Me, Myself and Mommy

After developing bald spots from pulling out my hair, it was time to go to the doctor and get a medical opinion. I did not want to institute a punishment plan if the potty accidents were something she really couldn’t help.

Somehow we managed to turn our quick trip to the doctor  into a circus act. I had to boil a plastic container for Moanna to pee in. Then we had to get her to actually pee in it. To do this Steve sat Moanna on her potty ring (you know the kind that fits on the adult potty so the little tykes don’t fall in), and held her in the air over the toilet while I held the cup under her. At first, she protested, “This is not how I go potty. I can’t pee in the air.” After making it clear to Steve and I that this was completely unorthodox, she peed. I was weed on a wee bit, but we got the sample. I put a lid on it, and put it in a plastic baggie.

The doctor checked her out and tested our sample for infection. The test came back negative, and her exam was all clear. He recommend giving her some cranberry juice on a regular basis to keep everything clear, and to be pro active. Other than that, he felt it was probably a behavioral issue.

Now that we know it’s probably not a medical issue, it’s time to institute the punishment plan. Just kidding – I don’t believe in punishing kids for potty accidents. I think it just sets them back further. However, I am instituting an action plan of sorts. It’s more positive reinforcement than punishment.

It’s time to bring back the Tic-Tac Method. We used this early on in our potty-training adventures, and it was quite effective. We’re going to try it out again. If she pees in the potty, she gets a tic-tac. If she pees in her pants, in her bed or anywhere that is not the potty, she sits in time-out for an hour while I lecture her about how angry it makes me when she does not pee and poop in the potty. JUST KIDDING – I told you I wasn’t into punishing kids for this kind of thing. If she has an accident, I will tell her how upset it makes me, and that it makes me really happy when she goes in the potty. I may through a few tears in there for effect; maybe if I cry, she will feel  bad for me, and won’t do it any more.

How do you handle potty-training setbacks? How do you keep your cool when you really want to freak-out because you are yet again cleaning up pee and poop?

I’m going to make this quick because I have to get back to pulling my hair out ASAP.

I’m going to list Moanna’s recent symptoms. Your job is to diagnose and cure the problem.

• Saturday, she spent half the day in timeout for various things
• Saturday afternoon she napped from 3:00PM-8:00PM**
• Sunday, she spent the morning in timeout for similar reasons as Saturday
• Sunday afternoon she napped from 4:00PM-9:30PM**
• Monday, Daddy came home, so all was right in the world
• Tuesday, she peed her pants 5 times, FIVE TIMES (she’s been pottytrained forever)
• Tuesday, very sassy and had out-of-control energy
• Wednesday, we woke up to find she had pooped in her bed
• Wednesday, she could not control her energy and was bouncing and screaming all evening
• Thursday, she peed her pants 3 times, THREE TIMES

So what is it? A rotten week? The terrible twos? A UTI? The joys of motherhood?

My home remedies are not working. Doctor, I need a diagnosis and a cure because I’m close to bald with all of the hair-pulling.

**Before you get judgmental on me, let me clarify. We were out of the house on Saturday and Sunday during usual nap time (for us it is 1:00PM), so Moanna had to lay down later in the day. I do not believe in missing naps, even if they are late, and even if Moanna doesn’t sleep, she still needs quiet alone time to rest in her bed. I also do not believe in waking sleeping children. I think the crazy long naps were because she would rather sleep than spend all of her day in timeout.

I am convinced that fish tanks were invented to teach children about death. The end.

Actually, I do have more to say…

We do not have pets (minus the fish that we will get to in a minute). We don’t have the time or money to properly care for a pet. Despite the fact that I really want a puppy (a basset hound puppy because oh my goodness the floppy ears are so darn cute), it’s not an option. We can barely take care of Moanna as it is.

We were rolling along  just fine with our pet free life until Christmas came, and my parents thought it would be a great idea to get Moanna a fish tank. “It’s just a little one and a half gallon tank. It will only hold a few small fish.  We’ll go out and buy the fish and help her set it up. All you’ll have to do is feed them.It’s not that big of a deal.”

LIARS!

For a few days, maybe even a week or so, thing went fine. Moanna fed the fish every night, and watched them eat for a few minutes. It was a nice way to transition into from running around the house like crazy to bed time.

One day, I looked in the tank, and someone was missing. I searched all over for that fish, but he was no where to be found. This would have been a prime opportunity to teach Moanna about how things die, but without a fish corpse, there would be no toilet funeral. As any mature parents would do, we pretended we knew nothing about it. There were still five fish in the tank, and they swam around so fast she wouldn’t notice.

A few days later, another fish went missing. Again, it left with no signs of its whereabouts. What on Earth? There was no evidence of fowl play, or any of that webby stuff that appears in fish tanks when there is a dead fish around. The tank was sparkly clean and none of the other fish looked suspicious or distraught. Again, another prime opportunity to teach Moanna about the circle of life, but with no fish body visual aid.

Another week of fish feeding passed with no mention of the missing fish. Moanna didn’t notice, and we didn’t dare bring it up. What would we say, “The aliens took them”? Probably not a good move because then we would have to explain the concept of aliens.

Last Monday, I was picking out jammies for Mo to wear to bed, when I looked in the tank and saw two fishing lying on the bottom of the tank. These were not the two fish that were missing. No, they were freshly dead fish. We started with six and a few weeks later we’re now down to two. Moanna would surely notice that big of a difference. What do we do? With fish bodies, we no longer had the excuse of not having anything to show of their passing.

I informed Steve of the news, and asked him what he thought we should do. He checked out the situation, and asked me to fetch a fork and a cup. I did as told. Steve extracted the dead fish and discarded them.

That’s right. We did not step up to the plate. In fact, we struck out. We had three prime opportunities to teach Moanna all about the circle of life, and we whimped out. Losers. Wusses. I know, I know. We should be ashamed of ourselves.

Get this…

The next morning Steve comes out of Moanna’s room and goes, “You’re never going to believe how many fish are in the tank!”

“On no, they’re all gone.”

“Nope. There are four!”

“No Way?”

“I’m not kidding. The two that were missing are back!”

I went in to count them for myself. He must have seen the reflection in the glass and counted the same two twice. I wasn’t buying it. I went in and counted… one… two… THREE… FOUR… WHAT!? Where did they come from? Where had then been? It’s a fish tank miracle.

As romantic as that may be, the reality is this. We think they swam or got sucked into the filter (they are tiny fish). When Steve extracted the dead fish, he pulled the filter out of it’s compartment a couple of times in a plunging motion to stir the water up. When he did this the fish escaped the dark filter cave and returned to their happy little tank to live happily ever after. At least that’s what we think happened… You never know, it could be a fish tank miracle. “God bless everyone.”

So yes, I fully believe that fish tanks were invented to teach children about death, but we were not prepared for such an opportunity. Plus our fish tank kit didn’t come with a pamphlet called, “Your New Fish Tank: A Guide to Teaching Your Children About the Circle of Life.”

Can you imagine the conversation we would have had to have with Moanna when the fish reappeared if we had told her that they died?

“Mommy! My fish are back! I thought you said that when things die, we don’t see them again until we die or until Jesus returns.”

“Ummm… ugghhhh…” “Are we dead? Is Jesus back?” “Ummm… ugghhhh… well… Surprise! We bought you new fish as a surprise.”

“Mommy! You did!?”

That’s how we do things in the Adam’s house. Fish are magical, and Santa brings babies.

The end.

“Why is Santa so fat?”

Moanna, “Because he has babies in his belly.”

To think, all this time, we thought it was his diet of cookies and milk. This is going to take the “where do babies come from?” conversation to a whole new level.

Are you tired of hearing about the epic tale that is Moanna’s poop?

I don’t blame  you, but at least you’re not the one cleaning it up. You don’t have to look at it, smell it, touch it. You just have to listen to me gripe about it.

Last week, when Moanna’s minor cough turned into coughing fits that caused her to throw up all over my kitchen floor (wait, wasn’t this supposed to be about green poop?), we decided it was time to visit the doctor. I’m not one to run to the doctor, but when coughing turns into puking, it’s time to go.

The doctor walked into the office. “Good to see you, Renee. What’s been going on with Moanna the last few days?”

Before I could speak, before the doctor could sit down, Moanna touched her throat and  said, “My cough is bothering me.”

“Your cough is bothering you? Are you four years old now?”

“No, I’m two.”

“She’s only TWO?”

“Yea. About two-and-a-half actually.”

“She’s very articulate. I can’t get my adult patients to communicate what’s bothering them.”

“I guess she’s good at communicating.”

“Excuse me. My cough is bothering me. When I cough, it makes my throat hurt.”

“Seriously, she’s brilliant.  Where is she going to college? Did your grades come easily to you in school?”

(Yes, this is a post about poop… it’s coming don’t worry. I just want to take a short moment to brag that the doctor was VERY impressed with my child. Doctors are not impressed with children. They think that kids develop at their own pace, and that we shouldn’t get excited if they are ahead or behind. For parents of  young children, impressed doctors are a big deal.)

Moving on…

The doctor checked Moanna out, and decided that it was probably viral bronchitis. He gave her a breathing treatment and sent us on our way with two inhalers. Her cough cleared up immediately, and she returned to her highly spirited self.

That evening, Moanna and I were snuggling on the couch, when she started to complain of her tummy hurting. A few minutes later, she got a funny look on her face that I knew only meant one thing. She had pooped.

Let me just tell you, I have never seen poop that green before. It was fertilized grass green. I’m talking, the green from the eight-pack of crayons you have in the diaper bag green.  It was that green. Green and smelly. It smelled of rotting eggs and toddler poop to the nth degree. Steve almost puked from the smell. It was green and smelly and slimy. Think of the bottom of a pond. No, think of a river in late August when it hasn’t rained in weeks. You know the spots where the water gets trapped? The spots where the water gets hot, sticky, green and stinky. THAT is what Moanna’s poop was like.

Do you feel bad for me yet?

No?

We went through this four times in a span of two hours – four times in two hours. Thankfully, thank-full-y, we switched from big-girl undies to pull-ups.

Come on. You have to have a little bit of sympathy for me. Just a smidgen.

I didn’t realize that viral bronchitis could come with green, smelly, slimy poop. As if the constant runny nose, and  puke all over my kitchen floor weren’t enough, we had to add poop to the equation.

There you have it. The triple threat. Puke. Poop. Snot.