Hurricane Irene ... heard of her? Well, you can say we got some wind and rain and are now missing two chairs from our basement patio. I am thinking they are down the hill near the pond? However, I was stuck in the house.
Trying to entertain two little boys under the age of two while the tropical storm winds blew was not such an easy task. My day went something like this:
~6:08 am Charlie wakes up, he's hungry!
Coffee pot on.
Power off/on.
Boobs out.
Max's toys begin to play. Guess he is awake too.
7:13am Hubby leaves for work among tropical storm winds and rain. Max waved from the window. Charlie is sucking his gums and crying ... whenever those first teeth want to pop through is fine with me!
7:19am Mummy shower ... nice and warm. Max tried to climb in two minutes into my shower. Max handed me my towel when I got out. Thanks Bo Bo.
7:49am Max's breakfast. Did I mention he is going through this not eating phase. So he wanted waffles and showed me where the toaster was, where to plug it in, where the waffles were, where to put them, syrup ... the whole she-bang, then did not eat it. He ate half a banana instead. The dog got some waffle.
8:07am Coffee pot on again.
8:31am Wrestle Max into some clothes. He is a naked toddler all of a sudden.
9:00ish Feed Charlie while drinking new coffee. The dog is trying to hide from Max. Great. Max decides he can fit into the swing ... and gets stuck.
9:17am Did I eat breakfast yet? Peaches. I can shove a peach down my throat. Please Charlie take a snooze. Let's go play in Max's cool room. Something smells south of your bellybutton, kiddo. We have legos, trucks, Thomas, etc. What does Max want ... books. We read 11 books.
10:01am Charlie = screaming.
10:02am Laundry and basement play fun. Max loves the basement. Charlie can watch. We can play catch with Annie. I put down a blanket and we had fun for a while. Then Max tried to steam clean the concrete basement floor.
10:59am Ok, let's try to take Annie outside in the tropical storm wind. Charlie was finally snoozing. Oh yeah, Max totally loved getting a raincoat put on him.
11:30am YOU NEED TO EAT YOUR LUNCH AND YOU NEED TO TAKE A NAP.
Cheese NO
Ham NO
Pretzels NO
Other half of banana YES
Charlie is crying ... boobs out.
Yogurt YES
Fruit snacks NO
Next boob.
Pudding NO
Nuggets NO
Won't burp.
12:08pm Okay, sleepy time. Stuffed animals, blankie, heart beat bear, blinds drawn. Take a good nap. Door closes. Wait for it, wait for it, toys begin to play. If he is happily playing, good enough. Charlie won't settle. Rock rock.
12:41pm Max screams. Uh-oh. Up the stairs I go. He is on the floor, both legs down one leg of his pants, full messy diaper, and he is stuck. Ok, let's change you and get you back into bed. Screaming pursues.
1:11pm I think Max is asleep. I think Charlie is asleep. I can finally find out what happens to that girl with the dragon tattoo.
1:42pm I'm sleepy.
1:58pm Charlie screams. Let's try the chair. More laundry. Coffee pot goes on. Book!
3:11pm I am supermom ... edible play dough. Max will love it!
3:47pm Max screams. OMG.
Come see what I made us to play with. Table cloth down. Charlie is sleeping. I can play with Max. HE IS AFRAID TO TOUCH THE PLAY DOUGH. Are you kidding? I bribed him with chocolate gold fish. Oh, you'll eat that, huh?
Max decided to make balls out of the play dough and toss them. Unfortunately, Annie got a few. He is screaming with laughter and I am wrangling with the dog trying to get the play dough out of her mouth. That much peanut butter cannot be good for her.
4:43pm WE ARE GOING FOR A WALK. No rain clouds in sight.
Once we got home, it was quite normal. Feeding Charlie, feeding Max(chef Boyardee with vegetables and mandarin oranges and more chocolate gold fish for snack), bathing the boys, feeding the dog, picking up, etc.
7:23pm My husband got home as I was getting the boys ready for bed after their bath.
"Hi honey, want to pour me a drink?" I am on my second glass right now.
August 28th, 2011
My Little Picasso's
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Parenting sucks.
Last night was double bath night ... both boys.
All was well. Charlie was diapered and pajama'd. He lay on Max's floor quite content. Max's turn. Four minutes, no problem. Aquafor, diaper, pajamas. Piece of cake. Atleast I thought.
Max DID NOT want to get ready for bed. He ran away from me all over the room, the hall, Charlie's room, his bed, the loft, EVERYWHERE. At first it's cute, but when I am breaking a sweat it is not cute anymore. I tell him I am going to put him on the changing table like a little boy. He thought that was even funnier. I wrestle him to the floor, he wriggles away ... many times. I pin him down in Charlie's room and call for my husband to get Charlie. (For all I know he's getting licked to death by the dog in the other room. Oh no wait, Max has scared the dog to the highest point of the armchair she can get to.) My dutiful husband comes in to help me with our out-of-hand toddler. No, I tell him, he has to listen to me, I must do this myself. So off goes dutiful husband with the now lazy sleeping baby. Why did I send him away again? I finally finagle a diaper, t-shirt, and pajama pants onto Max. Now off we go downstairs for snack and then brush teeth and to bed. OH NO, Max DOESN'T want to go downstairs. So he smacks me.
THAT'S IT.
I shut him in his room. It took all of ten seconds for him to start crying. This is where I, the dutiful mum, waited outside the bedroom for the customary 1 minute of his time out. IT TOOK FOREVER. It was the cry where you knew tears were streaming and he wasn't angry, he was upset because he upset me. KILLER, but I waited. When I finally went back in, he came to me arms outstretched, buried his face in me, I'm sorry looks, Ma-Ma ... I told him why he was wrong as he whimpered.
We went downstairs for milk and brush teeth ... no snack. Back to bed. Crying again. And he cried himself to sleep.
Disciplining has got to be one of the hardest things a parent MUST do. It kills you inside. My precious little boy misbehaved and must suffer a consequence. I have to be the one who dishes out that consequence. Really? I discipline because I care. How cliche. Yet, it is true. I cannot and will not let my children grow up to be rude, ungrateful, selfish, punkish little brats. (I know, a bit harsh, but come on, we all know some.) And it all starts here.
So, as I sipped my wine and my husband reassured me I did what I had to, I knew I was doing the right thing. Max still smiled and kissed and hugged me this morning. Some mornings he might not, but he will figure out one day that I was right. One day ...
August 16th, 2011
All was well. Charlie was diapered and pajama'd. He lay on Max's floor quite content. Max's turn. Four minutes, no problem. Aquafor, diaper, pajamas. Piece of cake. Atleast I thought.
Max DID NOT want to get ready for bed. He ran away from me all over the room, the hall, Charlie's room, his bed, the loft, EVERYWHERE. At first it's cute, but when I am breaking a sweat it is not cute anymore. I tell him I am going to put him on the changing table like a little boy. He thought that was even funnier. I wrestle him to the floor, he wriggles away ... many times. I pin him down in Charlie's room and call for my husband to get Charlie. (For all I know he's getting licked to death by the dog in the other room. Oh no wait, Max has scared the dog to the highest point of the armchair she can get to.) My dutiful husband comes in to help me with our out-of-hand toddler. No, I tell him, he has to listen to me, I must do this myself. So off goes dutiful husband with the now lazy sleeping baby. Why did I send him away again? I finally finagle a diaper, t-shirt, and pajama pants onto Max. Now off we go downstairs for snack and then brush teeth and to bed. OH NO, Max DOESN'T want to go downstairs. So he smacks me.
THAT'S IT.
I shut him in his room. It took all of ten seconds for him to start crying. This is where I, the dutiful mum, waited outside the bedroom for the customary 1 minute of his time out. IT TOOK FOREVER. It was the cry where you knew tears were streaming and he wasn't angry, he was upset because he upset me. KILLER, but I waited. When I finally went back in, he came to me arms outstretched, buried his face in me, I'm sorry looks, Ma-Ma ... I told him why he was wrong as he whimpered.
We went downstairs for milk and brush teeth ... no snack. Back to bed. Crying again. And he cried himself to sleep.
Disciplining has got to be one of the hardest things a parent MUST do. It kills you inside. My precious little boy misbehaved and must suffer a consequence. I have to be the one who dishes out that consequence. Really? I discipline because I care. How cliche. Yet, it is true. I cannot and will not let my children grow up to be rude, ungrateful, selfish, punkish little brats. (I know, a bit harsh, but come on, we all know some.) And it all starts here.
So, as I sipped my wine and my husband reassured me I did what I had to, I knew I was doing the right thing. Max still smiled and kissed and hugged me this morning. Some mornings he might not, but he will figure out one day that I was right. One day ...
August 16th, 2011
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Hello, my name is Natasha, and I had ...
PPD ... otherwise known as Post-Partum Depression. First of all, do not be alarmed and feel the need to call anyone. If you notice the title of this post, it says "had."
I don't know what made me think of all those past "depressing" times, for lack of a better term. When I had Max I developed and was diagnosed with post-partum depression, I felt like my world was caving in. I could not handle the alone times. Daily occurrences became so hard to handle. When this happens to women after giving birth, and it shockingly does to more than anyone will ever know, each woman feels alone and ashamed.
http://postpartumprogress.typepad.com/weblog/2010/10/how-many-women-get-postpartum-depression-the-statistics-on-ppd.html
There were approximately 4.3 million live births in the United States in 2007. This statistic does not include fetal losses, including miscarriages and stillbirths. The National Vital Statistics Report indicates that the total number of clinically recognized pregnancies is around 6.4 million. This is important to know, because all postpartum women are susceptible to postpartum depression, regardless of the pregnancy's outcome.
I don't know what made me think of all those past "depressing" times, for lack of a better term. When I had Max I developed and was diagnosed with post-partum depression, I felt like my world was caving in. I could not handle the alone times. Daily occurrences became so hard to handle. When this happens to women after giving birth, and it shockingly does to more than anyone will ever know, each woman feels alone and ashamed.
http://postpartumprogress.typepad.com/weblog/2010/10/how-many-women-get-postpartum-depression-the-statistics-on-ppd.html
There were approximately 4.3 million live births in the United States in 2007. This statistic does not include fetal losses, including miscarriages and stillbirths. The National Vital Statistics Report indicates that the total number of clinically recognized pregnancies is around 6.4 million. This is important to know, because all postpartum women are susceptible to postpartum depression, regardless of the pregnancy's outcome.
So let's split the difference between the high (20%) and low estimates of PPD (11%) and say that an average of 15% of all postpartum women in the US suffer, as the CDC reported in its 2008 PRAMS research. And let's use the number of clinically recognized pregnancies and not live births. This would mean that each year approximately 950,000 women are suffering postpartum depression.
BUT, did you know the CDC's research only reflected self-reported cases of postpartum depression? How many women do you think did not mention they had PPD out of fear or shame? Should we increase the estimate of sufferers to 17% or 20%?
I felt both alone and ashamed, yet I should have felt neither. I felt alone because I thought I was the only one that could ever feel so terribly after having such a precious little joy. I felt ashamed because why ever would I feel so terribly after having such a precious little joy? It was absolutely ridiculous. All I wanted was to have my little boy and stay home and take care of him.
It was the alone time that I struggled with the most. I was certainly sleep deprived and my body was literally exhausted. Nursing took everything out of me and without the ability to pump, it was all me. I failed to eat properly let alone at all sometimes, so the weight loss was extreme and quick. I was an emotional basket case on top of it all. I was not thinking straight. For crying out loud, I considered giving away my dog. My first little baby! When Max was asleep I was awake obsessing over when I would get things done and when he next needed to be fed and why was I having such a hard time with it and why couldn't I just let things happen and was I doing everything right?
I liked to have control over things and all of sudden, so much of that was taken away from me. My husband could not understand why I was feeling the way I was. He was used to me having everything under control. He was used to me being confident.
I am very confident now. I let things happen. Things will get done when they get done. My two little men and puppy dog are thriving. My husband loves me, even when I am sleep deprived and grumpy.
Today as my little boys slept, I slept ... without thinking.
August 13th, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Toddler antics ...
My almost two year old gets into the most weirdest situations or plays with funny things or most importantly, does funny things.
Today, he pushed my vacuum cleaner around our house for almost an hour; playing with the chord, trying to plug it in(where in the process he knocked over a lamp, scared the dog under the dining room table and unplugged our entire tv/blueray/stereo system so the guide channel only says To Be Announced next to every channel starting at 4pm), almost dumped the little bagless thing on our cleaned carpet, etc. What are you trying to tell me kid ... I need to vacuum more.
He shuts himself in the pantry. I need to stop leaving the door open.
He points to the tissue box. I ask him if he wants a tissue. He shakes his head NO but signs please. Why will he not nod? I give him a tissue, he wipes his nose, my nose, the baby's nose, the dog's nose, and then throws the tissue away.
Half the time I find him waking up on the floor. So, you're telling me I didn't have to buy you a new bed?
He picks up the phone, bables for a few seconds, and then very clearly says BYE with his voice and his hand. He puts the phone back.
When he leaves a room, he MUST shut the door.
When we go outside, he points to his head and says hat. That's because aunt Esme says he must wear a hat outside. As soon as we walk back int he door, the hat comes off.
He tells his daddy where to put his jacket and tie when he comes home. He then proceeds to the closet, gets his slippers, brings them to daddy and insists he puts them on, I am not kidding.
In the morning, he points to the pantry - I open it - he points to the toaster on the top shelf. I get it down and he runs to the counter top where the outlet is and we plug it in. He then goes to the freezer, not the fridge side, the freezer side and insists I open it. He then finds the waffles and pulls them out. He takes out two waffles and walks over to the counter with his two waffles holding them up to be put in the toaster.
He can find the string cheese in the fridge.
Instead of toys he wants books.
He helps me dust every week. He dusts the dishwasher for crying out loud.
Once when I picked him up from daycare this past year, he had to out the toy away he was playing with before coming to see me ... really?
When we sit for stories, I have to sit with my legs apart, not Indian style, and he scooches himself between them.
He knows where to throw away his dirty diapers.
He kisses.
His best friend is the dog.
He covers his baby brother with his blanket and turns on his heartbeat bear for him and puts it by his side. Once he threw the music globe at him - I think his intentions were good.
I could go on ...
August 7th, 2011
PS - By the way, Charlie is perfectly fine. Stay tuned for more of that Harvard bound brain development.
Today, he pushed my vacuum cleaner around our house for almost an hour; playing with the chord, trying to plug it in(where in the process he knocked over a lamp, scared the dog under the dining room table and unplugged our entire tv/blueray/stereo system so the guide channel only says To Be Announced next to every channel starting at 4pm), almost dumped the little bagless thing on our cleaned carpet, etc. What are you trying to tell me kid ... I need to vacuum more.
He shuts himself in the pantry. I need to stop leaving the door open.
He points to the tissue box. I ask him if he wants a tissue. He shakes his head NO but signs please. Why will he not nod? I give him a tissue, he wipes his nose, my nose, the baby's nose, the dog's nose, and then throws the tissue away.
Half the time I find him waking up on the floor. So, you're telling me I didn't have to buy you a new bed?
He picks up the phone, bables for a few seconds, and then very clearly says BYE with his voice and his hand. He puts the phone back.
When he leaves a room, he MUST shut the door.
When we go outside, he points to his head and says hat. That's because aunt Esme says he must wear a hat outside. As soon as we walk back int he door, the hat comes off.
He tells his daddy where to put his jacket and tie when he comes home. He then proceeds to the closet, gets his slippers, brings them to daddy and insists he puts them on, I am not kidding.
In the morning, he points to the pantry - I open it - he points to the toaster on the top shelf. I get it down and he runs to the counter top where the outlet is and we plug it in. He then goes to the freezer, not the fridge side, the freezer side and insists I open it. He then finds the waffles and pulls them out. He takes out two waffles and walks over to the counter with his two waffles holding them up to be put in the toaster.
He can find the string cheese in the fridge.
Instead of toys he wants books.
He helps me dust every week. He dusts the dishwasher for crying out loud.
Once when I picked him up from daycare this past year, he had to out the toy away he was playing with before coming to see me ... really?
When we sit for stories, I have to sit with my legs apart, not Indian style, and he scooches himself between them.
He knows where to throw away his dirty diapers.
He kisses.
His best friend is the dog.
He covers his baby brother with his blanket and turns on his heartbeat bear for him and puts it by his side. Once he threw the music globe at him - I think his intentions were good.
I could go on ...
August 7th, 2011
PS - By the way, Charlie is perfectly fine. Stay tuned for more of that Harvard bound brain development.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
So, he has a big head ...
Charlie just had his two month appointment. Needless to say my little boy has grown, 15.2 lbs., 23 3/8 inches, and his head is "significantly larger." So, it is his massive Harvard bound brain needing space. Look out Zuckerberg, here comes Charlie. It isn't enough that he is developing a slight flat mark because he favors his right side, but now the doctor's want to ultrasound my little boy's head to make sure the sutures and platelets are coming together and ofcourse, that no fluid is gathering.
First of all, do not freak out a mother of two under two without much rest and not enough coffee on a Monday morning ... GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. What am I supposed to think, he is fine? No, I am going to think he has a mass of fluid gathering and putting pressure on his Harvard bound brain. Please ... stop with all the medical speak and tell me straight. So they did, do not worry. Oh, that helps. Then they told me to just wait until Friday to find out anything.
Excuse my paranoia.
It also does not help with a toddler waking you up at 5:30am screaming your name. I tell myself it is because he wants to be with me so much, not because he is getting back at me for cutting off his pigtail looking curl.
August 3rd, 2011
First of all, do not freak out a mother of two under two without much rest and not enough coffee on a Monday morning ... GRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. What am I supposed to think, he is fine? No, I am going to think he has a mass of fluid gathering and putting pressure on his Harvard bound brain. Please ... stop with all the medical speak and tell me straight. So they did, do not worry. Oh, that helps. Then they told me to just wait until Friday to find out anything.
Excuse my paranoia.
It also does not help with a toddler waking you up at 5:30am screaming your name. I tell myself it is because he wants to be with me so much, not because he is getting back at me for cutting off his pigtail looking curl.
August 3rd, 2011
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