The Art of Negotiation

For the past week, we've been trying Otter to poop. We have explored all the obvious avenues, from bribery...

("Every time you go, you'll get a sticker!")

to story-telling...

("All the animals go poopy, every day!"

"The doggies?"

"Yes, the doggies."

"The penguins?"

"Yes, the penguins."

"The maned wolf?" Really? The maned wolf???

"Yes, especially the maned wolf.")

to reason...

("If you don't go, your tummy will hurt. It won't hurt if you go every day.")

to mildly veiled threats...

("If you don't go yourself, I'm going to have to use medicine. Now I'm not telling you this to scare you, but just to tell you that's going to have to happen...")

Negotiations are not going well.

But perhaps this is because once again, we've under-estimated our opponent. The other day, SB was playing with a stuffed hamster/mouse and, in the course of their morning had him "go poop." I thought we were just a hop, skip and a jump away from her following suit. Instead, she demanded a sticker - on his behalf.

And somehow got it.

Everyone Poops

WARNING: In the interest of full disclosure, I must begin this entry with a warning. What follows may be may be WAY TMI for some of you. But such is my life of late, that if I didn't over share, I'd have nothing to share at all. So, if you're feeling a bit squeamish, or just aren't interested in reading up on Otter's potty habits, move along. There's nothing to see here. Even though you'll be missing out on some terribly clever and humorous writing.


Everyone poops, or so the book would have us believe. What this enlightening text fails to mention, however, is that when the "everyone" happens to be the 2-year-old living in my house, the pooping may be less a "gimme" and more of a power struggle/test of willpower and patience with a dose of medical condition thrown in for good measure.

In brief - for reasons known only to her (as she refuses to explain this current trend), Otter has decided that bodily functions that the rest of us find involuntary are merely optional for her. This has had several results:

Stomach aches, which lead to...
Daily 5am wake ups, which lead to...
HIGHLY unhappy parents and child, alike.

On the upside, we are saving on diapers.

The battle came to a head, so to speak, 2 nights ago, when Otter decided to finally answer Nature's call, only to discover that her body was being less than cooperative. What transpired was 45 minutes of child screaming, parents coaxing, Internet searches, calls to the doctor's answering service (after hours, of course), hugs, tears, crazed attempts at any viable remedy, all culminating in partial success and exhausted collapse in sleep by all of us, only to repeat the following morning.

By the next day, Operation Poopy Otter had been hatched. New menu guidelines were drawn up. Words of encouragement were uttered. Bree was dispatched for mysterious medicines that, at best, looked mildly menacing. SB was going to poop if it was the last thing she did.

To take a soft left turn here... Have you ever noticed how utterly unhelpful directions on children's medicines are? They all claim to offer useful suggestions on how to best administer said remedy, conveniently overlooking the fact that no 2-year-old is actually going to cooperate with their instructions. For example:

Have child lay on their left side bringing up their knees and relaxing their arms.

The rest of the drivel is irrelevant, as the battle of medicine vs. toddler was lost at "have child lay." What 25-month-old is going to stay still, let alone lie down, for over 5 seconds without first being seriously sedated? And how am I supposed to administer the downers to begin with?! Perhaps the phrasing should have been:

Gather medicine, your iPhone, and 2 other able-bodied adults. Convince toddler that you're going to be looking at 'mommy's phone." Lay child down on side as best as possible. Have Adult #1 sit on the phone side of the configuration, distracting toddler by shaking the phone, talking about how much fun this is going to be, while simultaneously positioning him/herself to control flailing arms and legs. Adult #2 should be positioned on the opposite side, on the ready for when Adult #1 inevitably loses his/her grip. Grab medicine, and work gently, yet with lightening speed to administer before your child breaks free from all restraints and runs for the hills.

Sure you may need a bigger box to fit it all, but THAT would be helpful, and far closer to what actually happens.

Still, I am smarter (or at least stronger) than a pre-schooler, and after two mornings of hand-to-hand combat, we seem to have won the battle, if not the war. But perhaps I shouldn't be so self-congratulatory quite yet, as SB seems to have already parlayed her digestive issues into a new scheme of extending her bedtime. Last night, she waited until she was already in her crib and ready for lights out before announcing, "Want to poopy. Poopy on bed."

After all we've been through, how can I say no?

Playing Doctor

The 18-month doctor's appointment blows. For those of you who haven't done it yet, it involves non-stop crying occasionally mixed with checking of ears, stomach, heart and lungs. It begins with a questionnaire, designed to diagnose your child with any latent autism, and ends with a barrage of shots. Somewhere in there, your kid is measured and weighed and, after a full-on struggle, their head is measured. I'm pretty sure at one point her eyes may have been tested. I believe there was a quick chat about pre-schools and the doctor may have asked me if I had any questions. I had only one: "When can I get out of here?"

Here's what I learned:

Otter is still tall (75%); and skinny (15%). She is hella strong (as determined by the pediatrician, nurse and me struggling to pin her down while her ears were checked) and perfectly normal.

In more awesome news, we don't have to go back until she's 2!!!

Choked Up

Otter's a choker. Even before she started eating solid food, she'd find ways to take in too much, too fast and pay the price of coughing, tearing up, and, on the odd occasion turning slightly blue before hurling.

While the first few episodes were incredibly frightening, I've got to admit that with repeated practice, Bree and I have become rather blase about the event. Lest you think we're heartless monsters, I'd argue that keeping a calm, matter-of-fact demeanor has actually helped us deal with the episodes. We don't panic, but simply deal with the obstruction, reassure SB, and go on with our day.

Two mornings ago, Otter decided to up the ante. While feeding her breakfast, I turned my back for a moment to wash Foster's bowls. My attention was drawn back by wheezing and panting, which I soon discovered was my child suffocating on a piece of cereal. The usual routine of tipping forward and rubbing the back resulted in some Exorcist-style vomiting, and, after being reassured and changed, Otter was good as new.

My friend once told me that Cheerios did a test and proved it was impossible to choke on their cereal. I shudder to think what they did to determine this, and all I have to say to the makers of the cereal is this:

Either my friend was mistaken, or I've got a helluva lawsuit on my hands. If I was the litigious type...

Operation Fatten Up

For months, it was my dirty little secret. And revealing it now probably won't win me many friends. But in the interest of honesty and posterity and all that jazz, I have convinced myself that it is my obligation to share as much of my adventures with She-Blob as socially acceptable. Besides, my main purpose in avoiding the topic was to prevent my parents from needlessly worrying. Now that they've seen me in person, the cat is out of the proverbial bag, so here goes.

After having Otter, I lost my baby weight quite quickly. In fact, two months in, I was back to my original pre-birthing weight. It happened without me noticing, and I figured a helpfully good metabolism and breastfeeding (which burns something crazy like 500 extra calories) were to thank. "Go me," I thought, once again reclaiming my pre-baby wardrobe.

I ate what I wanted, in the quantities I wanted, but the weight loss continued. And by January, when I had dipped about 10 lbs. below my pre-pregnancy weight, my friend conducted an intervention. I was told in no uncertain terms that I better start gaining back flesh, or else. It was like reliving my high school days (when I had my obligatory bout of not eating), except for the part where I WAS eating, and still losing weight.

Thus began "Operation Fatten Up," Bree's valiant attempt to put some meet back on my boney ass. It required the consumption of burgers and shakes. The pounds stayed off. I realized there isn't a whole lot of information out there on excessive post-pregnancy weight loss. The Internet was overrun with methods on losing your baby weight, but none on gaining some of it back. Apparently the world thinks mine is a non-problem with a very simple solution: eat more.

Returning to work made me even more self concious. As I dipped into double figures (a neighborhood I hadn't lived in since, like, 9th grade), I found myself hiding in loose, shapeless clothes while co-workers eyed me with a mix of concern, certain suspicions, and absolutely no interest in hearing my "problem." Seriously, people who complain about being too thin are annoying. I know exactly what they were thinking, 'cause frankly, I instantly think it about underweight women too. Even when I don't know they'd just had a baby.

I began avoiding photos which would reveal too much body, stopped wearing anything with a v-cut neckline, and actually acquired a few clothing items that fit, which helped somewhat. Still, on the days I got careless, and wore something a bit too form or skin-revealing, I was bound to have the "Are you ok?"/"Yes, I AM eating," conversation at some point.

So here I am, 10 months later. Operation Fatten Up has been sporadic, but finally may be starting to have an effect. I've managed to put on about 5 lbs., and though I am still hovering about 6 lbs. below my starting weight, it seems that once I'm done nursing it should all come back on its own. In the meantime, maybe I can start a support group for the underfed...

No Puffy Poopy Otter

Our usual battle with Otter's digestive tract has taken an unexpected turn. Perhaps our efforts to fiberize the baby were a little too thorough, or maybe the mythic lore about teething side effects is true, but the long and the short of it is that anything that goes into SB very quickly emerges out the other end.

Having spent months devising countermeasures for a different problem, I am completely at a loss as to how to tackle this present dilemma. The Internet and guide books (yes, all those things I scoffed at) provide little by way of uniform guidance. While some extol the virtues of the B.R.A.T. diet (bananas, rice, apples and toast), others maintain that piling on the fat and fiber is most effective. This latter approach seems completely counter-intuitive, so I am choosing to ignore the advice, scientific studies be damned.

What I've ultimately arrived at is the modified B.R.A.Y. menu - replacing toast with goat yogurt. All those Activia commercials advertising yogurts digestive benefits can't be wrong. So fingers crossed, noses plugged, I'm forging ahead. At least this completely texture-less diet is bound to live up to Otter's sophisticated palate.

On the Downhill

This morning we unexpectedly found ourselves at our pediatrician's. Though Otter's 9 month appointment was scheduled for the following Friday, she decided that she had better things to do that day. So after being suspiciously itchy, we landed at the doctor's office.

Of course, Dr. L found nothing wrong with her. If you read a note of disappointment, it's only because I knew she was fine, but, being a good parent called the nurse at the office and was told to come in anyway. Now I couldn't not go in, lest I be labeled "irresponsible," authorities be called and Otter be raised in foster care. (As a side note, I am becoming increasingly confused by the function of an on-call nurse, if all the advice ends with "You should bring her in." Though, to play my own devil's advocate, they were quite helpful during the poopy embargo.)

On the upside, after confirming Otter was in perfect health and telling me to soak her in a bath, Dr. L did kindly agree to do her 9 month exam at the same time, saving me a trip next Friday. So after a late start, I finally headed off to the office.

It's hard to believe, but come 6 pm today (or 4:15 pm, let's be honest) I am once again a lady of leisure. While I'm making the necessary noises about looking for work, the truth is I'm looking forward to a little time to hang out with Otter.

More importantly, I've made it over the hump - not only am I 3/4 of the way through the American Academy of Pediatrics' recommended year of breast-feeding, I have survived the struggle of exclusively nursing while at work. Since I've oft-detailed the trials and tribulations of that arrangement, I won't bore you with the petty details. Suffice it to say, after endlessly stressing over whether I'd produce enough, pump enough, survive long enough, etc., I return to the leisure life with 13 packets of backup milk still hanging out in the freezer.

Not to toot my own horn (since I'm not done just yet, and it's obnoxious...) but, go me.

After the Epidemic

To celebrate the end of our plague outbreak, on Sunday we packed Otter up for the Los Angeles Arboretum. Having lived here for 12 years and an entire lifetime (respectively), neither I nor Bree had any idea this place existed. But the gardens more than made up for their lack of notoriety. It was a gorgeous day, and we all enjoyed the sights, smells and sounds of spring...

The only thing marring the outing, were the informative placards that had been tacked on to all the trees.

image by ikkoskinen

They displayed mosquitoes the size of medium birds, followed by several paragraphs in tiny print. The kind of disclaimers you find at the bottom of contracts. The ones that lead you to understand the message of without ever having to read: in the final analysis, you're screwed. This being the great outdoors (OK, OK, a Los Angeles park), and us lacking a mosquito net or DEET, we decided to soldier on.

Upon returning home, we noticed several bug bites on SB's legs and back. So now we watch and wait...will Swine Flu be followed up with Baby West Nile?

Baby Swine Flu

Over the past week, we've been inundated with reports on swine flu. You can't turn on the TV or radio without hearing the details and statistics of those infected, dying, or quarantined as the pandemic spreads. As the Egyptians blindly slaughter all their pigs in an effort to avoid infection through a non-infectious source, and neighbors eye each suspiciously for possibilities of outing a carrier (hmmm, Bob looks a little tan - perhaps he just came back from Cancun. Or is he...Mexican???) it's hard not to get caught up in the pseudo panic. Technical definitions aside, I think the media loves the word "pandemic" - it sounds very, very serious. Not to say that swine flu isn't, but you gotta admit, it certainly raises a mutation of the common cold into tuberculosis or malaria territory.

In an effort to stay current, Otter's come down with her own little swine flu. It may only be a runny nose and some sneezing, but the timing's too perfect not to jump to the obvious conclusion: She must have snuck off to Puerto Vallarta and rolled around with some piglets while I was at work. The end result is far from amusing however.

4/28 - Swine Flu Night 1
Thinking it was a one-off, I posted about this as if it were just a break from sleep. I wrote it off to teething (ha) or developmental milestones (double ha). She's still toothless and non-crawly.

4/29 - Swine Flu Day/Night 2
When she awoke with her nose running, I should have understood. Instead, in my continued bout of denial, I told myself it was from the crying she did between 2 and 5 a.m.

I returned home to a continuous flow of snotter but with a plan for the evening. Initially, it all went well enough - down peacefully at bedtime, no sudden waking... I went to bed cautiously optimistic at midnight. When she woke up, I was able to quickly put her down again. Success! Until 3 a.m. And 4:30 a.m. And 5:30 a.m. I passed out briefly from 6:30 - 7:30 and deliriously dragged myself off to work.

4/30 - Swine Flu Day/Night 3
I think I might have caught Otter's Swine Flu. Or maybe I'm just too tired to function. How did we do this night after night? Like the World Health Organization, we've adjusted our battle plan. It now involves saline solution, which (after pinning her down) we squirt up Otter's nose amid blood curdling, congested screams. We've also decided that since it's our coming to bed that wakes her up and starts our decent into hell, we'll just camp out. All we have to do is get her down for the night...

...Which proves difficult. Having given us two completely different non-sleep patterns, Otter decides to go for a 3rd in as many days. This time, she refuses to do what we considered our one ace in the hole. Putting her down ends up being a 1 1/2 hour affair most of which she spends crying hysterically.

However by 9 p.m. we finally succeed and I spend what seems like my most restful night yet sharing a 6' couch with my 6' 1" husband. When I wake at 6 a.m. I actually feel rested for about 15 minutes.

5/1 - Swine Flu Day/Night 4
Happy May Day everyone. Communists rejoice. I've had 5 1/2 hours of uninterrupted sleep and feel like I can climb mountains. The saline campaign continues, with Otter showing about the same level of enthusiasm about the whole affair. But she's definitely breathing easier. At work, I tell people I've been ousted from my bedroom and am congratulated on "having joined the club." Apparently this kind of thing is going to go on for years to come. I try hard not to think about that.

We don't want to mess with our new arrangement but thankfully sleep has turned some brain cells back on. I realize now that Bree and I don't have to share the couch - we actually have a guest room, and if we just clear off the bed we can sleep on furniture designed for that function. By bedtime though, Bree's backed out of our plan, so I spend a VERY comfortable night in the guest bed, snuggling with the dog.

5/2 - Swine Flu Day 5 (Final Day?)
After another uninterrupted night of sleep, Otter wakes up much more Swine Flu-free. She is in a good mood, engaging us in screaming contests, and bouncing up a storm. She's even started sliding backwards on our wood floor. We've backed off the saline and are quietly hopeful that our little pandemic is drawing to a close.

We may even try to regain our bed tonight. But I fear Otter likes this new set-up too much and I'll be squatting in the guest room for months to come...