Wet, Hot, Summer

Little Man's doctor has yet to call me back about his Botox appointment. Hopefully he gets back to us soon, because you can really see a huge decrease in his mobility lately. In all areas except removing his mother-ducking-pajama suit. After a good year and some change, he can now remove pajamas that we have zipped up backwards with the feet removed and sewn on again.

Cheeseball modeling his regular jams, Little Man in modified jams.

So every morning it is like waking up to that toilet monster from 'Dogma' in Little Man's room. I'd link a photo of that too but... nah, Google it, if you really need to see that mess. It's diaper off, gross stuff everywhere. For now he seems less inclined to touch any of it than he used to be - thankfully. But we're still having a bath and room scrub every morning again and it is exhausting. Next step is possibly finding a way to secure the zipper in the back so he can't pry it open and over his shoulders (I think that is how he's doing it)... either with tape or a fastener of some kind.

This summer has been pretty blissfully quiet the last few weeks as Little Man and Vegas both started camps. Of course they're in camps on opposite sides of town and random weekdays, but my in-laws have been amazing at helping with drop offs and pickups so it's been smooth sailing. It's also been a really good time to get household things done and relax with Cheeseball. Today is much less relaxing though, because I'm missing bulk grocery shopping and my workout to wait for someone to fix our air conditioner. It's a sticky 80 degrees in here now at 10:30 am, so we will be spending most of the day in front of the box fan and sipping ice waters. And then I will add to my heaping slice of mother-guilt by giving Cheeseball a dose of Tylenol for the low-grade fever (teething?) we didn't catch for a night because it's so hot in here. Call before you come over, we're living in our diapers and sports bras today.

The Course of True Love

Now that the mess of Christmas is behind us (or still on the kitchen table *cough*Hubs*cough*), we are working hard to get the house and the kids on a normal schedule again. 

Christmas Morning!

Both boys were spoiled rotten for Christmas - even though Vegas was not having anything to do with opening presents. His first gift was a stuffed tiger chair, and the shock of unwrapping his gift and seeing the tiger staring back at him was too much for him. Any time after that when someone would bring him a gift, he went running!

Nope. NOPE. Don't wanna touch this.

By the time Christmas Day ended both boys were in full on meltdowns and ready for bed. Luckily my in-laws live super close so bed was a quick drive away. Never underestimate the peace that comes of a daily schedule. Change is bad, change is bad!

Christmas Night!
Ignore my terrible posture, I was slightly distracted by the screams.
Also, yes, Little Man had an outfit change.
No it wasn't planned.
(Oh also, I got a haircut!)

After Christmas and New Years and a million events and parties, Hubs had to go back to work and I went back to house-management. We all have clean clothes again and the kitchen is a lot less crunchy when you walk. And my ear is constantly warm from being on the phone 24/7 with all of these doctors/therapists/VIPs.

Little Man's therapy schedule was the first big item on the agenda. He's still doing once a week home therapy, a full day at school, and every other week he has behavioral therapy. He finally bounced back from the plague that hit the house around Thanksgiving, and we're hoping that will help get him back on track with his other long term goals too. During the school day he is wearing cotton splints on his hands for certain activities to help him remember to keep his hands by his side (instead of on his ears). This is (understandably) very annoying for him and makes him very angry, so it's definitely not something we want to have to have him do forever.  He also discovered over vacation that because he'd been so good about not taking off his diaper at night, we'd stopped taping his waist and ankles. He has lost all the progress he made on the diaper department, and we are back to nightly duct tape. Unfortunately, he's taken to getting into it during the day too - hence the Christmas outfit change - and even been doing it at school. Ugh. 

Everyone is looking slightly to the left because that's where the Target photographer held the iPhone.
Can't win em all.
Merry Christmas.

Our other big news is that Vegas met with Infants and Toddlers over winter break and is now going to have his very own IFSP. We contacted them because he still has no words and doesn't really babble much. He went to his big test yesterday at Little Man's school, and passed... or I guess failed?... with flying colors. Speech therapy it is! He is at 7 months expressive language and 12 months receptive language, which means he has the 25% delay in development that qualifies him for therapy from the county. Other than his speech delay, he is on track everywhere else - I definitely have my hands full with this smart and curious little guy. But I have no problems with him being in speech therapy, and I'm not worried or freaking out about it (much). I know having a non-verbal sibling and being home with only me most of the time probably contributes to his delay, and so I think this will be very helpful. I'm not looking forward to squeezing in another therapist to the schedule, but we'll make it work. We've been down the Infants and Toddlers road before, and I have a lot of faith in the program and in early intervention. 

Vegas' First Day at Hogwarts.
Er... I mean preschool testing!

So don't take it personally if I seem frazzled in the next few months. It's because I am. Two kids in therapy, two shows at our local community theater, running a household, and possibly taking up a new 'job'. It's all going to be a caffeine-fueled blur. If you are one of those people that likes to help - I graciously accept k-cups and Mountain Dew.

1, 2, 3, 4, I declare it Bed Wars

Holy bed-war Batman, it's been hellish out here at night.

Between an unscheduled week off school from snow and me down for the count with a stomach bug, Little Man has had some serious backsliding with bedtime.  In all honesty, it isn't really even backsliding so much as a new way he's circumventing our attempts to keep his diaper on at night - but it is really awful.  Awful to the point where last night I was in tears, and that was just after one incident.  The night before we had 3, count 3 separate outfit changes and cleanups.  That means 3 attempts at scrubbing the carpet and checking for ick, 3 pajama sets in the washer, 6 new pieces of duct tape to try and keep his diaper on, and 1 big load of nasty laundry.  And poor Vegas was just being a normal baby and had a couple up-the-backs which meant a whopping 5 nasty diapers in less than 2 hours.  Sesame Street has nothing on how much counting I've been doing lately.

I'm just beyond frustrated because there doesn't seem to be light at the end of this tunnel. I am upset that I find this whole situation so overwhelming that sometimes I just snap or cry at Hubs because otherwise I would be fighting with a little boy who can't fight back.  There is no logic in being angry at Little Man, because even as you're sitting there using the mom-voice-of-disappointment, he is humming and laughing in his own little world.  Yelling at him doesn't work either.  He'll cry for a minute because he's startled by the noise, and then once the yelling is done he's back to himself.  And I just get even more upset at myself because yelling at him seems just mean and useless when it is so clear he has no idea why I'm yelling.  So most nights its just another tired "Buddy why did you do this again?"... then we tag-team cleaning up the mess and the kid.
I cannot wait for this stage to be past us.  I cannot wait for a solution to appear to this crazy problem.

Besides Little Man's bed issues, Baby Vegas is going through his own sleep problems.  Nothing major, he is just suddenly much more restless at night and wakes up searching for his pacifier every two hours or so.  It just means one of us has to walk in, give him the binky and a pat on the belly, and he's back to sleep.  This has only been the last 3 or 4 nights, so I'm thinking it's teeth or a growth spurt.  Again, it's not anything to complain about but combined with the fact that Little Man's diapers are making us insane it's been a little rough here at night.

So please forgive my yawns - this war is slow and seems neverending.

The To Do List

It is really difficult to get back into the swing of things when you've basically taken a 2 month vacation from working hard.   Now that I am feeling better (YAY!) I have a long To-Do list, and am trying to pick up the pieces of my motivation I left scattered around here somewhere...

I felt pretty accomplished the last few days because I managed to make a ton of phone calls with Little Man's doctors and set up some appointments and therapies for the coming months.  But if you think about it... I didn't have to do much.  I sat on the couch in my pajamas and talked for a few hours.  Big deal.  Although it felt like I'd scaled a mountain at the time.  The real work is yet to come.

The first real step towards Baby Vegas' arrival is our basement storage room.  When I moved in with Hubs, we ended up bringing in a ton of my junk and dropping it off downstairs in the storage room without really sorting or organizing it at all.  Fast forward two years and now there is a layer of New Junk blocking Old Junk and its just a hot mess.  Unfortunately somewhere in there are my maternity clothes, newborn clothes, breast pump, and everything else pregnancy related.  So sometime in the next few weeks we need to find out what I have in order to decide what we need.

Then there is my office, which is overrun by papers and old books and anything that I didn't want boxed and put into storage.  It is a disaster area.  Which we are converting to a guest room.  That all needs to be cleaned, boxed, sorted, and dealt with.  This could be a several weekends long project.  I am shaking just thinking about it.

Finally there is Baby Vegas' nursery, our former guest room.  All the furniture in there needs to be brought downstairs to the office, and then we are painting and cleaning and setting up the nursery.

Wish us luck.  Or just come clean our house, if you're into that sort of torture.

The One With A 90's Flashback

We all remember these right?

So sexy.   Ahem.

At least I do.  I think tearaway pants were really awesome when I was in the 6th grade or so.  Or maybe they were never awesome, but I was twelve so...

Anyways.  Little Man has a new "thing" lately.  His thing is to pretend that diapers are tearaway pants.  Like the cool kids of the 90's, he grabs hold of the diaper and rips it away from his body.  Screw pants!  WHO NEEDS PANTS?

Um.  You do Little Man, you do.  You cannot keep taking off your diaper and letting it hide in your pants leg.  And then peeing all over yourself and/or my house.  It's not cool.  It is actually super duper gross and very stressful.  Every time I hug you I have to double check you're all tucked in, and then if you aren't I have to run around the house sniffing my furniture.  We're running an extra load of laundry every couple days because you can't keep your pants on!

So if anyone has ideas besides duct tape, let me know.  The converted jammies he wears aren't doing the trick for this one.  I'm thinking maybe plastic furniture - that's still cool right?

The One With Stinky Laundry

I love Pinterest.  It no longer enthralls me for hours like when I first got it, and spent too many hours pinning everything on the Internet to my boards.  But I use it for everything from finding dinner recipes to alleviating that o'clock midday slump with some humorous pictures.

That being said... A couple weeks ago Little Man's pajamas started smelling really bad.  Little Man is still in diapers (so.over.diapers.) and now we get the free diapers from MediRent.  Since they are 100% free, I can't bitch about them too much.  But they definitely don't contain the scent and/or mess as well as the pricier Pampers Cruisers.  Which I swear by, I don't care what is on sale.  Anyways the new off-brand diapers are cheaper and flimsier, and when you take them off it smells pretty horrible and not at all baby-powder fresh.

So it was no surprise that his daily pajama outfits started getting a funky odor.   We made a few extra sets of jammies and called it a success, except now the jammies were still smelling like funk even after a cycle through the wash machine.  Or two or three cycles.  And I was about to resign myself to going to Costco and spending $40 on a couple new pairs of jammies that I was going to have to tear the feet off of the minute we got home.

But then Pinterest saved my life, in that I saw this post about cleaning musty smelling towels with baking soda and vinegar, because vinegar is an anti-bacterial or something... Whatever, it was worth a shot.  When I tried it on the towels it was like I had just purchased a set of brand new fluffy bath towels that smelled normal again. (Don't judge me, your towels smell funky too right?)  

So then I tried it on the worst of the worst jammies, and voila!   The horrible ammonia smell and little boy funk was gone, and the outfits now have at least another month or two of wear in them!  It is a time consuming and wasteful process, yes.  Doing 3 rinse cycles probably doesn't help the environment.  But since we have a set water bill as long as I don't do anything crazy like fill up the neighbor's pool... hey, it works out for us.  I guess if I was feeling ecologically conscious I could rinse them the first two times in the sink.  But I usually do a massive load of the jammies with the worst of my towels too (you know, the ones you use to wipe the dog paws after a rainstorm or the ones that got left in the wash machine wet for too long)... and so I just use the machine.

 If you too are finding yourself with stinky clothes or musty towels - try this rinse.  I swear you'll be shocked.

-1st time through the wash = 1 cup of white vinegar

-2nd time through the wash = baking soda.  I think I use about 1/2 cup for a medium sized load, but I just pour a bunch in the "powdered detergent" space of my front loader

-3rd time through the wash = detergent/softener as usual

Happy Washing!!

The One With An Explosion

Yesterday was our follow-up appointment at Little Man's clinic.  Of course, I'd made this appointment three months ago, and so was completely surprised totally prepared when I got the automated reminder call the night before.  We were to discuss the changes we've seen since I started him on melatonin... um... three months ago.

*Crickets*

Yeah we still haven't started him on melatonin.  A multitude of reasons, mostly my sheer laziness at finding a pharmacy that carries the liquid form (they don't) and then leaving the prescription there to order it (whoops did you need his insurance card?) and then not being able to find his insurance card (um it's red with a big Medicaid logo?) and changing insurance providers (REM FTW).

Laziness though, mostly.  Little Man goes through spurts of sleeping through the night where I decide it isn't necessary to add medicine into our daily routine. Then he goes another two weeks without sleeping and I get motivated to get the prescription.  Lather, rinse, repeat.


It was a fairly typical appointment, the doctor came in and questioned us about life in general and gave us 4 new specialist numbers to call.  Then she reminded us he was due two vaccines and left at 3:45 telling us we'd be seeing a social worker and a nurse before we were allowed to leave.

Nurse came in a few minutes later to stick the Little Man with his shots.  Obviously he hated them, and I rewarded him for the screaming with about 6 or so graham crackers, applesauce, and fruit snacks.  I read the vaccine warnings and tried to figure out a game for Little Man to play that wasn't as gross as his favorite activity of smushing his face against the dirty office mirror.

We waited and waited... I fed him more snacks and prayed I wouldn't run out of food.  I let him play the mirror game.  By 4:45 I gave up and burst out of the room in a fit of anger.  Looked up and down the hall and there wasn't a soul to be found in the clinic except a little old lady doctor.  We'd clearly been forgotten.  I bit my tongue and informed her we were leaving and to have my doctor email me please.  She seemed shocked when she saw my form (it says your arrival time) and asked me to wait just a moment longer and she'd see what had happened.  Lovely thought lady, but I'm out of patience and your head is detachable.  We left.

So my GPS gave me a lovely route out of the city where I had to smoothly reach for the car lock button as I tried not to look panicked... and we made it to meet one of my bests for dinner at TGI Fridays by 5:30.

I savored the glass of white wine and fried appetizers (I'm nothing if not classy) and got Little Man his favorite restaurant meal of chicken fingers and fries.  He ate all the fries, a granola bar or two, and some fruit snacks.  He smiled hello at the little old couple seated at a table close enough to us that we could hear their conversations.  It was all going so well.  Until I looked over at Little Man and he was turning a little green...

I guess we'll never know what sent him over the edge.  The copious amounts of snacking that day combined with vaccines that had "may cause nausea" as a side effect is my first guess.  But suddenly I was holding the basket of chicken fingers under his mouth as he vomited out the entire days worth of snacks.  Seeing it seemed to gross him out enough that he pushed the basket away and was ready to bolt... except he needed to do it again.  Ughhhhhhh. 

Little Man was now smiling and looking much better sans stomach contents.  Well, looking less green tinged, but now he was covered in vomit.  The nearest bathroom was on the opposite end of the restaurant, and the place was packed.  It took me a solid minute of staring before I could figure out what we were going to do next. 

The little old man reached over and handed me a stack of napkins as my poor friend K offered to pay the check so we could run out the door in shame.  Luckily we were hidden away in the back corner of the dining area so I pulled myself together, whisked him out of the highchair and whipped off his shirt.  Wiped him down with the inside of the shirt and the handy wipes they give you for buffalo chicken wings.  Tossed it all in his backpack and stuck him in his jacket as we walked calmly through the restaurant and to the parking lot, his jeans covered in vomit and me pretending like this was totally normal.   And that it totally wasn't vomit.

We drove the two hours home while I prayed that it was a one and done deal.  It was, thankfully.  He got a warm bath and a quick snuggle before heading to bed and sleeping a solid 8 hours. 

And you thought the explosion was going to be me at that doctor's appointment.   Silly you.

The One With the Jumpsuits and the "P" word

No one likes pooping in their pants.  At least, most of the people I've talked to don't enjoy it.  And no one likes cleaning up a kid who has pooped their pants.  That one I can confidently say is a fact.

Little Man does not do well with dirty diapers.  He really hates them.  Whether or not it is sensory, or just plain ole' common sense - I couldn't tell you.  But his philosophy is, if it's dirty, get it off me - NOW.

The first time you wake up your little precious from their nap and they've had a "poopcident" - well it sucks.  You are grossed out, freaked out, you clean everything up and tell everyone what a horrific event it was... and if you are lucky, it will never happen again.  You think it was a one time deal brought on by sickness or a shower that went too long (more than your usual 5 minute prison shower) or whatever it is that prompts kids to try it just this once.  So when Little Man had his first poopcident two years ago, I went through the routine, cleaned him up, and prayed it would never happen again.  Hahahaha.  I was so stupid naive hopeful.

It wasn't a one time thing.  Anytime Little Man pooped during the night, he would wake up and take off his diaper.  Every. time.

So we started using onesies.  But he learned that he could get around those.  Yuck.  And then pajamas with feet.  They could unzip.  Or how about overalls?  Nope.  Not enough protection, you can slip your hands right back into the giant armholes.

I was at my wits end.  Every day involved copious amounts of Lysol and Clorox wipes.  And lots of laundry.  Of course, this was in the beginning of the Year of Vomit (ughhhhh another story) so I was always doing laundry.  And I lived in a slightly less affluent neighborhood than I do now (understatement of the year) and did not have access to a washer and dryer.  They were conveniently located in a little building across from my house, which was kept locked from dusk til dawn to keep out the unsavory sorts that might be lurking around the apartment complex.

In short - life was hell.  And everything smelled kinda bad.  Then I had this idea...

I took one of the footie pajamas, and snipped off the feet.  Flipped it around - and voila!  A jumpsuit only a desperate mommy could love.  The zipper behind the back kept it on, and the elastic around the ankles made it impossible to get his little hands up his pants leg.  It was a miracle.

Exhibit A: The Jumpsuit

 

 

There have been other prototypes of the jumpsuit through the years.  During the first summer we attempted a sleeveless model which did not work out (armholes again).  And there was another one where we cut the legs a little shorter (too loose, easy access).   But the only one that has worked is this design here.  The elastic on the wrists and ankles means it is too tight to get up inside, and the backwards zipper means only Mommy and Daddy can take it off.

 

So everyday, all day, if we are in the house Little Man is wearing his jumpsuit.  It's not really very flattering.   But it works.  If Little Man goes while I'm doing the dishes, I don't worry that I need to drop everything and run to him.  We can put him to bed at night without fear of waking up to a very unpleasant surprise.  The grandparents have been godsends and done lots of research on bigger and bigger sizes of the pajamas, so we have enough that he should last until he gets too big for the 5T sizes.  Then it's a whole different ballgame.

 

Just a little FYI on why the next time you come over, my kid will be wearing a weird outfit.  Feel free to borrow the idea - I haven't patented it yet.





The One Where I Call Poison Control

Its been that kind of morning.

Around seven or so I heard the "toy alarm" go off in Little Man's room.   The toy alarm is the most annoying, loud, jungle themed thing from the Satan worshipers at Playskool.

This toy was created by people that hate parents.

Little Man ate lost the balls from this toy ages ago.  He was never interested in the actual function of this toy anyways, so it had been relegated to the bookshelf in his room collecting dust.  But then he discovered the little lever inside that can be pressed (usually by the balls) to make that ungodly noise.  And now he loves this toy. 

So I leave it outside his crib and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he can't resist the urge to play the music on this toy.  Mommy wakes up, sticks him back in the crib.  And repeat until someone passes out.  Its a brilliant system

Anyway I got sidetracked.  The point is that I heard the toy alarm go off this morning around sevenish, and its loud demon call woke up me up from a great dream about banana bread.

I know you feel bad for me, but don't.  I was loving my dream about banana bread.

After about six or seven rounds of ear-piercing jungle songs, I made a horrible mistake.

"What if I just... snooze a minute more... and think about bread... how much trouble can he really get in??"

I mean, there is nothing in his room anymore.  A gate on the door.  What could possibly go wrong?!?!

There is a blissful silence where I envision my darling angel chewing the ear off one of the stuffed animals lovingly gifted to him by his great-grandmother.  And I smile and enjoy the warm coziness that is a bed at 7 in the morning.

*CRASH*

Containment breach!!   The minute I hear that I jump out of bed and run towards Little Man's room to see what happened/if he has escaped.  The cat (possibly created by the same demons who work at Playskool) has knocked down the baby gate.  Little Man is inside his room and giggling at this point so I feel confident that my extra 15 minutes of snooze was worth it.

It so wasn't.

Little Man sees me and the downed baby gate at the same time and races towards the door, excited to see me and completely covered in Desitin.   He slams his little body into me and is ready to be picked up and brought to breakfast per usual.

Called my godmother and got her advice (he's fine).  Called my mother and got her advice (call Poison Control).  Poison Control kind of laughed at me and told me to watch out for extreme pooping.

No.  More. Snooze Button.