Mummy Minute

We have all witnessed it; the power of popularity, how it can entice people to follow or copy another. We see this every time Kate Middleton steps out in a new dress, the media even encourage this power of popularity by posting photos and practically purchasing the same outfit for you including links to stores and websites that sell similar attire. As a mother the power of popularity draws you in to purchasing new toys that claim to procure your child to improve their fine motor, gross motor, language skills and the list goes on. The products are stacked high on the shelves and you noticed the same toy at your friends place or saw a post about it on a mums Facebook page or blog; you can’t let your child suffer and fall behind for not owning the same equipment obviously vital to their development right?

This power of popularity has its merit in motherhood. When you become a mother you become the cornerstone to your child’s world, their central focal point, and you are given your first true fans. Just like a celebrity you instantly have followers when you have (young) children (mine are all little so I can’t comment on a Mummy’s status when her children are of high school age).  Being a SAHM I do live a rock star-esque life to some extent. I get to stay up all night (usually not my choice, nay, never my choice), I have my name yelled out all the time , “Mum, Mummmm, Mummy!Mummmmmmmmmmmmm….MUM!”, often with waves to alert me to the current position of my miniature fans. I get flowers given to me, and other items handed/thrown at me, ranging from garden discoveries to snot to food, toys and clothes. My eldest Miss 4 launches herself at me when she decides its time for a cuddle. I often feel groggy in the mornings (from lack of sleep mostly, or sometimes from whatever viral illness is plaguing our household) and I am in such demand that I get to perform every day, singing favourite nursery rhymes, dancing to the radio, singing whatever actions we are doing like “Now its time to pack away, pack away, pack away” and so forth. I even get cheered on to perform encore nursery rhymes at bed time which if I’m super tired, I’ll be honest I do tend to pick up the tempo a bit as I make my way for the door to claim exile in my dressing room/bedroom. But my fans often follow me there, bursting through the door and grabbing at me pleading for more!

Whilst my powers of popularity with my children are great, they do not conquer all battles in our household. Trying to get my Miss 4 and Miss 2 to eat broccoli is like trying to get a hamster to do backstroke. As babies my girls loved broccoli and all other green foods, but as toddler-hood emerged they became picky with particular foods, excusing them from their diet based on it being too slimy/green/yucky or as Miss 2 eloquently tells me with her scrunched up nose, “It’s ssgusting!”. I tried to make the food seem more desirable, and husband played along too, “Mmmm, this is soooo yummy, and I’m going to be sooo strong and have sooo much energy to play because I’m eating my vegetables”. This was met with blank looks and uneaten greens again, much like a new single that flops on the charts and remains unsold on shelves in music stores.

So I thought about this battle of the broccoli some more and realised that my kids were popular with each other also. Whatever Miss 2 has Miss 4 wants and whatever Master 7 months old has, Miss 2 wants and whatever Miss 4 has Miss 2 usually takes and whatever Miss 2 has Miss 4 usually takes and well Master 7 months just takes what he can get really. I mean every single morning there is a scuffle over who gets the tall wooden chair (the defeated child sits in the plastic high chair attached to a regular chair, so blasé right). Next is the fight over who gets the fairy bowl or the Dorothy Dinosaur bowl, then the rose spoon and the rabbit mug and the list goes on. So serving up our lovely green vegetables again I mention, “Look, Master 7 months old is eating his broccoli, he will be soo big and sooo strong and have sooo much energy!” Miss 2 tries eating the broccoli but insists its “Ssgusting!”. Even if she did eat her broccoli Miss 4 is not tempted to try the veggies. Sigh. The next obvious step is bribery, usually in the form of a sweet treat after dinner if one eats their veggies. Miss 4 takes up this offer, eating a tiny morsel of green tree then demanding I pay up with the ice cream, “With sauce Mummy…and sprinkles!”. Did I just cancel out the goodness of the green food with ice cream!

So the power of popularity doesn’t have the desired affect with the green vegetables. But I haven’t forgotten about it, as it can be used effectively in other areas. For instance, my attention. If I want both my older children to do something in particular, such as putting on their shoes or packing away toys, I just need to focus my energy on one and the other will soon follow. I use praise all over the child who is doing what I ask and soon the other child will follow. Of course I then praise them also and voilà shoes on, toys away! But wait, now they are fighting again…..intent on being the one who puts on their shoes first or packs away the books and blocks…..somebody do something!!!!!

So with kids it isn’t necessarily the power of popularity (at least I hope they won’t succumb to this power when they are older and have outside influences that might not be the most pleasing for a parent), but the power of positive, specifically positive praise. And if that fails, I highly recommend purchasing or borrowing a vacuum with a clear case. As soon as Miss 4 noticed the vacuum had “eaten” a small toy of hers she left lying in the floor, she was very quick to pack away all her belongings. All I need to tell her now is that the vacuum, which sits peacefully in our living room, is getting hungry and she races to tidy up!

Lastly on the topic of popularity in parenthood,  I am my kids biggest fan and I sense I will become more annoying and less flattering as they get older. I’m not sure clapping at all their achievements and bragging on Facebook will always be so charming (if it even is now). I can tell as my Miss 2 already declines to smile for most photos, hiding from her mumarazzi, and my 7 month old, whilst happy to stare his dreamy eyes into the lens, begins squinting in preparation for the inevitable flash when I produce the camera. Either way, in motherhood, popularity amongst family members equates to love, and this happily fills our home.

As we packed our valuables into empty Huggies nappy boxes and shipped them off to my mother’s place in anticipation of our big move I felt exhausted. Lethargy hit me like a brick wall at different points during the regular rush of each day. I continued with our routines of preschool, swim lessons and the usual cooking, craft and games we do every week on our home days, and in between packed more clothes into bags, more precious keepsakes into empty nappy boxes and gradually wrapped more kitchen items ready to board the big truck that would relocate us within weeks.

It was December, time for my yearly check up, I left myself till last as my family are always more important to met. I sat down with my GP and told him how exhausted I was.

“I haven’t felt this exhausted since I was pregnant with our baby boy…”, I begin.

“Hmmmm, ” he replies, thinking of possible causes.

“It could be my thyroid,” I interject with an explanation.

“You aren’t pregnant are you?” he questions whilst I bounce our bubbly and rather chubby 6 month old on my lap and look over at our Miss 2 playing happily with toys on the floor.

“I’m on the mini pill….and we don’t exactly have time anyway, with the move and packing and all the usual Christmas stuff…”, I offer more explanations for my tiredness.

“I’ll run some blood tests and check”, he hands me a form and I wander down the corridor to the needle pricking room and wait my turn.

A week later I return for the rest of my yearly, but this time book in with a female GP. I trust our regular GP wholeheartedly, but for woman things I prefer to show my bits to a female doctor. Whilst this is my first appointment with the lady doctor she has a warm reassuring smile as she summons me from the waiting room. I hand my mother my baby and wave to my toddler and preschooler, “Mummy will be back soon!”.

Ah, relief, I can sit down and actually talk without distraction of beautiful starfish hands grabbing at my neck, or interruptions of “Mummy,Mummy, Mummy, Mummmmm! What’s this/Can I have….?.” We begin talking, and I am assured the blood tests all came back fine. Not even my thyroid was playing up as I had suspected  it was as it has been a culprit for weight loss and difficult sleep as well as exhaustion in the past. I am now confused. Why am I so drained? I have not felt this used up and fatigued since being 8 months pregnant with two young kids to chase around, one of whom had a fractured eye socket at the time and the other of whom was suffering from asthma symptoms.

We chat some more, this lady doctor and me. She has a way of getting me to open up as she explains there are 3 causes of fatigue once underlying physical causes are ruled out. 1. The patient is over-active, having too much on. 2 The patient is under-active, doing nothing all day also resulting in fatigue. 3. The person is depressed. I don’t know why but when depression is mentioned I feel a twang of guilt creep over me. How could I possibly be depressed. I have three beautiful and amazing kids and a wonderfully supportive husband and currently have the job of my dreams, Stay At Home Mum! What could I have to feel sad about? We keep talking, she asks me questions.

“Yes, the move is stressful, there’s so much to do……yes we do fight sometimes, mostly because his family don’t accept me, its very hurtful…..yes I do get worried about taking the kids out to say a park, what if someone tried to grab them!”

Then the doctor says she is going to give me a test, a depression test, one given to new mums and pregnant ladies to check their mood. If you’re a mum its highly likely you have had at least one of these done, even more likely you might have had several done during pregnancy and the weeks and months after birth. I answer her questions honestly, she tallies the scores then turns the computer screen to face me. There in lights, “The patient is clinically depressed.” I nod my head in acknowledgement and take a deep breath.

“So you want me to go to counselling?” I ask as I prattle off a list of reasons why I can’t in my mind. Where would I even find the time, its not like I have regular babysitting available, its not like I can leave my baby for long stretches, he’s breastfeeding on demand, I can’t go anywhere without him, it’s not like we even have the money to pay for it, and we are moving next week, and I have to pack, and clean and cook and look after the kids and , and, and…..

“There are other options available,” she replies warmly.

“I am not taking medication, I am breastfeeding,” I reply, adamant I will not be placed on antidepressants. I had tried these as a teenager following an assault and found they made me feel worse, heightening frightful dreams and making me feel unwell, but now was not the time to discuss this.

“No, no, there are other options,”, she continues reassuringly.

We talk some more and she signs me up to do an on-line course, to teach me about anxiety and depression and how to cope with it. I agree to give it a go, at the very least I would be doing something about my feelings of exhaustion, and realising that recognition is the first step in getting better. Plus I am my kids role-model, I need to demonstrate how to effectively deal with difficult feelings, and I want to be better for them.

Three weeks later, and sitting in our new home, only partially unpacked, I have just completed the second on-line lesson. So far I have learnt I need to do controlled breathing to help me relax, and also exercise to help give me energy. Daily walks with the kids have been great, it helps us all relax. My Miss 4 is great at reminding me to breathe when I start to get stressed about something. She says “Breathe Mummy,” as she waves her arms round and above her head demonstrating deep breathing, then looks a me and reminds me to “Relax!” What a gem!

I now also need to do one thing each day that I enjoy, or that I used to enjoy. I try to think of simple things, and realise how little time I have left for myself. Perhaps I’ll take a little longer in the shower, buff my feet, or paint my nails afterwards or read a book? I learn I also need to do one thing each day that makes me feel some sense of accomplishment; voilà I’m wiring in my blog! And then I need to think about my thoughts, and get rid of the negative thoughts. I’m told there will be more on this next lesson, which is good because being a mother its so easy to be critical of oneself and feel the pressure of others to be the perfect mother.

Today we attended a party for a friend of our daughters. I was speaking with another mother about mummying, and she expressed feeling of fatigue associated with a thyroid problem. I exclaim that I too had a thyroid problem after the birth of our first child and have recently felt exhausted again, unable to get proper sleep, being fatigued and losing weight. Then I stop myself in my tracks. I must not let her hear me say the ‘D’ word, its a dirty word after all. My Miss 2 demands a drink and I am whisked away. Phew! Escaped that explanation. Then later on as I sit in the car on the drive home and recant the conversation to my husband I recall how uplifting I had felt when a mother at my daughter’s preschool had openly told me of her struggle with depression. I found it so incredible that this obviously strong and resilient woman could open up and expose herself so freely. She must be a lot stronger than me, I must make friends with her I had thought at the time. And now as I remember her openness I think, why is Depression a dirty word? I know myself I had been scared that if anyone even thought for a second I had post natal depression my children would be taken away from me, an ill, unfit mother. But that simply wasn’t true. I had convinced myself it was weakness to be described as depressed, but in fact is isn’t, its more the opposite, it is much stronger to admit you need help and seek help than to ignore the symptoms.

So as I write this blog tonight I urge you to stop associating depression with weakness, and realise it isn’t a dirty word. One out of two Australians will experience depression, anxiety or both at some point on their lives. So next time you sit on a bus, consider the person next to you, next time you go shopping smile at the cashier, next time you cuddle your partner, hold them tight, as all these people might be suffering anxiety and/or depression. Being a mother it’s easy to let anxiety creep up on you, following you round like a shadow as you try to be the best in a world that shoves images of perfection down your throat the moment you log onto social media and throws concerning and upsetting events your way each time you check the news. But realise this, you are only human, and it’s okay to need a little help sometimes.

We weren’t planning on having any more parties this year. After a big celebration for husband’s and my 30th birthdays, the arrival of our third bundle of joy, and a second failed attempt at celebrating our Miss 2’s birthday (Winter birthdays are notorious for bringing sickness at the most inappropriate of times, two years running our middle child has spent her birthday sick missing out on the festivities we had diligently planned for her benefit) we were all partied out. But when our now Miss 4 acquisition-ed us for a Fairy Party after finally potty training (see toileting turorials), we knew we couldn’t refuse her request.  So the party countdown was on.

6 weeks until party: After discussing Miss 3’s request for a Fairy Party with her doctor and being told I unequivocally must oblige as she had made such great progress after a number of health set backs, I realised that yes, this party was happening, whether I was ready or not. Holding our 3 month old baby, chasing our now Miss 2 around the surgery, I could see the smile of satisfaction grow across my daughter’s face. She was getting her wish, and every day she was placing more demands about how things would progress for her party. It was really quite sweet how involved she was. Her requests weren’t outrageous by any means, just things to add to my ‘to do’ list whilst I juggle the role of SAHM of 3 kids under the age of 4 years. So I took a deep breath and after confirming with husband that the party was on, I checked our diary to find which weekend surrounding her birthday we would host this party.

After setting a date and scrutinising over what time to put on the invites, I quickly ordered invitations. I was definiately feeling more nervous about planning this party than her previous birthday celebrations. She was now in preschool and this meant we would be inviting preschool friends which meant inviting preschool mothers whom I hardly knew and had never seen outside of preschool before. And what if she went to primary school with these kids, I would have to make the best impression possible on these kids and their parents if I was going to set up any foundation for further friendships outside preschool for Miss 3 and for me. I had to remind myself to breathe, then much like my daughter I prattled off a list to husband of what required attention before the party. He looked at his new ‘to do’ list. “I’ll help you out, but don’t go too crazy, because if you go over tge top I won’t be helping with that”, he warned me to stay focused. My mind was like a bowl of skittles falling from the sky bouncing off in different colourful directions as I had ideas spilling out about what this fairy party could entail.

I tried to focus, I took to the web, both my saviour and enemy. I goggled “Fairy Party”…was this a mistake? Thousands of ideas splurged across the screen, and I clicked on a Pinterest link…..that’s when the panic set in. As I scrolled through the images of fairy party ideas I wondered, ‘How could I prepare a party this wonderful?’. I decided to book a fairy because after contemplating dressing up as one myself, I realised it wouldn’t be easy to do the gig when I would need to excuse myself to breastfeed our baby.

5 weeks until party: It was a long weekend so we had some extra time up our sleeves. Husband and I went shopping for various fairy items at a local craft shop. I described how I imagined a wand making craft might go (some silver cardboard, a paddle pop stick, glue and glitter), but husband had grander plans. After leaving with wooden stars, silver spray paint, coloured dowelling rods, ribbons, glue, glitter and sequins, as well as an array of decorations we hit the cake shop. Husband waited in the car with three tired kids and I became lost in a magical world of cake happiness. Miss 3 had requested a fairy cake after researching our cake decorating books at home. I knew it would be difficult to pull off so I thought the more ready made supplies I could buy the easier my job would be come party day. Husband maintains I was gone for well over an hour, but I think I was only in there about 15 minutes. I did get distracted there by the endless possibilities of cake toppers and decorations, but I don’t think I got lost for too long. Regardless, we had bags of party supplies and were ready to spend the rest of the weekend preparing what we could. That afternoon I baked a huge cake and three dozen cupcakes ready to freeze for the party and husband set upon creating a fairy themed garden. He paved a section of our yard, weeded, planted, mowed, painted our deck and by the end of the weekend our yard looked fantastic. Not to mention husband had painted and glued together over a dozen star wands for a craft activity.

4 weeks until party: Preschool was back after a two week holiday so I approached a teacher about my dilemma of whom I should invite. Miss 3 talked about the same kids after preschool each day but I wanted to make sure all her friends were invited and that I had the names correct. I was handed a long list, it appears our little girl is quite popular. I mentioned I was hoping to only have a small party as our place isn’t very big. The teachers consulted each other and handed me a smaller list. I asked if I should invite any of the boys as the list contained only girls names. Miss 3 did mention boys names after preschool to the point I thought she must only play with the boys. Could I even invite boys to a fairy party? A few more names were added so I went and placed the pink invites in message board pockets and quietly left. I messaged husband, “You might need to make more wands”.

I looked over Pinterest again for ideas, focusing my attention on food now. I wanted something easy, and that I could do most of the prep work for the day before the party so I could be free to enjoy the celebration with our children. There were literally thousands of great ideas, creative people turning ordinary watermelons into pirate ships or fairy gardens, changing the way we eat chips and dip by juliette-ing veggies and placing them ornately in tiny cups filled with home made dips, jelly cups of all colour combinations and with varying decorations, biscuits on sticks, chocolate covered marshmallows on sticks, cupcakes on sticks, what is this new obsessions with sticks! Then some of the links took me to other mummy blogs with mothers all pristine and free of child vomit, snot and hand grub. These pictured mums smiled widely as they presented immaculate tiny treats for their tots party, “Look, its easy, I did this with my eyes closed and hands tied behind my back!”. I felt my heart race, I began to feel anxious, what if I couldn’t pull this off? What if my daughter didn’t like her party??????

3 weeks until party: Copious lists of ‘to do’ and ‘to buy’ and ‘food ideas’ were scribbled on different pieces of paper and stuffed in my diary so every time I checked the day’s plan I was reminded of the work I needed to do to achieve party success. Husband kept reminding me to keep it simple, “I am!” I pleaded knowing full well I was getting in over my head. I wrote more lists, shopping lists, daily plans leading up to the party about what needs to be done when. I peeked again at Pinterest, now I’m getting nervous. I have jotted down ideas I think I can handle, I show pictures to husband, he nods as he absorbs the world that has enveloped me since our daughter announced she wanted a Fairy Party. I’m lucky husband is creative, even if he says he won’t go out of his way to help, he is a perfectionist and I know he won’t be able to help himself. I breathe as details for the party race through my head.

2 weeks until party: Much of the same, more lists, shopping for non perishable food supplies, a visit to the party shop for balloons. Slight sense of relief when our Miss 3 chooses rainbow colours rather than pink, pink and more pink. There is likely to be boys at her party as it seems she has many friends who are boys. We buy brightly coloured cups, bowls, serviettes, and many many balloons. The party shop is hard to take in, much like Pinterest it has an overload of ideas that it throws at you and it can be difficult to focus. Luckily I have brought a list, and after only three circles of the shop looking at each isle as comprehensively as possible with three young kids in tow, we have our basket full of goodies ready to go. We find a few extras, like multicoloured marshmallows which are too amazing to leave behind. Husband has spotted a balloon ornament type thing. He decides he can make one himself and has the shop assistant help him find the right sized balloons and a fairy centrepiece. He really does love his kids more than anything in the world.

1 week until party: Awaiting on final RSVP’s, hoping we have enough food and craft and everything to accommodate our guests! Will siblings come along? Can I ask? Will they be here early enough to see the fairy we hired? I best tell them what time she arrives! Then to throw complication in our mix husband has gone and done what I have been waiting for for a long time, he has bought us a house! Well half a house, a duplex! Close to preschool! Close to the primary school we have been hoping our children would attend! But wait, this means I definitely need to make the best impression possible now, as its now highly likely our Miss 3 will go to school with these kids from preschool! No time to think about that now. I sign on a property I haven’t yet seen, put our property on the market. First open is the day before the party! We spend the rest of this week cleaning and tidying like mad. I bake cookies and make jelly cups during the week with our girls. Our now Miss 4 celebrates her birthday on the Friday before the party. We realise after that she would have believed us if we said her actual birthday was on the day of her party but it just wouldn’t feel right. So on Halloween I take our Miss 4 skating for the first time, a talented ice-skating coach whom I’m lucky enough to call our friend gives her a lesson. She does so well I cry, my tiny pink baby has grown into a beautiful, well articulated preschooler in what seems like the time it takes me to blink as I wipe away tears of happiness and pride. I make a shaky recording for husband as he is at work. I tell Miss 4 everyone is celebrating her birthday as people are in fancy dress and treats are being handed out. It is a very special day!

Later that day Miss 4 gets a splinter in her toe, trip to the doctors to remove it. Then a miscommunication has husband and I travelling in opposite directions to meet each other as we race to get to the solicitor to sign contracts. But finally we make it back home and as I shuffle the kids upstairs husband places a bicycle in the living room. I hear the cue and bring Miss 4 down the stairs. She stands there, still, motionless. Slowly a smile grows across her face as she does her upside down pointing, “Is that MY bicycle?” She smiles widely then walks towards the bicycle. Hopping on she check out all the fancy features; bell – check, pink ribbons – check, basket with flower – check, it’s pink – check! Our baby girl is immensely excited and proceeds to ride her bicycle around the yard for a very long time. It’s a beautiful sight, but how did she get so big, so coordinated, so amazingly beautiful!

The next day, after the open house and a take away meal, we get the kids tucked up in bed and start making Fairy Party food of all sorts. We hear our Miss 2 pottering around upstairs but continue with the task at hand. Later I go upstairs to find her tucking her toys in in the bathroom, this kid just has her own agenda and is so involved with everyone else’s sleep, especially that of her toys, but isn’t interested in her own dreaming at all. Finally we get her off to sleep. Miss 4 is sound asleep and that is the main thing, we really really really want her to enjoy her party as it has been an emotional week for us with the stress of building inspections, marketing our property and everything else that goes on during a week with a busy family life. Husband starts with the decorations, he’s had an idea of creating balloon flowers, I give him the go ahead. Hanging up the first of the balloon flowers and marvelling at his work he declares that we can do this at our new place, only with much more balloons as we will have more space than we do in our current abode. We pause for a moment as we share a smile.

I begin by making Fairies on Toadstools (aka Fairy  Cut outs on toothpicks standing on chocolate covered marshmallows with sprinkles. All Fairy Food has sprinkles!). Then I go about crafting fairy mugs from biscuits, lollies and using chocolate as adhesive to stick it all together. In between I start to ice the cake. We both hold our breath as I turn the cake out onto the cake plate. Phew, it is still in one piece! It’s frozen so I work fast to ice it, but the icing keeps coming away from the cake. Husband has a go, he has more success than I do. He tells me later his tip of using two knives when icing the cake. I reply that he can now be in charge of icing cakes. I decorate the cake with edible flowers and a fairy ornament. It looks great!

We call it quits after a few hours, I revisit the list of what still needs to be done in the morning. Husband convinces me I don’t need to make food labels, the kids can hardly read yet anyway. The next morning I wake early, I only slept lightly as I dreamed about the party. I quickly get ready then we systematically follow the day plan. Kids fed and dressed – check, furniture moved to accommodate seating space – check, food table set up – check, fruit stars made, fairy bread prepared, finishing touches to food completed, decorations all up – check, check, check! Miss 4 and Miss 2 are excited to be in their pretty dresses with their fairy wings on. A few quick photos and guests start arriving.

The party is going so great, then husband leaves to pick up the fairy. It must have felt odd, collecting a grown woman dressed as a fairy from the train station. The poor girl had to get a train and a bus to get here so I offered for husband to get her from the station so she wouldn’t need to worry about a connecting bus. I described our car to her, and she replies, “I’ll be the one dressed as a fairy!”. I joked with husband that whilst he was picking up a woman in dress ups and handing her an envelope of cash, if I found glitter anywhere on him I would know!

The kids enjoyed decorating wooden wands and eating yummy snacks and I was able to chat with the mums. It was a lovely relaxed feel. Then husband arrived with the Fairy and she did a great job staying in character. It must be hard to have such great energy for all the games, and the magic show and face painting she did, and the kids were mostly a tough crowd, missing many of the jokes and running in opposite directions during Duck Duck Goose and holding onto the parcel in Pass the Parcel. It was the first party for Miss 4 with prepared games so it was a learning curve. The parents all looked on and smiled as their children’s personalities shone through. One mother labelled her kid the “Heckler” as she had witty responses for the Fairy during the magic show, another had incredibly telling facial expressions, and another laughed loudly at all the jokes as the rest of the kids sat quietly watching. Miss 4 was expressionless for parts of her party, probably absorbing it all, but her smile was priceless as she danced with her friends and the Fairy. There was one boy in attendance from her preschool, yet he didn’t seem to mind, and speaking with his mother I realised that our Miss 4 really does have a close group of friends as we discussed who was mentioned over family dinners at each others houses and found many similarities.

The party went on, we had cake, and Miss 4 generously allowed Miss 2 to blow out some candles as she had missed out for both her birthdays so far due to illness (silly Winter Birthdays!). It was all smiles and such a wonderful day. At the end of the day I slumped into the softness of our couch and breathed a sigh of relief, it really was a Fairy Good Party! Even now, weeks later our Miss 4 ponders as she recalls, “I really did have a Fairy Party, it was a great party!”. Makes all the stress and fuss worthwhile and I would do it again in a heartbeat.

What parties have you prepared as a parent? Have you found anything useful in keeping it manageable or do you like to go all out for your little one’s celebrations? I would love to hear your stories.

I can’t believe at the end of this week my Miss 3, my first born, will be my Miss 4! My Halloween baby  has had a rough twelve months health wise and has shown incredible resilience and determination and so when she finally decided to use the potty about 6 weeks ago, she also started to lay down her demands.

Some medical issues had held up our toilet training progress and the nagging echoes of well meaning friends and family questioning “Is she still in nappies?” and “She’s a big girl, she needs to use the toilet!” were unhelpful to say the least. In fact I had stopped going to mother’s groups a long time ago when it was clear my child was the only one still in nappies, and that was way back when she was closer to 2. Husband and I had tried everything to help her overcome her toileting fear with the knowledge it came from an association with pain as she had received treatment late last year when she was physically unable to wee. I cried as I heard her scream out in pain before and during treatment and so I understand why she would associate wee with pain.

After she had recovered we began to try every trick in the toilet training book. We were very lucky to find an accommodating preschool who accepted our Miss 3 without hesitation or being toilet trained and worked with us towards getting her to feel comfortable enough to even sit on a toilet. She announced to our family readily that “Dr Crumpet (her nickname for her paediatrician) check your vagina then give you a lolly” so we had to explain the whole situation so as not to cause alarm should she recant this at preschool. If our Miss 2’s middle name is Danger (see here), then our Miss 3’s middle name is Stubborn! We spoke to doctors, parent help lines, searched the web and parenting books for advice. But in our heart of hearts we knew only our Miss 3 would dictate when and where this toilet training would occur. We had tried bribing, rewards, three different toilet seats and two different potty’s, encouraging weeing anywhere but in a nappy,telling her she wouldn’t have a party this year if she wasn’t using the potty (attempting the ‘cruel to be kind’ logic) telling her the shops ran out of nappies, replacing nappies with undies in the hopes that she would eventually use the toilet as she knew she could not wee in undies as she could in nappies. I even sat on the potty and did a wee as she watched, but all to no avail. She had watched myself, husband and even her Nannor use the toilet and could tell us the exact steps needed to toilet oneself successfully, yet refused to do so herself.

At preschool she refused to even go in a nappy and with concerns about her holding on (as she was able to hold on for 24 hours at times) we sought more expert advice. A peadatric urologist helped us put a plan in place, includung a sticker chart. It worked some what, but there was no such success of her using the potty or sitting on the toilet at preschool. I would arrive at preschool in the afternoon hoping for good news. Holding my breath as the teachers shook their head I would then exhale, cuddle my defiant daughter and tell her that I knew one day she would use the potty as she is very clever. Her teachers ensured me that the day she used the toilet I would know as they would hang up a big sign stating “She did it!”. That sighn hasn’t yet come.

I will admit that at times it became very frustrating. I knew she was capable of using the potty. She had done so once earlier this year after all. It had been a long day spent at home in undies. I saw her do her “wee dance” again, where she sits legs crossed on the floor rocking as she does her best to keep her wee wees inside. I picked her up and placed her on the pink potty complete with princesses and a sparkly chiming flusher. She began to cry, “I can’t do it Mummy, I can’t, I cann’t!” She was shaking and I really felt for her as she was clearly upset. I knew she needed to wee, it had been nearly 24 hours since she last relieved herself and her body movements were indicating it was nearing impossible to hold on any longer. I thought if she just did her wee on the potty once she would see it was no different to using a nappy to wee. I held her hands and told her it was okay. I turned on the tap to help her relax and let go. Miss 18 months sang “Let it go, let.it.gooooo!”(theme song from the movie Frozen) and Miss 3 yelled “No, no NOOOO!” She was like a woman in labour, yelling she couldn’t and wouldn’t, then suddenly the sound of gushing liquid and she slumped forward as relief flew across her face. Lots of cheering and clapping ensued and we proceeded to call her grandparents and her closest friend to declare the great news, that she had used the potty!

Fast forward 4 months and we were no closer to potty training. She had refused to use the potty since then and we knew if she was ever going to toilet train it would have to come from her. It appeared our daughter’s will power was much stronger than ours and we feared she would hold on longer if we pushed the matter. So we let it go, forgot about trying to force this developmental milestone, silenced the comparisons others made between our beautiful, smart, creative daughter and their similarly aged toilet trained children. I even got to the point were I realise it was very likely I would have a 4 year old child who was not toilet trained. I spoke with the preschool teachers about home schooling as how could I send her to big school in nappies? Then one day whilst at a park she sat mesmerized as she watched some older girls celebrating a birthday. They gracefully ran about in beautiful dresses giggling and singing. Miss 3 turned to me and said “Mummy, I want a dress, I want a pretty pink dress”. I looked into those crystal blue eyes that melt me every time and replied, “Only big girls have dresses like that”.

I hadn’t thought anything more of that conversation until later that night when tucking our girls into bed. We had had other conversations that day as Miss 3 went through the list of family members who still had their birthday to come before her, only one left to go now before it was her birthday. We had just finished our songs when Miss 3 looked at us and crawling out of bed said, “Daddy, take me to the toilet”. My heart skipped a beat. I watched as she held husband’s hand and they walked to the bathroom. He looked back at me shrugging as I raised my eyebrows and whispered “This could be it!”. Then moments later from behind a closed bathroom door I heard subtle high fives being shared. I opened the door and looked inside. Miss 3 was sitting on the potty, huge smile. She had done a wee! On the potty! This was amazing! My husband looked at me in disbelief, almost nervously as if any movement might disrupt this huge step towards toilet training. “I just held her hand,” he shrugged again. I know it may seem strange to be celebrating weeing on the potty with your nearly 4 year old but after the struggles we all went through and the health set backs this was a monumental moment in our lives. Then our sweet yet stubborn Miss 3 looked at us both and said, “I want a fairy party, I want a big pink cake with a  fairy on it. I want a pretty pink dress and fairy wings”. And the list went on. Yes she had toilet trained finally but now she was laying out her demands thick and fast. I was so happy I didn’t care, “Yes darling, we can have a fairy party, we will get your dress this week! But…you need to keep using the potty”. I had my own request for her to follow.

A week later and all her wees being done in the potty we were back at the urologist for her check up. I spoke alone with the urologist explaining her trials and triumphs since the last visit and then asked if I really should give her a party or if I should wait until she uses the toilet at preschool too. I was told if she wanted a fairy party that is what she should get, doctors orders! She had overcome so much and this was such a huge step, and from that night she had taken herself to the potty every time she needed to wee and done so successfully without fuss or assistance or any reminding. I had a brief discussion about how to continue her toilet training journey and about embracing the potty as a family member that now travels with us everywhere as big toilets are still too scary, and then our Miss 3 came in to see the doctor. She was proud of her achievements and talked happily about her upcoming fairy party.

I messaged husband after the appointment, “Fairy party, its happening!”

“Ok, just don’t go overboard” he replied.

Since then we have been busily organising a fairy party which we are set to host next weekend. Whilst I’m not sure our guests will see the celebration as anything more than a birthday party, for our family its a celebration of our daughter’s resilience and strength. I’m so very proud of her! Even if she is very skilled at timing things to  her benefit and negotiating within her favour. She certainly is a child who knows what she wants and her stubborn streak is better viewed as determination. She really is a very bright kid.

 

Have you had any toileting troubles with your toddler or preschooler? I’d love to hear about them.