Clear differences between our parental roles.

On average I can get Mateo to sleep in about 30 minutes. This includes teeth brushing, inhaler, milk, stories, some silliness and a lot of love. Once I know he's pretty much ready to sleep, I lay him in his crib, tell him I love him and to have good dreams, and I leave the room. Most times he's still awake.

Yes, I'm that good.

Well, now I am. It's taken months and months of toughening myself up and getting a solid routine going.

Then there is my husband. For demonstration purposes, I'll explain what happened last night.

Mateo's been sick these past few days, so getting him to bed early is top priority for me. Last night he was showing signs of being over the day around 5:50ish, so I started his routine. By 6:20ish, he was asleep in my arms. I didn't put him down because I knew my husband would be home soon and would want to at least see him, if not give him a kiss or two.

My husband opened Mateo's door, and I told him to be quiet but to come in. Then, like the idiot I am, I started talking to my husband in a whisper, and for whatever reason, this made Mateo open his eyes. To his amazement, his Daddy was standing there, and since he LOVES his Daddy, he wanted to get his little chubby hands on him as quickly as he could.

After we did a Mateo switch, the first thing Mateo did was reach up and touch my husband's nose, waiting for my husband to say "beeeep!" (By the way, he doesn't do this to me because I'm all business, most of the time and won't put up with nose beeping when it's time for bed.)

My husband whispered, "Beeep..."

Mateo giggled. And did it again. And again.

I said quietly, "He's never going to go to sleep if you keep responding to him. Lock up his arm."

Mateo has a favorite blanket, and when it's time for serious bedtime business, I have to cover his arm with the blanket and hold it so he doesn't keep octopus touching everything he can get to. If I let him do this, he would never go to sleep.

My husband put Mateo's arm under the blanket, and Mateo proceeded to cry in distress.

I gave Mateo a kiss and left the two to figure the situation out.

After a few minutes, my husband yelled for more milk. I went in the room to get the sippy cup, and found Mateo sitting up, all smiles and my husband looking guilty.

"You're right, he just thinks it's all fun and games with me," he told me. Mateo smiled.

He said that maybe I should take over because Mateo wasn't settling down.

"I already put him to sleep," I said. "Now it's your turn, good luck."

Then I said I'd be back in 10 minutes to take over.

Around 10 minutes later, my husband conceded defeat and yelled, "Mommmmmmaaaa!"

I walked in to find Mateo looking even more happy and awake than he was 10 minutes ago. We did another Mateo switcheroo, I got down to business, and he was in his crib within 10 minutes (still awake, but ready to sleep, because again, I'm that good.

"What happened?" my husband asked me sheepishly.

"Nothing, I just put him down."

"I tried putting him in his crib and all he did was laugh and clap," he told me.

"Do you leave after you put him in the crib?"

"No...," he said. "I tell him I love him."

"I do too! But when he's down, you need to walk out. Not sit in the chair or stand there, watching him. He thinks you're playing around."

And this is how our roles are defined: I am the no messing around, all business parent (which is why he eats, drinks, gets changed, has diapers, goes to his doctor appointments, etc.) and my husband is the all fun and games parent (which is why Mateo's face lights up so much when he sees his Daddy for the first time that day).

And so that's just how it is.

My patience, over there. Worn thin and boozing.

Mateo is sick. Supposedly.

He woke up with a slightly red eye and a bit of gunk in the corner, and since he goes to daycare, I had a strong feeling if we decided to be "those" kind of parents who still take their kid to daycare even though they sorta, kinda had an inkling that something may be wrong with him, I would be receiving a phone call mid day telling me my child's eye was bright red and his nose was dripping gloops of snot.

So I told my husband I was staying home, and after a bit of thought, decided to call Kaiser to get him an appointment. He has a mild eye infection and a slight cold, but you wouldn't know it based on the day I spent with him yesterday.

His doctor told me that if he doesn't have an appetite, not to worry, just make sure he gets a lot of fluids. Let's see, before the appointment he had a whole banana and a container of yogurt. And his morning milk. After his appointment he had most of my Trader Joe's thin pizza and a cereal bar.

Loss of appetite wasn't an issue.

After a much needed nap, we went outside to play with some chalk and a ball. You can see pictures of that fun over here. We had two incidents of frustration, one when I took the chalk away from him because he was trying to chalk up the fountain and bench, and another when I took the ball away so he'd stop trying to fling himself into the fountain after it. Both times he turned into a limp, wailing rag. Both times people were walking around. Both times I couldn't help but laugh because he's just so ridiculously over the top with his displeasure.

We went back in and I fed him his lunch. Pictures of that fun can be seen over here.

(Side note: Doesn't he seem really sick in the pictures?)

After that he decided it was time to lay in on Zoe, our petite kitty who is slightly on the simple side and doesn't seem to get it when Mateo or Sophia (our other cat) is trying to kill her.

My patience ran out on me and sat in the corner around 4:30 PM. I looked over right when Mateo reached and grabbed Zoe's tail, and started yanking and bending it in ways it's not supposed to bend.

Upon later reflection, I realized I did the one thing you're not supposed to do to a 16-month old who learns a lot from mimicking, and trial and error: I screamed, really really screamed, while my patience was in the corner drinking a tall cold one, "MATEO - STOP IT NOW!"

Yes, he stopped. He stopped and looked at me in shock. Zoe ran off because my screaming completely freaked her out.

While I toned my voice down and told him not to pull her tail, not to hurt her, etc., he began to babble. And babble. And babble even louder. And then really loud. Almost as loud as his mommy did to him a few seconds ago.

So not only did I have no patience anymore because it was in the corner, drinking it up and having a blast while it laughed at the scene unfolding, I now had a toddler screaming at me. And a sick one at that.

He FINALLY came to his senses.

We've been having a harder and harder time getting Mateo to go to sleep sort of willingly at night. The little guy is just so excited about life that he doesn't want to sleep. He'd rather stay up and whine until I can't take it anymore. Whine and flop himself on the ground. And yes, Mateo's Grandmama, he is very much a crab apple at night. Unbelievable as it is.

My husband has spent many nights coddling Mateo and snuggling him until Mateo goes to sleep, even though I oftened stated we're creating a monster (cute one, at that), and that he's never going to learn to sleep well on his own.

The other night, Mateo was just not having the snuggling my husband was trying to give him, and I heard shrieks and cries and wails from the baby monitor. Then I heard my husband say something I never thought I'd hear him say: If you don't want the comfort, then you're just going to have to cry it out.

I smiled.

It's taken almost a year, but he finally gets it, I thought.

He left Mateo's room, Mateo continued to cry and wail and scream. I knew that Mateo had a total of three hours sleep at daycare, the second nap being right before I picked him up, so I was pretty sure Mateo wasn't tired. It was only 6:30.

I went in, turned on the light, grabbed myself a snotty whining Mateo and some books, and sat with him and read. He never once showed signs of being seriously tired. So we went into the living room and watched an episode of Teletubbies, and then he went off to bed after that. Sure, there was a couple minutes of crying, but he got over it, and so did we.

Yesterday I put Mateo to bed, and he was tired and whiney as ever. Putting his PJs on was a wrestling match (I won), and reading a book was impossible (until I turned to the page with the fuzzy bunny fur that he likes to manically touch, touch, touch), and after he had his bottle, he was restless in my arms. So I stood up, kissed him goodnight, told him to have good dreams, and put him in his crib. He had other ideas about that nonsense, and he immediately tried to stand up while wailing. I put him back down and told him it's time for bed, to go to sleep, have good dreams, etc..

Then I walked out. He immediately stood up and wailed at me.

Ah, I remember the days when doing that would cause an intense amount of guilt to flow through my body. Now it's nothing. Where's that second baby we need to have so I can prove to myself how easy it is to do such things when they're 4 months and older?

I digress.

When I closed the door, I saw my husband was in the bathroom, hanging laundry. He looked at me. I said that his crying shouldn't last long because he was tired.

My husband then said something that shocked me again, but even more so: He's got to get over it - he doesn't control everything.

Whhaaaat? I did a little tap dance and said, "YOU FINALLY GET IT!!!" He just stared at me.

I guess he finally realized that losing almost an hour while holding Mateo and waiting for him to fall asleep so that he won't cry in his crib as soon as he hit the sheets was getting to be a bit much, especially with the amount of work to be done around the house (not to mention the TV shows to watch).

And I was correct; Mateo cried for maybe 5 minutes and then went to sleep.

Another Mom / Dad difference.

I know what month and week Mateo is as far as his age goes. He's 8 1/2 months old as of Saturday. My husband, on the other hand, constantly bumps up his age by 2 weeks, so right now Mateo is 9 months in his head. Why is that?

Cynical me.

We went to the pumpkin patch today, and the first thing I thought was, Wow, the pumpkin patch is really just a big dirt field with pumpkins of different shapes, sizes and colors scattered all over the dirt. With some haystacks and corn stalk bunches placed here and there.

Then I stepped back and looked at it through Mateo's eyes and mind, a mind that will not remember this day at all and was probably thinking, Wow! Look at all the round, brightly colored balls all over that dirt I would love to take a handful of and stick in my mouth!

By the way, he does not like the feel of hay, and refused to sit on a haystack to get his picture taken. Instead, he grabbed for his Daddy like some horrible monster was trying to get a hold of him.

Needless to say, we didn't stay too long. I guess a huge part of being a parent is pretending.

Dirty, filthy pumpkin loving.

Stranger anxiety.

The first signs of stranger anxiety are starting to show with Mateo. He's normally a very "cheesy" dude and likes to smile at the ladies as much as he can. Today while at Target some lady found Mateo particularly charming (who wouldn't?), and when she started talking to him, he immediately turned to look for me and my husband. Mateo was very tired, so he didn't even crack a smile, and I had to do the talking for him by telling the lady he would usually smile at her, but he was a bit tired today.

I do feel myself blessed that I'm one of the two people in his life that he will always be comfortable with (well, until he's a teenager and I force him to kiss and hug me in public), will always love (again, in the teenage years I suspect the level of love may go up and down) and will always feel safe with (until he realizes I have a bit of road rage).

Being a parent is pretty darn neat.

So I've turned into one of "those" people.

After spending years and years of professing I would never have a kid and that being pregnant is like growing an alien inside oneself, I've realized I've become one of those people -- the type I'd want to run away from, screaming "shut up, shut up! there is more to life than your baby and how cute it is when he drools and smiles and poops a tremendous poop!" This realization hit me this weekend when I was making Mateo laugh by simply acting like I was going to tickle him and then actually tickling him while my husband held on to him. Every time I'd lift up my fingers in a display of tortuous tickling movements, his little eyes would become big, his smile would start forming and his body would clench up in preparation for what was to come. When I made contact with his belly and sides, he'd smile and laugh and make his cute Mateo-gurgle sounds.


How does it get any better than that?


How about when I fed him pureed apple straight from the container after he finished is bowl of rice cereal and mashed bananas a la grandma? As soon as the pureed apple hit his taste buds, one eye would close up, his little lips would purse up and he'd quickly shiver and shake his head to remove the sourness coating his mouth. The first time he did this, I screamed for my husband to come and to come QUICK, which he did and with a look of horror on his face. I was in the process of telling him it's a good thing, not a bad thing, but he was already annoyed with me for screaming, "Edgar, come here NOW!" His annoyance with me soon faded when he witnessed Mateo's little face puckering up in displeasure:





and he too began to laugh. The really odd thing about this whole situation was that Mateo kept eating, closing one eye and shivering. His dad's love for sour things may have passed on to him.

I've also turned into one of those fools that force others to look at her kid's pictures (online, of course -- no real photos for me, thanks, not unless they are bound in a mini book) EVERY SINGLE TIME she updates his blog. I've been known to post something and then immediately call Mateo's grandma to tell her she needs to go look at his blog -- NOW!


The only good thing is that I'm not one of those people that need constant confirmation that her child is cute, adorable, the best baby on the face of the earth because, well, he is. And sorry for the self-confidence in this fact (that is, conceit). I also don't have a need to force others to hold him because that seems to be an immediate confirmation that he is cute, adorable and the best baby on the face of the earth, and that if someone does not want to hold him, then something is drastically wrong with them and not my baby because who could not want to hold my child? Nope. In fact, I'd rather you not hold him because that means less time for me in the holding department. And you make him smell weird. I'd rather him smell like him, not you.


So yes, I am one of those people. I get complete and utter satisfaction at watching my child experience new things, happy or sad, and seeing how he reacts. It's amazing that what little he can do right now it the most fun for me to watch. And I get years and years of this? Why didn't I sign up sooner??

So sad for me.

How come when you survive your first week after having your baby, you can't wait for your baby to fall asleep on his/her own, without crying, without having to be rocked or held, without much fuss what's so ever, and then when it finally happens, you're completely saddened by the fact that your baby doesn't need all of the above anymore?

How we parent

Okay, this really isn't a post about how my husband and I parent, but more about how we are similar in thought when certain things happen with Mateo.

This morning Mateo woke up about 6am, so I went into his room, fed him, changed him, changed his clothes because he spit up on his pjs, and then took him into our room to wake up my husband. While Mateo was chattering away and smiling like the smiley boy he is, he started his morning poo. His morning poo soon turned into the brink of a morning poo explosion, so I scooped him up and took him back into his room for a diaper change.

While I was getting a fresh diaper from the drawer, Mateo pooed even more, so I knew the poo had to of leaked out at this point. I flipped his legs up and by doing so, all the excess poo that hadn't been soaked up yet dribbled out the top of his diaper and pooled in his onesie.

"Oh NO!!!" I said a bit loudly. Mateo looked at me like he wasn't sure if I was really yelling or just being silly, so I smiled and said, "Oh NO!"

Then I realized since so much poo had pooled in his onesie, it was going to be hard getting the onesie off without getting poo all over him. I started yelling for help, and soon help (aka my husband) walked into the room. I told him to get a plastic bag so I could put the onesie in it (yes, it was that bad), and then spray it with Oxiclean (thanks, sis) in the bathroom.

"I'm not sure how to do this," I said. "No matter how I try to get this off of him, he's going to get poo all over himself."

My husband said, "Cut it off of him."

This is how we think the same.

I grabbed the scissors from the drawer and started cutting from the bottom to the top. After the onesie was split, I took Mateo's arms out of the sleeves, lifted him up, and pulled the onesie out from under him. I threw the onesie into the plastic bag my husband held, cleaned Mateo up, and put another onesie on him.

When under pressure, it's just easier for us to throw out stuff than try to save it. Yes, I know, not good for the environment and it's like throwing money away, but too bad, I say. When the poop has pooled in the onesie, the onesie's outta there.

Parents

You know you're a parent (well, okay, I'm trying to be one, but someone isn't cooperating with me) when your amazon fiction suggestions are full of baby/kid books.

And you know you're a parent when your husband brings home this:




















And you say, "Oh, Toddworld!"

Your husband, who has been at work and not watching TV all day, answers, "I don't know what that is?"

You respond, "Oh, you will...."