Well, I should start by apologizing for my absence around here as of late. The winter months are a bit of a marathon in my household. My youngest turned one before Thanksgiving:
Then, there was Thanksgiving:
And Christmas:
Then, my eldest turned three:
And, of course, there was New Year’s:
And finally, we commenced potty training.
And really, that last part right there? Try to read that part again with some dramatic film music or some slow-motion zooming or something. Because that last part should kind of say it all. And while I’m sure potty training is relatively far from many of your minds, I think at least some of you have already considered it. And if you’re anything like me, another half of you are already fearing it.
But before you start to hate me, let me point out that while I am usually the dramatic type, I am NOT the JUST-YOU-WAIT-IT-GETS-SO-MUCH-WORSE-! type. So I’m not about to whine and preach about the torments of motherhood. I’m actually here to tell you that it’s not really all that awful. Sure, it takes some time and pateince, but that’s kind of a given at this point, right? Haven’t you already been peed on? Puked on? Washed poop off your clothing and/or fingers?
The difference, I suppose, is that once you remove the diaper, there’s a bit more of a, um, probability-of-mess quotient. It naturally follows, then, that there’s the getting-used-to-the-smell-of-urine part.
But, I like to equate it to smelling your own farts. They’re never as terrible as your husband proclaims. And that’s kind of how the potty training goes. It looks oh-so-awful in your mind, and when it’s happening to others. And, it kind of has it’s moments of oh-no-I-smell-poop-and-you’re-not-wearing-a-diaper! But in the end, it’s never really as bad when it’s your own kid’s urine.
The other day I was at the nail salon for like the first time in three years. And I remembered why I use to love going. Other than the nice Asian lady who massages your neck while your nails dry, there’s the other patrons who cluck about like no one in the world can hear them talk about their hernia.
During this particular visit, two women recognized each other. The woman sitting next to me in a pedicure chair was about eight months pregnant. The other, was a 50-60 year old tanner with a predilection for the young adult section of the clothing department. She was also a new grandma. I could surmise from their conversation that they had maybe once worked together or something.
I knew this would be a remarkable conversation within minutes. NO new grandmother can resist unsolicited advice for the pregnant, people. NONE.
Soon they were talking about preperations for the new baby:
TanGrandma: So do you know what you’re having?
PregnantLady: No, we don’t!
TG: [Not believing.] Really?! I always thought it was so much better to know ahead of time. That way you can prepare.
PL: Well, we’re still prepared…gender doesn’t really matter in that department. I’ve been spending all my free time stocking the nursery and—
TG: Oh, don’t even BOTHER. I mean, why stress yourself? You don’t even USE that thing for months!
PL: [Getting bothered.] Well, it’s just this urge I have. I just want to have things set up…
TG: [ROLLS EYES.] Yeah, they call it NESTING. So bird-like. Kinda gross, huh?
I couldn’t help myself. I HAD to butt in.
Me: Sorry to eavesdrop [read: it's impossible NOT to, really], but I just wanted to let you know that I was the same way with both my babies. I wanted everything set up ahead of time.
PL: [Big smile.] RIGHT?! My husband thinks I’m crazy, but …
TG: [Rolls eyes AGAIN.] Oh, I don’t know…
Me: Well, it’s clearly a PERSONAL choice [eyeballs TanGrandma]. And I actually used our nursery almost immediately. I mean, who wants to be stocking drawers and closets after just having GIVEN BIRTH?
TG: [Snaps gum. Adjusts Ugg boots.]
PL: Exactly!
And that kind of winded down the unsolicited advice portion of their conversation. Maybe it was rude of me to interrupt, but I sure as hell would’ve high-fived the crap out of anyone that had come to my rescue in a similar situation. Clearly, I am a martyr.
Anyway, to all you pregnant Mommas out there, the Anti-Unsolicited-Advice Team is alive and well. It can be treacherous territory, but rest assured that your comrades surround you in spirit.
(Beware, you cynical Mommas, Grandmas, and Spinsters.)
When I first found out I was pregnant, one of the more exciting things was realizing I was finally going to put to use all those names I’d been collecting over the years.
Me at age 17: Oh, Jeremy…I like that one…Jacob, too! Adeline is pretty for a girl, right?
Oh shut it. Like you DIDN’T do that in between all those games of MASH. Besides, it was less “I-want-to-have-a-kid” and more “naming-things-is-fun.”
Heh.
Anyway, when it was actually go-time, I started to feel the pressure. My husband didn’t like some of them, and the rest no longer seemed PERFECT. [Read: DON'T NAME BABY AFTER EX-BOYFRIENDS] So I searched online. I bought books. I made lists. And, people, the names I was coming up with…?
I had somehow gotten it into my head that my son/daughter’s name would have to be UNIQUE and ORIGINAL and if I heard any prospective name in casual conversation, it’d be dramatically struken of my list:
Friend: Yeah, so then Sam–my brother–told me about this girl he met at the ba–…
Me: HOLD THE PHONE, sister. Your slutty brother is named Samuel?! GODDAMMIT.
(I’m not really such a great friend, it turns out.)
This? This ridiculous behavior? That’s why we end up with children named:
Shithead (Prononuced Sha-teed)
Orangejello (Pronounced Ohrannj-alloh)
and, of course, Apple.
Really.*
But I still couldn’t quite shake the PRESSURE of name-finding. And it only seemed to increase toward the end of my pregnancy. My husband and I still hadn’t decided on a name, but the rest of the world was apparently tired of waiting. WHO KNEW. At work, I was getting inquiries constantly. One conversation is a story I still tell today:
Her: SOOOOO?! What are you going to NAME him?!
Me: Oh…yeah. [Smiling awkwardly.] Well, actually we’re not sure yet! I think we’re going to wait to meet him and then decide between a few.
Her: Oh. Well I guess you can do that.
She guesses?
Her: Well, what are the options?
Me: [Dodging.] Uhmm, to be honest, they kind of change every day.
Her: [Annoyed.] Well, let me tell you. My niece just named her son Tyler. And I really like that name SO much. You can use that one. Make sure you add it to your list.
I CAN USE IT?!
People, it was all I could do to lob my puffy, pregnant hand across her pompous, chubby cheek.
In the end, we selected a name after I gave birth. And it all seemed perfect. I almost didn’t even mind that my husband had more or less decided on this name months prior.
Almost.
__________
*Consult Malcom Gladwell for more on peculiar baby names. He’s got some interesting stuff to say on the matter.
Ah, milestones. Those little achievements that mark the maturation of baby into boy (or girl), and for some mothers, even grounds for some in-your-face my-baby-is-better-than-yours bragging rights.
*LOVE* those moms.
But while there are the standard milestones that our pediatricians and books tell us to look out for, there are some that I find to be much more noteworthy. For example, both T9 (aged 11 months) and Plus One (aged, 2 and 5/6 years) have recently come upon some really amazing accomplishments. Please excuse the dramatic introduction…they’re really just THAT exciting to me:
T9’s FONTANEL is shrinking! Oh, that’s right, this boy has had a crater in his head…a crater that THROBS…for AGES. And it has grossed. me. out. Also? Induced anxiety. Because, really…is it SUPPOSED to throb that much? Is he dehydrated? DOESN’T THAT HURT?! But as he ages, the hole is getting much less noticeable. Also, he has a bit of a patch of hair up there now, so that helps, too.
And Plus One?! Plus One has reached the “Momma?Momma?Momma?Momma?Momma?Momma?” age! (!!)
Yeah, okay, this one is not exactly exciting. Acutally it’s devastating. But he still says things like “pampake” (pancake) and “perrrr-sick!” (perfect!) so that totally (mostly) makes up for the incessant talking.
And, as much as I absolutely HATED when people would tell me to “ENJOY IT!” when I first announced my kids’ births (ENJOY IT?! I HAVEN’T SLEPT IN 10 MONTHS!), I totally get it now. My babies have up and left and these two little boys have come and taken their places! If they weren’t so cute and agreeable (well…), I might have to call the authorities. But we’ll give it a month…see how it goes.
(And *this* is totally how you get tricked into having MORE BABIES.)
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Soon they were talking about preperations for the new baby:
