All Done!!

Today marked the first surgery ever for any of the children - Little Fish to have a hernia repaired.

He did so incredibly well! We were at the hospital two days ago for a tour, which did wonders to alleviate his fears. He bopped right into the hospital with only a little hesitation (because we didn't go immediately to the play room). He loved the hospital PJs, was a sport with temperature taking and blood pressure cuffs and other kids in the play area. I was expecting him to be more of a Thunder Cloud, and I was pleasantly surprised to see him winning over all the nurses with his cute little self.

After surgery, however, he was a sleepy guy! It was a good half hour before he stirred in recovery, and we had another hour before he was ready for some bites of Popsicle and sips of juice. And after that, he fell back asleep until we woke him to get dressed.

After which he promptly vomited.

Overall, a very positive experience (as positive as surgery and hospitals can get, I think). But no swimming for him, so no visiting the hotel pool with Uncle and Aunt and Cousin this weekend.

Here he is just waking up:

And here getting some ice chips from Dr. D.

All of December

We potty trained Little Fish.

It went well.
It was hell.
He's done now.

School just didn't happen very much.

As of today, back on track.

What Freud Never Told Us: Potty Envy

I am coming out of week one of Potty Boot Camp. This would be with Little Fish. I’ve done potty before with his older brother, so I should have been prepared. But as with all big changes, like having a newborn, that first week is horrible. Nothing but emotion, adjustment, exhaustion. I’d forgotten about that.

There was one thing I could not have known because I’d never done it before. St. Nick was an only child when he went through PTBC, and he switched from diapers to puppy pants (his phrase, I have no idea why) with little complication. But Fish, with St. Nick and the baby? Complication, indeed.

The baby is as reasonable a seventeen-month-old as one can expect. Slightly jealous when I hold a friend’s baby, but not yet in the terrible twos. Until Potty Day.

Mud Pie cannot get over the potty. It is her throne, her private chair—strange for a child who is not yet walking and who ignored the potty for the past six months, when I had it out “in preparation.” Whenever her brother sits on it, she throws herself on her face and wails. He has taken to grabbing her around her little middle and hauling her away so he can do his job. All the while saying, “No baby, NO Baby!”

And St. Nick, whom I expected to be excited and helpful with this task (I mean, this is a kid who lives for talk of poop and pee pee, for all things gross and stinky), morphed into a toddler when Boot Camp began. Fish would get a treat for having dry pants, and St. Nick would demand, “Where’s mine? I have dry pants too!”

“Well, yes. You do. But you already know how to use the potty.”

For some reason, this answer didn’t cut it with him.

Most of the stress of Potty Week did not come from fear of accidents or the constant hawkish watch I kept for “signals” (you moms who’ve done this will know what I mean), but from the other two kids. And it wasn’t about the potty, not at all. It was about Fish and the extra moments of my attention he received.

The thing that bothers me most: Fish is the happiest I’ve ever seen him—has he been shortchanged in the attention department these past years? And what of his siblings? They had grown so accustomed to him getting less, that now they bristle at the praises and treats showered on him.

The week was a full one, but an important one as well. Despite my intentions not to do so, I see now that I have been treating my middle child as, well, a middle child. And it took a potty to open my eyes.

All Mothers Lie

Mother: (enters two-year-old's bedroom) Why, child, you're swimming!
Child: I wet. I drink lots!

(Mother undresses child and piles all sodden clothes onto sodden sheet and sodden mattress pad)

Child: (throughout process) No! Want jams!
Mother: But your jams are wet. Do you want to be cold and wet all morning?
Child: Yes.

(Mother starts dressing child in shorts and shirt)

Child: (crying) No! Jams! Jams!
Mother: (smiles sweetly) Oh, but these are jams. They're daytime jams.
Child: (thinks) Oh. (smiles) Okay!

Sneaky Mommy.