He ain't no sharpshooter

If Zoodle grows up and joins the military, I'll support him. I'll be proud of him. And I'll advise his superiors not to make him a sniper. The guy has no aim whatoever.

How do I know? The proof has all-too-often been written all over my bathroom floor.

Peeing takes, what, 30 seconds? It it really impossible to stay focused for 30 seconds? Apparently so, when you're a four-year-old boy. I've seen how it happens. He starts using the potty, and then turns to me to say something. But when his head turns, his body does too, and he starts decorating the bathroom in a shade I call "Stinky Lemon."

I first realized what a problem this was a few months ago, when my extra-sensitive pregnant nose caught the distinctive odor of stale urine in the bathroom. I cleaned the tile immediately. Then the same day, my bare foot rested in a fresh puddle as I sat down on a toilet in another bathroom.

"Zoodle!" I exclaimed, "You have got to tell me when you make a mess! This is disgusting!" My sweet kid tried to start notifying me after that, but sometimes he still forgets.

Sunday I discovered that awful stink in the bathroom again. Between us, the Engineer and I discovered puddles on the tile on both sides of the potty, plus more on the potty itself. Apparently my kid is making abstract art, with the whole bathroom as his canvas. Yesterday, it was still stinky, despite me using bathroom cleaner and mopping with vinegar water. I finally conquered the stink with Febreze, which left the tile sticky but got rid of the odor.

One of these days, Zoodle's not-so-sharpshooting will gross him out.

When that happens, he'll learn to take careful aim, and the bathrooms he uses will again be safe.

Or at least that's what I'm telling myself!

Testing...1...2...3....

Chickie has always wanted to test boundaries. I think some kids are just born with that temperament. In a sense, I like it. I am glad she doesn't automatically accept everything she's told. In another sense...

...Aaaargh!!

She's in a particularly challenging phase right now, and one of the characteristics of this phase is that she's testing me. A lot. She seems determined to figure out if I really mean what I say.

I've realized that she needs a couple of things from me right now.

She needs positive attention. She needs to know how important she is to me. I see her negative cries for attention and realize she needs good, quality time with Mommy so that she feels more secure.

She also needs consistent, structured discipline. She needs proof that when Mommy and Daddy say something, they mean it. (Sometimes we have to reevaluate whether or not we're being reasonable, but in general, she really needs us to follow through.)

You know what's tough about this? It all takes time. Positive attention takes time. Discipline takes time. As much as I want to spend all day on the computer, or crocheting, or reading, the fact is that my daughter needs even more of my time than usual.

And I'll be honest with you--that can be hard for me! Sometimes I don't want to do things that six-year-olds find fun. Sometimes I don't want to follow-through on discipline. Sometimes I'd prefer to do something by myself instead of letting my eager six-year-old "help" me. Sometimes I don't want to be an unselfish parent.

And sometimes that selfish part of me wins. Sometimes it's okay (even necessary!) for Mommy to take time for herself! But I'm really trying to put in the hard work of being a parent during a hard phase.

Chickie's testing me. I really hope I pass!

This belly...

"Mommy, you still look like you have a baby in there." -Zoodle, a day after the baby was born.

"Mommy, your tummy is big. Why?" -Zoodle, yesterday.

Well, Zoodle, this belly is big because it's done amazing things. It grew and grew and grew for nine months, to accommodate a perfect baby's growth. The skin stretched. It got one of those weird, dark lines down the middle. Underneath, I could feel the cramps of ligaments, as they struggled to adjust to the growing bulk. I could see the blue veins under the skin, and was reminded that it's not just the skin and womb and ligaments that grow; it's the veins and capillaries too. My belly button gradually got flatter, and then poked out on top, like a little nose.

This belly morphed in amazing ways.

And then suddenly, all that space wasn't needed anymore, and I was left with a partially-deflated balloon that has gradually shrunk down over the last weeks. But when my four-year-old sees my bare belly, he notices it's still not back to normal.

And as I explain to him and Chickie that it takes time for everything to go back to where it was, I'm reminding myself too. Because I know this stretched-out skin, this "muffin top" that pokes above my pants, is testament to the incredible ability God gave me to grow a baby. To grow three of them, over the last seven years.

So as I try to patiently wait for my belly to shrink back down to size, I'm going to keep telling myself this:

My belly, home to babies on three separate occasions, may not belong on the front of a fitness magazine. But it is oh, so beautiful, because of what it's done for me, and for my family, and for another family. With the extra skin and the dark line and the droopy navel, it is beautiful.

And I am thankful for it. Just as it is.