when my three-year-old daughter got her period

Bathroom moment

"I have bled a lot," she told me (in Norwegian) the other day we were in the bathroom; "so I need to change my pad." It had been a while since I had my period (and I was crossing fingers), so her words came completely out of the blue to me.

There's something very odd and amusing at the same time to hear your three-year-old tell you she got her period (mensen). Especially at a time when I would rather not get mine. I've in fact been turning hopeful I would not be getting it for my wished for reasons. I've been feeling all the right signs: an overwhelming sense of fatigue, nausea, headaches.

Yesterday, I finally took a pregnancy test. I was four days overdue and I've been regular as a clock since I got my period back this past spring after a nearly four-year hiatus.

on the soothing powers of friendship and pumpkin patches

Thanks to MEA, I had a lovely day that gave me much reprieve from dealing with the age of spite. I know I was so looking forward to having Lilly in preschool for three hours each morning, giving me much craved time to write. But the thing is, it's not much time. And at 11:30, I get to pick up a very tired and hungry child (think that's fun?). Then there's the testing, testing, testing (of limits) before we finally read books. Then the pre-nap ordeals before a nap that never feels long enough. Before she's up again, yet again famished and groggy, still not quite awake. This is when I pop in a DVD for her to watch while I exhaustedly juggle serving her food and otherwise catering to her needs (and desperately still attempting to hold down those limits), as I also try to finish up some work on my laptop, tidy up the house, and make dinner.

By the time Leighton's home by six, I'm in shutdown mode.

See, mornings are for all the fun stuff (as well as those necessary errands that I now find myself cramming to get done). Mornings are for play-dates and hanging out with friends. Mornings are for the rock mamas who know how to make the best of each morning.

Afternoons are no fun. Afternoons are tired. From lunch through nap to dinner, the long afternoon hours have me sinking down into a murky swamp where I find myself barely holding on.

And afternoons are lonely. Tied to the house, settling in for nap or recovering from one, preparing, cleaning up or yet again preparing a meal, they are impossible for scheduled play-dates or other fun things.

age of spite

In the US, we talk about the "terrible twos" but in my native Norway we talk about "the age of spite," and it begins at three (trassalderen). We are so dealing with that right now. Which is why I broke into tears reading the book that arrived as our monthly free gift from Dolly Parton's Imagination Library this week: Old Bear and His Cub.

Old Bear loved his Little Cub with all his heart.
Little Cub loved Old Bear with all his heart.
Every morning they ate breakfast together.
"Eat all your porridge, Little Cub," said Old Bear.
"No, I won't," said Little Cub.
"Yes, you will," said Old Bear.
"No, I won't," said Little Cub.

Old Bear stared hard at Little Cub.
Little Cub ate his porridge.
All of it.

The book takes us along their day through more exchanges of obstinent spitefulness and persistent determinedness.

I giggled my way through the pages until I got to the end.

sex & conception: the heartaches of calculated pregnancies

Me and Lilly, June 2008

We've been trying to have another baby. We've been trying for more than two years. Granted, I did only get my period back this past spring, a couple of months before she turned three and she told me there was no more left.

I was overjoyed when my period returned in April. I have hated it whenever it's since paid its monthly visit.

It always bothered me I never knew when we actually conceived Lilly. Back then, we were newly married and could act like rabbits. Sex wasn't something we planned or decided to do; it just happened. Often. It was sweet.

Things are a little a lot more complicated now. I'm a fan of the quicky; weekend "naps" are great. When they happen, that is. As far as I can remember, Lilly has always resisted naps, and especially during the weekend when she has both parents around. By the time Lilly's in bed at night, we're all exhausted.