The Big Girl Bed.

After Allison turned two, we realized quickly that she was not long for staying in the crib. At a meager thirty-eight inches long (that's three foot, two inches people, and they don't even HAVE a percentile for her at this point), the crib mattress seemed to shrink around her legs and torso. On top of this blessed physical anomaly, it also became increasingly painful to lift her up and over the rails every morning, naptime, and night. Thirdly, we were being beckoned awake each morning, long before necessary or desired, with her reaching down and flinging her door open, calling out to us - "Moooooommy.... Daaaaaaaaddy". We conceded and purchased the first big girl bed.

It arrived on a Saturday. Our trial run was Sunday, naptime. She eagerly jumped onto the massive full sized mattress, laid her head down on the pillow, and rolled into position. I had no idea how she was going to react to this change. I waited patiently for her to get out, preparing myself for what would surely be a long, drawn out afternoon of walking to and from the bed, negotiations, and pleading. I waited. I picked up things around the house, put away toys and shoes and dusted a little bit. An hour went by, then two. In the third hour I realized that we might have very well given the entire house an amazing gift. The gift of sleep. She woke, finally, after over three hours peaceful napping; she was happy, talkative, walking around laughing. I tried not to look a gift horse in the mouth, because I knew that naptime had nothing on what night-time sleep could bring. I was grateful for the experience, and wiped the expectation slate clean.

Nighttime started out much in the same manner. She didn't peer out of her room for the first three nights. On night four, however, she realized what a fun game it would be to see how long she would go unnoticed by us, playing on the tile near the fireplace in the dining room. Her dead give away? Cowgirl Jessie's feet tap, tapping on the ceramic flooring. The pull of the string on her back: "Ride like the wind! Let's yodel! Yow-dah-ly-eeee-whooooo!" that was inevitably followed by two year old giggles. Hide and go seek is clearly a new idea to her. In a matter of thirty minutes, we took turns putting her to bed a total of eight times. Finally, empty threats to keep Jessie to myself the next time she got out of bed did the trick. And she slept - hard.

Waking up is a lot more fun, and a lot more early, than it's ever been. Long before my dear slumbering husband's comatose-like state is interrupted, I hear the shift, shift of monkey pajamas walking down the short hallway to our bedroom. I don't open my eyes, but pause for the greeting. "Hey Mommy. Hey, Mommy, get up. Time to wake up Mommy. Mommy, where's the 'mote?" By this time, I've sent her to her father's side of the room to retrieve the remote control. He's mastered the ability to, with near blindness not wearing his glasses, push buttons 2 and 8, then waiting for Disney channel to provoke her to climb in bed with us to watch Imagination Movers, or Special Agent Oso, or Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, depending on what time of morning she decides to come in.

If it's especially early, and she's really not that awake yet either, I'll get up and we'll zombie-walk our way back to her bed. And some asked me why I went with a full sized mattress.... If they only knew how wonderful it is to lay next to this long-legged beautiful girl while she falls back asleep. To literally have her reach around my neck with both arms and hold onto me. To be face to face, close enough to read eachother's minds, smiling without saying a thing... a brilliant reminder that, even though she's not getting any smaller, for at least a little while longer, she'll want me to be around.

M&M&M's.

Our daughter's newest and likeliest obsession is peanut M&M's. I have NO idea where this came from. Each morning for the last week we have woken up, had a little chat, changed a diaper and walked to the living room, where the subject inevitably comes to light.

"Mommy, Eh-muh-ne-muh-ne-mahs." Being what feels like 48 weeks pregnant I should have an ample supply of these in the house, but I somehow have resisted stopping in the candy aisle of Vons for several weeks now. I tell that sad, sorry little disappointed girl that M&M's are not for breakfast, contrary to any tantrums (or, probably just a sweet little girl being nothing more than adorable) her dad might have caved into at the car wash the previous weekend. As that is never an acceptable answer, she goes to the other adult in the house and pleads her argument once again, hoping that he'll be at least conscious and able to understand her run-on sentence that can only be translated once she hits the word - Eh-muh-ne-muh-ne-muh. She's learned since her introduction to them that you really cannot hoard them away in your hand - the rule would ring true when her fist would unclench and have a blue-orange melt mark staring at her. Since then, she's mastered the art of popping two or even three in her cheeks to store and melt away until she's got room to chew. All the pleas in my arsenal cannot stop her from chipmunking multiple peanut M&M's. We've been taught to ration.

There's something that you have to understand. These are a staple in my parent's household. It's inevitable that if you go into the refrigerator in the bar to pull out a bottle of water, a soda, a beer, your hand will dump itself into the Costco-sized bag of peanut M&M's and grab enough to sustain you through that drink. There are also concessions for whether you're feelin' lucky, punk, because only the wiliest of sneaky people can get away with bringing those magical little pods within a thirty foot radius of a set of toddler's eyes. And most of the time there are at least four sets of eyes on "what is in your hand?" watch at their house. Grandchildren abound, those candies turn the average Joe into Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny and the favorite aunt in one fell swoop. It's like crack for two year olds and let's face it, pregnant thirty somethings as well. As the resident bad influence in the family, I am usually more than happy to oblige all four sets of blue eyes, and the one special set of hazel ones, with a few left over for myself.

My family will be coming to town here in about a week and a half. And if you think the XL Bag of these daddies aren't making their way into the house you're just wasting your time believing I'm a good, decent, health conscious person. The door to Willy Wonka's world got cracked open a while ago, and it'd be blasphemous NOT to have them here when my dad walked through the door. Let's just hope we can talk Allison out of making them her breakfast cereal.

Getting By.

In the last few weeks I've grown accustomed to getting through my day on a limited amount of sleep. Tonight's attempt rendered a solid two hours before waking up to achy, numb arms AND legs. Walking around the house helps, but as soon as I lay down to try and join the rest of the troops in slumber, the feeling - or lack thereof - shows up again. I do not recall this happening as frequently being pregnant the first time around. I remember waking up around three every morning and not being able to fall back asleep, which also happens a lot now a days. But that was from a racing mind, or a bladder that needed to empty itself three times. This is something new. And I'm going to go ahead and factor in age, the heat, my two plus hour cleaning spree today, and tending to and playing with a two year old all day.

I'm pretty sure I can also blame the fact that I slept entirely too well on Friday and Saturday night, and so, to make sure my mood is thoroughly grumpy tomorrow, well.... Three o'clock and all is well.

Eva is a particularly bouncy little womb-dweller these days. She seems to have no regard for time of day, and when the mood strikes her, she does what can only be compared to a break-dance hip hop Bollywood routine in utero. In about eighteen years I anticipate she'll be on the latest version of So You Think You Can Dance. I would like to think her rolling and kicking is an affirmation of love and adoration from my little girl to her mommy, and that somehow, even when I'm quietly thinking of her, she can feel my thoughts, and in her own way is giving me a love nudge. I just wish that her movements didn't sometimes have to result in settling herself on the nerves that control the feeling in my limbs.

I think that for the most part, in this very moment of sleeplessness, it's safe to say I'm reconsidering the idea of going through this once more. Had I remembered the discomfort and fatigue of the third trimester from the first time around better, Eva might not even have been a thought on my mind. I'll say right now that I know she's worth every waking moment I'm going through, and I know I'll live to see another day. Just imagining the first time being able to see her is enough to make my night fly by with relative ease. So I'll get by tonight, and hopefully my little family will be able to get by with me tomorrow. :)

Put That One In The Books

It's July. Thank God. I think I'm going to find it hard to look back on this last month with any sort of fondness at all. When there's a two year old in the house who can't seem to sleep, eat, or be happy, time stands still during the day, and runs out too quickly in the night. You calculate when the last dose of Tylenol was, and see if she'll be able to handle a bit more than usual cough medication, to get her a much needed long sleep. You wake up three times a night to a sobbing, weak voice calling for you to hold her, and the need to tend to your self, your sleep, your bladder, your illness, ceases. You go to work every day, riddled with guilt, pumped full of daytime medication, hoping you can make it through with enough energy for the go-round that awaits you at home. You pray to just be able to give her water without it coming back up, leaving her for even a moment becomes physically and emotionally impossible. You pick her tired limp body up and carry her to the bathroom, and sit in front of the toilet bowl, waiting for her body to lunge. Waiting for her pleading cries to make it stop. Waiting for your heart to break for her all over again.

Thank you July, for showing up right when you did. We promise to try and enjoy the rest of the summer as much as we can. We'll play in the water table, and pick vegetables from our garden when the sun goes down. We'll take early morning walks before it gets too hot on the weekends, and go look at pretty shiny classic cars on Saturdays, because for her, the cartoon ones are nothing compared to the real deal. We'll play in the sprinklers and eat ice cream and popsicles and watch Daddy barbecue hamburgers and hot dogs for dinner. And we'll sleep. We'll put Sleeping Beauty to shame.

She's a Trooper.

When the conversation of Allison would come up at work, the question of day care would always be brought into play. I had no idea what other moms really meant when they said how "lucky" I was to not have to put Allison in daycare. I figured they were only speaking about the financial or emotional burden it placed on them, paying a stranger to feed, change and care for their children. No. It was not only that at all. It was the fact that we had unknowingly avoided the hazing ritual that is... childhood colds. Only one week after Allison's first part-time stint at her school did she come down with a doozy of a fever/sore throat combo that took her over to the degree where we hardly recognized her. Listless, sleepless, without an appetite for food or even water. And yet, in the moments in between, there were glimpses of sunshine in her smile. One week later, she woke from a twelve hour slumber and never looked back. Relief. I'm hoping the next cold, which I'm guessing will be in only a matter of weeks or less, will be less devastating to her.

When You Turn Two...

Life is good....

Monsties, and Tars.

Yes, you heard it right. It's the first thing she asks for every morning. If the television set is not on and if Cars or Monsters is not running when she gets into the living room, it's a mad dash hunt for the remote ("'mote") and persistent repeated begging for her show. Do we watch it? Of course we do.

There's a much heated debate in the world of mothers about toddlers and television. As a new first time mom, I was adamant that my child's world would be filled every day with activities and fun play time that did not include the giant flat screen blaring. It will rot her brain! It will turn her into a zombie! A mute! An anti-social child! She'll get ADD! I stood by this credo for several months, until....

The first morning I put Sesame Street on the television. It was like taking the apple from the Tree Of Knowledge. It was forbidden fruit, but so tempting, I thought, "we'll only watch this for a little while." I think Allison was about nine months old. And she saw Elmo. She was infatuated with this red, furry, laughing, dancing little creature. She was intrigued with every word coming out of his puppet mouth. As time went by, she began laughing at things that were funny. She started mimicking dance moves and swaying to the beat. Her motor skills were improving. If other kids were around her, she'd share and play wouldn't scream with worry and possessiveness if she didn't get her toy back right away. And I didn't feel so badly that she was enjoying her time and soaking up all the things that Elmo, Big Bird, Bert and Ernie were saying.

Soon after followed Baby Einstein, Little Einstein, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, Handy Manny, and Special Agent Oso. It was an unstoppable force. As adults we find ourselves singing the theme songs, dancing along as we brushed our teeth in the morning, or brewing the coffee, or reading the paper. And Allison is learning. She's not just mimicking. She's taking it all in and running with it.

Allison doesn't watch television all day, every day. She'd rather be outside playing in the yard, watering plants or in her playhouse. She comes with me to run errands every day we have together. When we're together, she points out planes, cars, buses, dogs, birds, bicycles. She counts items in the shopping basket. We practice our ABC's and our 123's. She knows colors and shapes. Her brain is a sponge, and somewhere along the line she's soaked up all this information, and now she's able to use it and be proud to contribute to the conversation effectively.

I'm not sure if letting her watch television is the reason that she knows all these things or not. When we were growing up, the morning cartoons consisted of a rabbit being chased by a coyote or an old grumpy miner, both of whom were trying to kill the rabbit. And we watched. We watched a lot. And we grew up (mostly) just fine. Now the children's shows are all about helping eachother and learning about what's in a neighborhood, what classical music and art is, and how to say hello and good bye in different languages. I don't think it's harmful to allow kids to sit and soak all that up.

So, when she wakes up and stands in front of the television and says "Tahhhhrs?" I know that she's asking for more than just to be able to tune out. She's asking for music to dance to, for an exciting moment, for me to sit with her during the parts she's not so sure about. And I do. Because I could use a little fun too. :)