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  • The Girl Who Cried Potty

     

    Make that girls. And they don't actually cry, "Potty"; They cry "I'm makin' pee-pee now!" and "I'm makin' poo-poo now!" And (what a suprise) they do this most frequently at bedtime, typically right after I've put new diapers on them and changed them into their PJ's, or -- more nefariously -- right as I'm kissing them goodnight. Suddenly, they desperately need to sit on the potty or have their diaper changed again. And the law of twin physics applies here: if one of them wants something, the other one wants it too. So if I give in to one child's demands, I'd better be damned ready to do it in duplicate.

     

    This is obviously a stalling technique, right? But the question of how to respond still stymies me. In the interest of potty training, we've been encouraging them to tell us when they need to go / are going / have gone, and I feel like ignoring their pleas just because it's bedtime sends the wrong message. Even if I suspect they don't really mean it. So, I usually give them a chance to sit on the potty, or I check their diaper to see if it's actually wet. (It almost never is, and they pretty much never actually do anything on the potty, except point out various things in the bathroom and ask for toilet paper.)

     

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  • Bedtime madness

    We all know how important it is to have a consistent bedtime routine for our children, particularly when they're under the age of three. Establish rituals, create a sense of security, establish limits, yada yada yada. We're pretty good about sticking to our routine for the most part, either abbreviating or elongating it depending on the hour and the mood of the girls. (Abbreviating doesn't go over too well when they're tired or cranky -- ironic since those are the nights we're *most* inclined to abbreviate.)

     

    Over time, the routine has evolved, as the girls' needs have changed. When they were still babies, I read to them in their cribs, but as they got more engaged and interested in books, we moved reading to the rocking chair. For a long time it was two books, and then goodnight. Nowadays, the reading routine is a bit more unpredictable -- Clio wants to sit on the floor instead of on my lap / Elsa wants to read a book herself / Both of them want to read books on their own in their cribs, etc. But it's all good, yo.

     

     

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  • The Defiant Ones

    Elsa and Clio are having some authority issues. Particularly at bedtime. I suppose this isn't surprising. They're at their tiredest and crankiest at the end of the day, AND they don't particularly want to go to bed. Not to mention the fact that I am starving (we still eat after they go to bed, for a variety of reasons) and, four days out of seven, have had a long day at work and am looking forward to relaxing, so I'm not at my best, and am not interested in letting the bedtime ritual drag on indefinitely.

     

    So I am finding myself at my wits' end lately when, for example, one of them will refuse to brush her teeth. She'll simply refuse to leave the nursery and come into the bathroom. Or she will do something silly, like Clio did the other night: dance around the hall wearing a pair of sunglasses (upside down) and make goofy faces, while I tried to help Elsa brush her teeth. Of course, Elsa thought what Clio was doing looked like a lot more fun, and started asking me to go downstairs and find her sunglasses, too, so she could do the same thing. Oral hygiene was a lost cause. I don't even remember how I finally got everyone to shut the hell up (oh dear; did I just write that? Yes I did) and brush their damned teeth (and that? Oh, my). Somehow I did. But by the time I'd read them their books, wrangled them into their cribs and given them the ten thousand "just one more" kisses and hugs and back rubs they wanted, I was totally fried. 

     

     

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  • Screw the bedtime ritual.

    Really, sometimes you just gotta. Like tonight. I got home from work, and the girls were all smiles and happiness, having spent the afternoon with Jaycee (A's mom), going to the park and eating Cheerios and so on and so forth. Big hugs for Mommy, adorable "bye bye"s for Jaycee and Abu, la la la, everybody's happy, all is well. Time for a nice dinner and cozy bedtime wind-down with mom after a long day's work, right?

     

    Ha.

     

    Flash forward fifteen minutes: Elsa is straining at the straps of her high chair, red-faced and screaming, begging to come sit in my lap while she eats. It's something I made the mistake of letting her do a couple of times last week when she was acting especially fragile, and which both grandmothers -- who have been here to help while Alastair is away -- have naturally indulged, being grandmothers and all. But I want to break her of this habit, so I try letting her sit on a "big girl" chair (no dice) and offer to hold her on my lap for a little while, but move her food out of her reach. This doesn't go over well.

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  • Never blog angry

    I'm sure that's one of the most important rules of blogging. Right up there with "don't blog drunk." But I have got to tell you, dear readers, I just changed two crib sheets, and I am PISSED.

     

    Can I just say? I hate hate hate hate HATE changing crib sheets.

     

    Seriously, my idea of hell would be a million cribs, lined up in a row, and a stack of a million fitted cotton crib sheets to wrangle onto them. Put some bumpers on those cribs, and have them be up against a wall -- oh, and throw in a couple of whining, overtired toddlers fighting over a book nearby -- and I'm pretty much in the ninth circle.

     

    Is there a reason that the manufacturers make the things exactly two centimeters too small, so that you have to use every ounce of strength in your body and tear off at least one fingernail attempting to get the last corner on? Is it right that you should have to pry the mattress out of the crib, crawl on top of the rails and assume all manner of compromising positions for such a simple task? I mean, I know the sheet's got to be tight -- SIDS and all -- but come ON. All I'm asking for is a little give -- an extra smidgeon of fabric, a dab of Lycra -- anything!

     

    Now, mind you, I don't change the crib sheets very often, because we use those "Super crib sheet" things that go over the actual fitted sheet and can be easily snapped on and off. But sometimes when they're in the wash, the girls will end up sleeping a nap or a night or two on the regular sheets, and sometimes even when the super crib sheet is on, it moves out of place and the sheet below gets drooled on or spilled on or what have you. Honestly, I think the last time I changed the sheets was maybe two months ago. But as far as I'm concerned, once a year would be too often.

     

    Maybe we just registered for the wrong brand. Maybe Carter's (Carter's! Aren't they supposed to know what they're doing?) is working off some outdated standard crib mattress size template. Or maybe they're just a bunch of sadistic a**holes. (Is Carter's a Babble sponsor? Er....hey, guys! Love your PJs!) Maybe I'm the only one with this problem. At this point, I don't particularly want to go out and buy new sheets. But if there was some brand out there that promised easy-peasy changes or patented "No-curse-corners" I might change my mind.

     

    There. I blogged angry. I'm sorry. I promise that my next post will be poignant, thought-provoking and hysterically funny, rife with adorable photographs. For the moment, though....GRRR!!! Crib sheets!!

     


  • The Bath Is Back

    As mysteriously as it left, it has returned -- the girls' love of their bath. As I described in a recent post, bathtime has been a scream-fest for the past few weeks. We tried everything: bathing the girls individually, getting in the tub with them, bathing them at different times of day, bringing all manner of toys into the tub. We tried the coddling "pacifier bath" and even the indulgent "bath with bottle." No luck. The gals were determined to be miserable. Ironically -- all the while -- they still seemed to get excited about taking a bath before it happened. When we said "Let's go take a bath! We can go splash splash splash!" (big, maniacal smiles plastered onto our faces) they smiled back and started flapping their hands -- their little sign for "splash splash splash." But as soon as they hit the water....meltdown!

     

    It started to get a little bit better. Over the past week, we were able to get about a minute or two of tear-free bath time before they started. And then, suddenly, last night, it was just like old times:

     

     

    They even let me do shampoo sculpture on their heads:

     

     

     

    We're all very happy with this new development. Bathing two babies is enough of a production as it is. Speaking of which, a question, to satisfy my own curiosity: do you / did you bathe your bambinos every day at this age? We generally stick to a bath every other night, unless it's been a particularly messy day. A lot of baby books and web sites reference a nightly bath, but we've never done it. I guess some people like to keep their bedtime ritual super-consistent, so I can see that logic. As for actual need -- well, I tend to think we're a little cuckoo in this country when it comes to bathing frequency. But this may just be an instance where I'm happy to cry "twins!" and take the more lackadaisical route.

     

    We've recently added another item to our (semi-consistent) bedtime routine: dental hygiene. Or, "brush brush brush" as we have, for some idiotic reason, decided to call it. Our pediatricician suggested that we get each of the girls a toothbrush and start getting them used to the idea of brushing, even though there's precious little to brush. (Two teeth for Clio, two complete and two half-emerged for Elsa.) They seem to love it. Elsa thinks it's hilarious to pretend to "brush" mommy and daddy's teeth, while Clio really seems to have the hang of it, and actually gets a little bristle-against-incisor action going on. It's pretty fun.

     

     

    As for mama's blues, well, they're still there. Some days are better than others. But I'm taking good care of myself (as is Alastair), and with any luck (and maybe a little help from Dr. Eli Lilly?) things will improve soon. Stay tuned.

     

     



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About the Blogger

Jane Roper

Jane Roper in Boston

One baby? Piece of cake. Try two. This working mother gives you the inside scoop on the ultimate in extreme parenting: twins.

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