Tricks of the trade: Diapering (while sitting)

I am pregnant. Not poppingly so, but enough to make me not want to hop all over catching little children and flinging them up onto the changing table for diapering. So instead, I plant myself in the middle of the nursery with the supplies I'll likely need (diapers, wipes, ointment, fresh clothes). They zoom around me, just out of reach, giggling over how clever they are. I first try calling sweetly "Ava, come to mommy. Claire, do you want a nice new diaper?" They are smart so that never ever works. I digress to a gently threatening tone, mostly directed toward the more sophisticated of the two "Claire come here (to mommy) right now. Yes, right NOW". This is occasionally effective but usually not. My next effort is the old bait and catch ... poor Ava usually gets caught first. I use a toy (within easy reach) and make it seem really interesting "oh wow! Look at how FAST this little car can go!!! Vroom vroom ..." "voom voom" says Ava, weakening. She knows to stay back, but her eye is on the car. My eye is on her and, like a coiled spring, I wait. She wanders just within range. I calculate the distance and effort required ... now or wait until she gets a little closer? I don't like to move much, as I mentioned before. I strike ... sometimes I catch an arm, a hand or even just a sleeve. Then I reel her in >: ) The next child is easy because she invariably comes in close for the wipes. We have a "one wipe" rule which means each child may take one wipe for personal use (which is often nose wiping or furniture cleaning, often in that order). I've tried, from the beginning, dangling a wipe out and calling sweetly for my first customer but somehow they sense the danger. Maybe the dangling seems too obvious.

Toddlers in the water!

I am a person who likes, even needs, to bathe. Not shower, but bathe. In the winter, I do it primarily for comfort ... it turns out I am only warmed through when submerged in scalding hot water for an hour. In the summer, I bathe as a method of decompression. I turn on the water and the jets, recline until I am submerged just over my ears, and then talk to myself in a soothing tone, saying things like "Everything is fine, Lisa. You just need to get away from your children for a few minutes. Relax ..." Yes, I really have this conversation with myself, sometimes more than once a day. In the cold months, I am so eager to jump in the tub, that I am willing to share my bathtub with my children. I started doing it to prevent Ava from drowning but now, I look at it as a valuable way to waste away time until dinner or John comes home or other daily staples. And it is (kind of) fun! But also, kind of not ... as I was moments ago, reclining for my evening bath, I noticed nine feet above my head, a pattern of hand lotion splattered there on the ceiling. Ah yes, I thought, that would be from the Ava incident of mid afternoon. HOW to get it off of the ceiling will be John's department. Telling him will of course come with the risk of direct blame. But then I could try to explain that I was changing Claire's diaper at the moment of splatter with bits of poo clinging here and there to the diaper, the bathrug, my hair while she wiggled around gleefully ... I was trying to keep us all calm with a little ditty about Clean Clean Clementine washing her hair with turpentine when Ava abruptly slammed a pump bottle of lotion (pump unscrewed and removed) down on the floor next to us with such force that lotion exploded out leaving globs here and there but primarily in my hair. And, as just discovered, the ceiling. The thing is, John never actually listens to more than the first word or two of these explanations and can you blame him. Honestly, who would believe my day?! I mean, if not present to see it first hand ...



My second bathing discovery was that my $$$ facial wash, formulated to eliminate wrinkles, age spots and pimples, had been pumped nearly dry. Augh! I gasped. Aurghhhhhhaaaaahhhh!!! Well Claire's skin has been looking so nice lately and now I might know why. Which reminds me of my matching $105 night cream that directs "apply liberally over entire body". Oh ha ha. I carefully deliver a half dot to my pinky and break that up into 100 equal parts which are allowed to soak into precise areas of my face. I am not slathering that overpriced snake oil anywhere that doesn't show and prominantly.



I will spare you my detailed tales of splashing away with the girls only to have Claire announce cheerfully "I peeing!". What??!! I yelp. GET OUT ... EVERYONE GET OOOOOUUUUUT! The evacuation takes a fraction of a second, less time than pee mixes with water. At least I hope. I also remember enough of chemistry to hope that pee and water are a mixture (as opposed to a solution). In any case, to be safe, I drain the water while we wait cold and shivering on the side so I can stand us all in the empty tub to be hosed off with the shower nozzle thingy, for which there seems no other use. So far, to my knowledge, I have not bathed in poo but I cannot be sure ...



Other interesting things about sharing a bathtub with toddlers is the toys. At the end of the day, I am tired, too tired to pluck out all of the rubber ducks, fishes and other marine life, so I just bathe with them floating around. Whatever. You're right, that isn't very interesting. So you know, we have a special bathroom complete with bathtub for our two littlest citizens. It hasn't been used in weeks.

What I was thinking

You (dad) wonder "what is she thinking having all of those babies in rapid succession". While I have no convincing explanation ... at least not one that would convince any of you (dad) to follow my footsteps (were that biologically possible), I do have what I call Reasons (not Excuses) for my curious decisions ...

Having been raised in an abusive household ...

Okay, really. I dated the best I could from (roughly) 16 to 33 which is A LONG TIME. It was miserable, with me naively hoping each successively more idiotic idiot would be a prince charming. I made horrible boyfriend choices who refused to turn into good husband material. Leaving our hero languishing and single in New York City at the ripe old age of 33. Enters John Zhang, Hui John Zhang, the world's most eligible bachelor (willing to be with me). It was a blind date that quickly hurdled out of control to the point of marriage. I will devote a future post to this amazing man who rescued me from the bowels of careerdom, but for now, back to our hero ...

When we married, I was 34. We both wanted "at least three children". While pregnant with my first child, I quickly caught on to the fact that I was (already!) of "advanced maternal age". That was a shock to realize! How could this be? Young, spirited me, still hopelessly hoping for a pony for Christmas, of ADVANCED MATERNAL AGE. Weekly fetal stress tests, frequent sonograms, and manditory genetic counseling made it clear the window of opportunity for building our family was slamming shut.

Claire was a fabulous little baby, easy and beautiful, always smiling and cheerful with a uplifting word for everyone she encountered. I thought "this is lovely. I want another!" I called John at work with my revelation and, without any disturbing details, I was reexpecting days later. The pregnancy test result was a bit of a shock. I'd thought we'd be going through the trevails of advanced age conception issues. It was shocking but exciting, like touching an electric fence. Zowee! TWO babies 12 months apart! And to ensure my place in family history, I had Ava three days SHY of 12 months after Claire. So that we celebrated Claire's first birthday in the hospital room with Ava still unable to open her sweet puffy little eyes.

Well I was pleased. It was no small amount of work chasing Claire up and down the stairs with newborn Ava in hand, but they were just lovely, both of them. I wanted more. I informed John that to get the ultimate use from our working capital of maternity and baby clothes, we should aim for a third one year later, so "on schedule" (if you have been pregnant or had a newborn, you will understand the incredible complexity of size and season for the clothes that go with ... more blog fodder.). This was a time of hubris in my life, when I assumed that I, baby generating extraordinaire could flip them out like pancakes. Or those machines that transport balls down the lanes at bowling allies. Sheesh. Enter GOD. He immediately detected the weaknesses in my best laid plan and saw fit to push the pause button for an entire year and then some before we conceived again.

So here I sit, one day after our level two ultrasound which revealed our third little miss is on the way (with upper thigh bones, a spine and a decent heart and brain). I type in spite of lots of calls from the nursery down the hall ("LiSSSAAA, where are you?"). Most of my computer time is what I call "stolen" ...

Who is this woman? Who WAS this woman?

I am new blogger, Lisa Zhang, wife, stay at home mom. I was once a Vice President at JP Morgan and, for a short time, a real life CFO of a JP Morgan product line in Asia. At the time, I thought of myself as rather a rising star ... then I met John Zhang. Things changed rapidly then. We dated for a year and got engaged, were married six months after, and now, three years later, have a 2.5 year old, a 1.5 year old, and one "on the way" in July. I stay at home, managing these little people the best I can. I call it extreme parenting because it feels like that most days. I realize there is some women out there juggling literally NINE times the number of children I have. There is also that creepy "octomom" who is making normal moms everywhere feel they have superior judgement. I am sure you can follow their blogs/tv shows, satellite transmissions to get the most gory possible view of parenting. In comparison, what I have to offer is mundane bordering on silly. I pledge to you, my audience of two (my parents are both alive and well!), that I will do my best to entertain without frightening you into moving closer to help out.