So, I’ve been a bit of a bloggin’ slacker lately. Call it poor health, call it exhaustion, call it my physical inability to sit in a chair for extended periods of time. Everyone keeps assuring me I’m on the home stretch. That the only thing between a crying, sleepless newborn and me is less than two measly months. Note: these folks need to take some tips on how to give a real pep talk.
Knowing I’ve been at my wit’s end lately, my [greatest-in-the-world] mother-in-law offered to take Hadley while we enjoyed a getaway weekend for Mother’s Day. Since I can’t participate in our regular activities such as hiking or biking or walking or sitting, we were faced with the dilemma of where to go and what to do. We finally decided upon a trip to Manitou Springs, a charming little hamlet at the base of Pike’s Peak, a commanding 14,000-foot vista.
We chose a quaint and beautiful bed and breakfast. Just as I was relishing the size of the doorways and knobs (lowered to perfectly fit my height), Jamie (in a very timely and tactful manner) complained this place had to be built for midgets (gee, thanks). In addition to some quality R&R in midgetland, we strolled around town, gorged ourselves at THE BEST FINE-DINING RESTAURANT EVER and watched a video/documentary, New York Doll, that was a hit at last year’s reputable Sundance Film Festival (a DVD I would HIGHLY recommend).
We hooked up with Jamie’s best friend and his wife one afternoon. While Jamie and Stan discussed potential real estate ventures, Joan and I discussed children. There are two types of mothers: those who have angel children and brag about them all the time. And then there’s the rest of us.
One thing I like about Joan is she would seem like she has her act together: she’s gorgeous, sweet and talented…just the kind of gal I would normally envy. But her one redeeming quality is she gave birth to The Mother of all Natural Disasters, Gracie. Though she is the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen, this 4-year-old makes Hurricane Hadley look like a mere drop in the bucket. She and Hadley lived parallel existences the first year of their lives (colicky, never slept, moody, refused to nurse, etc.) but fortunately they parted ways down the terror highway as soon as Hadley became mobile.
Our subject de jour was regarding potty training. Gracie is being denied entrance into preschool because she obstinately refuses to potty train (she somehow views crapping and peeing in her pants as the ultimate victory over parental control). This has made me increasingly fearful about potty training. Even though Hadley isn’t yet ready, we have been prepping her for months. Last week, Jamie stripped her down and spent some quality time with her on the potty. He got a few pushes, a resounding fart and a big, satisfied smile out of the experience. And Haddie didn’t do too badly, either.
When they emerged from the bathroom, Jamie announced how well she did and that he was sure she would have gone if she truly needed to. Not even a minute later, she triumphantly peed on our carpet. Now, this causes me to beg the question: if crapping and peeing in your pants is the ultimate victory, just how does triumphant carpet urination measure up?
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 