Honestly.

It's been quiet on the blog, but that is quite the opposite of how things are going in my head and in life in general. There are a lot of things I want to write about and have considered making the blog open to invited readers only, just to make sure I'm not sharing my deep, personal thoughts with the world in general. However, since it's not like I have a lot of time to put all of those deep thoughts down, I'm not making any decisions yet. I really craved writing tonight, though, and decided blogging sounded much better than doing the dishes. You're welcome, reader(s?), for making that tough decision and instead sharing with you what things are honestly like in my head right now.

Adjusting to life with two kids is a
little bit INSANEchallenge. Add work and you've got a recipe for complete cray cray. I find myself exhausted, frustrated and overwhelmed much more than I'd like to admit (but I said I'd be honest, so there you go). I keep telling people that the math doesn't add up - you add one kid, the chaos should double. I feel like it has at the very least quadrupled, although I can't tell if that is normal or if it's primarily because we're single parenting 95% of the time. Either way, it's a lot more than I expected, and there are some days I'm not sure how I managed to get a thing done and I collapse on the couch until Tim comes home from work and we apparently have conversations that I actively participate in and can't recall the next morning.

Life lately looks a lot like this: Elle throws tantrum. I tell her that if she doesn't shape up, she's going straight to bed. Seeing as how it is just after 7 p.m. and nearly two hours before her normal 9 p.m. bedtime, I don't think she'll take kindly to that and figure she'll at least temporarily decide whatever she's fighting about isn't worth it. I'm wrong. She tells me fine. I tell her she'll have no bath toys or books or snack. She says that's OK, asking only if she still gets to wear pajamas. I couldn't back down, especially since she really seemed to want to go to bed, so I gave her a fast bath, jammied her and tucked her in. During the course of this abbreviated night-time routine, I did discuss with her why she was being punished, trying to make sure she understood I wasn't just doing this to vary our evening rituals or get some extra spare time to myself (oh wait - I need a minute to laugh about that). And maybe she was on to something - the girl who normally tosses and turns for an hour or more was passed out cold when I went in to her room eight minutes later to rescue the rogue cat who had been parked under her bed, not expecting her to retire for the evening so soon. So I hope that instead of "Worst Mom Ever" I could be viewed as a helpful "Assistant to Much-Needed Sleep" in this instance. (She also got revenge by leaving 2% of battery on the iPad, thus preventing me from playing Candy Crush. Well played, Elle. Well played.)

But things like that happen on a regular basis. There are fights - over sleep, noise, toys, etc. There are meltdowns (from Elle, Wesley and myself). There are also giggles (Wesley chimes in now, too!). And sighs of relief when things go smoothly. And frozen yogurt as a reward for pooping in the potty instead of continuing the tiny bit of potty training regression with yet another accident in the bed. And declarations of "You're amazing, Mommy!" that I just might ask Elle to repeat over and over just because it usually feels like I am anything but amazing.

There are also times when Elle tells me - and rightfully so, in proper context - to "Chill out, Mommy." Many times when I am so frustrated about things that aren't getting done or have to be changed or aren't going the way I feel they should that I could seriously just scream and cry. (And sometimes silently scream and definitely cry.) I understand that things change when you have a child. Things change again when you have more. But understanding and completely accepting are two entirely different things.

Sometimes I am just not surprised at the things that happen. Like when I frantically tried to quietly but rapidly usher one of our cats off of Elle's play table as I heard the tell-tale sounds that precede kitty puke one morning as I was trying to hurry out the door. My actions were rewarded in that the cat didn't vomit on her toys or table. Instead, he tossed his cookies as he jumped off the table, producing a 3-foot line of puke in front of the couch that I had to clean up before work. I'm not surprised that I have such little time to blog. My nights after the kids go to bed consist of packing my lunch for the next day, preparing bottles for the next day, washing dishes and sometimes pumping. A new-found obsession with "The Voice" sneaks in there sometimes, and Thursday nights are pretty much made for crashing on the couch and watching "Scandal." I'm not surprised that finding time (and energy) to workout is much harder. I'm not surprised by many things that have come with parenthood (single or times two).

But some things still do surprise me, even though they shouldn't. I seem to expect too much, like the understanding of a toddler who is fresh out of the bath and needs to be put in to pajamas while brother screams like a banshee. You would think someone was tearing Wesley's leg off, and Elle prances around the room like we're leisurely preparing for bed. I try to be patient - really, I try - but the screaming gets to me quickly, and I just wanthertoputherunderwearonwithouthoppingfortheloveof ... deep breath. (Can you tell this happened tonight? Because twisting your foot sideways when I try to slide your pajama pants on is NOT HELPING THINGS, ELLE.)

Simple logic - surely that can't be too much to expect from an intelligent three year old, is it? Pauses for slew of comments chastising me for being silly and expecting so much from such a tiny person. Pauses again for comments telling me to enjoy this time (really, people? The blood-curdling screams, too?). Pauses again for comment or two relating to my tale(s) of woe.

I already know I expect too much of a three month old who doesn't really need to wake up 40 minutes after I put him down, sound asleep. My initial reaction is not pleasant, but I quickly remind myself that he's a dozen weeks old and these things are expected of humans so small and new. Although I know that only the screams of said three month old would wake me after 40 minutes of sleep (would, and have, and will), I guess he's still getting used to things and might be easily disturbed from a deep sleep.

Maybe it's because I expect so much of myself that I have these delusional and unrealistic expectations of other things in life. I'm trying to work on it - really, I am. I try to let go a little bit and take a step back, a deep breath, when I'm at the end of my rope. But I'm not perfect. I struggle to find a balance between the productivity that makes me happy and leaves me less jumpy and the peace that allows me to enjoy and take in the little moments and obstacles that make life an adventure. With the opposite schedules that Tim and I have and the fact that all of our family is 1,000 miles away (a fact that we would love to remedy), there are few opportunities to fulfill four key portions of my life: Time for self, time for family, time for Tim and time for friends. There never seems to be enough time in general. And not allowing for the delicate balance of these crucial segments of time is something that is simple to do. It's definitely a work in progress, with many changing factors at play, from serious things like nap schedules to health issues to budget constraints to less serious (depending on who you ask) things like the NFL schedule and the whims of a toddler.

The bottom line? I'm surviving - working on improving, working on accepting and working on the elusive balance. Now if you'll excuse me, there are bottles to prepare and a lunch to be packed.

Potty trained.

As of Jan. 24, Elle has been daytime potty trained. (Cue the parade! Sound the horns!) I could have written about it sooner, but a) I'm not a very timely blogger in general these days, and b) I didn't want to jinx it.

When we changed daycare providers in December, the new provider, L, said that she'd work with us on potty training Elle whenever we wanted. We traveled to Ohio for Thanksgiving, and I knew I didn't want to worry about doing it before then, and L said that it would probably be best to wait until after the chaos of the holidays.

A few days in to the new year, though, Tim brought it up to me. In typical Tim-fashion, it went something like "So when are we going to be done changing Elle's diapers, anyway?" I mentioned the potty training to L the next day and asked how she suggested we go about it. I'd read about the three-day boot camp, discussed gradual methods with friends, did some research of my own and still really had no idea what the best approach for Elle would be. L has potty-trained more children than I, so I trusted her and figured that if she had a recommended method we'd just sign up for that (unless it was completely off-the-wall, which I didn't anticipate). The suggestion was simple: Get the thick cotton underwear (two pairs if we were worried about staining clothes and furniture) and plastic pants. Have Elle wear them all the time, except maybe naptime and at night. Be consistent, and don't give in.

This last part reminded me a lot of cry-it-out sleep training. And like with sleep training, the first two or three days were the worst. I wanted to give in, say "Well, we'll just try again later." To be honest, the first week was not good. I am not a patient person, and I was frustrated by Elle's lack of interest and cooperation in going to the bathroom on the potty. She had successfully gone on the potty several times between 12-18 months but then hadn't had much interest/success since then, and we hadn't pushed it. But now I was making a big production of "Let's go sit on the potty!" every 30 minutes, and she was fighting and fussing the whole way. And then what would happen is she would pee her pants about 5 minutes after we had just spent 15 minutes on the potty. For that first week, I felt like I lived in the bathroom and in a constant state of frustration. In the evenings and on the weekends, I tried to keep us close to home so we could keep the focus on potty training. I worried we might be chained to the bathroom for the next 16 years.

After the first few days, Elle apparently decided she hated the feeling of peeing her pants. So she stopped peeing. She would hold it until nap time, when she'd be in a diaper, and then hold it again until bedtime. I started to worry that she would give herself a UTI. Then L stopped putting her in underwear for nap time. Suddenly, Elle had to face peeing her pants or peeing in the potty or try to hold it all day. She reluctantly started to choose the potty, and we started to have reports of success at daycare. The success slowly started to carry over at home, but they seemed to be more accidental than purposeful, and Elle still wasn't as excited as we were. She was still having accidents, but she was also earning stickers for her sticker charts, both at home and at daycare. We'd considered offering her candy as a reward, but it didn't seem to have much of an appeal. I told her when the chart was full we'd get her a special treat. She chose a donut and brought it up repeatedly.

I remember the date of the last big accident exactly, though, because on the evening of Jan. 23, we headed to the mall to buy Elle shoes. We needed new shoes because she kept getting pee on the other ones at daycare, so L had suggested we get a backup pair. We tried to get her to pee before dinner and before we left for the mall, but she wouldn't go. I figured she was so good at holding it that she'd probably decided to just wait until bedtime. While I wasn't happy about this, I wasn't going to let it chain us to the house, and I needed her feet to see what shoes fit best, so we headed out for the quick trip. She acted frantic a few times toward the end of the purchase, and we figured that meant she had to go, but she didn't want to go potty at the mall.

We got home, and I went with her straight to the bathroom. As I pulled her pants and underwear down, she peed. Everywhere. I think I scared her, because I was startled and was simultaneously trying to get her to stop so she could finish on the potty and trying to decide if I should get her pants back up or seat her on the potty. It was a hectic moment, and I was frustrated that she hadn't been able to hold it for another 15 seconds before she actually sat on the seat. I figured this was a major step backward and resigned myself to yet another week of spending a lot of time frustrated in the bathroom. I wondered yet again if she just wasn't ready and if we should wait a few months.

When I told her I wanted to take a photo of her
with her potty chart to put on the blog, she said
"What's Elle Belle going to say on the bog?" :)

Something must have clicked with her, though. It had been 10 days since we started intensely keeping her in underwear, and all of a sudden, she started going to the bathroom regularly again, and this time, she went in the potty. She would tell us when she needed to go instead of needing to be constantly prompted. She would be just as excited as we were when she went in the potty. She would (and still does) acknowledge how proud it made us, saying "Mommy and Daddy be so happy that I peed in the potty!"

A few nights later, she pooped in the potty for the first time. We jumped up and down all around the condo. We called Tim and left him one of the funniest, weirdest voice mails ever. We called Grams (my mom) and Elle blurted out "Grams, I pooped on the potty!" It was quite the day. And quickly, the potty chart filled with stickers over the next few days.

For the first few days of potty-trainedness, I feared we had swung to the other side of the spectrum - Elle wanted to go to the bathroom all. the. time. She would eek out a drop or two of pee, we'd flush, wash hands, and then 10-15 minutes later she'd tell me she had to go potty again. Luckily, this stage only lasted a few days, too, and now we're in a much better groove.

She's getting more comfortable going to the bathroom in public places, although she definitely prefers that we use a portable potty seat that L gave us ... if she has to go on a big potty with no seat, she freaks out a little bit. Her first venture to a public bathroom was at church, and we went back to our seats during the pastor's sermon. I'm pretty sure the back half of the church heard an excited "Daddy! I peed in the potty!" as Tim tried to look excited for Elle though mortified at the outburst :)

She also doesn't like bathrooms with loud flushes or hand dryers. But she's making progress, and it's been much easier to venture out of the house with a potty trained toddler than I feared. I try to be mindful of when she last went to the bathroom, so if we're out running a lot of errands I might ask if she has to go to the bathroom. Usually, though, *I'm* the one that has to go to the bathroom (thank you, pregnancy). Sometimes she goes when I go, sometimes she doesn't.

I always thought we'd know when Elle was ready for potty training. She's smart and an excellent communicator, so I thought once she caught on to "big girls don't wear diapers" and saw some of her toddler buddies using the potty, she'd be interested and it would be obvious that we should start hardcore potty training. After we started the process, though, I realized that Elle would probably have been happy to stay in diapers for a long, long time. It's convenient - you don't have to stop playing to go potty. You don't have to worry about pulling pants up and down or washing your hands. She had it made. I think she needed a push on this one, and luckily, with consistency and a few days of stubborness on everyone's part, it worked out well.

We're still in Pull Ups at night (using one cloth diaper a night doesn't warrant enough laundry to make CDing logical right now), and we have some issues with pooping in the potty (she avoids it at all costs and often poops at night now, which she hardly ever did before ... probably a post for a different day). But I'm so proud of how well she's done and so happy that overall, it went well and was a fairly quick process. It's like a totally different world now, not having to worry about diaper changing stations or cloth diaper laundry or packing enough disposable diapers for daycare. Sure, we have to consider an extra just-in-case outfit or the travel potty seat as well as make a pit stop in the bathroom before we leave the house, but overall, not big adjustments.

A berry peculiar mystery solved

(Apologies for any mention of vomit below. No one ever said chronicling the life of a toddler would be vomit-free. In fact, I think it's to be expected at some point, no? But I will try to keep it to a minimum, for I am pregnant, and lately, loud burps, gagging noises and other nasty bodily functions typically make me want to vom myself.)

Elle has been a relatively healthy kid from the beginning. We haven't had any serious illnesses, no ear infections, no high fevers, major injuries, etc. I think we've only taken her to the doctor once for a non-well baby visit (because I was scared about a bad cough/congestion situation that was dismissed as a standard cold). She never even had a reaction to anything I ate while nursing, for which I was extremely thankful.

The only health abnormality was probably around the last quarter of her first year. We did baby led weaning, and we had been giving her strawberries. It took a few times, but we soon realized that every time she had strawberries (which she loved and devoured), she'd develop a nasty diaper rash. She doesn't get diaper rashes often, but the pattern was definitely there - eat strawberries, raw bum. So we stopped giving her strawberries for a while. About a year later, we tried again ... and no rash. We figured she had grown out of it and resumed strawberry consumption.

The weirdest part about the strawberry allergic reaction was that the one thing that repeatedly made me sick while I was pregnant with her was strawberry cream cheese. I didn't throw up much during that pregnancy, thankfully, but two of the half-dozen times I was actually ill were less than 12 hours after eating the strawberry cream cheese. I was craving it mid-way through my pregnancy, and I had it once and was sick hours later.  A few days later (because I still had the craving AND the strawberry cream cheese), I had it again and felt ill most of the day. That night (I remember it vividly), I was sick several times - my body was done battling to keep it down. I sometimes wonder if that was Elle's earliest allergic to reaction. I also felt extremely ill one night about a month ago after having some toast with strawberry jam and briefly wondered if Baby Bean might be continuing some sort of hereditary aversion. I've since avoided the strawberry jam, and needless to say, I'm pretty much done with strawberry cream cheese for life.

I think it was maybe nine months or so ago when Elle vomited for one of the first times. (What a milestone, huh?) I think she was sick on a Saturday night and then was fine the rest of the day. On Monday, she threw up again. Not a lot, but enough. Each time she was freaked out by the vomit but rebounded right away and was running around, asking for food and water pretty much instantly. It was kind of weird, but good, I suppose. We tried to keep her diet pretty bland and basic for the 24 hours after each incident. This was the first time that I started to make a connection between what she had eaten on Saturday and what she had eaten Monday.

A few months later, it happened once or twice again - a random incident involving throw-up. No other symptoms, no lasting issues, just an upset tummy and some digestive issues that took a day or two to clear up. I couldn't isolate the cause but began to wonder if there was a common thread between all of these random incidents.

Fast forward to the week before Christmas. Berries are entering the "in season" time of year here in Florida, so I've been buying more, as Tim, Elle and I are all big fans. Elle asked for blueberries for lunch on Saturday and ate quite a few. And around 1 a.m. on Saturday night, Elle woke up and vomited more than ever. Since I had the pleasure of not only being vomited on but also having to clean it all up because Tim was still at work, I realized that I could distinctly see undigested blueberries among the rest of the partially digested food o' the day.

About half an hour later, when Tim was home and putting Elle back to bed, I hopped on Google and searched "blueberry allergy." I found out that people who suffer from an allergy to blueberries often are allergic to strawberries, too - both contain salicylates. As my research indicated would happen, Elle had diarrhea (wait, I didn't say I was going to mention diarrhea, did I? Sorry!) the next day as her body continued to process the "toxin", but other than that, she's been fine.

Blueberries can't stop this princess.

 Most of the research I've found show that salicylate allergies are usually mild (and Elle's reactions have followed that pattern), and we've been avoiding giving her raw blueberries. We've seen no reaction to dehydrated or cooked blueberries, although she hasn't had a lot of exposure to either over the last two years. She wasn't sick every time she had blueberries for the first year or so - I don't know how exactly her body evolved from "I can eat strawberries but blueberries are a no-no," but I'm not going to argue with her poor digestive system. We're definitely going to bring it up with the pediatrician the next time we're in, and while I hope she outgrows this allergy like she did the strawberry allergy, in the grand scheme of things, this is a minor issue and easy to handle. I'm thankful for that. And I'm glad the berry odd vomit mystery was relatively easy to figure out.

Any one else have or know someone with an adverse reaction to salicylates? Or have an allergy that they grew out of?

Just call me Julie Andrews.

When Elle was wee little, I used to hum and sing to her as I tried to put her to sleep after feedings or for naps. I didn't know many nursery rhyme-type songs at the time, so I sang what I kinda/sorta knew: Musicals.

The most common one was "The Sound of Music." When I thought Elle was tiring of that, I went with a little bit of "West Side Story" and "Porgy and Bess," but it was almost always "The Sound of Music." I felt like a dunce when I mixed up verses or sang the chorus of certain songs over and over, but Elle had no idea I was hacking the works of Rodgers and Hammerstein to horrific bits and pieces. I downloaded songs from "The Sound of Music" to my iPod for a refresher and listened to them at work, which did little to help me with my lyric retention problem.

When Elle was about a month old, Tim's mom and nephew came to meet Elle and visit us. Elle was going through some sort of crazy growth spurt, and I remember nursing her and getting a little bit too excited to find that there was a "Sound of Music" marathon on TV. We watched every time she nursed that day. I delighted in those nursing sessions and also considered them additional lyric refresher courses, but after that, I don't remember singing many of the songs to Elle. I think it was just a few weeks after that she started to sleep through the night and there weren't multiple opportunities to put her back to bed at night.

Fast forward almost two years, and I'm having flashbacks to those first few months of Elle's life.

I put Elle to bed almost every night, but on the nights that Tim is home (and the Reds aren't playing), he'll sometimes take bedtime duty. I'll hear him reading her story after story, and then he promises her a few songs. They usually sing "Twinkle Twinkle" or "Baa Baa Black Sheep." Sometimes Tim gives her some REO Speedwagon. But the singing at bedtime has always been their thing.

Until this week. Elle and I did our usual bedtime routine of stories and rocking, and then she said "Songs?" I asked her what she wanted me to sing, going through some of our toddler song regulars as options for my performance. She said no to all of them, so I took matters in to my own hands and started in with "The Sound of Music."

I've added a few songs to my rotation over the last few nights. I lead with "Do-Re-Mi" and throw in "Maria" or "My Favorite Things." (There's a girl at church that Elle loves named Maria, though, so I don't want her to start calling church Maria a flibbertijibbet or tell her she's a riddle, you know?) Sometimes if we're doing a full performance I'll sing "Sixteen Going On Seventeen" or yodel like a lonely goat.

But every night, she requests "Songs?" and I ask "What song do you want to hear?" Then she acts all coy and says "Ummm ... raindrops?" This never fails to make me smile, because out of all the words and songs I sing, she remembers "Raindrops on roses."

I'll be brushing up on my lyrics again, because Elle is sharp and will soon start correcting me or notice when I mumble over words. Until then, I've also been teaching her some contemporary tunes - she now asks for "Mommy's songs" in the car and will sing along to the "Ooh baby baby" part of Usher's "Scream." Cute? Incredibly. At dinner tonight, she kept saying "Don Dokken?" much to Tim's delight. (If you don't know who Don Dokken is, I don't blame you - if I hadn't met Tim I'm pretty sure I'd still be in the dark, too.) One thing is for sure - Elle will be nothing if not musically diverse.

Parenthoodlyness

Before Elle was born, I would go to the post office, grocery store, doctor, etc. without much conversation with strangers. When you have a baby, though, EVERYONE wants to talk to you. Actually, even if you're just sticking-out-to-here with baby belly, EVERYONE wants to talk to you.

When you're pregnant, everyone gives you advice. The focus is on you - make sure you rest, make sure you enjoy every minute, make sure you do/don't get an epidural, you look great, you look like you're about to pop, you're going to love being a parent, you're never going to sleep again.

Out-Of-Utero-Baby rocking
a decidedly pink outfit.

When you're toting around Out-Of-Utero-Baby, though, the attention is allllll on the baby. And understandably so. "Oh, the baby is soooo cute!" "She looks like a good baby." "Does she sleep well?" "She has such pretty eyes." At this point, the parents get indirect attention and must learn how to handle the awkward comments/compliments/questions from perfect strangers (that, my friends, could be an entire series of blog posts).

(And if you're like us and seemingly dress your daughter in frilly, girly - dare I say pink - clothes all the time EXCEPT when you go to the grocery store, you'll never visit the deli counter again without being told you have an handsome son. Seriously. Almost without fail, when we go to Publix, Elle is mistaken for a boy because she's in blue/red/not-something-pink-or-purple/flowery. We're starting to intentionally plan her wardrobe for grocery days. Sorry, Baby Girl!)

But there's an entirely different level of conversation that now takes place - the one between parents.

In my observations, there are virtually no boundaries when you're talking to other parents. If I go to the doctor, I keep to myself and thumb through a magazine or play with my phone while in the waiting room. This week, though, I had to take Elle to the pediatrician, and it was instant conversation with the mom of a 9-month-old boy, Cole, and a family with a 3-year-old girl and 9-month-old girl.

Cole's mom and I talked about the nine-month vaccinations; the eating habits of our kids; the fact that Cole likes to be on his back or standing, while Elle would rather sit or crawl. Cole's full head of hair made Elle look like James Taylor. I watched the 9-month-old baby girl stand and play with toys in the waiting room, marveling at how tall she is (30.5 inches!). She was quiet but alert and had intense, bright blue eyes. These babies were less than four weeks apart in age but allll over the board in terms of development, habits and size.

But this is what makes this little "secret society" so fascinating - each kid is so different, such an individual, but the bond of parenthood? It unites. Like Super Glue. I've always said that kids are great conversation starters, but I never knew just how true that was until I had Elle. I love sharing that "Mom-bond" with others, but I have to admit I'm still a little taken aback by the conversation. I'm not sure how much to volunteer, what to say that won't be judged, what to ask that doesn't make me look lame or a newbie. Cole's mom talked about how he eats nine jars of food a day; with baby-led weaning, I don't measure in jars. She mentioned how many ounces he drank in his bottles; since I breastfeed Elle, I don't have the same measurements.

Then a couple emerged from the examination rooms with a car seat containing a 6-pound, 7-ounce, one-week-old baby boy, and the bond re-emerged. We stopped and looked at the tiny baby and wondered how our nine-month-olds were ever that small. I always hated when people told me Elle was "so small" when she was two weeks old, one month old, etc. But here we were: The annoying parents of no-longer-newborns, talking about mobility, solids and teeth, in awe of this tiny wonder.

Elle continues to grow, from that newborn in to a (gasp) almost-10-month-old joy, but the many sides of parenthood? Also evolving.