Nineteen Months

Nineteen months today...sometimes it's hard to believe...

This month has brought a few interesting accomplishments and challenges in Punky's little life.  It's so amazing how much she changes month to month.

If she could say so, Punky would probably report her crowning achievement for the month is learning how to do a somersault all by herself.  It's so cute how she learned to push off with those muscular little legs and make it all the way over without falling on her side.  Of course, this new talent has brought some new boo-boos along with it...

She doesn't quite get the concept of where it's appropriate to roll, like in the middle of the carpeted floor with no toys, furniture, or people blocking the path.  She's landed on hard toys, cracked various limbs on chairs and table legs, and even kicked me square in head head once.  The other day I stepped into her room in the nick of time to stop her from tumbling right off the edge of the bed.  She even attempted it in the stone-filled driveway.   

She had her first introduction to toddler training toothpaste this month and certainly likes the fruity taste.  I know it's safe to swallow but I still don't think it's something we need to be using every day at this point.  All she wants to do is suck on the brush making it even more difficult for me to actually brush her pearly whites.  And lord knows that's challenging enough the way it is.

Speaking of teeth, she now has 4 molars, one on each side top and bottom.  Her top eye teeth are coming in and she seems to be having some discomfort.  I was a bit worried about one of her bottom front teeth but it finally broke through a few days ago.  The two center ones came in fine along with the one just to the left of them, but the one to the right certainly took its own sweet time.  I feared it would be missing...forever.

Due to the wonderful world of genetics, I was blessed with a family curse from my dad's side.  When some of my baby molars fell out, I had no second teeth to replace them.  They simply didn't exist.  Over the years, my wisdom teeth came in and pushed everything forward to fill in most of the gaps.  Not many people my age still have their wisdom teeth but I'm thankful for mine.  I was afraid Punky's missing front tooth simply didn't exist, but thankfully it finally decided to show itself.  

Punky developed a new fascination this month: Elmo.  She's totally captivated and borderline obsessed with that red, shaggy, little monster.  Head over heels puppet love.  Last time we went shopping I bought her some Elmo's World DVD's.  Now she asks to watch one almost every night and lately I've been caving. 

I really don't like the idea of her watching a lot of TV; yet, at the same time, I've had so much to do these last few weeks and Elmo buys me 30-45 minutes to get shit done.  It's about the only show she will actually watch in its entirety.  I try to justify it by focusing on the educational content, and there's no doubt she's learning, but I still feel guilty when I turn my parenting duties over to Elmo...even if it is only for a half hour.

We are still struggling with some of the same behavior issues as last month.  Thus far, we have been unsuccessful at breaking the hitting habit.  We've tried every approach we can think of yet she still takes a swing now and then.  Sigh.  Right now we are back to ignoring it.  The thought is that once she realizes she's not going to get a rise out of us, she'll simply quit doing it.  We tried this method already but eventually cracked.  It's damn hard sometimes to hold it in and not react in any way, especially at the end of a very long, exhausting day.  Hopefully we can maintain our composure long enough for it to work this time.  I am convinced she knows it's wrong and does it solely for our attention/reaction.  So, the psycological battle will continue...

Playing outside still tops her list of favorite things to do.  And lord knows our yard has turned into her own personal plastic playground, but that is a topic worthy of its own post down the road.  Rocks and sticks are still nature's best toys.  Give her two sticks and she'll spend hours drumming on every object she sees.  I know she loves music, but I hope this isn't an indication that a drum set is in her future.  A sidenote to Punky's well-meaning relatives: if anyone gets a hankering to buy her one, you are warned in advance it will remain at your house for her amusement while she visits.

Letters have almost become old hat for her now.  I think she's getting bored with me even asking her what they are at this point.  I suppose we can start working on words, but I am moving on to numbers for the time being.  She learns so quickly and I want to make sure she has every opportunity to do so.

I swear she grew another inch this month. Still skinny as a rake though, but she continues to eat like a horse.  She decided she likes peas again.  Well, maybe likes is pushing it, but she doesn't refuse a few spoonfuls now and then.  Fresh fruit, cheese, and crackers top her list of favorites this month.  And I can't forget chicken nuggets, a staple of children everywhere.  She would eat them every day if we'd let her.

One more month of summer remains.  We'll see what adventures she can have as it ultimately flies by like the other months before it.  She'll be two before we know it.  It's terrible how fast time passes.  I wish I could slow it down a bit.
 

Punky's First Kill

Punky and I were playing in the yard when a tiny tree frog hopped in front of us.

"Look at the frog!" I said in that high-pitched, over-excited mama tone...the one you use when you know your child is about to see/hear/feel/touch/taste/experience something for the very first time.  I thought she'd be thrilled to see a real live frog instead of her stuffed animals and pictures in books! 

Punky glanced at it for about three seconds and went back to digging in the dirt with sticks.  Simply not impressed one bit...

For the next few minutes, my attention bounced back and forth between Punky and the little frog still jumping around near us.  In one swift movement, before I could even utter a word, Punky spun around and stepped...right on the tiny tree frog.  Squish.  Splat.  Yuck!

She saw the panicked look on my face and froze with her foot still firmly planted on the tiny creature.  I knew I had to lift her up, but I didn't want to see the sight under her shoe.  And when I did, it was worse than expected.

It wasn't dead.  Smushed... Flattened... But its poor little legs were just a flailing.  It was dying a slow painful death and my eyes filled with tears.

Of course Punky was oblivious to what happened, but she sensed mama was upset and leaned in to kiss me right on the cheek.  She can be such a sweetheart.

I glanced around for something I could use to end its misery (I sure as hell wasn't stepping on it), but didn't see anything I thought would work.  Okay...we have tons of rocks all over the yard.  I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  We went in the house.

Punky's dad took care of the dead frog disposal the next morning.  I'm not sure how long the poor little thing suffered nor do I care to know.  It was an accident...but for the time being, I don't think I'll be pointing out any more animals that are smaller than a bread box and not confined to a cage. 

Potty Time, Perhaps?

The other night I put Punky to bed on schedule and performed our usual routine.  Once she got quiet, I tip-toed in to remove the blanket from her head (where it always is when she falls asleep) and cover her legs so she wouldn't get chilly through the night.  I reached in the crib to grab the blanket and touched bare hiney.  She took off her diaper and stuffed it in the corner.  And so it starts...

Her nightgowns have been moved to the bottom of the drawer and onsies are back in fashion for sleeping.  I know it's a normal phase, but I really don't want her peeing all over her crib every night.  I do enough laundry the way it is.  But maybe it's a sign she's ready to let go of the diaper...

I've spent the last few months faithfully reading the potty book to Punky a few times per week.  It's one of her favorites now; she loves pushing the button to make the flush sound.

I've gotten her to tell me fairly regularly when she's doing/done something in her diaper and needs to be changed.  Sometimes she mixes up exactly which one she's doing, but she certainly gets the gist of it.

I bought a pink, Dora the Explorer, big girl potty seat for the toilet and we're more than ready to say ta-ta to diapers in this house.  "We" being the parents, of course.

Now what?

The concept eludes me.  I have no clue what to do next.  Exactly how do you go about making the transition?  

She's sat on the potty a handful of times so far.  Without success, of course.  The biggest problem I'm facing is that my child simply doesn't...sit.  Ever.  About ten seconds is her limit.  For anything.  Except car commercials on TV; she lasts the full thirty seconds for those.

So how pray tell do I get her to actually sit on the damn seat long enough to even stand a chance at doing something productive?  Velcro?  Duct tape?  Super glue?  

All kidding aside, I think this is going to be a real challenge with her.  All the other milestones came so easily but this one has me worried.  She learns very quickly so I'm hoping that if I can get her to do it just one time, she'll be well on her way to big girl undies.

Part of me thinks she's ready; part of me doesn't.  I don't want to push her because I read it could ultimately cause setbacks and take longer to train her in the long run.  I'm trying to be patient and let her take the lead, but the thought of no more diapers is so enticing.  It's a tough call...

For now, I guess I just need to sit back and wait.  She has some interest, but probably not enough yet to conquer that first time hurdle.  Plus, I need to figure out a legal method to get her to sit there for more than a few seconds at a time.  Last I knew, my previously mentioned ideas would be frowned upon by the general public and punishable by law enforcement.

Please Remain Seated...

...with your arms and legs inside the vehicle as we approach the station.  When the ride comes to a complete stop, pull up on your lap bars, open your safety belts, and exit to the right.  Enjoy the rest of your day here at...

The ride is over.  I think.  At least for now.  For the first time in twenty seven months...(drumroll please)...

My thyroid levels are perfect!  All three numbers are exactly where they should be!  No medicine adjustment needed!  No blood work six weeks from now!

I posted in March about the crazy thyroid fluctuations I'd been experiencing since the start of my pregnancy over two years ago.  I had blood work done last week in preparation for my doctor appointment today.  Based on how I thought I was feeling, I never expected it to have landed in the normal range.  That means my dragging-ass fatigue these days can only be blamed on my beautiful little spitfire in combination with the new job challenges and not a medical excuse.  Guess I need to just face the fact that life itself has me worn out...I was so used to blaming my thyroid.

It also means I can no longer rely on the temporary infertile state unbalanced thyroid levels cause for peace of mind.  We just lost our failsafe back-up plan.  All systems are go...proceed with caution.  Extreme caution.  If I'm this tired now, I can't even begin to imagine the sheer exhaustion two would bring.

Anyway, the direction is to stay on this current medication for the next six months until my appointment in January when blood work will once again be required.  If I feel any strong symptoms that would indicate a level shift in either direction, I need to head to the lab and schedule an appointment with the doctor as soon as possible.  

So, here's to hoping I make it six months with no major setbacks...  As much as I love rollercoasters, I'm more than ready to stay on solid ground for a while. 

Favorite Things Friday: Face Gunk

I don't like putting gunk on my face.  I have been blessed with super-sensitive skin plus allergies to most soaps, lotions, and fragrances.  As a general rule, the more crap I pile on to help my skin, the worse it actually becomes. 

By the time I landed firmly in my thirties, I had come to terms with my less-than-perfect, easily irritated skin.  It went from one extreme to the other and back again.  I dealt with the monthly, cyclical break-outs and was fully aware of the consequences of chocolate indulgence.  Such is life.

I stopped trying to solve the mystery and obtain that magazine-cover flawless-looking skin.  I was old enough and wise enough to realize it was most likely all in the photography...and the touch-up session afterward.  Women don't really have skin like that.  Do they?

 

When I got pregnant with Punky, one thing I looked forward to most was the "glow" expecting women supposedly have and the beautiful, hormone-enriched radiant skin that creates it.  What a load of bullshit that is.  In reality, my skin went the opposite direction and got worse with each passing preggo week.  It was awful.  Quarter-size dry patches that would flake and peel throughout the day.  Acne in painful clusters popped up everywhere.  Ongoing redness that I couldn't conceal with any amount of make-up.  My skin was a complete mess.  So much for the glow...

After Punky's birth, I waited for all those hormones to subside and return to my normal, moderately shitty skin.  When it didn't change in a few months, I thought maybe it wouldn't until I stopped nursing.  Months after that milestone, there was still only a slight amount of improvement.  Dammit.

My nephew got me a gift card for my birthday and against my frugal judgement I decided to take a leap and spend it on some more expensive face gunk.  I hate spending money on stuff like that period.  I think the entire cosmetics industry is full of ridiculously over-priced junk that doesn't live up to the miracle claims made by the manufacturers.  But I was desperate.  I needed to try something.

While I was growing up, my mom always had a bottle of Oil of Olay in the bathroom and she used it faithfully.  After studing the aisle of options at the store, I chose to give it a shot.  I bought the Regenerist series and headed home to wait for my miracle.

I decided to use the scrub only once or twice a week.  My skin was so dry at the time and it seemed to only bring on more irritation in the beginning.  But I did start using the facial moisturizer and under-eye serum every day under make-up...new, more expensive make-up than I would typically use but also forked over the cash for to help aid in the miracle process. 

Days passed.  Weeks passed.  Then, about two months into my new routine, I had a sudden realization while glancing in the mirror.  My skin looked...great!  I was so wrapped up in everyday life that I hadn't even paid attention to the fact that the break-outs had subsided.  I didn't notice the disappearance of the flakes and itchiness.  It hadn't dawned on me that I no longer needed to re-apply make-up throughtout the day to mask all the imperfection.  For the first time since pre-puberty, my skin was clear.  Soft.  Healthy.  Maybe not magazine-cover airbrushed flawlessness, but close enough for me.  I even detected a hint of a glow...sans fetus.

In the back of my mind I couldn't help but think it was a fluke.  I prepared myself for the next monthly tide of hormones that would normally cause a problem, but no problem arrived.  It's been about four months now since I embarked on the journey, and all is well. 

So, I have no choice but to draw the conclusion that the Olay Regenerist products really worked for me and made a world of difference in my skin.  And my self image.  And my self confidence.  It could've been just pure coincidence I suppose, but I'm not willing to give up the gunk and find out.  I like this gunk, and I'm sticking with it.  

One Just Like Me

I put Punky down for a nap yesterday and sat at the computer for some long-awaited "me" time.  After ten minutes, and before I got totally engrossed in writing, I went back into her room for our usual routine.

At both naptime and bedtime, I always tell her I'll be back to check on her.  And she never falls asleep till I do.  She waits for me to pick her up, sway back and forth, sing her a song, and kiss her little head one more time.  When I put her back in the crib, she falls asleep within minutes.  I'm not sure how it all started but it's been our routine for months.

Anyway, I could hear her singing over the monitor but I was shocked when I pushed open her door.  In hindsight, I should have grabbed the camera and snapped a picture, but at the time I couldn't help the burst of laughter.  She was standing on her head.

Her head was in the center of the crib and she managed to walk her little feet all the way up the wall so her back was facing the door.  She was almost perferctly vertical and surprisingly balanced.  She seemed to know exactly how to position her little toes on the wall to keep her steady.  And she was still singing away...my little multitasker.

I've mentioned her monkey-like antics many times.  The running, jumping, bouncing, dancing, diving off the couch face first into a pile of throw pillows, climbing on everything, and lately she's been trying so hard to do a tumbleset on her own.  She usually falls over sideways but it won't be long till she gets it.

I was the same way as a kid.  I was forever standing on my head, jumping and flipping on the bed, and climbing anything I could.  I asked my mom if this is what her mother's curse was about...you know the one...the one all mother's say at some point or another.  Something like "I hope someday you have a kid just like you."

She said yes.

It obviously worked.

Hardly Amused at the Park

We went home for the weekend again.  Two weekends of traveling in a row = one tired mama. 

On Saturday we spent most of the day just hanging out at my sister's house, eating way too much and just being lazy.  In the evening, Punky attended her first community block party.  

We got there just in time for the car cruise, which made her dad especially happy.  I think Punky enjoyed it as much as he did.  She loves cars and is destined to be a little motorhead with her dad's influence.  She sat in her stroller on the curb, pointing at the cars as they cruised by, yelling out their colors with the same excitement her dad had yelling out the year, make, and model, and she clapped and cheered along with the crowd when one would light up the tires in the street.  It was adorable.

On Sunday we tackled Punky's first trip to an amusement park.  If I had to describe the day in just one word, the word would be exhausting.  Totally freakin' exhausting.

It was hot.  Too hot.  We had one over-excited, impatient four year old (my nephew) crying and whining because we weren't moving fast enough between rides.  We had one fussy eight week old (my niece) who wouldn't sleep so much as a wink the entire day at the park.  And then there was Punky, digging in the dirt and throwing rocks at every available opportunity, moaning and groaning every time she had to sit in her stroller for more than seven seconds, slapping other kids for no reason while in line for the carousel, and pretty much hating every ride we took her on aside from the train.  Sigh.

Punky's dad isn't much of a rider.  A log flume and the train is about all he can handle.  I, only the other hand, am a thrill ride junkie.  The higher, the faster, the spinnier, the better.  Of course I hoped Punky got my genes in this department, but the signs all seem to point to the contrary.  And I don't get it. 

Spinning is circles is one of her favorite pasttimes yet sitting on the carousel seemed to make her tummy yucky.  Maybe it's really too early to tell.  Maybe she's just too young and fear played a roll.  Maybe it was the fifty gigantic blueberries she ate at my sister's the day before and the three wonderfully messy diapers we had the pleasure of changing on benches at the park.

Five adults and one teenager vs. three kids under five.  We may have won some battles, but the kids won the war.  By the time we left the park, everyone was more than ready.  I wouldn't necessarily call it a bad day; we did have some fun and it was just nice to get out and do something together as a family.  But I'm in no hurry to tackle another amusement park any time soon.  Next summer sounds good.  I think I'll recover by then.

July Fourth Lessons

Punky and I went home for the holiday weekend.  Aside from the usual summer heat, picnic food, and fireworks, the weekend was rather uneventful but a few lessons were learned...

My sister had a cookout on Sunday.  It was the first time I ever intentionally let Punky skip her daily nap.  She slept until almost 9:30 that morning, which meant she wouldn't have been ready for a nap until around 3:00...a bit late in the day anyway.  I figured it would be a real struggle to get her to fall asleep at my sister's but I was prepared to try...until my nephew decided it was time to go swimming right then.  

Punky saw what had been hiding under the tarp in the yard.  A pool.  Water.  Her absolute favorite thing ever.  Shit.  Even though she'd been rubbing her eyes and yawning, there was no way in hell I was getting her to sleep at that point.  So, I chose to let her swim rather than sleep.

Lesson one:  Don't ever do that again.  Ever.  No matter what's happening.  No matter where we are at the time.  Find a place to nap.  Period.

She's definitely not ready for the no-nap scene.  She was okay until about six, then the whining started.  By seven she would burst into tears at any little thing that didn't go exactly how she planned it.  By eight, mama couldn't leave her sight for three seconds without a full-fledged screaming fit.  By nine, she was crying unconsolably.  Mama was worthless at that point.  And my nerves were shot.  And I seriously wanted to gouge my own eyes out with a soup spoon.

Alright, maybe I wouldn't go that far, but seriously...it was awful.  I really wanted her to get to see some fireworks though because I knew she's love the light and pretty colors this year.  Last year she wasn't impressed.  I sat on the porch swing and rocked her through her cries.  She put her head down and fell asleep.  For ten minutes.  The bang of M-80's next door woke her.

Lesson two:  A ten minute power nap can work wonders in an eighteen month old.  

She was a totally different girl...at least for another hour or so before the crying started again.  But it was long enough for her to see the fireworks.  She really loved them so it was worth it.  She told me the colors as they exploded in the sky above us.  She giggled and pointed at the small ones the neighbors were lighting in the street.  And she let me know when she had enough and needed to go to bed. 

On Monday we stopped at my mom's for about an hour before heading back home.  I don't generally spend much time there since she has a dog and my allergies and asthma go crazy.  It seems like it's gotten worse now that I'm never around dogs at all.  When I lived there and visited often, I used to last longer.

Anyway, the last two times we visited, Punky broke out in a red, blotchy rash.  The first time, I had no clue what triggered it.  The second time, the rash was so itchy by the time we left that she was crying hysterically and I had to pull the car over and wipe her down from head to toe.  Afterwards, she did quiet down and fall asleep.  Both times the rash was about gone by the time we arrived home two and a half hours later, but after the second time I really began to wonder...

Lesson three:  I think my little girl is allergic to dogs.  The third time was the charm.

Once again she broke out in the red, blotchy rash and was scratching all over so I know it was itchy.  It probably didn't help much that she curled up in the dog bed, splashed in her water bowl, and hugged her several times while we were there.  I washed her down before we left to avoid another episode in the car and it seemed to help.  While she slept on the ride, my heart ached for her.

You have no idea how much I hoped she wouldn't inherit my allergies, especially to animals.  I live that life, and it's not fun.  It's amazing just how limiting it is.

Every time I'm invited to anyone's home, the first question I ask is if they have pets.  Whether I go depends on what type, how many, and the season of the year.  One little dog, spring thru fall, and I can probably commit to an hour visit.  In nice weather I can escape outdoors for a few minutes intermittently to ease the situation.  In the dead of winter, I don't like going anywhere there are animals.  And cats.  Just forget it.  The season and number are irrelevant.  I can't do cats at all.  Well, I can, but I don't last thirty minutes and usually pay for it with a full blown asthma attack in the middle of the night.

Now that I'm an adult, I understand my issues and the consequences, but as a child all I felt was isolated.  I missed many sleep overs, skipped out early from birthday parties, and spent many a holiday freezing outside at relatives houses while everyone else was inside having a good time.  Saying it sucked is an understatement.  

I cringe at the thought that my beautiful baby may have to go through the same heartache I did.  However, if it turns out that she is in fact allergic I can guarantee she will never be outside wheezing and freezing alone.  If there are animals there, we simply won't go.  Period.  Not being able to breath is an terrible feeling and I will not subject her to it if the situation can be avoided.

I guess I need to move this concern to the top of my list for the next doctor visit.  I know she's too young to be diagnosed officially, but I want to have her tested as soon as she's old enough.  Between this reaction at my mom's, the eczema probably triggered by a food allergy, and my history, I'm afraid at what they will find.  And I dread the day she is old enough to eat peanuts.  

Maybe I'll bring a PB&J sandwich to a doctor visit and let her eat it there.  Seriously.  Just in case.

Favorite Things Friday: My Car

It's been a long time since I've done one of these posts, but I have something to bitch whine about and I thought it would fit the category.

I was twenty-one years old when I got my first car.  My parents could not afford to buy me one, and discouraged me from doing do until I was almost through with college.  We finally reached the point where they thoroughly had it with me using Mom's to commute back and forth an hour each way to school five days a week, to work a few days a week, and to stay out till four a.m. with friends as often as I could.  They caved.

It took forever to find a vehicle we could agree on... See, I was still in school and living at home, so they tactfully played the "my house, my rules, my insurance" card.  After a six month search through every used car in a twenty mile radius, we finally found something responsible, reliable and affordable...that wasn't a butt-ugly granny-mobile.  A teal blue Chevy Baretta.  We put down a deposit and headed to the bank.  I was absolutely thrilled...

Until the phone call the next day.  Apparently a drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel and took out about eight parked cars.  My soon-to-be Baretta was one of them.  We were back to square one and I was about out of patience.

Soon after my mom and I went car shopping alone to a dealership in another city.  The stars aligned and I left there with my very first car.  Finally.  A brand new 1993 Chevy Cavalier.  Bright red.  They made one us one heck of a deal, I could afford the payments, it was a reliable vehicle, and although it didn't scream "hip, cool chick" it wasn't ugly enough for me to be embarrassed driving it.  

My dad wasn't exactly thrilled when we pulled in the driveway with a brand new car, but I think my mom was tired of all the searching and caved just to get it over with...hehehe.  I spent the summer washing and waxing that car at every available opportunity.  The newness wore off come fall, but I still took care of it.  I was paying for it after all.

It lasted until 1999 when a head gasket went and the motor cooked.  I was on my own then so I had the freedom of choice for my next car.  I was spoiled by having a new one as my first; I wouldn't even consider a used one the second time around.  Especially not after the six-month ordeal it was last time.  But, I was also poor.  Student loans, rent, planning a wedding...I had to settle for practical if I wanted something new.

A 1999 Chevy Tracker.  Also bright red.  I know, right?  What the hell was I thinking?  It ended up being a really reliable vehicle.  Four wheel drive for the winter, soft top for that wind-blown look in the summer, incredible on gas.  Most of the time I owned it I was working literally a few blocks from home.  When I finally traded it in in 2007, it only had 40,000 miles on it and was in excellent condition.  But this time I was prepared.  I did my homework.  I saved my money.  I knew exactly what I wanted and how much I needed to put down to afford the payments.

In April 2007 I bought my current vehicle.  A Mercury Milan.  And I absolutely love my car.  All-wheel drive, V6, dual exhaust, sunroof, spoiler, fantastic on gas, all the options available (except leather seats, I don't like burning my A in the summer and freezing it in the winter), and finally an adult color.  My car has spunk.  It's fun to drive.  It's comfy as hell and that matters to me with all the driving I do these days.  It screams business professional yet young and sporty at the same time.  Did I already say that I love my car?

No doubt about it, I was planning on buying another one in a year or two.  I've already been saving my pennies for a nice down payment.  There's no way I would even consider buying a different vehicle.  No way in hell.

I got a letter in the mail last week and was almost driven to tears.

It said, and I quote, "The final production on all Mercury vehicles will take place in the third quarter of this year.  The brand is being discontinued."

Not only no more Milans.  No. More. Mercury. Period.

Dammit.

I've spent the past week mumbling, grumbling, whining, and cursing.  Now what the hell am I supposed to buy?  I love my car (in case you missed that part) and there's no way I can afford a new one by the end of this year.

I have a few choice words for the Ford Motor Company.  

Shitheads.