Mommylogues:

The Boy and His Bear

2009-05-28T22:02:00.004-04:00

The Boy has a brown bear we've dubbed "Tommy Bear" because he came to us wearing a Who T-shirt. That was about a year and a half ago. Since then, Tommy Bear has become The Boy's faithful companion and best friend.

Tommy Bear has to go everywhere with us now. It's beyond a comforting toy at bedtime. He accompanies us in the car on the way to school. He sits down for meals with us. He even uses the potty (and, to date, is the only one willing to sit on it for longer than a few seconds). The Boy insists Tommy Bear joins us when we go to the theme parks, run errands, or go anywhere in the car. And he has to be buckled into his seat. Safety is important, after all.

This past weekend, he instructed my husband to put Tommy Bear in the driver's seat and was adamant that Tommy Bear would drive us to dinner with my sister and her family, visiting from New York for the long weekend. When Big Daddy buckled Tommy Bear into the back seat beside the convertible car seat, The Boy howled until I explained quite plainly that Tommy Bear did not have a driver's license and therefore was unable to drive the car.

I think having Tommy Bear helps The Boy express himself. He tells Tommy Bear to eat in the mornings, insists that he wash his paws after meals (Big Daddy helps the bear "wash"), watches TV with him, reads to him, talks to him, and counts with him. I've been told numerous times that "Baesh" (bear) needs to have his diaper changed, needs to wear pants, needs socks, needs to eat yogurt, needs his own bowl of cereal... The list goes on.

I'm glad I heeded my sister's advice and bought a "twin" as soon as I noticed The Boy was latching on to his bear. This month, I've needed to swap them three times - and one is currently in the wash after peeing in the middle of the night. (Tommy Bear was the one who wet himself, you see, and it just happened to get on The Boy and all the bedding.)

I've read that it's common for 2-year-olds to have imaginary friends, and I think Tommy Bear is filling that role. I'm thankful The Boy at least has a tangible friend that we can see. I can't imagine the changes in our routines if his friend was imaginary!

Raw nerves

2009-05-21T10:16:00.005-04:00

The teething monster has returned, and this time, it stops for nothing.

(Cue dramatic music.)

I shall never never never ever again remark how easy the First-Year molars were on our house (neverminding the stomach bug and hand-foot-and-mouth disease that accompanied it).

No, you will never hear that story again from me. And do you know why?

Because whatever pains The Boy was spared when those First-Years came erupted he is now experiencing, and in spades. For the past two nights, he has refused to go to sleep - regardless of fatigue - and will only eventually fall asleep if Big Daddy or I are holding him. I managed to get him to sleep in his crib last night by propping a pillow under his head, but that didn't last long. His robust toddler cries have been reduced to helpless infant mewling, accented with the occasional, "Ow! Oooooooow!"

It's enough to make me want to cry.

I can take some small comfort in the fact that we'll have a reprieve once the Second-Year molars arrive. The next time The Boy will teethe, he'll be around six years old and able to express himsef verbally and understand why he's in pain.

But for now, I've never been so grateful to have my job to escape from the teething monster, especially knowing he has fabulous teachers at daycare who are able to distract him from the pain.

I'm NOT going out in this weather!

2009-05-14T20:53:00.003-04:00

In my attempts to regain a semblance of the pre-Mommy me, I spoke to my friend Gena about the possibility of having her train me. As she is still working on getting certified as a personal trainer, she agreed but refuses to accept any money from me. She would, essentially, have me do exercises that target key areas, assign "homework" on the days I don't see her, etc. I, in turn, would be her guinea pig and do whatever she asks.

Gena's work schedule right now is such that she is working her regular job Tuesdays through Thursdays, which means we have Mondays and Fridays to get together during my lunch break. We began our sessions last Friday, during which she had me work on my arms to tone the muscle there. Because I'm occassionally lifting and carrying a little man of 30 pounds (fully clothed with shoes), I discovered I had more upper body strength than I initially believed. But I was certainly feeling it over the weekend!

On Monday, we focused on abs and legs. On Tuesday, feeling sore but functional, I played the part of hamster at lunchtime and walked/ran two miles on a treadmill while a coworker used the elliptical at our office gym. Yesterday, still sore but in different ways, I chose to go to Target for a few necessities and walked two laps around my neighborhood last night. And today, I visited a friend's very ill mother during my lunch hour with every intention of doing laps around the neighborhood again tonight.

Only, the skies opened and poured (much needed) rain upon my house. And it's still going. So I'm not doing laps.

I'm a slacker, I know.

"Busy Mom"

2009-05-13T11:34:00.000-04:00

I can't help but laugh out loud whenever I read those words together.

Is there such a thing as a mom who isn't busy? You'd might as well say "wet ocean" or "looking back in retrospect". It's redundant.

I've yet to meet a mother of non-adult children who isn't (figuratively) practicing the fine art of spinning plates. And it doesn't matter if you stay at home with one child or twelve, or go to work and come home to one child or five. Every mother I have met has to hit the ground running each morning to keep up with her kids - even the ones with children too young to roll over on their own.

It's incredibly trite to say, but the world really does change when motherhood comes into play. Before I became a mother, I would never have given a thought about cloth diapers versus their disposable counterparts, the ease by which small (read: choking-hazard sized) pieces may pop off little toys, or the difference between Pampers or Huggies training pants. Diaper coupons weren't valuable commodities, kitchen cabinets didn't need to be locked, and my family room walls weren't blank canvases beckoning my miniature Renoir and his crayons.

Food was simpler, too. I used to be able to sit down with a bowl of Lucky Charms if I didn't feel like cooking, and my husband could forage for his own meals. These days, planning is a must, only I rely more on my husband to prepare and feed The Boy his dinner because I usually come home after his tummy declares it's time to eat (sometimes well after). And God help me if I don't have his yogurt in the mornings, or soy milk (because he has sensitivities to dairy, of course), or any other "staple" that didn't exist in my pre-motherhood world.

And so, on top of all the things that you have to do for yourself (eat, sleep, shower, use the bathroom), you also have to keep tabs on those same things for this whole other little person. ("Use the bathroom" is one he will eventually figure out on his own - I hope - but I get to keep track of that for the next few years.) For as long as you have small children, you get to wear the hat of Teacher, too, and teach rudimentary basics (numbers, letters, why you don't pull the cat's tail) while enforcing simple (to you) rules. And this is all before shuttle service to music lessons, sports games, and myriad events that come with grade school (and beyond). Add work (which can be housekeeping or earning a paycheck or, especially in this economy, both), and it's enough for anyone's head to explode.

Now, in all fairness, I know plenty of dads (my own husband, included) who are just as busy as any mom. But how often do you hear the phrase "busy dad"?

Four more weeks?!?!?

2009-03-10T17:31:00.000-04:00

I just looked at my calendar. The Boy will be two years old in just a little more than four weeks! Moreover, my elder niece will be eight years old in five days. I still remember the day my sister told me she was pregnant!

Where has the time gone?

Sometimes I think it's a little unfortunate that I live my life out of my planner. Within its pages, I record appointments, important dates, upcoming events, and lists of things to do. Sometimes, items are carefully printed, but they're usually scribbled hastily, barely legible and decipherable only by me.

I wonder if his upcoming birthday would have registered if I didn't have it written. It probably would have, only much, much later. Like the day before.