The Dentist vs. The Superheroes

You know what you don’t want to hear two hours before you’re supposed to be at the airport to catch a plane out of America?

“You need a root canal.”

Now I’m half a world away and half-way done getting my first root canal. (I’m not sure if that’s normal, but the dentist here said she’s not done and I need to come back next week. Oh life overseas, you never cease to amaze.)

Luckily, I have these adorable superheroes on my side:

…and if stuff goes sour at the dentist on Friday, I know they’ll be able to bring me around with their super-powered, sticky-handed hugs and super-strength, slobbery kisses.

Boys are (kind of) easy

Tomorrow is a big day- we’re celebrating a certain little bug’s THIRD birthday with an all boy party.

When asked, he knew exactly what he wanted: to go to the zoo and see the snakes and the lemurs, eat hot dogs, play ball with his friends, and eat cupcakes. Easy. He doesn’t even care what kind of cupcakes I make. Very easy.

Today I was browsing Christmas clothes on-line… the boys will be happy in plain red waffle T-shirts from Old Navy. Six bucks a piece and they can be dressed for the holiday. Done. (I spent three times longer looking for something for Ladybug… and it costs three times more.)

Boys can pee outside easily if they need to.

They are completely happy if you keep them fed and let them hold the remote.

Boys have significantly less clothing options and by default care much less about what is covering their bodies causing much less drama during the morning hours when mommy can’t possibly drink enough coffee for drama to be acceptable.

They don’t cry (much) when they get hurt. They’d rather get back up and play.

Picking presents for boys is easy- if it has wheels, shoots Nerf ammo or makes bodily noises, it’s a winner.

So… potty training boys= harder. Everything else= easier.

More poop than you would ever care to read about.

Someone found my blog this weekend by Googling “kid pooping underwear”. I’m sorry that they probably didn’t find any helpful information here because MY KID IS STILL POOPING IN HIS UNDERWEAR.
Really. I am not sure how this is supposed to go. With Ladybug it was easy- she had the promise of a shiny, new toy, and she started pooping and peeing in the potty. Easy. Done. Potty-trained.
Not so with Stinkbug. One day he poops on the floor right in front of the potty. Then he poops in his underwear. Then he poops in his diaper and finishes in a new diaper. I already told you that poop ended up in the laundry which I am still having nightmares about. This morning I cleaned poop off the bottom of Ladybug’s foot which sent me on a hunt to find poop on the couch and on the floor in the living room. I am not sure if it was Stinkbug’s or Doodlebug’s poop, but it doesn’t really matter who pooped, what matters the most is that MY CHILDREN SONS ARE IN A POOP CONSPIRACY AGAINST ME.
I thought I would reason with the potty-training child:
Me: Stinkbug, does it feel good to poop in your underwear?
SB: Yes. (and he continues playing)
So, no dice on the reasoning.
I made a cool new sticker chart to encourage pooping in the potty, so he could earn a toy. Nope.
I have tried to bribe with candy, even upping the ante to two lollipops if he will just poop in the dang potty. No luck yet.
I can’t say I’m surprised. Stinkbug has always been a pooper–as evidenced here by a blowout which resulted in a bathtub full of poopy water and pajamas thrown in the trash:

I’m sure one day as I fret about curfews and driver’s licenses and girlfriends and colleges, I’ll miss these days of fretting about poop. And that thought makes me smile… and almost makes me feel grateful for these poopy days.

Date with Mommy

Yesterday, I took Stinkbug on a date with Mommy. He is such a special little man, and being stuck between a (dramatic) big sister and an (adorable) baby brother can be tough sometimes, so we want to make sure Stinkbug gets plenty of time and attention too!

I remember being so scared when the technician in the small, dark ultrasound room announced that baby #2 was a boy. I knew nothing about boys!

I still feel scared as I creep into his room long after bedtime and kiss his soft, sweet cheek and whisper prayers over him. I still don’t feel like I know anything about raising boys up to be godly men!

After our date, we walked up to the gate outside our apartment building and I asked Stinkbug if he would open the door for me (since I was carrying four grocery bags). He ran gladly ahead and swung the gate wide and said, “I open ’cause I a man!”

3 months old, already?

Oh, Doodlebug!  Where is the time going?  It doesn’t seem possible that it’s time for your newborn look to fade.  You’re smiling, laughing, and cooing like you have special things to tell us.  You’ve grown so much and you’ve just kind of settled yourself into our family as cozily as a kitten would snuggle up on a warm, sunshiney spot on the rug for a winter’s nap.  It’s like we’ve never been without you.  And really, I’m not sure how we were without you.  Your calm demeanor, your happy face, your sweet scent, your soft head.  It’s all so familiar, so perfect.

When I look around the room and see your handsome daddy, your inquisitive sister, your active brother, and you, my heart nearly bursts from all sorts of ooshy gooshy feelings.  (Really, I’ll spare you any more details!)

When I was pregnant with your brother, I was determined that he would have everything your sister had.  I didn’t want him to miss out.  He would have just as many toys, just as much of my attention, just as much space in the closet.  For some reason that was very important to me then… I’ve realized that I am only human and I can give and give, but it may not always be exactly even, and that’s OK.  You don’t get as much of me as I would like to give you.  Because I’m busy cooking dinner, hanging laundry, talking to your daddy, helping your sister learn, keeping your brother out of trouble, and learning a second language.  I may not be able to give you all the attention, time, and gifts I wish I could, but I can give your infanthood one thing… I am a better mommy this time around.

Each baby has built in me the confidence that God has equipped me to do this job.  I’ve picked up tips and tricks and funny little mommy quirks along the way and it’s made me a better mommy.  I’ve realized the importance of praying daily for my Bugs, and I do.  So much, so hard.

So, happy three months, Doodlebug.  Thanks for being my baby.  My special, content, happy, loving, easy-going third baby.  I love you!

Love, Mommy