Dear Husband, Part 43

While mom is away, the men will play.

That rarest of finds

A picture of Oliver with mommy. Even more rare, he was sitting in my lap letting me rock him.

PlayPal

My parents visited this weekend, and no one was sorrier to see them leave than Oliver. He had so much fun with both of them. My parents, both of whom grew up in big families, know how to play with kids, and they are definitely enjoying their grandchildren. It was fun getting to share him with them when he was an infant, but it's a whole new level watching them play together. My dad loves to throw the ball with him, hide under blankets, and just make Olllie laugh, and Oliver is happy to have a more readily available partner to play with (Wes is his usual fun-loving buddy; mommy plays but also does all those other less fun things, like mealtimes and diaper changes and naps and time outs). My mom loves reading books with him, playing with blocks, and laughing at all his expressions.

I'm not sure who was more exhausted by the end of each day -- Oliver or my parents. I can only say that I'm tremendously thankful for extra personsn to help wear him out!

Almost 18 months

Crap

*Note: Do not read this post while eating or if you're thinking about having kids soon but not really sure about it or if you're pregnant and a little afraid of what parenthood will be like.  This is not for the faint of heart.

I have spent a significant amount of time recently removing bodily output from Oliver and his crib.  Last weekend he had a stomach bug, and I changed endless crib sheets, gave endless baths, and did endless loads of laundry.  I was lucky enough to get the bug, too, along with a nasty cold that has left me completely hoarse and coughing a bit, but I've just had varying degrees of nausea and no actual vomiting. 

Due to the congestion, post-nasal drip, coughing, sore throat, and general achiness, I slept poorly last night.  So when I heard Oliver start to stir, I didn't get up right away.  I waited for the plaintiveness in his sounds to start up, and ultimately fell back to sleep for probably an hour.  I finally dragged myself out of bed and went upstairs.  When I opened the door, the first thing I noticed (other than the heat and the stench) was little clumps of brown mixed with corn on the floor by the crib.  And then I kept looking.  There was poop on the crib -- all over the crib, in fact -- and on Oliver.  He had it in his hair, on his face, caked to his hands, and all over his pajamas.  The diaper it seemed, had come lose in the night, and there was poop everywhere.  Wes, naturally, is working a 7-3 shift today, so he was off at work.  I tackled Oliver first, rinsing him, then rinsing the bathtub, then bathing him, then scouring the bathtub.  I paged Wes, who assured me that even if he had ingested it, the worst it would do was make him sick to his stomach (ah, yes, something more to look forward to).  I gave him breakfast, started a load of poopy laundry, and then went back upstairs.  I put up the baby gate at the doorway to the nursery so Oliver could play in the hallway and other bedroom while I worked.  I scrubbed the crib for probably 20 minutes to get it all off and sanitized, then decided to tackle the upstairs and give the bathroom a good overall cleaning.

He ate lunch eagerly and is now upstairs lamenting his midday nap.  As for me, I'll just be happy to get rid of the smell of poop from my house.

Some kind of trouble

Oliver is learning all sorts of new tricks these days.  Yesterday afternoon he was in the kitchen for a while, and I wasn't sure what he was doing.  When I walked in, I found that he had opened the cabinet door under the sink (the only one in the kitchen without a child lock) and emptied out everything in there.  And he was so proud of himself.

Oliver has become really good at a lot of those kinds of thing.  That evening, the dryer buzzed and he immediately walked over to the laundry closet and banged on the door to open it up.  I put the laundry basket on the floor, and he moved the dry clothes into the basket without any help.  (We did have to stop him from putting the wet clothes from the washer in there and redirect them to the dryer.)

Tonight I got back out his Christmas present -- a mallet and pegboard that was put away a while ago when he got a little...zealous, shall we say, with the mallet.  He can hammer each peg down using the mallet.  As a woman at the park pointed out today, he really is very coordinated (ah, the irony that my child would be at eighteen months very coordinated but not yet talking!).

And his personality is coming out more and more -- ALL sides of it.  Sunday he got his very first time out at home, followed by his very first time out at daycare on Monday (the note home said the he "had a hard time listening").  He has a tendency to sometimes smack at my face and doesn't respond to my admonitions to stop.  I put his hand down to his side very firmly and tell him "No" in my most authoritative voice, but he just laughs.  If I'm playing with him, I'll stop.  If he's up on the couch with me, I'll put him down.  But he persisted (mixing it up by kicking the dog to provoke her to growl at him -- hilarious, let me tell you).  So after attempting and failing to put him in time out in a chair, I hauled him upstairs and put him in his crib for 2 minutes by himself.  He didn't get upset while he was there, but he clearly understood when I came back that he should feel back about something.  He was contrite (as much as a toddler can be) and sat happily in my lap for at least 20 minutes.  He went back up again later that day, very upset that he was separated from us, and was sobbing when I went back for him.  Once again, he was very solemn and sat with me awhile.  I know it's just the next part of him growing up, and in some ways it's really interesting to watch, but it's also reality setting in that he's truly not a baby anymore.

Jelly