Metal Meredith

Here is what bedtime is like at our house. Some people ask me if Vivienne gets tired and slows down. This video should be your answer:

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Henry is the added bonus. I was showing off his newly fit-into size 3 diapers. He is less than 3 months old...truly he is Hank the Tank.

“Hank”
8lbs 13oz
20 inches
Born at 1:15pm.

I never wanted to have kids when I was a teenager. I thought I couldn’t remove myself from my selfish behavior enough, nor could I share my future husband with anyone else. After I met Phil, I changed my mind. He was just cute enough that I wanted to see what we could make.

When pregnant with Vivienne, I very much wanted to glow. I wanted to be beautiful, sexy pregnant woman who wasn’t afraid to show her big ol’ stomach to the world. None of those things happened either. I was sick, I felt gross and ugly the entire time. I was exhausted and nauseous for most of the 9 months. So why would someone do that again, you ask? I have no idea. But we are.

I would love to say that seeing that positive test result filled me with joy and anticipation, but it didn’t. I would love to say that I am so looking forward to expanding my family, but I am not. Right now, it is just a fight to survive the next 7 months without getting sick each morning, without turning into a giant ball of acne, without replacing a smile with a series of yawns. I cannot look forward enough to decide what we will do with Vivienne when the time comes to go to the hospital. We haven’t given one second of thought to a nursery, to gadgets and gear, to child proofing and storage space.

As Vivienne grows older, I knew that I would find less things appealing about having a newborn, sleep deprivation, the ‘blob’ stage. And I have. It was a matter of ‘now or never’ rather than ‘when’. Vivienne impresses me each day with the things she says, information she retains and talks about later and her daily challenges for independence. When I told her she was going to be a big sister, she asked me what the baby’s name is. I had to tell her I didn’t know yet. She asked me if it was a boy or girl. Again I told her I didn’t know. She told me that we would “talk later about it more”. Um, sure.

So, if anyone would like to volunteer to come clean my house, make my family meals, play with my kid, and just generally take over for me for the next 6 or so months, I would appreciate it. Until then, I will just be curled up in my bed with a milkshake, cheese, pickles and some ginger ale.

This is your only warning.

When you don’t have kids, the horror stories start at “terrible twos”. When you have kids, you come to know better.

I was expecting Vivienne to turn into a beast overnight when she turned two. When she was very little, I overheard some moms talking about their toddlers. I clearly remember exactly what one said to the other “Terrible Twos? No way. Three is so much worse.” I was very nervous at that point.

Welcome to almost-three. Please, take a seat and let’s chat about it. I will tell you a few stories of the past week and you decide.

Sunday: Vivienne went through another non-pooping weekend and by Sunday she resembled Andy Rooney’s permanent furrowed brow. At noon, Phil and I decided to administer a little something to make things “run more smoothly” for her.

Although the label clearly said it would work in 15 min up to one hour, 8 hours later she was hitting and screaming and crying at both of us until she finally cleared out. After she picked out a “poopie prize” (yes, it has come to that), she informed both Phil and I that she was all done and would never poop again. We looked at each other, smirked and thought “Great.”

Tuesday: We met my sister at the Mall for some lunch and some playtime. Since Monday was a happy day, Tuesday started the cycle of full of crap = nasty attitude all over again. After she curled up on me when she was done eating, I thought we were in for a nice afternoon. Of course, this was just a ploy to get to the playground.

She spent a good hour jumping, climbing, playing with other kids, running around, laughing, sliding and having a great time. When it was time to go, I gave her two warnings. On that last, I waited for her to go down the slide, informed her it was the last time and then grabbed her when she came out.

Suddenly and without warning, her head spun around 360 and she started spitting pea soup all over the….ok, maybe not that bad, but it wasn’t pretty. Fortunately, if my sister ever questioned her decision not to have kids, she was immediately satisfied. Vivienne proceeded to hit me, scream as loud as she could, spit at me, spit again, kick, go limp and then yell a few more times as I picked her up with one arm and grabbed her shoes with the other.

It didn’t end there. She yelled most of the way home until I started to talk to Phil on the phone. She then proclaimed that she was angry and showed me so by pushing her brow in and down, glaring straight at me and pursing her lips. It didn’t stop until she fell asleep at naptime.

Wednesday: After school, she typically plays with Sam in the school parking lot median, transporting the gravel from one end to the other in the “Gravel Relocation Project 2006”. On Wednesday, she walked straight to the car, grabbed the keys from my hand, turned around and looked right at Sam. “No Sam, I go home now,” as she put her hand right up in front of her and turned to get into the car. Ouch.

Thursday: So far today, we have been in time out twice, where she is forced to sit in her tiny chair, facing a closed door in the extra room. It isn’t a happy place and she knows it. After enduring her spitting at me for not getting Her Majesty juice right when she asked, it was time out for her. Instead of her typical 2-3 minutes, it lasted 6 because she would yell, scream, kick the door and continue to spit.

When I finally came into the room to collect her, I sat down next to her and didn’t say a word. She looked up and said (with a tiny smile, I might add), “I kicked the door and spit at you when you were in the other room.”

Lord. Help. Me.