My Lady's Man

Toby is becoming QUITE the ladies man…. On Friday he had a visit from his girlfriend Aliison. They ate dinner together, played, and then had a romantic soak in the tub in which Toby almost drowned himself trying to kiss Allison and then, upon realizing that his chivalrous efforts could not compete with the novelty of a spray faucet, settled for a foot scrubbing with mommy’s scrub brush. Even I didn’t get that kind of service when I was 10 months pregnant….

Saturday night, he joined us for a street party where he played in a bounce house with OLDER WOMEN and impressed them all with his cuteness and ability to THROW himself DARINGLY down the slide. I take it I have not seen the last of him simultaneously impressing women and scaring the shit out of me with his risky behaviours….

The weekend ended with a visit from Meredith whom he also wined and dined before enticing her to join him for bath time. Meredith, who has never really been impressed by an 18 month old penis before was quite taken and repeatedly pointed to it and asked, “What this?” while Toby tried discretely and with all of his might to rip his foreskin off. See last sentence in paragraph 2.

But the HIGHLIGHT of his amorous weekend came last night when I was urgently summoned to the front door. There he stood with a proud grin on his face, very carefully holding with both hands a beautiful pink rose for me. Daddy had helped him pick it and he had walked all the way up the hill with his determined little hands clenched around the rose so he could give it to me. In fact, he was SO EXCITED to give it to me that when the earwigs started crawling out of it and we grabbed it away from him he BURST into inconsolable tears. Rob was NOT ALLOWED to touch the rose - - he only settled once it was in his hands again and his beautiful (now tear stained) grin reappeared as he finally handed it to me. And I, like Allison, Meredith and the girls down the road…melted….

BAGBAT : Mystery Solved!

I can’t take the credit for it - - it was my mother who finally figured it out.

My mother is a linguist and a master of the English/French/German languages. She’s so adept at language that she does cryptic crosswords FOR FUN. And when I say “does them” I mean gets every answer within a few hours without breaking a sweat and pausing only to chuckle knowingly at the creator’s literary prowess. And her skills extend beyond English and the other two languages -- despite having never taken a lesson in other languages, she can annoyingly understand and translate almost all spoken Italian, and has been known to teach AP Spanish courses to other teachers. In fact, the only difficulties that she HAD with Spanish instruction was that she would occasionally and mistakenly lapse into Italian. Go figure.

So Toby’s mystery playmate – BAGBAT was definitely more than just a cute story to my mother. It was a puzzle that NEEDED to be solved. And, as always, my mother delivered.

I could hear the victory in her voice when she called a few days ago and stated her conquest with two short words,

“BACK PACK”

Toby's new friend : BAGBAT

Day #2 of day care was not quite such a success. Toby cried when I left. And apparently cried throughout the day when his braveness gave way to questioning about Mama? or Dada? and ended in tears. He was quite easily distracted and the tears “didn’t last long” but still - - it’s probably some ancient-mommy-torture method that somehow evolved into a socially accepted form of babysitting. A few times today, I found myself thinking, “Do I REALLY need to work? Do these 1000 patients of mine REALLY need me as much as my 18 month old son?” The answer is obvious, but not quite so black and white when you unwillingly pry their hugging arms away from you and turn and walk away from their tears. I think the WORST part is that you just never know WHEN they stop crying. Usually I can tke the tears when I am the one distracting him and hugging him and making it better. You see that they go away – it’s rudimentary psychology – tears end, mommy feels better. We all carry on with our day. But the whole DAYCARE thing just kind of leaves Mommy hanging…All. Day. Long.

As hard as today was on ALL of us, by 5pm, all three of us found ourselves happily back at home and together. And what better way to celebrate, than a ride on the swings and a chat about our day. Toby and I have been working on learning the names of his daycare workers - Ruth (“Rah”), Nora (“Na-nah”) and Emma (“Me-ma”). Eager to impress daddy with his new nomenclature, I asked Toby as we were swinging WHO he had played with at daycare today…

“BAG-BAT!”

We were both a little surprised by the answer. So I rephrased the question,

“Was NORAH at daycare today?”

“Na-nah”

“Who else was at day care today?”

“BAG-BAT!”

Rob and I pried and questioned for the next 20 minutes but every question we asked about daycare ended with the definitive and almighty, “BAG-BAT!”

We are not sure WHO “Bagbat” is. Or WHAT he is. Or what PURPOSE he holds at daycare. But one thing is certain : Toby is a big fan…

The Counting begins...

Toby is slowly learning to count. We realized this the other day when we were counting down to time out and he quickly turned away from whatever mischief he was into to announce “TOOOOO!” after Rob had sternly said, “ONE!”

So he knows what comes after one. Two.

He’s not so sharp with three, though. Today we tried to encourage his counting by purposely saying one and asking him what came next. We got the eager “TOOOOOOOOO!” exclamation again. But he was a little stumped by the complicated number that comes after that. He made several attempts at it- - the first time we asked he thought for a second and then said, “Ga-ga?” (Yes, he’s STILL asking for Grandma…) And every other time we try to coax him past two he comes up with a variety of solutions : Bath, Milk, Blue berries, Pictures....

Who KNOWS what comes after two, but you gotta start somewhere….

We Survived!

So today was the day. No fever. No earache. No pit in the bottom of mommy’s stomach. We were all ready and excited for the daycare adventure to begin. ESPECIALLY Toby. I kept saying, “Today you’re a big boy and you’re going to day care!” and he’d repeat, “Da-eh-ka!” We took pictures of him with his knapsack (you can see how shy and terrified he is…) and then we set out in the car. About 1 minute into the drive I realized why he had been so excited; unable to contain himself any longer he finally asked excitedly “Ga-Ga!??!!”

He thought we were going to Grandma’s house.

And who WOULDN’T be excited to go to Grandma’s house with your backpack full of all your favourite teddy bears, blankets and sippy cups? OBVIOUSLY he was going to spend some quality time there.

I guess the only time we say we’re GOING somewhere in the midst of packing up and making a big show of things is when we’re actually GOING somewhere - -which is usually to either Grandma’s house.

So what a shock to the poor guy when the usually long drive ended 5 minutes down the road and he was dumped into the arms of Ruth instead of his beloved Grandma.

The last thing I heard after PRYING him out of my arms, was Ruth coaxing Toby to wave “bye-bye” to me. He didn’t even turn to look. He was NOT impressed.

Rob and I consoled one another by going out for breakfast. After that we went our separate ways to run some errands. The funny thing was that we kept bumping into one another in town. It was as if we were both absentmindedly wandering around in complete oblivion, but I’m sure Rob–the-always-and-ever-so-uber-organized would disagree and claim that HIS trajectory of errand running made COMPLETE sense. It just happened to keep intersecting with my erratic-not-so-well-thought-out-trajectory.

In any event, the minutes ticked by slowly until FINALLY 4pm arrive and I got to go and pick Toby up.

It took him 10 minutes to even LOOK at me because he was busy pushing Dillon off the couch so he could get a front row view of Baby Einstein that they had JUST put on. (Or so they claimed.) After another 10 minutes of pointing out all the amazing toys like BALLS and HOUSES and SHOES that they had there, I managed to convince him that he DID want to come home because Daddy had missed him a lot.

The INSTANT we reached the car he began asking, “Gaga!”

Nope - -he hadn’t forgotten…NOW were we going to Grandma’s house?

So we all survived…and the only difference I’ve detected so far is the neatly combed hair (they always comb their hair after naps time…) and his newfound skill : spitting.

The finished product!

After hours of hard work (mainly on Rob's part...) I am pleased to say that the swing set is DONE. I don't REALLY understand why something so complicated and expensive doesn't come with a little elf who builds it for you - but I guess I'm lucky to be married to such an elf that can do the hard work himself.

Toby LOVES it. He loves that his head touches the tree "TEE!" when he swings. And he loves that he can throw gravel down the slide. And he loves that he can cover himself in sand in the sand box. And he loves hearing mommy freak out when he runs from end to end of the tree house, threatening to jump off by the rock climbing wall or the ladder while I yell, "GO DOWN THE SLIDE!!! GO DOWN THE SLIDE!"

It has already provided hours of entertainment and so far, no injuries.

False alarm

Rob and I awoke on Monday morning with a giant pit in our stomachs as we prepared to send our baby off to join the world of other toddlers. We showered and prepared ourselves before going in to get Toby, who had decided to sleep in that morning. Rob came out of Toby’s room with a slightly flushed and very HOT version of the man of the day. Just to be cautious we checked his temperature under his armpit. 38.6 degrees. Three times in a row. And after cold milk. And after 30 minutes of naked time. And finally, the emerg doc in me arose and I did a rectal temperature (because I just don’t trust the axillary readings). 39 degrees (AKA 102.2degrees Farenheit). (Sorry, mom, I know that was the most grammatically incorrect paragraph ever...)

I’m sure any day-care-savy-mother would have just medicated their kid and ship them off. But it was his first day. And Rob and I tend to be a little….humbled by childhood illnesses. Lets just say we respect them and take them seriously. So, after some humming and hawing about it, we phoned the daycare and postponed his first day.

How is THAT for anticlimactic?

And poor Rob—instead of his leisurly day off from daddy-day-care he got to bring a whiny Toby into my office to have him checked out.

Otitis media.

We fall victim to the good old ear infection. And just to CONFIRM it, I worked the after hours clinic last night and saw about 30 people of varying ages with the same thing. ‘Tis the season.

But the good part is that we are now well versed on the day care’s policy on sick kids. He has officially been fever free for 24 hours so he is welcomed back at any time.

So - - hang tight. I will update you on his FIRST DAY OF DAYCARE (drum roll….) on Friday! And right now I’m off to wash pink Amoxicillen off all of our clothes…

Is it Sunday ALREADY?

So here it is - - the official day-before-daycare-starts–emotional-mother-post you’ve all been waiting for. I’ve been holding it in for a bit because it’s not like he’s going into KINDERGARTEN or HIGHSCHOOL or UNIVERSITY – - it’s just DAYCARE. I’m just down the road and he’ s18 months old and so READY for daycare that some mornings I wake up and am surprised that he isn’t at the side of the road hitchhiking with a sign that say, “WANTING TO LEARN. PLEASE TAKE ME SOMEHWERE ELSE WHERE THERE ARE PEOPLE MY AGE”.

(That’s why we still keep him in a sleep sac)

It has taken me a little while and a lot of reflection to realize that, although we initially planned to send Toby to daycare 6 months ago, I still don’t feel ready for this. Is he REALLY old enough to be without one of us ALL day long? And more importantly -- but I write this in a whisper – (is he really ready to just be 1 of 10 kids in the toddler room???) I’m sure his GRANDMOTHERS agree that he’s not just your average 1 in 10 kid. He’s busy! And he’s sweet. He needs hugs when he falls down - -even when I discipline him or take a toy away from him, he turns to ME to give him a hug and wipe the tears away. He’s still innocent enough that even if I’ve been the bad guy, I’m still his go-to person who will make it all better. I’m his mommy. And I think he still needs me…

I’m getting carried away, aren’t I?

I feel like I need to go in there on Monday with his Sick Kids scrap book and say, “Look - - he’s NOT just your average kid- - he’s a MIRACLE! LOOK! He was INTUBATED! And he SURVIVED! And he was on MORPHINE for WEEKS and we sat at his bedside vigilantly holding his hand and singing SHANIA TWAIN to him and he SURVIVED!!! So PLEASE please PLEASE be EXTRA careful with him!!!”

But I guess the bottom line is that EVERY parent must feel this way. And I don’t want them thinking that I’m crazy OR that he’s a morphine addict.

I knew I was getting anxious about this last week when I found myself asking my dysfunctional patients how they handled day-care. I was causal. I made it sound like it was part of my routine questioning at the 4 year old check up,

“SO, developmentally, can Emma hop on one foot? Can she feed herself with a spoon? Does she respond to her own name? Did anyone suffer from any emotional difficulties when she started daycare?”

I think I was hoping for a reassuring, “HELL NO! Day care is the BOMB! I got so much free time I started smoking pot on my lunch hours!”

But I have to say, 100% of the responses went like this, “Oh, no, SHE was fine – It was ME that was a mess” along with the usual “It’s harder on us than it is on them”

Dammit - - How did they get so smart?

In preparation for Monday I’ve booked off early (just in case) and as I walked out of the office on Friday afternoon I off-handedly said to my staff, “oh, Monday is when Toby starts day care so I may be a little late …or SOMETHING”

Christine, Mel and Heather know me WAY too well for that. I was promptly engulfed in consoling smiles and comforting stories and I know that my Monday morning tears will we welcomed with open arms.

The low down on STEPS

I just have to say, that I think false advertising is REALLY UNFAIR. Like, for EXAMPLE, if you wrote a 31 step instruction manual and then ONE of those steps had 4 different parts to it. I mean - COME ON! A step is a STEP and should only involve ONE complicated-annoying-marriage-destroying-part to it. Not FOUR SEPARATE parts to it. And if, partway THROUGH this really-complicated-annoying-marriage-destroying-part you have to TURN THE PAGE you should AUTOMATICALLY be rewarded with the STEP being OVER- - not just a CONTINUATION of the step. Becausee, at the end of the day, I think we (as in the whole world) would much rather have a process that took 35 steps than 31 steps that LIED TO us at step #5 which should REALLY be step #5,6,7and 8.

Just a thought.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Step # 2 The Play-set

With only 3 more days left until daycare starts, and the backpack issue settled, Rob and I decided that the obvious thing to do next is to build Toby a play set. Specifically, the play set we bought for him in April (because Rob can’t resist a Canadian Tire Sale) that requires a 2 person assembly that they estimate will take at least TWELVE HOURS. I don’t think our marriage has ever had to ENDURE anything that took 12 hours of our time. In fact, that’s EXACTLY the reason we have NOT been to visit Rob’s aunt in Australia. Even my LABOUR didn’t take 12 hours!

...And we wonder why the unassembled play-set has been sitting in our garage since April…

Glutons for punishment, we se to work on it last night after (Toby’s) bedtime. Three hours later our tired minds and sore backs headed for the hot tub and we toasted one another on successfully making it through Step #1 AND Step #2 of the assembly.

Only 30 steps more to go!

I suppose you are wondering what building Toby a play-set has to do with sending him off to daycare….

Well....so are we...perhaps it's guilt? Trying to get our minds off things? All the anticipated free time? (haha) The true test of our marriage? Something to make sure he still wants to spend time at home?

Whatever the reason, we are FAR too into the process to go back now and we've got a long, hot weekend of marital bonding and play-set assembling ahead of us…Can’t wait to see what Step #3 entails!

The Countdown to Daycare

Step #1 : The Back pack

And so it starts - - the countdown to daycare. Toby will officially be released from the world of mommy/daddy in t minus 5 days.

YIKES.

So today, to prepare MYSELF for it, I bought him his very first backpak. It was on sale at Walmart for $10 and it’s blue and black with Batman on the front. Toby has no idea who batman is or what a backpack is for, but I knew he’d like it. And he did.

Initially he was fascinated by the batman cartoon on the front and kept pointing to it. And THEN I showed him how the backpack opened up. And how he could put his toys in it. And how he could put it on his back.

That part he didn’t like.

“NO NO NO NO!!!” (to paraphrase)

SO I put it on MY back and walked around the house and then took it off and opened it up and played with the toys that were inside of it.

It was a hit. His new favourite word (besides “no”) is now “bak-pak”.

Snow shovels and Green onions

After work today, Rob decided to make a bean salad and Toby and I decided to help. Initially this involved me balancing him on a stool why he grabbed fistfuls of random beans and shoved them into his mouth. That is, until Rob came up with the suggestion that maybe we try to “help” by going down to the garden and getting him one green onion.

Good idea.

We got some sandals on and head out. But not without first making a pitstop in the garage to pick up a snow shovel. OBVIOUSLY.

I tried to convince Toby that he didn’t NEED to bring his giant snow shovel with us to the garden to get a single green onion. But he insisted.
He ALSO insisted on CARRYING it the entire way. Which is no easy feat when the shovel is taller than you are by about a half a foot. And requires a two handed hold. And blocks your view. While you walk down a hill. Quickly. Because you are excited to pick one green onion.

We had quite a few falls. Every time he tripped over the end of it he would brush himself off, pick up the shovel and hand it to me. And then take it back again to try again.

I know I should be supportive of my determined son’s ability to persevere in the face of adversity. But SERIOUSLY. The winter snow shovel had NO PURPOSE coming with us to the garden to pick ONE GREEN ONION.

About 15 minutes later we arrived at the garden, grass stained yet triumphant with snow shovel in hand. The victory was also accompanied in the joy of finally being allowed to PICK something from the garden - - that being (have I mentioned this before?) ONE green onion. But as the shovel banged loudly on the ground, a perplexed but unfortunately determined look resurfaced on Toby’s face. HOW was he going to carry the one green onion AND the snow shovel that required a two handed grip?

His first attempt landed him head first in the garden, completely decimating the OTHER green onions. But by the 4th or 5th attempt he had some sort of weird two handed, green onion and snow shovel duo in his little fists.

As I envisioned the even LONGER journey back up to the house, I was SAVED by…the swing. Perhaps he would have given up anyways at this point or perhaps swinging in the swing is THAT much fun that it usurps both snow shovel carrying AND green onion fetching. Either way, as the swing appeared around the corner from the garden, the snow shovel and onion were laid to rest on the ground and a free handed Toby was at my legs BEGGING to be put in the swing. And I GLADLY obliged.

We sang, we swung, we conquered.

And an hour later when we finally got back to the house green onion in hand, Rob looked at our smiling faces and asked bewilderedly, “What TOOK you so long???”

Toby's Little Dance

Self discipline

I think we may be making some headway on the discipline project. Last night while getting ready for the bath Toby SMACKED me across the cheek and then very seriously took my face in his hands, looked me in the eyes and calmly said, “NO”.

Progress? Lets hope…

Our little goose herder

As I sit here typing at 8:30 at night (this being an HOUR past Toby’s bedtime) I am typing to the sweet sounds of my son yelling at the geese.

No, we have not cruelly kept him up past his bedtime as a full time goose herder. He is actually in his crib right now PRACTICING. He is becoming a SPONGE for language. He will say anything and everything as long as it just requires either one syllable or the repetition of a consonant.

Blueberries : baba

Cheese : Che

Milk : Ma

Water : wawa

Grandma : Gaga

Geese ; GO!

And knowing WORDS makes sleeping that much harder- - because now you can actually SAY things as you lie there reflecting on your day.

Again, I fall victim to my own advice. This falls into the category of yet another bad behaviour I have innocently demonstrated and unkowningly TAUGHT to my son.

The first time he demonstrated this to us it was raining out. He saw the geese and frantically NEEDED to get outside. All I got on him was his yellow rain hat and his blue monster boots before I realized that further attempts at clothing him were going to be a futile effort. (See photo above) I opened the door and he SHOT outside loudly CLAPPING his hands together and yelling “GO! GO!”

At first I didn’t know WHAT he was doing. Until he picked up a rock and threw it 2 inches in front of him. And then repeated the whole thing over. And over. And over. Again.

Can you guess what we do about 100 times a day to scare off the geese?

So now he’s still awake in his crib and he’s practicing his new phrases to himself. Sometimes I’ll hear him sweetly say, “Dada?” or “Mama…” but mostly tonight it’s the clapping hands and “GO!” that he’s working on.

Perhaps I’ll look at putting the moniter down by the lake….and to think we almost bought a dog to take care of the goose problem….