Parenting

7 Parenting Terms To Know If You Have A Toddler

Of all the surprising things I’ve accomplished since becoming a parent, learning how to speak, or at least understand, a new language is somewhere near the top of my list. I’ve always known babies babble, but what I didn’t realize is that over time, one can actually come to make sense of their own baby’s nonsensical drivel. At least most of it. Sometimes. Maybe.

In addition to now knowing “apple” means “pear” and “no” generally means “yes” except for when it really means “no” or “maybe later,” I have also developed a special language with my husband to quickly communicate about our most common scenarios.

Here are our 7 favorite toddler terms:

1. Rage Planking- When a cloud of hot rage overcomes your toddler, and they drop to the ground, in perfect plank position, and scream until they turn purple. Burns calories, and scares off anyone within a 30 foot radius.

2. Textertaining– When you get stuck in your rocker because your toddler will only nap if you hold them, and you force your husband to text you jokes and gossip after you already read through everything Buzz Feed has to offer, and are certain that if you see one more vacation photo on Facebook, you’re going to combust.

This little exchange was surprisingly entertaining, but it still doesn’t answer the question of WHY textertaning autocorrects to textertraining every time.

3. Spite Licking– When you say “no” to something redonkulous, like your toddler’s request to use the litter box scoop as a toothbrush, and they immediately turn and lick the closest thing to them. The licking target could be ANYTHING, so caution must be used when determining when to deliver the bad news that no, they cannot stand on the TV stand and rip holes in the paper lampshade with the dirty fork they took out of the dishwasher.

4. Chipmunking- The art of a toddler packing 4 crackers, a hunk of cheese, and a bit of strawberry from two days ago into their cheek until the moment they decide they no longer want them, and they then spray them all over the wall, like a slobber-filled culinary machine gun, and promptly demand more crackers.

5. The Abyss- Describes the exact location in the car where a toddler will drop a high value item (water bottle, Dog Dog, snack cup) that cannot be reached without pulling over, getting out, and opening the door. (It should be noted I stole this particular term from my brother-in-law. Sorry, bro.)

6. The Classic Hold Me, Don’t Hold Me- The inspiration for this blog, and the way I lost all the baby weight. As the name implies, it’s the action of requesting to be held, and then upon being picked up, deciding they don’t want to be picked up, unless of course you plan on putting them down, then they will resist mightily and cling to you like a vivacious starfish.

7. The Temple of Doom- When a toddler attempts to remove your soul via your nose or the deepest recesses of your mouth, by use of shockingly inhuman strength, and lack of empathy regarding pain being inflicted.

Baby 1.0 performing the dreaded Temple of Doom. My soul was safe though because I already sold it for a night of uninterrupted sleep, which I didn’t get.

Anyone else have anything the have a funny name for? I’d love to hear it!

Image credits: Cover image, others belong to HMDHM

Fill In The Blank

Recently I did something I’ve never done before, and wrote a fictional short story for another blog who provided a small writing prompt. It was exhilarating and fun, and reminded me of how wonderful it is to have a community of like-minded individuals sharing their experiences throughout this journey called Parenthood (if interested, you can find that post here). It got me thinking about how different all of our journeys can be, yet how similar many of our experiences are.

This week, rather than doing a Parenting In 5 Words Or Less, I thought I’d do something even crazier. I want to know in one word, how you would sum up how becoming a parent has made you feel. Maybe your choice is tired, or fulfilled, or connected, or confused – anything goes, and anything is fair. But I want to hear from you, fellow bloggers, friends and readers of HMDHM, what word would you choose? And before you quit because you feel like you can’t find one word, just list the first one that comes to mind, even if you are biased because you are having a really terrible day, or a really fantastic day for that matter. Just one word.

As for me, I’d say the one word that sums up how becoming a parent has made me feel is aware. I am much more aware of the good, and aware of the bad. I am aware of how lucky I am, and also of how tired I am. Aware may seem like a boring choice, but it summarizes it pretty well for me.

So let’s hear it. Becoming a parent has made me feel ______________. Fill in the blank, and leave your word in the comments section!

Getting A Toddler To Sleep Through The Night (Without The Heavy Use of Narcotics or Alcohol)

I’ve said it time and time again: Baby 1.0 is just not a sleeper. 19 months into it, and we’ve only had a handful of blissful nights where she has actually slept all the way through, and subsequently woke the next morning with enough energy to burn a hole through concrete. Finally, after being pushed to the absolute brink of sleep deprived madness, this weekend my husband and I decided to put our collective parenting foot down, and declared, once and for all: “Enough is enough, Child!”

Until this weekend she would wake, like clockwork, several times a night and cry (scream, wail, holler) until I came in and nursed her back down, which, out of habit and fear of her waking up more, I would do shortly after she started up. While I understood my participation via multiple nightly nursing sessions was contributing to the problem, until this weekend, I didn’t understand it was the whole problem.

In my mind, there were any number of things that factored into her wakefulness. Laying in bed at night, fighting the urge to go in and put her back to sleep with a warm milk nightcap, I would think about all the things that could be keeping her from sleeping, like for example:

1. The air. It’s touching her face. And her hands. Can’t sleep when there’s air, you know, touching your face or hands.

2. She has just discovered she is incapable of moving her ring toe independently of her other toes, and for reasons I will never know, is utterly devastated.

3. Her hair is growing.

4. She can’t find her belly button.

5. She is trying to figure out if she’d rather be stuck on an island with M.C. Escher or MC Hammer.

6. She just realized the important role the thumb plays on the human hand, and her mind is blown.

7. She doesn’t know what a fox says, and doesn’t understand why that video was an internet sensation because obviously a fox wouldn’t say any of those things.

8. She is a vampire, or a mostly bald nocturnal opossum with no tail, and very cute, human-like features.

Well aren’t you a cute little fella?

Until this weekend, these things seemed more plausible than me being the source of the problem. I mean hello? I’m the mom! I’m not the problem! I’m the solution!

And speaking of solutions, we have tried them all. About a year ago we tried the Cry It Out method, which ended in vomit for her, and about 15 gray hairs and a stress ulcer for me. We tried every device, potion, book, website -anything- you name it, we’ve given it a go, all to no effect. Everything, that is, except the old “You Just Have To Figure It Out” method.

After another heinous night of interrupted sleep, my husband looked at me with weary eyes, and for the 100 bagillionth time, asked me in his unflappably gentle way, “what if we just turned the monitor off tonight?” and for the first time, I didn’t fight it.

We knew she was safe. We knew she was comfortable. We knew if she worked herself up enough, we’d hear her through the wall we share. We knew it was time.

That night, after much hemming and hawing, I placed the monitor next to our bed, turned it on, and then with great effort, turned the sound all the way down. For a few minutes I thought of all the horrible things that could happen with the sound off (alien abduction, spider infestation, Bermuda Triangle), and then mid-totally unrealistic worrythought, I fell asleep and slept the whole night. The. Whole. Night. And even better, when I woke up, my baby was alive, sleeping, clothed, and totally fine. Did she sleep the whole night? I honestly have no idea. But if she didn’t, she figured out a way to get herself back down, which is something we’ve been begging her to do (but not allowing her to do), for her whole life. The next night, we repeated the process, and again, we (all?) slept like champs.

Should I have done this months and months ago? Probably. But could I have done this months and months ago? I don’t know. I think as much as she needed to be ready to figure it out, I needed to be ready to let her try. Is this the end of our sleep problems? Probably not. But maybe, just maybe, by showing bravery and trust, we’ve unlocked a new tool to use in the battle against turning into sleep deprived zombie parents.

I’m more of an Audacious Dreamer, but that combination apparently isn’t available in Street Fighter.

Image credits: opossum , sleeping child, Street Fighter graphic, cover photo belongs to HMDHM

The 10 Stages Of Traveling With A Toddler

This last week I had the pleasure of taking a trip home to visit my dad and step-mom out in the boondocks of Colorado. This would be Baby 1.0’s third trip out there, but the first since she was mobile, vocal, and opinionated. These things, of course, aren’t considered when you stumble across Southwest’s $99 fare, and then purchase tickets faster than your toddler can eat a wad of old chewing gum they find on the ground. As our trip approached, the reality of the situation set in, and I found myself going through the 10 stages of traveling with a toddler.

1. Book trip. Feel confident, excited, and happy.

2. 1.2 seconds after receiving confirmation email from airline, feel panicked, claustrophobic, and extremely worried. Nearly drown in mental what-if’s. What if I flash someone while nursing? What if she poops? What if she won’t let me hold her for 2 1/2 hours? What if she screams the whole way? What if she gets sick? What if I get sick? What if there are snakes on the plane?

3. Vacillate between excitement and panic up until day before travel. Grab the reigns and focus all mental energy into packing. Pack perfectly. From diapers to Dog Dog, from toys to Tylenol you remember it all, and manage to fit it into one small suitcase. Okay, two medium-sized suitcases. And a full diaper bag. Applaud yourself on not overpacking (more). Feel calm and prepared for anything.

4. The night before traveling, wake up no less than 85 times checking alarm clock to make sure it is set. Stress pee each of the 85 times you wake up. Wonder if in the event of an airline emergency, you would indeed have the wherewithal to place the oxygen mask over your face before placing it over the face of your child. Decide no, because you would likely be in the bathroom stress peeing while trying to keep your toddler from licking the door to the bathroom. Wonder if they have oxygen masks in the bathroom.

5. Get out of bed early and walk around house collecting miscellaneous items to cram into nooks and crannies of suitcases and diaper bag with the intensity and passion of hoarder at a flea market.

6. With a frown, relinquish armful of items to disapproving husband who confirms you have actually packed nearly everything you own, and reassures you there will be no airline emergencies in which you will be tasked with oxygen mask placement.

7. Get dressed. Pee. Load car. Run in to pee again. Realize at this very moment child hasn’t yet pooped today. Say a prayer to the Saint of Doodie Britches your toddler doesn’t poop while on the plane.

8. Arrive at airport with plenty of time to spare. Check baggage, and breathe sigh of relief. Don dark glasses and give your unruly hair a toss to channel your inner movie star.

9. Start to feel relaxed and confident again. For first time, notice beautiful color of the morning sky. Look down at child to try to share this moment, only to witness child lick handle of baggage cart. Make mental note to not share water with child for a day or two. Take off dark glasses and pull hair into your standard pony tail so you can more closely monitor child’s behavior.

10. Get on plane! Flash neighbor, repeatedly. Wrangle wiggly toddler successfully, and smile uncomfortably when toddler loudly announces 15 times they have pooped. Change diaper on galley floor in record time under scrutiny of flight crew. Empty contents of perfectly packed diaper bag in an attempt to entertain toddler “the old-fashioned way” but give in to increasingly impassioned demands to watch Elmo on the iPad. Let toddler watch embarrassing amount of TV, but secretly thank your lucky stars you have an iPad. Eventually arrive. Pat yourself on the back and beam with pride when neighbor tells you what a good baby you have.

So there you have it. Any stage I missed you other parents experience when you travel?

Unsurprisingly, you cannot gate check a wagon full of toys.

Cover image credits, wagon belongs to HMDHM

7 Minutes in Heaven: Part 2(AM)

Co-sleeping. If there’s one thing I’ve learned since becoming a parent, it’s that the term “co-sleeping” is a bit of a misnomer, as there is seldom any sleeping involved with co-sleeping. Perhaps this is our fault, as we have never sat Baby 1.0 down and really explained what co-sleeping means to her. In Baby 1.0’s mind, it is clear co-sleeping is viewed as a WWE Smackdown-esque competition where Baby 1.0 is perpetually defending the highly coveted Paperweight belt. But last night, after receiving 22 tiny blows to the face at 2am, it hit me (literally): I need to bring this to the people, because you know what they say about misery loving company. Now the problem I encountered immediately was if I were to “live-blog” it, as I did with the previous 7 Minutes in Heaven post, then I couldn’t continue to pretend I was sleeping, and I would lose all hope of Baby 1.0 rolling over and attacking my husband instead. So forgive me, as this is from memory, and as I previously stated, I was actually punchslapped 22 times in the head last night. Also, it should be mentioned we were staying in a hotel, which is why we had to attempt to co-sleep at all.

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Let the games begin.

10-1:00- Sleep soundly, like a little baby lamb in a warm bed of hay, until Baby 1.0 wakes for her usual early morning feeding. Nurse her back down, and successfully transfer her back into her Pack and Play. Do small victory dance before crawling back into bed.

1:45- Start to drift off to sleep. Heart stops cold when two syllables are whispered from behind the barricade of chairs we have set up to block Baby 1.0’s view of our bed… “Mama?” Starts off soft, but quickly turns into full on whaling cries. Jump out of bed to retrieve screaming child before she wakes up every guest in the hotel.

1:46- Rock screaming child, and panic because rocking, shooshing, swaying and snuggling aren’t helping. Make (bad) judgment call, and slide into bed with screaming child.

1:47- Screaming stops. Use this opportunity to lay down and close my eyes in an attempt to convince her I have fallen asleep, and she should do the same. “Mamamamamamamamama. Mama. Maaaaaamamama.” Fingers in my ears. Fingers in my eyes. Fingers in my nose. Fingers trying to go from deep in my nose to my mouth forcing me to move slightly, therefore reinforcing to Baby 1.0 if she pushes far enough, I will react. Reality sets in I am done for, and also if I ever have to play dead for a Grizzly, I am screwed.

1:48- Baby 1.0 lays down next to me. For 2.2 microseconds I think “Great Scott! I think I’ve done it!” Baby 1.0 then aggressively adjusts so she is now in standard “H” formation, with her head pressed into my rib cage, and her feet delivering heel kicks to her Dad’s sternum. She lays here for approximately 35 seconds, kicking away, then quickly switches back to the correct head to toe position between us. Nervously, I begin to hum Twinkle Twinkle, her go-to bedtime jam.

The dreaded H position, curtesy of How To Be A Dad.

1:49- After quietly humming 6 verses of Twinkle Twinkle, I stop. “Mooah! Mooah!” Baby 1.0 yells while slamming her tiny fist into my stomach. Humming resumes. Humming is interrupted by Baby 1.0’s sudden desire to make train noises. “Choo chooooo!” she yells with high-pitched delight. She sits up on her knees and begins bouncing on the bed. “Choo choo! Choo chooooo!”

1:50- Baby 1.0 suddenly topples forward and lays down between us again. Curling into my body, she begins to sing. “Shake off, shake off,” she coos, over and over. Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” song is now firmly embedded in my head, and continues to play on repeat even to this moment, a full 12 hours later.

1:51- Apparently tiring of my boring early-morning mood, she turns her attention to her daddy and begins to name features on his face. “Eye. Eye. No. Mow. Eye.” This last eye gets him in trouble because he corrects her and says “ear” which was exactly the gateway Baby 1.0 was looking for. BINGO! Dad’s awake. She dives onto his chest and smothers him with whatever was wet on her face.

1:52- Baby 1.0 yawns. She circles and lays down, flips, flops, circles. Kicks. Pulls at covers. Pushes at covers. Lifts covers with legs approximately 18 times. Yawns. Flips. Head butts. Nuzzles. Wiggles her fingers into my shirt sleeve and scratches at my skin. Puts hand to my mouth and requests kitty cat kisses. Punchslaps me 22 times in the head, with some sort of wiggly, wobbly backhand move.

After over an hour of nonsense, my husband, who is apparently a magician who seldom uses his powers for reasons that remain unclear, managed to get her back down and sleeping in her Pack and Play, where she remained for the rest of the night. It was a co-sleeping nightmare that ended in a world class magic trick. It was…7 minutes in Heaven.

When Does This Get Easy?

Yesterday while walking home after picking my husband up from work, I was, to put it simply, wigging out. This week Baby 1.0 appears to have dropped her last remaining nap. Though each day we try, and try again, she just won’t fall asleep, and by 5 o’clock, we are both at our wits end. Nearly in tears, I explained to him how each step has been so hard for us, and I just have never felt like we were really getting it, if you get what I’m saying. This whole time we’ve been surviving, but I have never felt like we are thriving. With her deciding this week to drop her last remaining nap, yet again, I am left scrambling as I figure out how to manage this next developmental stage.

Today the frustrations again reared their ugly head after I lowered a sleeping child into her crib, just to watch her eyes pop open, and remain open. How stupid was I to think that for the first time this week, I would get to pee alone, and then eat a sandwich without someone screaming for me to draw another picture of a cat.

Now before you get all “It could be worse on me” trust me, I get it. The guilt of feeling frustrated and complaining that my healthy, wonderful child won’t sleep or eat when there are people with sick kids, or worse, no kids due to some tragic situation, makes me feel absolutely despicable. I should just be thankful I have a kid, right?

But for the love of all that’s holy, would it be too much to ask that the kid I have just eat a meal or two every day without me having to chase her around the house with 18 different options, and then, because she is tired and needs it, get a little sleep? It’s eating and sleeping, I’m asking for here, not the solution for the conflict in the Middle East.

So what do I do? What can I do, other than just put one frustrated foot in front of the other, and carry on as we always have, waiting for us to both settle into yet another new pattern. I’ve been through enough with Baby 1.0 to understand this is temporary, and in no time at all we will both adjust to 13 hours of awake toddler-time. But until then, all I want to do is cry, eat four chocolate croissants, and whine about it on a very public platform. When does this get easy?

Proof that one time, she actually did nap.

The Unbelievable Mess of Toddlerdom

It happens so fast. Although I’ve never been in a tornado, the aftermath appears the same. Toys, trash, food and clothes are scattered everywhere. The three lowest shelves on the bookshelf have been completely emptied, the books strewn haphazardly around the living room. A windowsill has been broken, leaving a piece of molding dangling carelessly, inches from the floor. Glancing towards the door I see what is either a turd or a half-eaten teething biscuit, peeking out from under a stray boot. “Please don’t be a turd” I say to no one in particular. The cats cautiously navigate the mess with curiosity and a mild degree of fear, which I echo. My husband exits the bathroom, steps over a soccer ball, dodges a laundry basket and nearly crushes a set of custom paper mache finger puppets and sighs. The only one who seems unaffected is Baby 1.0, who is contentedly shredding pages out of a magazine. “What happened?” he asks. “She woke up,” I reply.

This mess, this unbelievable mess, is Baby 1.0’s mission in life right now. There are few things that bring her more joy than dumping, smearing, swiping, emptying and otherwise removing the contents of anything that has contents. From baskets of blocks to bowls of blueberries, nothing is safe from ending up in a pile on the floor. The white carpeted floor, mind you, which is quickly starting to take the appearance of Desert Storm-era khaki camouflage. The fridge seems to have become a breeding ground where tiny containers spawn other tiny containers, all filled with a few bites of food Baby 1.0 has decided she no longer likes. The windows and sliding glass door are nearly opaque with sticky finger prints and tongue marks alike.

But the mess isn’t contained to the play area, or even the house for that matter. The car looks like a giant hamster nest, with enough Cheerios, raisins, and shredded paper to sustain a family of 4, and keep them warm in even the coldest of winter nights. The stroller, no matter what I do, seems to always have a new crop of crumbs escaping out of crevices, waiting to be ground into the carpet, or be gobbled up by grubby fingers on the way home from the park. Somehow we even leave the park looking dirtier than it was, with a trail of wood chips following us home, as if we were the lumber-jack version of Hansel and Gretel.

For the most part, the mess doesn’t bother me. Or at least it didn’t until this morning when I was hunched over the sink, eating second breakfast, nestled between a greasy paper bag waiting to be taken out to the compost, and what remained of the bowl of aforementioned blueberries rescued from the carpet. But standing there, disintegrating breakfast burrito in hand, I couldn’t help but wonder, am I super gross, or is my acceptance of this mess a survival mechanism? I tend to lean more towards the latter, because it’s not like I don’t try. All day, every day, I am constantly picking up here and there. But the mess multiplies in a way I can never keep up with. And so things happen, like a greasy paper bag, waiting on the counter for days to finally make it down to the compost.

I wasn’t even kidding. This is how I eat most meals. It’s scary. And a little sad.

I suppose this is just par for the course, and in due time she will learn to help us pick it up and put it away. So for now, I think I will stay the course, and do my best to simultaneously turn a blind eye, and try not to fall victim to the dreaded full-bodyweight-on-a-lego scenario.

So who’s with me? Any other parents out there with houses that could potentially be confused for an episode of Hoarders?