Where to start?

 It’s been . . . forever. I think one of the last things I published on this blog was a vent on our adventures in potty training. I’m happy to say that we eventually achieved success. Boo has been potty trained for years now, and she will not thank me for speaking of it. She’s in middle school, you know. She won’t thank me for anything she considers remotely mortifying. Mind you, she considers her parents asking about school within earshot of anyone in her peer group the height of mortification, so there’s that.

What’s happened since the last update? I hardly know. My baby turned 12. I realized today that she’ll be graduating college in ten years which is less time than she’s been alive. Understand, she was only born the other day. It’s a sobering thought. My tiny baby . . . Before we know it, she’ll be out of the house establishing her own life while we putter around an empty house.

[Sigh.] Well, we aren’t there yet. It won’t do to think far into the future at the expense of the present. I want to appreciate our “now” while our girl is still part of our everyday life. I want to appreciate even the chaos she brings into our lives. She’s worth it.

She drives us crazy, of course, every day. The snark is strong in this one — so strong. The pig-headedness, too. It drives me insane. Yes, yes, she comes by it honestly. All I can say is thank the heavens my pig-headedness has 40 years on hers. I’m not sure we’d have survived otherwise. 

I see I discussed peri-menopause on my last post, discussing hot flashes in depth. I’ve since crossed to the other side. I’m now fully post-menopausal. Let me tell you something you may not have known about menopause: although your cycles stop, the hot flashes do not. Oh, no. No, no, no. They get WORSE. You wouldn’t think it possible, but it’s true, I do assure you. Isn’t that wonderful? No. No, it is not. I’ve read that they eventually pass for most women. Most. That means not all. Let that sink in. I intend to celebrate my 100th birthday in a few decades. Continuing hot flashes could potentially be a problem. 

It's been awhile

I haven't blogged in such a long time. I don't think I will be starting again, either. I doubt anyone reads the anymore, it's been so long. Life is busy. But I feel like writing today.

So, what's up? Well, I'm still dealing with perimenopause. I'm happy to relate my moods have leveled out, probably because I'm too tired to care. Night sweats, you see. They're horrible. Three, four, five times per night I find myself throwing the covers off and reaching blindly for my water on the nightstand. It feels like I'm sleeping next to a toasty fire while lying on a pile of sheets fresh from the dryer and wearing PJs from the same load. I'm exhausted.

Did you know cold flashes are a thing? They are, you know. I learned that this winter when I’m normally cold, anyway. Cold flashes are bone-chillingly cold. You cannot get warm no matter how many layers you pile on. I also learned that it’s possible to feel hot and bone-chillingly cold at the same time courtesy of hot flashes that follow the cold. You’re core remains an ice cube while your skin turns into a radiant heater.

But enough about me. My little boo is going into third grade in two weeks. Third grade. Seriously. I'm not sure when she grew into this moody, back-talking, goofy, quirky tween who alternates between angelic and possessed depending on the time of day and where the moon is in its orbit in relation to the Earth’s position around the sun. I wouldn't have her any other way. She can be a challenge, but she keeps us active and we love her.

We lost our pup last November. It was rough those last six months of her life. She had heart issues that were worsening, requiring ever stronger medications that were growing less and less effective. We were at the vet or emergency vet every three to five weeks dealing with some frightening new issue or other. We miss her. Baby girl has asked for another pup, but . . .  we'll see.

Isn't peri-menopause FUN?

Before we ever fell pregnant, I was certain that should we ever manage to enter that fabled state that I would be one of those poor, wretched, and retching women to experience morning sickness. But it would never be, of course, because it just wasn't destined to happen to us, so any possible chances of my experiencing morning sickness were moot. Then I became pregnant and found I was wrong on two points because I didn't experience so much as a flutter of queasiness for the entire nine months - well, not until I went into labor and threw up all over myself while pushing, but that's another story.

Isn't it ironic, then, that it's peri-menopause has brought the nausea into my life. It's hit and miss during the month. Some months are perfectly, happily dull. Other months present me with some wild hormones that bring that nagging nausea to bear. I once wished for morning sickness so I knew something was happening during the early months of my pregnancy. I don't think so much of that now. 

I wasn't particularly moody while pregnant, either. I felt fine. I felt in control. I was balanced. Today I feel like flinging things across the room, kicking a hole in the laundry basket for daring to get in my way, ripping the hanger off the rail for having the audacity to tangle with another hanger, and whacking a defenseless box of Saran Wrap repeatedly on the countertop for doing exactly what it was designed to do. Not only have I felt like doing these things, I have done them. We're down one hanger. I also remember flinging several things across the room in frustration although the brain fog that comes with peri-menopause prevents me from remembering what they were. And I thought PMS was bad.

I don't know how long this transition is going to last. Months, years, or decades, it's going to be very ... interesting.

My Little Boo Chicken

I still find it difficult to wrap my head around the fact that we ever had a baby. We did, I know. We must have. We have a four (four?) year old bopping around the house mentally wearing me out because that's what four year olds do. They're very good at it. It feels like she's been with us all our lives. I don't remember a life pre-Katie.

Excuse me a moment ...

Okay, I'm back. We're fighting a pink eye infection. The only time I can get the drops in her eyes is when she's asleep. The other way didn't end well. She inherited my stubborness, but her stubbornness is four and not open to reason so ... it didn't end well.

We returned from our second Disney World vacation last week. They were under the impression that we were celebrating Kathleen's birthday, an impression which we did not supply. We went with it when they began plying her with cupcakes at the character meals and birthday cards signed by all the characters. Cool!

It was a nice but hectic vacation. I have seen WDW described as a test of endurance. Yes. Yes, it is for all involved. It wore some little person out. Woe to anyone waking that someone once she falls asleep, even to board the bus back to our room for bed. My daughter is one who appreciates sleep while she's asleep very much. When she's awake, that's another story entirely. But she likes to have her sleep out once she achieves that blessed state.

Disney still seems to have that strange stroller fixation. Disney cast members cannot view an unattended stroller without feeling an uncontrollable urge to move it. I saw one cast member give in to the urge and walk two an eighth of a mile well out of sight range of the poor, unsuspecting stroller owners. There was no way they'd be finding them when they returned from wherever they were.

Even the strollers parked neatly in line within the designated stroller holding pens weren't safe. They were shifted elsewhere within the rows just to keep guests from becoming too complacent. One family had the right idea. They brought a bike lock for theirs. I tip my hat to them. Brilliant. I thought of that too but, alas, not until it was too late. Next year ...

We have had another baby announcement in my family. I don't believe I will ever lose that twinge of envy when I hear an announcement. I want another ... Well, we have our one, and she is perfect for us. Period. No use wishing for more. She is enough for our family.She is our Happy Thanksgiving every day of the year.

Birthday Eve

I received a call at work this morning. It was from preschool asking me to come pick my baby up. She was throwing up . . . the day before her fourth birthday . . . during the party that was being thrown for her and her best friend who is also turning four tomorrow . . . while eating her birthday cake. She was sporting a birthday sticker. My poor baby.

She seemed to perk up after the incident. She had us take the long route to the car with pit stops in the newly renovated visitor center in the Capitol Building and at the big, plaza fountain which has been dyed pink in honor of breast cancer awareness. Since she seemed to be feeling well, we made another stop to see the ball clock machine at the downtown shopping plaza that I've been meaning to show her for four years. She was more interested in the Hallmark store where I let pick out a new toy for her birthday: a giant, pink Ty beanie fish and a rainbow hues Hello Kitty (okay, it was two toys).

She's been on the run since she got home. We watched three episodes of The Magic School Bus, ransacked the basement, threw a minor fit, played on the treadmill and weight machine, chased the pets, and now she's finally sacked out on the couch. I'm going to regret letting her nap this late in the day, but she needs the rest. Besides, I was in the middle of preparing dinner and didn't realize she'd fallen asleep until it was too late.  Waking her before she's ready is like baiting a hibernating bear. She's already woken twice on her own with a grumble and a growl. I am not baiting the bear.

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Brief break. The bear just woke soaked . . . and growling. Potty training takes a backslide when she isn't feeling well. I had to help her find some dry clothes and clean the couch. She's fallen asleep again. What a way to spend her birthday eve.

Going on four years

I always grow introspective this time of year. Four years ago was my due date. My baby could come any day although she'd ultimately choose to wait another week. I was so happy.

I've been thinking how my perspective has changed since then. Really, I've been thinking how naive I was. I believed my expectations were realistic. After all, I wasn't one of those women who was going into labor with some sort of ridiculous birth plans. I knew what I wanted, but I was keeping my options open. Even the best laid plans go awry. I planned to go with the flow.

I like to think my no plan birth plan went quite well. No plan, no disappointments. It's everything else since that hasn't gone to plan or expectations. Indeed.

I was going to exclusively breastfeed my baby for the first few months, and then I was going to find a way to pump at work. I had nothing against formula. I just wanted to give my baby best that I could. Well ... Kathleen was born with a tongue tie which made breastfeeding excruciatingly painful, and on top of that, mom couldn't produce. We were on formula in three weeks, although I did pump - at home - until she was 13 months.

Kathleen was going to be introduced to and eat a wide variety of food. She wouldn't be one of those children who ate from the plain, boring, chicken-nuggets-and-pizza children's menu.  She would be thrilled for a plate of whole wheat Pasta Primavera. She would grow up loving veggies. Then I learned that pizza and macaroni and cheese are, in fact, preferable to nothing at all (she doesn't like chicken nuggets) which is nearly what her diet would be without them. All right, I exaggerate slightly. She will eat fruit. But there are other days when she lives on nothing more than oxygen and milk.

I would be a beacon of calm and strength in the storm of my child's meltdowns ... except for the fact that she chose to have two of them at work, and I desperately would try to hustle her into the car or the elevator in front of a squadron of Capitol Police before they decide to stop standing idly by and instead arrest me for disturbing the peace or kidnapping. No officer, really, she is my daughter. I don't know why she's trying to break out of the car.

She would never touch an iPod,  iPad, iPhone, or the like until high school. Hmm. But you see, it turns out that they're SUCH a handy distraction in public places like restaurants, grocery stores, and airplanes flying thousands of feet in the air and filled with fellow passengers who aren't all that fond of banshees sitting three rows down and one seat over.

She would never watch mindless drivel on TV. Then I learned how useful drivel can be when trying to make dinner. I like dinner. I am usually hungry by dinnertime. But she is very, very ... distracting at times. Mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy, mommy ... on repeat. And (sigh) I just introduced her to some of the mindless drivel of my youth. But Scooby Doo (minus Scrappy) was GOOD drivel. And The Magic School Bus and School House Rock are educational as well as enjoyable.

She would never, ever watch Sponge Bob Square Pants. Well, okay, on that one I am standing firm.

She would be asleep every night be 7:30 or 8:00 at the latest. Ha! Only if we move out west and neglect to inform her of the time change. We might have a few weeks before she saw our three hours and raised us another two.

I am very well aware that raising a child takes time, thank you very much. I am certain I'll still be able to exercise daily, walk the dog, walk the cat, make healthy meals from scratch, bake, and clean the house. Right. On that one I'm smacking my head in disbelief over how truly, truly, truly naive I was. Picture me trying not to laugh at my younger self right now.

The gap between what I thought I knew and how much I realize I still don't know is huge. It feels much like the time that I graduated college. With my degree in hand, I knew it all. I was ready to show the world. More than 20 years later, I am still learning. I will never stop.  That goes for living life and raising my daughter. It's an interesting adventure. I am better for it -- still stupid, at times, but better for it.

I can't wait to find out how much more I don't know about kids over the next four years. This should be fun.

The Goose

That's one of my nicknames for my baby little girl. She has many, but that's the one in the lead just now. My sweet husband used to complain that she'd never know her proper name, I used it so infrequently. He tends to exaggerate. She hears it plenty when she's doing something she shouldn't ...

...which is quite frequently. She's pushing boundaries these days every chance she can it sometimes seems. I'm going to bet that the terrible twos and terrifying threes (which were neither particularly terrible nor terrifying) will be put to shame by the frightening fours. We'll see.

She has opinions now. That's the problem. Well, it is and it isn't. She has opinions and preferences and she wants them heard and considered. That's understandable, and she's correct. She's at that age, after all. So it's not so much a problem as it is a phase ... that will likely last through college. Everything a negotiation. This should be fun.

I love how she talks. She's at an age where she's still learning how to say things. I wish I could remember more of her more ingenious phrases, but constant fatigue (thank you perimenopause) has robbed me of my ... my mmmmmm ... um ... ... ... memory! ... Where was I?

Oh, yes, her Kathleen-isms.  My current favorite is "tucked out" which she uses in place of untucked. The sun is in her nose when she sneezes."I not sleepy!" That's another good one she always uses ... Handy crane (thank you Mickey Mouse Clubhouse). Every crane, backhoe, and bulldozer is a handy crane.

She's potty trained now. She finally trained back in May. I thought it would never happen, not until after I retired in 15 years, 10 months, and 4 days.  Mind you, it's day time only. She drinks too much water at bedtime, and coupled with the ability to sleep through a hurricane, isn't able to remain consistently dry all night. I'm still thrilled that she's even this far.

Hmm. It's bedtime now. Time to head back. Ice water in hand. We're set. Oh, heck. I was too slow. She's sitting down to watch Doctor Who. Doctor Who of all things. Not that I fault her taste. I mean, it is Doctor Who. We'll never get back there.

Life today

This is my beautiful girl sitting for her preschool picture back in February. She looks so mature. She'll be four years old in two months. Four. And I still see her as my baby. She'll be heading for kindergarten in two years. How did that happen?

She's silly, opinionated (comes by it honestly), loyal ... she wants to have and to be a friend. She's creative. She pretends. She has an infectious laugh which inspires her friends to act goofy for her benefit.

She's a procrastinator, particularly at bedtime, although she can be asleep in 10 seconds once she finally stops talking and closes her eyes. She's particular. She's stubborn. She's a cautious observer. She's smart (what parent says otherwise?) She's quirky.

She's a daddy's girl. She's loves princesses, sparkles, and dresses. She prefers pink and purple. She'll eat the icing and leave the cake. She never met a stick or rock she didn't like. Umbrellas are awesome.

This is my life now. I am in awe watching a baby who did nothing but cry, eat, (occasionally) sleep, and ... the rest develop into a unique individual, and I have no idea how it happens.

Mind you, she's not always peaches and cream, but I never remember the rough moments at the end of the day. I'm too busy being amazed that she's here and we are lucky.

What happened?

Well, that was an adventure. Kathleen refused to enter the building this morning. I was standing in the doorway of the building closest to my parking space trying to coax her in while the Capitol Police officer doing the security screening for the day watched on indulgently. She wouldn't budge. I reasoned. I wheedled. I explained. I prayed the police officer would continue to be indulgent. I ordered. She stood in the foyer area holding her umbrella refusing to move. I gave her the ultimatum 'you can walk, or I can carry you' to which she invariably replied no. And so I carried her.

I carried her screaming and struggling through building #1. Other early morning commuters walked past on the way to their offices either silently commiserating or silently congratulating themselves that they don’t have kids. I carried her screaming and struggling through building #2, the state Capitol Building. People – more Capitol Police officers included – popped out of the woodwork to witness the commotion and, I must assume, to marvel at the incredible acoustics that only a vast space tiled in stone, granite, and marble can deliver. I carried her screaming and struggling through building #3, my building, past coworkers, and on to the elevator. I put her down . . . at which point she stopped screaming and struggling and put her arms out to be held.

I have no idea what triggered this avalanche. She was actually in a cooperative mood this morning – a rare event during the work week given that she's not a morning person – when I got her up. We had an enjoyable car ride in listening to a Sofia the First CD (again) and commenting on the rain. I didn’t even yell at the other drivers who were slowing me down. I was snowed under.

I gave her a few minutes at my desk to calm herself down. We had a nice, big drink of water. I held her in my lap and reassured her that I loved her no matter what but that I did not love the behavior. I wiped her nose. She looked at me, tears still staining her cheeks.

She was calm and centered, if tear-streaked and sweaty, by the time I carried her down to preschool. She held her blanket and settled down at the art center table to string colorful beads on to pipe cleaners with her friend, Mason. No fuss. No crying. No clinging. It was as if nothing had happened. The universe was back on the proper track. Nothing to see here. Move along. Move along.

Adventures in potty training

She took off out of the living room last night and, much to my astonishment, headed for the bathroom. She directed me to remain in the hall while she removed her pants and diaper all on her own. I sat on the floor, she closed the door, and a few minutes later: “Mommy! I tinkle toot!” She did it. She went to the bathroom on her very own without being asked. I hadn’t even hinted – not once – that evening.

Of course, I was so excited that I had to post to the girls from my BabyCenter IF group on Facebook after I helped Kathleen put on a new diaper. I’ve only been venting about our lack of progress for a couple of months now. I was proud of her.

I should have been forewarned, however. Kathleen insisted that I sit in the chair across the room from her while I typed up my exciting news. She didn’t want me to come near her. That should have been my first clue. She made herself comfortable on the floor in front of the couch. I typed.

She did it! She went into the bathroom without being asked! All on her own! And she went potty! Of course, as I'm writing this exciting post, she's telling me she's just messed her diaper.

Yes, the clean diaper we had just put on stayed that way for less than five minutes. Baby steps.