Category Archives: Baby Girl

Related to Josie

We Went on Vacation

We swam in the pool all morning, napped, went back to the pool all afternoon. At dinner she asked if we could go “night swimming.”

'Wimmin'

It didn’t occur to me to bring floaties or pool toys. The pool was the toy.

Nice Hat

She wore the hat I bought for her. For a few minutes anyway.

Oh NO!

Every time she walked past the bee-covered rosemary, she’d say, “Oh no! Don’t ting me bee!”

My ARty SHot

I wandered around in my swimsuit in the mid-day sun, taking arty shots.

Heaven

It really was that good.

Right on Target

On Daddy's Watch

There are so many places I can go with this picture. I could tell you about the time I picked Josie up from preschool and her mouth was encased with green ink. When I asked about it the teacher said, oh yes, Josie ate a green marker today. Then she was up half the night with a stomach ache. The next time we went to school I said something like: look, I know how fast she can be, they know us personally over at poison control, but seriously, can you try to keep her from eating art supplies? Thanks.

But I’m not going to tell that story (oops).

Instead, I’m going to tell you how much I love to kiss those cheeks. I have a friend who feels the same way about the temple. Not me, I’m all about cheeks. It’s been that way from the beginning. When I sat down in that hospital chair and the nurse handed four-day-old Josie to me, the little IV trailing from her arm, the orange bow stuck to her head with a dab of syrup. I leaned over and kissed her far cheek and told her how we’d been looking for her everywhere and how sorry I was it had taken four days to find her.

Ever since then my lips have been practically stuck to her cheek. It’s like a tic. I can’t control it. When she was a baby, I had free reign, she was captive.

Recently she’s learned to say, “No tiss (kiss) Mommy! No tiss!” And I try to respect her boundaries. I’ve been trying to exercise a little self control.

But then this! She painted a target right on my favorite kissing spot, just so neither one of us will ever forget where my lips belong.

Meet Josie

Blog world, meet Josie. This should tell you most of what you need to know about my child.

IMG 0084 from Hysterical Mommy on Vimeo.

Lest you think I’m a bad mother (probably too late for that) let me try to defend myself. The rain jacket was new and I thought she would test it out by letting a little water fall on the outside of the jacket. I didn’t really expect her to have it shoot inside and run down to her boots or, for god sake, into her mouth.

Yes, she did get sick the next day (big surprise).

Mattress Quest Part I – The Retardants

This is how I see her

Several months ago a mother in our parents’ group said she was concerned about putting her daughter in a sleep sack because when her baby pulled herself to stand in her crib she got her feet tangled. Sometimes she fell. The mother wanted to know if anyone else was concerned. When no one answered I said that anything that kept my child in bed, that kept her from climbing over the rail, that, in short, hobbled her was a good thing. So it should come as no surprise that I’m not excited about Josie’s transition to a big-girl bed. I can’t imagine her staying in a bed without bars. In fact, it’s a beautiful miracle that she hasn’t already learned to climb out.

This, my friends, is the rarely-mentioned dark-side of potty training. Freedom to reach the bathroom means freedom to roam the bedroom.

In spite of my reluctance, I have to begin my quest for the right natural, organic mattress. My first stop is the Soaring Heart Natural Bed Company (http://www.soaringheart.com/). I’ve read their ads in my grocery store’s monthly newspaper forever. I walk into the colorless showroom and sit on a mattress made of latex that I’m pretty sure was hand carried from the mountains of China by peasant children with clear skin and good personal hygiene. I tell the salesman I’m looking for a twin size bed for my daughter and ask him to tell me everything.

He says latex is the way to go. It’s guaranteed not to hold an impression for twenty years. I ask if it’s hot, like Memory Foam. He says it’s breathable and shows me a sample of foamy rubber riddled with holes. I ask him about the difference between an inner-spring mattress and latex. He says they don’t have an organic inner spring mattress and (again) that latex is guaranteed not to hold an impression. I ask how I should protect against kid pee. He suggests a machine-washable, liquid-repellant, organic wool topper.

The latex mattress he recommends costs $800. As my mother later says, what is it, made of diamonds? He reminds me Josie will spend one-third of her time on this mattress. Then he points out that it’s a natural material that won’t off-gas and it’s not treated with any kind of chemical flame retardants.

Let’s stop here for a minute and ponder flame retardants, shall we? In the past, these chemicals, in various forms, have been used on our clothes, furniture, carpets, electronics, etc and have been found to cause thyroid hormone disruption, learning and memory impairment, behavioral changes, hearing problems, delayed puberty, decreased sperm count, birth defects and, possibly, cancer (http://www.ewg.org/node/8412). One particularly dangerous category of flame retardants called PBDEs was used on furniture until 2005 (yes, that means anything made prior to 2005 is suspect). These days some mattress manufacturers meet flame resistance regulations by using other (hopefully less toxic) chemicals, while some, like Soaring Heart, insert a fabric fire barrier between the inner layers and outer cover.

Chemical flame retardants aren’t only used on mattresses and furniture. You may find Proban or THPC – which have been linked to genetic abnormalities and damage to the liver, skin and nervous system – on children’s pajamas.

How do you know if pajamas are treated with a chemical retardant?

  • You know it’s likely if they contain synthetic fibers.
  • You know it’s likely if the tag has washing instructions for “retaining flame resistance.”

How do you know if they aren’t?

  • If there’s a sales tag that says the garment is not flame resistant and/or not intended for sleepwear.
  • If it says the garment is meant to fit snugly to provide flame resistance.

Of course, if in doubt, contact the manufacturer.

Anyway, back to kid pee…  When I recover from my flame-retardant terror I ask how much the pee-resistant wool topper costs – $90. They sell organic sheets and I know they will also be expensive. Then he surprises me by saying the non-organic cotton fluff used for fabric doesn’t test very high for pesticides. He suggests that I buy some good quality conventional cotton sheets and save my money. I ask if sheets are treated with retardants. He says no.

By then, we’ve wandered a full circle of the store and we’re back to the front door. I ask him to write down the prices and descriptions of the options we’ve discussed and as he hands me the paper, he leans in a little. He tells me this guy comes into the store the other day and tells him he’s studying the whales (I’m thinking oh no, for god sake, not the whales).  I don’t want to hear what he’s about to say. There’s so much PBDE in the whales that (here it comes) their blubber is no longer flammable. Bam! There it is. We were having such a nice time.

I say goodbye and as I walk to the car I’m thinking about puppies and bunnies and all soft fuzzy things – anything but the whales.

Stay tuned for Mattress Quest part II at Bedrooms and More (www.bedroomsandmore.com). To be continued…

Infinite Monkeys

It’s the day before Christmas and I ask Josie what she wants Santa to bring her. She says toys. I ask what kind of toys. She says she wants boo (blue) toys. Fair enough. Turns out Santa does have a few blue toys in his sack, and Christmas morning, her stocking is filled with, primarily, small tubs of Play-doh (including blue) and markers (also including blue).  Of course, and I knew this would happen, she loves Play-doh so much that she can think of nothing better. All morning, all she wants to do is play with Play-doh.

She gets what she wants

We manage to manipulate her into opening more of her presents. She gets two toys that come with USB cables. Let the love (or hate) of technology begin. One of the toys is a digital camera that takes real pictures. Even though it is not blue in any way, she’s smitten and spends hours wandering the house taking pictures of her own belly, dusty corners and, sometimes, Mommy sitting on the toilet (awesome).

Are you familiar with the infinite monkey theorem? It says something like: a monkey hitting keys at random on a typewriter for an infinite amount of time will eventually type a given text, such as the complete works of Shakespeare. It seems I should be able to apply this to my two year old taking pictures, right? She’s bound to take a few good ones.

Nope, as it turns out, not really. I did find this little gem:

Love

And this:

MINE

The first reminds me of the photos my friend takes on her old-school, vintage camera. I’m guessing that Daddy took the second and a few seconds before or after, she uttered a firm statement telling him that this was her camera.

The only thing I really got from looking at all 150 photos was a good, solid, case of vertigo. But, fear not, I’ll stay vigilant in my quest for genius and I’ll be sure to share it with you when I find it.

I Apologize in Advance

Girls

I come from a long line of pasty people. You know, people with skin so white that it glows a little blue, skin so white that you can see right through it to the veins. If there is even a hint of pink, say a little sun, or fever, or diaper rash, it screams at you – look at me, I’m red! There’s absolutely no denying it. It must be noticed.

When Josie was a baby, I was shocked when the sitter pointed out that Josie had a fierce diaper rash. Really? When I looked closer, yes, indeed, there were little red bumps but because her skin is darker, I had to actually look for them.

So I consider it a promising sign for my development as a mother when I notice the red blotches on Josie’s cheeks as we’re headed to my favorite Christmas party of the year. (Sorry to all you other favorite parties but this one is really tops.) I put down the bags of gifts and toys and touch her forehead. Damn. I take her temperature – 100.8. Double damn. She’s been fine all day. Well, actually, the previous night she stayed with Grandma and Grandpa and when my mother told me that Josie sat in her lap for a whole 30 minute movie, my first reaction was to ask if she was sick, because sitting is not something my child does.

I couldn’t argue with a fever so I call my friend and cancel. Then I go to my room and bawl my eyes out.

At the grocery store the next morning Josie has a screaming fit because I will only let her have an orange (which she eats) and not a banana, too. These days when she doesn’t get what she wants she hits. Actually, it’s more like a swipe than a hit. I can’t push the cart or even really go near it because she’s screaming and clawing and even though I’m meticulous about keeping her nails short for precisely this reason, it hurts when she gets you. I should be horrified by this scene she’s making but I’m just glad we’re at our neighborhood co-op. They know us here.

Let me take a moment to tell you how much I love my grocery store. While I was in the checkout line a different day Josie threw a tub of hummus on the floor and shattered its plastic bottom. Then she bit into a block of cheese right through the wrapping. (She really likes cheese.) When I got up to the counter I pushed the cart into the middle of the aisle so she couldn’t reach anything. I mentioned to the checker that she was really on fire that day. He said something like, seems like she’s on fire every day. But he wasn’t criticizing or complaining or pointing out that my kid was ooc (out of control). He gave me a sympathetic, knowing look that said – its okay my friend, we understand. This is why I love them. Oh, and because they have the absolute best rotisserie chicken in the world.

Finally, we’re done at the store. I’m buckling her into the car seat when she swipes at me again. I hold her hands and get down in her face and look her right in the eye like I’m training a puppy. I tell her it’s up to her whether we have a good day or a bad day. My rules will not change, I tell her, you can follow them and we’ll have a fun day or you can continue to hit me and we’ll have to sit at home and not have any fun at all. What will it be?

I know this sounds a bit advanced for a two year old but desperate times, people, desperate times… She gives me a kiss. We’re the only ones at the park. She chases me. I chase her. She goes on the swing even though it’s wet. It’s a good day.

She’s in bed early that night but keeps waking up coughing. I rock her. It’s almost 10:00 and she’s draped over my shoulder when she throws up. Sorry, this is the part I apologize for telling you. I pull her blanket up and put in front of her mouth just in case. She swallows. Eeew! I run to the kitchen and grab the magnet that unlocks our supposed-to-be-so-easy-to-unlock-but-are-actually-impossible-to-unlock childproof cabinets. I fumble. If I can just find the exact right spot then maybe I can get it open and grab the plastic bowl (why I didn’t just lean her over the sink, I do not know). And then she lets loose. I duck, dropping my shoulder. It flies across the kitchen and lands on the floor. Again. I have the bowl now and place it directly in front of her mouth. Finally it is contained. Poor girl. When she’s done she seems confused and surprised and relieved. She doesn’t cry.

She’s started this recently – not crying when she really really should. Like last time we went to the doctor. She got a shot in each thigh and she hardly even whimpered.

I ask Josie if she feels better after throwing up and she says “yeth” with a sharp nod like the little soldier that she is. Yep, that’s my kid. She’ll claw at you, throw the hummus on the floor to see what happens and bite right through the plastic to get to the block of cheese. She’s fighting for something. I don’t know what. Maybe she wants unlimited free produce for everyone or cheese for the masses. I do not know what her cause is or will be, but I do know that she is passionate; she insists that her voice is heard. And I hope this is a rule that does not ever change.