How the Swear Jar Was Filled to the Top
Tess is potty training. I know, right? We can't believe it either! She can't talk or walk, and her only signs are "more," "eat", and sometimes "drink." But nevertheless, over the past few weeks she's been Johnny-on-the-spot when it comes to potty training. We can even have her in a pull-up during the day.
When we first considered making the move away from diapers, I couldn't imagine how it would work. She wouldn't be able to tell us she had to go. Nor could she get herself into the bathroom; the one on our main floor has a door that springs shut, and we like it that way. (We can't have an open-door policy with her, since she eats everything.) Even when we brought her in there, I wondered, how would she know it was time to go?
Well, gradually she's gotten the picture. We got a little plastic frog potty, the same one they use at her school. And at first we would just bring her in there, put her on, and wait. There were goony songs we'd sing, to the tune of "Frère Jacques." Sometimes we poked her in the belly, to make her want to go. But eventually it started to happen more and more, and now she gets it. After weeks of reinforcing the routine, when the pull-up comes off, she knows the deal, and she goes. It's a regular thing now. At school, at home, everywhere. Number 1, number 2, the whole deal.
With advancements like this, we felt energized this week as we headed down to Boston Children's Hospital. We are no strangers to BCH. We already take Tess down there often, to see her doctors in these departments: audiology, augmentative and alternative communication, genetics/metabolism, neurology, ophthalmology, and orthopedics. This visit was to a new doctor, a pediatric gastroenterologist. Our visit's purpose was mostly to deal with Tess's gastroesophageal reflux disease. It's gotten much better since we changed her diet and basically made her paleo, but we were still hoping to prevent any further nighttime airway problems, like the ones I recounted here.
This Boston trip was more complicated than most, for a few reasons. First, Dana felt sick, so we couldn't send him to school. We had no choice but to bring him with us. Second, our timing was all wrong. Usually we like to get morning appointments in Boston, in the sweet spot between the morning rush and lunchtime. We've done afternoons, but we much prefer mornings. Parking's easy, there's not much traffic, and we can grab an early lunch. Unfortunately, we were stuck with an afternoon slot this time. Finally, Tess did not want to be in her carseat. She wanted to be at school. She yelled at us in order to let us know this. She began the yelling as we got on I-95 South in Falmouth.
Things we learned upon arriving at Boston Children's:
- evidently, everyone in Boston gets into their car around noon and heads out onto the roads for the rest of the day;
- Boloco, the only decent food option close to the hospital, has a line out the door pretty much all day except the morning;
- Au Bon Pain (inside the hospital) is closed at odd times while the hospital renovates the lobby; and
- Dana does not like the hospital cafeteria food. Nor do any of us.
The appointment went well, in some ways. The doctor had a bunch of ideas for preventing Tess from having reflux at night, including medication. He told us to give her the meds at night, because they have side effects--they'll make her very sleepy and very hungry. If you know Tess, and she's choosing between eating or sleeping, you have some idea which one she'll pick. We'll see how this goes.
Anyway, things eventually went south. We were in the exam room with the doc for a long, long time. Tess started to go bananas. Dana somehow kept it together, but we knew we were running out of time. When the doctor began to examine Tess, for some reason he didn't ask us to put her up on the examining table. Instead, she remained in my wife's lap. And as the doctor stretched Tess out to her full length and removed her pull-up--well, I'll give you three guesses what happened. Our girl emptied her bladder. Onto my wife's lap. The sheer volume of pee was staggering. It made me wonder whether someone had slipped Tess a few cups of coffee earlier that day. She managed to cover her entire body, the pull-up, her whole outfit, my wife's jeans, and also most of the floor of the exam room. Afterwards she smiled and was really quite proud of herself.
This was our cue to get out of Dodge. Things we learned upon leaving Boston Children's:
- Tess knows to go, even if she is not on her usual frog potty and if we do not sing the goony songs;
- Dana's powers of coping are extraordinary, especially for a seven-year-old, since he spent an entire day of listening to Tess yell and basically doing nothing fun, and he never complained;
- swearing really does make you feel better (actually, we already knew this); and
- they sell adult sweatpants in the hospital gift shop.
When we first considered making the move away from diapers, I couldn't imagine how it would work. She wouldn't be able to tell us she had to go. Nor could she get herself into the bathroom; the one on our main floor has a door that springs shut, and we like it that way. (We can't have an open-door policy with her, since she eats everything.) Even when we brought her in there, I wondered, how would she know it was time to go?
Well, gradually she's gotten the picture. We got a little plastic frog potty, the same one they use at her school. And at first we would just bring her in there, put her on, and wait. There were goony songs we'd sing, to the tune of "Frère Jacques." Sometimes we poked her in the belly, to make her want to go. But eventually it started to happen more and more, and now she gets it. After weeks of reinforcing the routine, when the pull-up comes off, she knows the deal, and she goes. It's a regular thing now. At school, at home, everywhere. Number 1, number 2, the whole deal.
With advancements like this, we felt energized this week as we headed down to Boston Children's Hospital. We are no strangers to BCH. We already take Tess down there often, to see her doctors in these departments: audiology, augmentative and alternative communication, genetics/metabolism, neurology, ophthalmology, and orthopedics. This visit was to a new doctor, a pediatric gastroenterologist. Our visit's purpose was mostly to deal with Tess's gastroesophageal reflux disease. It's gotten much better since we changed her diet and basically made her paleo, but we were still hoping to prevent any further nighttime airway problems, like the ones I recounted here.
This Boston trip was more complicated than most, for a few reasons. First, Dana felt sick, so we couldn't send him to school. We had no choice but to bring him with us. Second, our timing was all wrong. Usually we like to get morning appointments in Boston, in the sweet spot between the morning rush and lunchtime. We've done afternoons, but we much prefer mornings. Parking's easy, there's not much traffic, and we can grab an early lunch. Unfortunately, we were stuck with an afternoon slot this time. Finally, Tess did not want to be in her carseat. She wanted to be at school. She yelled at us in order to let us know this. She began the yelling as we got on I-95 South in Falmouth.
Things we learned upon arriving at Boston Children's:
- evidently, everyone in Boston gets into their car around noon and heads out onto the roads for the rest of the day;
- Boloco, the only decent food option close to the hospital, has a line out the door pretty much all day except the morning;
- Au Bon Pain (inside the hospital) is closed at odd times while the hospital renovates the lobby; and
- Dana does not like the hospital cafeteria food. Nor do any of us.
The appointment went well, in some ways. The doctor had a bunch of ideas for preventing Tess from having reflux at night, including medication. He told us to give her the meds at night, because they have side effects--they'll make her very sleepy and very hungry. If you know Tess, and she's choosing between eating or sleeping, you have some idea which one she'll pick. We'll see how this goes.
Anyway, things eventually went south. We were in the exam room with the doc for a long, long time. Tess started to go bananas. Dana somehow kept it together, but we knew we were running out of time. When the doctor began to examine Tess, for some reason he didn't ask us to put her up on the examining table. Instead, she remained in my wife's lap. And as the doctor stretched Tess out to her full length and removed her pull-up--well, I'll give you three guesses what happened. Our girl emptied her bladder. Onto my wife's lap. The sheer volume of pee was staggering. It made me wonder whether someone had slipped Tess a few cups of coffee earlier that day. She managed to cover her entire body, the pull-up, her whole outfit, my wife's jeans, and also most of the floor of the exam room. Afterwards she smiled and was really quite proud of herself.
This was our cue to get out of Dodge. Things we learned upon leaving Boston Children's:
- Tess knows to go, even if she is not on her usual frog potty and if we do not sing the goony songs;
- Dana's powers of coping are extraordinary, especially for a seven-year-old, since he spent an entire day of listening to Tess yell and basically doing nothing fun, and he never complained;
- swearing really does make you feel better (actually, we already knew this); and
- they sell adult sweatpants in the hospital gift shop.
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