Toilets, Toddlers, and Poor Elmo

What is the obsession with toilets? Today is the third time we have had to rescue various toys and books from the toilet in the last month. Yeah, I know bad Mommy, I should have instructed Dad to put locks on the toilets ages ago, but we never thought that Aidan, 17 months today, would have such an obsession with drowning Elmo. Or his blocks. Or the parenting books. But what is the fascination? Is it the water? He doesn't flush, thank God, so it can't be the sick joy of watching Elmo being sucked into a swirling vortex of doom. Not that I wouldn't mind seeing that after a marathon of Sesame Street. But it's not as if I let him watch too much TV. Because I'm a good Mommy. With no locks on her toilets.

Maybe it has to do with soaking objects in water. They say that toddlers are little scientists. Is he doing an experiment on Elmo? Like a Sesame Street version of the Titanic? How many parts of Elmo can take on water before he goes down? Which end will sink first? I wish I had a camera mounted in the bathroom, so I could see what he's babbling and the expression on his face as he does this. Not that I'm going to give him the chance to get to the toilet again, mind you.

Could the experiment be: How many objects you can jam into the small bowl of water before Mommy notices? Because it's not like the child has hours of play time with the bowl. I'll admit to a bit of chaos in our house now that I have 3 month old Abby to contend with, but I'm not THAT distracted! I mean come on!! Wasn't he just crawling? When did he suddenly become Flash Toddler? One moment he's playing with the blocks and Elmo, the next they're in the toilet!

While Aidan may have toddler super-speed, he has the one weakness all children have. He gets quiet when he's getting into trouble. This is a "silent" alarm for parents. This is also rule number one in parenting any child who has become mobile: If they go quiet and they're not asleep, they're up to something. Sometimes the "something" Aidan is up to can be darling, like reading a book to Elmo. So my alarm system also allows me to catch a precious moment I might have otherwise missed while doing laundry.

To solve the toilet issue, and better protect Elmo from anymore mishaps, I am going to ban Aidan from all the bathrooms instead of just locking the toilets. This way I don't have to try to teach Stephan some complex unlocking scenario while he does the male "I have to pee now" dance. Stephan could probably figure out how to work the lock, he's 10, but since he has the penchant for running to the bathroom at the last second , I don't know if he could do it in under 5 seconds. And I don't want to clean up if he can't. Although that in itself is like something from Fear Factor. Can he pop the toilet lock before he looses bladder control?

We're not going to put locks on, but rather change the doorknobs. You see, we have those lever type door knobs. They look nice but they're easy for a child to figure out. Round knobs are harder to grasp and rotate. (Plus the childproofing items for round doorknobs are cheaper than those created for lever handled doors.) Aidan will be in for a surprise the next time he decides to give Elmo a dunk. It will be my own experiment: "we've switched the old door knobs for these slippery smooth round ones. Let's see what Aidan does next."

Colic, Chaos, MS, and Binky Loss: An Evening at My House

This is the typical evening at my house. 5pm, colic, and toddler melt-downs.

"What is going on?" My husband, Mark sticks his head out at the top of the stairs. From my view on our bed consoling a screaming Abigail, 3 months, his head looks like one of those things you whack in a kids game. And honestly, if I was within reach of a big rubber mallet, and his head, I just might smack it. While he watches, our toddler, Aidan, 16 months old, is drug past him by our ten yr old Stephan. You see, Aidan isn't supposed to be in Stephan's room.

"All Hell has broken loose." I comment while Aidan turns red with protests as Stephan lugs him away from his bedroom door.

"What?" Mark's head turns from watching Aidan to me. We have a gate at the top of our stairs so all Mark can do is lean over. Unless he's willing to enter the fray that is. But at this point he does what any sane Dad would do. "Dinner's almost ready."

He retreats.

I long for something to throw.

Only moments before Abby had been happily batting at the toys on her baby gym. While the boys were downstairs doing what we fondly call "laps". This is where Aidan is set free in the mid-level of our house and Stephan chases him around as Aidan gets into the un-childproofed home office area. Mark and I both have our offices in the large area meant to be a dining room at this level of our house. I had been upstairs with the baby gym spread out on our queen size bed, enjoying the few glorious moments of Abby cooing and smiling. Because "Happy Abby" moments are few these days. She has colic and a fussy nature.

But then, the boys came. You see their father sent them out of the mid-level because not only do our offices reside on that level, so does the kitchen. While the kitchen cabinets are all child-proofed, trying to cook anything while Aidan does "laps" is something only a goat herder could handle. Well no, even he'd be hard pressed to cook while herding the goats. Maybe a circus performer? You know the ones who do all the tricks with tiny little dogs running everywhere at once. Maybe he could cook and handle a toddler invading our home office. Because home offices are wonderful spots. For toddler wreckage. With the advance in modern technology have come items like the cordless mouse, which Aidan can hide as fast as you can say "Microsoft."

Back to Abby, who had only minutes before been fussing over a diaper change, finding joy in the dangly objects of her gym when her brothers came up. Now if only Stephan had come, things would have been fine. But Stephan combined with Aidan equals only two things. NOISE and CHAOS. Okay sometimes there is also a big JOY along with it, but that depends on the moment. However, when it comes to evening time, especially 5pm, this equals bedlam.

They decided to play "where is brother?" This where Stephan hides behind doors and Aidan finds him. This also involves lots of running, laughing and squealing, all lovable sounds in our house, but not for Abigail. For her, this was simply NOISE. It was not noise she was creating, it was not noise she could locate, and it was not noise she could process. So while the boys were laughing and romping, Abigail shorted out.

I know that this means Abby needs quiet and dark. I also know she needs these things because not only is she having a sensory overload but because it IS 5pm and this is usually when she goes down for a nap. (The better to save up for waking mommy and daddy at night.) And this is where the fun begins. I tell Stephan to let Aidan visit his room while I put Abby down in the Amby bed. This is now the only redeeming quality of this $251 hammock, Abby naps in it. Yet in order to get Abby down, I need to cuddle her on her side, dim the shades, and start her nature sounds CD. But I also need Aidan and Stephan to get out of my closet. I tell Stephan to let Aidan check out "big brothers" room while I put Abby down.

Stephan drags Aidan out of my bedroom, which, of course starts up another bout of red-faced protest. I kick the door closed and try to get Abby to settle down. Unfortunately, while Stephan is letting his brother explore the forbidden zone (a.k.a. big brother's room), I suddenly need to use the restroom. I recall Stephan.

"Bounce this while I go pee." I hand the light bouncing of Abby's Amby bed over to Stephan and make for the master bedroom facilities.

"But Mom, Aidan's in MY room!" Stephan takes ahold of the spring and begins lightly bouncing Abby.

"He'll be fine for the 30 seconds it'll take me to use the bathroom." Famous last words. Once I am seated, I notice that my darling husband has finished the roll and not supplied the bathroom with a fresh one. "Errmm Stephan?"

"What?" He wails from the side of the Amby bed, making me pray Abby doesn't begin screaming again.

"Stop jiggling the bed, go to the cabinet under the sink, and get me some toilet paper."


"What?" Stephan's voice draws closer and Abby is still quiet. Either she's asleep or her big brother has joggled her brains with extra hard Amby bed jiggling. I pray it's the first. Considering I have not yet heard Aidan pull any book shelves down on himself, things are still okay. Stephan has a developmental disorder, akin to high-functioning autism, so giving directions can be difficult.

"I need the toilet paper under the sink."

"Which sink?" I take a deep breath as he comes to the bathroom door. I try to give him exact, logical, linear directions.

"The toilet paper is under our bathroom sink. The cabinet has a child lock on it. Press the lock down and get the toilet paper."

"Why did you say think instead of sink?"

"What?" Now I'm sure that Aidan has had sufficient time to either climb a bookshelf or begin choking himself with the cords to Stephan's numerous game consoles.

"It sounded like you said think." Stephan laughs while he opens the cabinet.

"Stephan you know Mommy has multiple sclerosis and sometimes, especially in heavy stress, she slurs." I have been slurring an awful lot since Abigail came into our household. It's either her fault or the fault of Aidan who began walking and arguing in toddler fashion all at once. Whoever caused it, Mommy no longer has ahold of her tongue. Mommy slurs. Mommy forgets words and Mommy finds herself trapped in the bathroom. All before she's had her evening drink.

"What is heavy stress?"

"Oh I don't know", I sigh "how about sitting on the toilet needing toilet paper, while your little brother tears apart your room and your father is nowhere to help." But Stephan doesn't get sarcas. He responds to the literal. The toilet paper roll flies through the crack in the bathroom door.

"HE'S TEARING APART MY ROOM?!?!?!?" Stephan hollers and I wince as I hear his heavy footfalls down the hall to get his brother.

When I emerge from the bathroom, Abby is still silent. She's actually sleeping! I quickly finish turning on her nature sounds, adjusting the blinds, and getting the door shut. As I look down the hall, Stephan has decided Aidan is no longer welcome in his room and is tugging him out. By the feet. Stephan shuts his bedroom door and Aidan lets out a screech, then gets up and begins to head-bang the door. Stephan looks at me and says "I didn't hurt his head!" while I stand in awe that my toddler is actually slamming his head against the door in protest. I tell Aidan to come to Mommy. This is a bad decision because toddlers are single-minded and now he is focused on the master bedroom. He runs past me, shoves on my door and bursts into the bedroom.

I yell,"Stephan, grab him!" , as I run downstairs to recruit Mark. But, as I hit the bottom of the stairs, I hear a blood–curdling scream and run back up. "If your sister wakes up I swear I'll have someone's head!" (It never occurs to me that in moments like these MY yelling doesn't help things.)

Stephan hauls Aidan outof my room and holds the door knob. I push myself back through the gate at the top of the stairs and assess the situation. Abby is not screaming, but Aidan is able to push open the bedroom door witout using the handle. We've got two types of handles in the house. Aidan has figured out only one. Our bedroom has the handle he doesn't know, but the door is not closing properly. Therefore, Stephan is now holding the door closed and looking panicked.

"It won't stay closed." He wails. Stephan looks like HE needs a nap.

"It's okay honey, let me see." Stephan moves from the door and Aidan pushes it open. I mutter a few choice curse words and move the rest of the way down the hall to pull Aidan from the bedroom. He bellows at me while Stephan and I yank on the handle. We hear the door stick and we both smile. "There."

Now it's time to put Aidan down. Stephan, having experienced enough noise and orders, retreats to his room. I grab Aidan from underneath his arms and swing him into the air. At this time he is a mess. He's over-played and tantrumed to the extreme. His cheeks are red, his eyes teary, and his nose, well he has Toddler snot going. Rivers of it dripping down his face.

"Nigh nigh time sweetie." I say softly. I plunk Aidan into his crib, and realize there is no Binky in sight. "Damnit!" I've been systematically hiding Aidan's Binkies because we are trying to wean him from continual Binky usage. After all, we do want him to use language someday. However this intervention has led to Aidan's new talent for thieving Abby's Binkies to satisfy his addiction. I have forgotten to get a Binky from hiding for the times allotted for Aidan's binky fix, nap time and bedtime. Aidan looks at me, then the crib with no Binky , and is set off on another wailing session because he simply CANNOT sleep without a Binky! I race back into the master bedroom, praying his sobbing does not awaken Abigail.

With the grace of a panicked elephant I fling open the master bedroom door, gallop past the Amby bed and lunge for my underwear drawer, which is where I am now stashing the Binkies. However, Mark began installing cable in our bedroom this very day and the furniture is moved. My hip slams into the Amby bed and it begins to swing widlly from its hanger, twirling in the air.

"CRAP!" I gasp and cover my mouth and watch in horror as the hammock spins. Will the movement wake her? What about my cursing? I hold my breath. Aidan lets out another wail. I yank out the drawer, retrieve a Binky, and dash for the door. If Aidan's howling doesn't stop, Abby will surely be awake again. I dash back down the hall into the nursery where Aidan is standing in his crib, snot freely flowing, throwing his stuffed pooh-bear on to the floor in protest. I pop the Binky in his mouth and he pauses. He looks at me, blinks, and lowers himself down into fetal position, butt in air. I thank God and leave the room.

I pause in the hallway. Aidan is down, Abby is down, and Stephan is playing video games. Dinner should be in moments, but for now, I have everything solved. I jauntily waltz down the stairs and into the kitchen. I smile at Mark as he finishes cooking and look at the baby monitor. Silence. I am a hero. A domestic Goddess. I can do this! And then, as if a bell had signaled the beginning of round #2, the little red lights on the baby monitor shoot straight up and I hear "WAAAAAAA!" Mark turns and looks at me as if I haven't done job.

"I thought you had them napping?"

I look for a big rubber mallet.

Sleep Deprivation Finale: The Amby Bed Placebo (Or the Only Person Who Thinks it Sucks.)

I put Abby down for a nap in the Amby bed right away. It was in the corner of our sunken living room which had now become my bedroom. With pride and a bit of gloating I noted to my husband Mark how she slept in it through dinner and another few hours.

"I told you it would work."

"I'll agree to that when you wake me tomorrow morning at 8am because she slept through the night, like the website insinuates." I ignored his pessimistic comments and started my night shift with glee. Abby would sleep better I was positive.

Abby slept the same as she did in the cradle. In fact as the days wore on, Abby slept better in the cradle than the Amby bed. The first annoyance was that Abby liked to be swaddled. We also believed by now that Abby had reflux and needed the head of the hammock raised. So, according to the website directions (because the ones that came with the bed did not tell me how to adjust it) I raised one end of the hammock. Being swaddled with one end raised, Abby began to slide down toward the foot of the bed and into the swaddling. This was NOT a good thing.

So she had to sleep unswaddled, which meant that her arms were free to flail about. The premise of the Amby bed is that when the baby moves or thrashes, the bed moves and therefore it will lull the child back to sleep. This may work if a 15lb moosling were sleeping in the bed, but not Abby. So my nights began to follow a pattern of: feed Abby, burp Abby, and jiggle the Amby bed up and down until Abby drifts off. When Abby wakes again in 5 minutes, roll over and jiggle the bed. The cradle on the other hand, ran on batteries and jiggled itself.

I kept trying to get it to work. I blamed the new medications for her reflux, Zantac and Reglan. I blamed the formula until we put her on lactose free. I did everything I could to make the Amby bed live up to the glowing letters from parents around the world who spoke of their children sleeping the night away from day one. (Heck even from week one!) I didn't expect a baby of 5 weeks to sleep through the night. But I did expect at least a 4 hour stretch? Maybe 5 if I was really really good, and the Powers that Be decided to give me a break?

Mark on the other hand after a week, would come down every morning and promptly remove Abby from the hammock and put her in her cradle. When he took the night shift, he swaddled her and plunked her in the cradle. He refused to use the Amby bed. It was a fad, he told me. Parents deprived on sleep who had the cash would be willing to do ANYTHING to get some shut-eye, he remarked. I didn't give voice to my doubts, but I was beginning to believe him. I had been keeping notes since Abby came home from the hospital about her sleeping patterns and there was no difference.

So the next night I swaddled her and put her in the cradle. Then I spent nights switching her back and forth first in the Amby then in the cradle. Then we tried to bring the Amby bed upstairs alongside our bed. That lasted one night. (She makes too many grunting noises for her to be in the same room with us.) Next, we put her in the Amby in the nursery with her 15 month old brother. (Who slept in his crib.)

Then it happened. I awoke at 4am one morning confused that Mark had not jostled me for a 1am feeding. He brought Abby into the room and told me how he had put her in her crib. Her huge white crib that had sat empty since she came home. In her crib flat on her tummy, with a binky, and she slept for 3 hours straight. I conceded. The Amby bed was not a miracle. It was a glorified laundry bag on a banana hanger.

The laundry bag now sits in our bedroom off to the side for the occasional nap time when I cannot risk waking Aidan. Then Abby will be put down in the Amby bed where she sometimes naps for 3 hours. However she can nap for 3 hours in the car seat, in her bouncy seat, and in her crib. (The combination of which did not cost as much as the Amby bed.)

There is no doubt the Amby bed works for other people. Maybe they were lucky. Maybe it only works if you truly believe with all your heart and have no other choices (like an electronic cradle.) Maybe the miracle of the Amby bed is something akin to the placebo effect. However, for us it was a $250 placebo that never worked miracles.

Now that Abby spends her nights in her crib, sleeping sometimes in 5 hour stretches, I find myself faced with what I am sure other parents have dealt with. (But for some reason don't talk about it.) Admitting failure and selling on eBay. Because, as Mark mentioned, why are there so many Amby beds available on eBay?

I still hold on to it for one reason, okay maybe two. One, she does nap in it when I can't put her in the nursery and two, I would have to admit my husband was right.