Month 10, Version 2.0

Dear Miles,

Our summer is finally winding down and your sister starts preschool this upcoming Tuesday which means things are about to become glorious for you.  It is true that your parents overextended themselves this summer and we planned several lengthy trips back-to-back but hopefully I can look back at them at some point in the future and laugh.  It was a tremendous amount of work but I'm also really happy we got the chance to do them. 

One trip in particular was a trip we took to Washington D.C. to visit with your Great-Grandpa and then from there, we flew to Boston to spend a week at Cape Cod with your Aunt Sarah, Uncle Jason & Cousin Jack.  We took the dreaded red-eye flight out because apparently I'm a glutton for punishment.  The flight came just four days off the cabin trip from Hell so you can imagine my anxiety with being trapped in an airplane for almost five hours with the baby who likes to cry and doesn't like to be held sitting down surrounded by angry child-hating individuals who want nothing more than to sleep peacefully undisturbed.  You can also bet on the fact that if the smallest chirp leaves your lips, I as the parent holding the disgusting midget will receive a glare of death only seen in the pits of Mordor that will make me feel like the pond scum they think I am for even attempting to bring a child on to an airplane.  I think your pediatrician took mercy on me because after I explained my anxiety to her she looked down on me and smiled - birds flew out behind her, clouds parted, animals gathered and rejoiced.  A ray of sunshine unlike any other ray I have ever witnessed, beamed down upon your doctor and as angels sang their beautiful music in the distance, your doctor uttered the most wonderful word I have ever heard in all my days . . . Benadryl.  I couldn't believe my ears.  There was a simple solution to this madness?  I stepped out of your pediatrician's office with a bit of a spring in my step at the endless opportunities of this beautiful majestic liquid gold . . Benadryl.

We arrived at the airport way too early at the suggestion of your Father and you were excited and hyper over the new sights and sounds you were witnessing around you.  The two hour anticipation proved to be a little taxing on you because you managed to spit up on your pajamas, projectile vomit on the waiting area seat and started to warm up your vocal cords for the long flight.  As a parent, the worst thing a child can do is to start crying hysterically right before you board because it exposes me as the parent to the screaming baby to everyone that will be on the flight with you.  If you start crying on the plane, I may be exposed to the few rows around me but not the entire plane.  I'm basically telling everyone on our flight, 'LOOK AT ME EVERYONE.  I'M THE ONE WHO IS PLANNING ON MAKING THIS FLIGHT MISERABLE FOR YOU.  ENJOY!'  At this point though I'm feeling OK because I'm armed with liquid magic. 

We make our way to our seats after fumbling with a computer bag, an extra large duffel that could get us through an apocalypse if it occurred while on the plane, a diaper bag, a Toddler car seat and your cherished lion.  Several adults en route to their seats actually stopped to gush over you.  I looked around perplexed that adults with no children in tow were actually being decent with me and were not throwing their trash in my direction or hissing through their teeth upon seeing you.  You rubbed your eyes and started to nuzzle in and for a brief second I thought, I actually may not need to drug my child.  Nope.  You started your barrel-rolling on my lap in an attempt to get comfortable with no success and you began to vocalize your frustrations.  It was time.  I pulled out the diaper bag and went to the outside pocket that I reserved especially for this special special concoction.  My hand pulled up nothing.  I went to the other outside pocket.  Again, my hand came back empty.  Beads of sweat are beginning to form at my forehead and I feel my face beginning to turn hot as your Father's eyes are burning the back of my head.  I begin to panic as I start to pull every item from the diaper bag with no luck.  I turn to your Father with empty hands and a defeated heart at the realization that I must have left the small Ziploc bag of hope at security.  I thought to myself, 'how could this be?  I was so careful.  No no no.  There is absolutely no way I would leave behind this gift sent to me by the Heavens.'  With all the energy I had mustered in my body, I jammed my arm back in the bag and reached with all my might and wait . . . could it be?  Yes, YES!!!  The Benadryl was beautiful and it was saved from the depths of the diaper bag.  I was once again victorious as I stared at this little vial of clear liquid resting on my tray table.  I took that syringe and filled it up.  I filled that syringe all the way up as concerned adults walked by me with questionable expressions on their faces as to why I was inserting a vial of fluid in to my baby's mouth.  It took only ten minutes and you fell asleep and it was pure unharnessed joy.  You slept the entire duration of the flight and I didn't even care that I had the worst case of restless leg syndrome I have ever experienced or the fact that my bladder could have exploded with a sneeze.  You slept and it was everything I could have dreamed of and more.

You acted pretty much standard issue on all the trips.  You woke up, were happy for roughly thirty minutes and then you cried the rest of the day.  Pardon me, you didn't cry all the time - you have developed the lovely habit of screaming at me when there is something you want or when I need to pick up the pace on something.  I wasn't aware that babies could yell but I guess there is always something to learn with children.  The Cape Cod trip really was a very enjoyable and memorable vacation that brought such memories of first steps (yes, you took your first steps while I was in the shower - thanks), introductions to Emack & Bolio's chocolate and peanut butter ice cream and the term 'poop fingers.'  Yes, knowing you have a dairy sensitivity that causes your intestines to bleed when you consume dairy products, I did in fact share my ice cream with you.  The reason is actually two-fold; A. you were screaming at me - I mean really screaming and I needed you to stop and B. it was really really good ice cream and I almost thought it to be child abuse if I didn't share. 

In case you're curious, poop fingers was a term coined for the unfortunate event when a parent goes to check on their child's diaper to see if it is wet and instead of gently tugging on the side of the diaper to peer in, a finger accidentally slides in to the diaper and thus poop finger occurs.  It is absolutely disgusting and unfortunately a common occurrence among parents.  I had the amazing luck of doing this on several separate incidents while on this trip and I only hope one day when you are a Father, you have the same joyful experiences. 

In all honesty, this summer was a whirlwind of activity and I have some horrible memories that have surely caused some bleeding ulcers to erupt in my body and I have really good memories with you playing with your sister and cousin on the front lawn of our Cape Cod rental.  You are growing leaps and bounds by the hour and your food consumption is disturbing.  You have just about sworn off all baby food and instead opt for a whole banana, a whole Salmon patty, a handful of crackers and a full sippy cup of almond milk. . . all in one sitting.  You have started self-weaning off of breast milk and this leaves me a little melancholy because I know my baby is growing up. 

You are my adventurous little boy who enjoys pushing Olivia's doll stroller when she's not looking and throwing yourself down a flight of stairs - luckily your head got stuck on the top second step.  I hope you're not counting my bad parenting moments because I do and the number would frighten you.  I hope you realize that most of the things I do are simply out of pure survival - they are obviously not my first choices when approaching a situation but when I have both you and your sister in tow, drastic times call for drastic measures.  You still have all your limbs so I think it's working so far.  I do love you sincerely and I only ask that you slow down growing just a wee little bit.  I've seen what toddlers are capable of and I am in no way, shape or form ready to go down that road with you yet.  Please stay sweet and bashful and remember who loves you more . . . me.

Love,

Momma

Month 34

Dear Olivia,

We just returned from our annual trip to Nanette's cabin and I have to admit that those four days with you and Miles were harder than labor.  Imagine if you will, a cabin with nine raucous children and four frantic mothers.  Well, in all honesty, I think I was the most frantic because I was the mother with the two most difficult children.  Either you or Miles was always crying and sometimes it was at the same time.  Miles couldn't be put down for more than fifteen minutes and you went on a potty strike.  You took one look at the State Park bathroom facility and screamed bloody murder, legs flailing frantically in the air as I picked you up to place you on the toilet.  To be honest, I wouldn't even use that particular bathroom last year when we were there and while eight months pregnant, decided that it was easier and cleaner to pee in a bush which ended up being right above a massive ant hill which I didn't discover until my crotch hovered an inch above ground and I was already midstream.  The bathroom is a dank four wall cell with an outhouse toilet above ground.  There was no poo smears against the toilet this year but the same infestation of flies circled over head.  I really wanted you to use the toilet so I made the sacrifice and showed you that Mommy can use that particular toilet.  I'm thinking the visual of me holding my breath while closing my eyes wasn't the confidence boost you were looking for.  I quickly jumped out of there and said, "See, not so bad - your turn."  You spun around so quickly and booked it back to the river.  Ok, I'm not going to hold this one against you - that toilet was where things go to die.

I figured if you weren't going to approve of the given bathroom amenities, I would then have to teach you real outdoor skills such as popping a squat right there in the river.  You being the subtle one would waddle over in to practically a group of people right in the middle of the river and hover over the water.  After ten seconds or so, you would declare, "I CAN'T PEE!"  You would clamor out of the water hysterical because you had to relieve yourself and had no where to go so you would just pee in your bathing suit.  We did this routine every 30 minutes or so and occasionally you would scream that you had to poop.  Lovely.  What is one to do when you won't even pee in the water.  With a small child's inner tube that was left behind at the picnic area, I found large rocks and used that to prop up the inner tube to create a makeshift toilet.  Bear Grylls would be so proud.  I tried to conceal you from the group of very curious boys we were bunking with but unfortunately your screams kept them intrigued.  Of course since I'm tending to your bathroom crisis, Miles has to be held by someone else and we all know how well your brother takes to anyone holding him besides me.  At one point, one of the very snarky eight year old boys runs up to me and says, "both of your children are crying - what are you going to do about it."  I bent down and looked him dead in the eye and said, "I'm going to let you take care of it.  How does that sound?"  The boy was smarter than his question alluded him because his face suddenly changed and he realized I was in no joking mood.

Over the course of our trip, you had countless accidents ranging from peeing on the couch to full on diarrhea in your bathing suit.  At the end of our day at the lake, the fourth poop in your bathing suit was the final straw.  We were already in the process of packing up the cars at the end of the day and I had already packed the diaper bag with your change of clothes.  You had a massive blowout in your bathing suit so I couldn't exactly make you wear a soiled bathing suit on our trek back to the car.  Miles was hysterically screaming while I allowed a nine year old to push him in a stroller back to the car.  I made the very appropriate decision to let you walk back to the car sans underpants.  You were still wearing your life jacket so I left you in that and only that.  I could hear the distant screams from your brother and I knew we had to leave and we had to leave now.  I'm balancing roughly four scooters in one arm along with an umbrella and your brother's play tent all the while trying to wrangle you back to the car.  At that moment, I noticed your life jacket crotch strap dragging behind you so I picked it up and used it as a leash.  You would begin to wander off the path and I would tug the crotch strap to bring you back on on the trail.  I'm certain that image was well received by the numerous families enjoying a lovely lakeside picnic.  Did I mention that it was a very long four days and I reached a point where I just couldn't and didn't care?

I think this was a trip where you were just declaring that you're just not an outdoors kind of gal.  I get that but I wish you weren't so harsh in your declaration.  Besides, you were one of two girls in this dirty boy sausage fest and one boy in particular was quite the quintessential perv who seemed to be a little too interested in your nether region so I think it's for the best you don't return to this event for sometime, if ever.  In case you're wondering, there was a seven year old boy who was very enthusiastic about taking you to the bathroom.  I declined his offer.  Little pervert.

You recently experienced your first midnight hippie drum circle which I think may have traumatized you.  We were at the California Music Festival which we attend every year and one night you stayed up late.  I have been to this drum circle before and knew what to expect.  I thought you may have enjoyed the sound of thirty plus drums beating in to a rhythmic trance while bodies gyrated freely around.  Apparently this was a sensory overload for you because you gripped all ten toes and fingers in to me with a grip like no other and buried your head in to my neck like a troll was coming after you.  Apparently hippie circles aren't your thing either.  Damn, when did you become the high maintenance princess?

I have mentioned it before but your Father and I really have to watch our language around you.  You are starting a Christian preschool in a few short weeks and apparently I loosely throw around the name Jesus a little too often.  I overheard you in the bathroom trying to pull up your underwear and shorts and out of frustration you yelled, "Jesus, what's going on here!"  Strike one.  I can just imagine how this will go over at the preschool when you spill your fingerpaint and you holler, "Jesus, look at this mess!"  We apparently have to watch how you also may interpret words.  Last night, your Father asked you to jump in to the bathtub.  Obviously he meant this loosely as, get in.  You took the words literally and stood on the edge of the bathtub and were about to actually jump in before your Father could stop you.  I was also surprised to discover how quickly you can pick up songs.  I was singing to myself a song that could be categorized as baby-making music (you'll know what this is one day).  It's a damn catchy song and it goes kind of along the lines of rubbing your body or something like that.  I was singing it to myself quietly while cleaning and in the other room I heard you repeat, "calm your body, calm your body."  Not an exact translation but you're definitely treading a little close to the exact words.  Our Christian preschool is just going to love us - with you throwing around the name Jesus, singing Ludacris and now, your sudden interest in kissing random boys.

Yes, you kiss random boys in swim class and your Father and I are thrilled.  I mean who wouldn't be thrilled to watch their daughter tirelessly throw themselves at random children?  Even after certain boys are removed from your particular class, you will still see them in the pool and as you swim by them, you continue to bat your eyelashes and blow kisses.  It was a little cute the first time but then it was like, geez Liv - save something for the honeymoon if you catch my drift?

You continue to torture your brother with panache.  A new game you have recently picked up is to yell, "HEY MILES!" when he begins to fall asleep.  The first few times you did it in the car, I nearly swerved in to oncoming traffic.  You mock him when he cries which is really enjoyable to listen to when your brother is already hysterical.  Your vocabulary is improving but it still gets garbled when you talk really fast.  You typically garble your words when you're talking back to me and I sense that what you're saying is not good much the same way I know when I'm at a nail salon and the women start talking in their foreign language and you just know in your gut they're talking about you and not in a pleasant way.  Yea, same thing.

The recent cabin trip was certainly a killer and I was horribly embarrassed by your behavior.  Unfortunately I think that just may be life with a toddler.  We have a ten day excursion to the East Coast tomorrow which I'm sure will be chock-full of cheek reddening, sweaty ass goodness.  I have determined that life with a toddler means you can never really expect anything to happen quite the way you imagine but you just have to go with it even if it means whipping out the life jacket for a little leash action. If I really want to be cruel, I will videotape it.  Hello payback!

Love,

Momma