I found myself at a point where I wanted to pull my hair out, kick a baby seal, and shoot my neighbor’s inflatable pool with a BB gun. I spent nearly two hours sitting on the bathroom floor asking, pleading, and demanding. I took increasingly deeper breaths and closed my eyes, desperately trying not to rage. Potty training was not going well. As a result, we took a break from it. This was four months ago.

Recently, Sarah and I have been having talks with Tyler about diapers, being a big boy, and where he needs to pee and poop. He’s been very agreeable. He knows he should pee in the potty and not in the diaper. He knows that he needs to tell mommy or daddy when he needs to use the potty. He knows that it will make daddy very, very happy if he would quit soiling his diapers.

“Tyler, where do we pee and poop?”

“In da potty.”

“Yes, and what happens when you need to go pee or poop?”

“Tell mommy daddy, I use a potty.”

“Gooooood job, buddy. Now, Tyler, there’s no pee in your diaper right now. Do you need to use the potty?”

“Hmmm. No fank you. Maybe ‘morrow.”

Listen, you little brat! I know that your diaper has been dry for three hours. I also know that you sucked down a cup of apple juice about an hour ago. Your bladder is roughly the size of a golf ball, at best. Why don’t you do us all a favor a sit your plump little butt on the potty, okay? See, one of my duties as your father is to challenge you. This is how you learn and grow and develop the cajones to try new, and sometimes scary, things. So, pretty please, with sugar on top, piss in the plastic bucket.

But I didn’t say that, did I? Nope. “Well, I think you do need to use the potty. We will sit on the potty in 3 minutes.”

Before starting up again with potty training, Sarah and I came up with a reward system. One sticker for every time we have success on the potty. After three stickers are rewarded, Tyler gets a prize (to be determined). Once the ball gets rolling, we’ll start giving prizes after six stickers, then ten stickers. Then, we start to faze out the rewards and hope the habit is formed.

At the last couple family outings, we used my backpack in lieu of a diaper bag. It’s worked out well, and Tyler has developed an interest in my backpack. At his request, I put the backpack on Tyler. He promptly lost his balance and fell backwards with the weight. I asked Tyler if he would like his very own, special “Tyler backpack,” and boy did he! That is how we decided on his first reward for getting three stickers.

video won’t load?

It’s working! We’re having success! As a matter of fact, he’s already gotten his second reward as well (a total of six stickers)… a pony ride at the zoo.

Progress wasn’t going so well at first. We’d sit Tyler on the potty (crying, most times) and tell him to push. We’d sit on the floor near him and wait, constantly prodding him to push more. It worked a couple times, but we usually ended up sitting there for an inordinate amount of time. Tyler would whine “I all done,” and we’d just give up for that session. It was during one of these “I all done” moments that Sarah grew impatient and walked out of the bathroom, telling Tyler, “You need to make your pee come out. Please tell me when you do.”

Less than three minutes later, in an adorable sing-song voice, Tyler said “I doin’ it.”

And he was.

I wondered if our constant prodding and encouragement was placing too much pressure on Tyler. The last few times we sat him on the potty, we told him to tell us when he was all done and walked out of the room. Much to our delight, this appears to be working. He’s even dropped a couple turd-bombs in there as well.

It’s been three days, and things are going great. He doesn’t tell us that he needs to use the potty yet. When we tell him it’s time to try, though, he sits down and pushes out the yellow delight right away. The next “prize”, which he will be receiving later today after having received four additional stickers, will be to watch a DVD and eat popcorn.

Everyone, keep your fingers crossed for us. For better or worse, we’re jumping on the potty wagon and can’t wait to cruise out of diaper-town… just so we can cruise back in this coming February.

And, to those of you that have been to our house (and who watched the video), did you see that they paved our access road??!?!?! FINALLY!!! So cool.

We knew, when Sarah was pregnant with Ty, that we wanted to have a second child. After Ty was born, we talked about it here and there, but mostly during light conversation. It wasn’t until around six months ago that the conversations became more detailed and the planning part began to take shape. After the decision was made – heck, even until, and while, we were “trying” – we never put any serious thought to life with multiple children. Then we got the blue line. That was when the figurative voice boomed through the figurative speakers in our home, “This sh** just got real!”

Where will Version2 sleep? Will I have to clear out the office and turn it into a bedroom? How will Tyler react and adjust? Et cetera ad infinitum.

I asked Sarah if she wanted me to take weekly belly pictures like we did with Ty. She gave me the typical look any loving wife gives her husband for asking a ridiculous question and said, “Of course I do.”

Then she took a sip of her (caffeinated) coffee. Coffee she wouldn’t drink while pregnant with Tyler. This is when *it* began. *It* being one of two things.

On my irrational days, *it* was the fact that this pregnancy isn’t the same because this is our second child. It’s not new, like the pregnancy with Ty was. We don’t care as much.

On my more level-headed days, *it* is the knowledge that we were FREAKS during the first pregnancy. Lay like this, sleep like that, no caffeine, no artificial sweeteners, DO YOUR KEGELS!!!! It was almost to a level of neurosis. Given the opportunity, I would have wrapped Sarah in bubble wrap and locked her in a nuclear fallout shelter until the end of the gestation period. How she stuck with our marriage during the torture I put her through is beyond me. Meanwhile, Ty was partying like a fetal rockstar, taking late-night fetal karate classes, and using Sarah’s bladder to practice for his first boxing match.

I know that I deeply care about this newly created life that is barely larger than the Lightening McQueen Hot Wheels car that Ty loves so much. But…

I’ve already missed the first two OB appointments and have had to admire my beautiful Version2 through printed ultrasound pictures that Sarah brought home. I remind myself that I had no choice due to some important work projects, and take solace in the fact that Ty was there to watch the “baby movie” with his mommy.

It has also occured to me that I’ll either need to delete over 90% of the pictures I have of Ty, or be prepared to take thousands of pictures of Version2. My friends and family would honestly murder me if I did the former, so I’ll get Version2 familiar with the sound of a shutter slamming shut on short order.

Rubbing Sarah’s belly a few mornings ago, nearing in on thirteen weeks pregnant, I said, “We need to start taking belly pictures soon.”

She heard what I didn’t say. That we are slackers. She lowered her head, mildly ashamed.

“His middle name is neglect.”

At the end of the day *it* is the knowledge that Tyler takes up a significant portion of our days now. All the time we sat and admired the growing life form in Sarah’s belly during her pregnancy with Tyler… that time simply doesn’t exist any longer. To feel like we’re neglecting the little one right now is, in and of itself, pretty irrational. I’m sure all parents of multiples went through – or are currently going through – similar thoughts and feelings.

But, we really need to start taking those belly pictures.

Some of my more keen readers may have noticed the word “his” while referring to Version2 a few paragraphs up. No, we do not know the sex of Version2. I find it highly impersonal referring to the baby as “it”, and I only use “Version2″ here on the site, so we refer to the baby as a unknown-gendered “he”.

The plan for last week was to simply have fun with our friends at their cottage, just off the lake. We had no itinerary to follow, except to feed the boys on a somewhat regular schedule. I hoped to get Tyler excited about tubing and to have A- drag him around the lake with his boat. We succeeded in getting Ty excited about the idea of tubing, but not so much on the action of tubing.

While B- (the son of A- and M-) enjoyed his kid-safe low-speed tubing ride, we asked Ty if he would like to go tubing after B-.

“Ohhh yes. Tyler turn next.”

However, as we lifted Ty and lowered him in the tube, now held firmly at the side of the boat by M-, he had a change of heart.

“I all done.”

Against his wishes, I placed Ty into the tube anyway. We all preached our oooohs and ahhhs for three or four seconds, then pulled Ty back into the boat. After telling him that I’d keep him safe and that he did a great job, I hopped into the tube. A- whipped me around the lake, and eventually the laws of physics caught up, throwing me into the water. A- took his turn then the kiddos went again. Ty never built up the courage to actually go tubing, and we didn’t pressure him.

Two days later, while playing at the beach area, I placed Ty in the tube and walked next to him with it, in the waist high water. We ventured out a little further – to the boat docks – where we saw M- and B- in a paddleboat. I hopped in the back and held onto the rope so they could tow the tube a few feet from the boat.

Ty loved it.

The next day, we all took the paddleboat out again (sans A-, because he had to work that morning). Two adults sat up front paddling and one sat in the back to make sure the tubing was going fine. Ty and B- really had a great time. We weren’t quite at the speed B- was accustomed to, but he certainly seemed to enjoy himself. While Ty was in the tube, I slowly let the rope out until he was fifteen to twenty feet out.

I won’t mention that Sarah and M- spent way more time paddling than I did. However, I will mention that this outing was one of the very few times that I didn’t take my camera with me. It’s a good thing though, because the paddleboat took on water. The camera wouldn’t have survived. But, you need not worry, because I took over two thousand pictures last week. I’ve whittled them down to just over seven hundred, so as to not overwhelm everyone with frame-by-frame shots of me awkwardly slalom skiing.

Hopefully we can get Ty to do some tubing behind A-’s boat next time.

Cottage Week 2009:

Cottage Week 2009 pictures here: http://thegearharts.smugmug.com/keyword/cottage%20week#602469993_f5x6v

Cottage Weekend 2008:

Cottage Week 2008 pictures here: http://thegearharts.smugmug.com/Vacation/2008-08-14-Cottage-Weekend/5742907_s34FP#354834988_bCkUk

You need more? Well, how about this:

Three days ago, the mouse I use for my laptop – the mouse that had been missing for two weeks, which I had all but given up hope on ever finding again – materialized itself under our living room couch. I already know you’re still not convinced of the presence of Stripe, or even Gizmo himself, yet, so I’ll continue.

My missing tape measure suddenly appeared in a box with one of Tyler’s toys.
My camera lens cap disappeared for two MONTHS before being found in Sarah’s Blazer.
One of Delilah’s dog bones somehow ended up in the subwoofer of our surround-sound system. IN the subwoofer. Only a very small hand or arm could achieve such a act of destruction. A gremlin hand, right?
A shoe in the kitchen pantry.
A missing library book under our bed.

Yesterday, I watched Tyler open up the clothes hamper, lean in, and pull out a football.

Just today, TODAY, I found a flashlight (which I didn’t even know was missing until I found it) in Delilah’s crate. There’s something about her crate, I’m sure of it. Then, just a few hours ago, I found one of Tyler’s sandals in our mail slot!! Why is this happening to us?????

When you woke up this morning, you weren’t the happy and smiling boy that I so love to see before I head off to work each day. You wouldn’t smile at me, and you wouldn’t give me a hug or a kiss. I told you that I love you and you said, “no.”

And then, I made you cry. You see, we have a rule in the house. You are only allowed to have your pacifier at nap-time. When you wake up, it’s time to take the paci out. We make a game out of it by saying “POOEY PACI,” and then you spit the paci out. This morning, you came into our room at five in the morning, crying and asking for your paci. Mommy tried to comfort you, but you cried louder. So, she gave you a paci and you went back to your bed. When you woke up and came downstairs, you still had your paci. Mommy and I both told you that you couldn’t have the paci downstairs. You simply said , “no,” and wouldn’t take it out. So, I took it from you. That made you cry.

Soon, I accepted that my attempts at siphoning some affection from you were fruitless, and I told you that I was going to work. As I walked toward the door you bellowed, “NEEEEEEEEED DADDYYYYY!”

My heart split as I pulled the door closed behind me. I had to come back into the house a couple moments later, because I forgot a package I needed to bring with me. I gave your mommy another hug and, whispering in my ear, she implored me to try again with you. I did, and you rejected me once more. I felt a lump start to form in my throat, so I turned and left before the tears could begin to well in my eyes and spill down my cheeks.

Tyler, if you ever have a son or a daughter, I want you to read this letter again. You need to understand that, sometimes, there will be bad days. Heartbreakingly sad days. All-around, infuriatingly mad days. But, also understand, son, that your child still loves you and looks up to you, and learns so very much from you.

I do.

Later, when your child finishes waking up, or when you get home from work, it’ll all be water under the bridge to your little one. But you? You’ll still hold onto a sliver of those bruised emotions. You’ll wonder what level of hell you’re about to enter as you open the door. And when that child charges at you and jumps into your arms? Well, that next hug will amaze you, probably faze you, knock you down, pick you up, spin you around dizzy and daze you.

It did to me.

And when you think to yourself, Man, I really hope I’ve never put my parents through all this crap, read this letter again, you little turd.

*Disclaimer: This is 2 months old, but a lot of stuff was going on and I just didn’t have time to fit this into the blog.
*Disclaimer 2: I know that this kinda makes the post not “Wordless”. I’m sorry.