I mean seriously.  Aside from her pin straight brown hair (which is just like her father’s) and biting sarcasm, we really have little in common.  At least not when it comes to being little girls.

Growing up, I only had an older brother.  So deflecting WWE body slams and figure-fours was a matter of survival.

I hiked up his hand-me-down blue striped tube socks, and along with my unisex bowl cut and only-Asian girl status,  kids at school were not nice.  Good thing I knew how to pin someone down for a 10 second count.

Anyhow, my daughter could not be more different.  She is well versed in every Disney Princess story, along with each one’s full dress attire. Her bedroom and closet resembles the inside of a bottle of Pepto Bismol.  And every time a Barbie commercial or ad crosses her eyes, she suddenly folds her hands behind her back, tilts her head and says, “Mommy, I just LOVE Barbie! Can I have one?”

HELL to the NO.  At least that’s my immediate response inside my head.  But the answer is indeed always “no.”

Personally, I do not like Barbie.  At her age, I used to swing her by her luscious blond hair and turn her into an enemy helicopter attacking GI Joes.

I put her on the same tier as Bratz dolls. Both wear way too much make up, and do not set a great example for little girls.  I’m not crazy about the Disney Princesses either, but I can only do so much consumer deflecting.

But Barbie takes the cake. Especially now that they’ve decided she needs a redesign because her ankles are too fat.

Barbie has cankles?  Really? Does anyone actually notice anything besides her gargantuan hair and rack?

If this is an issue, how come Dora’s head is bigger than her entire body?

Anyhow, my daughter will not be receiving a Barbie from Santa. She will however, be receiving a baby doll that she has been eying for several weeks now.

I read that offering an older sibling a baby doll can help ease the transition of having a new baby at home.

Isn’t she cute?  Sure she has blue eyes and blond hair and looks nothing like anyone in our family, but who cares.  I’ve grown used to the nanny question, and I have all of my “I’m not the help” comebacks ready to go.

I managed to score her for 50% off on Amazon after Thanksgiving.

Only there is one caveat…

“Pee or poop?”

Awesome.

My daughter will soon appreciate the joys of diaper surprise, or she will become a master diaper changer by the age of five.

Win-Win.

At least the word “vomit” or “explosive” wasn’t included on the packaging.  That must be the more expensive line.

Dadisodes is going to love that our diaper bill just doubled.

Perhaps the plastic, bastard child will have to suffer from bouts of starvation from time to time.

At least it won’t grow up to have cankles.

————————————————————————————————————————————–

The past three years has been a learning process.  Not only in my role as a mother, but also in the motherhood social arena.

For instance, when Babisodes was a wee infant breastfeeding on demand, I learned the importance of loading a battery of supplies into my diaper bag, just to leave the house for an hour.  Breastfed poop, can and will go everywhere.   There is no such thing as too many extra pants.  And those changing pads the size of paper towels will. not. cut it.  Seedy poop can get some distance.

Before she learned how to speak, I foresaw the benefits of teaching her sign language.  Basic signs such as “more,” “please,” and “all done” not only facilitated communication between us, but restaurant patrons around us were also able to enjoy their meals in a bit more peace and quiet.

Today, I do my best to try and prep her before walking into social settings.  Mainly playdates.  I have a little laundry list we cover beforehand.  I often remind her that it is best to speak kindly, take turns, and although it can be challenging, it is important to share with friends.

So far I have been pretty good about anticipating and preparing for social catastrophes with my daughter.

Usually.

That is until last week.  When toddlerhood’s honest, literal sense threw me a humdinger of a social reality check.

For the first time, perhaps since Babisodes was a non-speaking, non-mobile infant, I braved the frilly-laced racks of a lingerie store.  Preparing for Valentine’s Day of course.

I should have taken the immediate warning signs seriously in the store, but I didn’t.

Not even two minutes after walking into the store, I turned around to scold her, “Stop walking through the panty racks!” as she brushed away armfuls as if it were a G-string jungle.

I should have known better, but I didn’t.

I put my big girl panties on and sucked it up.  I decided I would make this trip as quick as possible.  Besides, they only had a handful of options in my size.  So I grabbed them and ran for refuge in the fitting rooms.

Of course, every single stall was occupied, except one.

The stall was riddled with un-hung clothing in various sizes, clearly left behind by shoppers.

In a hurry, Babisodes and I went in anyway.  I sat her on top of a bench and quietly went over a laundry list of fitting room etiquette.

“Do not touch anything.  Do not sit on the floor.  And you must stay inside this stall only.”

“Okay, mommy” she said softly amidst the bustling fitting room noise.

I handed her a book to keep her occupied and began unhooking a delicate, pink teddy from a hanger.

“Mommy.  When will I have boooobz like yours?”

“Shh!”

(If she’s lucky enough to get bug bites in the right places, perhaps maybe this summer.)

“Oh Mommy!  Don’t forget to try on DAT HOT PINK UNDERWEARS!”

<<<<crickets>>>>

Not to mention, the hot pink panties were not brought in by me, and they were approximately 10 times larger than my size. I had strapped on my big girl panties, but they’re not that big.

Amidst the deadened silence, I said to myself- Screw it.  This teddy will fit…mostly…probably…I think. We’re outta here.

Methinks lingerie will be missing from my wardrobe until I have a sitter for Babisodes.

Until then, we’ll be ringing in the holidays of love with neutral colored, faded, cotton full coverage…

…just my size.

Autumn is officially here in the U.S. And nothing goes better with the cool, crisp air outside than a warm, cinnamony slice of apple pie or a fresh snapping apple. We’re learning quickly that apple picking is a “must do” outing during Fall here in Boston. “It’s tradition!” everyone tells us.

Hosted by Cecily and MamaGeek

Here is where we currently stand:

1) Training pant use- 2-3 per day

2) Bribes in rotation: Prunes, granola, and outside play

3) Business #2- fully trained since 18 months

4) Business #1- holding pee throughout the night, and periodically in the daytime

Here is the latest progress:

Me: Honey, do you need to go pee-pee?

Babisodes: Noooo!…..

*Deer in the headlights stare*

…..Uh,… YES!!!!

*runs towards bathroom holding crotch*

Me: Okay honey. Hold it while I unbuckle your pants.

Babisodes: Kay mommy, But don’t feel my underwear O-kay???

*looks down at pee filled underwear*

At least she’s saying “Yes” now…

Anyhow, despite my jittery state beneath my behemoth list of To-do’s, something wonderful has happened today! I mention in a previous post that we spent the past weekend in New Jersey with my brother, sister-in-law, and 3-year old niece Alex…who is… potty-trained. *heavenly light shining above her head*

We attempted to board the potty train with our daughter several months ago. Nothing too serious, but when we realized our daughter was holding her poop for full days until we returned home, we thought it was our ticket to a diaper-free promise land. Bzzzt! Wrong.

She is 100% poop trained now. Amidst her mid-afternoon playtime in our living room, her running in circle spells will suddenly halt, her expression will freeze, facial color becomes pastey, and I’ll hear a faint, “…mummy…poo-poo”. A mad dash for the bathroom quickly ensues as she clenches her tiny behind with all her might. A 2-year old Charlie Chaplin thrusting hips forward while hotfooting it the loo if you will.

In the poop department, we’re good. It’s the pee we’re having issues with. Although I would love to devote 20 minutes of every hour propping her onto the potty, mimicking sounds of waterfalls, my day does not allow time for this. I’m lucky if I have a chance to pee once during the day myself!

To my surprise, Ella halted her running in circle spell today to yell, “Pee!” A mad dash for the bathroom quickly ensued, but this time with knees bent and glued together with torso lurched forward while running. She’s managed to hold her pee until she’s fully propped onto the potty, stares at me with concentration, smiles, then pees. I find it amusing how her urinary forewarning is a string of facial expressions, always in the same order.

Yahoo for the Loo!

Each time she’s noted, “I pee-pee on potty like A-lix!”

I really, really wished we lived closer to my niece.

Could someone please loan me a potty- trained child?

I promise I won’t allow my daughter to teach them strange behavior like running in circles…