First thing: I am going to swear. This song totally fucking ROCKS. Like, I can't even. It saddens me that I specifically remember denigrating the White Stripes when they came out, assuming they could not play their instruments. Um, evidence to the contrary, right here.
I mean, WHAT WAS THAT.
Also, we have had some adventures. We did indeed buy a new laptop--of course, it's taken me three months to actually put photos on it, so there you go... We had a nice visit from my mother, sister-in-law and nieces in early May, then met them and my brother at Sesame Place in late May. We picked just the right time to go, as the temperatures were about 15 degrees below normal (wearing cardigans post-Memorial Day = heaven), and there was a soft-open for a whole new section of rides. We then drove up to New York to visit my grandparents and spend more time with my brother's family. Things did get old with my mother. (Also, kind of seeing a divergence in parenting styles here: my mother gave my then-16-month-old niece a timeout for biting. Can a baby that young even understand that kind of thing?! Ugh.) But we survived. I even managed to drive back alone with Rosina (over two days--there was a lovely visit with the squishy and adorable Maddie in between legs), since Mark had to fly home after a few days.
Once we returned, it was time for potty training boot camp. We would've preferred it happen organically, but with her having already turned three, it probably wasn't going to happen on its own--plus she had to be ready in time for preschool in September. It was a rough first week, with lots of accidents everywhere. Just when I was beginning to doubt it would ever catch on, I had an elucidating conversation with Rosina (benefit of training late: your kids can tell you what's up): we were talking about poop, as you do, and where different people and kids that she knew pooped. When I asked her where she pooped, she said, "In my diaper!", tugging on her training pants. That's when I realized that she thought training pants (actual Gerber ones, plus some underwear I tricked out with padding) were just a really ineffective diaper. Eureka! She went commando for the next three days, and finally figured it out! And the first week wasn't really a waste, as it got her really used to the ritual. (Including the reward M&Ms and stickers.) It hasn't been perfect--today she peed ALL OVER the bathroom floor because she timed it wrong--but that was the first real accident in a few weeks. (She is still in a diaper at night and for her nap--she's a big sleeper--but we may be ready to eliminate the latter soon.) We did learn that we need to carry around her foam seat because she's scared to sit on a toilet without it (legitimately--she is still quite small), but I can deal with that. Anyway, long story short, POTTY OUT, we are awesome, etc.
Having to spend two weeks at home cleaning up pee was actually fairly convenient, as my old modern dance-acquired plantar fasciitis decided to act up. It was really bad for about a week, and even now it's not great. I think it was from wearing two different pairs of summer shoes that were both too big and had zero arch support. Anyway, for the past month I've only been in sneakers equipped with surprisingly helpful Dr. Scholl's inserts, and I've been doing lots of stretching. In other health news, I did actually get my act together and make some long-overdue doctor's appointments. My new GP seems very nice, though I haven't spent much time with her yet. My reproductive endocrinologist is really great--an actual published expert on PCOS, among other things--and we have a game plan going forward. (I'm currently back on my old pill, Yasmin, as well as going on extended-release metformin since the regular stuff made me so sick for so long. All of my bloodwork came back fine--even my testosterone levels were normal, which was unexpected--and I will have a follow-up in a few weeks, along with a gynecological surgeon to talk about possible surgical intervention. The more I think about it, since I'm basically on hormone replacement anyway, perhaps a hysterectomy and/or oophorectomy would cause unnecessary side effects, and laporoscopic ablation/cyst-zapping would be more beneficial--plus I won't be housebound for six weeks. Jeez.) I also finally saw an orthopedist about my flared-up bulging disc. I'm in PT right now, and the exercises do help a lot, but I still wake up stiff and sore every morning. I just cannot get the hang of sleeping in a normal human position that doesn't result in numb arms or a very sore neck. Still working on that.
Fiber news: I did indeed start a fingering-weight cardigan, Zora, right around Rosina's birthday. I've finished the back and started one of the fronts, but haven't worked on it in a bit--with the Yarn Harlot doing her own biking this year, I didn't even think about the Tour de Fleece until I heard on the radio that the Tour de France was starting. So I'm back working on my pretty green Unplanned Peacock stuff (merino?). The other things I've worked on in recent memory are a reknit pair of socks for Mark (huge gauge mistake in the ones I made him for Christmas), a few starfish washcloths...and the other day I converted a singleton sock into a new steel water bottle sleeve. Yesterday I used some of the extra yarn to knit a new sock for my trashed sock blocker keychain sock.
Um, what else? I'm making dinner--attempting baked lentil falafel tonight. But in closing, look at this picture.
2 comments:
If it helps, Little Man will be 4 in November and he's still not quite potty trained yet. He's pretty good but he's more apt to act like a dog and pee and poop outside because he thinks he can. So, we have lots of talks about where we go potty and he "knows" where to go but sometimes, especially when he's busy being a boy in the backyard, he just goes outside.
It's a process. A long one, sometimes.
Oh, I have heard do many stories about little boys peeing outside...I think my husband was one of those as well, LOL. It beats cleaning up after them, I suppose. She really is doing remarkably well, and has ever since we realized the miscommunication. Now we just have to lose the pacifier. (groan)
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