Bite This

("Happy teeth, when your smiling" by Anthony Falbo)

The incisors are here! After suffering with swollen gums for the past few months, Baby Siraj finally woke up with two little jagged edges of white enamel as his official debut into the biting and chewing world.

Congratulations Siraj!

I spend a lot of time thinking about teeth. I have my own tea-stained set to clean and every once in a while, worry about grinding them which, of course, only causes me to gnarl and gnash them even more. Each morning and night, I help Ismaeel to brush his and plead with him to please stop eating the paste. And for little Siraj, I have been keeping frozen teething rings and biscuits at the ready fervently wondering when his will come.

So far, perfectly normal, right? Not quite. Something about teeth really freaks me out so these daily little moments of dental hygiene are just gateways to a casually obsessive netherworld of teeth neurosis. I am grateful that I had a cavity-free childhood but after a cleft palate repair, two teenage stints with braces, and a root canal (related not to an infected tooth but an unexplained abscess in my cheek bone) – I prefer to minimize the frequency of professional hands in my mouth. While it is not full on odontophobia, a dream about teeth breaking or falling out will haunt me for weeks. I find the idea of porcelain veneers, teeth jewelry, and custom hand-painted teeth tattoos horrifying. And don’t even get me started on knuckle dusters with three human teeth. Seriously.

I don’t really think I am alone. And even if I am, at least I can embrace my shortcomings and know I can never become a dentist. In the meantime, it is a delight to see Siraj bobbing up and down with his little twofers covered in droll.

I just pray I don’t spend the next few weeks having nightmares about my own.

An Upright World

While everyone around us put on their bathing suits and headed towards the beach, my husband and I were more than happy to spend the day on our couch in the comforts of our AC. That’s not to say that a toddler and an infant let us spend any time relaxing. Still just the thought of lounging around in our pajamas seemed like a perfect way to savor the last bits of a long weekend. We aimed for some quiet cleaning of the house and our emails while we offered Ismaeel a Pixar movie marathon. Bored of his film collection, Ismaeel pleaded with me to Swiffer instead. While I can appreciate his offer, I can’t help but wish his aim under the couch were just a tad more efficient… And so the day was quickly filled with email filtering rules and household cleaning products. You would think it would be an uneventful day. You know, one not worth blogging about. But the boys always know how to keep things interesting.

Siraj refuses to believe he is 7 months old. While he can’t pronounce any recognizable words beyond “dada” and “hey”, he is more than capable of expressing himself in a hodge-podge of giggles, grunts, raspberries, shrieks, and squeals. He is starting to hold his own in territorial exchanges with Ismaeel and is putting away more food than his big brother could keep down at 1 year. So you would think we would see this coming. But we didn’t. And neither did our baby-proofing-to-do-list.

Today, Siraj decided crawling is for babies and started standing on his pipsqueak legs. I love my sweet baby boy dearly and in my big brown motherly eyes think he is absolutely gorgeous. But weighing in regularly at 10th percentile, Siraj is an itty-bitty one. With the exception of his long legs and mature face, Siraj is tiny enough to be easily mistaken for a 4 month-old. So even I find it disorienting and surreal to see his little thighs holding himself up. My husband even asks if Siraj could stunt his bone development by standing too early. But there he is - smiling and squealing away as he clutches and drools on the glass coffee table. The very same table that I just Windexed. And the very same table that Ismaeel held on to before he spun around and bit through his lip so badly that he needed half a dozen stitches at 13 months. Just as my husband and I start to panic about another accident waiting to happen – we laugh to remember that Siraj doesn’t have any teeth. But we still have plenty of wood floors and sharp corners to worry about. So we start panicking anyway…

We’re thrilled to see Siraj thriving but are completely overwhelmed that he has become so mobile so quickly. I have already spent a morning completely reassembling his high chair since his happy jumping for yogurt routine loosened all of the screws. And what good is a bouncer that holds nearly 30 pounds when at 15 he is able to turn around and use it as a springboard to propel himself towards the couch?

Not to mention, having a toddler in the house means toys with little pieces everywhere. So, should my husband become the LEGO-hunter while I frantically forage for leftover shipping materials to make styrofoam nests on the edges of our furniture? While we hurry to make things safer for Siraj should we ask Ismaeel to take over the cooking? He is after all doing a fairly decent job dusting. Sadly, Ismaeel can’t yet read recipes so we must embrace Siraj’s status as the second child and cling frantically to clichés that anything less than a baby proofed utopia will only make him stronger.

And so to continue our non-traditional celebration of the holiday weekend, we shunned thoughts of BBQ and ordered some Mexican takeout. There’s something about dipping a tortilla chip in guacamole to make you savor the last innocent moments of babyhood. Well maybe not. But we definitely savored the guacamole.

Welcome to the upright world, Siraj !!!

Royal Flush

And so the cliché’s say, “motherhood is its own reward” and in general this is true. But after successfully potty training a defiant toddler, I think I deserve something more than just a pat on the back. I’m not looking for anything expensive. Just a mere token to tell the world that I am a survivor. Perhaps an embroidered toilet badge that I can wear proudly on my sleeve or a jeweled brooch in the shape of toilet paper. And, funny enough, if you google it – it exists.

("Toilet Paper" by LiciaBeads)

Surely, I should be given something like this (or this) to let people know that I have lived through so many months of torment.

Thankfully, Ismaeel has always preferred to wear a clean diaper and around 12-18 months he was definitely self-aware and able to communicate when he needed to change. But it was always after the fact. We bought board books and a BabyBjorn Potty Chair but he only liked to sit on it with his diaper and pretend to read. If you tried to get him to actually use it – he would burst into a fit of giggles and “no no no’s”. We took this as a clue that he was not quite ready.

So we spent the next few months reading up on other potty training techniques and trying to explain to concerned relatives that we were confident he will get the hang of it over time. But in reply, we just kept receiving (albeit well-intentioned) stories of so-and-so's child mastering elimination communication before the age of 1. It was hard to graciously smile and thank people for their “advice” while repeatedly hearing that we were failures or imagining that Ismaeel would go to college psychologically scarred and wearing Depends. And as we became pregnant with Siraj, there was an even louder urgency and extended family pressure to get our toddler out his diapers. Not to mention, Ismaeel was already wearing the largest available size of Pampers. The crux of the argument was that it would be easier on me to not have to change two children in diapers. Perhaps this was true but I don’t know if anyone could appreciate how many times a day I was already kneeling down on the tile floor with nausea. Did I really want to spend another minute in the bathroom trying to build up the merits of flushing with my toddler?

I just simply couldn’t do it. Maybe if I wasn’t pregnant it wouldn’t have seemed like such an uphill battle - but I was and it did. Even though daycare tries to introduce potty time around the age of 2 – neither Ismaeel nor his friends seemed to have grasped the concept yet. I felt daunted to spend energy on something that would unravel during the day because there was no peer pressure or consistency. After a long day of work and school, I just couldn’t ignore the need to make dinner or start the laundry to be yelling about bodily functions and bathroom habits. I just tried to relax and let his friends take the lead.

Within a few months, the girls were considered potty trained. At this point, Ismaeel was now embracing his “individuality” and a new state of radical defiance. We felt we definitely missed a sweet spot but also knew we couldn’t have done anything more or earlier. And once Siraj was born and settled into a manageable routine - we began “no mercy potty training boot camp” at home.

It started with a loud declaration from my husband that “we don’t change poopy diapers anymore”. Ismaeel and I were both stunned by his serious tone while my husband tried not to giggle over his out-of-character stance. We also enlisted the help of Mitchell, a Build-a-Bear Friendly Frog wearing his own white briefs. Productive moments on the toilet received a new sticker to be placed on Ismaeel’s calendar. And while we bought backup supplies of Pull-Ups and Kandoo Flushable Wipes, Ismaeel was especially thrilled to receive his first pack of big boy underwear and use the bidet. We didn’t leave or enter the house without using the toilet first. Once we repeated the routine a few times, the stickers seem to multiply, and it became just another comforting toddler ritual. So far, so good.

Indeed, there were a few moments of horrific non-compliance and a lot of Resolve but we made it to “officially potty trained” before Ismaeel’s 3rd birthday. Granted, having only one child in diapers is definitely helping with the family budget but the issue of convenience is debatable. Absolutely, it is more hygienic for Ismaeel to use the toilet but the amount of time it takes to assist him only aids the years of my youth from circling the drain of our porcelain throne. Likewise, the whole netherworld of navigating public restrooms in NYC provides enough fodder for an entirely different blog post.

But today, I’ll just bask in the long-awaited success of telling people he’s gloriously out of diapers. Consider my back patted.