Saturday, March 11, 2017

March to Mt Vernon and the Big Deep Breath - A Toddler Tale

And the eventful March marches on!

As of Thursday March 9th, Andrew and I are double property owners. One condo, one home. Two towns. We rock it. And our realtor - who did quite a bit of scrambling in the last minute over the usual odds and ends getting odd at the end - is stuck with us. He might have intrigued us with the idea of renting out our condo, but we finally decided we'd rather just sell and have done.

It was a dramatic signing, but only insofar as the weather and commute went - crashes and back ups both ways. Otherwise all went smoothly. Chaya even had a fantastic playdate with her new (again) almost-neighbor, Sebastian.


So let the next steps commence!! AGH!

Panicking. Yes, that would be the next step. No, really. I responded by setting up a moving date for March 30th. Andrew responded by skipping town. I don't blame him. You should see the chaos that needs to be quelled in order to transfer anything from one place to the next.

No, really, this is a family vacation and a memorial service that was planned far in advance of our closing date. In fact, we would technically be closing next Thursday if not for some very helpful professionals.

So currently I'm in semi-holding pattern; holding up the fort as single mommy and person who probably should be doing the little pre-moving chores that are easy in theory and impossible with a toddler! Bring on the coffee. And the head cold, apparently. Because I'd almost entirely recovered from that Hundred Year's Cough we got earlier in 2017.

For Lent, this year, I'm giving up (1) my Bellingham, (2) my hair (chopped it all off after much mulling and baby attacks), and probably my sanity!



But at least I'll look cute in that padded room.

And the Chaya beast continues to roar!

Almost nineteen months. We should have a new photo of her in her satellite chair. But she doesn't hold still long enough to get it. I've tried. It nearly killed us all. Perhaps a new chair for a new year and a half?



I swore I'd never be that parent who photographs her child on the potty, but well... I think it's ok in this case. The doctor said it was worth having one around since she is interested in pee and poop (hilarious as they are). And I couldn't resist the mini-me toilet.


And her stuffed animals are getting a good training anyways.



We're through with the molars for now. Mostly. Sleep has mellowed. Mostly. There is still illness and tummy discomforts and unknown nights and blown naps. And I'm expecting some push-back with Daddy's prolonged absence. But until moving, it will hopefully be less of a deal. And maybe we'll luck out on the move and not have too many tough nights and naps.

And with that little hiatus, we turn to the more internal and interactive.

Boy is she ever! Super verbal, although not combining words much. I've lost count of how many words she knows, but my favorites remain GURAAAW (giraffe), TUUUPEEEEETA (pepita), and SHUUUUBEEEE (shoe).

And we're working on boundaries. Working.

I'm continuing to reaffirm that "discipline" is as much about disciplining oneself as it is one's child. And that the word discipline still lacks a certain nuance. Coaching? Navigating? Facilitating? Juggling big emotions with respect for self and others? Kumbaya my Snugglepuppy Inner Child?

And that lets me off the hook as quickly as it puts me on it. I get to and ought to slip up. I have always been realistic about my ability to model great even-keeled sanguinity. I'm not that person. Some people are naturally good and kindhearted. I'm sure they have their struggles, but it still mostly comes easily to them to be kind and peaceful. I have that in me. I have a deep well of good and positive patience and love. But as deep as the good, so runs the negative. I'm also pretty sharp. Pretty impatient. I'm pretty sensitive to external stimuli and the world around me. And that can run me down. I can get eroded to some pretty dark places. I have to choose to nurture the best in me as often and as much as I can. And I think that's a meaningful choice that I honor. It gives me strength and compassion that the easily good (if there are such people) lack and a didactic advantage for those who are similarly complex.

For Chaya, I'm not the perfect mommy. And I'm learning that this is actually an asset. This isn't a perfect world and she will not be the perfect person who finds perfect relationships. It's the repair work done when things go wrong that are the most meaningful. Like a couple reconciling after a fight, when I have a lapse and work through it, that is more valuable for me than never lapsins. And that this is good. And it makes me - gulp - a far more accessible potential role model.

I get to figure out the balance of self and selfless. Demonstrate healthy boundaries. Demonstrate self-care. And demonstrate the ever exciting self-awareness and mindfulness and all that nonsense. It the midst of the toddlernado. All the while trying to suss out if the howling is physical discomfort, tiredness, hunger, or emotional distress at not getting the very right thing at the very right time. And how to address any one of those.

I've come to look at my own moments as "teaching moments" far more than hers are. When I'm impatient with her, I try now to stop and not just apologize, but tell her how I am feeling. I tell her it's my "grumpy time" and I shouldn't take that out on her. That I need to breathe for a minute. I suggest we breathe together. When she's driving me nuts and is super impatient, I ask her to help mommy breathe. She thinks deep breaths are funny most of the time, so that helps. When she does it during the day, I thank her for reminding me.



One interesting thing I really notice is that I have a few "witching hours." Fascinating to see how my patience stretches and snaps throughout the day in waves. Usually around 8 a.m. and 3-4 p.m. I've a much shorter fuse. I'm sure part of that is involved with whatever interactions I'm having with Chaya's ebbs and flows. The morning certainly hits that time where her first wake up devolves into whatever food flinging and moaning of more concludes breakfast. The 4ish time is long enough after the nap that we've both lost our naptime reset, but not quite onto giddy baby and visits from Grandma Pam (or the return of Daddy). It's definitely good to know this in advance, since I can then try to schedule our times apart for these hours. The distraction helps us both I think.

Though all that self-compassion is exhausting. And I've gotta say that sometimes when I've dropped Chaya off and am in the car, I gleefully indulge in a big fit of curmudgeonly cussing just to scratch that itch!

And with that, I continue sniffling on through naptime with a little walk on the treadmill. The first of many indoor "walk it off" sessions to balance what should continue to be a very eventful second half of the second year of little Miss Gremlin's life.


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