My Amazing RaceJuly 14, 2010 at 1:21 am | Posted in Bun, Giggles, Lollipop | 29 Comments
Tags: Babies, Balance, Challenges, Children, Motherhood, Multitasking, Potty Training, Siblings, Sleep
Let me tell you about my day.
First, I wake up to my alarm. (You know it’s going to be a long one when you have an infant in the house and need to wake before he does.)
Lollipop has an oh-dark-thirty swimming class. Then preschool. Then Bun has a doctor’s appointment. And I am taking all three kiddos. Everywhere. With Giggles in underpants for only our third diaper-free outing since training began in earnest last week.
I gather changes of clothes. And snacks of many textures. And sippy cups, vaccination records, a bottle of Purell, a back-up bottle of Purell, and the required goggles Lollipop still won’t wear. I even remember the white T-shirt she needs for tie-dye day at school.
I wake the children. Yes, I wake them. Yes, that seems wrong somehow.
I cook Eggos and cut cantaloupe while my husband starts Bun’s bottle. I shower (hooray!). I herd Lollipop and Giggles into the potty, into their shoes, into the car while my husband loads Bun.
We pull out of the driveway exactly three minutes after swim class starts.
When we get to the pool, the stupid key card that never works for me doesn’t work for me. I rattle the door and curse. Someone lets us and the five dandelions and three rocks that Giggles has somehow acquired into the pool area.
Lollipop joins her class, generally ignores all instructions that involve putting her face in the water, and tells the teacher she is cold 147 times. Giggles has to pee. Then he has to pee again. Bun stares at the clouds and the water and the trucks passing by. He kicks his newly discovered feet a few times.
Class dismisses. With the help of a strategically placed pool chair and blue alligator towel, I help Lollipop change out of her wet swimsuit and into her school clothes. I beg Giggles not to throw his toy car into the pool. I clean some spit-up off my arm and pants.
Into the car. Just past the first stop sign, Giggles has to pee. I debate whether he really needs to and decide not to chance it. We pull over. He pees on the sidewalk under a tree at the neighborhood park. Twice. Back into the car.
I drop Lollipop off at school and quadruple-check that I have remembered the T-shirt for tie-dying. I have. I give myself a mental woot-woot. I drive through Starbucks and inhale a grande white chocolate mocha before we leave the parking lot.
Off to the doctor. We arrive early. (Early!) Giggles has to pee. I situate him discreetly in the parking lot landscaped bushes. He goes. Twice.
We head inside. Wherein Giggles has a mini-meltdown because he hates the doctor’s office. I assure him he is only there as moral support for his baby brother. He asks if he can have Bun’s conciliatory post-vaccination sticker. I agree.
We Purell and head into the waiting area. Wherein Giggles attacks the toys with gusto. I shake the words “staph” and “strep” out of my mind and offer up a silent prayer for mercy to the diarrhea gods.
Bun wakes from a car-induced catnap and sputters his displeasure at the fluorescent lighting. Wherein Giggles informs me he has pee in his shoe. Since he has peed seven times already and it’s barely 10 a.m., I am dubious. Alas, he offers me proof.
He takes off his black croc and shakes pee onto the floor, much like an expert swimmer emptying his ear of water after a record-setting relay. I blink. Bun sputters. Giggles continues to shake.
I sit Giggles in a chair. I grab some wipes to clean the floor while deftly offering Bun his nummie. I am about to strip Giggles down and clean him up when Husband arrives. He takes Bun into the bathroom and gets him changed. The nurse calls us back to the exam room.
We do the usual weighing and measuring and question-answering. Giggles attacks a basket of books. The nurse leaves. She comes back. She asks to re-weigh Bun because, surely, that can’t be right. But it is. He’s a chub. Off the charts. My heart smiles as and I squeeze a chunky thigh. Giggles races his toy car around the room.
The doctor comes in. We talk. Giggles interrupts a few times. I ply him with assorted crunchy snacks. He throws a few pretzels on the floor. Husband attempts to bottle-feed Bun, who is onesie-less, chilly, and cranky. The doctor gives us a handout about making sure Bun lays on all parts of his head equally. So as not to get a dent. Because he’s that big. Giggles attempts to eat a pretzel off the floor.
The nurse comes back. Shots are administered. At least three people in the room cry a little. Stickers are chosen, follow-up visits scheduled. Husband goes back to work.
I take the boys to Target for a few things. Giggles has to pee. Twice.
We head to a favorite sub shop for a bite to eat before picking Lollipop up. The line is too long. We drive through McDonald’s instead. Giggles says he has to pee. We pull into a spot and I reach into the diaper bag for this little gem. It’s not there. In my mind, I see it sitting, forgotten, on the toilet at Target. I try to convince Giggles to pee on the curb. He will not.
We get to Lollipop’s school, and I haul the boys inside to the bathroom. Where Giggles pees. Twice. Lollipop pops in to say hello, giddy at having almost all of her family there at school with her. We bob and weave through a gaggle of children carrying spaghetti-laden plates to the compost bin. We get back in the car.
I debate. Go back to Target for the training potty or not? The thing is amazing. I will surely buy a replacement. And to avoid spending money on something that might or might not be lost, I decide to risk the tired eyes in the backseat and delay nap time juuuuuust a little bit longer.
I pass chicken nuggets to Lollipop and Giggles on the way. They inhale them. I try not to think about what’s in them that makes them so tasty.
We arrive at Target. I herd everyone to the bathroom. No potty. I herd everyone to the service desk. I tell the lady what we’re looking for. She looks at me like I have green hair. But she says she’ll check. And she comes back holding our beloved little red training potty. Lollipop shouts, “Hurray!!” I might have, too.
I herd everyone to the concession area where I divvy up the McDonald’s French fries. I order a small fountain drink so I don’t feel so guilty about bringing in outside food. I am equally amazed by the tiny cup the clerk hands me and the large amount he tells me I owe.
I chug a cupful of Coke. Lollipop and Giggles trade each other fries based on some criteria I cannot identify. Bun snoozes and whimpers in his car seat. I chug another cupful of Coke.
Back into the car we go. Home. Clothes, snacks, cups, shoes, bags, and stickers get dumped in a heap by the door. We read books. We sing songs. We pee. Twice. I blow kisses and close doors. I feed Bun and rock him to sleep. I ignore the pile by the front door.
And I listen. To the silence. Finally.
The day wasn’t perfect. I mean, we peed in our shoe. And I had caffeine for breakfast and lunch. But I did it. I did it.
And I’m beat. Night-night.
Ever had a day like this? What’s your best toddler-herding strategy? Your go-to caffeinated beverage??