Kid Amnesiac

This is the exact type of post Simon is most likely to be embarrassed or angry about when he gets older. I can’t do anything to change that short of not writing about it, but what happened yesterday is just too quintessential a baby/toddler experience to expunge from the record. So instead, let me say for the sake of Simon’s future pride that yesterday’s incident (1) was totally his stupid parents’ fault, and (2) reflects his growing knowledge and understanding.

Simon pooped in his bath his yesterday morning. One minute he was sitting in the tub playing with foam numbers and dinosaur squirters while Matt read about guitar parts, and the next thing Matt knew Simon was crying, calling out “no, poop, yuck!” and throwing his own feces out of the tub to get as far away from it as possible. His mighty displeasure let us know that Simon is getting closer to being ready to potty train, which is good, but also made the whole thing less funny than it would have otherwise been.

Matt called for me for backup, and we applied a successful divide and conquer strategy. I dredged the tub—with my bare hands if you must know—then set to scrubbing and disinfecting the floor, tub, toys, and, yes, my hands. Then I spritzed some Red Cross disinfectant spray into the air for good measure, ran a second bath, and went to fetch Simon, who at this point was sitting naked on a towel in Matt’s office chair watching his favorite Red Bull helicopter video on YouTube.

This was really a success for Simon, not only because he did not want the poop in the bath and understood it was “yucky”, but also because when Matt asked Simon if he’d like to sit on a potty, he said he would.

Which brings us to the two major parenting failures involved:

1. We have no potty yet.
2. We moronically gave Simon a bath during the time of day he is most likely to poop. What were we thinking?

So I say now, to the Simon of the future, that, honey, it happens to all babies/toddlers at least once, you can blame this one on your folks, and please forgive me for putting it on the permanent record.

Within the past three weeks, Simon has begun to engage in some imaginative play. It may have started even earlier, but I wasn’t expecting it and therefore wasn’t looking out for it, either.

My friend Amanda was one of the first to spot it. We were eating lunch in the kitchen and she noticed that Simon caught his reflection in a window and carried on quite the conversation with his look-alike friend.

Then we started noticing that Simon was going off-script with some of his books and that his stuffed animals were having conversations with each other and with him. The dirty dogs like to kiss each other, Simon likes to kiss all his stuffed animals, and he’s begun to give his little kitty a voice: “meeeee-oooouuuuuw.”

All of this came to a funny but disgusting climax Wednesday. We were downstairs in the new playroom, when Simon decided to make kitty “climb” up the basement pole. I took over to have kitty climb all the way to the top, cry out because she was stuck, and then leap into Simon’s arms to be rescued.

He loved it so much we did it at least seven times. Buoyed, he started to think about other things kitty could do. Why, kitty could go poop in her potty! And there, tucked into a corner of the room, is Percival and Tristan’s downstairs litter box. Just about the time I realized what was happening, and long before I could intervene, I watched in horror as Simon squealed, “Meow, meow, poo poo cat, yuck cat,” shoved his hand through the swinging door on the covered litter box, and tossed kitty in.

Needless to say, kitty’s next adventure was being washed. We’ve declared a spending moratorium for as long as we can hold out, but I think Simon may be getting a few kitty accessories help him role play without getting toxoplasmosis.

So Simon is sick again. Has been since Friday. I haven’t written about it yet because, honestly, this our fourth trip on the toddler illness merry-go-round and there’s nothing much new except this time no barfing has been involved, Simon’s fever peaked at around 104, and we didn’t get a bad diagnosis or a bad prescription from the emergency docs. We waited until yesterday, day 4, to go the doctor, and we went straight to Dr. Newstadt: no passing Go; no collecting unnecessary prescriptions.

So the last four days have assumed an unwelcome but all-too familiar pattern of forehead swiping, Advil and Tylenol dosing, general whininess, and interrupted sleep. Our house is littered with dosing cups the way it is usually and more happily littered with cars, and Simon has begun asking for “purple” (Dimetapp) the way he usually and more happily asks for cookies or gummi vitamins.

We are all-not least Simon-sick and tired of Simon’s being sick and tired.

Thankfully, Simon has provided some comic relief for us all. Yesterday at the doctor’s office we got out some books to kill time while they processed his blood sample and throat swab. Great favorites these days include Hippos Go Berserk and Do Princesses Count?* because Simon himself is learning to count. Typically, his counting is pretty random. He’ll greet two butterflies on one page by saying “One, two, buffly” but then respond to a page with ten bees by saying “One, two, fwee, fo, bee!” or maybe even “One, two, fwee, fo, pu-pul, bee!” It’s pretty funny.

Yesterday, though, sitting on my lap at the doctor’s office, exhausted and slightly anaemic from the illness, he counted straight from one to ten. I was really surprised! Not least of which because the page he was looking at had around five objects on it. But hey, who cares about accuracy? He counted all the way to ten!

The second incident happened at around 10:30 last night when shrill shrieks emanated from the nursery. I was downstairs hoping they would go away, and they would for about five to ten minutes at a time. Then I’d hear another shriek or two. Finally I heard a cluster and decided it was time to intervene.

We’ve done this the last three nights in a row, so I’m well familiar with the drill. We go in and talk to him, pick him up, take him into our room, turn out all the lights in our room but leave on the light in the hall, talk to him a bit, stroke his eyebrows, medicate if necessary, and then put him back to bed when he seems sufficiently relaxed. The whole drama plays out in about 20-45 minutes.

Resigned to things, I brought my tea upstairs, got our room ready, turned off and on the requisite lights, and walked into his room. Unlike most nights, Simon was still lying on his stomach. Also unlike most nights, he was lying on the book he insisted on taking to bed with him.

“Simon” I said, rubbing his back lightly. “It’s Mommy. Do you want me to pick you up?”

“No.”

“Do you want to come into Mommy and Daddy’s room?”

“No. Shleep.”

“Can I stay here and rub your back a little bit?”

“No. Ah wanna shleep.Goodbye, Mommy. Goodbye, Mommy”.

This last bit was uttered as he thrust his arm away from his side to push my hand away. His meaning was clear: Crying or no, he just wanted to be alone in his crib so he could get some sleep. Never has an eviction been so endearing or amusing.

Alas, he woke up again at 11:30, and this time he was too miserable to get to sleep on his own. We didn’t get him back to sleep until approaching two, and some unpleasant intervention was involved. Think toddler neti pot.

* I bought this book on a trip when we realized that Matt had accidentally packed all of Simon’s books in our checked-in bags. Do Princesses Count, in all its pink and sparkly glory, was literally the only child’s book I could find on the gates’ side of security.

It’s rare that I begin a post feeling so defeated, but I have a sinking feeling this entry is doomed unless or until we capture the moment on camera and then figure out how to stream from the site. The thing is, Simon has a super adorable new-ish habit, and I think it’s going to be lost unless you can hear it from the source.

That super adorable thing is saying “I do!” instead of “yes” most of the time. As in:

Simon, do you want to take a bath?

I do!

It’s not a plain, “I do” either. It’s sort of sing-songy, with the “do” part coming out in two syllables that go up in pitch and then come back down. There’s some melisma going on; think toddler version of your standard pop diva.

We understand where this comes from. Most of the questions we ask him begin with “Do you?”, so it only makes sense that to Simon that the proper anser is “I do!” and not “yes.” But it’s still funny to hear him sing his reply, especially when accompanied by pursed lips and a little bob of the head. He sounds and looks so serious when he makes his proclamation, like a little groom at the altar.

About two days ago, we heard a variation that made Matt and me both laugh out loud. We asked him some question, let’s pretend it was “Do you want a snack?”,  and this time the response was an airy, two syllable “Ye-ah” followed by a pause than a sing-songy “I do!”

I know, I know. You had to be there.  We’re charging up the camcorder batteries even as I type.

Staring at my KIP calendar back in October, one line brought shivers down my spine: “December 22-January 4: NO SCHOOL WINTER BREAK.”

Like many a parent grown accustomed to child care, I looked at this line and could only think one thing, “What the heck am I going to do with him for two weeks?” This reaction is sad, it really is, but it is also the truth. Two whole weeks spending every waking moment with Simon? Before we finish the playroom? Two weeks! When he’s not tired from music, movement, arts, and storytime at school? When we can’t to go the park or the pool every day? I mean, just what in heaven’s name was I going to DO with him all day?

Fearing endless days of tantrums and tedium, I emailed Simon’s old nanny Molly to see if she’d be available to sit on her winter break from college. She was! We chose two days each of the two weeks, and I relaxed knowing that I didn’t have to figure out what to DO with him every single day for two weeks.

Molly arrived a little early, at 8:45 to be precise, for her first day with Simon, and as long as I live, I’ll never forget his reaction to seeing her. He looked at her and froze. Then he turned away and refused to look at her, holding my hand with a very firm grip as he bit his lower lip and looked in the exact opposite direction from Molly.

“Simon? Do you want to say hello to Molly?” I asked.

Nothing.

“Simon, silly, isn’t it great to see Molly again? Molly who was such a good friend to you and took such good care of you for so long?”

Nothing.

“Simon, honey, please say hello to Molly.”

Nothing.

For forty minutes this drama unfolded at an excruciating slow place, and for the first 15 or 20, Simon looked close to a breakdown as he held my hand, bit his lip, and looked over at walls and up at ceilings. I was feeling pretty panicky that Simon, who was clearly shunning Molly and experiencing very intense emotions, would continue to struggle for long enough that I’d have to send Molly home and cancel our sitting arrangement. It’s one thing when your kid gives a sitter a hard time and you are away—it’s another thing entirely when you are home to witness the hard time and weirdness.

After a 20-minute shun and a 20-minute détente watching Pooh on the couch, Simon finally unfroze and looked at Molly. By the one hour mark, he was chatting, squealing, and having a ball with her, just like old times. And the next three times Molly came to the house, Simon greeted her with hugs and kisses and was thrilled to be with her.

So what happened? I think he short-circuited. Not understanding that Molly had gone off to college and being distracted by preschool, I think all at once Simon had to deal with the agony of missing Molly, the thrill of seeing her again, and the hurt and anger of not understanding why she left him in the first place.  He wasn’t angry enough to leave her presence entirely, but his feelings were sufficiently strong that neither could he greet her as though no time had passed.

I’m hoping to have Molly back for her next break and for at least part of the summer. Her love for Simon seems real, and his for her is clear and true. I only wish I understood how to get Simon to understand where Molly is so that their next reunion need not be so wrenching for him. I feel as though I underestimated the intensity of Simon’s emotional life, and I’d very much like to respect it going forward.

Final coda: The ultimate irony of Molly’s return is that while I desperately needed her help last week, this past week I was fine. In fact, I may have preferred to not have a sitter at least one day, as between holidays, regular grandparent days, and days when Matt watched Simon while I painted the basement, I feel as though we’ve hardly spent any time together. But I would never have canceled on Molly, because I assume she needs the money for school and because her time is such a gift to Simon.