the sleep-deprived newborn phase with real, homemade food. (I lived on fish crackers and diet Pepsi during Charlotte’s newborn phase, so we’ll aim to be a little more well-balanced this round).
I also have a doctor’s appointment on Friday, and I’m really hoping he’ll tell me Lorelei has progressed. If I have a yet another OB tell me that subsequent births follow the same general pattern as the first, I'll scream. Charlotte's birth was unbelievably straightforward, uncomplicated, and, considering it was my first baby, fast--which is why we rush rush rushed to get Mums here. The games Lorelei has been playing for almost 2 weeks? Oy. Something tells me I've got yet another headstrong Hofmann girl on my hands . . . .
Lorelei has been a bit quieter lately, so she’s either out of room to move, or she’s hunkering down and resting up for her big trip to the outside world. Physically, I feel fine but just so BIG. I never felt this hefty with Charlotte (of course, I never got that big with Charlotte), so this is . . . different. Lorelei is SO LOW, which adds SO MUCH pressure to standing, walking, and squatting down to help Charlotte put on her shoes, pants, or undies, or to help her with potty training. Mercifully, Chris and Mums handle a lot of the potty trips, which is extremely helpful. Really, it’s not getting Charlotte onto the toilet that’s so tricky; it’s getting her dressed again after she goes. Because she uses a full-sized toilet at school (we have an insert at home to keep her from falling in), she has to take a shoe, pant leg, and half her undies ALL the way off, so she can scoot back far enough, legs apart. Comfort with the large toilet is an advantage, because Charlotte is not intimidated a bit by public restrooms, but because she does the shoe-pants-undies thing at school, my ritualistic Charlotte insists on undressing the same way at home. Honestly, I think she likes it because she has the freedom to swing her legs back and forth while she ponders whether or not to reward all our efforts with some piddle.
Despite my snark, potty training continues to go quite well. We managed public restrooms at Costco and Target this weekend, which is quite the challenge when your child is a thumb-sucker. So far, I have successfully kept her from sucking a dirty thumb in a public restroom, but in case I move too slowly to stop her, I sanitize every surface with those blessed travel packs of Wet Ones (seriously, buy stock in whoever makes them—though I’m thinking of moving up to something more powerful like Lysol for bathrooms) before letting her into the stall. I assume my vigilance will eventually dwindle, but for now, I’ll be a little germ phobic.
Want more bathroom talk? Well, last night Charlotte had her first successful poo in the potty, which was as drama-filled as it could possibly be. She had said she needed to go potty, so I put her on the toilet, she didn’t do anything and got off, and I had her wash her hands. I was about to put her into a diaper and jammies for the night, so I let her just finish up her nighttime routine bare-bottomed. I left her standing on the stool in front of the sink and squirting soap onto her hands while I went to her room to toss her clothes in her laundry basket. All of a sudden, I heard HYSTERICAL crying and panicked screaming, and my girl was shouting in absolute distress, “I’m pooping! I’m pooping!” I bolted for the bathroom, checked out her bum, and the poor girl had that poo almost out. I lifted her up—screaming and crying—and plopped her onto the toilet.
Charlotte had both hands up in the air, covered in gooey soap she hadn’t yet had a chance to make bubbly, and tears streamed down her face as she bawled. I told her it was okay to poop in the toilet, to let it go, and so on, and—still screaming—she clutched onto me (I was kneeled on the floor in front of her), so Mommy got slimed with strawberry soap. It was quite a scene. She cried and cried while I literally hugged her on the toilet, repeatedly telling her it was okay to poop. Finally, she let it go. This ratcheted up the crying and screaming higher, as she was now mortified that she had pooped. By now, Chris had arrived in the bathroom to lend an obviously needed hand, and we kept congratulating her and telling her what a great job she did by pooping in the toilet. I got her cleaned up, Charlotte continued to cry, and it wasn’t until she flushed the toilet and watched her big accomplishment circle around and down the drain that she suddenly stopped crying. Calmly as could be, she said, “Bye-bye, poop.”
With the screaming and crying abruptly finished, she pulled it together enough to wash the soap off her hands. We had Charlotte give both of us high-fives, and it started to dawn on her that she had nothing to be ashamed of but rather something to celebrate! Chris helped her pick out one of her itty bitty smiley face stickers she puts on a chart in the bathroom while I snuck into the ex-craft room to get and surprise her with a big Mickey Mouse sticker for pooping in the toilet for the first time. Oh, that sticker was a hit. She proudly put in on top of her hand and ran to show Nana, proudly announcing she had pooped in the potty. (Nana made the necessary big fat deal out of it, thank goodness.) Charlotte kept lovingly looking at her sticker and saying that she was going show her teacher the next day.
I think all the crying and screaming and general excitement wore out that child. She sweetly let me dress her for bed (usually a battle), picked out her books, and we dimmed the lights and climbed into her bed. She snuggled into me extra close, and I could just tell she was extremely relieved, content, and proud. The whole embarrassment and mortification thing is a new side of Charlotte—she tends to be pretty unapologetic as she barrels through life, so it’s disconcerting when she gets so mad at herself for a poop accident (which happens daily—last night’s drama was just her first IN the toilet). I mentioned it to her teacher last week, and she confirmed that Charlotte gets extremely upset with herself when she has such an accident, but they too are reassuring her that it’s okay, even going so far as to make the book “Everyone Poops” a literary staple during circle time to reinforce that poo is NORMAL. I think she’ll eventually get there.
So, poop is pretty much the main big thing going on at our house. (Aren’t you glad you read this post?) In the meantime, my last day of work before maternity leave is on Friday, which is surreal. And kind of a relief. I was blindsided by Charlotte’s birth as far as my work schedule went, so neatly and calmly working my way to a pre-determined end date has been fantastic. We just bought a new freezer, so until Lorelei gets here, I plan to fill my days as a domestic goddess, making lasagnas, casseroles, stews, apple sauce, apple desserts (we have a LOT of apples to consume), and such to fill that baby up and get us ready for the sleep-deprived newborn phase with real, homemade food. (I lived on fish crackers and diet Pepsi during Charlotte’s newborn phase, so we’ll aim to be a little more well-balanced this round).
I also have a doctor’s appointment on Friday, and I’m really hoping he’ll tell me Lorelei has progressed. If I have a yet another OB tell me that subsequent births follow the same general pattern as the first, I'll scream. Charlotte's birth was unbelievably straightforward, uncomplicated, and, considering it was my first baby, fast--which is why we rush rush rushed to get Mums here. The games Lorelei has been playing for almost 2 weeks? Oy. Something tells me I've got yet another headstrong Hofmann girl on my hands . . . .
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