I got a few cute pictures of Elias tonight just before he went to bed. He's been successfully moving his bedtime later and later. Instead of 7-7:15pm, I'm now lucky to start getting him down by 8, and all too often it's been closer to 9 when he actually gets tucked in. I'm trying harder now for 7:30-8. I know sleep is very important for him, and having a few hours to do household chores or just veg after he's asleep is important for me. He'd always been so incredibly easy to put down at night: quick, no crying, hardly any fuss. Now he endlessly stalls with everything he's got--"Mommy read book?"; "I drink water?"; "Poopy diaper?"; turning on music and madly dancing to it; getting deeply involved in Thomas the Train; crying; tantrums; going limp; volunteering to clean up or fix something; and when all else fails, making a run for it. That's Stage One. Then Stage Two: milk and songs in the dark in my room. He tries to escape and cries there, too, which is new (although still managing to stop enough to request favorite songs). When he senses the end of Stage Two approaching he tries to request yet more songs or ask for another bottle of milk. At last, Stage Three: into his bed, covered up, kissed goodnight, and quickly left with the door barely ajar. He generally stays put then...for a few minutes. Then often he'll come quietly creeping out, always right to me to show me he's not in bed. Usually it'll be "Hello, Mommy. Hello. Goodnight, Mommy", waving, smiling, even laughing. Occasionally he'll be even quieter and request food, drink, a toy, another diaper change, or to sleep in my bed instead. A la "Super Nanny," he gets marched right back in to bed, and although the number of times per night has dropped, about 50% of the time he still makes at least one attempt to get up again. The most consistent thing seems to be that I myself am eager for bed after this drawn-out production.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Ick ick ick!
Of course I like to write about the endearing little tidbits and extraordinary feats Elias surprises me with. It IS an Elias brag blog, after all. Some other surpises aren't so wonderful. Still, they're part & parcel of raising a child, and posterity's sake I'll record one such episode. Some may find this funny, but those of you who are squeemish about bodily functions should perhaps skip this one. (TS, this means you!)
I was getting an early start on my taxes last week, and making pretty good progress. I was hunched over typing numbers into the new tax software I'm trying this year. Elias had been coming in and out of the office but now had wormed his way behind me in my high-backed chair, and was climbing up and down my back and playing with my hair. I was pleased he was entertaining himself to that degree at least, and pleased with my own progress, so was very much focused on my task. It was close to his bedtime, yes, and--was that a whiff of diaper? But I was getting so much done! I'd get him changed into PJs in a few minutes. I tuned him out, picturing a stoic lioness on the savana covered with squirming, wrestling, biting cubs. Elias started tapping me on the back of the head, then reaching way down my back under my shirt. Focus! Focus! Then I felt something wet at the back of my neck, followed by little fingers--was he licking me again and playing in the spit? Just a few more numbers; focus! Whew, what smells? Foc---HEY WAIT! I turned around, and there stood Elias, who had somehow managed to get off his incredibly full diaper and was dabbing it--the inside of it, mind you--on the back of my neck and smearing it into my hair and down my shirt. ICK! ICK ICK ICK! I sprang up and whisked a surprised Elias off to the potty, stripping us both down as fast as I could, the whole time saying Ick! Ick! Ick! After our respective shower/baths I spent well over an hour cleaning up, for he'd also stepped in his diaper and left poopy footprints around during a brief escape just after the initial discovery. This may be the first time I was really grossed out by Elias' bodily functions; and boy, was I. That night as I was finally getting him down, way too late, he kept repeating "ick ick ick!" chopping his forearms up and down for emphasis--not reflecting his own feelings on the matter, but just copying beloved, excitable, (smearable) Mom.
Needless to say, I still have to finish my taxes.
I was getting an early start on my taxes last week, and making pretty good progress. I was hunched over typing numbers into the new tax software I'm trying this year. Elias had been coming in and out of the office but now had wormed his way behind me in my high-backed chair, and was climbing up and down my back and playing with my hair. I was pleased he was entertaining himself to that degree at least, and pleased with my own progress, so was very much focused on my task. It was close to his bedtime, yes, and--was that a whiff of diaper? But I was getting so much done! I'd get him changed into PJs in a few minutes. I tuned him out, picturing a stoic lioness on the savana covered with squirming, wrestling, biting cubs. Elias started tapping me on the back of the head, then reaching way down my back under my shirt. Focus! Focus! Then I felt something wet at the back of my neck, followed by little fingers--was he licking me again and playing in the spit? Just a few more numbers; focus! Whew, what smells? Foc---HEY WAIT! I turned around, and there stood Elias, who had somehow managed to get off his incredibly full diaper and was dabbing it--the inside of it, mind you--on the back of my neck and smearing it into my hair and down my shirt. ICK! ICK ICK ICK! I sprang up and whisked a surprised Elias off to the potty, stripping us both down as fast as I could, the whole time saying Ick! Ick! Ick! After our respective shower/baths I spent well over an hour cleaning up, for he'd also stepped in his diaper and left poopy footprints around during a brief escape just after the initial discovery. This may be the first time I was really grossed out by Elias' bodily functions; and boy, was I. That night as I was finally getting him down, way too late, he kept repeating "ick ick ick!" chopping his forearms up and down for emphasis--not reflecting his own feelings on the matter, but just copying beloved, excitable, (smearable) Mom.
Needless to say, I still have to finish my taxes.
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