A little downward dog courtesy of Etta and Claire.
Mother’s Day’s approach has me thinking a lot about motherhood, both as an abstract concept to be celebrated and as this thing I do all day every day. And now that I’m out of the exhausted haze of infancy and not quite into any toddler terribleness (so far, two is great!), I’m starting to realize that the daily self-discipline of parenting has been better spiritual training for me than any yoga class I’ve ever been to. I like yoga a lot, did it for a long time, and still try to do it in my home when I can, but what I liked best about it was the way it made me feel whole– mind and body unified, deeply in touch with myself and my place in my body and the world, happy to be alive, neither selfish or selfless, but balanced. One of the biggest aspects of it for me was mindfulness, just being present in a moment while at the same time knowing that moment will pass.
“And for those of you traveling with small children or those acting like a child, be sure to put on your own air mask before attempting to assist others.”
I breathed a sigh of relief that, for a change, I wasn’t flying with twins. I may have failed Southwest’s boarding system and ended up with a middle seat every dang leg of the trip, but compared to flying with a toddler in my lap, it felt like first class. In the event of a loss of cabin pressure, the only person I had to worry about was me. No toddlers here.
When we went to Disney World last October, hands-down, the bufflogals’ favorite attraction was It’s a Small World. I have to admit that though the song is a bit of an earworm, I love it too. I love the look and the spirit of It’s a Small World, and, after doing a bit of research, loved it even more after I learned its look was largely created by a woman named Mary Blair– love supporting a woman artist! After we got back from that trip and told my Disney-loving parents how much the girls loved the ride, they gave us a Small World storybook that came with a CD of the song. That CD now lives in my car stereo and is deployed whenever someone starts screaming in the car. Instant happy.
The girls’ love of It’s a Small World led me to choose it as the theme of their second birthday party. My vision was bright colors and international food. I wanted to get crafty and creative without going too over-the-top. I think I achieved my goals. We had the party the weekend before last, and we had a great time celebrating two years with our girls with our friends and family. Continue reading “it’s a small world: the happiest 2nd birthday party that ever sailed”
As Saturday began, I didn’t think it was going to be a good day. I had made plans to meet some of my friends at the zoo with the girls, and getting the three of us up, dressed, fed, packed, and loaded wasn’t going so well, particularly because Etta seemed to be having some teething-related pain and was screaming her face off. Determined to get out the door and spend some time with friends I love, I gave her some Tylenol and a frozen teether, and got us on our way, practically chugging my coffee.
Then a funny thing happened: a perfect day. It turns out 5 adults, 1 elementary student, and 2 almost-two-year-olds is a good mix for a zoo day. I had help dragging the little red wagon, lifting babies to better vantage points, and entertaining kiddos at lunch. The girls had a big kid to watch and copy. The weather was amazing– sunny and 70s after what seemed for a while to be an interminable, cold winter. And for some reason, despite our screamy start, my children, perhaps because they love the outdoors, people and animals, were the best-behaved toddlers in the whole dang place. They made mostly-appropriate animal sounds when they saw elephants, tigers, lions, and monkeys. They may have called the penguins fish, but they seemed to really enjoy feeding time. And they rode in the wagon and were hoisted around by people who weren’t their parents with nothing but smiles and giggles. Only at the very end of the route through the zoo (we saw everything but the reptile house, which we all agreed could be skipped due to creepy) did anyone get the least bit tearful, and as we were an hour past naptime, it seemed completely reasonable.
Our happy crew. Etta would have been wearing sunglasses, too, but she took them off right as the picture was snapped.Loved getting to see this tiger going for a swim. Reminded me of Life of Pi.You can’t quite see it here, but it’s a mama gorilla napping with her baby in her arms. It reminded me of napping with my own girls– in fact, Claire and I had a snuggle nap when we got home from the zoo!Bufflo Gal Gothic.
We came home and Etta went down instantly and soundly for a nap. Claire needed some snuggles, so I made the real sacrifice of lying down with her in a cool, dark room, dozing and smelling her hair for two hours. We all woke up just as their daddy got home from work, and we cuddled in the den and watched Tinkerbell as we came out of our nap trances. We all spent the rest of the afternoon outside, soaking up some much-needed sunshine, and ended the day with more snuggles and some storytime. As I put Claire down to sleep, I was practically tearful with love for my amazing little family.
Toddlers can be difficult, no doubt. There are lots of big emotions crammed into tiny bodies. They don’t quite speak English, which causes a lot of confusion on both sides. They don’t always understand why they can’t have their way/that thing they want, and they sometimes throw really impressive fits. But oh, once in a while, just often enough to keep me going, they have utterly magical days. I am so very thankful Saturday was one of them.
I mentioned that we recently went on vacation. I did not mention that it was to the Happiest Place on Earth: Walt Disney World. When my husband had a paper accepted at the biggest national conference in pediatrics, and when I found out the conference was in Orlando, we decided to make a family vacation of it and try taking the girls to Disney since kids under 3 get in free.
I grew up in Disney World. This is not hyperbole. My parents have an Orlando timeshare, and we went at least once, usually twice a year, from when I was 8 years old. For me, going back to Disney is almost as nostalgic as going to grandmother’s house. It’s a place full of happy memories that I know very very well. Because we went so often (it and the Gulf Coast were the only places we ever vacationed), my family did Disney a little differently than families who only ever go once. For us, the pressure was off to see and do EVERYTHING since we knew we’d be back, and because we had a season pass, my parents didn’t hesitate to get us out of there when it was time to go back to the condo and nap.
These two lessons formed the basis of my approach to this trip, and should serve as a warning to anyone attempting to take very small people to Disney:
Do not expect to see and do EVERYTHING.
Do not plan to spend a whole day at Disney World with toddlers.
By keeping those things in mind, we were able to truly enjoy our time in the parks with our tiny people. We had a 5 day non-park-hopping pass, which worked out fine. We were generally able to spend about half a day in the parks, and then the girls were done with stimuli, crowds, and the stroller and we had to leave and take naps at the condo. We probably could have come back in the evenings for a couple of hours, but by that point, we were tired too, so we stuck to quiet dinners and early bedtimes (our girls basically stayed on Central Time), and putting our feet up. We did two days at Magic Kingdom, and one day each at Epcot, Hollywood Studios (which will always be MGM to me!), and Animal Kingdom.
One major note: we went in October. The weather was lovely, but warm. We still got sweaty. I would NO WAY, NO HOW take toddlers to a Florida theme park in the summer. It would just be miserable, like pushing a stroller through the most crowded circle of hell. I do not think my sanity could take it. October is better. Nice weather, less crowded, and everything was decorated for Halloween. Also, we took advantage of off-season rates, and used Groupon to secure a two-bedroom condo with kitchen for $400 for the week. Also, the Magic Kingdom on Halloween itself is amazing– everyone we saw was wearing costumes, and some were quite elaborate! I think my favorite was a large family in which grandma was Snow White and every other family member was a dwarf.
Speaking of pushing strollers through hell: this is what it would be like if you rented a Disney stroller, no matter what time of year. Those things are terrible, made of hard plastic which can’t be comfy for little bodies, don’t recline, and I saw more than a few tip over backwards in our time at the parks. On top of that, renting a double stroller at Disney is $31 per day. Insanity. Because we were driving there, and because our resort had cribs and high chairs, we had room in our car for our beloved Baby Jogger City Select double stroller. If you are flying, I highly recommend looking into stroller rental in Orlando. I scoped out the names of several of the companies I saw on the Baby Jogger City Mini Doubles being pushed through the park, and it seems $95/week, delivered straight to your hotel, is a standard rate for a high quality double stroller that won’t make you hate yourself as you push it through one of the most crowded places on earth.
Our beloved Baby Jogger City Select in nap-mode at EPCOT.
Another thing about strollers: unless you pack an umbrella (which I don’t recommend, because you’re going to want a sun canopy, basket, and reclining seats), plan on doing a smidge of extra walking. Disney parking lots are vast expanses of blacktop ruled over by attendants in yellow stripey uniforms, often on segways. You will park where they say to park. You will walk to the front of the cars. You will stand behind the yellow line. You will wait for the tram. You will disassemble your stroller and all the stuff you planned to stash in the basket to flatten it all and fit it into the tram while somehow holding on to your two small children. You will say “screw the tram” and leave your kids in their stroller with all their stuff stowed below as you elect to walk yourself to the Transportation and Ticket Center, which really isn’t as far as it seems.
Related: when going to the Magic Kingdom, Thou Shalt Ride the Monorail rather than be packed like an Ellis Island Immigrant onto the slow-moving cruise across Bay Lake on the Ferry Boat. Thou shalt arrive in half the time.
Admittedly, it had been a long time since I went to Disney with/as a small child, and I really wasn’t sure how much my kids would get out of it. A lot, it turns out. There’s plenty of stuff for little kids to ride (my kids are 18 months), and if you know what they can handle, the day will go quite smoothly. I know my kids well enough to know they can’t sit through any stage shows, stunt shows, fireworks shows, or parades. They also have no idea who most of the characters are, and will not get enough out of meeting any of them to justify standing in line for a photo op and autograph, so we skipped all the character meet and greets. They do however, love rides. In the Magic Kingdom alone, they rode and loved: Aladdin’s Magic Carpets, The Jungle Cruise, Pirates of the Caribbean, The Carousel, It’s a Small World (their fave), Winnie the Pooh, Voyage of the Little Mermaid, Dumbo, the Teacups, and absolutely could have ridden Peter Pan’s Flight, the Haunted Mansion (little kids don’t know it’s supposed to be scary), and the People Mover and the spaceships in Tomorrowland had we not run out of time. We were selective about which of the no-toddlers-allowed rides we chose to ride ourselves, utilizing Fastpasses or rider swap to get our turns on attractions the girls couldn’t enjoy, though for the most part, we focused on things that we could all do together.
The whole family on The Jungle Cruise.
Animal Kingdom was probably the second most fun park for the girls, Epcot third, and we really could have skipped Hollywood Studios entirely. Epcot was super fun for the adults, though, because it was the food and wine festival, and we enjoyed eating our way around the world via reasonably-priced small bites and little glasses of wine. Another good reason to visit in the fall.
Finally, here’s my biggest lesson from this Disney trip with toddlers: you reallllly do not need to be schlepping a week’s worth of luggage through the parks like I saw so many families (often with only one kid) doing. I was determined that we would only need a small backpack to carry all our gear, and I made it happen. Key: I did not pack much in the way of food, and I didn’t pack first aid items that could be obtained at the in-park First Aid or Baby Care centers. What I did pack:
A change of clothes for each kid
Two straw cups for sharing drinks at restaurants (my toddlers can’t quite handle the average lidded kids cup yet, and need something leak proof with a screw-on lid)
Two snack traps full of cereal (these they held in the stroller and did not put in the bag)
Two bibs
Two toddler forks
4 baby food pouches
Diapers
Wipes
Changing pad
2 catheter kits for my child with spina bifida
Sunscreen
Hand sanitizer
A sippy full of milk per child (which I refilled with milk purchased at restaurants, going insulated with these cups is a good idea to avoid having to bring a cooler)
The Nosefrida, because at least one kid always seemed to have a stuffy/runny nose, and this is the only thing that works
If I were going in the warm weather, I might have included a swim diaper for each kid (there are some splash fountains at the parks I know they would like). Other than that, we shared food off our plates at lunch, were never in the parks at dinner, and never once needed anything or wished we had brought something else.
Beyond the contents of the backpack, our other crucial items were an Ergo carrier for each child. What we would do was, navigate the stroller to an area of the park, park the stroller in a designated area, put each kid into an Ergo, and go through lines that way, doing everything in that area before putting them back in the stroller and moving on to the next area of the park. By wearing our kiddos, who are very used to being worn and love it, we weren’t fighting with kids struggling to get down to the ground as we moved through lines, and we weren’t wearing ourselves out holding them. For some rides like It’s A Small World, I even left the kid in the Ergo for the duration of the ride. I cannot stress enough the importance of bringing a carrier that is comfortable for you both if you bring toddlers to Disney. These carriers were stashed under the stroller and easy to get on and off. They were also wearable WITH the backpack full of stuff, so we never had to leave the backpack behind, and because the backpack was small, we could always take it with us, even on the rides.
So, there you have it, my guide to Disney with toddlers. Have you ever taken a very small child on such a vacation? Have any tips or questions?
You know, Etta’s never had an update of her own, though Claire’s had many. So here’s the scoop on our littlest lady.
She’s the littlest big kid I’ve ever seen.
She’s like one of those super concentrated detergent packages, a big punch of personality in a tiny body. She’s in the 10th percentile for both height and weight, and I often find myself calling her things like “Peanut,” “Little Britches,” “Itty Bitty Etta Baby,” and “the Tiny One.” And yet, despite her small stature, there’s no denying that there’s very little “baby” left in this toddler. She’s on the go go go, climbing furniture yet lacking the confidence to let go and walk without holding onto something. In fact, this is a pattern with her, fierce independence paired with strong attachment, which is really how attachment is supposed to work, as I understand it, with a strong attachment giving her the trust to strike out on her own. She likes to play near but not with us, but returns frequently for a hug or to lay her head down on me and have me stroke her hair. She loves trying new things as long as we’re nearby, and she loved a recent trip to the splash park, laughing with almost maniacal glee as her daddy walked with her through sprays of water that kind of freaked her sister out.
Splashing happily at the splash pad.I left the room for a split second and she ended up here.
She’s also a total ham. She’s mastered the wave and the blown kiss, and she pairs both with an adorably squeaked “heyyyyyy” or “haiiiiiii” or “byyyyyye,” for maximum effect. Recently we were at a party standing with a group of people. I asked Etta if she wanted to go outside, and she waved to the group and said “byyyyyye!” They all “awwwwed.”
This big personality means very big feelings too. When she is happy, she is very very happy, and when she is sad, she is very very sad. Often, her sadness is related to my thwarting of her plans for mischief and mayhem: why won’t I let her sit on the end tables? Why won’t I let her fling herself off the couch? Why won’t I let her chew on iPhones and remotes? Why won’t I let her turn the Xbox on and of and on and off and on and off? Because I’m the worst.
My tiny tot often has disheveled hair, dirty knees, grubby hands, and a mischievous gleam in her eye. I’m so glad she’s mine.
Coming back for snuggles, with a bottle stolen from sister.
Last night I was reading a New York Times profile of Megan Rapinoe, a soccer star I really admire. The piece mentioned that she has a twin sister, and went out of it’s way to let readers know that her sister is “older by 11 minutes.” Cue the sound of a record scratching in my mind.
I have twin daughters. People love to ask us questions in public, and one of their favorites is “Which one is older?”
Let me stop right here. Say you meet someone. Say it comes up that you were both born on March 28. Would you ask that stranger what precise hour and minute he or she was born? Or would you just say, “Wow, we have the same birthday! We’re the same age!”
I think people ask this question because, like most of our first-meeting questions, we’re trying to “place” people and figure them out. Asking about birth order lets us know which one is supposed to be the bossy older sibling, and which one is supposed to be the attention-seeking youngest. People even seem to believe that the “older” twin should also be the bigger one, as if the 6 lb. size difference that currently exists between Etta and Claire could be attributed to a head start gained by a few extra minutes out in the world. These things are stereotypes at best, and they’re simply not useful in the case of twins, and, I believe, can be harmful. It attempts to impose a hierarchy where none exists.
I have heard about “older” twins lording it over younger twins, and about parents who truly treat their twins as if there is some sort of inborn difference that results from what is essentially the luck of the draw. Wherever an egg implants in the uterus, the twin closest to the “exit” is born first. And in the case of a c-section, isn’t it just whom the surgeon grabs first?
In a society that loves to label people and to lump twins together, I want my girls to feel loved and supported for the individuals they are, not shoehorned into some sort of role, be it birth order, or gender, or religion, or whatever. I don’t want strangers deciding that one is “the bossy one” because she’s “older” or something. I’m even thinking I may just keep mum on the whole thing if asked. Because really, from the moment of conception, their cells have been dividing the same. The entire time I was pregnant, they were the same gestational age. They still are. Who was first pulled out into the sterile brightness of the operating room really doesn’t matter much to me.
I found out today that October is Spina Bifida Awareness Month. My first thought was: what a crap choice in awareness months. I mean, everyone knows that October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, as pink has pretty much blanketed everything we see.
But then I thought, well, it’s just as well, since I’m generally skeptical of “awareness” in general. I mean, I’m not usually sure of what it accomplishes. Half of the pink I see this time of the year seems to have no real point, as most of us are aware that breast cancer exists, and the pinkwashing is often unaccompanied by anything about breast exams or early detection or risk factors or anything.
Feeding tiny Claire in the NICU.
I guess people are less aware of the realities of spina bifida. SB is a congenital defect of the “neural tube” which is the part of a fetus that eventually becomes the baby’s head and spine. Claire’s neural tube didn’t close properly, and when she was born, she had 4 centimeters of her spine visible from the outside. As a result of this defect, things like nerves weren’t hooked up properly, so she has/will have certain amounts of disability in her legs, bladder, and bowels, in addition to hydrocephalus, or fluid building up in her head (which for many people with SB requires surgery to place a shunt and drain the fluid, though we haven’t had that yet). While her spinal defect was one of the more severe types, she seems to have good enervation and musculature in her legs, and her doctors and physical therapists believe she will walk and will only need braces to support her ankles, though some people with SB require more extensive bracing or even use wheelchairs.
I certainly didn’t know all of this or really much about SB at all, and it really wasn’t even on my radar until my birthday last year, when we went in for a 20 week ultrasound, excited to finally learn our babies’ sexes, and instead learned that the baby we’d later name Claire had SB. It was a really scary, sad day.
But the thing I needed awareness of that day wasn’t just “spina bifida” as some vague concept. I needed to be aware of the beautiful reality that would be my daughter’s life. Yes, we both had a rocky start. She had surgery at two days old. She was separated from me for 9 days. She was in the NICU for two weeks. She had to stay on her belly for 6 weeks while her back healed. But despite all of that, she’s really just a baby. They’re all very needy. They’re all very fragile. They’re all very tiny. They’re all amazing little creatures. If you looked at my two girls today, you might not be able to guess which one has SB.
If I could go back to last December 16 and make myself aware of anything it would be this: Claire is beautiful. She is funny. She is sweet. She has a radiant smile. She loves to eat. She loves her mama and daddy. She is exploring and learning and growing every single day.
I was so worried about all the ways she’d be different from her able-bodied twin sister, but the reality is, they’re both just babies. They are completely different and yet so very much the same. And almost all of my worrying was completely unnecessary. That is what I needed to be aware of: that there was nothing to be afraid of.
So, no, you likely won’t see NFL teams raising awareness for SB this month, or yellow covering all your favorite products in the name of raising funds. And while you may not personally know anyone affected by SB, now you know a little more about our story, and a little more about my baby Claire, who is special, just like everyone else.
Recently, our doctor told us it was time to start feeding the gals some rice cereal, to let them practice eating from a spoon and start them off on a solid least-likely to cause an allergic reaction (food allergies may be an issue with Claire’s spina bifida). Claire, who is already our happiest eater when it comes to bottles, took to the rice cereal immediately. Etta seemed to think we had devised a fun new way to kill her. The results were pretty funny:
“What do you think that stuff is for?” “I dunno, man.”
I think she’s looking rather Most Interesting Man In The World here. “I don’t always eat solid food, but when I do, it’s rice cereal.”
And for my friend Stacy who said Etta needed to be a meme:
If you asked pretty much anyone who knows me, they will confirm that I am generally not a patient person. I always thought that it was a good thing that I married Jon, because he brought a calm, steady patience to the table, mediating my fly-off-the-handle tendencies to balance me out a bit. While pregnant, I was sure our children would like him better, because he’d be the endlessly patient one, and I’d be the frustrated, snippy one. It’s also a fact that I generally fall apart and begin to freak the eff out when sleep deprived, with deprivation meaning anything less than 8 consecutive, unbroken hours of sleep, possibly less than 10. (Seriously, ask Jon sometime about that incident where I *sobbed* on a red eye flight.)
But, as Jon noted during an epic Etta screamfest yesterday: maybe it’s maternal instinct or something, but somehow I’m the one with more patience with the babies. Now, I am generally opposed to making biological generalizations about things like “maternal instinct” and other forms of gender essentialism, so I have another explanation, one I offered to him: it’s just that, if I freaked out over all of this, I would literally be freaking out every day for the rest of my life. Being patient is just a self-preservation technique for living with two tiny humans who occasionally like to SCREAM THEIR EVERLOVING FACES OFF FOR SEEMINGLY NO REASON.With whom I am often left all alone.
That’s not to say I don’t sometimes *feel* like freaking the freak out. This newfound patience is not without limits. Heck, there was even that one afternoon where I handed screaming Etta to Jon and literally flopped on the floor toddler-tantrum style, in a silent flail that expressed all the frustration and exhaustion I felt. There have been evenings where I swear, if I have to do one more baby-related thing, I will just lose my shiz, so I have to sit and drink wine and read fashion blogs for 30 minutes while he handles the babies, no, do not even ask me to draw up a syringe full of one of their myriad medicines. I have a feeling these moments will keep occurring.
In the meantime, it’s been a strange world to be the patient one. I basically don’t even know how to deal with Jon being frustrated and impatient, because it’s such a complete role-reversal. Not that he (or anyone else in a similar situation) isn’t totally justified in his frustration, but he’s usually the rock and I’m usually the tornado, and we whirlwinds don’t much know what to do when our rocks go flying around. Not that he’s really flying off the handle. My husband is so naturally even-keeled that his impatience and frustration looks like anyone else’s level-headedness, but still, I find myself getting frustrated with his frustration, as if I’m saying in my head, “BUT YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO FREAK OUT! YOU HAVE TO BE THE CALM ONE, ALL THE TIME, EVERY DAY!” Which is, of course irrational. He gets to feel his feelings, just like I do.
All of this is to say, this whole parenting thing is a strange new world. I was afraid of the ways it would change us, but it’s changing us anyway, like it or not.
In closing, here’s a triptych of Etta demonstrating how we freak the freak out around here:
erniebufflo's south & west kitchen 