Growing Pains

Nug took note of her first very pregnant woman the other day.

With knitted brow and eyes locked on the woman in question, she asked, "Mommy, what she have?" 

"She has a baby growing in her belly," I replied, enjoying the moment of total wonder that only a toddler can provide, and knowing that this was perhaps the best possible answer my baby-crazed daughter could hear. 

"A baby?! I wanna see!" her voice rose as she tugged my hand.

"Well, it's in her tummy and still needs time to grow." I saw my words land with disappointment, but short of this woman going into labor- which looked as if might actually happen soon- there was really no way around it. "We can't see it just yet."

We paused and let that sink in. Nug was, I'm sure, contemplating how to lift this stranger's shirt and extract the baby. I was contemplating how to tell her that I have a baby growing in my belly too. She has noticed the changes: I carry her less, there is no more body slamming my front-side, and Mommy does a lot of resting. She has even pointed to my burgeoning belly and asked what's happening.

I figured now was as good a time as any, so we made our way over to the pregnant woman (with whom we had just finished a gymnastics class, so we weren't being too creepy) and repeated the conversation above. This time I added, "Mommy has a baby in her belly too," then waited for the reaction. I kinda expected some dramatic toddler version of shock and betrayal, but she replied a simple, "Oh?" with a hint of excitement.

12 weeks. Fluffy.

15 weeks. The switch to maternity clothes.

17 weeks. Missed the 'switch to maternity clothes' memo on my way to yoga

I'm not sure why I ever hesitated to tell her, because her excitement has been growing ever since. The other morning she woke up, ran into the baby's planned room, and mumbled/shouted "this is my baby sister's* bed; she sleeps with me!" (*We don't know the sex yet and when I told her it might be a baby brother, she said with equal enthusiasm, "Ok, let's have a baby brother!").

All of the cuteness aside, her comprehension of a change in family order is hugely complex. Add that to ongoing potty training, the move to a toddler bed, and the introduction that pacifiers are for babies and not big girls, and it's no wonder why Nug has her moments of misbehaving. This is not to imply, however, that I take any of this into consideration when she's shrieking, "NO! I WANT THE PONY UNDERWEAR!" in the final minutes before bedtime. No, I lose my sh*t like everyone else, then reflect on it later, via this blog. But in the face of an upcoming third trimester likely filled with exhaustion and impatience, I decided I could use some professional help. So I ordered my first parenting book, "Positive Discipline for Preschoolers" by Jane Nelson.

Within a day I had covered the book in green highlighter. Then I made myself a poster. I guess I was hungry for help.

I found one quote to be particularly timely. Just that morning I had failed miserably- and publicly- to remove my child from climbing the bleachers at an indoor gymnasium. I was thrilled to read this line a few hours later, which helped me make peace with how big of a bozo I had felt like. "The problem isn't that our children don't listen, but what we're asking of them runs counter to some more basic need. They are programmed by instinct to explore, and that inner voice is usually louder than the voice of the adult." 

Expressing her inner voice

Here's another great guideline from the book, "minimize your words and maximize your actions." Obvious, right? And hardly applies to me, the hands-on mom that I am. Right??? Um, Nug would disagree. After a recent morning of art class, we were getting ready to head home in time to avoid the the Big Blood Sugar Drop (if you have been pregnant or have a beefy child like Nug, you know what I'm talking about). I knew that my a.m. snacks had been naively optimistic: cucumbers, snap peas, and mixed nuts, and things were starting to get dicey in the blood sugar department. We needed to get home to our bowls of leftover chili ASAP. Instead, Nug was playing in the car and refused to sit in her car seat. The BBSD was near, and, even though I know that she knows the drill, I began pleading with her.

"Get in your buckles and we can call Mama," and "Nug, do you need my help?" and "You need to get in your seat right now, Honey," and finally, "Ok, I'm going to count to five and you need to be in your seat or I will come back there. Five, four..."

As if the noise of our brains asking for calories wasn't enough, I was droning on with empty statements. It was then that Nug stepped up to call it as it was. She stopped dancing around, looked straight at me from the back seat, and said,

"Mommy, I need you to stop talking now."  

Then she got in her seat, and I headed home to read more.