Today You Are Two

Dear Punky,

This year passed in the blink of an eye.  You have probably changed more this year than you will any other.  One year ago, you were my beautiful baby...now you are my beautiful little girl.  For as much as everything changed, so much remains the same...

One year ago you were a mere seventeen pounds and twenty-eight inches.  Today, based on our recent ER visit, you are just shy of twenty-two pounds and thirty-three inches.  A gain of only five pounds and five inches this year...my perfectly healthy, petite, little runt...just as you were last year.

One year ago you were still fairly bald and two tiny teeth flashed us with every smile.  Today we see a full set of pearly whites and hair long enough for pigtails.  You are so beautiful, just as you were one year ago, and your smile still melts my heart every time.

One year ago you were learning to eat finger foods.  Today you have mastered feeding yourself completely, even the difficult things like chicken soup and cereal in milk.  Your appetite is still incredible and you aren't overly picky...yet.  And as it was then, you are an expert mess-maker...but now it's not always an accident.

One year ago you had just learned to walk...waddling along, learning balance, and fighting gravity with every step.  Today you are a monkey with no fear...running, jumping, climbing, rolling, and standing on your head.  You made me nervous then; you make me insanely nervous now.

One year ago you had mastered a few basic words.  Today you talk nonstop...to me, to yourself, to your dolls, to the walls, to anyone who will listen.  Your vocabulary amazes me, but my favorite is hearing you call for me.  Just as it was a year ago, there is no sweeter word than "Mama".

One year ago you were able to recognize basic colors and point them out when asked.  Today you know them all, along with all 26 letters and numbers zero through ten.  You can count to five unassisted.  Crayons are one of your your favorite things and, while you do your fair share of scribbling, you are trying your hardest to write and draw.  You've gotten the hang of making circles and the letter M.  And just as I did last year, I still think you're the smartest child that ever lived.

One year ago bath time was quick and easy.  Today bath time is a long, complicated process involving bath crayons, boats, balls, bubbles and colored water.  You roll on your stomach and pretend you are swimming.  You put your face in the water and blow bubbles.  Washing is merely an interruption in your play time.  Splashing and soaking me, the carpet, and the rest of the bathroom is your favorite part...just as it was a year ago.

One year ago you would fall asleep frequently in my arms.  Today you tell me "Snuggle, Mama, please..." and curl up next to me whenever you want to sleep in my room.  Just as it was then, those are my favorite nights.  Except now you kick.

At two, your blankie is still your favorite thing int the world, although Elmo is a close second.

At two, apples, pickles and M&Ms top your list of favorite foods...and, to your dismay, the last two are supplied in very limited quantities.

At two, you never pass up an opportunity to flush a toilet.  It's one of your favorite hobbies, along with jumping on the bed.  And the couch.  And the recliner.

At two, you've fully mastered the art of the temper tantrum.  Thankfully, redirection still works although you are no stranger to the time-out chair.

At two, you will sit and color for two hours at a clip which is quite an attention span for your age.  If unmonitored, you will color the carpet, furniture, and kitchen cabinets as well.  Washable crayons are the best invention of our times.

At two, you are challenging nap time and bedtime.  Mama eventually wins...but you can hold out for hours leaving me utterly exhausted for work the next day.

At two, your sense of humor is fully developed and you giggle in delight at the smallest things.  If I drop something or trip over a toy, you will chuckle for hours.

At two, you are in full "helper" mode.  I can do nothing without your assistance.  Washing dishes, folding clothes, taking out trash...whatever the task you do your part, and finishing anything quickly without additional work for me is not an option.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.

At two, you still love books and ask to read several times a day.  This makes me so happy...and proud.

At two, you are everything I hoped you'd be and more.  You are sweet, loving, polite, smart, funny, inquisitive, and most importantly you are happy and healthy.  Not a day passes when I don't think about how lucky and thankful I am.

I am so excited to see what the next year brings in your wonderful life.  Lots of big changes are on the horizon and I can't wait to see how we navigate through them...as well as the terrible two's...

I love you with a love only a mother's heart can know.  And just as I felt last year, nothing in life will ever mean more to me than being your mom.  

Happy Birthday to my beautiful little girl!  Today you are two...

I love you, Julia Allyn.

BYOB Christmas

Christmas began for us on Thursday night.  As mentioned, Santa came one night early at our house due to our hectic travel plans. 

After a week of no sleep with no sitter (yes, I will continue that story down the road), Punky's dad had to make it through one last night on third shift...which left me to play Santa without him for the second year in a row.  His boys came and spent the night so I had help.  I hope next year he'll be home so we can do it together.

Punky's nap went way too late, and way too long, that day because her dad needed to sleep.  So, as you can imagine, add in the excitement of Santa coming and it was damn near impossible to get her to sleep that night.  She was still going strong at midnight.  Santa was finally able to come around one, and then I was way too excited to get to sleep.  I was still up at three.

Cookies for Santa

Before bed, Punky carefully chose the cookies she would leave for Santa...and she licked each and every one to make sure they were absolutely perfect.  We poured just enough milk to wet his whistle, and she also left him a juice box in case he got thirsty later.

When her dad got home in the morning, everyone was still sleeping.  I heard him come in and knew we had to get up and moving.  There was no time to delay if we were going to make it everywhere we needed to be on time.  Once the others were awake and ready, it was time to bounce Punky...and I had a hard time getting her to stir. 

New Rocking Horse

Her dad was ready with the video camera when I brought her into the kitchen to check the plate we left for Santa.  Then her eyes drifted toward the tree and she caught sight of the big rocking horse Santa brought and the pile of presents and she was suddenly wide awake.

Between the horse and the xylophone, she was a happy camper.  It took forever to get her presents open because she kept stopping to play with those two.  But each time she stopped to open one, I got to see that twinkle of excitement in her eyes and the utter joy on her face when she discovered its contents.  I can see how kids get spoiled; there is no greater feeling for a parent than seeing your child so happy and full of wonder.

By the time we were finally all finished with presents, it was time to clean up the mess and start packing the truck for the trip.  We made it to his mom's around one and left around four to make the long drive home to my parents' house.  We weren't even on the road five miles when both Punky and her dad passed out from sheer exhaustion.  I fought to keep my eyes open and on the road with nothing to drown out their snoring but Christmas music on every radio station I could get.

We arrived at my parents' just in time for Christmas Eve dinner.  My mom just finished putting all the food on the table when my nephew announced, "Mom, I have to puke!"...and then proceeded to throw up in the living room, through the dining room, up the hall, and into the bathroom.  Dinner was obviously delayed...

Half way through dinner, he had another episode and the writing was on the wall.  It looked like he had the same stomach bug that Punky had Sunday night.  My sister was in for a rough night and it was such a shame for it to happen on Christmas.  Poor kid.

We left around eight and went to my house in town to settle in for the night.  A half hour later, Punky's dad was in the bathroom enjoying Christmas Eve dinner for the second time.  Yep, just our luck.  The stomach bug got him, too, and he spent most of the night puking his guts out...

I called my parents and my sister to give them the news.  It looked like we were in for one hell of a Christmas day.  We were supposed to meet at my sister's in the morning to exchange gifts and decided it would be BYOB...bring your own bucket.  We didn't know how many more of us would be puking by morning.

Morning came and I'm happy to say that the episode passed for both my nephew and Punky's dad...and no one else fell victim to it...yet.  Punky was spoiled once again by her godfather, aunt, and grandparents, and she thoroughly enjoyed ripping open every single package.  

All puking aside, it was a nice Christmas and Santa was good to everyone despite the financial struggles we all faced this year.  It was always that way in my family.  No matter how hard the times, Christmas was the one time of year when every effort was made to make it extra special.  I hope Punky feels the same as she gets older.

The Meaning of Projectile, Volume II

I thought I had seen everything when I wrote this post one year ago.  Turns out it was just a small taste of the capabilities of the human body.  And I was totally oblivious to the horrors that awaited me as I finished writing last night and went about my normal bedtime routine...locking doors, brushing teeth, setting up the morning coffee.  I knew Punky was still awake in her crib and I finally decided to bring her into bed with me so I could relax.  The hectic weekend and all the driving had taken its toll and I was beat.

She grabbed her blankie and two stuffed animals as I lifted her out of her crib.  She wasn't acting strange.  She showed no sign of pain or discomfort, just her usual unwillingness to go to sleep at bedtime.  She trotted across the living room and into my bedroom.  I closed the door behind us while she tossed her guys up onto the bed.  As soon as I turned around, I saw her jerk and knew in an instant it would be a very long night. 

I stood there in shock for a minute and stared at the mess on the carpet.  There was a solid strip about two feet by one foot, and multiple random splatters all around it.  Milk.  Chicken chunks.  Pears.  How could that much vomit come out of that teeny-tiny little girl?  Seriously, her stomach can't be that big.

I looked at Punky and she seemed to be shocked as well.  When I asked her if she was okay, she burst into tears.  Her face, shirt, pants, and special blankie were all coated as well.  I honestly didn't know what to do first.  Where the hell do you start with a mess like that?

I wiped her up the best I could and made her sit down on the floor.  I got cold water, a brush, a new roll of paper towels, and a can of Lysol and began scrubbing the carpet.  My gag reflex was going full force and it took everything I had to not add to the mess myself.

Punky sat quietly until I finished and then we went in her room to change her clothes.  I called my mom for advice.  Would it happen again?  What can I do to settle her stomach?  How do I know if she's sick or if it's just something she ate?  I was clueless.  

A half hour had passed without another episode.  I kept asking if her tummy hurt and she said it didn't.  "Feel better now, Mommy," she told me...so we headed back into the bedroom for another try at sleep.  She climbed up on the bed and two seconds later I saw the jerk again.  I lunged forward and grabbed her but it was too late.  She got the sheets, and pillows, and blanket...and another huge spot on the floor.

Where the hell was it all coming from?  I swear it was everything she had eaten in the past week.  I just couldn't believe my eyes.  

The second clean-up went much like the first, only it included stripping the bed and starting the washing machine.  This time I was taking no chances.  I put a clean shirt on her...no pants, no socks...and covered the recliner in bath towels.  I grabbed a little receiving blanket to cover her legs, the garbage can from my bedroom, and a container of baby wipes.  We settled in to watch Blue's Clues and wait for the storm to pass.

It didn't take long for round three to start, just as violent as the first two but with less volume.  She was sitting on my lap and I had my hand resting on her stomach.  When I felt the jerk, I thrust her head forward with one hand and grabbed the garbage can with the other.  She still got her shirt, the blanket, the footstool, and a tiny spot on the rug, but it was a huge improvement nonetheless.  

Round four went even better, and by rounds six and seven I had it down to a science.  And I was absolutely terrified.  It wasn't stopping.  She would heave every twenty minutes and at this point it was a thick gagging mucus.  She would doze off in between and wake up choking.  I called her dad at work.  It was time to head to the emergency room.

It was about one week shy of two years since we made that exact same two a.m. drive to the hospital for Punky's birth.  I honestly think I was more scared this time around...my baby was sick, really sick, and my head was filled with a million horrific thoughts as to what could be wrong.

The ER visit was really rather uneventful.  She had no fever, her vitals were good, her oxygen level was fine.  They quickly deduced that Punky had a bad, twenty-four hour, stomach bug...apparently they had a parade of kids through there with the same thing in the last few weeks.  So many, in fact, that they actually ran out of anti-nausea medication and had to order more.

We never got home from the hospital until six-thirty in the morning.  After giving her something to settle her stomach, we had to wait a while and then force her to eat a popsicle so they could see if she would keep it down.  She was finally discharged but with a disclaimer: it could start all over again.  They told us no solid food until this evening and even then only something light.  In the meantime, she could have only small sips of clear liquid.

At seven I called my boss and filled him in on the night's events.  I surely wasn't making it into work for eight.  Punky and I settled in on the sofa-bed to get some sleep.  I didn't want to put her in her crib in case it started again, plus it was one of the few puke-free rooms in the house and I didn't want to spread it around any more than necessary.  And my bedroom was obviously off limits without a hazmat suit.

I was still awake at eight and realized we hadn't cancelled the babysitter who was due to arrive at nine.  I made the call and filled her in on all the gory details.  I returned to the sofa-bed but still couldn't sleep.  It was such a terrible night and I knew all the cleaning I had ahead of me later today.  Plus I couldn't help but feel guilty for missing work, but there was no way I could leave Punky.  I eventually managed to convince myself that the worst was over.  There was no where to go but up... I think I fell asleep somewhere around nine-thirty.

The phone rang around eleven-thirty and proved me wrong.  The worst wasn't over for the day; a whole new problem stepped in and took over...Punky's babysitter quit.  After being off for about three years, the company finally called her to come back to work.  Tomorrow.

After last night, and the whole two hours of sleep I had today, I don't have the energy to get into the details tonight.  To be continued...

Punky's First Haircut

Punky and I arrived home this afternoon from our weekend adventure.  Given the fact that we are driving back down on Christmas Eve, we left earlier than usual today.  The big day is quickly approaching and I still have tons to do.

The stars aligned and we actually made it there on Friday in time to make our appointment at the hair dresser's.  I was really worried about how Punky would handle the haircut situation.  Every time we'd mention it to try to prepare her a bit, she'd tell us "Hurt."  No matter how many times we promised it wouldn't, she still kept insisting.  I had visions of a screaming child with a crooked, half-finished haircut just in time for all those holiday photos.

In reality, the exact opposite was true.  My peanut surprised me again with some of the best behavior I've seen in weeks.  Seriously, the last month has had its share of rough spots.  She is definitely testing the waters and seeing how far she can push us whenever she has the chance.  The dawning of the terrible two's...

But anyway, at the hair dresser's, she was a perfect angel.  She...listened.  She didn't touch what I told her not to touch.  She kept herself busy while I got my highlight.  She made polite chatter with an old lady who must have commented a hundred times on what an angel Punky is.  And how good she listens.  And how I'm so lucky.

I smiled, and nodded, and threw in a thank-you or two, while my mind drifted to last Sunday when my child was the absolute worst I have ever seen her.  She was a total brat at the store.  She wrote all over the rocking chair stool (light green fabric) with black crayon.  She tantrumed.  She hit.  She stomped, whined, and cried.  She told me "No!" a million times.  She got two minutes in the time-out chair.  Twice.  She had me up till midnight because she absolutely refused to go to sleep no matter how I tried.  Yeah, sweet little old lady, I wish you could've seen her then.

So, when it came time for Punky's haircut, I still braced myself for the worst...and she didn't even flinch.  She sat in the chair all by herself.  I thought I'd have to hold her but in reality I didn't even need to be next to her.  I stood across the room, taking pictures and cheering her on, and she sat still and quietly ate a cookie as little blonde locks hit the floor.  Apparently, it didn't hurt a bit.

First Haircut

On a side note, the family Christmas party went well.  Everyone had a good time, lots of laughs, great food.  For me, it seems like Christmas is somehow more complete this year.  More like it used to be.  More like it should be.  I'm enjoying that feeling while it lasts because next year it's back to a house with pets.  It might be a few years before I'm able to go again.

The Holiday Begins

Well, this surely hasn't been a good month for blogging.  My intentions were good but life had other plans as usual.

Tomorrow Punky and I are heading home for the start of our holiday festivities.  I spent this evening loading the dining room table with all the bags, boxes, bottles, and such that need to somehow, someway, fit in the trunk of my car for the trip.  My goal is to get it all down there this week so there is less to worry about when we make the trip again next Friday for Christmas Eve.

I'm happy to say that, after two weekends in a row of shopping and wrapping, I am finally done.  I swear, next year I'm starting early.  Okay, so it'll never happen, but it wouldn't be the holidays without me swearing it at least once. 

Punky is definitely into the whole present thing this year.  She's already received a few from friends and has practiced her unwrapping technique.  Her eyes light up in anticipation of the treasure she will find hidden inside...and they stay lit forever while she painstakingly tears pieces of paper the size of dimes from the package.  She has refused all help thus far and I've been trying to calculate exactly how long it will take her to open all her gifts on Christmas morning.  Actually, Christmas Eve morning...

Yeah, Santa will be gracing with his presence / presents (ha ha) one day earlier than the rest of the world again.  What can I say?  We're special.  It's actually the only time we can squeeze him in again this year. 

We'll have Christmas Eve dinner with his family, and then head down state to mine that evening so we can be there for Christmas morning.  Punky has no concept of dates, and I really want her to have the "Santa came to my house!" experience...actually in her own house.  So Christmas Eve morning it is.  Besides, I am absolutely overflowing with excitement already; I don't think I could wait one day longer!

This weekend my mom's extended family is having their annual Christmas get-together and "Pollyanna" gift exchange.  It used to be held every year at my grandmother's house on Christmas Eve, but the tradition lapsed with her death.  Four years ago the family decided to make it an annual party, hosted by someone different each year.

I can't attend any year when the person hosting it has pets, so that ruled out two of the three previous years.  Two years ago my parents hosted it, and I would've gone because they held it at my dad's hunting club, but I was thirty-eight weeks pregnant and refused to be hours away from my doctor.

This year my sister is hosting...it's at the hunting club so no pets and I'm excited to finally participate once again.  I have the best memories from the years at my grandmother's house.  It was always so much fun!  And it's the thing I miss most about Christmas since she's gone.

Also penciled in for tomorrow is Punky's first haircut...and a highlight for me since someone at the store last week once again asked us if Punky is our grand-daughter.  Damn people.  I don't care when they ask him...he's forty-seven and looks even older.  But I don't want to be included in that assumption.  I know, mathematically it's possible, but it's still insulting.  So, another highlight it is.  By the time she starts kindergarten, I better switch to full color.  I'll be forty then and facing a sea of twenty-something moms.  I don't even want to think about it.

Well, That's a First

We got an early start today for a Saturday morning.  We were expecting company at nine so we had to get moving.  As usual, I didn't get nearly as much sleep as I needed so the snooze alarm was used heavily.  Eventually I managed to drag myself out of bed but I fought the yawns all morning.

A friend of mine from work was coming over with her little girl for a play date.  The girls are only seven months apart and they've finally reached a stage where the age gap is narrowing.  In another year, it will hardly be noticeable.  She is expecting another baby in the spring and has decided to leave work and take a stab at being a stay-at-home-mom.  On one hand, I am so envious...yet on the other hand, I don't know if I could do it.  I know I would absolutely love it at first, but in the long run I think I would find it actually harder than going to work.

Anyway, they were delayed due to a slight mishap that involved a call to poison control.  I heard you're not a real mom until you've done that at least once.  The culprit?  Liquid dishwasher detergent.  She saw it happen and quickly jumped into action.  Thankfully her daughter is fine and it doesn't appear that she swallowed any of it.

She was able to laugh and joke about it after the fact, but I'm sure she had that moment of sheer panic that all moms have when accidents happen.  I've had it many times...when I cracked Punky's head off the wooden arm of the rocking chair at a few weeks old, let her fall of the bed at six months old, thought she swallowed a bloody band-aid at nine months, etc.  I'll admit, it's really quite a list (as I hang my head in shame).

After they left, Punky's dad and I ended up on the topic of preggo-brain, probably since I joked that my friend has that perfect excuse to blame for the morning's events.  Of course, being a guy and all, he totally dismisses the idea that such an animal exists.  But anyone who's ever experienced pregnancy can attest to it.

I reminded him of some of the stupid things I did while pregnant, and told him how I think I still suffer sometimes.  Seriously.  I read a lot about the chemical changes that take place in the brain during pregnancy, and how sometimes the effects are permanent.  All I know is that since Punky came along, my brain gets...fuzzy.

I posted before about the brain freeze I experience once in a while at work.  My mind gets stuck looping around the same circle for a few minutes while I struggle to get on with my next thought...like a skipping 45 just begging for someone to bump the needle.  It makes me feel so...confused, almost dazed at times, but thankfully it only lasts a minute or two and then things clear up again.

And my memory...geez...that surely isn't what it used to be.  Mentally I was the epitome of organization.  Lists of all sorts tucked safely away in the corners of my mind that could be referenced when needed.  I don't recall ever feeling absent-minded pre-pregnancy, but now I have a bad habit of forgetting things.  Little things usually, like to stop for milk on the way home from work.  Stuff like that.  And it's worse the busier I am.  Seems like my mind now only has room for a certain number of things at one time...it does an auto-sort and dumps the rest at will.  Again, usually the trivial stuff.

So, I wrote all of this to preface what happened later that afternoon...

During Punky's short nap, I wasted no time running around the house like a maniac trying to accomplish as much as I could without her "helping" me every step of the way.  It's a fun stage, and she's adorable, but damn...it takes forever to do just about anything.   By the time she woke up, I had fifty things going on at once which meant something was destined to get bounced right out of my head.

She asked for some juice and played for a few minutes before telling me she needed a diaper change.  I dismissed it for a bit while I tried to finish up a couple of things, but when I finally got around to it I wished I hadn't.  It was a stinky diaper and my lallygagging gave her ample opportunity to really mush it around and make a mess.  Sixteen wipes or so later, I finally finished the job on auto-pilot as my mind focused on getting back to the other things I was trying to accomplish.

I stopped for a pee break myself about fifteen minutes later, and Punky came into the bathroom walking like she just got off a horse.  She told me diaper change again, and I said no way...until I saw that she was completely soaked. 

"What the hell?" I mumbled as I pulled her pants off right there in the bathroom.  To my surprise, I was greeted by a totally bare hiney.

Apparently I forgot to put another diaper on my child after that messy diaper change.  I'm not exactly new at this.  I couldn't even begin to guess at the number of diaper changes I've done in the last two years.  How the hell did I manage to pull her pants up and never even notice the diaper was missing?  

And geez, she is almost two.  It had to feel different not having that puffy, crinkly-sounding thing on under her pants.  For all the yapping she does these days, she could've told me that I forgot it.  If dinner is two minutes late she carries on like she hasn't eaten in weeks.  At least I'll never forget to feed her.

The Other Red Guy

Although not normally my cup of tea, I was excited to have a girls' day of shopping today.  My mom is here this week, the Christmas spirit is starting to seep in, and I couldn't wait to see how Punky would react to meeting Santa.  We headed to the mall before lunch and I was ready to shop till I dropped.  I was on a mission to finish all my Christmas shopping, dammit.

About an hour into it, I was over it.  What can I say?  I hate shopping and, no matter how much I pump myself up for it, I am quickly aggravated by the crowds, obnoxious salesmen, ridiculous prices, and sheer frustration over what to by for people.  I stuck with it for hours though...and umpteen stores later I still wasn't finished.  Sigh.

When we first arrived at the mall, we headed right for Santa.  We tried all week to prepare Punky for the thirty-second lap sit and photo in the hopes of preventing a meltdown and actually getting a half-decent picture.  We explained the process over and over, and obviously acted super-excited each time.  Enthusiasm is contagious, so they say.  

Every time we asked her what she was going to ask Santa to bring her for Christmas, she told us "Dirt."  Seriously.  Dirt.  Of all the things a kid could want, mine wants dirt.  I think maybe she misses playing outside in the dirt now that winter has arrived.  At least I hope that's the reasoning behind her reply.  Otherwise, I have an extremely odd child.

Anyway, we stood and watched Santa for a few minutes before getting in line.  Happy kids, one right after another, smiling and laughing, sitting so nicely on his lap and telling him their wish lists.  Punky was smiling, too.  She waved at Santa and was excited to get in line to take her turn.

Everything was going smoothly and according to plan.  There was only one child left in front of us and I thought it would be smooth sailing.  Until that child freaked the hell out.  Screaming, squirming, crying her eyes out.  She wanted no parts of Santa whatsoever.  No way, no how.  And watching the chaos in front of us, Punky's smile quickly faded...and it took her courage and enthusiasm with it.  Shit.

In the end, I was proud of her.  She was definitely apprehensive about the whole lap thing and she wouldn't crack a smile for anything, but she held it together and resisted the urge to completely melt down.  And when he asked what she wanted for Christmas, she boldly told him..."Presents!"  Whew.