It's a Wash

I remember a friend of mine telling me that her daughter went through a phase where she hated baths. For some reason, I think my friend said she was about 4 when this happened.

N is having the same issue, at least when I try to bath her at night. It seems like when I bath her late afternoon she is better about it, so we might just be having a tiredness issue rather than a bath issue.

Anyhoo, baths have turned into skirmishes between me and her, and tonight it escalated to the point where I yanked her out of the tub and screamed at her that she could just be stinky and I wasn't going to bath her--a bit of reverse psychology that failed miserably since she didn't immediately say "No, no, I want to take a bath." I felt instantly sorry for yelling at her as well as stupid because I had gotten her out of the tub which is exactly not what I wanted to do, and she was perfectly happy with being taken out of the tub. I wanted her to be clean. So I went back into her room, apologized for yelling and then hauled her ass back into the tub.

I never like to think of these situations as winning or losing because even if I "win" it usually involves making her cry or be upset, so it never feels like winning. And sometimes my "loss" isn't a loss but a decision on my part to let the issue go. Tonight was just weird. Usually the reverse psychology thing works on her but her refusal to bite made me have to rethink this strategy.

But the guilt, the guilt. I hate the guilt I feel when I yell at her. I hate the guilt I feel getting so frustrated when she doesn't cooperate with baths. I hate it and yet I can't help but want to knock her teeth out when bath could be sooooooo simple and fast if she'd just quit fighting me. So chalk one up for me being a poopy, irritable mommy today.

Guinea pig and other things

I am doing this market research project whereby researchers come to my home every other month to talk with me and watch me be a mom. There is also an online component that involves more or less journaling about my experiences as a mom. It is kinda cool to be a guinea pig, especially when no blood has to be drawn, and I do get paid for participating, but the online component has started to affect my blogging here on mood-disordered.

This week and last I have had to take 36+ pictures of my "life" and journal about them in preparation for the researchers' April visit. While I enjoy it on the one hand (and certainly can use the extra cash), it does get to be a little much taking that many pictures and describing how they pertain to myself and my kids.

Lord knows, I am always thinking about being a mom and stuff my kids do and choices and mistakes I make, but the work associated with this research can be a little stifling. I just get a little too much in my own head...and that is a scary, scary place to be.

Plus, after writing about myself for 2 hours I have no desire to blog here. I just want to go read a book and think about everything other than being a mom. I have been feeling like a royal bore of late--like I have nothing interesting to discuss--so maybe the over-self-examination is to blame.

Speaking of reading a book, I finished The Hunchback of Notre Dame last night. That is certainly NOTHING like the Disney version. Holy crap--how depressing. I won't be explaining to N how it differs from the movie she likes. She has been all over my book, looking for Qs, Es and Phs (Quasimodos, Esmeraldas, and Phoebus').

Since D has a haircut the night of May's bookclub, I am going to read either The Constant Gardener or Middlesex rather than the book our club selected for the month.

Now that G has started solids, I am wondering if I'm experiencing some kind of hormonal shifts affecting my mood. I just seem to be more irritated with N. Of course, it could be that she dawdles like crazy or says "Momma" before everything or ignores about 98% of what I ask of her. It is a toss-up.

This has been one long ramble--but that is how my brain operates these days.

What Tough Really Means

Awhile ago we visited a friend's house and on the way home N said, "That P is really tough." I was confused because P isn't a mean, especially "tough" person, at least to my way of thinking. When I asked what N meant about tough, she said, "She has a lot of food in her." Ohhhh, you mean fat.

Since then N has refused to eat tough carrots. My MIL, upon hearing N's comment, started talking about how they might be a little stale, but when I asked N to show me the carrot she didn't want to eat, it was thick. Or fat.

I thought it was cute, her little euphemism for fat. That was until yesterday when she and I and G were sitting on the couch together. N leaned over on my belly, raised my shirt a bit, flapped on my skin and said, "Your belly is tough."

Shit.

Nursing Gollum

G has been making all of these weird growly type sounds lately--arghh, grrrr. The other night I was getting ready to nurse him and prior to latching on, he looked at my nipple and made this deep, gutteral sound that sounded borderline unholy. D said, "I think you are nursing Gollum."

Fortunately, G is way cuter than Gollum and doesn't have any hang-ups with shiny rings. Watches--yes. Eyeglasses--yes. Cords hanging from the wall--yes. But interest in shiny golden rings--no.

Whine, bitch, moan

I really have nothing to whine, bitch or moan about in the big scheme of things.

We don't have debt problems. My kids are healthy. Nobody is stalking me. I have no history of being abused or victimized. I am overall a person who is satisfied with her life.

BUT.... there is plenty I can whine, bitch and moan about in the little scheme of things, so here goes:

• G-- did you not get the memo that babies your age might consider sleeping 5-6 consecutive hours on a regular basis? You are way fat, so I don't see that you need to nurse 2 times a night. And I know your teeth hurt but I simply cannot give you as much painkiller as you seem to need and want. I know you are a little man and therefore unable to tolerate even the slightest inkling of discomfort, but screaming from 3-5 a.m. about it only makes momma a wee bit pissy the next day.

• N-- if you are gonna stay up until nearly 9:00 pm anyway, then momma is gonna reinstitute the daytime nap because I am tired (see bullet above which explains why momma is so tired). And is it a 4-year-old thing that makes one suddenly become a Chatty Kathy doll? It is very cute and I am listening, but could you please stop saying, "Momma," before everything you say. "Momma, why is that man sitting there in his car? Momma, I think I'm gonna name my doll Cocoona. Momma, where are my sunglasses? Momma, I ate a carrot." Since we both know my name is Momma, there is really no need to repeat it so many times. I promise, I AM LISTENING.

• D-- I knew it would probably come to this but you are gonna have to choose between the Xbox and me because right now I am playing 2nd fiddle to a frickin piece of metal. May I remind you that I cook your dinner and wash your clothes and have given birth to your 2 children. And there are some needs you have that ain't gonna be filled that type of box.
  

Suffice it to say, everyone in this house is getting on my nerves right now.
Oh wait, I forgot 2 members of the household whom I never mention but who drive me bonkers as much as the other 3.

• Gonzo and Shanks-- It really pisses me off when G has been fed, N has been fed, and D has fed you guys once and then you meow and holler at me for food when I AM THE ONLY BEING IN THE HOUSE WHO HASN'T HAD ANY FOOD AT ALL! You guys knew you lost seniority when N came along, and now G has pushed you even further down my list. But this meowing, especially on the heels of a all-nighter with G, makes me wanna skin you. As D said "Cat, it's the other white meat."

There, I feel better already.

The dog borrowers and other highlights from my week

1. N is in love---he is very short, has 4 legs and is named Baker. He belongs to the neighbors caddy-corner to us in the back.

We borrowed him the other day so N could take him for a walk, and now everyday she asks, "Can we take Baker for a walk?" It was the middle of a flash-flood producing rain on Friday and she asked if we could get Baker. Uh, no.

2. G better cut this 2nd bottom tooth (the 1st one cut on Sunday) because he has been a pill most of the week. Between his tooth, getting his shots on Monday, and a stuffy nose, he has been Mr. Downer, at least with me. If we are out and he sees new faces, he lights up like the sun. But he saves his whining for momma.

3. We have finished our taxes--FINALLY--and owe Uncle Sam a bucket of money. While I am not excited to pay, I will just be glad to get the checks mailed. I am sick of this hanging over my head.

4. G has had rice cereal, oat cereal, applesauce, prunes, bananas, and tonight carrots. He is loving all of it.

God, is my life so dull that these aforementioned items are the "highlights." I'm just gonna go to bed. How sad.

Book-end doctor appointments

G in the stroller prior to taking our neighbor's dog for a walk.

N on the hillside after kite-flying.

I really know how to plan my week: G's 6-month well visit on Monday and N's 4-year well visit on Friday. No question as to how nuts I am.

So G is a healthy 20 lb, 6.4 oz and 27.75 inches in length--putting him firmly in the 90% on both counts. Received 4 shots and cried for about 2 seconds.

N is a healthy 42 lbs and 43 inches tall--putting her in the 90% on weight and the 97% on height. Why am I amazed that G is so large? His sister is a virtual Amazon. She got a finger stick for a blood count and peed in a cup. She also received 4 shots and cried for about 2 hours.

Unless N's CBC tells otherwise, I can assume I have 2 very healthy, mostly happy kids. What more can I ask for?