I wish....

I am finding keeping up with Lunatic Child difficult at the moment. The extra 30lbs and huge baby belly are major contributing factors, of course. It puts me in a wistful mood, and I was contemplating some of the things I am wishing for at the moment.

- I wish Lunatic Child would be still for one nanosecond. Just one. He can't even sit still when you're reading him a story or he is watching TV. He twitches. He wriggles. He writhes. He prods. He climbs. It is SO EXHAUSTING.

- I wish Lunatic Child would not profess his undying love for the kitten immediately prior to trying to step on her, kick her, grab her paws, poke her with a stick, drive his dump truck into her, etc. She is remarkably undaunted by this behavior and responds in kind by attacking his head whenever it's in reach, but still, I don't think he is really understanding the concept of "gentle", and there is going to be a new baby in the house in 4 weeks.

- I wish Lunatic Child would just sit and eat a meal instead of eating 2 bites of toast and then telling me he's made me a boat and therefore can't eat his masterpiece. Or spending 5 minutes attempting to get the perfect sized bite on his fork. "This is too big"! (Food is wiped off fork and onto placemat, or floor.) "This bite is too small"! (He then proceeds to put half his plate on the fork), leading to..."This bite is too big"! Rinse and repeat until I freak out. Or telling me that the only food he desires is a banana, and then eating one bite, only to conclude that he "doesn't like it".

- I wish Lunatic Child would not grunt out a denial that he is pooping whilst red faced and straining. He then runs away and hides rather than get his bum changed. When cornered and brought to the changing table, he wails as if being stabbed with knives. Every single time. I mean, really?

- I wish Lunatic Child would not spend half his time at the park randomly sprinting into the middle distance toward traffic with me puffing after him yelling threats to his bodily integrity if he does not stop this second whilst other parents look on in alarm.

- I wish Lunatic Child would lay down in his bed and go the f*ck to sleep. Tonight, for example. I put him to bed. 20 minutes later, he is wailing. I check. Apparently, he has "bumped his head on the bed". Comfort is administered. I shut the door. I instantly hear him get out of bed and thunder to his bedroom door where he lays down. Hilarious laughter. The kitten is sticking her paws under the door and Lunatic Child finds it HYSTERICAL. I remove the kitten and tell Lunatic Child to get back in bed. I go downstairs. Kitten immediately runs back upstairs to his bedroom door. Lunatic Child immediately gets back out of bed. More hilarity. I shut the kitten in the back room for a bit. Lunatic Child eventually gets into bed and spends another 30 minutes or so talking to himself before finally falling asleep.

I suppose if I think pregnancy is hard, I will really be feeling sorry for myself in a few weeks when Trouble arrives. Sigh.

Feral kitten update....

I felt like the Worst Person In The World, but I had to give up on the feral kittens. They were just so completely awful. I tried and tried and tried but I never even got them to come out from under the bed voluntarily. I was covered in scratches. They would pee on the floor with fright if you startled them. They regarded Lunatic Child as the devil incarnate. I called the woman I got them from and told her she had to take them back. She wasn't very happy and insisted they were totally socialized, and I told her she could come and fish them out from under the bed then. So in the end, back they went. They were just never going to be pets in any meaningful sense, and I didn't want to spend the next 15 years feeding cats I would never see. Undaunted, we immediately contacted another dodgy internet purveyor of kittens. I really wanted a cat!! These particular dodgy kitten purveyors were so keen to divest themselves of their kittens, they drove from Manhattan with a pair of them so we could pick one. They were excruciatingly adorable but looked REALLY small. My kitten fu is not strong, but I thought they were a bit young. When pressed, however, they swore that they were 6 1/2 weeks. So we took a little girl. She is black with white paws and a white tummy. She is meant to be a Siberian cat, and they are supposed to be quite large when grown. They have long hair but apparently don't shed like water buffalo. We shall see given what transpired on how old she actually was!! The next day I couldn't get her to eat any solid food at all. She looked at me like I was from Mars when I presented her with some kitten food. So I took her to the vet, who informed me that she was not a day older than 4 weeks. So. For the last week I have been bottle feeding this kitten 3 times a day and supplementing that with syringes full of mushed up kitten food. She is too small to clean herself properly, so I have also been wiping her little kitty butt. Thank God she seems to have sorted herself out with the litter box, so that's been easy. But otherwise, she is basically my 2nd baby, only 2 months early. I have now been told to start weaning her. The vet made it sound like it was simply a process of putting some food in a dish and letting her have at it. It has not worked this way in practice. You put the food in front of her. She steps in it, tracks it everywhere and then tries to jump in my lap and suckle my elbow. Or crawl up my shirt and suckle my hair. You put her back in front of the food. She steps in it. Wanders around disconsolately for a few seconds getting food everywhere and then tries to jump in my lap and sucke my elbow or crawl up my shirt and suckle my hair. This goes on for some indeterminate messy, frustrating time until I give up and give her a bottle, which she hoovers down in about 30 seconds flat. This afternoon she ate out of the dish for about 2 seconds, then gave up and started nosing around for a bottle. My internet searches have led me to believe that while some cats get the hang of it right away, some of them are a bit slow on the uptake. We got a slow one. I have been doing all the internet search approved kitten weaning techniques, including letting her lick the food off my fingers (She bites! Ouch!) and letting her step in it (This is good, because they lick it off and realize they want more. The jury is out on the efficacy of this. It sure makes a hell of a mess though.) On the upside, she is completely fearless of Lunatic Child and will sit on his lap and chew on his hair and generally treats him like a piece of furniture. Albeit unpredictable, loud furniture giving to shouting "Hi kitty. What are you doing!!!" at the top of its lungs. He has been fairly good about being gentle with her so far, although I wouldn't leave them alone together. She is sweet and affectionate. In fact, she will climb your leg to get on your lap. She likes to attack feet and ankles, which is dangerous as she's so small I fear inadvertently squashing her. In any event, we think we will stick with this one. Fun Daddy had the honor of naming her...Queen Elizabeth II, or Queenie. Mostly we just call her kitty. Now we are just waiting for the next baby to arrive!! 8 weeks to go.

Not enough to do...

Fun Daddy and I decided that we weren't busy enough, what with a toddler at home, both of us working, and B2 on the way.

Having done the math, we decided that the best thing to do was to move out of our Upper West Side apartment, which was costing us an arm and a leg and a kidney each month, and bolt for the idyllic and slightly cheaper suburbs.  We were going to wait to do this when our lease expired at the end of July, but an opportunity to sublet our apartment came up and we jumped at it, as it meant we could move and get settled before the arrival of B2 (aka - Trouble) at the end of June.

This meant finding a house to rent, leasing a car, organising childcare for Lunatic Child in new town, organising movers, packing and moving all in the space of about 3 weeks.  I am leaving out about 500 other things which had to be done. And might I remind you, dear readers, this is the 3rd time we have moved in the space of a year.

Oh, and we had a houseguest in the middle of that.

Oh, and both Lunatic Child and I had a hideous bout of the stomach flu.

Our houseguest was an old friend of Fun Daddy's, and it was lovely to see her.  She is exceptionally charming and interesting and the weirdest stuff always happens to her.  I am pleased to say I was able to contribute to this trend. 

She very kindly organised to take me to see Porgy and Bess, which I was tremendously excited about as I have felt very bad that I've been a bit rubbish on experiencing the NY Arts Scene.  ie - I have not experienced the NY Arts Scene one iota since moving here.  So off I tripped on the day, despite feeling a bit funny in the tummy. 

I sat through the entire performance feeling progressively more horrible by the second.  Sweating.  Light Headed.  But really determined to enjoy the show (which was great, by the way).  I made it to the end, stood up to leave, walked about 50 feet and then had to throw up in my handbag.  And not just a little bit.  A LOT.  Like uncontrollable vomiting for about 5 minutes.  I was completely freaked out and hysterical (remember, I am in my third trimester of pregnancy here, people).  Crying.  Puke coming out my nose.  In my hair.  In my handbag.  It really was not my finest hour.  And poor Fun Daddy's friend is just sitting there in horror.  She doesn't know me *that* well and had no idea what to do with this disgusting mess of a person sobbing in front of her. 

We managed to get ourselves into a taxi and home where she gratefully deposited me with Fun Daddy and went to see her sister.  I tried to go to bed,  but an hour later Lunatic Child woke up wailing and when we went into get him, he promptly barfed all over Fun Daddy.  And that was the pattern for the rest of the night.  I threw up in every available recepticle in the house (toilet, sink, bathtub etc.) while Lunatic Child managed to only vomit on things which needed to be washed, such as our sheets, his sheets, his father's clothes, my bathrobe, his pajamas (3 times), etc.  A Fun Time was had by all. 

Luckily, there was only One Night of the Vomit, and then we merely felt totally crap for another week or so.  Fun Daddy did not get it at all.  I fail to see how he could have possibly avoided it, but he must have a cast iron stomach.

My handbag is a write off and I still need a new one.  It remains on the to do list.

We somehow finished packing and got ourselves into the new house.  Which is nice.  We like it.  We only have a few more boxes to unpack and pictures to hang, so clearly we needed another project.

Enter...the Feral Kittens.

Fun Daddy, who is a committed dog person uttered the fatal words "I wouldn't mind getting a cat" about a week after we moved.  I have always been a cat person and have wanted one for ages.  Within the space of about 30 seconds I'd looked up local cat adoption websites, told him to pick one out from the photos and I would go get it.  He wanted 2 sisters, who are lovely gray and tan calico kittens. 

I went to see them last weekend.  They were being looked after by 2 slightly crazy old cat ladies who were *extremely eager* to get me to take them home.  Having gone all the way to see them, I felt like I couldn't say no, but I was worried.  They seemed very skittish. 

My fears were well founded.  They are basically feral.  They've spent the last week hiding under the bed and hissing whenever we try to fetch them out.  I have my kitten poking broom, which I use to sweep them out from under the bed and into the closet where they're easier to grab.  They don't enjoy this.  Neither do I.  I've been attempting to bribe them into submission with roast chicken and tuna fish and copious amounts of handling.  I've basically fed them almost an entire roast chicken, with not a whole lot of results.  One of them no longer tries to bite me when I pick her up.  It's progress, of a sort. 

Fun Daddy is extremely disappointed in the whole cat experience to date as he was expecting some fun, cuddly kittens. I profess that I am having trouble loving them as well.  It's going to take weeks of concerted effort to get them used to people and, to be honest, even that might not be successful as they are about 12 weeks old, and you really need to socialise them before 8 weeks for the best results.

We are contemplating calling one of them Queen of the Underbed, as she has never voluntarily come out from under the bed as far as we can tell.  The other one is less shy and will come out and have a sniff around, but she'll scamper back under there as soon as she hears a noise.  It's hard to get a bit of quiet when you've got a toddler in the house...poor baby kitties.  I'm doing my best to tame them, but this may be a task too far, even for Harried Mum.

Lunatic Child loves the new house with its back garden.  We go looking for sticks and dinosaur rocks.  His new thing is smell, only everything "smells like a dinosaur".  When you say, "Is that a good smell"?  He'll say, "No. It smells like a dinosaur".  OK.  In any event, whilst he still loves cars and trucks, he's definitely moving into the dinosaur phase of little boy-dom.  He can correctly identify 3 or 4 different kinds and is always interested in learning more.  His favourite dinosaur appears to be the Ankylosaurus.  An esoteric choice.

So anyway, that's all the news there is that's fit to print.  I'm off to file the taxes (booo, hiss...)

Cheers to all!

Battle of the Sexes

Recently, I remarked that if Fun Daddy would just do what I told him to, his life would be so much easier. This was because in our long running battle of "Who Is The Most Organised" I had just won a resounding victory. These are becoming increasingly rare for me, as my brain mostly consists of jam sandwiches and nap schedules since I had a baby. Now that I am pregnant, even the bits that are left are stewing in a vat of pregnancy hormones, and I commonly wander into a room and back out of it with a vague notion that I went in there for a purpose, but I will be damned if I know what it was.

In any event, Fun Daddy couldn't find his social security card. This is a very important document in the U.S., so of course it's printed on some cheap paper and is tiny and easily lost. Fun Daddy was convinced that I, in my pregnancy addled state, had mis-filed or lost it. He kept hoping to trick me into confessing by periodically asking me pointed questions, such as "If you had a filing system, where would you have filed my social security card?" Now my brain may be disorganised, but my filing system is impeccable thankyouverymuch. In return, I suggested that Fun Daddy should look to his own double super secret filing system, otherwise known as his sock drawer. Thieves never look for important documents in the underwear drawer you know...

Fun Daddy sullenly replied that he HAD looked in his sock drawer. Convinced that I had filed it someplace random, he stomped off to the study one evening to go through all our filing. Poor martyred Fun Daddy. Having to sort out Harried Mum's silly mistake. Big sigh.

I went and took a shower. And when I got out, I opened Fun Daddy's sock drawer. Lo and behold, what do you think was lying there in plain view? Yes, friends and neighbors, the missing social security card was right where I said it might be.

So I might be a little scatterbrained and muddled at the moment, but Fun Daddy will always be looking for things like a man...

The Plague Cheeto

Lunatic Child surpassed himself in naughtiness last Friday, and on a playdate as well.  Now we can never play with them again.  The mum thinks I am a complete psycho, as I completely lost my sh*t and was reduced to muttering wild-eyed threats in Lunatic Child's ear as he shrieked while I held him down and attempted to clean plague cheeto out of his mouth. 

Let me explain...

We met another toddler and his mum at the Central Park Zoo.  Even though it was a lovely, sunny day and Lunatic Child normally enjoys the zoo, last Friday was apparently not our day.  We started at the penguin exhibit.

"Don't like the penguins.  Little bit scared."

Even though the other nice little boy was enjoying the penguins, we left.  Apparently, penguins are threatening. 

We went to the monkey exhibit.

"Don't like the monkeys".  There was no reason given for this.  He just doesn't.

He then sprinted up the hill and into the middle distance, with me puffing along behind, 5 months pregnant.  I finally ran him to ground and wrestled him back into the push chair, which he didn't like either. 

No one was happy at this stage, and I hadn't even said 2 words to the other mum as I had been wholly consumed by my recalcitrant child.

We went to the bird exhibit where he chased the birds around despite my increasingly shrill exhortations and threats of eternal banishment to the push chair. 

Meanwhile, please note that the other nice little boy had been perfectly behaved, wanted to see each exhibit, walked quietly with his mum and did not chase the birds.

The other nice little boy's favourite thing is to watch the sea lions being fed, so we turned up early to get a good viewing space.  This is really where it all went to pot.  We gave the children snacks.  Nice little boy sat quietly and ate his snack.  Lunatic Child wanted to eat his snack and climb up the stairs.  And down the stairs.  And up the stairs.  And down the stairs.  And then sprint into the middle distance.  By this stage I was red and frothing. 

We were at the bottom of the stairs, and I was attempting to coax Lunatic Child back to our seating area.  There were about 50 people standing around us.  Lunatic Child spots a cheeto lying on the ground next to the sea lion enclosure.  A disgusting, crusty cheeto which has been lying there for God knows how long, collecting who knows what kind of germs.  He announces: "I need that".  And before I can get to him, he picks it up, shoves it into his mouth and starts chewing.  Cue crowd laughter.

I am SO CONSCIOUS of this other mum just looking at me while I try to scrape the plague cheeto out of Lunatic Child's mouth.  He's shrieking.  People are enjoying our impromptu show.  I'm muttering that he is GOING TO BE SORRY.  (He was not).  It was just a complete disaster.

We left the zoo in complete disarray and retreated to the playground, where Lunatic Child played happily and quietly in the sandbox for 45 minutes.  I know he's only 2.  They are just SO NAUGHTY sometimes.

I didn't even tell you about the recent party we attended where he snuck behind the buffet table and climbed up on a chair and proceeded to stuff cupcakes in his mouth one after the other until Fun Daddy and I finally realised he was missing (we are negligent, bad parents is really the moral of this tale).  I think he got through 3. 

In any event, he suffered no ill effects, from either the cupcake overdose or the plague cheeto, so we will continue to persevere.  Some days are good.  Some days are...challenging.  We all still love each other and that's all that counts!

Trouble...

Oh dear.  Harried Mum hasn't posted in a while.  This is for a variety of not particularly good reasons, the most interesting of which is that I'm pregnant.  Yes.  Lunatic Child is going to get a sibling on or about June 26.  I'm already calling this one Trouble, as I suspect that's what I'm going to be in when trying to cope with 2 of them. 

Trouble has provided a very different pregnancy experience than Lunatic Child.  I sailed through pregnancy with Lunatic Child, including multiple overseas trips into my 32nd week of pregnancy.  I had no morning sickness at all and generally felt pretty OK.  

This did not stop me from CONSTANTLY moaning throughout my entire pregnancy with Lunatic Child.  I don't enjoy pregnancy.  I don't "glow".  I'm not "blooming".  I'm not feeling the high involved with creating life.  For me, it's all about the fat ankles, ridiculous boobs and myriad indignities that pregnancy brings.  Ladies, you know what I'm talking about.  I mean, isn't it bad enough you can't get off the couch without saying "oof"?  Do you really have to be constipated as well?  It's all so UNFAIR.

Despite all the snivelling, I knew Lunatic Child was an easy pregnancy.  In contrast, I had a miserable first trimester with Trouble.  And by miserable, I mean that I felt a bit sick and tired.  (See above, re: moaning).  It was like I was constantly hung over for 3 months.  If it was socially acceptable to subsist on macaroni and cheese, I would have.  I also wanted to nap.  A lot.  Hence, no blogging.

I'm feeling much better now.  I'm also happy I'm finally out of the "Has she just got a bit fat, or is she pregnant?" stage.  I'm not happy about maternity jeans.  I mean, seriously.  Can no one make a pair that don't immediately fall off your butt the first time you sit down?

As I am older now and in the "decrepit maternal age" category, and also because I'm having Trouble in the U.S., I have been bemused by the differences in pre-natal care.  I've given a lot more blood to the cause.  I've peed in a lot more cups. I've generally been poked and prodded and tested a lot more.  I see the obstetrician at every appointment as opposed to a midwife or nurse practitioner.  Additionally, and scandalously, we are going to be hundreds if not thousands of dollars out-of-pocket with Trouble, and this despite Fun Daddy having "comprehensive" insurance through work.  Seriously, US.  Get your sh*t together on the healthcare front.  It's ridiculous. 

My obstetrician is nice, but very firm.  After she weighed me on the second visit, she basically told me to lay off the cake, fatty.  In pretty much those exact words.  Sadly, she was probably right about this, as last week, I broke one of our kitchen chairs when I sat on it.  I was leaning over to prevent Lunatic Child from some wanton act of self-destruction, when the whole front leg gave way.  I told Fun Daddy, looking for some love and sympathy.  Instead I've had a lot of "who ate all the pie" jokes made at my expense.  Pregnancy.  It's just not dignified.

Dude.........not

A couple of weeks ago Fun Daddy, Lunatic Child and I went to a Dude Ranch.  I don't know what we were thinking either.  We seem to have taken leave of our senses for as much time as it took us to make the reservations and get there, and then it was TOO LATE.  We were stuck at the Dude Ranch for the weekend.  And it was Hell.

First of all.  Lunatic Child is about 3 years too young for *any* of the 1,001 activities on offer at the Dude Ranch.  He couldn't give his left nutmeg that there were horses.  He did NOT want to touch the pony.  "All Done!!!"  He was too little for the pool.  Has the attention span of a gnat and eats paint (see previous post) so we couldn't do crafts.  I can't even imagine the chaos which would ensue if we took him on a paddle boat.  Obviously, organised sports are out.  Hiking lasts about 4 seconds.  "All Done!!"  Can't even say "scavenger hunt" let alone participate in one.

This left us with a lot of time to fill.

In fact, the only thing which Lunatic Child wanted to do all weekend was play with the giant dump truck in the Dude Ranch nursery. 

Fun Daddy and I thought to ourselves, if all Lunatic Child wants to do is play with trucks, he could have done that at home, and we would not be having to navigate our way through these hordes of shrieking children to the a la carte buffet, where you could choose from lukewarm chicken nuggets or lukewarm pasta marinara.

The other disaster (yes, there's more!) was that our hotel room was just a single room so we were trying to put Lunatic Child to bed whilst we were in the room with him.  This involved hiding in the bathroom for 20 minutes, then having Lunatic Child wail "All Done !" as soon as we cracked open the door.  The first night I was BESIDE myself with frustration.  I'd been trying to put Lunatic Child down for over an hour.  Then, Fun Daddy, who had taken a later train, turned up and got Lunatic Child all hopped up on Fun Daddy shenanigans, after which we had to try and put an over-stimulated, over-tired child to bed.  Harried Mum was sulky and angry about this and convinced it was Ruining His Sleep Patterns.  However, by the next night, I'd given up, and Lunatic Child went on a moonlight tractor ride to the bonfire, where he listened to a nice cowboy sing "Incy-Wincy Spider" and ate toasted marshmallows until his teeth fell out.  He eventually collapsed from total exhaustion around 9:30pm.  The Sleep Patterns are fine.  Harried Mum is mildly neurotic.

Frankly, even if Lunatic Child had been old enough to enjoy the Dude Ranch, I think Fun Daddy and I still would have found it depressing.  A child-friendly Dude Ranch is just not the aspirational holiday of our dreams.  I realise having children changes things, but this was just a cold, hard reality check that Harried Mum is not going to be drinking margaritas on the beach at any time in the foreseeable future.

So here's a tip from Harried Mum.  Don't waste your money on "child-friendly" holidays (BTW - it cost a PACKET for a crappy weekend away) until your child is actually old enough to speak in complete sentences and is trustworthy around paint.