Sorry to post yet again about bodily functions -- I won't do it again for a while -- but with little'uns it's kind of hard to avoid. My apologies, also, to future Elsa. I have visions of her coming home from school on her compost-powered hoverboard, in tears, having just seen this post broadcasted on the web-browser blackboard in her homeroom by some mean, popular hacker-girl trying to sabotage Elsa's chances at winning class president. "Mom, you told the entire world about my elimination habits 15 years ago on one of those "plog" things? What's WRONG with you? Now no one will want to go to the prom with me!" (Because some things will never change...)
Of course, the long-term effects of this blog on my children and their prom date prospects are a whole other can of worms, which I will surely open and examine here sometime, but not today. Today, let's talk about #2. And how lately, Elsa seems quite upset by the whole business of doing her business.
I don't think this has anything to do with Bobby, incidentally; it started before I even really tried getting the girls to sit on the guy (which I still don't do with any real regularity -- ha. Regularity.) It actually began a few weeks ago, when she was constipated. Trying to go was obviously difficult and uncomfortable for her, and many times Jean or I would end up holding her or trying to comfort her while she strained and whimpered and her face turned red. It's really a heartbreaking experience to watch a constipated baby or toddler, as I'm sure many of you out there know. You want so much to help, but there's really nothing you can do. They don't find it particularly funny when you start chanting "Push it out! Shove it out! Waaayy out!" or get excited when you tell them this means they can have all the blueberries and dried apricots they want -- mommy won't say "no more" after a while like she usually does out of fear of the opposite problem.
So, poor little Elsa. Straining and crying and making all manner of weird faces over the course of a few days, until things improved, with help from some pureed prunes and adjustment of the milk / water intake ratio. Now, things are back to normal, er, consistency-wise. But she still gets upset every time she goes number two. Just before, she cries and says "poo poo! poo poo!" Frequently, she won't go, and this happens a few times before she finally does -- and afterward, she's usually instantly fine. I don't think it bothers her to have a dirty diaper. It's just the anticipation and the process itself.
(I'm Sorry, Elsa. This is so not helping your prom date prospects. But you know what? If some guy is so shallow and immature as to let your poopophobia at 19 months keep him from dating you, well, I think you can do better. Anyway, why is he scouring the web for posts about you from 16 years ago? Isn't that kind of stalker-ish and weird? I'm going to speak to the boy's parents. What's their iHologramphone number?)
I'm wondering if maybe she's still traumatized by the constipation experience, and now associates #2 with pain and suffering. Or is this something else? The anal retentive stage? I thought that came later. And was something little boys were more prone to... Anyway, we just continue to comfort Elsa when she's upset, encourage and praise her for going #2, and for the moment I'm not going to push the Bobby, which hasn't gone over well in these situations. Hopefully, soon, this too shall pass. Just like a ... oh never mind.
Prom is for losers anyway, right?
