How often do you wash your child?
Last night I asked Rodney if he thought we ought to plunk Amos in the tub. He shrugged it off, pointing out that Amos had gone swimming Tuesday night and would be back at the pool on Thursday. Surely the chlorine burned off any bacteria and funk. Eh, fine. My dad still reminisces about a summer from his youth when he never set foot in a bathtub because a daily dip in the pool took care of all his hygiene needs, so I guess it’s a family thing.
Rodney and I are all about daily showers for ourselves, so you don’t have to duck us if you see us coming your way. But we’re pretty sporadic when it comes to Amos. He’s got that redhead peachy creamy skin that breaks out in rashes if it gets dry, and we have doctor’s orders to not use soap on him in the wintertime. At first I was skeptical when the pediatrician suggested oatmeal baths a couple times a week and nothing else, but now I’m spoiled and lazy and happy to wipe the rings off his neck and let it go at that. This probably goes without saying, but Amos is completely fine with this system. I wonder, though, if I’m the only mama in town who lets her kid go unbathed for long stretches during the Arkansas summer.
Swim lesson update
No crying, no screaming at swim lessons last night after I promised Amos he wouldn’t have to blow any bubbles. He put his chin and ears and nose in the water and did some half-hearted kicking and paddling of the arms, and Rodney and I did all kinds of herkies and cheers to encourage him. Amos did tell us repeatedly that he would rather go home, but then he was proud of himself afterwards because he did so well. We discovered at the end of the lesson that he’d pooped his pants again. Luckily we’d upgraded to the high-octane airtight swimming diapers, so members of the LRAC can rest easy. Maybe no poop next time? One can dream.
Swim time? Ask a Brooklyn hipster.
I might be old, but I have two younger sisters, bobbing around in their 20s and doing fabulous, youthful things. One lives in D.C., where she works for Nobel Prize Laureate Wangari Maathai to green up the planet. The other sister rocks the skinny jeans as she prowls Brooklyn, going to college by day and life-guarding by night.
As the elderly sister, you might think I’d be the one with all the wisdom. At the very least, I can tell them what not to do, right? But last night, I desperately picked the brain of my youngest sister, who pays for her textbooks by giving swimming lessons to little kids.
Amos’ lessons are painful, and I’m not sure who dreads them most, him or me. He even freaked out in the bathtub the other night, which never happened before our first two swimming lessons last week. Aunt Sarah provided some clarity. “Stop pushing him, get him comfortable with the water, there’s no rush.” That was her basic message. So we’re going to head out to swim lessons tonight and try to resist the pressure. When it’s time for the babies to go under, Amos will be allowed to opt out, at least for a week or two until he can chill enough to get in the water without pooping his pants immediately.
There seem to be two schools of thought about this swimming business. One, the more popular one these days judging from my google searches, is that kids really need to learn this stuff so they just have to cry it out. The other is that you should take your time and let the kids have fun. My sister said really there’s a middle ground, that you have to push a little but not too much. So we’ll try that and see how it goes.
I’ll be psyched if the middle-ground strategy works, because Tuesday and Thursday nights are going to miserable if it doesn’t. I never expected swimming lessons to be quite so panic-inducing.
Not so swimmingly
The typical first baby water safety lesson, our instructor told us, involves loads of shrieking. In fact, that’s pretty normal for the first few weeks or even months, she said. Ms. Mary at the LR Athletic Club is a wise young woman who’s done this millions of times before, and we trust her.I liked what she had to say about the trauma of it all: they won’t remember that, but they’ll remember the skills. And they have to have the skills, no question.
Amos seemed to be doing fine for the first 3 minutes, but when it came time for me to dunk him under, that was it. Nobody really paid much attention to his screaming, I suppose because they get at least one show like that a day. All the other parents were super nice, telling us they’d been there, that on their kid’s first lesson he’d kicked the instructor in the face, etc., so we were feeling good, until we weren’t. Amos eventually got so freaked out and irate that he pooped, which of course calls for immediately exiting the water. Those swimming diapers don’t hold up for long.
Afterwards, though, he was desperate to go over to the kiddie pool section with all the splashy fountains and such. We’re saving that for tonight, a bribe. If he makes it through the entire 30-minute lesson, we’ll go play. Our resolve remains strong. Lessons twice a week until he’s got it down.
Tags: swimming lessons
Small things
Long week, tired, grumpy after my 2-year-old declares all-out war on sleep and wakes up 8 times in one night. Then, two tiny but happy things turn it around. No parking downtown this afternoon, but free parking at the library gives me time to check out some good summer reading and surreptitiously sneak across the street for a sandwich to go. Then, just now when 3 p.m. snack time hit, the vending machine blessed me with a double serving of Jolly Ranchers. Yes! I’ll take it. Call me pathetic, but I’ll take it. The universe smiles on me.
heart-stopping weekend (do NOT add water)
Our daredevil 2-year-old decided to test our reflexes and cardiac health this weekend by jumping into a swimming pool. Luckily there were four adults within 10 paces, but still. Jeez. It was scarier than anything ever, even though it was a “baby pool.” Four feet of water is really, really deep when you’re only 3 feet tall. So guess who’s starting swim lessons next week? We’re going twice a week, every week, all winter long until that kid can out-swim Flipper.
The accidental dunking came after I’d been contemplating swimming lessons for about a month or so. I knew Amos would probably enjoy them, but I didn’t really know what the rule of thumb is for water safety. Some parents start lessons at 6 months, others at age 3, some never (bad choice). Of course, it was on my mind after reading that horrible story of the teenagers who drowned in Louisiana while wading in a river. None of the adults on the shore could swim either, so they could only watch as the kids went under, one by one. Clearly that news story should have spurred me into action. But we’re on top of it now, and hopefully Amos has figured out that in the meantime, jumping into large bodies of water is a terrible idea.
Honestly, I was so upset by the entire incident that I almost didn’t blog about it, but today I was asking around at work to find out if other people had their children in lessons, and if so, where. One coworker told me, “Oh, we had to get her in lessons after she just jumped right into the deep end one day.” Then this mother and I shared our moment-by-moment rescue stories, which took only 3 seconds in real life but in our heads seemed to take hours. So I guess it happens more often than you might think. Be careful!
7-year-old busted for selling lemonade without a permit
Some people take themselves waaaaay too seriously. Like that knuckle-headed health inspector in Oregon who shut down little Julie Murphy’s lemonade stand because she failed to secure the necessary $150 permit. I hope his counterparts in Arkansas don’t come to my neighborhood, because we have a great set-up. Door-to-door delivery! What an innovation!
Tags: summer
So you don’t feel like a complete jerk
All you sorry working moms, do you know what you’re doing to your children? Nothing. Hurray! Now there’s proof! Actually, they found that you’re still screwing your kids up slightly in some ways, but you make up for it in other ways by not being impoverished and stuff. You’re still wrong, but at least you’re sort of right, too.
Tags: daycare, guilt, working mothers
Big Boy Bed for Biggest Boy
Saturday was Amos’ first night in his “big boy bed,” and it went great. He snuggled right up underneath his new Spiderman blanket and was asleep in seconds. And he slept in his own bed until 5:45 am. This is a vast departure from every other night in months and months, when he insisted that we lie next to him on the floor for 45 minutes until he fell asleep (this has proven to be a tedious and uncomfortable habit, and I’m ready to move on). There were always unending requests for snacks and water, and pleading for a story or to go watch Barney. So Saturday was magic. I was delighted and immediately thought, “Fantastic! I cannot wait to go trumpet this success on my blog, for all the other mommies to see!” But then I decided it could be a fluke and I should wait a day or two to see how it all shook out.
It was a good thing I waited. Sunday, Monday and Tuesday nights were our typical disaster, with at least half an hour of whining, begging and sneaking out of the bed. And each night he was awake and clamoring to snuggle with us by 2 a.m. In fact, it’s getting worse, and last night he was in the bed with me by midnight.
But that worked to our advantage last night, because my husband went out on the town and came home smelling like smoke and bar. He also brought a woman home with him, which sounds super racy and exciting except it was an old buddy who sacked out in the guest room. Rodney’s sleeping options included a) getting maced in the face if he tried to get in my bed, or b) sleeping outside, on the floor, on the couch, in the car, anywhere I couldn’t smell him. When Amos and I woke up this morning we found dad rolled up in the Spiderman blanket on the big boy bed, sound asleep. So the new bed definitely has its perks.
Tags: big boy bed, cribs, sleeping
Austin Bailey used to like traveling, snazzy restaurants, oversized mugs of beer and sleeping late. Now she likes nesting, Wacky Packs, coffee drinks and sleeping through the night.