She’s cool as a cucumber and stopped needing the diaper early. Not that it’s a competition.
This is perhaps the first post that AT might one day in her teen years actually be a bit pissed at me about. Please sweetheart, forgive me in advance and tell your therapist that I am not a monster. Recently, at the behest of her pediatrician, we setup a visit to discuss bed-wetting. This provider instilled a level of worry in my ex-wife that was slightly below the nuclear option. The provider thought we should come in to discuss “the issue”.
This started as a harmless 4 year check up appointment setting and the passing comment, “Is it a bit strange that she’s still wearing a diaper at night?”
She’s been sans-diaper all-day since before she was two, but she still doesn’t wake up in the night to pee… and she ain’t holding it.
Fina and I have experienced the failed experiment of just ripping the bandaid off – peeing her (as Pappa Goob says) before bed and hoping she doesn’t wet the bed. The result thus far is that we’ve been changing the sheets daily by letting her pee the bed night after night for a week. This as you might imagine, was not productive.
AT’s mom was smarter about it and just didn’t take the diaper off for sleeping; and the guilt pouring into her emails planning this emergency doctor’s appointment echoed that of a mom who woke up one day and realized it was probably weird to still be breastfeeding her 13 year old.
AT ended up having a pretty unnecessary, if not mildly reassuring, visit with a healthcare provider — but it wasn’t her pediatrician. He was a 20-something Doctor of Herbs and Massages (or Naturopath for short) from Bastyr. He was super chill, said don’t fret, and told us that if she was still doing it at 6 start trying some home remedies.
The ARNP that serves as her pediatrician (pretty great, so I guess busy) wasn’t actually able to see her when we went to the appointment that had been scheduled in the previous day’s panic. So, thankfully we’ll be back in a couple weeks for her actual check-up.
This most recent podcast was much more disjointed and significantly longer than any other podcast we’ve ever done. The format and feel are reminiscent of an experimental art rock band’s first show – with a dab more angst. It’s pretty deep. If you don’t like it it’s probably because you can’t appreciate art.
Rockstar Visions #3 is a 3 part experiment with 3 distinct elements: 1) Do’s and Don’t’s of Rockstar (hint: something you shouldn’t do on a plane), 2) Eatin’ Burgers and Talkin’ Bout Life (cousins in Ukraine), 3) The marriage of the married girl Elsa to King Diamond (with exciting sub-story about our brothers and sisters of the animal kingdom, the majestic Giraffe). ~ Enjoy
Rockstar Visions Co-host A-Tay swinging – Eurovisions-style. Photo: ALT
The title of this podcast is a bit misleading as within includes much much more, and a bit less (Alas, no Olympic recap as we didn’t really watch the Olympics). We did discuss the Ukrainian Revolution as well as current events close to home in Seattle. AT offered up some Oscar picks as well.
Please Nnnnnnjoy it. Brought to you buy NJOY the makers of e-cigs (and recipients of $70 million in recent VC funding). Remember to set a good example and only allow them to smoke the finest e-cig on the market, NJOY:
Rockstar Podcast #2 (*updated 3/3/14 – original link was to Rockstar #1)
Some of these career choices may be a bit dated (what with cars driving themselves these days and carpentry being outsourced to Sweden/Ikea). Bravo to Richard Scary for not kowtowing to the cultural norm of the day and asking the reader if they want to be a good cook, like their father.
Last night I was reading the great Richard Scary classic, “Best Word Book Ever” or something about words, I can’t remember. It’s really long and there are surprisingly few words in it. When I flipped to the page about professions, I asked the logical question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” I may or may not have blocked everything on the page from her line of sight except the doctor/pig and may or may not have lead her a bit with, “…a doctor?” To which she (exasperated) responded, “ewwwwww, no daddy, I’m going to be a Princess when I grow up!”
I followed up with, “Are you sure you don’t want to help people when they’re sick or injured or do something else for work besides be a Princess?” To which she responded dryly, “I don’t want to work when I grow up, it’s boring.”
AT is a perfectly nice 3 year old. She hams it up and tries to show love as best as her little sociopathic mind will allow her. This means she commonly mistreats people she loves, but when a new person she is trying to impress is introduced, she frequently says, “I love you, Daddy” and does things that have always resulted in her receiving a great big dose of “awwwwwwww” from the newcomer. This is not unique to her, I believe all 3 year olds are sociopaths.
She really is a sweet and compassionate girl as evidenced by her love and enjoyment of that awful place we like to call the State Fair!
I was recently at her school where an expert on early childhood development and behavior was talking about strategies and tactics that employ positive guidance for misbehavior (positive reinforcement). She was saying the underdeveloped frontal lobe was the main culprit for this sociopathic behavior. We all know our brains aren’t fully developed until we are pretty much almost dead, but in very little kids, it’s amazing how little of that lobe has actually grown-in.
I think I’m pretty good at not letting what my 3 year old says in the heat of an argument about TV, eggy burritos, or going to bed (our 3 biggest topics of disagreement) really bother me. She will scream, she will throw a torrential downpour of tears and feigned violence upon me, and it’s really stressful and my blood pressure definitely rises, but I am reasonably good at getting her off the ledge without resorting to my own hysterics. That being said, yesterday was the first time she’s ever dropped her trump card, “I DON’T LOVE YOU DADDY!”, and I have to admit, it stung a bit. A lot bit.
Now, I’m as macho as any self-actualized-urban-dad-impersonator (SAUDI) out there, and I was raised not to complain,¹ so I’ve perfected my stoicism in the face of these outbursts. She generally has no idea how upset I am in inside.
Yesterday, however, she was displeased that I was picking her up and not her mother and when I dropped MY usual trump card for everything, “I love you, sweetie²”(seriously, try it on ANYONE in ANY situation, IT WILL WORK), she threw the “I don’t”royal flush response right back in my face. Lame poker references aside, I was floored.
I’m not going to see my daughter on father’s day this year. I agreed to this (why did I agree to this, again?) because my co-parenting relationship involves concessions, compromise, and trade-offs. Even though our agreement states that the other parent gets the kiddo on their own respective gender-based-hallmark-holiday, my thought at the time was, we never really cared about Father’s Day with my dad, so why should my own Father’s Day be any different?
Growing up, my family never really emphasized gift-giving, and this spilled into general holiday apathy. Perhaps this started with my tearful acceptance of “the starter robe” (another story for another time) at a particularly unfun-for-everyone Christmas. This doesn’t mean we don’t all relish the opportunity to get together, but the Holiday itself is simply an excuse or vehicle (like eating crab or artichokes is a vehicle for eating mayo).
The infamous “starter robe” incident at Christmas one year (where I was certain the last gift was that Warriors starter jacket I wanted) seems to have derailed holiday spirit at the Taylor home. Photo courtesy: ChrisMRichards