10 posts tagged “parenting”
[scene: Liam's morning diaper change]
Abbey: What's that skin thing on Liam? (points to his penis)
Me: That's what Liam uses to pee. It's called a penis.
Abbey: I don't have one of those on my dupa (Polish for heine, and what she calls everything below her waist)
Me: No, neither do I because we're girls. Only boys have penises.
Abbey: (thinking for a minute) I think daddy must have one of those, too.
The thing that is amazing to me is that it's taken over a year of her watching me change Liam's diaper to notice his bits are different than hers!
Despite the best of intentions, Liam's first birthday didn't exactly go as planned. Which makes me wonder if that's simply how July 19th is meant to go for him. He was supposed to be a VBAC and ended up as a cesarean. An ultrasound the day before his birth confirmed everything looked good and clear and he ended up in the NICU with meconium aspiration for 2 weeks, with me not being allowed to hold or nurse him until he was a good 10 days old. I wanted so much for today to be, well, slightly more idyllic than it was. But it wasn't. He was teething and fussy and wouldn't nap. So I didn't get to do the birthday preparation activities that I had promised Abbey (aka baking a train cake and helping her to wrap his presents). Work was particularly busy today, too, so that didn't help. Since he was wide awake and seemingly happy, we went out for an early dinner and then errands. He was fussy at dinner, and I got to lug his off-the-chart heavy arse around while he drooled and slept on my shoulder at Lowes. And then, when we came home and it was time for bed, again he wouldn't sleep. So he got to play (and fuss) some more, had bathtime with his sister, and then 90 minutes after that, finally fell asleep. And was up again 20 minutes later. And is now, hopefully, asleep for the night.
He got no cake. No ice cream. Nor did we even get to wrap a single present for him (since Abbey has been insisting that she gets to help!) so thank goodness we're having a family shindig (and possible hootenany) on Sunday so we get a do-over on giving the small son a special day. Let's hope not every birthday of his goes like this! While I did snap some pictures today, I think we'll save the picspam for post-party on Sunday.
My friend Barbara (who is about to pop any day now with her first bambino) pointed me toward some info about Abbey's beloved Thomas the Train wooden railway toys:
http://www.product-reviews.net/2007/06/14/thomas-the-train-toy-recall-lead-poisoning-hazard/
Now, we don't have any of the trains or components that were recalled, but maybe your child does. PLEASE spread the word!
I was in the kitchen sort of staring off into the space of the backyard when Austin, an overly-hyper, seven-year-old boy who lives next door, started yelling from his back porch for Abbey, whom he always calls, "Abigail."
"Abigail! Abigail, come out here! Hey, Abigail!"
Of course, since the backdoor is open, Abbey can hear him perfectly well and came running into the kitchen.
"Mama, Aidan and Austin are calling me! I have to go outside!"
"In a little while, kitten; you didn't finish your breakfast."
"Oh, but we can have a pic-i-nic with Aidan and Austin," she stated confidently, much to my inner groan. I like the middle child in their family, Aidan, who is about 5 months older than Abbey and very quiet (and nice) when not egged on by the older brother. The sister is about 6 months older than Liam. But something about Austin rubs me a bit the wrong way, ever since he started making very misogynistic comments to Abbey when they first moved in about why Abbey didn't have a pink bike, or why Abbey played with Thomas Trains because they're for boys, or how she shouldn't have a wooden snake toy because it's a boy toy and she should give it to him so she can go play with dolls.
ANYhoo. Austin kept yelling for Abbey, so I stepped out with her on the porch.
"Hey, Abigail's mom! Can we come over to play today?"
I explained to him that Abbey just had eye surgery yesterday and she might not feel up to it. Then, of course, Abbey chimed in, "Today is a good day to ride bikes, don't you think?" ::headdesk:: So then I counter with, "Maybe later after Abbey finishes her breakfast."
At this point, I am about to shuffle Abbey back in the house because Liam is playing unattended two rooms away, when Austin starts shouting (as he's being shuffled back in):
"I love you Abigail, and I'm going to marry you somday! I want to kiss you, Abigail!"
Dear lord in heaven, I knew there was a reason I didn't like that boy! I am so not ready for this, lol.
I heard Liam stirring upstairs and went to go fetch him. He was laughing and chattering to himself, and I felt so lucky to have such a happy baby. And then I saw why he was so blissful this morning. Apparently, my small son decided to take off his diaper and "watered" himself and his crib.
::headdesk::
It's taken a few days to be able to talk about what happened with Abbey's CT scan on Tuesday. It started off well enough. We got into town with plenty of time. And despite some confusion with parking at Children's Hospital (don't get me started on their valet people) we easily found where we needed to be. 4th Floor Radiology Department via the purple elevators marked by an oversided purple crayon statue. The waiting area was colourful and bright, with wonderful toys to distract even the most nervous child. There were even two volunteers doing craft time with kids. A nice guy named Sunil spent a lot of time with Abbey helping her glue and colour a bunch of projects while we waited. I felt at ease and well prepared. After all, I was told that the CT room was going to be beautiful with oceanic lights to make it look underwater, a movie screen with Finding Nemo, and everything painted to look like an undersea fairyland. I was also told that even though Abbey's opthamologist had recommended sedation for her, they didn't feel it was needed; they prided themselves on a 90% sedation-free rate for this procedure. What could I posibly be worried about? This wasn't any hospital; this was CHILDREN'S Hospital, and surely they know how to make children feel at ease. I told Abbey as we were called away from craft time by what looked like an 80's holdout with spiky hair and earring contrasting with his green scrubs, that she was going to have her picture taken now.
Instead of the magical undersea room, we were first taken to what looked exactly like a doctor's exam room. My daughter and doctor's exam rooms are unmixy things. I was trying to figure out how they were going to do the CT in this room when spiky-hair guy told me to put her up on the table. I tried to figure out how to get up there with her to calm down my now anxious, crying child, but he said that I would need to hold her down. "For what??" I asked as some of Abbey's panic crept into my voice. Let's just say they neglected to tell me that Abbey needed to have an IV of contrast dye for the procedure. Nobody at any point in all of the preparatory conversations leading up to this procedure mentioned this step, so I had no way to prepare her, or myself, for this happening. I was in tears as Abbey screamed that she wanted up, she wanted to go home, mommy this man is huritng me, mommy help me-- and I was holding her down (and singing Frere Jacques through my own tears) helping him do it. I was now wishing we'd had the sedation after all, and not just for her.
We then had to walk down the hall into the actual CT room, which was just as beautiful as they had promised, but it was well beyond too late for it to work its magic. Abbey didn't want to lie down on the scanner board, and I couldn't really blame her at this point. She was near primal, all pure fear and instinct, shrieking her anxiety as only a hysterical three-year-old girl can. They kept forcing her down and "mummified" her in a blanket, strapping her down as she kicked and screamed and cried. They then started stuffing towels next to her head to keep it from moving. She had some stray blonde strands near her eyes and she looked a cornered animal, just howling, "Get me out of heeeeere, let me up, I want up! Mumma, help me, I can't hear, I can't hear, let me UPPPPPPP!!!" They had me lie down on top of her to somehow calm her as she went through the machine. Only my extreme love of my child enabled me to do this since I have serious claustrophobia issues. They then turned on a Barbie movie above her head (and mine at this point) to calm her, and me, near hysterial myself, told them, "You told me you had Nemo. Can't you put that on instead? She doesn't know who the hell Barbie is and that won't calm her down." and they told me they would change films (they didn't). Abbey kept shrieking and crying hysterically. I feel I am overusing this word, but really, there isn't any other word that comes close to describing this experience. I tried to calm her by singing or getting her to talk about what she wanted for lunch, all without letting her know how upset I was myself. She wouldn't have any of it and kept howling more, her little face now beet red from the exertion. I wanted to smooth her hair out of her left eye (ironically, the same eye that was the whole reason for this bloody exercise in the first place) but I wasn't allowed to touch her face during the scan. It stood out as pale, almost white gold against her flushed skin. Her eyes were wild and unfocused now, and when it was finally over (was it really only ten minutes?) she just clung to me like her whole world had come crashing down.
I have never felt so helpless in my entire life. More to the point, I felt complicit in betraying my daughter's trust. I felt like I helped them torture my child and I couldn't do anything to calm her. In many ways, this was worse than the helplessness I felt when I was rushed into the operating room just over 3 years earlier and she was cut out of me, pulled from her safe space inside me and out into this all-too-often cruel world. All of this was happening to my tiny person and I couldn't protect her or whisk her away. I couldn't keep her safe.
My daughter just woke up and walked down the steps. She came over to my desk, crawled up on my lap, and said, "Happy Valentine's Day!" I told her, "It's not Valentine's Day, silly; it's Mother's Day!" but she insisted, "I like Valentine's Day better because I get to tell you I love you all day!"
This morning I had to yet again reprimand Abbey for colouring herself with markers that I didn't know she had. (And don't get me started on my husband, who keeps buying markers for our now 3-year-old despite me constantly taking them away!) When asked why she wanted to colour herself, she gave the same answer that has been troubling me for a while now: she wants to make herself "colourful" like my nephew, Cyrus, who is of mixed race. I've tried explaining to her that Cyrus's skin is a mixture of his mommy's (my sister) and daddy's. But Abbey is convinced that Cyrus, who is notorious in her world for being bad by hitting her and knocking her down, was bad and coloured himself, and she wants to be allowed to do the same. I can only imagine what she must think of my brother-in-law who is substantially darker skinned than his son! And it's strange she doesn't think her best friend, who is a darker skinned Indian girl, has coloured herself, perhaps because M's mom is the same colour as M herself.
It's good that Abbey wants to be colourful, but I am also worried that Abbey already thinks that people of colour are potentially "bad" for having coloured themselves since we have yelled at her for doing what she considers to be the same thing. How does one explain racism to a toddler?
I have often wondered about long-term memory in toddlers, and I just got to see proof of some excellent recall from Abbey first hand. We're currently watching Sesame Street together and the dreaded (by me) Elmo's World section is on. Today's theme is horses. We saw a little girl riding a pony and I asked Abbey if she remembered when she got to ride a pony. She said no at first, thought a minute, then exclaimed excitedly, "Yes! At the Halloween playground!"
Said Halloween-playground was the annual fall festival at Trax Farm over a year ago and it's not something we've really talked about since then. Wow!
[context--after a disussion about attics, basements, and in-between floors]
Abbey: Mama, what's above the sky?
Me: Space--with all the other stars and planets.
Abbey: You're right, Mama! Very good!!
A conversation with Abbey on Friday:
Me: (after changing her out of her night diaper) Abbers, are you ready to put on your big girl underwear again today? You did so good yesterday and mummy's so proud!
Abbey: I can't wear my big girl pants. They're toooo yucky.
Me: Why are they yucky, bubs? You liked them yesteday.
Abbey: They're toooo holey. The pee just falls out.
Yesterday:
We were at my nephew Cyrus' birthday party, and of course my mother got for him the one big special thing that Abbey wanted for Christmas and/or as her special surprise for saying good-bye to diapers, whichever comes first, namely a Go, Diego, Go Rescue Station. She was doing remarkably well understanding that the toy wasn't for her and was playing very nicely with him with it until he took one of the pieces from the set and hit her with it. I don't think I'll ever forget the look of horror and betrayal on her face that Cyrus would want to hurt her and that mommy couldn't stop it beffore it happened.
Half an hour ago:
I was finishing up some work for the evening when I heard Abbey crying upstairs over the baby monitor. Bill asked if he should go, and I said that I would. I went upstairs to find...well, I couldn't find Abbey. It would seem that at some point she had fallen out of bed and excepting part of her head, had rolled completely under it and was trapped. I am not sure which one of us was more afraid. Mercifully, I was able to get her out and back to sleep quickly.
