What's Up, Doc?

I have a really funny joke for you.  A mother with two small children walks into a doctors office.  Get it?  A mother with two small children? Oh, no punch line you say? Well let me explain.

I took Maddie to her four-year old checkup earlier this week.  I always get a little anxious when I have take the kids to the doctor because we have to be in enclosed room for a considerable amount of time.  I also get a little nervous because taking the kids to the doctor is like being put on the proverbial parenting hot seat.  I guess you could say I have White coat Syndrome by proxy.  I don't only fear the shots, but the questioning, especially when it comes to how they are eating and sleeping.  As you may have learned from my previous posts on these subjects, you know that my kids have issues in these areas and I don't always follow the rules.  I get worried that I will get a slap on the hand for my lack of parenting skills.

First step is for the nurse to come in and weight and measure Maddie.  For all my worrying about her eating habits, she has gained four pounds and grown four inches.  Then the nurse instructs her to strip down to her underwear and put on an ill-fitting paper hospital gown.  This does not sit well with Maddie because she has never had to do this and because she has an ounce of fashion sense.  The gown also immediately reminds her that she could be getting shots.  She asks for the first of several times if she can go home.  While I am waiting for the doctor to come in, I have to fill out a questionnaire asking some basic questions about Maddie since her last visit.  Any questions and concerns?  Just her sleeping habits and some bouts of constipation.  How many hours a day does she watch television, under two hours, 2-3 hours or 3 or more hours.  It says under two is recommended, so of course that is what I circle.  Then asks how many servings of fruits and vegetable, and recommends 5 combined. Yeah, sure on a good day that is true.  I circle 5.  I finish up the paperwork answering as honestly as possible.

In the meantime, Colin is spinning the doctor's school around, crawling under the desk, climbing up and down the examining room table, playing with the scale, opening cabinets and pulling out supplies.  I had brought in a toy from the waiting room, but he had already grown bored of the garage sale bus that probably would have been more entertaining if it actually had batteries in it.  He is ready to escape out of the examining room and he opens the door to the pediatrician walking in.

I purposely have started seeing the doctor in the group that has three boys of his own because I figure he has the highest tolerance for psycho children.  He starts in with the usual round of questions, some to me and some to Maddie.  I get even more nervous when Maddie is asked to sing her ABC's.  She gets a little stage fright and while she is saying them perfectly, you can barely hear her.  I assure him she know them and we move on.  He asks about eating and I mention she is "improving" on her variety of food choices.  He brings up sleeping habits and I mention she is starting to drop her nap and it has caused some other sleeping issues like showing up in our room in the middle of the night.  I don't divulge any information on how I've been handling it, but he tells me I just need to get up and walk her directly back to her bed and do not let her in bed with us.  "Yes, sir," I reply.

I am trying to have a very serious conversation with the doctor about Maddie's constipation and at this point, the kids are literally climbing the walls.  Colin is trying to crawl on his lap and type on his laptop and as I promptly remove him, the doctor just says, "That's OK."  Then, Colin starts turning the lights on and off and Maddie begins charging after him to turn the lights back on.  With the strobe light effect that they are creating, I am concerned someone is going to have a seizure.   I finally locate a Lightning McQueen car in my purse and hope to occupy him long enough finish the poop conversation.  Maddie tries stealing the car from Colin and he promptly bites her.  Luckily I had already discussed Colin's biting issue with the doctor at Colin's two year old checkup a few weeks prior.  This was my chance to show I could handle the situation as I was instructed.  I took the car away from Colin (as to not reward him for biting) and then remove him from the situation.  Since I couldn't make him leave the room, I could only put him in another part of the examining room.  He began to scream and cry and promptly walked over to my purse and get his car back.  I let him have the car, but made sure I noted out loud that what I was doing was not the appropriate way of handling the situation, but in the interest of moving on, I was breaking the rules.  

The doctor always remains stoic as the chaos swirls around him and I have to wonder what is going through his mind.  Is he thinking, "Holy, shit the inmates are really running the asylum at the Stien

The doctor continues the exam and then went through the shots she needed.  I could feel Maddie's anxiety reaching a fever pitch and soon the nurse was on her way in to give her three shots and take some blood.  Before this could happen, the doctor said I needed to have her provide a urine sample.  Maddie was able to do this last year without any issues, but I think she was just clueless enough and I was lucky she had to go at that time and I could just slip the cup in there before she knew what was going on.

This time was a little different.  She was already stressed about getting shots and had stage fright when I ordered her to pee on command.  I also had knuckle head running in and out of the bathroom.  Every time I would run out to catch him, Maddie would follow me with her drawers dropped to the ground.  I finally bribed her with chocolate and she was able to provide me with a sample.  Just when she thought she was in the clear, she had to endure her shots.  I told the nurse to hold on a second while I slipped Maddie a Hershey Kiss. I got her up on the table and she was ready to jump off  in a single bound, but between the nurse and I, we were able to pin her down and she got her shots.  Needles don't usually make me queasy as long as I don't look at them, but when all was said and done I was ready to throw up.  I showered her with stickers and we were on our way.

I decided that this doctor's visit warranted going out to lunch.  I asked Maddie where she wanted to go and she immediately said, "Red Robin."  This is normally not where we would go for lunch unless it was a special occasion or I need to seriously bribe her, but I figured the fact that we all survived this doctor's visit, was special occasion enough for me.

We've Come A Long Way Since Baby

Last week I went to visit my best friend from college who had her first baby and was quickly reminded of what those first few days and weeks after having a baby looked and felt like. DISCLAIMER: FOR THE DUDES AND THOSE WHO HAVE NO DESIRE TO HEAR DETAILS ABOUT "WOMANLY THINGS," DON'T READ THIS BLOG. (But I highly recommend it so you have more respect for women!)

I had gotten an "SOS" text from her the day before double checking what time I would be there. We agreed that I would come to see her the first day her husband went back to work. Of course, I had forgotten to follow up with her once I secured plans to have my mother-in-law watch the kids because I only have 3 working brain cells at this point; One to dress and feed my children, one to dress and feed my husband and one to write this blog.

I dropped my kids off at my in-laws and headed to the city where my friend lives. Yeah, I know I'm a little crazy spending a day without kids helping take care of someone elses. However, I also think of going to the gynecologist, wakes and getting my taxes done as "days out," so it's cool.

First stop, Starbucks. She and I are infamous for our Starbucks rendezvous and that was what she brought me right after I had Maddie. I got her a Skinny Dolce de Leche, decadent but decaf and made with skim milk. Then I headed to Subway to get her a foot long turkey without any gas producing veggies and had them include packets of mustard and mayo so my friend could decide if she wanted them on her sandwich or not. Details, details, details. Here's why.

1) After nine months of pregnancy and long stretches without any sleep, you long for caffeine. If you are lucky, you were able to drink coffee (decaf with the occasional regular) without vomiting or getting severe heartburn. However, if you are nursing, you learn quickly that caffeine can affect your milk and the last thing you want is a wired baby.
2) While nursing requires you to eat enough to produce milk, you still have an extra 20+ lbs. weight you gained during pregnancy to compete with, hence the skim milk and avoiding mayo on your sandwich.
3) Since lunch meat is a no-no during pregnancy, having a turkey sandwich is like "eating lobster" as my friend put it.

I also brought her a bottle of Cuervo Gold Margarita Mix. I remember my friend saying that she never missed drinking during her pregnancy, but towards the end she was at a Mexican Restaurant on a warm spring day and a Margarita actually sounded good. I figured once she got a good nursing schedule down, some milk on reserve and could function properly without being under the influence of alcohol let alone under the influence, she could probably use a drink.

I got to her place and when she opened the door, I saw "the look." It was a look I knew well. I had seen it so many times when I looked in the mirror after having both my kids, but especially after having Maddie. It is that look where every bit of color is drained from your face and only makes the dark circles under your eyes look that much darker. Your eyes are sunken and there is a blank stare that indicates that there is a good chance if someone asked you your name, you wouldn't be able to answer.

I know very well, that the right thing to do when you see a woman who has just had a baby is to greet her and pay attention to her before you rush off to see the baby. NEVER brush past the mommy like she was merely an oven baking the cake to be enjoyed on the baby’s birthday. Despite her haggard and exhausted look she has a sense of peace and tranquility about her. You tell her she looks wonderful. In my friend's case, all things considered, she really did.

My job while I was there was to listen to her tell her story of how her labor and delivery was, answer her questions that she may have now that the baby is home and most importantly allow her to take a shower. Once she had the opportunity to feel human again, I stole the baby and took her for a walk. I hoped my friend would take a nap, but when I returned an hour later she had been on the phone since I left. She was dealing with all the "business" of having a baby including FMLA paperwork, follow up doctor's appointments, talking to the lactation consultant and general life issues like getting her laptop fixed.

I remember very well all the times people would send me to take a nap, and despite the fact I was running on 2 hours of sleep over a 24 hour period, I chose to do things that didn't involve sleeping. I did laundry, I made phone calls, I showered, cleaned the kitchen and went to Target. I learned that somehow mommies are able to muster up this super human energy right after they have a baby. Like me, my friend had a long labor so even before the baby was born, she lost a whole night of sleep.

Despite this super human energy to keep going, it also comes with super crazy hormone flux. You think pregnancy is a roller coaster ride, but it is nothing compared to post partum emotions. As happy as you are that you have this wonderful, beautiful new baby, you are shell-shocked. I can't speak for women who had c-sections, but when you give birth vaginally, (sorry, can't write a posting about giving birth and not use the "v" word.) most of your post traumatic stress syndrome is based on the trauma your who-ha went through and the pain you feel afterwards. If you had it really rough and tore or had an episiotomy, you walk around with a crotch Popsicle for several days. Then, you bleed like a stuffed pig for several weeks after you give birth. And when I say bleed, I mean worst period in the world time 100. You need to wear SUPER DUPER ULTRA absorbent pads and despite all the advances in medical technology, the pads they give you in the hospital are classic "Are You There God It's Me, Margaret" pillows circa 1970.

You think that is the extent of the ridiculous amount of pain and agony your body can endure until you realize you now are one of the millions suffering from hemorrhoids. Then, you get constipated which is always a nice addition to all of the above mentioned details of your nether region. You take something to alleviate this problem only to have the opposite problem. At some point all you can do is stop and think, "WTF!" How and why does this have to be the way children are brought into this world? So, when you start crying and your husband looks at you like you have seven heads and you tell him you don't know why, and he can't understand why; well, there's your answer. Did I mention that you will still look 4 months pregnant, your feet will STILL be swollen, your not supposed to be lifting or driving or going up and down stairs and they expect you to rest while taking care of a very needy newborn all on NO sleep? Can you say overwhelming? And your husband will get frustrated because there really isn't a whole lot he can do. Even if there is something he can do, you don't even know enough to ask him what he can do to help. He will feel guilty, get frustrated with himself and you and the best you can do is send him to get Buffalo Wild Wings where he can drink a beer at the bar while waiting for carryout. At least he will come back refreshed, maybe a little buzzed and most importantly with food in-hand since making dinner is out of the question.

As much as you wish he could get up in the middle of the night and feed the baby, if you are nursing this isn't much of an option. You might be able to if you pump and hand the bottle to your husband and go back to bed. But then you have pump parts and bottles to clean up and then both of you and maybe even the baby are up and then everyone is tired and everyone is crabby. The only thing worse than one sleepless and crabby parent is two sleepless and crabby parents. Tell your husband to sleep, especially when he has to go back to work. Throw all your feminist views out the window. That is what maternity leave is for. I will say that if you hit your wits end in the middle of the night and you are at the point where the baby won't go back to sleep and the baby won't stop crying and you think, "One of the two of us is going to go in the shed to sleep," and your first vote is for the baby to be that person, that the point you should get your husband to take over.

In addition to the physical aspect of giving birth, like I said, there is the emotional aspect. For me, I suffered from depression long before I had children and take medication for it. I weaned off of it to get pregnant and didn't go back on it until right after I gave birth. It was just another loop-d-loop in my emotional roller coaster. I knew I was a high risk for post-partum depression, and even after starting on my medication right after giving birth, I flunked my post partum depression questionnaire at my 6 week doctor's appointment. In my case, I was glad I was already riding the crazy train, because it made me more aware and proactive when it came to my post-partum depression. For other women who experience it, they don't know what hit them. While most women experience "the blues" after they have a baby, there are still a good number who need treatment. Unfortunately, the stigma surrounding depression and taking medication prevents people from taking anything or even admitting that they aren't in baby bliss. It is easy to beat yourself up for not being over-the-moon happy about your new bundle of joy, and that denial that something is wrong can set you back even further.

I made sure I told my doctor immediately that I didn't feel right and requested that I go back to my full dose of antidepressants that I had taken prior to getting pregnant. Once I did that, it didn't make me totally sane, but I was able to cope with things much easier and knew that happy mommy is the best for happy baby and happy daddy.

As I held my friend's baby and for a brief moment considered having my husband go and get his vasectomy reversed, I was quickly reminded that as cute and wonderful as this baby was, I arrived with a full night of sleep, I didn't have to feed her, wake up with her, sooth her, bath her, etc. Then I remembered I already had two kids waiting for me at home and promptly handed the baby back to my friend. I worry about my friend, but I know she is a strong, capable woman. I know that she has the love and support of her husband and family and she will eventually get a good night's sleep and she and the baby will fall into a routine making life more manageable.

I left there feeling proud. Proud thinking back at what I have accomplished over the last 4 years of being a mom. Proud of how mature, strong and centered I’d become. I felt confident giving my friend advice. I felt a sense of accomplishment for overcoming all the pain, agony, depression and uncertainty. I felt proud of how selfless I have become and that my priorities are mainly focused on my family. I was happy that my husband and I, despite the challenges becoming a parent presents you with as a couple, were able to communicate with each other in order to make it through the early days, weeks and months. I also know that we have a long road of parenting yet to travel and know we already have the necessary tools to take whatever life throws at us. I felt blessed to have a partner who understands me and when he doesn't understand me he know to just take a step back or simply give me a hug.

Whenever I feel sorry for myself as if I am the only woman on earth who has had to go through what I've gone through and continue to go through as a mother. I remind myself that millions of women give birth and millions of women have to raise children. If they can do it, so can I. However, I am also reminded that despite this, women really do deserve respect and to be put on a pedestal for their responsibilities as mothers, if not from men, then at least from each other.

I watch all of these "Housewives" reality shows and see these women behaving badly and treating each other like crap, and I think these women should be supporting each other, not tearing each other down. I think about my own life and how I've wasted too much time comparing myself to other people and worrying about what people think of me.  It reminds me that none of that matters. Women should really band together and make each other feel good and confident about themselves for what they have accomplished whether they are mothers or not. We should wear our stretch marks, momma pooches, varicose veins and saggy boobs from nursing like badges of honor.

So, my gift to my friend, besides a bottle of Cuervo Gold Margarita, is love, support, respect and the ability to sneak off and take a shower. A few days after I visited my friend, she sent me a text thanking me for helping her and then apologizing for not being there when I had my kids. I told her she should not apologize. There are probably plenty of my friends or family who had kids before me that I didn't help out as much as I probably should have because until you have your own, you just cannot fathom how hard it is. I told her all she can do is pay it forward.  I know that every minute she'll learn something new and with that comes confidence so that someday she can help another mommy out and share her experiences.

Child's Play

I have a confession to make.  It is really rather shameful and I am embarrassed to admit it, but in the interest of full disclosure and honesty, I feel I must share my secret.

I do not like to play with my kids.

There.  I said it.  In some ways I feel better, but I still feel like I am betraying them and completely neglecting my children and their needs.

Now, I shouldn't say I hate to play with them ALL the time.  There are several activities I do enjoy like playing with Barbies, coloring, painting with watercolors, reading books to the kids and going to the park.  I enjoy giving horse back rides and doing Superman on knees, but I secretly know these two games also provide a good core workout.  Hey, they used my body for 9 months each, I think I am entitled to use their weight as resistance for my benefit!

I do not, however, enjoy talking like a princess or a queen or a mean witch for a half-hour and getting scolded when I break character.  I hate playing board games, match games and puzzles with more than 10 pieces.  Part of this is because I am competitive and lack patience and the other half is because I have to battle Colin who usually has a gingerbread man from Candyland in his mouth.

Hide-and-go-seek has got to be the most painful.  Maddie still hasn't quite grasped the finer details of this game and will go hide and before I can even count to ten, she runs out and says, "Here I am!"  Then she actually expects me to get up and go hide for her, which wouldn't be a big deal except she usually asks me to play this game two seconds after I plop down on the couch to relax. 

The swing set is another one of my least favorite activities.  I long for the day when I can use it as a way to unleash the kids on the backyard for my own sanity rather than having to stand and push two swings at a time or climb up and down the stairs to pretend I am in Rapunzel's tower or watch intently to make sure Colin doesn't walk directly off the back of the playhouse that is 6 feet off the ground. I keep trying to convince Maddie to recruit Colin as her playmate instead of me, and inform her that we purposely had him so she would have someone to play with.

I know that this all sounds selfish, but let's be clear, I've never been good at playing.  I am fairly certain I came out of my mother's womb as a 35-year old, well at least with the soul of one. Because I had two older brothers who were eight and 5 years older than me, I spent a lot of time playing by myself.  I did a lot of talking to myself or to my dolls or to a tape recorder.  Once I got into school and was thrust into the world of groups and clicks, I was a fish out of water.  I hated trying to "fit in" and was fortunate that I had some innate skills that carried me through. Believe it or not, at one time I was shy.

I also lacked coordination which made sports a major disappointment.  I played softball in grade school and junior high and spent most of my time kicking dandelions in right field.  I did enjoy some success as a catcher, but once I got to high school, I found out I was the most worthless left-hander known to man because I couldn't play first base and I was a right-handed batter.  Someone should have told my Little League coach that lefties aren't supposed to be catchers and was ruining my chances of ever making the team in high school.

At the park, I couldn't do the monkey bars, the swings made me nauseous and that merry-go-round thing mad me dizzy and want to puke.  I didn't do much climbing because I was, and still am, afraid of heights.  I could never do a cartwheel and could also barely swim to save my life.

That is not to say I didn't have fun as a child, but it was limited to riding my bike, reading, playing with Barbies and pretending I was someone and somewhere else.  While I certainly have honed my social skills and love talking to people, I have always been a loner and kind of prefer it that way.

I watch Maddie at the park and she longs to find a "swiend" to play with.  I encourage her to approach other kids and introduce herself like I was never able to do as a kid.  I am pained to see her get ignored by a couple girls who are all there together and aren't willing to let an "outsider" in to their click.  Usually, Maddie finds someone just as eager as her to find a playmate and they skip off to play tag or princess or whatever tickles their fancy.  That allows me to focus on Colin who is usually stealing some one's ball or eating dirt.

I try to muster up all my energy and break free from my inability to play, but sometimes I just have to realize that my role as the mom is different.  I am jealous of my husband who seems to really have the patience for child's play, but have to realize he is a kid at heart.  That is why I love him so much.  Even before kids, he has taught me how to have fun.  He encourages me to play with the kids, but is also there to pick up the slack when I am just too tired and bored to push the swing another second. I am also the "cuddler" and the kids need to have their "Momma Time" with me on the couch before they head up to bed. 

I think my other issue lies in the fact that while I am "playing" I know there are 50 other things that need to be done.  When I take the kids out front to play with the neighbors, I know that at some point I will have to drag them in kicking and screaming so I can make dinner.  When I am lining up stuffed animals so they can wait their turn to see Dr. Maddie, Pet Vet, that there is a sink of dirty dishes that need to be cleaned.  When I am putting together a hologram puzzle that makes me see double and get a little queasy, I know that there is a load of laundry that needs to be switched to the dryer and three laundry baskets that need to be folded.

I can say with the utmost certainty that motherhood has taught me a lot about myself and most of it has been humbling to say the least. Therefore, I can admit that I suck at being a kid.  For the sake of my children, I am working on it.  I have learned to rearrange my dinner menu to make quicker meals if it means staying outside an extra half hour.  I take the kids swimming despite my fear of water and wearing a bathing suit. I have learned to enjoy swinging on the swing without getting motion sickness and will climb up and down the slide at least a few times upon request.  I am really thankful that Colin, despite his ability to seek out trouble, can sit and play with his train table for hours on end.  I am also thankful Maddie is now starting to get into Barbies because she loves to sit in her room and make them talk to each other.  Barbies are also something that I actually enjoy playing with Maddie and I could truly can sit and do (with or without her) for hours.  Now, if I could just do a cartwheel and learn to swim, my life would be complete.

Nap Nazi Part 2: No Nap For You!!

Just when we get Colin to go to bed without any major incident, Maddie starts in on her own bedtime antics.

She has become the queen of stalling and has started the whole, "Mom, can you leave the light on all night?  I'm afraid of the dark." or, "Mom, will you sleep in my bed with me?" or "Mom, can I sleep in your bed?"  I explained that I wasn't ready for bed and I needed to go fold laundry. I told her she needed to sleep in her own bed and that she should think of cupcakes and birthday presents and I would see her in the morning. 

As I mentioned in my previous post "Nap Nazi," unlike Colin, Maddie never got out of bed on her own.  Even after we removed the guardrail from her bed, she would still yell "Mommy!  I'm awake!!!" when she woke up so I could come get her.  Then a few weeks ago, Tom and I left the kids overnight for the first time (pathetic, I know) and my mother-in-law watched the kids at our house.  Maddie convinced Grandma to leave the door open a crack.  The next night when I put her to bed she asked if I could leave the door open a crack for her like Grandma did.  "Sure," I told her not thinking much of it.  Little did I know leaving the door open that little crack would allow her to swing it right open and into a whole new phase of putting her to bed and keeping her there. (sidenote: We do not blame Grandma---in case she is reading this)

Next thing you know, I would open my eyes to her little face right in mine at 3 a.m. "Mom, I'm awake.  Is it morning?" 

"Well, depends on your definition of 'morning,'" I told her.

Most of the time I would just let her sleep in bed with us because a) I was half asleep and didn't have the energy to battle her b) I knew if I ushered her back to bed she would likely scream and cry and carry-on, which would, in-turn, wake up Colin.  I wasn't too tired, however to hear the "voices in the night" that came after I agreed to let her sleep in our bed.  Those voices are of all the "experts" who absolutely do not condone letting children win when it comes to this subject.  And then there is my own voice from a few years back, denying that I would be "that parent" who gives in to letting their child crawl in to bed with them.  Luckily I clear my conscience just enough to fall back asleep.  By morning, everyone is relatively rested, and as far as I am concerned, that is all that matters.

Over the last several weeks, we can pretty much expect to wake up in the morning and find Maddie squeezed between us or laying at the end of our bed zonked out.   She has become stealth in her operation, which actually is better because now she doesn't even bother waking us up. Of course, this doesn't bode well with our 45 pound husky, Kira, who thinks she owns the bed.  Often times I wake up with someone or something on my head or pressed up so hard against me I feel this must be some sort of torture at Guantanamo.  In my morning haze it takes a few moments to determine if it is child or animal or both.

Just to add a little excitement to all of this, there still is the off-chance that Colin will also wake up in the middle of the night.  He is, after all, still getting his 2-year molars.  This is usually a fantastic scenario that has me juggling these two knuckle heads in the middle the night.  There is absolutely no way I can bring them both in my bed because Tom wouldn't be able to get any sleep.  Colin doesn't just curl up in a ball and fall asleep.  If he gets up he thinks it is playtime.  One night I heard Colin crying at his door, which thanks to a double-child proofing system I developed that gives Ft. Knox a run for it's money, he can no longer open.  I went to go check on him and I decided to try and lay in bed with him until he fell asleep.  This usually works, but just as he was settling down, guess who woke up and came trotting out of her room?  My little princess, Maddie. 

I worry what will happen if one of the kids sees the other in bed with me or me in bed with them for fear they will expect the same.  At this point, I wasn't worried about any long-term damage and my goal was just to get them to sleep.  So, there we were;  All three of us in Colin's twin bed.  I was pinned against the guardrail with a dump truck and a teddy bear lodged in my lower back while Colin kept getting up and turning the light on, turning and looking at Maddie and I and just laughing.  Things quieted down a bit and then Maddie informed me she had to go potty.  I took her in the bathroom and Colin followed us.  The two of them were parading down the hallway like it was 8 a.m. and it was time to get ready to go out and play.  I corralled them back into the bedroom and Colin did a comedy routine for us.  Once again I got everyone settled down and that was when Colin punched me in the face.

"That's it!" I yelled, "Everyone in their own bed!"

I put Colin back on lockdown and he just cried.  Maddie looked at me helplessly because I knew full well she wanted to go to sleep and started to whimper when I told her to go to her own room.  Being the sucker that I am and knowing that she would fall asleep if I just let her come to bed with me, which meant I would fall asleep, we both went to my room.  At that point, I had been up since 3 a.m. and it was now 5 a.m. and Tom's alarm was just going off.  Luckily Maddie and I were able to fall back asleep until 7:30 a.m and Colin then slept in until about 8:30 a.m., which meant we could all function for the most part.

Up until about a month ago, Maddie was still taking naps religiously. The length of her naps was shortening, but a missed nap meant she turned into a complete brat by 6 pm. Then we progressed to the point where I would put her down and ten minutes later she'd show up and tell me she wasn't tired. I started to let her stay up with me and she seemed to be able to handle making it the rest of the day without any major meltdowns. On the days she did take nap, she would end up staying up until 11 p.m. As much as I enjoyed the solitude of nap time, I knew it was time for her to start giving up her naps. Besides, she was pretty good about playing in her room or watching a few shows while I got some things done around the house.  Unfortunately, she ends up falling asleep on the couch or in my bed at about 4 p.m.  I only let her sleep for about a half-hour, but it still screws her up at night and suspect this is what is causing the stalling at bedtime and middle-of-the-night visits.

Here is how it went down a few nights ago. It is 8:30 p.m. I went through her usual bedtime routine which requires me to also leave the door open a crack and leave the light on.  I knew that within fifteen minutes I would see her little face at the top of the stairs. Sure enough, as if on cue,

 "Mom, I have to tell you something.

"What it is, Madelyn?"

"I love you," she says sweetly.

"I love you too.  Now, go to bed."

Two minutes later I hear her talking to her Barbies.

"Mom, I had a bad dream," she says from the top of the stairs.

"How can you have a dream when you haven't even been to sleep?"  I ask.  "Please, go to bed!"

Two minutes later...

"Mom, I have to go potty."

"Ok, then go," I pause "Real Housewives of New York" for the fifth time and head up to help her.

This is pretty typical of most nights lately, but that night Tom was gone on a trip and I finally gave in and told her she could just go to sleep in my room and I would be up later.  I knew there was supposed to be some bad thunderstorms and she'd probably end up in my bed anyway. I really thought that would do the trick and she would fall asleep.  At this point it was after 10 p.m. and I was worried she would be a mess for school the next day.

No such luck.  Two minutes later I see her at the top of the stairs asking when I'm coming to bed.  I told her I had to finish folding laundry and was watching my show.  Luckily most nights when she comes to the stairs I really am folding laundry, since that was what I always told her I did when she went to bed.  She didn't have to know it also entailed drinking wine and watching bad reality T.V.

She finally fell asleep about 10:45 p.m. 

At 3 p.m. the following day and I was trying to finish writing this entry.  She stayed up again and "helped me" by unfolding all the laundry I had already folded, asked me for paper, glue and scissors which she then left all over the kitchen table, asked me to dress her Polly Pocket four different times and then fell asleep on the couch. So much for my previous statement saying she could keep herself occupied while I accomplished some things.  I have to admit, I am at my wits end because this transition in her sleep really means I don't get a break unless I wake up at 5 a.m., which I actually do fairly regularly because that is when I write. (which in my defense, explains any typos you may read in my blogs)

So, here comes the part where I feel sorry for myself.

1) I can no longer go to the gym to "get away" and relieve stress because Colin pretty much got kicked out for biting.

2) I can no longer get anything accomplished during nap time, because she is awake for most of it.

3) I can no longer have some "quiet" time without her talking incessantly and asking me for things.

4) I can no longer have a phone conversation without the volume in the house instinctively going up a few decibels.

4) I can no longer sit back and relax in the evening after they go to bed.

5) I can no longer get a good night's sleep, which quite honestly never really happened much in the first place.

6) I can no longer have any "quality time" with my husband without a great deal of stress and paranoia.

So, I am hoping that this, like all the other "phases" my children have gone through, will soon be a thing of the past.  In the meantime, all I can say is "Calgon, Take Me AWAY!!"  Oh, but that would likely mean Maddie would come in while I was taking said bath and say, "Mom, whatcha doin'? When are you going to be done? Can you get my scissors and glue stick?  Can I watch a show in your room?" and on and on and on and on....

Sticks & Stones May Break Your Bones, But My Son Will Draw Blood

It is getting to the point where I almost feel like I should change the name of my blog to "Write Shit Colin Does Down" because he is definitely the front runner for blog topics lately.

So, here's the newest phase in Colin's little world...he's a biter.  It started awhile back when he bit Maddie.  They were playing in the other room and I heard one of those inaudible cries that are like dog whistles...the average person can't hear them, but for a mom, it is an ear piercing sound that stops  you dead in your tracks.  It is when a kids cries so hard that nothing comes out.  I ran in the room and tears were welling up in her eyes, her face was beat red and she was holding her shirt.  She finally let out the cry and screamed,  "He...sob, sob...bit...sniffle, sniffle, ME!"  I could see bite mark on her shirt and when I lifted her shirt to access the damage I was horrified.  He chomped her like she was a nice juicy apple.  Luckily her shirt helped ensure he didn't literally take bit out of her abdomen, but there was a pretty nasty bite mark left behind. In the months before this he had tried biting her when he got frustrated, but nothing like this.

He continued to try to bite, but it was rare and usually when he wanted something she had or when she stole something from him.  He also started pushing, hitting, tackling, etc.  Then he started to act up at the daycare at the gym.  Initially it was just on a rare occasion and only if he was cranky or tired.  Then, within the last month it became a regular occurrence.

I could pretty much bet that I would get called down to the childcare center and have them tell me he was being "aggressive."  A few times it was just pushing, shoving, hair pulling or attempting to bite or if he did actually bite, he didn't break skin.  Amidst all of this at the gym, I took the kids to Monkey Joe's to meet up with some friends.  Colin was playing in one of the bouncy bounces appropriate for his age and I was standing outside of it talking to my friend.  I looked in there and realized Colin was pile-driving a little boy about his age.  The mom said, "He just kept going and going." Her eyes opened wide in amazement.  I apologized to the little boy's mom and dragged Colin out of there.  After awhile, we decided to order some pizza for the kids and while we were waiting for it to arrive, I heard a blood-curdling scream coming from the bouncy bounce.  Apparently Colin wanted a little appetizer and bit one of the little boys he was playing with.

I ran in the bouncy bounce and immediately asked the little boy if  it was Colin who bit him, even though I already knew the answer.  I grabbed Colin and then took the little boy to his mom who had just realized it was her son who was screaming and crying.  She proceeded to douse the boys hand in hand sanitizer (not my first choice in cleaning a wound, but I will assume she just panicked).  I apologized profusely and she pretty much just kept throwing daggers at me and burning holes in my head with her eyes.  Finally, she admitted that her older son had bit her and she bit him back.  I stopped feeling so bad at that point.  I put Colin in a highchair and wouldn't let him play the rest of the time we were there.  He kept crying "Ally-Gator!" because his favorite bouncy bounce had an alligator in it.  I explained that he wasn't allowed back in there because he bit someone. I fed him pizza and then we got the hell out of there.

I had a relatively sleepless night that night worrying that I might never be able to leave the house with my son again unless I put a muzzle on him.  Or maybe one of those Hannibal Lecter masks? I ended up getting up and doing some research on the subject.  Turns out I can take him places, but I have to keep a constant eye on him and it said, "Forget using playdates as a time to catch up with your girlfriends."  Yup.  Well, that's what I get for discussing boob jobs with my girlfriends at Monkey Joe's.  I also read Timeouts can ruin a kid's life, cause low self esteem and that all you need to do is stay calm and talk to your child with respect.  Oh for Christ Sake! When I misbehaved as a child my mom threatened me with a metal yard stick and I turned out just fine...right?

Biting back seems to be the most popular piece of advice that I have received from other moms, even my own.  I will say, however, that not one book, article or professional has condoned this as a solution to the problem.  I'm also not a big fan of the whole "fight fire with fire" philosophy. So, I am choosing not to take this course of action.

I've tried all the other techniques that I have read about like explaining that biting hurts, putting him on Timeout, (despite possible irreparable damage), telling him he will get a treat if he can get through a stay at the daycare at the gym without getting in trouble and explaining that if he wants a toy he should ask nicely or ask the teacher for help.  The problem with these techniques is that I am dealing with a boy who is not even 2 years old.  I am pretty sure that much of my "reasoning" is lost on him.  Timeouts are worthless because he just gets up and walks away or he laughs at me.  Times I've told him "biting hurts," including when he has bit me, he says "OK, Mamma," but will turn around and do it again 2 minutes later.  We also make him apologize immediately after he hits, bites or pushes.

I thought maybe part of what was causing him to act out was his 2 year old molars coming in.  I figured if he was crabby and irritable because his teeth hurt, he might take it out on the other kids.  I tried making sure I gave him some Motrin before we headed out in the morning and for a few days it seemed to help.  Then came Monday.  I went to my usual spin class at they gym and spent the entire class counting down the minutes until they would come get me.  I would think in my head, "If I could just get through 21 more minutes...20 minutes...19 minutes" and so on.  Every time I saw someone outside the spin studio, I thought it was one of the ladies from the childcare center hunting me down. I finally got to the end of class and took a deep breath not just from the cardio workout, but from a sense of relief that no one came to get me.  I was talking to one of my friends saying I really thought the Motrin was helping the situation when we walked into the childcare center.  The girl at the front desk waved me over and informed me Colin had just bit someone and this time it broke the skin. I had to fill out an accident report and she informed me that since he had a prior offense, he was now suspended for three days. 

I felt like a kid who got sent to the Principal's office.  I dragged the kids out of there and despite the fact I wanted to just run to the car and drive home, Maddie insisted on having some chips in the cafe before we left.  I was talking to some other moms in there and at least four other women said the same thing had happened to them at some point.  I felt much better, but it didn't take away the fact we weren't allowed back at the gym for three days and I still didn't have a good way to correct the behavior to resolve this issue. 

One of the moms I talked to pointed out that the childcare center treats 18 month olds who bite the same as they treat a 4 year old who bites and a 4 year old knows better and will understand the consequences of his actions.  True, however I can't expect them to stand there and stare at Colin and make sure he doesn't bite someone.

I'll admit, I was pretty cranky about the fact that I couldn't get my workouts/hour of solitude in for the next three days.  Not only that, but the gym provides time for me to talk to a few girlfriends I've made at there and not worry about watching Colin.  However, I'm at the point where going is more stressful than a stress reliever because the whole time I am worried he is down there misbehaving and always have one ear on the loudspeaker waiting for them to call me.

I survived our three day respite from the gym.  Luckily, I have an elliptical machine in our garage and we had one nice day, so I took the kids for a run in the jogging stroller in order to feed my exercise addiction and not go completely nuts. 

After our three day suspension, I went back to the gym. I was extremely nervous because I knew full well our hiatus did nothing to change his behavior.  He had no clue why we didn't go for a few days. There was still a pretty good chance he would strike again. Ironically, I was watching T.V. while I was on the treadmill and the Today Show happened to have a parenting segment discussing how rewarding kids with treats and presents is bad.  Oops.  Guess that sucker I promised Colin if he was good is going to cause permanent damage. Luckily, I made it through another workout and since it was Friday, I didn't have to take them to the childcare center again until Monday.  Monday was another successful day and I thought, perhaps, just maybe, things were getting better.

Cue "Jaws" theme song.  Just when I thought it was safe...we went back on Tuesday.  I put Colin in the main play area with some other boys and was going to help Maddie find her friend to play with.  As I was walking with Maddie, I heard one of the ladies yell, "Colin, NO!" as she ran towards where I had just left him.  Everything went in to slow motion and I ran back over and entered the play area. I couldn't see exactly what happened over the half wall dividing us, but I already knew it was bad.  He had bit another little boy in the face.  I felt horrible.  As I write this, I am imagining most people must think I am nuts, right?  I guess I should just stay home and spare everyone else's child Colin's "Jaws of Death."  Well, either way, Lifetime Fitness has decided that I should do just that.  They didn't tell me when I left that he was suspended, but they called me later to tell me that we were.  Luckily, they were going to give me a break because normally he would get kicked out for two weeks at this point, but they recognized that he doesn't understand what he is doing and it would really be punishing me, not him. 

I felt a little better knowing that they recognized this, but I still feel helpless.  The advice from the "experts" clearly ranges from just speak gently and don't yell to hire a therapist now because every thing you are doing is wrong.  It doesn't offer much comfort to a frustrated mom like me.

However, as I told the woman at the childcare center (who for some reason kept apologizing to me?) I chose to be a mom, these are the things we have to work through.  They say this is a relatively short phase toddlers go through and like most other phases, I am hoping it will soon be a thing of the past. Sigh.

What's Grosser Than Gross?

For those of you who have been reading my blog, you may be wondering why so many of my entries center around less than savoury topics.  They may leave you throwing up a little in your mouth and wonder why on earth I would decide to share these stories?  If I wanted my stories to be less "disgusting," I'd have to write about someone else's life. Just when I thought I had shared the worst of my booger, piss, shit, vomit stories, things got grosser.

My goal, as a Stay At Home Mom, is to try and keep my kids occupied.  I don't want them camped out in front of the TV.  I don't want them wreaking too much havoc on the house and destroying things. I don't want Colin to scale the pantry shelves or pour salt on the kitchen table and then lick it up.  In the winter, this can be a great challenge.  Most days we head to the gym because the kids can run around in the daycare and interact with other kids.  They have a ton of toys, a giant tube structure with slides, arts and crafts, computers and a basketball court.  We usually grab a snack on the way out and either head home or run some errands.  Other times we stick around and go swimming in their indoor pool.  Other days we head to the library or another favorite is going to Burger King where they have a playland.

Tuesday was a pretty rainy, dreary day and I knew we really didn't have much going on.  I thought it would be a good day to head to Burger King so they could run around a little more. I invited my friend to join us figuring she might be in the same boat with her two year old.

We manage to eat our lunch outside the play area, knowing full well if we bring our food in their it will never get eaten.  The kids start playing and initially Colin drives his new truck, courtesy of his kid's meal, around the floor.  Eventually he makes his way up into the rest of the structure, which lucky for me he can maneuver pretty well on his own now.  Some of the other kids that are there start to leave and it is now just my kids and my friend's son.  She and I are chatting and I look up to see Colin with something in his hand and it looks like he is starting to put it in his mouth.  Upon closer look, I realize he is drinking out of a rogue chocolate milk that did not belong to him.  I crawl up through the play zone as fast as I can and nearly take all the skin off my back squeezing through one of the openings.  The damage was done.  I can't even begin to imagine how long that milk has been up there. I look at what was left and it isn't sour, so that's a plus.  One of the BK employees laughs and asks where he found it.  He assures me the oldest it could be was from this morning since they clean and sanitize it every night.  Oh, whew!  Chances are it was only about 3 hours old!  GREAT!  Ample time for strep throat organisms to multiply nicely!  That's gross.

Wanna know what's grosser than gross?  Listen to this. 

The next day was a swimming day.  I have to admit, I am not a big fan of taking the kids swimming.  First of all, I don't really like the water.  To quote Martin Short, "I'm not a strong swimmer." I also have to be on high alert the whole time we are there so neither of the kids drowns since Colin is fearless and has been known to just put his head in the water and start doing the doggy paddle towards the deep end.  The amount of work that goes into to getting the kids ready to go swimming for a half hour is downright exhausting.  I usually put Maddie's swim suit on under her clothes when we get ready in the morning, so that is one less step I have to take in getting them ready.  With Colin, I have to put a swim diaper on him.  As I am changing him, he pees on the floor.  I rush to move my running shoes and his swim suit that are in the path. Unfortunately, he manages to get some on his swim suit.  Oh well, that's what chlorine is for, right?  I collect our swim toys which consists of a cup, a bulldozer, a race car and a Mater bath toy.  Each time we go swimming, Colin manages to steal other kids toys.  I started off bringing balls, and he stole some kid's car.  The next time I brought a car, he stole another kids truck.  The next time, he stole a bulldozer, so you get the picture.  While we are swimming, Maddie has to pee and I have to drag the two kids into the bathroom soaking wet for her to go.  Once that is done we have about 10 minutes left to swim before adult swim starts and that was our cue to go home and eat lunch.

Then, there's getting them dressed again after we go swimming.  They are slippery and I have a harder time catching them.  I worry they will fall on the tile near the pool or in the locker room. The locker room has got to be the worst. Every surface is either tile or granite or some sort of split-your-head open-concussion inducing material.  As I am battling to get all our stuff out of the locker, Colin is usually climbing up on a stone bench and running up and down it.  This time, he runs toward the door to the pool, which I now know he can push open.  If I turn my back for a second, he could be doing laps in the lap pool that is only 4 feet from the locker room door. I finally get him to stay in the locker room and he goes for some woman's hair straightener that is plugged in when I move that out of his way, he goes for the open outlet next to it.  I am pretty sure if there is a place that defies all childproofing laws, this is it.

I take the kids into the changing rooms that also have a stone bench and a shower. The door to the changing room has a handle that Colin can easily open, so there is usually a good chance he will fling the door open while I am half naked.  Did I mention it is a family locker room?  They won't allow you to bring opposite sex children in the women's locker room.  When Colin isn't exposing me to the man and his 3 year old daughter standing outside our changing room, he is in the shower trying to lick water off the floor.  Yes, while most people wear flip flops to prevent getting a disease from these very floors, my son is licking them.  I grab him and try to keep him from going in there, but the shower curtain doesn't really provide much assistance. 

On this particular day, I decide to give the kids showers at they gym so I wouldn't have to worry about it when I got home or do it later that night since Tom was out of town and I already would have my hands full at bedtime.  We get in the changing room/shower and I strip the kids down and put them in the shower.  Everything was going smoothly until Colin crouches down and starts to drink the water off the floor again.

Before I could grab him again I notice what quite possibly could be THE most disgusting moments of my life as a mom, actually of my life EVER.  Colin is dropping a deuce on the shower floor.  I immediately grab him, rinse him off and get everyone out of the shower.  Oh...MY....GOD.  I start to panic as I rinse his business down the drain grabbing handfuls of soap from the dispenser on the wall in the shower and throw it down on the floor.  I certainly hope it is antibacterial.  I should have known better.  He has been known to do this at home, but I have the necessary tools to clean up his mess, including a toilet right next to the tub to flush!  I also hoped no one outside the changing room hears me say, "Oh no, Colin!  Did you poo on the floor?"  Then they would know for sure what I was doing in there and I just wanted to die.  You know that awful feeling that despite the fact you just got out of the shower, you are sweating profusely?  That, mixed with the feeling like I might yak.  Luckily I get my whits about me before I have another mess to clean up.

Unfortunately, my diaper bag is in the locker outside the changing room.  With no other option, I grab a towel and try to clean up his back side.  Unfortunately, it wasn't "a clean break."  At this point, I start to realize what risks I take on a daily basis using public showers and public towels at the gym.  Lord knows what other people do with them if this is what I am doing.

I finally get everyone dressed and out of the changing room/shower and quickly rinse the towel off to avoid putting a skid-marked towel in the dirty towel bin.  I'm sure they've seen worse, but I don't want to be "one of those people." I scrub my hands until they practically bleed, dry Maddie's hair as well as my own and pack up our wet suits, wet toys, my sweaty gym clothes and whatever other stuff we usually schlep around with us.  I run out of there so fast, and just want to get home to take another shower.

I guess this is just another thing we do as mothers for the sake of our children.  Despite this experience, I will still take the kids swimming again because they really do enjoy it.  However, I will NEVER again step foot in that locker room without a pair of flip flops and my own towels and I suggest you all do the same.

Nap Nazi

Yes, I am the "Nap Nazi."  Before I start, a disclaimer is necessary.  If you don't believe in naps, or schedules or strict routines, I don't mean to offend.  That is why I use the term "Nazi" to describe myself.  Also, if you find the term "Nazi" offending, I assure you it is merely a term used to describe the strictness of my nap schedules, much like the "Soup Nazi" was about serving soup on Seinfeld; an exaggeration of the excessively strict regimentation he constantly demands of his patrons.

I guess you could also say I am the "Bedtime Nazi" as well, because the same rules apply for putting the kids down at a reasonable time.  I am also a firm believer in making the bedtime process consistent and not carry it out too long. While there are plenty of times I wish I could just have the kids "skip a nap" here and there or "let them stay up late," I know my kids and truth be told, the less they sleep, the less they sleep.

What I mean is, they aren't the type of kids who can catch up on sleep.  If they go to bed late, they will not sleep in the next morning.  In fact, in Maddie's case, she actually wakes up earlier than she normally would when she stays up late.  Missed naps make for a very long day for both the kids and me.  And when we do have screwed up sleep schedules, the after-effects last for a good three days. I also know, that despite how I portray my child in my blog, they are relatively well behaved children and I think this is in large part because they aren't sleep deprived ticking time bombs.  It is worth showing up late to birthday parties, making my mom serve dinner on holidays at certain times to accommodate the kids' nap schedules, leaving get-togethers early and cranking up the music while yelling "WAKE UP" when the kids fall asleep in the car when we are 15 minutes from the house knowing full well that I won't be able to just carry them upstairs and have them fall back to sleep.  Instead, we will pull up on the driveway and they will wake up and that 15 minutes will be the only nap they see all day.

Naptime is precious.  Not only because it allows the kids to be well rested, but it gives me a break.  It is when I get things done whether it be cleaning, getting a quick workout in the garage on the elliptical machine, a cup of tea in peace, a phone conversation without being interrupted, folding laundry without someone unfolding it for me, if I'm lucky a shower and yes, a time when I can take a nap.  Sorry folks, I know you are probably thinking, must be nice to be a Stay At Home Mom and be able to take naps in the afternoon.  Screw you.

I don't mean to be harsh because I know how hard it was when I worked and had to deal with all the things that prevented me from sleeping at night and then have to get up in the morning, get Maddie ready for daycare and head to work.  There were plenty of days where I felt like a Zombie Ad Sales Rep, but I got to drop her off, take a deep breath and then be around adults.  Have adult conversations.  Drink a cup of coffee and talk to people on the phone.

Now, I get up at whatever un-Godly hour of the night to tend to a screaming child and get approximately 3-4 hours of sleep, most of which with a stuffed animal crammed into my back with a foot in my ribcage, and then get up in the morning and there aren't many deep breaths, cups of coffee (at least in peace), adult interaction or phone conversations that don't include 15 interruptions.

My job requires heavy lifting, handling of potentially hazardous material, extreme patience and grace under pressure, negotiating skills, high energy, manual labor, cooking, cleaning, etc. etc. you get the picture.  Enough justifying my afternoon nap, I'm just sayin’...

At night, getting the kids to bed allows me to clean up the toys without them being taken back out, finish the dishes from dinner, fold more laundry, watch something besides Mickey Mouse Clubhouse or Phineas and Ferb and let's face it, drink wine.  I will not even begin to justify my glass of wine when the kids go to bed.

So, imagine my dismay when this structure and schedule-whore is faced with a crib jumping, menace-making son who takes at least an hour and a half to put to bed. 

A few months ago, Colin woke up in the middle of the night screaming and crying and then refused to go back to bed.  I finally got him back in his crib and he fell asleep.  However, the next night when I put him to bed, he threw a conniption fit and started to crawl out of the crib.  We got nervous, so we took that mattress out of the crib and set up a little bed for him on the floor.  Once I lay with him for a little bit, he fell asleep and didn't wake up until the morning...in a pile of laundry in the corner of his room. We realized we could still lower the mattress one more notch and he could no longer escape.  Eventually he stopped the crying and carrying on at bedtime and we were back to normal.

Two weeks ago, he awoke in the middle of the night screaming again.  I went in to him and he was in hysterics saying, "Hold Me! Hold Me!"  I tried everything to get him back to sleep and eventually just brought him in to bed with Tom and I.  Now, I know that this is considered a major "No, No" in all the parenting books and I am certainly not a fan of "Family Bed" however, at some point we all need to sleep.  I didn't want him waking Maddie and Tom had to get up to go to work, so I did what I had to do.

We went through the same thing with Maddie at about the same age.  She woke in the middle of the night screaming at the top of her lungs and would get so worked up she would throw up.  So, not only did I have to deal with a screaming kid, I had to clean up puke in the middle of the night.  Oh, and I was pregnant with Colin at the time.  I tried to avoid having her come to bed with us or get in to bed with her even setting up an air mattress on her bedroom floor, but she would just stand in her crib and scream at me.  Once she was out of the crib, I would sometimes get into bed with her until she feel asleep and then sneak off to my room. 

Luckily, she outgrew this stage and it isn't like she climbs into bed with us every night. When she does wake up in the middle of the night, I can go in there, find her stuffed animal she sleeps with and tell her to go back to sleep without her freaking out like she used to.  Unlike Colin, she never tried to climb out of her crib or even her bed with a guardrail.  She always calls for me to come get her.  In fact, we took the guardrail off this week to give to Colin and she STILL won't get out without someone coming to get her.  It's good, but she refuses to get out of bed in the middle of the night if she has to go potty too, which means she still has to wear a Pull Up to bed despite the fact she's been potty trained for a year and a half.

And now we have Colin.  The first night he officially climbed out of the crib by himself, I was reading to Maddie and putting her to bed and I heard his doorknob jiggle and next thing you know he was in Maddie's room listening to me read "Snow White" to her.  I'm not sure how he did it, but my guess was it wasn't real gracefully since he had a nice red strawberry on the side of his face.  We immediately removed the front off his crib and turned it in to a toddler bed.  He chose to make his way downstairs and curl up on the couch and watch "Diner's Drive Inn's and Dives" and when I told him to come back upstairs to see his new bed, he simply said, "No." Clearly he wasn't really excited about his new pseudo big boy bed, but at least he wouldn't break his neck if he tried to climb out.

He really seemed to like Maddie's bed, so I figured it might just be better to graduate him to a real "big boy bed." Luckily, we had a twin bed ready and waiting and the next night we set it up and put Maddie's guard rail on it.  He enjoyed jumping on it before we put the sheets on, but once actual bedtime rolled around, he was pissed and kept saying, "NO."  We put him to bed and put a gate up at the door, which he proceeded to climb over, screaming and crying the whole time.  I finally got Maddie to sleep and then shepherded him back to his room.  I sat on the floor next to his bed until he fell asleep. 

At one point when I was putting the kids down for a nap I catered the idea of having them nap in the same bed since they seemed to do pretty well on our trip to Arizona when they napped together.  Not so much.  They wrestled each other in his bed and I finally convinced Maddie to return to her room to her own bed for her nap.  I had to bribe her with ice cream, but eventually she gave in.

I also realized that having them sleep together might not be a good idea, because again, they would never learn to go to bed on their own and all I could think of was my Aunt Virge and Uncle Tom.  They were my Great Aunt and Uncle who confused me as a child because all of my other Aunts and Uncles who lived together were married, but these two were brother and sister.  Long story, but all I knew was co-dependence was a long-term risk for a short-term solution. 

I continued to sit in his room until he would fall asleep.  I would watch his every move to see when he would start doing the "involuntary twitch" and then try to sneak over the gate.  I learned two things.  1) There is a squeaky floorboard right at the threshold of his bedroom. 2) I am not very graceful when it comes to gate hopping.  I almost always woke him up as I was exiting.

After several nights of this process, I realized that it was taking longer and longer for him to fall asleep.  I knew if I continued to sit in his room while he fell asleep, he would never learn to go to bed on his own.  I was to the point where the only way I could cope with putting him to bed another night was to just bring a glass of wine with me at sit at the end of the bed.   I realized that a little "tough love" was necessary and he would just have to cry it out.  We were lucky that we never really had to do this when they were infants because they went to sleep without a peep.  At least when they are infants, they can't get out of the crib. One of the nights we were battling Colin to get to sleep Tom said we should have put something heavy in his crib. I wasn't sure what he meant and he explained putting a cover on the crib. I explained that crating our child probably wasn't appropriate. Since crating him wasn't an option, I was forced to go get doorknob covers so he couldn't open his bedroom door.  I read him is books, said prayers and sang him a song and then "night-night."  He screamed bloody murder the whole time I put Maddie to bed, but by the time she was telling me her favorite part of the day, he had stopped banging his head on the door and was quiet.  I looked on the video monitor and could see that he had made his way in to his bed and was fast asleep.  Success.

It has been almost a week and the while the last several nights he has cried (and so have I) when he goes to bed, each night he cries less.  The last two nights he didn't wake up in the middle of the night crying for me.  All in all, I would say the situation is improving.  I wasn't sure if bribing him like I bribe Maddie would work, but he spotted this Matchbox Car carry case shaped like a tire at Target the other day and I told him if he slept in his big boy bed like he was supposed to, I would get it for him.  I took him to the store on Sunday and rewarded him with his "Wheel" as he calls it. 

As for Maddie, I still think she is more excited about Colin's new sleeping arrangement than he is and claims his bed is better than hers.  She did help me put him to bed one night by waving her magic wand on him in hopes he would go to bed without crying and would sleep through the night.  She asked me if I cried when I went to sleep.  "No Maddie, I sleep when I go to sleep.  I only cry when I don't get enough sleep."  She also informed me one day that some snakes and lizards sleep during the day and are awake at night.  I told her that is called "Nocturnal" and asked if she knew any other animals that were awake during the night.  Her response?  "Colin." 

I think it is relatively safe to say we have survived yet another parenting milestone and can look back on this experience and laugh like so many other events.  Well, gotta run.  The kids just woke up from their naps.