Death to Binky

We weaned Morgan off her bedtime binky many months ago.  We suffered through a few days of sleepless naps and plugged our ears through sob-filled nights, and finally Morgan was resigned to pacifying herself.  But then she got sick - really sick.  Couldn't sleep at night sick.  And the only way I could get her and myself any sleep during that 2-week period was...you guessed it...by giving her a binky.  Lest you think that I belong in the Wimpy Mom's Hall of Shame (and maybe I do), let me add that I was staying at my parent's house that whole time, with my teenaged sister and the foreign exchange student in easy earshot of Morgan's screaming.  And we were sharing a bedroom.  And I was very pregnant.  And Erik was traveling for residency interviews and unavailable.  So there.  Right after that, Sam was born.  And I needed all the sleep I could get.  And then we moved.  And I needed all the time I could get.  I'm sure I could keep coming up with excuses, but the end story is that she has still been sleeping with a binky.  And that had to change.

Yesterday Morgan cut up her last binky with glee, anticipating the treat she would choose at the grocery store (licorice, by the way - I didn't even know she knew what that was).  When nap time came, she finally felt remorse for the callous treatment of one of her best friends and tearfully informed me that she didn't want to be a big girl anymore.  Too late, sweetheart.  Binky's mutilated and the licorice has been consumed.  Her solution, shouted at the height of her sobbing, gasping, choking, flailing session: "Go get Sam's binky!"  I capitulated after an hour or so of this behavior, deciding that I would rather deal with a cranky child than the very real possibility of cleaning up hysteria-induced vomit.  So I made her a little nest on the floor of her room, closed the door, and ignored the none too subtle noises of play coming from upstairs.

Today, however, nap time is being observed, in the crib.  Even though she hasn't actually done any sleeping after 2 hours, she's done much less screaming.  My particular favorite was the 5 minutes or so that she sang "We Are a Happy Family" at the top of her lungs.  We'll see how she does in another few days, but let me just say, if she no longer takes her blessed 2-3 hour naps because I took the binky away, we may be resurrecting our dear departed friend.

Copycat

Lately I've been seeing a lot of myself in Morgan, particularly the less attractive parts.  There's the stubborn chin jutting out in defiance or anger that looks like the 2-year old version of me.  There's the tendency to get so engrossed in a book that she becomes entirely deaf.  Erik was particularly disturbed to see that one, since he has lots of experience of that with me.  Then there are the phrases I must use a lot more than I thought.  We were driving the other day, and I had to slam on my brakes for a yellow light.  I hear, "Be careful, Mom!" from the back seat.  She often tells me to hurry when I'm not moving fast enough for her.  And whenever she's rough with me, she quickly says, "We're always soft!" to avert my displeasure.  She often calls people on her play phone, and I'm a little disconcerted to hear how loudly she talks and how false her laugh is.  I've started to wonder uneasily if she's imitating how I sound on the phone.  My favorite lately happened when she followed me into the bathroom.  She sat on the edge of the tub and encouraged me, reminded me to wipe, and then told me how proud she was of me.  I guess she thought I needed some potty training too.

Another interesting case of mimicking has stemmed from her current obsession with Mary Poppins, which she wants to watch every day all day.  She has begun speaking with a lisp in an attempt to imitate their English accents.  "Oh, it's a jolly holiday with you, Buht!"  I hope her normally clear speech doesn't have any permanent damage.

On a more positive note, she's been treating her new Sleeping Beauty doll (a reward for potty training) like her baby, and it's really sweet to see her carry it around carefully and pat it on the back.  I'll look back in the car and she's snuggled against it protectively.  Makes me feel like a good mother, since she's imitating what I do with Sam.  I promise, though, she didn't learn to chuck the doll from my treatment of Sam.

The Great White Throne

On Monday, we took the plunge and began potty training Morgan.  We've been talking about it for a long time, and had a few trial runs, and now that Sam is older and we're settled in AZ, I resigned myself to staying home for the next month until she figured it out.  I know that a child in underwear is supposed to be great, and maybe it will be soon, but I honestly think that diapers are easier.  You don't have to worry about accidents or rushing to the bathroom when you're out and about, you can change the diaper on your own schedule (i.e. when you've finished nursing), and you don't have to scrub out a diaper.  But...diapers cost a lot.  And give heat rashes.  And you certainly can't send a kid to preschool in diapers.  So, we're potty training.

Monday morning we camped outside the bathroom with lots of books, goldfish, and water.  For a long time, nothing happened, and I wanted to speed things up, so I started pouring soda.  Morgan thought that was fantastic, and then she went to the bathroom 6 or 7 times in an hour.  Gave her lots of practice. :)  It's Thursday now, and she's only had one accident (although that one was exciting - the feces went from the underwear to the floor to the bottom of the foot to the tub).  That made quite an impression on her - she kept murmuring "It was all my fault..."  We've successfully gone to the store and back, and really I think she's probably entirely trained.  In fact, she's a little more trained than I'd like.  Now that she's firmly embraced wearing princess underwear, she doesn't want to use diapers as a crutch.  I've been putting her in a diaper for naps and bedtime, but she wakes up dry and calling for the potty.  That sounds fantastic, and I suppose I should be proud, but that means that she's taking shorter naps and waking up early in the morning, because she wakes up when she needs to use the potty.  Consequently, she's more tired and cranky.  And I'm more tired and cranky.  Especially when I'm racing up the stairs every 10 minutes, sometimes lugging Morgan, to find out if she really does have to go.  My thighs are burning.  I want to tell her to just use the darn diaper, but I know that doesn't send the right message.  Who would have thought that successful potty training would be such a pain!

Moral of the story - I can find the negative in anything. :)

June Overload

As part of our welcome to the Phoenix Children's program, we all got free tickets to a Diamondbacks baseball game.  It's not really our sport of choice, but we weren't about to turn down a free outing.  It turns out that baseball games are not that fun with small children, who you have to carry from the distant parking garage, because what are you going to do with the stroller once inside?  And we only made it through 4 innings, so that we could get them home and in bed at a semi-decent hour.  It was a lot of work for one hour of baseball, but we felt very brave and capable for attempting it.

Our two highlights of the game came from Morgan:

She was holding the popcorn bucket when the whole crowd made an unexpected shout, and she was so startled that the popcorn flew and carpeted the ground.  Erik nearly wept.

She turned around and saw the beer cups behind us and told their owners, "I want some!"  Hehe, that could have been fun.

We love the abundance of splash pads and pools here.  If we go outside in Phoenix, it's to play in the water.

Morgan getting spoiled by a ride on the carousel with Aunt Di-Di.  The carousel happens to be right across from the library - some sick person sure planned that one well.

Sam's first little mohawk

We picked up cheap popsicle molds at IKEA, and I made homemade raspberry popsicles.  I was feeling incredibly domestic and healthy until I dropped one of the popsicles all over the freezer and rug.

Turns out they're just as messy to eat.  For some reason, I haven't used them since.

Erik took Morgan on a daddy/daughter date with my birthday gift card...hmmm.  Morgan, of course, got the pink ice cream.

We also bought a new couch and happily gave our battered loveseat away to Goodwill (although I'm not sure anyone will want it...).  It has been jumped on, spit up on, colored on, slept on, and generally abused in the 5 years of our marriage.  RIP.

We were really impressed that a whole couch could fit in the back of our van.

Gotta stay hydrated in Arizona...

Two little friends

Pink

All growing up, I had an aversion to any shade of pink - pink meant girly, frilly, silly, ditzy.  I wasn't a tomboy, but I certainly wasn't a girly girl either.  I think my competitive little mind felt that you couldn't be taken seriously if you wore pink - pink was not the shade of smart.  It's only in recent years (like the last 2 or 3) that I cautiously began adding a few pink shirts to my wardrobe.  Then Morgan came along, and almost every baby shower item she received was pink or contained pink (or was purple, which is number 2 on my questionable colors list).  I sighed, but poor medical students can't be choosy, and I actually came to think that pink was pretty cute... on baby girls.  I assumed that my apathy toward pink would wear off on Morgan and we would have a rainbow of new colors to work with.

At 2.5, Morgan is what I would call a pinkaholic.  She has a beloved pink blankie, a pink piggy, and a pink binky that she sleeps with (yes, folks, she still sleeps with the binky.  Another black mark on my parenting log).  She recently discovered a pink and purple quilt that I had stashed away for only the direst of emergencies, and now keeps it prominently displayed in the living room.  She has an assortment of different colored bowls, cups, and plates, but will only use them reluctantly when her pink ones are dirty.  When we play tea set, she is the sole user of the pink dishes and utensils - I am given teal.  Which is an indication of how she feels about me, since it is her least favorite of the four.  She has pink swim suits.  Pink dresses and skirts.  Pink shoes.  She has an entire drawer in her bow box devoted to pink.  And pink has been creeping into her conversation more and more -

Me: "Morgan, do you want some milk?"
Morgan: "I want pink milk!  It's the best!" (note: she's never actually had pink milk)

Morgan: "I want to make muffins today - pink ones!"

Morgan: "I like orange juice.  Mostly just pink orange juice!"  (I wanted to point out the contradiction there, but decided it wasn't worth it)

Morgan: "I'm dead."
Me: "I guess we'd better bury you, then."
Morgan: "No, don't bury me!  I still need to live my amazing pink adventure!"

And of course, the pink worms comment from the last post.

So the other day I picked up pink food coloring at the store and used it today to make pink milk.  She thought it was magical and attributed it to Mary Poppins.  Who apparently got it from a pink cow.  I plan to use this to the fullest; after all, if I have to put up with a plethora of pink, I might as well take the opportunity to make life easier for myself.  Pink oatmeal.  Pink bran muffins.  And the next step - pink underwear for our much anticipated almost here potty training extravaganza.

Featuring Sam

Our angel child, who makes having an obstinate toddler bearable.

Morgan-isms

When we moved down to Phoenix, she noticed palm trees for the first time and said: "What are those funny beautiful trees?"

This morning Morgan declared that pink worms were her favorite.  I asked her if she'd ever actually had pink worms, and she said "When I was a baby bird my mommy fed them to me."