Battle of the bedtimes - The deadly itch

Ho ho ho. I've been struck by toddler bedtime wars again. Of course now that little dude has grown up a little, it's the baby's turn! We've put little dude and the baby into the same bedroom. So bedtimes are now twice as fun... for them (not us parents).

It's bedtime, but look at these guys

Do your children itch as much as mine during bedtime? They're normal during the day but when the lights go off at bedtime, suddenly, their whole body itches. Little dude used to 'itch' a lot when he was a toddler. Just as he needed to sleep, his head suddenly develops this urgent itch which we have to 'spatch' for him... then his back gets it... then his buttocks... hands... legs.... essentially every part of his body.

Now my fifteen-month-old daughter's got it too. But it's mostly confined to her EARS. She'll fidget around and around and around until we offer to put our pinkie into her ear and sort of massage it a bit. And we've got to do this for like... an hour or so. If we stop, she'll remind us by saying "er dor! er dor!" in mandarin, which means "ear! ear!". Sometimes even though we try to continue massaging the ear, she'll grow fidgety again. So I try my luck and give her a head massage, which works and keeps her lying down still for a while. But sometimes, nothing seems to make her comfortable and she had to let out several big howls and cries before finally falling asleep.

Yeah, and I mentioned that little dude was in the same room? After watching her sister get VIP treatment, he asked for some too. So I end up scratching him all over. Just like old times.

The dude who laid the golden... poop

I'm toilet training little dude. It's hilarious, tiring and exasperating all at once. I think the hardest part is getting him to do the big thing in his potty. I feel like the owner of "The Goose That Laid the Golden Egg". But it's a tough job getting that egg laid in the right place.

To get him to do the right thing, I let him sit in his potty and play with his "Leaptop". I give him magazines. I give him his favourite toy car. I tell him I'll be giving him ice cream. Stickers. I sing songs. Anything to coax the poop out while he's in his potty.  But... nature takes its own course.

You know, I wait in anticipation every morning for him to finish his breakfast, so that I can shoo him to his potty. Getting poop inside the potty feels something like striking lottery. I go like "YES! GREAT JOB! LET'S GET YOU SOME ICE CREAM!". And I smile from ear to ear.

What's your poop story?

How I got little dude to brush his teeth

Some toddlers love to brush their teeth. Unfortunately, little dude isn't one of them. Even if I manage to coax him to stand at the sink, all ready with his toothbrush and toothpaste, he will refuse to open his mouth. Even if he opens his mouth, he may bite on the toothbrush so that it cannot move. Grinning at my tired old face, he has that "come on mama, convince me to brush my teeth!" look.

Well. You know I recently got a new baby. This is her:

She's lovely. And she has no teeth. See?

I put my baby in her bouncy chair and sat facing her, armed with a piece of Lindt chocolate. Little dude didn't miss the treat I had in my hand, and came up to me with his eyes lighted up.

I beamed and said, "let's share the chocolate!". And as little dude and I started to indulge, my lovely baby started to fuss.

Little dude looked concerned about his sister, and I said "Baby's not happy because she can't have the chocolate, you know why?"

Little dude slowly savored his chocolate, looking grave.

"Because she didn't brush her teeth and all her teeth dropped off! So she can't eat chocolate because she has no teeth!"

Little dude was in deep thought.

"So you've got to brush your teeth, otherwise you'll end up like baby," I said in a serious tone.

I didn't have much trouble with teeth brushing after that. If the effect wears off, I'll post an after-note.

Thou shall not judge

I've been both a victim and a perpetrator of judging. I have expectations on how I should bring up my children and how, generally, children should be treated. It's not something new to say that reality is always different from theory, and how it is sometimes necessary to relax our views on child rearing so that both parents and children can enjoy themselves.

Yet I judge occasionally, despite having gone through the frustration of being judged myself. It's easy to see something during a frame of time and make statements about it. But such statements are often inappropriate, out of context, and unfair as these bystanders (myself included) really have no clue of what they are talking about.

We don't know if the parent has been going through days of sleep deprivation, handling a recalcitrant toddler who refuses to go to bed, and then handling a screaming baby till the wee hours in the morning. We don't know if the parent has postponed visiting the bathroom, or skipped breakfast just to get a pre-schooler to reach school on time. We don't know if the parent's patience has been worn thin after a whole day of managing a toddler's desire to exert his will, resisting diaper changes, lunch, snacks, baths, and insisting that it's more fun to play with food than to eat it. Most of the time when we judge, we're usually present at just that moment in time when parent is most deprived. Instead of empathizing and offering help, we judge.

What about the times when we see a family having fun together? What about the times when we see happy kids running free in parks? Would you go up to the parents and tell them, "hey, you've done an awesome job... look how happy your kids are". Most likely not. But we're more likely to go "TSK, TSK, TSK", LOUDLY when we see tantrums in shopping malls and on the MRT. And then we instinctively think inwardly, "what bad parents", or "this is never gonna happen to me".

Well, we always think we know better. Kara articulated it well, with her article titled "Apologies To The Parents I Judged Four Years Ago".

Me, the hero!

I declared myself as the hero of the family today.

Little dude is a lovely toddler. His parents love him. His grandparents love him. I think the rest of the population find him OK. OK means very good for a toddler.

Although little dude is a lovely toddler, there are times when he becomes too much to handle. Even with four adults around to mind him.

Four versus one, and little dude wins hands down.

This usually happens in the evenings, when energy levels are low. During these times, a noisy, persistent, and pesky toddler is hard to manage. When all you want to do is to plonk yourself down on the sofa with a cup of ice-tea and stare at the TV.

So when little dude starts driving people crazy, I volunteer to start his bedtime routine a little earlier. For the sake of everybody's sanity. That's sensible, right?

But then everyone suddenly starts to question me: "You're bringing him in already???".

Like they haven't got enough of him.

Usually, when little dude becomes too much to handle in the evenings, it means he needs some quiet time to wind down. Give him a bath, pop him into a cool room with some storybooks, and he calms down.

And I remove a pesky toddler off everybody's hands.

I'm a hero! Not a baddie who kidnaps toddlers. And little dude usually falls asleep a little earlier during such occasions. A lovely toddler will only get on everyone's nerves when he is tired.

And I re-appear out of the bedroom with a smug smile on my face.

Honey! Our angel grew horns!

Not too long ago, little dude was a round-faced, doe-eyed, newly-minted toddler. Earnestness was written all over his face as he worked hard around the clock to master the skills of walking and understanding words that people around him were saying.

His toddling around brought comic relief, and his desire to expand his vocabulary meant that he was some sort of "Mr Nice Guy of the Century". He never said no to chores. He fetches toys, puts his books back into the shelves and couriers items between Papa and Mama. He never said no to diaper changes, baths and mouth-wiping after meals. To show you that he understood what you said, he walks to the bathroom was soon as the word 'bath' was out of your mouth, and gets a fresh diaper out of the drawer as soon as you say 'diaper change'. On top of these, he gave flying kisses on demand.

Then, the little angel that was my baby discovered the concept of independent thinking. And he's not even two yet.

Maybe I should be happy. I mean, I wouldn't want little dude to go through life taking orders without a mind of his own. But then, BUT, what does the little guy know? His poop-filled diaper has been on for a good whole half-an-hour, and he says 'NO' to a diaper change. His perspiration has drenched his shirt and evaporated five times over and he says 'NO' to a bath. His hands, full of germs and bacteria from the playground (any mother's nightmare), and he says 'NO' to washing his hands. Instead, he wants to go read my latest copy of the NUS Alumni magazine.

Reasoning does not work on a toddler with newfound independence. For someone so little, they experience a certain exhilaration from defying an adult. I get that. In him, I sensed both the desire for independence and reassurance. He now knows he can choose otherwise, but he is also anxious of the unknown. Like when he walks in front, he still looks back to see if mama is still there to look out for him. Before he ventures into the storeroom, he still waits for me to confirm that that is his forbidden realm.

And so, I am reminded that the finality of my job as a parent is to let go. But of course, that is still something in the distant horizon. If he makes a wrong decision meanwhile, he can be sure that his mama will forcefully change his diaper, literally, to save his little butt.

How yucky medicine became 'gummy juice'

Toddlers and medicine do not go together. This is almost universal truth. Any parent who has had to feed his toddler medicine will agree. It's torture. Torture to both the giver and the recipient.

Our past experience on feeding little dude his medicine was horrible. He was still a baby then. One person had to carry him and hold both his hands down to prevent him from swiping at the medicine syringe. Another person had to forcefully open his mouth by using one hand to cup around his chin and pinch his cheeks, and the other hand to push the medicine in the syringe into it. And while this was happening he would put up a fierce fight, like a little piglet in an abattoir, legs kicking, squealing in high-pitch, tears flowing down his face.

It was horrible.

So when the husband and I had to feed little dude medicine recently, we were not looking forward to it.

"How are we going to do it?" He asked.

As I fingered the medicine bottles thoughtfully, a haggard little dude came toddling into the kitchen.

Then I decided to try my luck. In my most exciting I'm-gonna-give-you-a-snack-tone, I dangled the bottle of medicine in front of little dude.

"Doooo yooou waaaant soooome gummy juice??" I said in a singsong tone, beaming.

He loves snacks. He loves to eat. He loves the way I feed him snacks. So his little mouth bursts into a wide smile and both his hands go up into the air!

I poured the medicine into the spoon and fed him. Somehow, he drank it with relish.

"Naise!!!" He praised. And his haggard face became like this:

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I still couldn't believe what I did. And he took the whole course of medicine without a fuss. 

Sweet. 

Momma, the trickster

Ah, the length mothers go to, to get their toddlers to drink milk. 

So. I was doing the usual tai-chi routine with my little dude. I push the milk to him, he pushes back. I push the milk to him, he pushes back. We continue our session for one whole minute. 

You think one whole minute is short? Try offering a drink and getting it pushed back, then repeating the process for one whole minute. Time yourselves. 60 seconds. No less. You'll want to go do something else. Anything. 

I sat back and scowled at the little guy who was giving me a smug smile. My three-decade-old processor (brain) was working furiously. 

Then, I had a brainwave. Ha. 

You know the Nestle Milo breakfast cereal? Yeah, that one in the picture up there. I took one pack out of the food cupboard....

"Bee-jack! Bee-jack!!!" The smug look on his face was gone and replaced with excitement...... and drool. 

I took ONE cereal. Just one. It's in the picture up there too, maybe it's so small, you didn't notice it before. Look again. 

I took ONE cereal, put it into his sippy cup filled with milk, and put the rest back into the cupboard.

"Bee-jack! Bee-jack!!!" His eyes were all on his sippy cup now. 

"Yes WX. Finish your milk and you will get the biscuit inside....." came my sly reply. I put the sippy cup in front of him. 

He grabbed it with both hands and looked into the cup. The "biscuit" was floating tantalizingly in a sea of milk. 

"Maak!! Bee-jack!!!" 

"Yes! Finish your milk and get your biscuit!!" I confirmed. 

He started gulping down the milk. Halfway through, he looked at the cup again to check if his "biscuit" was still inside. 

"Maak!! Bee-jack!!!" He said, looking at me very seriously. 

"Yes. Milk. Biscuit." I grinned. I'M THE ONE IN CONTROL NOW. 

He finished his milk. And got his one little "biscuit". 

Small sacrifice for high returns. I am so proud of myself today. 

Battle of the bedtimes - Operation stealth mode

I have been more strict with the little dude since the last bedtime battle. I was as stern as a stern momma could be and for several nights, I got him to sleep in an orderly and peaceful manner. Ha.

But you know, we're all humans. So, little dude tries to find loopholes.

We have a bedtime routine. Nice bath, warm milk, bedtime stories and lullabies. Then, the lights go off, he has a goodnight kiss and he is allowed to roll around for a little bit before falling asleep. When he tries to crawl to me, tug at my hair and grin, I tell him sternly to lie back down.

Tonight, he seemed cooperative. I was pretending to be asleep, keeping on eye on him. He was lying sideways quietly. Then, inch by inch, he very slowly and carefully started to turn 180 degrees such that his head now faced the tail end of the mattress. Ever so quietly, using a commando crawl, he inched to the end of the mattress. He then turned another 180 degrees, and attempted to get off the mattress, butt down first....

"WX..." I growled.

Like a freestyle swimmer, he got back to my approved sleep position as fast as he could, then looked at me innocently.

I pretended to go back to sleep.

The 19-month-old started his gig again, but only got through half-way down the mattress before he was caught like a puppy and brought back to the top. He got reprimanded and punished before looking oh-so-guilty and tearful before finally falling asleep.

Boy, don't mess with your momma.

Battle of the bathtimes

The toddler was finally lured into the lair, and stripped.

"Okie!" I chirped cheerfully, thinking that for THIS time, it was going to be easy. Or as least, easier.

As soon as I poured water over him and shampooed his head, he gave me a grin.

Bad sign.

"Buuubooos!!" He exclaimed. He meant 'bubbles'.

He saw bubbles on the wet floor and promptly went down on all fours, chasing them all around the bathroom. I chased too, not after the bubbles, but after him. My hands ready with liquid soap, we had a merry-go-round in the bathroom - him after his buuubooos and me, after him.

Finally, I got him all soaped. By then, he was on a high. Getting him all soaped means he now had a lot of buuubooos to play with. But now it was my turn to grin. It was time to wash off all those buuubooos....

Know that some shower-heads come with long hoses? Mine's not really long, but long enough....................... to HOSE HIM DOWN. HAHA. So I just happily turned on the tap and SPRAY, SPRAY, SPRAY!!!

BYE BYE BUUUBOOOS!!

He gasps in dismay as all his buuubooos go down the drain. Sometimes he goes all drama and collapses on the floor, crying. But not today. It was my good day.

I wrapped up the forlorn little dude in his towel and carried him up. As I turned towards the door he caught glimpse of my hairbrush....

But that's another story.

Battle of the bedtimes

8.30pm.

He smiles, he grins, he winks, he peeps. With no intention of falling asleep.

"WX, lie down!" I exclaimed, for the 143,567,725th time. My eyelids were getting heavier. I rubbed my eyes, blinked, and looked at the gleeful toddler in front of me. Maybe I should just pin him down like what they do in the WWF so that he can't fidget around and will finally fall asleep.

9.00pm.

His head was down on the mattress, buttocks up, and he was doing some sort of crawl. Left, right, left, right, his bottom waved in the air. I grabbed his thighs and pulled. He landed flat on his tummy. He tried to get back into position but I moved at lighting speed, grabbed him by his armpits and turned him over.  I shoved his bolster at him, but he pushed it away. He wanted MINE. Exasperated, I gave it to him. The little clown couldn't even put his arms around it. He looked like he was doing a ninja warrior log grip and started to roll around the bed.

I took a deep..... deep..... breath. And then I did the most natural thing.

I lay down beside him, closed my eyes and fell asleep.

1.45am.

I woke up groggy, and there he was fast asleep. He must have had quite a party while I was out cold. He was stretched flat out like a star fish. He didn't even stir when I put on a long-sleeved jacket for him.

I must make the husband do the next bedtime.