Belly and The Bug

The talk

I am the child of hippies. And as such, I grew up with a working knowledge of all kinds of things that straighter parents didn't pass on to their kids. Oh I'm sure that Dude's parents explained the physical differences between boys and girls to him at a very young age, but was he privy to a book that explained the differences and showed nude photographic examples of boys and men/girls and women at varying ages? I'm guessing no. Of course, I also thought smoking pot was no different than smoking cigarettes - just something that some adults do. And I'd seen those special cigarettes rolled and felt confident that I could successfully roll one should the opportunity arise. No biggie. It was all cool. Groovy even. But let's get back to the naked thing. I've always thought that I'd be a pro at explaining these sorts of things to my girls. Yesterday, I got my first crack at it.

I've mentioned casually to Belly and the Bug on several occasions that boys and girls are anatomically different. They didn't seem to express any interest in the subject, so it was left at that. But lately? Buggy is veeeerrrrrrrrrry interested in the fact that her daddy has a little something extra going on that's different from what she's got. And since the three of them take a shower together every night, I decided it was time to sit down and have a formal conversation about it.

I set up the bowl of tortilla chips and the juice and invited the girls to sit with me. I asked if anyone wanted to have a talk. Belly's eyes lit up and she said, "YES, Mama!" Buggy said, "Sure! Do you want to talk about Sesame Street?" I suggested that we talk about how boys and girls have different body parts. Buggy gave me a total "whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis" look and Belly crammed about forty chips in her mouth. And so began their first "talk" about this sort of thing. They listened intently (amidst the chip crunching) and interjected thoughts here and there. I felt like it went as well as can be expected when having this discussion with two nearly-three-year-olds.

When all was said and done, I asked, "Any questions?"

Belly: "What letter does penis start with?"

Me: "Penis? It starts with a pa-pa-pa sound. What letter makes that sound?"

Belly: "P."

Me: "That's right."

Buggy: "Okaaaaay. But then, what does hippopotamus start with?"

Yes. Those questions instilled the confidence that I explained things perfectly. They clearly understood and processed their new knowledge immediately. I anticipate that this immediate changing of the subject will be par for the course when we have conversations such as these over the years. Ugh. And there will be so many. I'm dreading the teen years so fiercely already. Assuming we all make it through three....

"Hi. I took some poop out of my diaper...."

Words cannot express how I feel about hearing that statement and dealing with its aftermath. Oh no. Words do not contain enough power for that. If you could see how tightly my teeth have been clenched, then maybe you'd understand.

I can smell three

The girls turn three in just under two months. I can smell it and it sorta stinks. Oh wait - maybe somebody pooped in her diaper because YES THEY ARE STILL WEARING DIAPERS. God help me if they're not potty-trained soon. Over it? Why yes. I am.

Anyway - there has been such a shift in behavior lately that it has to be the prelude to three. I heard all throughout the trenches of two that three was worse and I thought, "HOW? How is that possible?" Now I realize. It's possible because they are so much better at articulating their thoughts, emotions, pissiness, defiance, dislikes and general malaise. They can say stuff like, "I'm just being rude. I like rude. If you don't like rude, I'm sorry." Or... "No, thank you. I don't want to get off my sister. Yes. I hear her screaming but I'm having fun."

On the other hand, I don't feel as guilty about doling out punishments because they clearly understand that there are consequences for their misdoings. This morning we didn't get to go to musical storytime because Belly wouldn't eat breakfast. Buggy was pretty pissed at her, too. Come to think of it, I was pretty pissed at her. I wanted to see our friends. Instead we watched Sesame Street so I didn't have to come up with a project or something to otherwise fill the time we would've been out. I'm good like that (read: lazy like that).

God I sound whiny. And of course I am - this is where I get to vent that shit. But can I give you an example of what I'm dealing with?

Today, 5:14pm - we're all in the kitchen

Belly: "Mommy! I have to go to the bathroom!"

Me: "Great! Let's go upstairs!"

Buggy: "I'm taking my hairbrush."

Belly: "I need my special baby. Where's my special baby?" Starting to whine and cry. "I can't go to the bathroom without Charlotte!"

Me: "Skip Charlotte. If you have to use the bathroom, let's go now."

Belly: "NOOOOOOOO!"

Me: "Fine. Then I guess you don't really have to use the bathroom. We'll stay down here and you can play with Charlotte."

Belly: "NO! I have to go!"

Buggy: "Mommy! I'm upstairs already!"

Ugh. So not cool. I grabbed Belly and we ran upstairs, without Charlotte.

Today, 5:18pm - Belly is on the toilet. Buggy is trying to brush her hair.

Belly: "Bug! Give me some privacy!"

Buggy: "Let me brush your hair."

Belly: "Buggy! Give me some space!"

Buggy: "No. I'm brushing your hair."

Me: "Buggy. Move away from your sister. Go out in the hall or play in your room until she's done in the bathroom."

Buggy: "No thanks, Mom. I'm fine brushing her hair."

Belly: blood curdling scream out of frustration

I remove the Bug from the bathroom and yell at Belly not to scream.

Today, 5:20pm - Belly is still on the toilet. Buggy is throwing diapers all over the hallway.

Me: "Buggy. Don't do that with the diapers. Stack them up where they were, please."

Buggy: "No. I don't have to." And she dances down the hall to her room, a diaper wake behind her.

Today, 5:23pm - Belly has successfully peed in the toilet and is washing her hands. I have convinced the Bug to try to pee, too, and she is now perched on the toilet.

Buggy: "Belly, stop washing your hands. I want privacy."

Belly: "No. I'm not done yet."

Buggy: "Yes. Stop washing your hands. You have to."

Belly: "No! I'm not done yet!"

Both girls start whining and repeating their lines until I tell everyone to knock it off.

Today, 5:29pm - Buggy is washing her hands even though she didn't pee and I'm now going about my business on the toilet. Belly is throwing diapers as high as she can in the hallway.

Me: "Buggy. You have enough soap. You have enough soap. YOU HAVE ENOUGH SOAP."

Buggy: "Okay. Now I need more water." And she turns the water up all the way, splashing it all over the counter and floor and squealing because she knows I'm wiping as fast as I can to yank her away. Which I do.

And then she says, "Sorry. Don't be angry. I love you. Clean up my mess."

That, my friends, is a random 15-minute snapshot of my day. Nothing too terrible. Nothing too great. Just average. And relentless - so motherfucking relentless. Ugh.

There's something a little off here

I like to think that the girls and I are fun and sorta cool. But lately? It's becoming clear that we might be more weird than cool. I'll blame Portland since it's nice to have a scapegoat (and there are bumper stickers on every other car that say "Keep Portland Weird"). Regardless, several indicators have been flashing the strange sign lately and I can't ignore them:

1) You know those little rings that you pull out of the nozzle of the half 'n half (or juice or whatever carton)? We wash and save them in our house because Belly and Buggy like to wear them as rings. The other day we went to the park and they both had four on a hand, like brass knuckles except white plastic. Cool? No. Weird.

2) A few nights ago when it was time to get out of the tub, naked Bug climbed into naked Belly's lap and the two of them started giggling. Belly proudly announced, "I'm holding Bug like a baby!" And with that, Buggy tried to nurse on Belly. We had to pull them off each other. Weirdos.

3) We have a tickle basket. You know those big Moses baskets that are given to you when you have a newborn and you maybe use it once or twice until you realize that it's wholly impractical? Yeah, we've got one, too. Except anyone who climbs in ours gets tickled mercilessly. I've only been in it once because I really do not like to be tickled, but the girls give it a whirl about once a day. As they've gotten older, they tickle each other now. I thought it was cool, but I've had several adults comment, "A tickle basket? Huh." So I guess that means... weird.

4) The weird straw that broke the camel's back? The other morning, the girls ate pesto eggs and a banana for breakfast. The Bug said she was still hungry. She wanted a donut. Um, yeah. There are no donuts here. I offered a breakfast bar. She said no. I offered an English muffin. She said no. I opened the cupboard. I pulled out a big box of Joe's O's and asked if she wanted cereal. She looked at me funny. Oh. My. God. My girls can identify capers in a piccata sauce. They ask to be taken out for sushi. But they haven't had cereal (not counting that baby cereal gruel stuff). I poured them each a small bowl. I asked if they wanted to eat it dry without milk or with milk and a spoon. Again, the quizzical looks. As I watched, they gobbled down two bowls of dry cereal like it was a handmade sweet corn agnolotti with shaved truffles. Sigh. I have to take on all the weird in this instance. What kind of mother never gave her toddlers cereal? Yep. That's right. You got it.

Make it work

I had one of those nights of sleep last night wherein I wake up a dozen times, but every time I fall asleep again, I go back to the dream I'd been having and keep going with it. I was just thinking the other day that it's been a long time since I've had a dream I remember. This particular dream, though, I remember very well, in full color.

I was nominated for an Emmy and desperately needed a dress to wear. So, the morning of the awards, I went to my good friend Heidi Klum and asked if I could borrow something. I mean, she had TONS of dresses, right? Right. She said sure, but she had a full day of hair and makeup and I would be on my own to raid her closet.

Did you know Heidi Klum and Seal and all their kids live in a gigantic, sprawling ranch house? Yep. It was like a ranch house with wing after wing after wing. I got lost a couple times, but knew that if I just turned around and walked far enough, I'd be back in familiar surroundings. But I digress.

Heidi had several giant rooms that comprised her closet and all of her clothes were hanging by type, length and color. I went to the dress room. It became obvious pretty quickly that I'd be wearing a short dress. Even though I could probably get myself into her size (she's curvy like me), I can't fake the height - not even with big ol' heels on. I started going through the several hundred short dresses that hung around the room.

I thought this would be an easy task. Heidi always looks great. Surely I'd be able to find something simple and elegant and be on my way in no time - after all, I needed to come up with a hair and makeup plan, too. Oh I was so wrong. Every dress I pulled out and tried on had something totally bizarre about it. The hem was unfinished. The sleeves were odd and varying lengths. There were puckers where there shouldn't be puckers. A sudden rash of neon sequins appeared after the dress was on, even though I hadn't noticed them previously. I noted all of these things aloud. I started to sound very much like Nina Garcia - sorta bitchy.

Dude came in to wake me at 7:15a this morning. I was bummed. In my groggy half-sleep, I didn't know what I was gonna do because I still didn't have a dress. And then I woke up all the way. I had to get going if I was gonna shower this morning.

The strangest part of my dream? I was going to the Emmy's because my reality show had been nominated for a number of awards. The past season had been particularly exciting with many unexpected twists and turns. What reality show, you ask? Oh. Why that would be my reality. Real reality. I'd had no idea that I was being filmed this whole year, but that didn't matter because the world had been watching and they loved it.

What does it all mean??