Me: *Opens bathroom door, accidentally hitting the monster lightly in the head*
Me: Sorry!
LM: Oh, you cannot bash me in the head! You can just gently say excuse me!
Showing posts with label 2yo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2yo. Show all posts
Friday, June 9, 2017
Tuesday, May 23, 2017
It's Been a Thousand Years
... or at least it feels like it. In any case, it's time for an update.
The monster is 2 years, 8 months today, the hobgoblin just passed 12 weeks. They both continue to be wonderful.
Monster, despite his total refusal to eat just about everything, keeps on growing and seems pretty healthy. He continues to amaze us with things like being able to name all 50+ of his toy cars, using words like similar correctly and trying to learn everything about everything (most recently, studying world maps and asking where places are). His newest obsession is knowing why printed words say what they do, which makes every bedtime book take about 1000x longer, because knowing what it says isn't enough, he has to see where and how each word is spelled. The result of this is that he decoded his first word. He has quite a few sight words, but this was the first one he actually sounded out. He also taught himself to count to 10 in French, because why not?
He's really taken to his new role as a big brother, and is really protective of the hobgoblin. If we call the goblin any disparaging or silly nicknames (ie: Stink-butt) we are emphatically told "He is NOT an Stink-Butt; he is an hobgoblin"). The monster is slowly allowing some leeway, but mostly we're expected to refer to the goblin by his full name or one approved (and common, not at all silly) nickname. As is proper for a big brother, he doesn't feel these rules apply to him, so he is allowed to call his brother "Poop."
The Hobgoblin's personality has really come out to shine. He's pretty laid back and easy going, and really only cries if he's wet, dirty, hungry or gassy. He likes to be held and snuggled, but he doesn't mind being put down for long chunks of time, which is a lifesaver with two. He's very vocal and loves to laugh and smile, and getting a smile and a coo out of him is as easy as offering him one first. He's also a giant (but no longer in the 95th percentile), now wearing mostly 6 month clothes and the stuff that's on the bigger side of 3-6. If he keeps up like this, I think he'll end up taller than the monster, when all is said and done.
Me, I'm not doing great.
After 3 trips to the ER, I ended up having emergency surgery to have my gallbladder removed. That was a few weeks ago and I'm pretty much physically recovered. The process dicked up breastfeeding for a bit and I hated being away from my kids, pumping and dumping because of painkillers and everything else that went along with it. Mr. Wolfman was a rockstar and carried everyone through (though I'm pretty sure neither boy got a bath the entire time I was in the hospital).
At the hobgoblin's 2 month well-check, I did the questionnaire for PPD screening and scored pretty high. I need to pull myself together and go through the mental health intake process today, because I don't want it to get out of hand like last time. I just feel run down and panicky all the time. Basically anything beyond sitting still and doing nothing is immensely stressful for me. Basic things, like the boys' baths, are starting to slide. I have to fight back tears over minor, ridiculous things. Yesterday, Mr. Wolfman made a special trip to the store to get me something I wanted. He also got cookies for himself, and I started to get upset because I couldn't eat the cookies (due to an allergy, Mr. Wolfman wasn't being greedy). I felt actually betrayed that he'd get cookies I couldn't eat. And then, of course, I felt like a ungrateful child, getting whiney and upset because him taking the time to go out and get me exactly what I asked for was somehow negated by him not also getting me something that I hadn't asked for. And then the supreme guilt started to creep in, which I think is the backbone of PPD and PPA. I just constantly feel like I'm not doing enough, or like what I do is wrong, like my kids are suffering, my marriage is suffering, my mental health is suffering, my future is non-existant, I'm going nowhere and it's all my fault. Guilt, and a constant feeling of being overwhelmed, of not being able to cope, of not being good enough.
Mr. Wolfman seems to have a better understanding of what's going on this time. If I'm honest, I think me being stuck in the hospital and our first attempt at an extended family outing opened his eyes to a lot of what I do day-to-day and how incredibly stressful it can be, even without ppd/ppa hanging over my head.
The hobgoblin needs something. A mummy's work is never done.
The monster is 2 years, 8 months today, the hobgoblin just passed 12 weeks. They both continue to be wonderful.
Monster, despite his total refusal to eat just about everything, keeps on growing and seems pretty healthy. He continues to amaze us with things like being able to name all 50+ of his toy cars, using words like similar correctly and trying to learn everything about everything (most recently, studying world maps and asking where places are). His newest obsession is knowing why printed words say what they do, which makes every bedtime book take about 1000x longer, because knowing what it says isn't enough, he has to see where and how each word is spelled. The result of this is that he decoded his first word. He has quite a few sight words, but this was the first one he actually sounded out. He also taught himself to count to 10 in French, because why not?
He's really taken to his new role as a big brother, and is really protective of the hobgoblin. If we call the goblin any disparaging or silly nicknames (ie: Stink-butt) we are emphatically told "He is NOT an Stink-Butt; he is an hobgoblin"). The monster is slowly allowing some leeway, but mostly we're expected to refer to the goblin by his full name or one approved (and common, not at all silly) nickname. As is proper for a big brother, he doesn't feel these rules apply to him, so he is allowed to call his brother "Poop."
The Hobgoblin's personality has really come out to shine. He's pretty laid back and easy going, and really only cries if he's wet, dirty, hungry or gassy. He likes to be held and snuggled, but he doesn't mind being put down for long chunks of time, which is a lifesaver with two. He's very vocal and loves to laugh and smile, and getting a smile and a coo out of him is as easy as offering him one first. He's also a giant (but no longer in the 95th percentile), now wearing mostly 6 month clothes and the stuff that's on the bigger side of 3-6. If he keeps up like this, I think he'll end up taller than the monster, when all is said and done.
Me, I'm not doing great.
After 3 trips to the ER, I ended up having emergency surgery to have my gallbladder removed. That was a few weeks ago and I'm pretty much physically recovered. The process dicked up breastfeeding for a bit and I hated being away from my kids, pumping and dumping because of painkillers and everything else that went along with it. Mr. Wolfman was a rockstar and carried everyone through (though I'm pretty sure neither boy got a bath the entire time I was in the hospital).
At the hobgoblin's 2 month well-check, I did the questionnaire for PPD screening and scored pretty high. I need to pull myself together and go through the mental health intake process today, because I don't want it to get out of hand like last time. I just feel run down and panicky all the time. Basically anything beyond sitting still and doing nothing is immensely stressful for me. Basic things, like the boys' baths, are starting to slide. I have to fight back tears over minor, ridiculous things. Yesterday, Mr. Wolfman made a special trip to the store to get me something I wanted. He also got cookies for himself, and I started to get upset because I couldn't eat the cookies (due to an allergy, Mr. Wolfman wasn't being greedy). I felt actually betrayed that he'd get cookies I couldn't eat. And then, of course, I felt like a ungrateful child, getting whiney and upset because him taking the time to go out and get me exactly what I asked for was somehow negated by him not also getting me something that I hadn't asked for. And then the supreme guilt started to creep in, which I think is the backbone of PPD and PPA. I just constantly feel like I'm not doing enough, or like what I do is wrong, like my kids are suffering, my marriage is suffering, my mental health is suffering, my future is non-existant, I'm going nowhere and it's all my fault. Guilt, and a constant feeling of being overwhelmed, of not being able to cope, of not being good enough.
Mr. Wolfman seems to have a better understanding of what's going on this time. If I'm honest, I think me being stuck in the hospital and our first attempt at an extended family outing opened his eyes to a lot of what I do day-to-day and how incredibly stressful it can be, even without ppd/ppa hanging over my head.
The hobgoblin needs something. A mummy's work is never done.
Friday, February 10, 2017
T Minus 19 Days
19 days. 19 days until the Hobgoblin makes his appearance*.
I'm freaking out; I still have so much to do. Mr. Wolfman spent his days off doing stuff around the house - including really cleaning the kitchen and the main bathroom - and very thoughtfully setting up the computer so that I can actually use it for graphic design projects -
But he totally neglected everything that was actually on the list (the one he's been avoiding since August), like cleaning the car and installing the infant car seat. Or borrowing the carpet cleaner from work. Or any of the myriad of things that I'm too short/pregnant/exhausted to do on my own. I feel bad for being annoyed when he's working full time and still doing a lot of the housework and stuff, but damn. It doesn't help that his method of cleaning is very often to take everything that's in the area he's cleaning and put it in a neat pile - a neat pile somewhere that I've just finished cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen table, he "cleaned" the computer desk by piling everything on the kitchen table. I spent hours carefully arranging our bedroom (after months of nagging finally got us moved into our own bedroom) - he tidied the living room by piling a bunch of crap at the end of our bed.
On the topic of men driving me nuts, I don't know if the monster senses the big change is really, really close or what, but he's decided to suddenly start acting his age. Where before, we could leave him in the bathroom to pee, he now needs supervision (but wants privacy) or he'll throw toilet paper in the sink and run water on it, climb on the toilet to get at the medicine cabinet or just throw everything from the counter on the floor. Where we could leave his crayons sitting on the coffee table with paper for days, now he'll start drawing on the coffee table as soon as your back is turned. My front hallway is currently littered in coats because this ridiculously tall monkey has pulled them all off the hooks and thrown them on the floor. My living room floor is covered in receipts because he decided that spreading my budget folder everywhere would be a fun thing to do. And of course, this is all shit I have to bend over to pick up.
Then there's the issue of having some random OB who I'd never even heard of being the one that delivers me, but I think that's a blog for another day.
Anywho, the monster informs me that I'm all done typing, so I guess that's it for today.
*Assuming he comes on his EDD. I swear half of my birth board has already had their babies. March seems to be the month for early births.
I'm freaking out; I still have so much to do. Mr. Wolfman spent his days off doing stuff around the house - including really cleaning the kitchen and the main bathroom - and very thoughtfully setting up the computer so that I can actually use it for graphic design projects -
But he totally neglected everything that was actually on the list (the one he's been avoiding since August), like cleaning the car and installing the infant car seat. Or borrowing the carpet cleaner from work. Or any of the myriad of things that I'm too short/pregnant/exhausted to do on my own. I feel bad for being annoyed when he's working full time and still doing a lot of the housework and stuff, but damn. It doesn't help that his method of cleaning is very often to take everything that's in the area he's cleaning and put it in a neat pile - a neat pile somewhere that I've just finished cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen table, he "cleaned" the computer desk by piling everything on the kitchen table. I spent hours carefully arranging our bedroom (after months of nagging finally got us moved into our own bedroom) - he tidied the living room by piling a bunch of crap at the end of our bed.
On the topic of men driving me nuts, I don't know if the monster senses the big change is really, really close or what, but he's decided to suddenly start acting his age. Where before, we could leave him in the bathroom to pee, he now needs supervision (but wants privacy) or he'll throw toilet paper in the sink and run water on it, climb on the toilet to get at the medicine cabinet or just throw everything from the counter on the floor. Where we could leave his crayons sitting on the coffee table with paper for days, now he'll start drawing on the coffee table as soon as your back is turned. My front hallway is currently littered in coats because this ridiculously tall monkey has pulled them all off the hooks and thrown them on the floor. My living room floor is covered in receipts because he decided that spreading my budget folder everywhere would be a fun thing to do. And of course, this is all shit I have to bend over to pick up.
Then there's the issue of having some random OB who I'd never even heard of being the one that delivers me, but I think that's a blog for another day.
Anywho, the monster informs me that I'm all done typing, so I guess that's it for today.
*Assuming he comes on his EDD. I swear half of my birth board has already had their babies. March seems to be the month for early births.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
The Perfect Moment
3:00 am, with my hemorrhoid-ridden pregnant ass planted on a cheap footstool and my arm crushed in between the monster's head and his barn-board guardrail.
I realized, out of nowhere, how incredibly happy I was. Not because the monster has a nasty chest cough and needed me there, not because he wanted his mama and wouldn't let me go. But because I was able to be there, because my being there made a difference. Because that arm-numbing, chest-contorting, ass-paining contact let my little monster drift off to sleep, feel safe and understand fully just how loved he is.
I realized, out of nowhere, how incredibly happy I was. Not because the monster has a nasty chest cough and needed me there, not because he wanted his mama and wouldn't let me go. But because I was able to be there, because my being there made a difference. Because that arm-numbing, chest-contorting, ass-paining contact let my little monster drift off to sleep, feel safe and understand fully just how loved he is.
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
"Boys Books"
On my local buy&sell Facebook page, I saw a post for Baby Books and Boy Books.
And I thought to myself: What the fuck is a boy book?
The baby books, presumably, are the stack that include a potty book (the only book in the bunch that could conceivably be just for boys), a Sandra Boynton book and a couple of Sesame Street books that have the titles obscured. The boy books, I'm guessing, are the others: Cars, Thomas and Spiderman.
Of course. A book that (I'm guessing) tells you how/where to pee from your genitals can be for anyone. But a book that has something manly like a mode of transportation or a superhero, that's only for boys. I mean, it's not like women and girls drive or take public transit, after all. And why would they want to read about Spiderman? A girl can't get superpowers from being bitten by a radioactive spider; that would be so unrealistic.
The monster would enjoy all of these. He loooves Thomas. He doesn't know what Cars is, but he is a big fan of anthropomorphized vehicles as a general category. He likes Spiderman well enough (although, in the world of superheroes, Spiderman is a distant 3rd behind Superman and Batman). But, just to clear it up, for anyone who might think otherwise, NONE OF THAT IS BECAUSE HE HAS A PENIS.
Let me break it down:
He loves Thomas because a) Thomas is a train and we live relatively close to the train station; b) His Dad likes trains; c) His aforementioned enjoyment of anthropomorphic vehicles; and d) The biggest reason, he has two Thomas books. Books are are the best things in the monster's world and a character that appears is a book is, to him, infinitely better than any other.
He loves cars because a) Mr. Wolfman and I (you know, the parent without a penis) both love cars. We collected them as kids and started collecting them the Monster. He has about 30; and b) They have wheels. Wheels are cool. He loves faces on cars because... he's creepy? I don't know what's up with the faces, but I'm pretty sure it has more to do with him being two than it does with having an XY chromosomal makeup.
And he passingly likes Spiderman because I found a bag in the shape of Spiderman's head about a year ago and bought it for him. It has a zipper and it's sparkly. He loves zippers. He loves sparkles. It may also have something to do with Spiderman being red and blue, which were his favourite colours until he discovered purple. Spiderman, incidentally, also has eyes and at 16 months old, when he got this wonderful bag, eyes were one of the few body parts he could name.
I know this was an individual post and not a marketing campaign, but this mindset, this divide between boys and girls, is exactly what every industry has been shoving down our throats for (at the very least) my entire life. We're told not just this is for boys and this is for girls, but actually tricked into believing this is for boys because they like it better, this is for boys because girls wouldn't be interested. Gendered nonsense exists because the market demands it, not because products and marketing create a demand.
I think campaigns like Let Toys Be Toys, Let Books Be Books and Let Clothes Be Clothes are so important. Not just to get producers and marketers to change the way they operate, but to get parents to think about why they buy what they buy and why they teach their kids what they do.
Obviously, I don't have a problem with what are often considered boy books or characters or toys. My son, as I've mentioned, adores a lot of things that would fall into that category and I'm happy to buy him the things he likes. But I'll be damned if I let either of my boys believe for a second that they have special rights to superheroes, tools, sports, the automobile industry or carnivorous animals* just because of what's in their underwear.
*except cats, 'cause they're for girls. Obviously.
And I thought to myself: What the fuck is a boy book?
The baby books, presumably, are the stack that include a potty book (the only book in the bunch that could conceivably be just for boys), a Sandra Boynton book and a couple of Sesame Street books that have the titles obscured. The boy books, I'm guessing, are the others: Cars, Thomas and Spiderman.
Of course. A book that (I'm guessing) tells you how/where to pee from your genitals can be for anyone. But a book that has something manly like a mode of transportation or a superhero, that's only for boys. I mean, it's not like women and girls drive or take public transit, after all. And why would they want to read about Spiderman? A girl can't get superpowers from being bitten by a radioactive spider; that would be so unrealistic.
The monster would enjoy all of these. He loooves Thomas. He doesn't know what Cars is, but he is a big fan of anthropomorphized vehicles as a general category. He likes Spiderman well enough (although, in the world of superheroes, Spiderman is a distant 3rd behind Superman and Batman). But, just to clear it up, for anyone who might think otherwise, NONE OF THAT IS BECAUSE HE HAS A PENIS.
Let me break it down:
He loves Thomas because a) Thomas is a train and we live relatively close to the train station; b) His Dad likes trains; c) His aforementioned enjoyment of anthropomorphic vehicles; and d) The biggest reason, he has two Thomas books. Books are are the best things in the monster's world and a character that appears is a book is, to him, infinitely better than any other.
He loves cars because a) Mr. Wolfman and I (you know, the parent without a penis) both love cars. We collected them as kids and started collecting them the Monster. He has about 30; and b) They have wheels. Wheels are cool. He loves faces on cars because... he's creepy? I don't know what's up with the faces, but I'm pretty sure it has more to do with him being two than it does with having an XY chromosomal makeup.
And he passingly likes Spiderman because I found a bag in the shape of Spiderman's head about a year ago and bought it for him. It has a zipper and it's sparkly. He loves zippers. He loves sparkles. It may also have something to do with Spiderman being red and blue, which were his favourite colours until he discovered purple. Spiderman, incidentally, also has eyes and at 16 months old, when he got this wonderful bag, eyes were one of the few body parts he could name.
I know this was an individual post and not a marketing campaign, but this mindset, this divide between boys and girls, is exactly what every industry has been shoving down our throats for (at the very least) my entire life. We're told not just this is for boys and this is for girls, but actually tricked into believing this is for boys because they like it better, this is for boys because girls wouldn't be interested. Gendered nonsense exists because the market demands it, not because products and marketing create a demand.
I think campaigns like Let Toys Be Toys, Let Books Be Books and Let Clothes Be Clothes are so important. Not just to get producers and marketers to change the way they operate, but to get parents to think about why they buy what they buy and why they teach their kids what they do.
Obviously, I don't have a problem with what are often considered boy books or characters or toys. My son, as I've mentioned, adores a lot of things that would fall into that category and I'm happy to buy him the things he likes. But I'll be damned if I let either of my boys believe for a second that they have special rights to superheroes, tools, sports, the automobile industry or carnivorous animals* just because of what's in their underwear.
*except cats, 'cause they're for girls. Obviously.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
Conversations with My Monster, Part 17: Noly
LM: Oh, it's dirty. We need to wash it.
Me: What's dirty?
LM: The noly [linoleum].
Me: Yes, we need to wash it.
LM: With the big, red vroom.
Me: What's dirty?
LM: The noly [linoleum].
Me: Yes, we need to wash it.
LM: With the big, red vroom.
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Conversations with my Monster: Parts 15 & 16
15
MW: Oh, shoot.
LM: Shoot!
MW: Yes, shoot.
LM: Oh, shit!
MW: Shoot.
LM: Oh, shit!
Me: No, Baby, we say "Oh, shoot."
LM: I say oh shit.
16
LM: Want another one.
Me: Another what?
LM: Another milk.
Me: OK. *reaches for cup*
LM: Dad can fill it! *takes cup to Mr. Wolfman*
MW: *on phone*: I'm reading now.
LM: *pressing power button* Goodnight, telephone.
Saturday, December 10, 2016
Vocabulary
My monster just used the word "finally" correctly. He's already got a handle on colours, numbers, shapes, letters and comparative sizes and various computer terms, and now he's coming out with finallys and possiblys and correcting himself with I means when he uses the wrong word.
He wasn't even with me yesterday and Dr. Ginger commented on how smart he is and how developed his language skills are.
How is this kid only 2? And what on Earth is he going to be coming up with when he's 4 or 5? It blows me away.
He wasn't even with me yesterday and Dr. Ginger commented on how smart he is and how developed his language skills are.
How is this kid only 2? And what on Earth is he going to be coming up with when he's 4 or 5? It blows me away.
Tuesday, October 25, 2016
Conversations with the Monster: Part 12
Me, muttering to myself while looking at a what appears to be the debris from a curry rice-bomb in my living room: Oh, what the hell?
*Several hours pass*
LM: You said what the hell but we don't say what the hell we say what the heck but you said what the hell. Say what the heck.
*Several hours pass*
LM: You said what the hell but we don't say what the hell we say what the heck but you said what the hell. Say what the heck.
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