No man's land.

It remains my futile goal to get Kiddle to bed by 7:00 (and that means by himself and asleep by 7:00). Last night wasn't too bad. Skipped his bath, as usual (man, he's one dirty kid by now), and had him down about 7:15. He, however, missed the memo that he needs to go to SLEEP at that time. He cried for a few minutes, but quickly gave up tears for rearranging the furniture. He spent a long time rocking in the big red chair in such a way that it was hitting both his closet door that doesn't latch closed AND the gate on the door, so it was like listening to a drum solo up there. BOOM-CLICK-RATTLE. BOOM-CLICK-RATTLE. But we continued to ignore him because usually he'll settle down and go to sleep soon enough.

The rocking eventually stopped and he moved on to counting with gusto and singing the ABCs, with a plainitive "MOM-MEEE" thrown in every now and then. Still, we ignored him.

Finally, at 8:15, he started getting upset, so I gave in and headed up to intervene ... and found him draped over the gate at the top of the stairs. He had used the rocking chair to bypass the gate on his door and was now trapped in the hall. And probably had been for a good half hour.

I thought his counting/singing seemed a little louder than ususal. Whoops.

School is cool.

If you've been following along for a while, you'll know that Kiddle has had some going-to-school issues. He's much, much, much improved but his common quip as we pull into the carpool line is "NO KOOL, NO KOOL," and sometimes there are still some tears as he walks away with his teacher.

Imagine my surprise today when when he was giggling to himself as we got in line, and when I trotted out my cheerleader-ish "Yay school!," he actually clapped and said, "YAY KOOL!!" as well. Shocker.

Think he'll have a meltdown next Tuesday?

Truck Timeout

Gorgeous day out today. It was so nice to spend the afternoon outdoors, playing in the backyard, racing around the park, and hanging out with our neighbors. Days like this renew my hope for spring.

One of Kiddle's favourite outdoor activities right now is racing his big dump truck up and down the front sidewalk. He's generally pretty good about listening to me when I tell him to stop and wait for me. But, as he's contractually obligated to as a toddler, sometimes he has to push the boundaries. Like today when he not only kept racing toward the busy-ish street at the end of our block, but went AROUND THE CORNER as I was yelling at him to stop. So I caught up with him, picked up the truck and marched him back to the house as he tried his damnedest to wrestle it away from me. MAH TRUH! MAH TRUH! MAH TRUH! Too bad, kiddo. Now it's Mommy's truck.

When we finally arrived at the backyard, I wedged the truck up in the dogwood tree for a timeout. You would have thought I cut off his right hand. The sobbing and dramatics went on for ages. All the way through lunch, in fact. TRUH IN TREE. TRUH IN TREE. HEP TRUH, MAMA. Yes, little one, the truck is in the tree because you didn't listen to Mommy.

But I have to say it was a remarkably effective weapon for the rest of the day. Anytime he was headed down the driveway and ignored me when I said to turn around, all I had to say was "Do you want me to put the truck back in the tree?" Immediate compliance!

Who's "Extra Little"?

I guess I should explain.

When Kiddle was an infant, I usually referred to him as Little Kid (much to Mr. P's annoyance because he thought it sounded like I didn't know Kiddle's name — until he started calling him Little Kid, too). Eventually Little Kid was shortened to just Little, which later evolved into Kiddle. We don't use those nicknames much anymore, but at one point we did become a bit concerned he might be Little for the rest of his life. I mean, who wants to be known as Little at 40?

Anyway, I've been struggling with what I should call this new kid in my musings here. And Extra Little seems fitting since he'll be my second, extra kiddo. So Extra Little it is ... at least until he shows up and something else seems to fit better.

Extra Little Update

With Kiddle in preschool two mornings a week, I finally had some kid-free "me" time. Or so I thought. Nope. Not lately anyway, because it seems all I do with my Tuesday and Thursday mornings is go for prenatal-related appointments. Last Thursday was a follow-up at the diabetes center. This Thursday is a regular visit to the OB. And today's thrilling appointment was for an ultrasound and a consult with the perinatalist. The ultrasound to check the size of the baby and the consult because apparently it isn't enough to have my OB and nutritionist following my gestational diabetes. I need to add more people to this kid's entourage.

But the report was good so I'll try to refrain from further complaint. Extra Little's estimated size is four pounds, four ounces, which is on target for 32 weeks. But it seems, however, they failed to mention that I'M HAVING A JACK-O-LANTERN instead of a baby:



Yikes! He must take after Mr. P's side of the family.

Two-Year-Olds Are Bizarre

Kiddle was asleep in the bed with me a few mornings ago. He started rustling around, waking up for the day, and suddenly said, full voice, "One, two, three, four, five, six, AAA, BEE, CEE, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, YYY, ZEEEEE!" Well, good morning to you too, little one. (And I won't even try to phonetically type his number pronunciation. Let's just say you can tell he's counting.)

***

He hasn't been a great eater for the last year, and has recently added the quirk of not wanting you to eat his food, even if he's absolutely not going to eat it.

Me: "Hmm, Kiddle, those carrots look yummy. I'm going to have a bite since you're not eating them."
Kiddle, trying to open my mouth: "MAH CARROT!! SPIH IH OW! SPIH IH OW!"
Me, showing him my empty mouth: "Sorry. All gone. Why don't you have a bite?"
Kiddle: "NOOOO! NO BIE!"

***

On Sunday, we were sitting at the table, eating dinner. Earlier in the day he had found Mr. P's bizarre dinosaur puppet. It's huge, scary looking, and something only a little boy (or a little boy in a man's body) would love. He thought it was fantastic and carried it around most of the day, even feeding it bites of his quesadilla at dinner. Mr. P and I were chatting, when I realized Kiddle was having a conversation with the dinosaur. Not unusual for most kids, but it's rare to hear him directly talking to his toys and understand what he's saying:

"OKAY DIE-SO, HODE MAH HAN." (Ok dinosaur, hold my hand.)

"HODE MAH HAN, WE GO KOSS DE STEE." (While we go across the street.)

Awww! Too cute! And it's even cuter to realize he does listen to me. Even when he's actively ignoring what I say.

Are you calling me fat?

Two more months to go and I definitely have moments when I feel as big as a house already ... mostly when I see my naked belly in the mirror. But I did feel a little better today when I picked Kiddle up from school.

His teacher saw me and said, "Wow, you're really popping out now." (Ok, so maybe it didn't start off so well.) "You've got four months left?"

"No, just two."

"Only two? Wow! You look really great!"

I'll take it where I can get it.

It's sing-along time!

We FINALLY got some video of Kiddle singing. If you want to call it singing, that is. Mangling might be a more apt description. He's expanded his repertoire a bit to include Itsy Bitsy Spider and possibly a couple of Jewish songs from preschool. I just don't have the ear to recognize those.

Here's his version of the ABCs:

And one verse of Old McDonald:

Dirty, long-haired hippie!

Yes, my son's hair is so freaking long, Ana had to use a clippie to cut it properly.

Night Night, Monster Mommy.

I've been doing a lot of ranting lately (more off-line than on, I suppose) about Kiddle's going-to-bed issues. Every single night I'm in a complete and total rage. At him for not listening to one single thing that comes out of my mouth (my god, HOW many zillion times could I possibly say "COME OVER HERE -- RIGHT NOW! -- AND PUT ON YOUR PAJAMAS"?) And at myself for turning into such a nasty, screaming monster every night.

Just to make me even crazier, he's completely oblivious to my anger. He's having a grand ol' time jumping naked on my bed. GRRR. Can't he see I'm about to lose it? That I'm THIS CLOSE to tossing him in his room for the night despite the fact he's only wearing a poopy diaper and one sock?

And I love the new step he's added to the process.

me: Do you want to rock with Mommy or Daddy tonight?
Kiddle: ROCK WIT MAMA.
We settle into the chair as Mr. P turns out the light and closes the door.
Kiddle, working up to a full standing-at-the-gate sob session: NO, NO! ROCK DE DA-YEE! ROCK DE DA-YEE! DA-YEE! DA-YEE!
A couple of times I've said, fine, Daddy will come rock with you. And we switch.
Kiddle: NO! MAMA, MAMA! ROCK WIT MAMA! ROCK MAMA!

So, I'm sure you can guess, we quickly learned not to honor that request.

***

Of course, last night he went to bed like an ANGEL.

Took a bath. Let me put on his diaper and pajamas without jumping on the bed at all. Looked at a book with me on my bed, then went into his room without protesting or running from room to room. Sat in his bed nicely while we read another book, then crawled into my lap to rock. When I said it was time to get back in his bed and for me to go, he got down on his own, got under the covers and didn't let out a single peep when I left the room. It was heaven.

WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH KIDDLE?

***

How can this sweet sleeping face send me into such a rage?

I take it back.

Spring is most definitely NOT in the air.

We got about six inches of snow yesterday and it was about 25 degrees this afternoon. BRRRR! (But I'm not really complaining because parts of Long Island received over a foot. New York City public schools closed for the first time in five -- yes, FIVE -- years.) March absolutely came in like a lion.

On the plus side, Kiddle discovered the joys of coasting downhill on a bike. If only there wasn't a relatively busy street at the end of our sidewalk. Gulp.

Spring is in the air.

Well, a little bit anyway.

I wish I could say it was a glorious day, but I can't. Overcast and a bit damp, in fact, but it was close to 50 and a nice day to stretch our legs at the park. We've been off and on over the winter when the weather has allowed, but today was the first day we actually encountered the usual group of kids.

Joseph, Juliana, Gwen, and LK were all there. And we met a couple of fresh-on-their-feet walkers who were too little to be noticed last summer. The kids had a fantastic time chasing each other all over the place and making woodchip cakes. Banana cake, chocolate cake, birthday cake, PAN-cakes (they thought that one was hysterical). So many flavors.

This park has become my lifeline to burn some energy out of my busy little kid. The winter has been long, long, long and I can't wait to get back to our nightly park outings. I think I was giddier than the kids today!

Daddy Love: The Movie.

DA-YEE!!

It's seems we're (finally) entering a daddy phase. After, I don't know, two years of a mommy phase? Two years of Kiddle trying to close the door on Daddy when he comes home from work, sobbing at the top of the stairs if Daddy dares to put him to bed solo, and hysterically wailing when Daddy enters his room instead of Mommy.*

Now, he cries when Daddy leaves in the morning, is thrilled when he gets home in the evening and doesn't utter a peep when Daddy takes him up to bed alone. And on nights that we're both getting him ready for bed, his answer to the question, "Do you want to rock with Mommy or Daddy?" is just as often DA-YEE as it is MAMA.

I wouldn't say it's all about Daddy just yet. But we're getting there. Thank god.

Let's hope it hangs on through the birth of this next kid.

* Disclaimer: extreme examples; not everyday occurrences.

KiddleTV

Yes, he's eating blueberries while watching himself eat blueberries.

He loves to watch video of himself. (Future reality star perhaps?) WASH KIDDLE? WASH KIDDLE? as he's tapping on the screen. CAM-RA? And if that doesn't work, WASH DA-YEE?

During the latest episode of KiddleTV, he ran to the fridge and got out the carton of blueberries when he saw himself eating berries on-screen. Art imitating life? Life imitating art? Who knows.

My Little Helper

Three of my favourite of-the-moment Kiddle obsessions:

1) He is my printer assistant. No matter where he is or what he's doing, he must -- MUST -- drop everything as soon as he hears my printer start up just so he can hand me the pages as they come out. I've had to reprint things simply to avoid the meltdown.

2) He is my bathroom attendant. Flushing is his job and his job alone. Heaven forbid I pee and flush the toilet myself. But his belated dash into the bathroom combined with a look of indignant reproach is worth it. At least until I have to bodily remove him from the bathroom and lock the door from the outside.

3) He is my elevator operator. The only reason trips to the grocery store are somewhat reasonable is that we park in the garage under the store and take the elevator up. But never forget -- Kiddle must be the one to push the buttons. To the point that he refused to get on the elevator recently because Mr. P pushed the Up button. The nerve of that guy.

And just how pregnant am I?

Good question.

My mom asked me a while back how many weeks I was. No clue. And of course she said, "You would have known exactly how many weeks you were with Kiddle." Well, duh, mom. It was my first pregnancy and I had it written down on a calendar right in front of me at my desk. Be thankful this is my second pregnancy and I'm not asking you to cancel your trip to Florida that covers my due date.

So how many weeks am I? I know I was 20 weeks on Christmas day, so that means I'm ... hang on ... 28 weeks. Twelve to go.

Yikes. That seems really soon and really far away.

TMI Alert: OB Update

I survived yesterday's three-hour glucose test without passing out or falling asleep. When I took the test while pregnant with Kiddle, desperate for a quick hit of protein, I stopped by McDonald's (perhaps that makes my quest protein-like?) on the way back to the subway to get a double cheeseburger. And, of course, it was one of those times it takes at least 10 minutes to get your food. I was about to collapse into a pile of goo as I clung to the counter, willing them to put that burger in my hands. How hard is it to make a double cheeseburger? I did learn a lesson from that experience and took a peanut butter sandwich with me for yesterday's test.

I also found out that my sugar level wasn't sky high -- 144, and the cut-off is 140. So that was good news and an indication that I might make it through this test without being labeled as diabetic.

The frustrating part of the visit was that the protein level in my urine sample was too high. Way too high. No need to panic yet, but it definitely worries me because that was one of the problems I had while pregnant with Kiddle -- but much later in the pregnancy. Protein in your urine is one of the indicators of preeclampsia. But it must accompany high blood pressure, which I don't have. Yet. The only solution for preeclampsia is to deliver the baby. Not a big deal if you're past 37 weeks, but I've got quite a ways to go before delivery is an option.

However -- hopefully the protein is a sign of something else. Like an asymptomatic UTI. So the doctor is sending off more urine for analysis and took more blood to run some other tests. And I have to do a 24-hour urine collection test this weekend. (So don't drink out of the big red jug in the fridge please!)

And, to top it all off, I have a sinus infection. Very annoying; haven't had one in years and years. I started a round of antibiotics last night, so I'm just waiting for that to kick in and get rid of the pain and pressure on the left side of my face. The good news is that if I do have a UTI, the antibiotics will take care of that too.

Which reminds me ... I'm two hours late taking my pill. Gotta go!

Edited to add: I also found out that I was already exposed to fifth disease at some point, so I'm immune. Whew! One less thing to worry about.

Luck of the Irish? Or the dumbest thing ever?

Am I insane for wanting to get my almost three-year-old this toy? Does it seem less crazy if I add that he's at least 51% Irish?

10 steps to bed.

1) Aim for a 7:00 bedtime ... but always start the process a half hour too late. (Remember, people, he stopped napping. 7:00 is not ridiculously early.)

2) Wrestle Kiddle into a fresh diaper, pull-up (yes, we're layering) and pajamas while he's madly jumping on my bed and hiding under the covers. "HIDEY, Mama! HIDEY!"

3) Dose of Zyrtec, then teeth brushing.

4) Read one or two books. Much to my annoyance, this means toddler look-and-find books. He will not listen to anything story-based right now.

5) Rock in his big red chair for 10 minutes or so while listening to U2 or Led Zeppelin lullaby CD.

6) Tell him it's time to get into bed. He then pushes me backwards to try to keep me in the chair: "Nooo, no bed. Rock, Mama! ROCK!"

7) Rock for two more minutes, then insist he get into bed. Cover him with a blanket, give him a kiss, say "I love you," and hightail it out of the room as quickly as possible before he can untangle himself from the blanket and catch up with me.

8) Dash down the stairs as he flings open his door, rattles the gate, sobbing "MAMA! MAMA! MAMA!"

9) Listen to the wailing until he decides he may as well shut up and go to sleep. Hopefully only two to five minutes.

10) When I head up to bed several hours later, check to see if he's asleep at his door or if he actually made it back to his bed.

I just don't get the racing-after-me step in this process. Why waste a perfectly good sense of sleepiness when he knows I'm not coming back? I do know why though. He wants to be rocked to sleep or for me to sit there while he goes to sleep. No way, bud. I've spent too, too many hours walking, jiggling, snuggling, and rocking you to sleep in the last three years. I'm done. Time to man up and go to sleep on your own. I know you can do it. I've seen you do it. So just do it.