Putting the Cart Before the Horse

Yesterday, Kathleen and I went to Wal-Mart. While at Wal-Mart, we made the usual Wal-Mart type purchases: diapers, wipes, cleaning supplies, toiletries. But one item was purchased that had Kathleen uh-uh-uhing her way through the entire store while pulling up her dress: underwear. Pink, polka-dotted, flowered underwear. Not training pants, not pull-ups, but real, no mess-holding capability underwear.

Never mind that Kathleen has never once used the toilet. She had never told us that she has needed to use the toilet. She doesn't even like sitting on the toilet. Nonetheless, she is running around in hot-pink underwear this morning.

I started trying to gradually toilet train her quite awhile ago by sitting her on the toilet. Go to the potty, I told her, and you'll get a treat. She just looked at me, and hopped off the toilet. After several months of no result, I stepped up the incentive by actually bringing a treat to the toilet, as a solid promise of what would be rewarded: a whole chocolate chip. No results. In desperation, I upped the ante: not just a chocolate chip, but an entire Hershey's Kiss. Just for Kathleen. She was excited about the kiss, but still not interested in producing.

So yesterday, we took the plunge at Wal-Mart. Last night after her bath, Kathleen ran all around the house admiring her pink-clad posterior and uttering exclamations of joy. This morning she met me at the door to her room, panties in hand. She only consented to clothing after I informed her that no naked girls were allowed outside.

One and a half hours later after being taken out of her diaper, Kathleen is still dry, but still hasn't used the bathroom either. There's nothing to make one's day more exciting like a 22 month-old running around in panties. Wish me luck.

Kathleen's Further Experiments

Kathleen has discovered recently that, as Sophia's crib is behind our couch, she can view the scenery simply by climbing onto the couch. Sophia being but a small child and rather uninteresting, Kathleen has hit upon other ways to utilize such a prime viewing position. Like a Baal-worshiper making offerings to her idol, Kathleen has begun to cast offerings into the altar of Sophia.

First it was simple things: her doll, blankets, perhaps a book. One might be tempted to think that Kathleen is experiencing empathy; what would Sophia like based on Kathleen's own experience? A few mornings I found another offering: two bulb-suckers. Hmm, not empathy any more. Yesterday was the summer-solstice offering (if only a few days early). Lip gloss, another bulb-sucker, Lansinoh, and an entire crate of diapers. Perhaps Sophia will be appeased.

Curiosity Smothered the Baby

As with all small children, Kathleen is alternately fascinated and completely oblivious to her new little sister. Kathleen's obliviousness doesn't bother me, and her fascination should, but unfortunately for Sophia, it doesn't either.

To Sophia's occasional discomfort and possible future endangerment, Kathleen's fascination is not one of tenderness and care for her new sister, but one of experiment. We should have been forewarned when I found her one day knocking the head of her doll against her crib rail. Kathleen's first object of interest was Sophia's eyes, then her hands and arms (arms aren't supposed to be wrenched like that). After those grew old, Kathleen moved to experiments of force. She discovered that Sophia's swing won't support two people, that Sophia's carseat doesn't have enough room for the both of them without squishing Sophia's legs, and that her little sister is heavier that at first it would appear. Today Sophia received experimentation at the hands of a pillow, and her skull got tested for driveability by Kathleen's Charger.

A good mother would immediately stop Kathleen's science experiments, but what if Kathleen turns out to be the next Marie Curie? Being a bad mother, I favor watching to see what Kathleen thinks up next. It's much more amusing than just stepping in to stop the fun.

Why Women Consent to Having More than One Child

Growing up, my mother always told me that the reason families have more than one child is because of selective memory. Brandon agrees; he says that if it were up to the males, they'd have one, realize it wasn't worth it to have another one, and stop.

Having now produced two, I am inclined to believe my mother. With Sophia only two and a half weeks old, one would think that the memories of being pregnant and giving birth would be fresh, fading only with time. However, I think that a hormone is administered at the hospital that fades everything previous to going home after the birth to a shadowy memory, never to be thought of again. Yes, I vaguely remember something about being overly large and uncomfortable, but you will have to ask Brandon for the details. He still remembers.

In addition to amnesia, having a new baby also dulls one's sensitivity to lack of sleep. Sure I woke up at 12:30, 3:45, 4:15, 4:45, 5:30, and 6:30 this morning, but hey, clearly the sleep deprivation isn't keeping me from doing laundry, reading Kathleen untold number of books (half from memory), and writing this post. Well, I can't make much claim for the post.

But, as with the memory of pregnancy fading, the memory of having a new baby will fade also, only to be remembered all too well by my husband. However, as he is not the one who will do it all over again, his memories won't make much of a difference.

Kathleen's New Ride

Recently, Kathleen acquired her first car. Being a classic kind of girl, she (well, actually I did, because it had a hood that opened) opted for an apple green Dodge Charger. We're not sure about the horsepower because the engine is black plastic. It does, however have four wheels that roll marvelously over just about any surface.

Kathleen has been taking a lot of road trips recently: out into the garden (the car got washed after that one), over the dishwasher vent (it's very bumpy), on the bricks outside our front window, on the bookshelf, my leg, her leg, the window, various chairs, books, and most recently, Sophia's head.

Not only does it roll marvelously, it also fits into Kathleen's other new possession: her Princess purse. The purse doesn't roll, but it does light up. She is now equipped with what every female needs: a car, a purse, and somewhere to go.

Grandma Withdrawal

As a child, as with any child, I enjoyed visiting (and being visited by), my grandmother. I never realized, however, that grandmas are addictive substances. My mother flew out to Springville shortly after Sophia's birth to come help. She had come out with Kathleen's birth also, but the addictive property wasn't manifest yet.

With grandma's visit, Kathleen enjoyed another adult in the house, one that read her books, took her on walks, and visited the park with her. Kathleen enjoyed an unprecedented amount of attention. She was in heaven.

Grandma, however, left Monday afternoon. Kathleen manifested no outward signs of withdrawal until Tuesday afternoon. Most marked was an increase in whining and requests for books being read to her. As of this afternoon, the withdrawal is starting to wear off, but only slightly. Bill and Pete has been read three times and requested many more. Even Sophia is feeling it, taking much shorted naps and fussing more. I now know why my mother was always sad with her mother's departure.

The First Strike

With her sister not being yet 72 hours old, Kathleen has made the first strike in the eternal sibling war. Coming out from the bathroom, I found Sophia curled up on the floor, no longer in her car seat where she was peacefully sleeping. Kathleen looked both guilty and perplexed. Sophia has no idea what she's in for.

Sophia Makes Her Arrival

After much waiting, Sophia has joined our family. As with most babies, she is squishy, red, floppy, and cute (at least to her parents). She kept Brandon up all night her first night home, but has behaved better the second night. So much sleeplessness to look forward to...

Still Waiting...

Much of life consists of waiting. We make a decision about something important, get ready and then... wait. I'm sure that someone somewhere has tallied how much time we simply spend waiting at stoplights. Pregnancy is one of those waiting games. A husband and wife decide to add another beloved child to their family, and then everyone waits for nine and a half more months until that child makes its appearance. Like most things, the most excruciating waiting period is right at the end. We can wait 40 weeks, but the last fews days are sheer torture.

When I was pregnant with Kathleen, I was optimistic. Perhaps I could buck my genetic trend and actually have a child without oxytocin, and early, too. Kathleen was induced a week late, with my body just realizing that it might be time to kick her out. It seems that I'm just so hospitable that nobody wants to leave.

This time with Sophia I knew better. My due date was May 14, so I expected to be induced a week late, and was pleasantly surprised to find out that with my history, I could get induced on my due date. Which is today. And we don't own a laptop. And I'm not at the hospital. This time it's not physiology to blame, it's scheduling. Who knew that May 14th would be such a popular date to schedule an induction?

So, here I am, again, still pregnant. And will most likely be until Sunday, when I'm going to kick my ox into the mire and be induced. Perhaps I'll take my friend Natalie's offer and go jump on her trampoline for awhile after dinner.

Differing Parenting Styles

When two people marry, the thought of differences is inconceivable; that, after all, is why two people marry - they are absolutely perfect for each other. And perfection implies agreement in everything. Until they marry, then live somewhere, have to pick out furniture, and set up housekeeping. And that's just the beginning; wait until children come along.

Thursday afternoon, in a fit of housecleaning that only seems to occur when a child is about to be born, Brandon, Kathleen and I were in the backyard. I was cleaning the jog stroller, and he was scrubbing out the trashcan, which had grown a fine layer of black mold in the bottom during the winter. My excuse was that it was too cold to clean anything outside, so the mold got to stay.

Kathleen, being a small child, has a fascination with water, and if the water has bubbles in it, so much the better. If a sponge also comes with the deal, life is perfect. She started out somewhat innocuously (compared to later), by scooping out the bubbles to place upon her head. Then came the splashing. But the piece de resistance, grounds for disagreement between Brandon and myself, was when she started drinking the soapy, moldy, trashcan water out of the sponge.

He was revolted. I ran and got the video camera.