little case is a handy scapegoat for farts: I’ll let rip a window-rattler and then point silently at him, and he’ll crack up laughing. Then he does the same when he farts, and I’ll crack up. Poor, poor Missus Case.
When my oldest was about 18 months old, she’d hear a fart and say (in this little girl, high-pitched voice), “Toot!” Once she did this to my brother–she was chattering away (even at this age, she had a fairly good vocabulary and talked pretty plainly for a toddler), he was occasionally chatting back at her, and then he let one out. She never paused, just broke off whatever it was she was saying and said, “TOOT!!” I thought DB was going to pass out laughing–he was completely caught off guard!
WRT the OP:
Because when you’ve cleaned someone else’s butt a few times, it helps you to understand that … um … that …
OK, it’s just hormones. All hormones.
Evil Captor you just reminded me of one of the low-lights of parenthood: Nature Boy was probably 6 at the time (the same Nature Boy, now 13, that was discussing the finer points of complex musical composition a la Rush/Dream Theatre back in [post=23]Post 23[/post]) We were at McDonalds and Nature Boy had to go. He was taking an inordinately long time so I go in to investigate.
Apparantly someone had left a sizeable deposit on the toilet seat. Nature Boy thought - “Man I really gotta go, but I ain’t touching that. I’ll angle myself so I can sit without contact.” (or words to that effect) The attempt did not succeed. I entered the scene while he was still scraping off large chunks.
So I help him clean up (whuf!) and in walks two 18 year olds. Without missing a beat one of them points and says to the other, “and that’s why I’ll never become a parent.”
I offer this to all current bottom wipers out there: The shit eventually goes away! Honest!
Well what about the boy that she likes who may or may not like her? No note?
She should consult with her best friend and perhaps if they combine the best of their boy-attracting knowledge they can compose a flattering note to him, possibly with some boxes representing different degrees of affection which he can check to indicate his feelings for your daughter. Also, did your daughter consider that the object of her affection may have seen her friend deliver the note to Profit and possibly assumed that her affection lies with Profit instead of himself, inclining him to lose interest in liking your daughter before she has had a chance to have a friend deliver a note to him?
I hope you’ve addressed all of these issues with your daughter, or I will question your ability as a parent.
To all parents in this thread: thank you for your stories. I know, I’ve played the devils’ advocate a few times in this thread, but you’ve all stood your grounds.
I was especially touched to hear about the love and adoration really young children have for their parents. It’s something I can’t recall from personal experience, as I was too young. And as I don’t have close friends that are parents, I don’t have first-hand-experience of seeing it in others, either. And it is easy to miss noticing that love, when I see parents and kids in everyday life. Parents in shops, in parks, seem mainly busy correcting nagging kids, and reassuring clingy shy kids. The laughter, jokes and affection, I suppose, is a private thing, shared in the home where the child feels safe, not in the public spaces where I see parents and their children.
It is hard to describe love, isn’t it? All lovesongs about her golden hair, or about his wild ways, are basically ways of saying: I love her, I love him. And if I didn’t, I wouldn’t even notice the blond hair and the bad-boy attitude. I guess it’s the same with kids. Love comes first, appraisal comes afterwards.
And Nametag, thanks for sharing your story. That took guts to write, and I appreciates hearing a real-life story about other outcomes then the happily-ever-after-ones.
That’s part of the love, or should be: it isn’t all cuddles and, “Daddy, I drew you a picture today!” Part of loving your child is trying to ensure that they grow up properly into kind and decent human beings. That also means discipline and boundaries when they’re needed, and reassurance when its needed - perhaps especially in public.
Make no mistake, loving your child is hard work. Apart from all the things like reading them stories at the end of the day when you just want to slump down with a beer in your hand, or walking them to the park when you have work to do, or drawing pictures with them when the TV is there, it’s making and setting rules.
It’s easy to let things slide - picking up their toys instead of making them do it, insisting that they say “please” and “thank you” at the table instead of letting it go, scolding them for snatching off Mummy - and sometimes sending them to their room when they break the rules and then hearing the tears through the door.
Taking the time - and it’s a lot of time - to ensure that your child knows the difference between good and bad behaviour, and knows what’s appropriate and when - that, I think, is an important part of ensuring that they do grow up into kind and decent people.
Love is hard work sometimes, but when you see the results - little case being eyed suspiciously in restaurants by patrons afraid that their meal is going to be upset by a screaming child, and then seeing him being praised by the staff for behaving so well - that’s when you know it’s worth it.
A couple of people have commented that parents mostly seem to talk about the negative aspects of their kids, and that doesn’t make it sound like much fun. It’s true that some people are probably burned out, need a break, or whatever; but a large part of the reason parents do this is because 1) the horror stories are funny, and 2) we don’t want to brag. Most parents secretly think their kids are the most brilliant absolute best kids on the playground, but it’s impolite to say so. Start talking about how great your kids really are, and you become the dreaded Competitive Mother/Coach Dad/Droning Parent. I’m sure you’ve seen the rants against these people on these very boards. It’s much safer and you’ll be a lot more popular if you stick to horrifying poop stories, which are actually amusing to others. The latest clever thing your cherub has done is not as enchanting to your friends as it is to you.
Kiz and Nametag --I appreciate your honesty.
Kids are not all joy and light, for sure. And not everyone should be a parent. There is no shame in that, if it is recognized as you all have posted. You do the best you can-what more can be asked?
Looking back, I probably had some type of post partum depression with all three of my kids. I was not prepared for the emotional toll that a newborn brings. It didn’t help that with my first, I was sick with hypothyroidism for the first 9 months. I told everyone about my fatigue, and my physical ills–the OB dismissed it as baby sleep deprivation. The internist waved it away. I was so sick–and didn’t know it.
It was a cardiologist at work who came upon me one day (I had my head on the desk–it was too heavy for me to hold up, or at least it felt like that) who checked my reflexes then and there and examined my neck and insisted I go back to the doctor. Once on meds, I was much happier and had some energy.
So, I don’t feel like I bonded with my first particularly well. Add in a sister staying with us when baby was 11 days old because her apt burned down and you can see that the stress levels were quite high.
Second baby was planned and all went well. I couldn’t believe the energy I had post partum! Nothing like the first–it was good, but the endless days of feeding, rocking, changing, cleaning really got me down. Yes, it is temporary, but so is a prison sentence.
Third child was not planned and marriage was (even back then) circling the drain. Again, not a good recovery (I resented the whole pregnancy), but he is such a sweet child. I am so glad he is here–it has been very tough. He suffered through endless cycles of croup, RSV, bronchiolitis, ear infection. He spent most of his infancy on a nebulizer–terrifying and anxiety provoking. He is fine, now–doesn’t even have asthma, but it was horrible at the time.
I think that most of my blues were caused by my severe anxiety re the babies’ welfare. I got thru and now enjoy them for most part.
I just wanted to share that all new parents don’t automatically feel overwhelming love–but that it can come with time.
I do have all these maternal pangs that lots of you women have reported, right down to having lovely dreams and being smitten by others I see in the street - but it’s not about babies, it’s about PUPPIES. Literally. I have never had any maternal urges whatsoever, aside from those related to the canine.
A dear friend of mine had a baby last year. (The first time she handed him to me I was flummoxed. I’d spent the weekend surrounded by dogs and didn’t know what to do except try to scratch behind his ears and rub his belly.)
The baby still isn’t that exciting to me except one thing: the way that he looks at his mum (my friend) is really something. Of course I can’t describe it, but it is monumentally powerful.
It’s also a foxhole mentality. You may have been furious at your child, but when you regale your friends and family with the godawful stunt they pulled, usually they laugh, probably in sympathy. My sister was telling me about how her 9 year old son wrote a check from her checkbook and sent it off for Legos, and while I’m giving her advice on how to deal with the bank I’m laughing in sympathetic horror, all the while being secretly glad my children never forged my signature on a check for toys.
Me? I just needed someone to help with the yard work.
I don’t have any children of my own body; never really wanted any. Never honestly wanted to live with any kids.
Met and started dating and moved in with a guy who (you see where this is going, right?) had two children with an ex-girlfriend, and she had custody.
Well, not to wash dirty laundry, but his youngest daughter died in a house fire, and at that point it seemed to all of us involved like a good option for the older kiddo (age 5) to come live with us, instead of with mum and her half-siblings (more resources to help take care of the kid, and two adults to watch her, and a change of scenery).
Let me reiterate that I don’t want children of my own. I think if I’ve been very, very bad and die with my sins unforgiven, I will be sent to the bad place and forced to deal with colicky babies with snotty noses and have to use the snot sucker to suck snot out of them for the rest of eternity. I REALLY hate snot. I don’t much like baby poo and spit up, I hate toddler diapers, and I really couldn’t handle either the absolute attention necessary to TRY to keep a young child out of glue and concrete and bleach and cat poop and garbage cans OR the guilt if I slipped up and let 'em get themselves into trouble.
I don’t like the idea of being a parent. But somehow, “I don’t want CHILDREN” has turned, slowly and inextricably, into “I don’t want CHILDREN…but maybe just one CHILD isn’t so bad.”
She’s certainly no more unpleasant than some of the other roommates I’ve had, and she’s mostly-respectful and sweet and affectionate most of the time, and when she’s NOT a perfect little angel, I just remind myself that she’s seven years old and that gives me a lot more tolerance. (Did I mention she’s GOSH-WOW impressed with what we grownups make for her, whether it’s a sweater or homemade muffins or an art project?)
I don’t mean to say that she’s a great person all the time. She lies and swipes things and breaks stuff (and lies about that) and hates school sometimes and doesn’t want to do her homework so she loses it; she says mean things about her dad and she’s annoyingly (and worryingly) boy-crazy for a kid in first grade. She’s destructive, chews on things, throws tantrums, and some other stuff I don’t even want to talk about.
She’s not a perfect kid. I’m not a perfect daddy’s live-in. But we’re about right for each other, and I’ve gotten pretty attached to her, despite my loathing of “parenting children” in general. It really helps that I can tell her when she’s driving me nuts and vice versa. (I think that’s the secret to why parents like their kids; you get to set the rules for your own household.)
I’ll still never have kids, but having the sort of relationship I do with her (friendly sort-of-related grownup, but not parent) lets me be as affectionate and responsible and parently as I can, without taking the sole responsibility for her life that I would if I were her mother. I rather like having her as part of my life.
Corrvin
I’m only an uncle, but my nephew, who is only 3 and a half, sang me ‘Happy Birthday’ ten days ago. It really hits you.
And then there was the incident when he was 15 months old and he learned to walk backwards while I was watching. The look of acheivement on his face was just wonderful.
Wow. Some real honest, impressive posts in this thread.
Myself, I had 2 surprise pregnancies. (Yeah, you’d think we’d have figured out what caused it…:))
First one was at a very stressful time in our lives. My now-husband was unemployed at the time, and would be throughout the entire pregnancy and until our daughter was 4 months old. Made it difficult to have the standard excitement about the whole pregnancy and upcoming event.
But, man, when she finally came out (after a somewhat strenuous labor)! She looked up at us with this big, aware eye, and that was it. Instant love. Like someone upthread said: like seeing color for the first time.
When I was pregnant with my second, I was constantly nagged by the thought: what if we don’t love this one as much as the first one? I have to say, the moment he popped out, I immediately started measuring. Is my love for him as great? Does husband seem as smitten? How are we doing???
And you know what? we had problems. Baby #1 took to breastfeeding immediately. Baby #2 had latching problems, and then fell asleep while nursing. At 2 weeks old, he started screaming and* just didn’t stop.* He was first diagnosed with colic, which our own dostor admitted usually means: We don’t know, but we hope he’ll outgrow it and in the meantime, could you please remove this screaming banshee from our premises? Then they said it was acid reflux. I gave up all forms of dairy. I gave up all forms of soy. (Read some labels. I didn’t just give up milk and tofu. These ingredients are everywhere ). We put him on medication, which was a wrenching decision for me.
He screamed. He screamed like people were branding him with hot irons. He especially screamed between 5 and 8 at night. I would put him in a Baby Bjorn and walk around the house with him, stopping by the dinner table to take a bite of food. I would sometimes have to call my husband in the afternoon and tell him to come home from work early, because I couldn’t take a moment more.
And a funny thing happened on the wy to motherhood. We bonded.
I stopped worrying about whether I loved him enough, or in the same ways as Baby #1. My A#1 focus was on getting him comfortable. And he and I undertook that process together. He was always with me, and I was always trying to make his existence more pleasant. And instead of resenting him (which I know I did on more than one occasion, but I’m talking overall here), I joined with him. And he became my little buddy, my partner in everything.
Yes, I’m lucky. My dietary changes worked, the meds kicked in, and we saw an improvement. But I wonder what would have happened if he had been an “easy” baby, and just lay there, ripe for the comparison to Baby #1.