Thursday, December 22, 2011

The drama o' the sauce.

From time to time, I find myself overestimating the brilliance of my daughter, or, more accurately, the brilliance of my own parenting. She's so adaptable, I think to myself. After all, she transitioned to a big girl bed with no significant hiccups. She'll sleep at Nana's house or on vacation. She mostly eats what we put in front of her, and she's always been pretty great with unexpected alterations to her schedule without much more than access to a wubby.

I forget that she is, in fact, a two year old, and imagine her instead to be a very small version of an adult, capable of quickly conforming to any unexpected stimuli with her usual cheerful demeanor.

And then we have an incident like we did at lunch today. An incident where Bug was provided with barbecue sauce to be used for the dipping of chicken nuggets. It was sauce that had been specifically requested by the toddler in question with the rather complex verbiage of "Mommy, ah wan' a sauce a dippa muh titten, feeeeeesss!" which, being translated, clearly means "Mommy, I want sauce to dip my chicken, please." The sauce was provided, and instantly it was determined that she DID NOT WANT THE SAUCE HOW DARE YOU GIVE ME THE SAUCE NO NO NO SAUCE THANKS. And even though the sauce was not touching any part of her food, and even though no one was forcing her to dip anything in any sauce, the very presence of the sauce, the very fact that it existed within the small realm of her control was simply unacceptable. We could not possibly emotionally move past the existence of that sauce, yea, even our entire focus must concentrate solely on the existence of the sauce and the need for its immediate removal forever and ever amen.

And that's when I remember that pride cometh before the fall, and great is the fall thereof when a mother dareth to assume she has the perfect child.

Then again...

Maybe I was right all along.

Friday, December 16, 2011

Growing tall, tall, tall.

Ever since we found out Sherman would be joining our family, Paddy and I have been tossing around ideas about what to do with the bed situation. We were fortunate enough to borrow a crib for Bug when she was born. When we brought her home from the hospital, we put her in a pack n' play that had a higher bassinet level for infants and was situated conveniently right next to my side of the bed.

That arrangement lasted about 2 nights. As a brand new mommy with plenty of fears, I found myself lying awake all night long, listening to her heavy newborn breathing and jumping up to check on her with every squirm in her blankets. I think it was the third night home when we moved her into the crib in her little purple nursery, and she's slept in that same spot ever since.

Like most do now-a-days, Bug's borrowed crib can convert to a toddler bed. We had never found the need to make the change, though, since she liked the crib and (with one exception before the mattress had been lowered for the final time) she'd never tried to climb out of it. With Sherman's birthday drawing nearer, we debated about the best course of action to take to make room for the little guy. Change Bug's bed into the toddler bed and buy our own crib? Buy Bug a twin mattress and put it on the floor until she's a bit bigger? Keep Sherm in the pack n' play until Bug was ready for a big girl bed?

Basically the only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to make the change sooner than later so Bug didn't feel like Sherman was stealing "her" crib. We had basically decided on buying a twin bed and box spring along with some soft guard rails for her, and had begun pricing out the best place to make the purchase, when Jess mentioned she was selling an adorable toddler bed that her daughter, BG, had outgrown. We jumped at the chance to take advantage of a great deal from someone I know and trust. (Buying beds from I normally love!--seems a little creepy. Hello? Bed bugs? Luckily, I know for a fact that Jessica's house is about a billion times cleaner than mine, so we're in great shape!) It was quite a bit less expensive than the twin bed option, especially when we factored in new sheets and bedding and the bed rails we would have needed. Plus, Bug could keep using the quilt I slaved over that matches her nursery perfectly!

As an aside, we also debated on whether to switch Bug to the other bedroom a bit further down the hall to make room for the new baby. Ultimately, it was the presence of his man-parts that made the decision easy. I didn't want to repaint Bug's purple and lavender wall in boy colors. Laziness takes the day!

So anyway, this story is growing much too long. We bought the bed and set it up a couple of weeks ago, but hadn't moved it into her room yet. Schmoops didn't want to attempt the maiden toddler bed voyage on a night I'd be at work, and we knew we had to take apart the crib to fit it out the door. Last night, we finally got up the energy--courage?-- to make the switch.

We shouldn't have been worried. Bug was thrilled with her new big girl bed, and went down like a champ. She was fast asleep each time we peeked in on her. We heard one cry this morning as Paddy was getting ready for work. When we went in, she was all curled up on the floor. I was about to feel like a terrible mother, until she gave us both hugs and then, get this, asked to get back in her bed. We said our morning family prayers, and then she drifted off to sleep for another hour or so. Success!

I'll admit it; tears were shed. They were not Bug's.

I miss my copper-haired baby princess Bug. I miss her soft little body and clenched little hands. The missing is so strong and real it's nearly solid, and it lives at the back of my throat where it swells and makes it hard to swallow.

There are three things in all the world that help that missing, and I have all three. I have my copper-haired big girl princess Bug filled with smiles and words and her very own personality bursting right out of her.

I have new little tiny clothes hanging in an empty closet. They are blue and orange and red and brown with nary a pink top in sight.

And most of all, I have a sweetheart. He's the only person in the whole world who knows and misses that baby princess the way I do, and the only other person in the whole world who feels the wiggles of this unborn baby who will fill those clothes.

Tender and all, but he still won't help me come up with a reasonable name for this kid.

Friday, December 9, 2011

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

I'm nothing if not a classy broad.

During our church services on Sunday, I found myself scooting out of Sacrament meeting to use the ladies room. It's a practice that is becoming more and more common what with this wonderfully large baby dancing on my bladder. Task completed successfully, I made the long walk back down the hallway, past the room with the open door where members of the Young Single Adult ward energetically participated in a Sunday School lesson. I smiled quietly at the few members of my own ward seated outside the chapel, and silently glided back into the large meeting and into our row not far from the back of the chapel. My belly and I scooted past the Schmoops, who was doing a terrific job corralling our two-year-old, and made myself comfortable on the pew to wait out the remainder of the meeting.

The organist began the postlude music, and that's when it happened. I was scooping up crayons and errant pretzel pieces when I felt a tapping on my shoulder.

Tap. Tap tap.

"Kristie?" a tentative voice called softly. "Your skirt is tucked in to your underwear in the back."

Oooh yeeaaaaahhhhh.

I am so hot right now.

Praises be that I had decided to wear a simple brown cotton skirt that, when not hitching a ride in my underwear, reaches past my ankles. I'm told (NOT by the husband who failed to notice any problem at all as I pushed my way past him in the pew--my derriere practically touching his face--I'd like to point out and thankyouverymuch) the long skirt still reached nearly to my knees in the back even with my delightful wardrobe malfunction.

After my thoughtful informant had moved away, pushed by the crowd of people eager to get home after three hours of worship services, Paddy looked at me with a bright smile on his face and arm raised cheerfully.

"You walked all the way back here with your skirt in your underpants? Right on! High five!"

And since there wasn't much else to do at that point, I wryly returned his grin and clapped my outstretched hand on his. Right on.