Muffin (holding his baby sister):
“Madam Poopsalot will be my friend when she grows up.”

Madam Poopsalot:
“Tooooooooooot!”

Muffin (very serious):
“That’s okay. She can poop on me.”

Now that is dedication and enlightenment! I am so proud.

Then I hold my breath and wait for the answer.

Thankfully, so far each time he responds with, “No, I like my crib”. There is in fact a God! We just came back from a 10 day trip to Canada and since Muffin is too big for a pack-n-play, we were forced to go the big boy bed route on the trip.

For the first time ever.

On our “vacation”.

Stupid? Kinda.

The first night we were staying with my friends in Vancouver, where we were sleeping in the same room as Muffin. OMG – nothing to contain him and sleeping in the same room? I knew that was to be a recipe for disaster. The first night went something like this:

8:00pm – Put Muffin and Madam Poopsalot to bed.
8:02pm – Muffin gets up out of his AWESOME Taun Taun sleeping bag and comes upstairs where Mommy, Daddy & friends are trying to eat a kidless dinner.
8:45pm – after taking Muffin back to bed and lying with him a while I go back upstairs to eat my cold dinner and drink my warm wine
8:50pm – we hear strange noises coming from muffin’s room. I go to investigate and find all (and I mean ALL) of our hosts children’s toys scattered on the floor with Muffin in the eye of the tornado, playing happily.

I marched Muffin back to bed and the dance continued for hours. We finally gave up and decided to go to bed ourselves. Muffin was, of course, delighted and still awake and wanting to play. The rest of the night was even more painful. His Taun Taun sleeping bag was beside our blow up mattress on the floor. I closed my eyes and tried not to engage him but he’d come up and try to pry my eyelids open while whispering (within an inch of my face), “Mommy, are you awake? Mommy, are you sleeping? Mommy, let’s play”. Aggravatingly painful – I was so tired and just wanted to sleep!

That night I got about 3 hours of sleep and so did Muffin. As you can imagine we were both very pleasant the next day. Actually, he was fine. Energizer Bunny – remember? I, on the other hand…

Mercifully, that was only for two nights. Then off to my mom’s house where we had a different room for each child and ourselves. This went much better. Though we still had some issues. With no toys in his bedroom at Grandma’s, Muffin now had to be creative.

He dug deep.

About 30 mins after we put him to bed, he comes out of his room and says he’s not tired. Admittedly, in Vancouver in the summertime it is light out until about 10pm, which Muffin is not used to. So, as I gently turn him around to walk him back to bed I see what has been keeping him busy for the past 30 mins. He’s got his blanky and baby bear and puppy and flatopotamus stuffed into his pajama bottoms. Although, not conducive to our tactical plan to get him to sleep, we had to allow ourselves a good laugh and stop for a photo on the way back to bed.

A few weeks ago, I had a couple of fillings replaced at the dentist and I actually enjoyed it! Being able to lie down in the middle of the day and close my eyes for a whole 60 minutes! Uninterrupted! Never mind that that glorious hour also included multiple needle pokes and drilling of teeth. Beggars can’t be choosers. If the baby doesn’t stop crying by 3am, I’ll be forced to begin continue the nightly ritual of chocolate-snarfing in hopes of more downtime in the dentist chair!

Isn’t it?
Right?
I’m right, aren’t I?

Who would think pairing a monster and a nightlight would be a good idea? Apparently Circo does. And my husband.

I sent he and Muffin to Target last weekend to pick a nightlight out because as of the past week Muffin has wanted the lights on when he sleeps. Well, Dr. McCutiePants came back with this….

When questioned by my raised eyebrow, he said that it was the one that Muffin picked out himself and really wanted. Hmmmm, okay. Well, we’ll try it but Mommy is thinking a glowing green monster is not going to help him get over being afraid of the dark. Astonishingly, it did! I thought I’d have to eat my words.

But then Muffin saved me the trouble.

The second night I could tell that there was some unease starting to bubble to the surface. So, that night when I tucked Muffin in, I also tucked Monster in and even gave them both a kiss goodnight.

About an hour later it happened.

I hear a blood curdling scream coming from Muffin’s room. I’m talking a scream that would put Psycho’s Scream Queen, Janet Lee’s shower performance to shame. At that moment, I knew Monster was going back to Target.

Dashing into Muffin’s room, I found him quivering in the far corner of his crib staring and pointing at Monster saying, “He turned! He turned!”. Meanwhile Monster was just staring back with his vacant eyes and sharp-toothed smile. No amount of convincing would make Muffin realize that Monster is in fact friendly. In no uncertain terms Muffin requested that Monster be immediately banished from the bedroom and returned to the store.

Muffin has not asked for the lights to be left on, or for another nightlight since. Thanks Circo, for helping my child resolve his fear of the dark and saving me fifteen bucks.

Okay, so back to Mother’s Day and the post that I have been wanting to write for the past month. It’s about mother-in-laws. Specifically mine.

Mother-in-laws have a bad rap. Whenever I talk to my friend L, she brings up her mother-in-law, whom she loathes. In a gush of verbal diarrhea, she will list her mother-in-law’s most recent offences: she showed up unexpectedly, she stayed for hours, she “reorganized” the kitchen drawers. Then, pausing a moment to catch her breath, L will say, “Oh, you know how it is,” as if all daughter-in-laws belong to some anti-mother-in-law (not-so) secret society where we rage and commiserate about our inherited misfortune.

Well, here’s the thing: I do not belong to that club. I am one of those rare women who happen to love their mother-in-law. I got a good one and I fully recognize it. I am lucky, yes.

My mother-in-law is one of the savviest and generous women I know. She doesn’t deserve the bad rap that so many MILs get. I’ll admit though, I was a little worried before I met her. It was while Dr. McCutiePants and I were still just dating. Upon being “prepped” for my first meeting with her I was told that she was very assertive and very frank. “She’ll tell you exactly what she thinks,” I was warned. I wondered if she’d size me up and then announce brazenly, “Nope, not for my son!”

Our first time meeting each other was at a local dive bar in downtown San Francisco. The restaurant at which we had intended on meeting wasn’t yet open and so this was the closest thing open that served alcohol. They had just finished a round of golf and were fresh from the course and thristy. Later I would learn that she was chagrined that this was the venue of our first introduction. Well, maybe only slightly chagrined…she thought it was terribly funny.

That evening I realized that Dr. McCutiePants was right: his mother was very direct and unmistakably in charge. I was instantly captivated. She was strong, self-assured, and engaging. She was not afraid to speak her mind…and yet she also was very aware of the feelings and situation of others. Best of all, she had raised two boys to be very good men.

During the 6 years that I have known her, she has taught me a lot – everything from how to fold a fitted sheet so well that you’d swear it was a flat sheet to how to make the perfect yorkshire pudding. But more than anything else, she’s shown me a picture of a devoted and successful wife, mother, and woman. Although we are different in many more ways than we are similar, occasionally my husband will say, “Boy, sometimes I think I married my mother!”. I can’t think of a nicer compliment.

Sadly, she passed away from cancer last September. She fought hard and bravely, and with grace. Her funeral had over 250 attendees and was standing room only. She touched the lives of many and was very loved. I didn’t get enough time with her. None of us did. But her huge strong personality lives on, guiding us and still making us laugh.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased with how clearly Muffin speaks for a just-turned- 3-year-old. And you never have to ask him to turn up the volume. It’s always fully cranked. Oh joy.

There have been several embarrassing times that I’ve wished the meaning of his words would have been masked by a not-so-audible voice, but never have I wished this more than last week at SeaWorld. I had to go pee. So, I wheeled Muffin’s stroller into the restroom stall with me and went about my business. While I’m mid-stream, Muffin says (in his sonic boom toddler voice), “Are you going BIG MASSIVE poop on the potty, Mommy?”

Cringe. “No, Muffin, Mommy’s going pee.” To which Muffin replies excitedly, “BIG MASSIVE pee?!!!”

The restroom was packed, of course. I think I may have even heard a snicker or two.

Where is the fine print in the Motherhood Contract, where I signed away every bit of my dignity and privacy? Lately it seems, more often than not, that I have a 38 inch tall shadow (with verbose running commentary) accompanying me wherever I go. Even when urinating, showering, dressing – you name it. There’s nothing like being able to share the running commentary of your pee process in the company of strangers.

Ah Motherhood.

But as my little boy gave me a big, cheeky grin while he leaned back and grabbed his sippy cup with his chubby little hands, I thought, I’d sign all my dignity and privacy away again, just to be known as Mommy to this little guy.

If I could have dinner with any famous dead person, it would be Charles Darwin.

Without a doubt.

On behalf of all mothers everywhere, I want to know why the hell we haven’t grown a third arm yet? And when the hell are we going to?!

Our species, Insanus Multitaskus is waiting.

Come on, Evolution throw us a bone will ya! It’s been hundreds of thousands of years that we’ve been schlepping around sleeping babies or crying toddlers (or both), while we simultaneously try to make dinner or fill a sippy cup one handed. We need another arm, dammit! So, Darwin, when is it coming? Have you ever tried to make dinner one-handed? Or how about changing a diaper while simultaneously trying to keep four continuously moving limbs out of the poopie-pie?

Come to think of it, that third arm should be a special bionic arm;

• Extra fast and long; able to reach out in a flash and catch that speedy preschooler before he gets away.
• Super bendable and able to contort impressively and reach that fallen toy in the backseat of the car while still driving.

How about eyes in the back of our head? I’m sure all mothers everywhere can appreciate how incredibly useful this would be. Nature should be working on that. Instead we have a tailbone. Oh hurray. A tailbone. Fabulous. As far as I can tell, the only use a tailbone serves us is to provide yet another place of pain during, and after, childbirth. My tailbone still freaking hurts, and it’s been 5 months since Madam Poopsalot’s birth! Come on Evolution, a tailbone?! Seriously?

Today I had a sh***y morning. Unfortunately, I mean that in the literal sense.

This morning I woke up to poop.

Now, that in itself wouldn’t be much different from most mornings, except that it wasn’t Madam Poopsalot’s fairly benign diaper-contained infant poop. It was my recently potty-trained 3 year old Muffin’s decidedly adult-like stinky poop. Thankfully he still wears a pull-up for nap and nighttime sleep. However, even with a pull-up the gross-factor remains high. Muffin’s “accident” was made even more unpleasant by the fact that he managed to get a finger in it (by accident he assured me). So, the whole crib was on immediate lock-down and scrub-down…and so was Muffin. Yuck.

With Operation Poop Scour successfully accomplished, I came downstairs to get Madam Poopsalot out of her cradle and she obliged the Baby Poop Gods by wholeheartedly obeying The First Commandment of Baby Poop:

Thou shalt poop in the first diaper just enough to necessitate a diaper change, but reserve enough to dirty the second (or third) diaper immediately thereafter.

Delightful.

Okay, so that’s about enough poop for Mommy to deal with before breakfast, right? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Madam Poopsalot disagreed.

As we were getting ready to leave the house, she obliged the Baby Poop Gods with The Second Commandment of Baby Poop:

Thou shalt hold your poop until Mom has got you dressed and strapped into your car seat and is about to go somewhere important, for which she is already running 10 mins late.

Today I was the Pooper Trooper. How absolutely delightful.

Poor Muffin has been having problems going poop. He potty trained like a champ but he has a bit of a shy bowel, it seems. Ever since we pulled the diapers, he will go 2-4 days without pooping, whereas he used to go once per day. We know he has to poop because he runs around like a little man possessed. I almost expect to see the infamous 360 degree head spin from the exorcist. Fortunately, it’s not that bad. Yet. However, he literally does wind-sprints in the living room.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

For like eight hours.

No, unfortunately I’m not kidding.

No amount of sitting him down on the toilet to just relax and read a book seems to work. He needs to be ready…like within-seconds-of-Mr. Poop-making-his-appearance ready. Little dude cuts it close. He hasn’t had an accident though.

Unfortunately by stopping his body from going poop, he’s making himself constipated. I’ve been trying various things to get him more regular but nothing seems to be working very well. We recently had Muffin’s 3 year well-check and so I asked his pediatrician what we can do to help him go poop more easily and more often. He suggested prunes. Already tried it – he won’t eat them. The ped also suggested more fiber. Already do it – Muffin has a lot of fiber in his diet (we should buy stock in Kashi). So, our ped then suggested Milk of Magnesia. We had not yet brought out the big guns, so last night, after a very trying day with Muffin darting everywhere like a madman, we tried it.

Now, if you’ve ever had Milk of Magnesia you will know that it tastes like chalk. So, we selected the cherry flavored one. Which tastes like cherry flavored chalk. Not very palatable for a 3 year old. Getting Muffin to eat broccoli suddenly seems like a breeze in comparison to getting him to drink 1 tsp of this crap. He took a taste and decided it was not at all the delicious treat mommy and daddy had advertised. So I thought, WWMPD? A spoonful of sugar! Hmmm, pretty good but that’s not quite right for my dear sweet picky Muffin. Maybe I should think more like Lex Luther. Aha! The kryptonite of my little Muffin Man is…ice cream. So, out came the ice cream and that business got done! A chaser of chocolate ice cream in return for a sip of cherry flavored chalk. Needless to say that Muffin is crafty and that little cup of 1 tsp of Milk of Magnesia took about 5 sips (and, of course, 5 ice cream chasers) before it was finished.

Upon waking up from his nap…

Muffin: (groggily) “Mommy, I’m a dinosaur.”
Me: “Oh, you’re a dinosaur?”

Muffin: “I’m a T-Rex!”
Me: “Oh wow! A T-Rex!”

Muffin: (very serious and softly) “Dinosaurs need kisses.”
Me: “Oh good. Because I love kissing dinosaurs.”

*Swoon*. I am so lucky and so very grateful for my children.