The Big Girl Bed

Several months ago, R started trying to injure herself on her crib. She would be angry at us for thinking she should do something silly like still take a nap when she was already 22-months-old or go to sleep at night when the dogs were already passed out and snoring and Jeff and I were struggling to stay awake. And in her anger, she would stand at the front rail of the bed and kick until she got her thigh stuck between the crib rails. She would start howling, and we would then run in and try to extract her before she twisted herself so hard she broke her leg. This got to be quite a problem, and there was more than one occasion in which it actually took both of us to free her leg. One of us would have to lift her up to get the weight off the stuck leg while the other shimmied in through the rails. This was not fun or safe.

It got bad enough that we started contemplating moving her to a "big girl" bed then, and Jeff and R went browsing at Toys R Us. That's where they stumbled upon her dream bed - an adorable Elmo toddler bed. Even I couldn't resist its cuteness, and when she stopped injuring herself regularly, it was easy to agree that this would be her Christmas present this year. She's been wanting a big kid bed, we can't do much better than Elmo, and with two little brothers on the way, even after she moves into a twin bed, the Elmo bed can still be used.

Then two weeks ago she started trying to injuring herself on her crib again, and she found new and creative ways to do it. And this time, she succeeded. One night, our mini teenager was sprawled out and passed out with a foot dangling out of the crib. She apparently tried to roll over in her sleep, and the foot didn't roll with her. She woke up howling, and her foot was pretty banged up and swollen that night. Of course, it didn't slow her down at all, and the next night she injured herself while jumping up and down and holding on to the front rail. The rail got in the way of her chin coming down during a good bounce, and she got a nice bruise on it.

And so we decided to go ahead with the purchase of the bed. Thankfully, toddler beds are cheap, and she had just enough birthday money left to cover the cost of the frame and mattress, so we headed off to Toys R Us for our big purchase. R was excited! She kept chanting "Big girl bed!" and we desperately hoped it was in stock. This was when the trauma for me began. I was not upset at the idea of my little girl growing up. I was traumatized because we didn't come home with the Elmo bed. Nooooo. Instead we came home with the Disney pink princess bed. Oh yeah. Despite all our efforts to raise our child in a gender-neutral environment, she has become an uber girlie girl. She loves pink! She loves dresses! She loves princesses! And ever since Jeff found out we were having boys, he's been a lot more encouraging of this side of R.

We got home from shopping right at nap time, so we told R she would have to sleep in her crib one more time. She did, but not without laying on the floor, crying, and hugging the box with her new bed in it. She lamented "big girl beeeeed" as we tucked her in, so we decided we better get this silly bed put together.

That's when Jeff's trauma began. Two years ago, as we were assembling R's crib and changing table very late in my pregnancy, we were hit with the sudden hideous realization that when instructions said, "Your parents can put this together," it now meant us, and we've had quite a few assembly nightmares since then. (For the record, the changing table took over seven hours to assemble.) But the bed frame looked innocent enough. Disney wouldn't allow their logo on a crappy product, would they? So about an hour before R's bedtime that night, Jeff started assembling the bed. When it was not ready an hour later, R was okay with sleeping in her crib again because, "Daddy fix it!" What she didn't know, nor did we, was that it would take another three hours for daddy to fix the stinkin' bed. It was not a fun project!

The next morning, when R woke up, Jeff was able to lead her into the living room where her "big girl" bed sat looking not a whole lot bigger than a doll bed. She was ecstatic! She spent all morning playing on it. She carried all her blankies, dolls, and stuffed animals into the living room to play on the bed. She read books to them on the bed, cooked and served them "food" on the bed, and just loved climbing up and down from it. This was great!

Then came nap time, when we actually moved the bed into her room. She was so excited! And then she refused to sleep in it. This is when her trauma began. On the third trip into her room to tuck her back in, she looked at me and said, "Baby bed, Mommy." Due to no storage in our house, the crib was still in her room, awaiting a time in which we make room for a nursery for the boys. So I put her in her crib, and she immediately fell asleep.

After her nap, Jeff asked her why she wanted to sleep in her crib. Her answer was simple. "Safe!" It's hard to argue with that one, so we decided to take a different approach at bedtime that night and desperately hoped having the crib in the room wouldn't be our downfall. We made a point of showing her how safe her bed really was, and I even laid down on the floor in there and told her I would stay until she fell asleep. After over two hours of various tactics, R called me back into her room (I had given up on her sleeping with me in there after about 45 minute) and said, "Baby fall down!" Baby is one of the three beloved creatures she sleeps with, so I immediately started looking around for Baby. I finally found her in the bed and handed her back to R. Then she told me that Bunny had fallen down, and we repeated the process. When she told me that Who-Dey, the third and final friend had fallen down, I was pretty sure what was going on. Then she blurted out the truth. "REE FALL DOWN!!!!!" she wailed. So I built an extra-tall fortress around the bed, laid down on the floor, and within 5 minutes she passed out. Given that it was already getting close to 11:00, I nearly passed out too.

At 5:30 in the morning, she called me into the room. I asked her what was wrong, and she said, "Mommy sleep here!" I thought it best not to fight her, so I grabbed my pillow and an afghan, and settled back down to sleep on the floor. We slept until nearly 8:00 (which is insanely late for her) and she survived the first night in her big girl bed!

We prepared ourselves for continued battles after that, but it turned out that just getting through the first night was all she needed. Since then she has done quite well in her new bed. We are still awaiting the day in which she realizes she can get out of bed and play with her toys, but we are certainly enjoying things until that occurs. Having now made the transition from the crib to a bed, we are ready to move on to potty training!

Baby News

I know I am way overdue for an R update, and as usually happens, the biggest reason I haven't been blogging is we've been busy living which leaves much to share. So I promise to write about her soon before things get too out of control and I have to report that she's started driving and already graduated from high school.

But for now, an update on the bambinos. The boys are growing. Lots. I had an ultrasound last Friday when I was almost 30 weeks. From everything I've read, average babies at that age weigh 2.5 pounds. My monster boys weighed in at three pounds, two ounces each. Big, healthy babies! (But not so big there was any reason for concern.) It was good to see that they are still gaining weight at the same rate, and they have plenty of fluid.

The boys are hyper little things. I don't know if they are moving that much more than R, or if I just feel it more because there is less extra space, but it seems like they are in constant motion. Every time I sit down one of them goes nuts. The other night I was completely exhausted when I climbed into bed, and I instantly felt movement all over. I was cranky enough to start rubbing my belly in annoyance, rather than out of love. That's when I discovered they both had the hiccups at the same time. Then I melted and thought it was the cutest thing in the world.

I am constantly inundated with questions about how I'm doing, and the truth is I'm doing pretty well. I was lucky and had an easy pregnancy with R, and so far, this pregnancy seems to be about the same. I am pretty tired these days, but I think that has as much to do with working full-time and taking care of a two-year-old at home as it does with being pregnant. Based on my conversations with a good friend who has a thirteen-year-old daughter, the only real differences between our girls is that mine isn't potty trained, and hers can call her more creative names. Otherwise, they are about the same, and my mini-teenager is exhausting! My back has also started getting sore if I sit or stand too long in one position, but a short workout or a long shower still work miracles and can easily take care of it.

I think the strangest thing about this pregnancy is how different it is from my first. The boys are such an afterthought. At this point in my first pregnancy I had already had two baby showers, with a third on the way. I haven't had any this time, nor do I think I'll have any. (Thankfully, we also don't need much other than a semi full of diapers.) When I was pregnant with R, Jeff dutifully came to all my doctor's appointments with me, and we were both busy reading up on pregnancy and newborn care. This time Jeff admits to having "been there, done that" mentality, and is skipping the appointments. (I personally think he is terrified to go since the only appointment he attended is the one where we found it we were having twins!) As for reading, if either of us finds time to read, we are desperately cramming in personal reading while we can. Who knows when we'll get to do that again!

Being pregnant and hormonal, I did have a mild panic attack a couple of weeks ago about being completely unprepared for the babies. We have lots of stuff from R, and friends are giving us tons of hand-me-down outfits, but I still felt like things weren't quite ready. Thankfully, things have been falling into place since then. We recruited Jeff's parents to help us put together a nursery, since furniture needs to be rearranged in three rooms, and their future "nursery" is in boxes all over R's closet and our dining room. My mom came to visit and bought us a second car seat, which is the only thing we legally needed (in order to get the boys home from the hospital). She also got us some itty-bitty onesies and sleepers, which is good since we need basics. This week I got an email from a girlfriend who has a garbage bag of clothes for us, and today a gigantic mystery box appeared on our porch. Jeff's cousin works with a woman who has twin boys, and the mystery box contained tons of clothes in sizes newborn - nine months. I even met a woman in the bathroom at work who volunteered to bring me work clothes in the next size so I could keep my belly covered, and she showed up with a big of clothes the next day. People are amazing. And for once, I really mean that in a good way!

So for now I am grateful to have such big, healthy babies in me, and we will continue to just take things one day at a time.

Stalked!

Last weekend I watched an old episode of Coupling, the amusing, and much more naughty, British version of Friends. In the episode, ditzy Jane is explaining to her friend Susan that she is being stalked. The following conversation takes place.

Jane: I'm being stalked, actually, so I'm pretty secure in my attractiveness.
Susan: You're being stalked?
Jane: Is that so hard to believe?
Sally: My god!
Jane: Everyday on my way home from work, a man follows me. It's true.
Susan: Well, have you been to the police?
Jane: They said I was being silly and paranoid. I heard them laughing after I left.
Sally: That's terrible!
Susan: Well, have you confronted the man who follows you?
Jane: Well, there's no point, is there? It's never the same man twice. Sometimes they switch over when I'm halfway home. It's so well organized!

Currently, I think I can actually understand how Jane feels. I too feel like I am being stalked by a rotating army of strangers, although I can't say it makes me feel secure in my attractiveness. My belly has become a beacon for attention. I cannot do anything without providing acquaintances and strangers with a full update of its growth. (It's amazing how friends never ask round after round of questions...they know better!)

During the first six months of working at UNCW, I was a social pariah. The new girl. Ewww. Stay away from her. Then I started sporting uber-belly. Suddenly I cannot go to the bathroom without having an extended discussion about due dates, bed rest, and C-sections. And the rounds of questions don't just come from women. Just yesterday I had a nearly 30 minute conversation with a gentleman who works across the hall from me about how his first-born only weighed 2 pounds, 14 ounces (the weight is drilled into my brain) at birth. 30 minutes! I am guessing in the average work week I spend the equivalent of an entire day discussing the current status of my uterus and its quickly growing residents. Thank goodness I work at home one day a week!

Then today, while innocently trying to walk to the library on campus to get a newspaper, a man actually ran up to me to ask about the belly. Yes, he ran. Then proceeded to walk alongside me the rest of the way. It is nuts!

Since I need to purchase some larger shirts anyway, I am thinking very strongly of getting a shirt printed that reads, "I am due December 30th and am having twin boys. We have a two-year-old daughter too, so life and the holidays are about to get interesting. I'm still feeling fine, and every indicator says I will go full-term and not need bed rest. I have not yet scheduled a C-section and don't plan to do so unless absolutely medically necessary. Any other questions????" Yes, I know, I probably should cut to the chase...

Language 'Splosion

When R decided to speak using words, it happened all at once. One day, a few weeks ago, she just started gushing out words. Her vocabulary tripled or quadrupled over night. It was crazy. Then a couple of weeks ago she started using sentences one day. Out of nowhere she was stringing words together. Somewhere in there she started describing things using adjectives. Last weekend I noticed her suddenly conjugating verbs. If we asked her what the dogs were doing, rather than saying, "Max run" or "Pru sit" as she had before, she started saying "Max running" or "Pru sitting."

Nothing is more amazing to me than her sudden ability to count. While we practice counting things as we put them away, we haven't actively worked on teaching R numbers. She's only 2, for Pete's sake. And for the past week she has enjoyed chanting, "One, two. One, two. One, two." We were never quite sure if she even knew those were numbers or if she was just practicing to be a drill sergeant or an aerobics instructor. Then, on Sunday morning, she and I were stacking blocks. In an attempt to stretch out the activity, I said we should count the blocks as we made a tower. R then counted along with me from one to ten. Thinking it was a fluke, after she destroyed the tower (she likes to ram them using just her belly, which is hilarious to watch), we did it again. And she counted again. Then we did it one more time.

Jeff had been at the dog park at the time, so when he and the canines returned, I asked R to tell him how many blocks we counted, not knowing if she would remember. She then started at three and proceeded to count correctly all the way to fourteen. We were blown away. Jeff had never heard her count beyond two before either. Apparently she isn't quite the zombie we thought she was when she watches Sesame Street.

No, no, no, no, no!

Over the past couple of weeks, I have thought about all sorts of things to write about, and for each, I would compose a brilliant postings in my head. (Since there is no proof that they weren't brilliant, I feel free to claim this! Not to mention, it's only 6:42 on a Sunday morning and I've been up with all the "children" for awhile, so perhaps my judgment is a little cloudy.) But back to the postings. They were great, but I never got around to writing them down. And now that I am making the time to write, they have all slipped my mind. When I think about the past couple of weeks, all I can remember is, "I was tired."

I have a girlfriend who is worried about me and thinks this pregnancy is really taking a toll on me. Without even thinking, which can be a challenge for me even when not pregnant, I told her that it wasn't the two kiddos that are still incubating that are wearing me out, it's the ones that are here.

R is being fantastic this morning. There is a futon in the computer room, and she is sitting on it reading Sesame Street books. Every now and then I hear the name of a character and "Oh no!" which is clearly her favorite phrase these days. She loves disasters, at least when they are someone else's disaster. Even more than she loves her favorite phrase, she loves her favorite word which is, "no," and she practices saying it quite frequently. In fact, she practices saying "no" so often, that this is probably the biggest reason for my exhaustion. She will not do anything unless it is her idea. Ya know how I've written on our nice little bedtime routine? It can now stretch for hours (no exaggeration) as she stalls every step of the way and we get her to pick up her toys and put her clothes in the hamper. Of course, then there are other nights in which we sail through it smoothly, and there is never any way to tell what kind of night we will have.

Meals are completely unpredictable as well. Although we always said our goal was to get as much good food into her while we could, we never actually thought she would stop eating healthy food. And she hasn't, really, we just never know what food she will want to eat. A favorite one day can be rejected the next. Wednesday night we had black beans and rice for dinner and she demanded more, more, more beans. (She also likes to pick out the sauteed onions. The girl is a sauteed onion freak. Sometimes.) On Friday night, we had baked beans for dinner. Normally she loves them because not only are they beans, they are coated with sugar. How great is that? But on Friday she refused to eat them and claimed she did not like beans. At all. Ever. As she repeated this, it was hard not to get a little Green Eggs and Ham chant going in my head, and that's probably what got me through the meal.

The other challenge in my life is also laying on the futon right now. Poor Max, one of our canine companions, has had a couple of rough weeks, and they are taking a toll on all of us. The current stress phase began on Wednesday night, a week ago. There was a crazy tropical (sub-tropical?) system that moved through the area, and we had strong sustained winds all night. We also had occassional stronger gusts around 45-50 mph that shook the house. He woke me up during the night out for an emergency trip out to relieve himself. (Feel free to insert standard joke about the storm scaring the crap out of him.) He was awake all night. On Thursday night we had torrential downpours all night, so he was awake all night again and had to traipse out to the bathroom again at 3:00 a.m. To deal with his stress, Max decided to eat the towels that we keep by the doors to wipe the dogs' paws. This set up a vicious cycle in which Max would not feel good because he ate a chunk of towel, so he would eat some more towel to deal with the pain. Needless to say, he has had a rough couple of weeks as he and the towels have battled.

But last night was a good night. Both of my "children" slept through the night, and I only had the two belly-dwellers to contend with. For the most part, the belly dwellers were good and Stinkpot even refrained from his crazy usual position shifting in the middle of the night. (If I didn't have ultrasounds as proof otherwise, I would swear this baby had 12 elbows and 16 knees.) So for now I will enjoy the calm. It is a lovely way to start the day.