Baby Squared

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  • Positive Reinforcement

    We're trying to do more of this around the Baby Squared household, as a means of fending off the whacking, kicking, hair pulling, whining, shouting, pants-pooping and other nastiness that seems to have proliferated 'round these parts over the past month or so.

     

    Partially as a result of the suggestion made by several fabulous readers/commenters on this very blog, we got ourselves a couple of "Responsibility Charts" by Melissa & Doug. (This is not a paid endorsement, however if Melissa & Doug, Inc. would like to send me some free stuff, I'd be more than happy to be a total blog whore and write about it here.) There are a bunch of "responsibility" magnets to choose from, ranging from very preschool-appropriate stuff like "keep your hands to yourself" to stuff I hope we won't have to use for awhile, like "Don't use bad language." Next to each one, there are spaces to put happy face magnets.

     

    There are also a couple of blank responsibility magnets you can write stuff one (dry erase!) so on each girl's chart there's currently one magnet that says "Poop in potty." (This is still a bit of an issue for Elsa.) Alastair pointed out that "potty," probably would have been sufficient. But I say, anyone who comes into our home had better be prepared for the fact that poop is a frequent point of discussion.

     

     

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  • Telling stories

    When I was a little kid, my mother used to tell me "e-Jane" stories. "e-Jane" was the main character, and she had all sorts of e-ventures, wherein she encountered e-goats and e-elves, flew e-planes and climbed e-mountains, and engaged in other silly e-xploits. The "E" prefix wasn't because my mother was way ahead of the technology curve or anything. (While e-Jane might indeed have gotten e-mail in one of the tales my mother spun, it was most decidedly of the paper variety.)

     

    She came up with e-Jane as my fictional handle because I went through a phase when didn't like being called "Janey." But everyone called me that, and there was no way they were going to stop -- Jane is such a serious name for a preschooler -- so she liberated me from the name in fiction, as e-Jane. And I loved hearing e-Jane stories. They were a bedtime treat that lasted well into my grade school years and beyond. Books are great, and being read to is great, but there's nothing quite like being told a story.

     

    Thing is, it's not that easy to make up stories on the fly. You'd think that, being a writer, I'd know how to spin a tale out of nothing. Au contraire, mes freres (et soeurs). Actually, I think it's in part because I'm a writer -- I do most of my thinking on paper or onscreen -- that I'm not the best impromptu oral storyteller. This was clearly evidenced last night when I made my first serious attempt at telling the girls an "Elsa and Clio" story before bed.

     

     

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  • The frog in my throat, and other calamities

    I've had a cold this week, no doubt partly as a result of the exhaustion and sleeplessness of our potty training intensive last weekend. The other day, my voice sounding particularly scratchy and ridiculous, I told the girls that I had a frog in my throat. Of course, I quickly realized that this would sound absurd to them, and explained that I didn't actually have a frog in my throat; it was just an expression. (Like that would really clear things up.) "Sort of like a joke," I clarified. They chewed on this for a little while (not literally), and somehow it became, "You have a frog in your mouth so that's why you make a funny joke!"  

     

    I rather like this interpretation -- that there's some kind of comedian amphibian in my mouth, and every time I open my mouth to speak, he comes out with a joke -- "What is the deal with toads? I mean, they look like frogs, but the fuckers can't swim!" --  in his hoarse (not horse) froggy voice.

     

    Pic after the jump

     

     

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  • Potty Training: Is it time to get serious?

     

    Whenever someone asks if we've started potty training the girls, I'm not quite sure what to say. In a way, yes, I guess we have. We try to get them to sit on the potty before bedtime and naptime, which they're usually amenable to, as long as they've got a couple of books to read. Every once in a while, they actually produce something, and they seem proud of themselves. But they seem just as happy to go in the diapers. Elsa does ask to sit on the potty now and then, but more often than not, it's a stalling technique -- she doesn't want to go to sleep or go upstairs and get ready for bed. Still, i's hard to say "no, you don't need to sit on the potty right now." Because every once in a while, she actually does go. She's the girl who cried potty.

     

    During the day, however, when they're happily engaged in playing, the girls have no interest in potty breaks. They like to announce when they're making (or about to make?) a pee-pee or poo-poo, but when I ask or suggest sitting on the potty, they resist. And I'm thinking it's probably not a good idea (not to mention physically impossible) to *force* them, screaming and crying, to sit on the pot. 

     

     

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  • My stinky winky daughters

    I thought that the whole phase of finding it funny to say things like "stinky poo poo" and "Pee-yew, stinky winky" and so on, came later. Like, at three or four or later. When the sense of taboo around these kinds of things was a little more developed. But apparently, two-and-a-half is not too young for kids to have a sense of the silly stinkies.

     

    As usual, of course, we are partly to blame, for asking such stupid things as "who made a stinky poo poo?" And their regualr babysitter is apparently a big "Pee-yew"er, because sometimes when I change the girls' diapers or take their socks off they'll say "Pee-yew!" followed by a giggly "Adriana say that!" I suspect she is the one who put "stinky winky" into their vocabularies as well, because I don't recall either Alastair or I ever saying it. But this morning, the girls were drawing all manner of stinky-winky animals: a stinky winky penguin, a stinky winky whale, a stinky winky sheep. Our friend the stinky stinky bat was back, too.

     

    Pic after the jump!  (Not of the stinky stinky bat)

     

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  • The Disappearing Nap

    Yes, I know; I have no right to complain. My girls have generally been great sleepers, and we can't realistically expect them to go on sleeping 14 hours a day forever (12 at night, two at their nap). But still, it is with considerable sorrow that I must announce that the afternoon nap, generally taken between 12:30 and 2:30 every day, appears to be on its way out. For the last couple of weeks, the girls have gone many a day without ever actually falling asleep at naptime. Or if they have fallen asleep, it's only been for about half an hour. Our precious, precious hours of midday respite -- dwindling! (Maybe this is just a phase? Please, let it be just a phase!)

     

    Itmay be in part because the girls are so enthusiastic about talking to each other lately. They really do like to chatter back and forth. I wonder if it might be worth trying to separate them during naptime, as one reader mentioned she did with her kids. The other problem is that they seem to both enjoy taking massive dumps right as their naps are starting, which is definitely not conducive to sleep, and requires an interruptive diaper change. (Sorry, TMI?)

     

    (Pics after the jump. Not of them needing a diaper change.)

     

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  • Overheard

    A definite check in the "positives" column for having twin toddlers: getting to hear them talk to each other. Yesterday morning, while I was getting ready for work, the girls woke up and I overheard the following conversation:

     

    Elsa: (excited) I making a big poopie, Kee-o!

    Clio: (No response)

    Elsa: (Even more excited) I make a BIG poopie, Kee-o!

    Clio: (Conciliatory) That's OK, Elsa.

     

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  • You know it's hard out here for a toddler.

    Poor Elsa. She's had a rough week. First off, she's still having poop issues. (Can you believe it? I managed to go a whole month and a half without writing about poop!) This in spite of a very fiber-rich diet and lots of liquids. She goes most days, but I think she holds off as long as possible, and then when she does go, it's quite traumatic. Things are....well, large. A week ago, I spent ten minutes sitting on the floor with her and holding her and rubbing her back while she labored. It seriously was like that -- I had visions of myself, thirty years from now, helping her as she gives birth to her first child, rubbing her back and saying, "you know, this reminds me of when you were little, and you were having constipation issues...." 

     

    Hm. I don't know why I'm assuming that I would be there while Elsa is laboring. I guess sometimes mothers do that. Especially on TV. (Wasn't the whole freakin' Cosby family in the room with Sandra while she pushed?) But my mother certainly wasn't there when I was in labor, and that was A-OK with me.

     

    In any case. I never could have anticipated that part of being a parent would be comforting my child while she tries to do her business. And that there would be something very sweet and tender about it. (About the comforting, that is. Not the...oh never mind.) I am beginning to think, however, that it's time to bring in the big guns in an attempt to get to the bottom of (ha ha) this problem. Has anyone out there had any luck with mineral oil?

     

     

     

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  • Poopophobia

     

    Sorry to post yet again about bodily functions -- I won't do it again for a while -- but with little'uns it's kind of hard to avoid. My apologies, also, to future Elsa. I have visions of her coming home from school on her compost-powered hoverboard, in tears, having just seen this post broadcasted on the web-browser blackboard in her homeroom by some mean, popular hacker-girl trying to sabotage Elsa's chances at winning class president. "Mom, you told the entire world about my elimination habits 15 years ago on one of those "plog" things? What's WRONG with you? Now no one will want to go to the prom with me!" (Because some things will never change...) 

     

     

    Of course, the long-term effects of this blog on my children and their prom date prospects are a whole other can of worms, which I will surely open and examine here sometime, but not today. Today, let's talk about #2.  And how lately, Elsa seems quite upset by the whole business of doing her business.

     

     

     

     

     

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  • Poison Control Call #2

    Me: Um, hi, I think my daughter may have swallowed a crayon. Or part of one.

     

    (We were drawing -- Elsa and Clio and me. Well, sort of. They've just gotten to the point where they vaguely understand the concept of scribbling. They mostly prefer putting the crayons in their boxes and taking them out again. Anyway, Elsa was standing on the paper -- a cut-open shopping bag, actually -- and I thought it would be fun to trace her foot. But not long after I did, she became mildly distraught. I thought it was because I got some crayon on her toenails. Not that this is the sort of thing that would normally bother her, but who knows? Maybe the girl just didn't dig blue toenails, right? It's a little out there, a little weird. So I wiped off the crayon as best I could, but she kept whimpering, and it gradually escalated to crying. Then she was putting her fingers in her mouth and making "yuck" faces, much like she did after she ate dishwasher detergent.)

     

    PC: She'll be fine. Crayons are non-toxic.

     

    (Phew!  Yes, that's right! In fact, I've known this for as long as I could read. I remember looking at Crayola crayon boxes and seeing those words, front and center: "Non-toxic." (And then something about different brilliant colors...) And I remember asking my mother what it meant. In fact, I've probably known that crayons are non-toxic longer than I've known that bees die when they sting you and no two snowflakes are alike. Not that this stopped me from calling poison control...)

     

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  • The Word of the Month Club

    In the beginning -- well, back when the girls were around 11 months old -- there was "Dah!" meaning dog, (or pretty much anything with four legs) and it was good. About a month later came "nana" (banana, then any food), and soon after that it was "cah" (car) and "shizz" (shoes) and so on. But it seemed like each time a new word was acquired, the old one suddenly fell out of fashion and they'd rarely if ever say it. (Dah? What's a dah? Come on, Mommy, let's talk about shizz!)

     

     

    There are definitely still word "fads" around here -- "babies" is the big one this week -- but in the last month or so it seems like finally the girls are hanging onto multiple words, and employing them with increasing accuracy. Clio is the more verbal of the two; she tends to use more words (and signs) than Elsa, and is eager to learn new ones. Elsa, meanwhile, is more interested in honing her gross motor skills (i.e. climbing, pillaging, plundering, ransacking).  Of course, we suspected all along that this might be the case. Elsa was always ahead physically, but Clio started cooing and babbling well before she did. Ah, yes, I remember it well.....(Flashback! Wavy screen....)

     

     

     

    Ha -- at the time, this seemed incredibly impressive and interactive to us. It's all relative, ain't it?

     

    Anyway, we're having fun seeing both girls add more words to their vocabularies. I'd say between them they have maybe 10 or so in all, and they obviously understand much more than that. But the real language "explosion" that I hear people talk about hasn't come yet. In fact, I think in general E & C are a little behind the curve in their language acquisition skills. I'm not worried, though. It's supposedly normal for twins to talk later than singleton kids. It can be due in part to premature birth (not the case here, as ours were born at a healthy 37 weeks, at 5 pounds each), but can also be a result of the way caregivers communicate and interact with twins. It's a little sad, actually: twins don't get as much one-on-one time with parents or caregivers, so they don't get as many opportunities to learn and practice verbal communication. And because wrangling twins can be stressful and tiring, caregivers tend to talk to their kids a little less and use more quick directives ("drink your milk," "don't take your sister's book," "come here," etc.). Apparently this is why second children sometimes talk later, too.

     

    Then there's the "Twin talk" theory; that twins communicate with each other in their own "language," so they're slower to learn the language of us big people. I haven't really seen much evidence of this between Elsa and Clio, unless you count stealing toys or food away from each other causing the other to scream and cry as some special form of "communication." Or, maybe their twin talk is so secret and sophisticated that I don't even notice it. Maybe they send telepathic messages to each other: "Hey, mom's trying to get us ready to go out somewhere in the cah. Let's both poop!"

     

    I'm curious to hear from readers -- especially moms of twins -- when did the language thing really "take off" for your kids?

     


  • The Diaper Chronicles

    A few notes on diapers (and related matters) in the Baby Squared household. Note: this post involves graphic discussion of matters scatalogical and butt-o-logical. Reader discretion advised. Because the writer certainly didn't exercise any.

     

    1. Our babies got back, apparently. A couple of weeks ago, we had to switch from size 3 diapers to size 4. We use Seventh Generation, and their size 3 diapers claim to go from 16 - 28 pounds, but my girls are nowhere near 28 pounds! I guess there are some long, tall, skinny-assed 28-pound babies out there that these diapers fit. I would be incredibly curious to see what these children look like. Meanwhile, the size 4 diapers puportedly fit babies from 22-37 pounds. Again, I seriously doubt that either of my girls are 22 pounds yet, but apparently they have 22-37 pound booty, because the size 3 diapers were just not doing the job. I couldn't get the sides to overlap front to back. I had to stre-e-e-tch the tabs, so that sometimes it looked like the girls were wearing string bikinis. Very puffy, bulky, crinkly string bikinis. Not very good for poop containment. And speaking of poop....

     

    2. Solid food poop stinks. Literally and figuratively. Back in the day, when the girls were getting nothing but breastmilk, their poop smelled like buttered popcorn. Seriously! It was almost pleasant. Now -- ugh. Nasty. Multi-hued. Unpredictable. And the fact that they're more mobile and squirmy on the changing table makes cleaning up that much more treacherous. They're also doing their business a lot more frequently, it seems, and at all hours of the day. Clio, especially. In fact, Alastair composed a little song that we like to sing about Clio and her new...er...nocturnal habits:

     

     Sleep pooper! She poops in her sleep!

    Poop sleeper! She sleeps in her poop!

     

    3. If it feels good, do it, right? Yes, of course. It's perfectly natural for babies and children to touch themselves down there. But must they do it while having their diapers changed? I don't want to discourage this sort of happy exploration. I don't want to be saying "no, no, no," while they're getting to know themselves, doin' what comes naturally, etc. But what do you do when your baby is gleefully plunging their little hands into a big ole mess? How do you expain to an 11 month old that yes, it's perfectly OK to touch their own bodies, just NOT NOW, PLEASE! Please.

     

    You know what? I'm sorry. I've gone too far. I've said too much. Special apologies to all you non-parent readers out there. Let me attempt to make it up to you with this very sweet, non-butt-or-poop-or-anything-else-related picture of the girls on their first Thanksgiving, taking a joyride on their new Winnie the Poop -- I mean Pooh -- rider.

     

    Poop poop! Here we come!

     



in

About the Blogger

Jane Roper

Jane Roper in Boston

One baby? Piece of cake. Try two. This working mother gives you the inside scoop on the ultimate in extreme parenting: twins.

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