Adventures With Two: Good Mommy-Bad Mommy

There are lots of times in a mommy's life when she's presented with two choices. Do you change the baby's diaper after she's simultaneously pooped and drifted off to sleep, or let her be? Do you let the toddler have ice cream and a donut, both in the same day, because, well, look how happy she is, or do you deprive her because two treats in one day would be crazy?

Although in my sane moments I realize that in some challenges of mommydom there actually aren't right answers, at the time there's often no way to escape the choice without at least a little mommy guilt. "I left my baby in a dirty diaper because it took 2 hours of rocking to get her to finally sleep!" Or, "I let the toddler have both treats, now her teeth will rot and fall out and it'll be all my fault, plus she'll be spoiled!"

However, this particular Wednesday morning I had no doubt about how to be a good mommy. Kalina's playgroup was planning to tour the fire station, and with Kalina's ongoing fascination about fire trucks, we had to be there. At 10:00 a.m., as a matter of fact.

The fire station being one goal of the morning, the other goal was to get poor Elise, whose sleep even at this tender age is always at the mercy of her older sister, to take a decent nap. Anywhere, but preferably in her crib. Or if not in her crib, in her bouncy seat. Or if not in her bouncy seat, in my arms, which is increasingly difficult for her with all the distractions that come along with getting a toddler ready for the day (have you ever tried to dress an unwilling 2-year-old while holding a floppy newborn you're trying to rock into dreamland? It's fun for no one.).

Those were my only goals, and it shows: The house is a mess, I'm wearing no makeup (not unusual these days) and was neither fed well nor particularly hydrated this morning. We also watched TV first thing. For all this, I cared not. I had my goals.

An hour and 20 minutes after embarking on goal #2 (the nap), Elise had finally drifted off in her bouncy seat. I silently cheered and ushered Kalina around the house, finalizing snacks and all our luggage for the 30-minute fire station visit.

At times, in mommyhood, you can cross your fingers and be lucky in even the riskiest of your endeavors. Sometimes you actually can distract your toddler from the fact that you forgot her snack cup at home, or leave your baby in a diaper that probably doesn't have any poop in it, and you come out ahead. So when the time came to unswaddle Elise and transfer her to her carseat, I banked on the hope that she'd fall back asleep instead of waking hungry and screaming. It just had to work out, right? Kalina needed to get to the fire station, and it was high time for us to be going!

It did not work out. Elise wasn't even mellow-hungry, she was starving-hungry, and, really, I couldn't blame her.

I hate moments like this--when you have to choose between two kids. Does one child miss the fire station trip? Or does the other child go hungry for 15 minutes, and possibly cry all the way to the fire station?

Both kids were in the car by now. I wondered if I could tide Elise over with a few sips from her bottle.

Nope. This was no "I could just snack a little bit" baby--her hunger was the real thing. I writhed inwardly. And then, with a personality that strives to disappoint no one, I resolved to drive while holding the bottle for the baby, even though I would need to dislocate at least one arm to do so.

And this is when I became a bad mommy--probably the worst in my social circle. In order to transfer myself to the driver's seat, I had to prop the bottle up for Elise for a minute. And lookee here, the baby is happy, the toddler is happy and I'm happy--all in the same second.

And so I did the unthinkable--I left it propped, and started to drive. There we were: Kalina munching on her snack cup, me driving via the view in the backseat mirror as I watched for any signs of choking, and the 1-month-old contentedly gulping her bottle with no one to hold it or her. I was glad the drive to the station was only 10 minutes, with plenty of possible stops along the way.

I hadn't heard anything about this practice being illegal, but I couldn't help but imagine that if social services heard about it they'd cart my kids away. I figured that anything that makes Mommy's life easier must be illegal, like leaving your baby in the swing too much or letting your toddler eat raw cookie dough, and lots of it, because while she cleans off the beater you can tackle the mess in the kitchen. I hoped we wouldn't pass any police cars on the way.

Then I realized Elise needed a diaper change, too. We stopped a mile down the road at a park for me to check on Elise and change her. She was mostly done with the bottle, and let out a little burp when I unbuckled her seat belt. Fastest feeding ever.

But it gets worse. It soon became apparent that I'd forgotten to restock the diaper bag after our last outing. Although I was prepared with crackers for Kalina and a clean outfit for Elise, there was not a single diaper in the large bag. Worst. Mommy. Ever.

Fortunately, I was once a good mommy, and had stocked some of Kalina's diapers in the seat pocket. I pulled one out. It was probably a size 3, which says two things. First, it was realistically too big for Elise, reaffirming my original incompetence. What's more, it's probably been almost a year since Kalina has worn a size 3. The diaper would fit neither child well. *sigh*

But it would have to do.

And then, out of sheer desperation (I knew we were running late, and also had realized my changing pad was at the bottom of Kalina's laundry hamper), and following the basic principle mentioned earlier that sometimes just work out, I decided it'd be a good idea to try to change the diaper while Elise was still in the carseat. It was not.

I breathed a sigh of relief, though, when I saw that the diaper wasn't actually too bad of a fit for Elise, and that we had 3 minutes left to be at the fire station on time .

Once there (late, of course), Good Mommy prevailed. Kalina had a lovely time and Elise took a nice nap in her cozy wrap. Worth all the trouble. (see pictures)

The super-friendly and patient firefighters let our toddlers explore an entire fire truck, and wander at will around the garage. It was great fun, and although most were a bit too timid to actually "drive" the truck, they all appreciated the opportunity.

Photo 1: Kalina "riding" a fire truck.
Photo 2: We all made it!
Photo 3: The "boys" playgroup that Kalina is an honorary member of. I like how she's the only one smiling.

Pretty in pink in the fall

On the first brisk day of fall, I put Kalina in a slightly small t-shirt, pants that I'd bought on clearance from Target months before and a jacket, the sleeves of which were 3/4 length because it was size 3-6 months (admittedly, a large 3-6 months). I squeezed her feet into 6-12-month socks. In this way, she kept fairly warm, but she was probably about as comfortable as she was fashionable.

The next day, we received a nice, warm outfit in the mail from snowy Minnesota where, fortunately, her grandparents live and have access to cold-weather clothing a good month before I do.

And so we eeked by until temperatures topped 70 degrees again.

However, my inner drive to see my child both cute and warm had been ignited, and I rushed out to see what I could find for her fall/winter/early spring wardrobe.

This season, I had only 1 or two items already in place: the rest, I'd need to buy unless I wanted to do daily loads of laundry (besides diapers, that is). I was up to the challenge, and Kalina was a good sport.

The challenge, by the way, was this: outfit Kalina for cold weather on a budget without making her look like a ragamuffin. Bonus challenge: Kalina traditionally changes sizes mid-season, so my goal was to equip her with clothing that would look only slightly large in November and only be slightly small in March, by shopping for the right brands and fits and line-drying pants so they don't shrink in the dryer and fit her tall frame for longer.

Pajamas, by the way, should come in varying degrees of warmth, and should come in pairs so that even if one set of a particular warmth level gets dirty, another one would be readily available. Because we certainly don't want the baby waking up for being cold.

My strategy was this: buy a few nice outfits on consignment. Buy everyday essentials to mix and match at big-box, value-priced retailers and buy pretty much anything that fits and is useful if it's less than $3 and in good condition. Sew her a dress. When in doubt, get pink, because it's pretty easy to match and suits her complexion, and neither of us is quite tired of it yet.

The result: Kalina only looks like a ragamuffin every other day.

Maybe the toughest part about shopping for clothes for Kalina is that I usually bring her, and/or Matt along. They have about the same level of patience for clothes shopping (it's ironic, however, that Kalina has far more patience for activities like picking up leaves by only their stems from off the ground, or reading Curious George books over and over and over, than I do). Sometimes I bring snacks for Kalina, sometimes I shoo them away to entertain each other. Whatever I do, I usually end up with about 5 minutes to scope an entire department and decide what/whether to buy, based on price, matchiness, suitability and sizing.

Adding to the fun is the fact that, like women's clothing brands, all children's clothing brands fit differently. Probably especially little girl clothing brands, to prepare them for womanhood. Despite woman's emancipation from subservient roles and mindless careers, we still can't conquer this one for ourselves. Sorry, Kalina, but maybe your generation will have to take this, the toughest challenge of them all, on.

We've admittedly had some luck with the buy-and-return game. I never wanted to be this type of shopper, but considering Kalina still gets slightly claustrophobic in dressing rooms, I don't always have much choice.

Thus, I've determined that it's not really my fault if Kalina's pinks don't always match, or that she only has one purple shirt to go with her blue-and-purple pants, so if it gets dirty she's out of luck with purple until laundry day, or that a few pants have to be cuffed and sometimes safety pinned if she wears a disposable diaper instead of a fluffy cloth one. Poor girl.

Nevertheless, Kalina's closet is now cheerfully full of clothing in multiple shades of pink, as well as a couple other colors. Many of them match. She also has plenty of fitting socks, about three pairs of which actually stay on her feet with any regularity. She has dresses and several pairs of tights, because no child of mine is going to church in pants when it's such a nice excuse to put her in a cute dress. And she has jackets of varying degrees of warmth, from the consignment sale snowsuit, coat and hooded sweatshirt to the 6-month water-resistant jacket from last year, to the free garage sale fleece jacket, which is turning out to be a really good deal.

Now, still a month and a half away from winter, Kalina is already outgrowing a couple pairs of pants. Do I start over or buy longer socks?

Photo: Notice the careful matching of pinks in this cobbled-together, early fall outfit.

A stupid little obsession

One of the benefits of cloth diapering is that we can let Kalina run around with only the absorbent cotton diaper part, not the waterproof barrier, so her little bum can air out a bit.

Some would argue that this is not, in fact, a benefit but is instead a liability.

You thought we were crazy for having a baby in the first place, and now we want her to soil entire loads of laundry so we can wash it in our own washer, fold it with our own hands and then repeat the process? Several times a week?

Well, we'd consider it the lesser of two evils. Really, we'd like her to potty train tomorrow. And say please and thank-you. And drive us to the movie theater so we can watch a full-length feature in fewer than 3 sittings.

The problem is, cloth diapers are extremely cute (see photo) and I have all the signs of being officially addicted: I try to convert all my friends to cloth diapering, I miss my cloth diapers when I travel and I ask for them for Christmas. I secretly visit cloth-diapering websites regularly even though we have plenty so I can check out the new fabrics. I even take pictures of Kalina in just her cute little diapers so that I can remember them forever (see photo).

This is spurred on by the fact that the cloth diapers of today, much like electronics and pets, are not content to exist simply in a utilitarian fashion. After all, who would buy a diaper for such mundane details as how leakproof or absorbent it is? Not today's shoppers. And not me.

Kalina and I require cute patterns, colors and styles (Daddy, by the way, does not). Using various absorbancy, stay-dry and waterproof layers, we like to customize each individual diaper to our plans for the next few hours. Sometimes we try to coordinate with her outfit, sometimes we get a little crazy and leave off the waterproof layer to get the aforementioned air on her little bum. It's a veritable party on the changing table many times a day.

I'm not alone, by the way. I've found entire message boards devoted to the topic of cloth diapers heavily populated by people both crazier and more vocal than I. They (and now I) toss around phrases such as "lanolizing" and "stash." The acronyms, by the way, would wow even the most obnoxious CEO.

The questions bouncing around the message boards are even stranger than the people at times. "Can you wash wool in the bathtub?", "Where's the cheapest place to buy Loopy-Doos and Fuzzi Bums?" and my favorite, "How can I get my child's poop to solidify a bit so it's easier to dump?" (The answer is less fruit).

We use words like "invest" to console each other for the fact that the cutest diapers can rapidly end up costing more than diposables, much to our husbands' dismay. We remind each other every chance we get that it's better for the environment.

And then there's the whole "trimness" challenge. Cloth diaperers continually battle against bulk. We get ourselves into it (because no matter what anyone convinces themselves, nothing is as trim as a "sposie," as we like to call them), and so we try rather convincingly to get ourselves out of it by experimenting with different brands and combinations and complementing one another liberally. I've been known to take pictures of particularly trim diapers I've achieved (see photo), others have been known to throw parades.

It's not that we look down on those who use disposables. It's that we think they're missing out on all the fun. Don't you agree?

So why all the hooplah about such a mundane subject?

Two reasons. 1. Cloth diapering can be as simple or as complex as you want to make it 2. Pretend you change a diaper 8 times a day, every day for 2-3 years. Wouldn't it help if at least the diapers were cute? Absolutely it does.

Not that Kalina has to make a fashion statement with every diaper she wears. But can she at least make the statement "I like purple flowers?" You bet. (See photo)

Mush = joy

I'm now the proud owner of half a dozen little bowls with lids. I'm not sure it'll be enough. They make their way from the dishwasher to the cupboard to the fridge and back to the dishwasher at a maddening rate, hosting little piles of colored-yet-brownish mush.

No, it's not another one of Matt's weird pet food systems, it's Kalina's food. We water down the mush and plop it into her mouth twice a day now. Then we mush up more things to make more mush. Mush mush mush.

And yet...

I love the mush. I love making it, and I love feeding it to her. I love planning what flavors of mush she'll have next. I love it when she seems to like it, even after questioning it with her famous furrowed brow. I love discussing the mush with others. "What kinds of mush do you feed your baby?" "The tan kind." "Me too!!!"

I'm making all the baby's solid food nowadays and am fascinated by it. Who would've thought you can use an ordinary blender, pot and stove to make food for the baby? Crazy!! Then you can freeze it in ice-cube trays and you have mush ready-made for weeks to come! Is there anything better? Yes, I'm quite the nerd.

But the fun doesn't end once the mush is made. I then get to watch as in some fantastic way, perhaps by swallowing and perhaps through absorption, Kalina makes the mush disappear. She's becoming quite the little couch potato, too, watching some entertaining show the cats put on for her while absentmindedly opening her mouth for more mush. I shovel it in like m&ms during a chick flick.

I'm not sure what Kalina's favorite is (orange-colored mush, perhaps), but mine is brown rice mush. Get this: you can grind rice in a blender! Simply add the powder to some boiling water and voila! Mush for the baby! Mix a little banana mush into the rice mush and Kalina will eat it right up.

Heck, I'll eat it right up. I licked the spoon and it's not half bad. I will admit that I briefly planned to make it for dinner. After all, wouldn't it be fun if we all three ate the same thing? We could then have green mush for dessert.

Like probably every mom in the history of the world, I feed Kalina better than I myself eat. And I will do so as long as I can keep up the charade. I will bake wholesome bran muffins for Kalina, all the while sneaking a couple double-chocolate, chocolate-chip "muffins" (read: cake) into the pan for myself. With any luck, they'll blend in. And if you see a new painting hanging conveniently in the kitchen, it's only because there's a safe behind it hiding a stash of cookies or chocolate for me. It's really the only way.

Kalina is eating two mush meals per day, and will continue to eat true mush for at least another month or so, at which time she will graduate to squishy food. Does life get any better?

Photo: A rare smile during a marathon picture-taking session at Grandpa and Grandma's house.

Please help

Hi everyone,

This is Kalina writing. Please don't tell Mom I'm writing on her blog, but I need to ask you a favor. The thing is, I think she's planning to change my clothes again tomorrow, or even today, and I simply won't stand for it anymore.

I've already lodged an official complaint with the Better Baby Bureau against her, but I haven't heard back. I told them that I've never heard of anything as absurd as needing to change clothes at least once a day, and besides, I like what I'm wearing. It's pink and it has a squirrel on it.

I try my best to fight her on this, every single time. I have my ways. After all, she can't very easily get a new onesie over my shoulders with my arms raised, now can she? And there's no way I'm going to let her get my hands through the sleeves--the closer I hold them in, the harder time she has.

And of course, I always pull out the secret weapon: shrieking loudly. I'm trying to convince her that I equate changing my clothes with peeling my skin off.

It's been a lot of work, but I know my efforts have paid off. Mom wouldn't dare change my clothes now unless they're well-soiled. I even test her limits sometimes, spitting up all over myself just to see if she has it in her to face another scream session. It can go either way: sometimes she gets that ultra-resolved look in her eye that I know means she's put in imaginary earplugs and has bought something new for me that she desperately wants to see me wear. Other times she pretends it's not too bad and we go play.

And this brings me to what you can do. I need you to help convince Mom of any of the following things:

1.) Spitup is the latest accessory fad: wearing it makes you cool

2.) Changing a baby's clothes has been scientifically proven to cause acne, ADHD and, in extreme cases, kidney failure

3.) I'm always clean and sweet-smelling, and that my current outfit is the cutest one you've seen in your whole life, ever--it should never be removed

Thanks in advance. Working together, we can ensure I never have to face a onesie change again.

-Kalina

Cow

Kalina: "Waaaahhh!"
Me: "Look, here's your cow!"
Kalina: "Waaa???"
Me: "Cow says 'moo!'"
Kalina: "Wa..."
Me: "Look, Cow kissed you!" (touching Cow's nose to Baby's cheek)
Kalina: ":)"

And so another diaper change has begun.

One of our most valuable baby items has been a small black-and-white-spotted stuffed cow. Ever since week 2 it's had an honored spot on our diaper-changing table (if, indeed, any spot there can be considered honored).

We introduced Cow to Kalina in week 2 because we were told babies that age enjoy black-and-white objects. Having, then, to choose between Cow and our bad cat, we picked Cow for her small size and ability to be obedient. Cow and Kalina have been friends ever since.

Cow and Mommy are great friends, too, as Cow provides much-needed distraction and babysitting abilities during much-dreaded diaper changes.

Kalina has always detested getting her diaper changed, usually because it keeps her from eating. She lets us know by her screams, the worst of which are the red-faced, squinty-eyed, open-mouthed silent type that make us wonder when our daughter will ever surface for air.

Cow helps for about 80% of Daddy's diaper changes and 20% of Mommy's (the following diaper change scenario, being typical, is not representative of Cow's involvement).

Here's how a typical diaper change unfolds for Daddy:
Place Baby on changing table beside Cow.
Change diaper while Baby stares happily at Cow.
Cuddle Baby.
When Baby gets fussy, pass her to Mommy for feeding.
Play video games.

And here's how a typical diaper change unfolds for Mommy:

Put Baby on changing table. Ignore whimpers.
Gather all necessary supplies so we can make this as quick as possible.
Place Cow near Baby's head and make sure Baby sees her. Play a little.
Ignore faint cries.
Take the plunge: undo the diaper.
Sing lullabies to try to soothe screaming baby or at least drown out screams.
Slide a new diaper under Baby.
Wipe Baby.
Notice an all-to-familiar wet warmth, probably brought on by excessive screaming.
Gently remind Baby that this will definitely not get this over with faster.
Review in mind the order of operations for fixing this problem now that my hand, the baby's bottom (and the foot she stuck in the puddle before I could prevent this), the changing pad cover, her onesie, the old diaper and the new diaper are all dirty.
Ignore Baby's red-faced screams. Hope neighbors are ignoring them too.
Slide Baby to a clean section of changing pad cover. Try to keep her feet and hands away from the dirty part.
Dry hands and clean with hand sanitizer.
While trying to keep Baby's hands and feet away from the mess.
Put aside all dirty diapers. Grab a clean one.
While trying to keep Baby's hands and feet away from the mess.
Put clean diaper on Baby.
While trying to keep Baby's hands and feet away from the mess.
Remove onesie. Ignore shrieks.
While trying to keep Baby's hands and feet away from the mess.
Give Baby a quick sponge bath with wipes.
While trying to keep Baby's hands and feet away from the mess.
Change changing pad cover.
Put on a clean onesie [this could be a separate post all in itself]. Hope Baby breathes again.
Spend the next 15 minutes, at least, calming Baby down.
Do laundry.
Hear the all-too-familiar noise that means another diaper change is in the near future.

*sigh*

Don't try this at home

How cute, a happy baby taking a bath!

How stressful, two tired parents bathing a cute baby for the first time.

The problem was that a baby bath brings with it so many hazards you don't even think about until you're there. Plus, you have to get pictures for the baby book and blog.

Too hot!
The first concern, so the baby instruction manuals and common sense told me, is the temperature of the water. Thank goodness we have a "bath bear," a slightly ugly plastic tile with a picture of a teddy bear on it provided by the local burn center to test the water. Is it their version of Smokey the Bear? I laughed when I saw it, but quit laughing as soon as it tauntingly told me the water was a bit on the scalding side. And then a bit on the icy side. And then just right (Story idea: Goldilocks and the three Bath Bears). Unfortunately, by the time we actually had the baby ready to plop into the tub, the water had cooled too much and I had to start over. Bath Bear saved the day again.

Too cold!
By now, Kalina was stripped precariously of her clothing and diaper and wrapped in a towel to stay warm. This is the second major concern of bathing a baby: letting the baby get too cold. We'd gathered all our supplies ahead of time and filled the tub, so now the only thing left was to actually bathe the baby. We prepared ourselves for screams, but, crazy enough, she seemed to like it! We covered her with a warm washcloth and then...wait, the camera!

This became one of the few times we've sacrificed our child's well-being (or at least her potential happiness) for our own selfishness. Probably more mine than Matt's, to be fair. Matt sprinted out of the room, Kalina's body temperature plummeted (or so the books would have you think) and I loudly encouraged Matt to "hurry." He snapped a few pictures while Kalina wondered what all the fuss was about and enjoyed her bath.

Too deep!
Uh-oh, is the water supposed to be up around their ears? Is it okay if water actually gets in their ears? If it's not up to her ears, is it really a bath or just a glorified sponge bath? Just how deep is it supposed to be? None of the baby books had bothered to say. I let out a little water to be safe.

Too slippery!
Our baby bathtub has a raised middle portion with a slip-proof coating surrounded by pools for the water. Except the slip-proof coating isn't really slip-proof and our baby doesn't exactly not squirm, so we constantly had to keep her from sliding into the pools. The bathtub did not, unfortunately, come with instructions for how to do this. Nevertheless, we managed to produce a clean, unscathed baby.

Oops!
Then we toweled her off as Kalina tried her hardest to eat the towel and whisked her into the nursery for a fresh diaper and clean, cute onesie. Kalina, however, had other plans (perhaps frustrated by her inability to get a good bite of the towel). She soiled her towel, her little tushie and Matt with one smooth move. We wiped her up and proceeded as planned. Matt then needed to bathe but settled for clean clothes and hearty handwashing.

Mission accomplished, our baby is "clean!"