On Becoming Pottywise for Toddlers: A Developmental Readiness Approach to Potty Training

by Gary Ezzo, Robert Bucknam, Robert Bucknam

What to Expect When You're Expecting.

by Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi Eisenberg Murkoff, Sandee E. Hathaway, Sandee Hathaway


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Chapter One

The First Month

Approximately 1 to 4 Weeks

Congratulations—and welcome to your pregnancy! Though you almost certainly don't look pregnant yet, chances are you're already starting to feel it. Whether it's just tender breasts and a little fatigue you're experiencing, or every early pregnancy symptom in the book (and then some), your body is gearing up for the months of baby-making to come. As the weeks pass, you'll notice changes in parts of your body you'd expect (like your belly), as well as places you wouldn't expect (your feet and your eyes). You'll also notice changes in the way you live—and look at—life. But try not to think (or read) too far ahead. For now, just sit back, relax, and enjoy the beginning of one of the most exciting and rewarding adventures of your life.

What You can Expect at Your First
Prenatal Visit

Your first prenatal visit will probably be the longest you'll have during your pregnancy, and definitely will be the most comprehensive one. Not only will there be more tests, procedures (including several that will be performed only at this visit), and data gathering (in the form of a complete medical history), but there will be more time spent on questions (questions you have for the practitioner, questions he or she will have for you) and answers. There will also be plenty of advice to take in—on everything from what you should be eating (and not eating) to what supplements you should be taking to whether (and how) you should be exercising. So be sure to come equipped with a list of the questions and concerns that have already come up, as well as with apen and notebook (or What to Expect When You're Expecting Pregnancy Organizer) to take notes with.

One practitioner's routine may vary slightly from another's. In general, the examination will include:

Confirmation of your pregnancy. Your practitioner will want to check the following: the pregnancy symptoms you are experiencing; the date of your last normal menstrual period to determine your estimated date of delivery (EDD) or due date (see page 8); your cervix and uterus for signs and approximate age of the pregnancy. A pregnancy test (urine and blood) will most likely be ordered.

A complete history. To give you the best care possible, your practitioner will want to know a great deal about you. Come prepared by checking records at home or calling your primary care doctor to refresh your memory on the following: your personal medical history (chronic illness, previous major illness or surgery, known allergies, including drug allergies); nutritional supplements (vitamins, minerals, herbal, and so on) or medications (over-the-counter, prescription) you are presently taking or have taken since conception; your family medical history (genetic disorders, chronic diseases, unusual pregnancy outcomes); your personal gynecological history (age at first menstrual period, usual length of menstrual cycle, duration and regularity of menstrual periods); your personal obstetrical history (past live births, miscarriages, abortions), as well as the course of past pregnancies, labors, and deliveries. Your practitioner will also ask questions about your social history (such as your age and occupation) and about your lifestyle habits (how you eat, whether or not you exercise, drink, smoke, or take recreational drugs) and other factors in your personal life that might affect your pregnancy (information about the baby's father, information on your ethnicity).

A complete physical examination. This may include assessment of your general health through examination of heart, lungs, breasts, abdomen; measurement of your blood pressure to serve as a baseline reading for comparison at subsequent visits; notation of your height and your weight (prepregnancy and present); inspection of arms and legs for varicose veins and edema (swelling from excess fluid in tissues) to serve as a baseline for comparison at subsequent risks; examination of external genitalia and of your vagina and cervix (with a speculum in place, as when you get a Pap smear); examination of your pelvic organs bimanually (with one hand in the vagina and one on the abdomen) and also possibly through the rectum and vagina; assessment of the size and shape of the bony pelvis (through which your baby will eventually try to exit).

A battery of tests. Some tests are routine for every pregnant woman; some are routine in some areas of the country or with some practitioners, and not others; some are performed only when circumstances warrant. The most common prenatal tests include:

* A blood test to determine blood type and Rh status (see page 29), hCG levels, and to check for anemia (see page 187)

* Urinalysis to screen for glucose (sugar), protein, white blood cells, blood, and bacteria

* Blood screens to determine antibody titer (levels) and immunity to such diseases as rubella

* Tests to disclose the presence of infections such as syphilis, gonorrhea, hepatitis B, chlamydia, and, very often, HIV

* Genetic tests for cystic fibrosis, sickle-cell anemia, Tay-Sachs, or other genetic disease, if appropriate (see page 45)

* A Pap smear for the detection of cervical cancer

* A blood sugar level test to check for any tendency toward diabetes in women with a family history of diabetes and those who have high blood pressure, have previously had an excessively large baby or one with birth defects, or who had gained excessive weight with an earlier pregnancy. (All women receive a glucose screening test for gestational diabetes at around 28 weeks; see page 266.)
An opportunity for discussion. Here's the time to bring out that list of questions and concerns.

May Be Feeling

You may experience all of these symptoms at one time or another, or only one or two. What's important to keep in mind from now on is that every woman and every pregnancy is different; few pregnancy symptoms are universal.

PHYSICALLY

* Absence of menstruation (though you may stain slightly when your period would have been expected or when the fertilized egg implants in the uterus, around seven to ten days after conception)
* Fatigue and sleepiness

* Frequent urination

* Nausea, with or without vomiting, and/or excessive salivation

* Heartburn, indigestion, flatulence, bloating

* Food aversions and cravings

* Breast changes (most pronounced in women who have breast changes prior to menstruation, and possibly somewhat less pronounced if you've had babies before): fullness, heaviness, tenderness, tingling; darkening of the areola (the pigmented area surrounding the nipple). Sweat glands in the areola become prominent, looking like large goose bumps; a network of bluish lines appears under the skin as blood supply to the breasts increases (though, in some women, these lines may not appear until later).

EMOTIONALLY


* Instability comparable to premenstrual syndrome, which may include irritability, mood swings, irrationality, weepiness

* Misgivings, fear, joy, elation—any or all of these
What You May Be Concerned About

Breaking the News

"When should we tell friends and family that we are expecting?"

This is one question only you can answer. Some expectant parents can't wait to tell everyone they know the good new (not to mention a fair number of strangers who happen to pass them in the street or sit next to them on the bus). Others tell only selectively at first, starting with those nearest and dearest (close relatives and friends, perhaps), and waiting until the condition is obvious before making the pregnancy common knowledge. Still others decide they'd rather put off issuing announcements until the third month has passed, just in case of miscarriage (especially if there's been a previous pregnancy loss).

So talk it over, and do what feels most comfortable. Just remember: in spreading the good news, don't forget to take the time to savor it as a twosome.

Telling the Boss

"No one at work knows I'm pregnant yet—and I'm not sure when and how I should tell them, especially my boss. I'm not sure how they'll react."

Since most expectant mothers are also members of the workforce, pregnancy protocol on the job has become an important issue for employees and employers alike. Official leave policies and benefits vary widely from company to company, as do unofficial policies of family-friendliness. In deciding when and how to broach the subject of your pregnancy with the powers that be at your company, you'll need to consider the following:

How you're feeling and whether you're showing. If morning sickness has you spending more time hovering over the toilet than sitting at your desk; if first trimester fatigue has you barely able to lift your head off your pillow in the morning; or if you're already packing a paunch that's too big to blame on your breakfast, you probably won't be able to keep your secret long. In that case, telling sooner makes more sense than waiting until your boss (and everyone else in the office) has come to his or her own conclusions. If, on the other hand, you're feeling fine and still buttoning your waistband with ease, you may be able to hold off on the announcement until later.

What kind of work you do. If you work under conditions or with substances that could be harmful to your pregnancy or your baby (see page 76), you'll need to make your announcement—and ask for a transfer or change of duties—as soon as you find out you're pregnant.

How work is going. A woman announcing her pregnancy at work may unfortunately—and unfairly—raise many red flags, including "Will she still have the stamina to produce while pregnant?" and "Will her mind be on work or on her belly?" and "Will she leave us in the lurch?" You may head off some of those concerns by making your announcement just after finishing a report, scoring a deal, winning a case, coming up with a great idea, or otherwise proving that you can be both pregnant and productive.

Whether reviews are coming up. If you're afraid your announcement might influence the results of an upcoming performance or salary review, wait until the results are in before spilling the beans. Keep in mind that proving you've been passed up for a promotion or raise based solely on the fact that you're expecting (and that you'll soon be a worker and a mother, not necessarily in that order) may be difficult.

Whether you work in a gossip mill. If gossip is one of your company's chief products, be especially wary. Should word-of-mouth of your pregnancy reach your boss's ears before your announcement does, you'll have trust issues to deal with in addition to the pregnancy-related issues. Make sure that your boss is the first to know—or, at least, that those you tell first can be trusted not to squeal.

What the family-friendliness quotient is. Try to gauge your employer's attitude toward pregnancy and family. Ask other women who have been pregnant on the job, if there are any (but keep your inquiries discreet). Check the policies on pregnancy and maternity leave in your copy of the company handbook (if there is one). Or set up a confidential meeting with someone in human resources or the person in charge of benefits. If the company has had a history of being supportive of mothers and mothers-to-be, you may be inclined to make your announcement sooner. Either way, you'll have a better sense of what you'll be facing.

Once you've decided when to make your announcement, you can take some steps to ensure that it's well received:

Know your rights. Pregnant women—and parents in general—have fewer rights in the United States than in most every other industrialized country. Still, some strides have been made on the federal level through the Pregnancy Discrimination Act and the Family Medical Leave Act (see box above), and many others have been made voluntarily by forward-thinking, family-friendly companies. Become familiar with what the law and your company's policies say you're entitled to, so you'll know what you can and probably can't ask for. For instance, some companies offer paid leave, others unpaid. Still others allow you to use sick days or vacation days as part of your leave. All of this should be detailed in a company handbook, if there is one. Or, set up a confidential meeting with someone in human resources or whoever is in charge of benefits.

Put together a plan. Efficiency is always appreciated on the job, and being prepared invariably impresses people. So before you go in to make your announcement, have a detailed plan that includes how long you plan to stay on the job (barring any unforeseen medical problems, including premature labor), how long your maternity leave will be, how you plan to finish up business before you leave, and how you propose that any unfinished business be handled by others. If you would like to return part-time at first, now is when you should propose that. Writing up your plan will ensure you won't forget the details.

Set aside the time. Don't try to tell your boss the news when you're in a taxi on the way to a meeting or when she's got one foot out the door Friday night. Make an appointment to meet, so no one will be rushed or distracted. Try to make it on a day and at a time that is usually less stressful at your office. Postpone the meeting if things suddenly take a turn for the tense.

Accentuate the positive. Don't start your announcement with apologies or misgivings. Instead, let your boss know that you are not only happy about your pregnancy, but confident in your ability and committed in your plan to mix work and family.

Be flexible (but not spineless). Have your plan in place, and open it up to discussion. Then be ready to compromise (make sure there is room for negotiation built into your plan), but not to back down completely. Come up with a realistic bottom line and stick with it.

Set it in writing. Once you've worked out the details of your pregnancy protocol and your maternity leave, confirm it in writing so there won't be any confusion or misunderstanding later (as in "I never said that ...").

Never underestimate the power of parents. If your company is not as family-friendly as you'd like, consider joining forces to petition for better parental perks. Realize, however, that you and other parents may be met with hostility by childless employees; as family policies become more generous, resentment tends to build among those who can't take advantage of these. Making sure that similar allowances are made for employees who must take time off to care for sick spouses or parents may help unite, rather than divide, the company.

Fatigue

"I'm tired all the time. I'm worried that I won't be able to continue working."

It would be surprising if you weren't tired. In some ways, your pregnant body is working harder even when you're resting than a nonpregnant body is when mountain-climbing; you're just not aware of the exertion. But it's there. For one thing, your body is manufacturing your baby's life-support system, the placenta, which won't be completed until the end of the first trimester. For another, it's adjusting to the many other physical and emotional demands of pregnancy. Once your body has adjusted and the placenta is complete (around the fourth month), you should have more energy. Until then, you may need to work fewer hours or take a few days off if you're really dragging. But if your pregnancy continues normally, there is absolutely no reason why you shouldn't stay at your job (assuming your practitioner hasn't restricted your activity and/or the work isn't overly strenuous or hazardous; see pages 76 and 248). Most pregnant women are happier and less anxious if they keep busy.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from WHAT TO EXPECT WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING by Heidi Murkoff, Arlene Eisenberg & Sandee Hathaway, B.S.N.. Copyright © 2002 by What to Expect LLC. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Boys Will Put You on a Pedestal (So They Can Look Up Your Skirt)

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Boys Will Put You on a Pedestal (So They Can Look Up Your Skirt)
A Dad's Advice for Daughters
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By Philip Van Munching
Simon & Schuster
Copyright © 2005 Philip Van Munching
All right reserved.
ISBN: 0743267788

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Introduction: If I Stepped in Front of a Bus
I'm not entirely sure whether it's a sign of pragmatism or just an advanced stage of whistling in the dark, but as I get older I seem to be having a lot more conversations that begin with this: "If I died tomorrow..." Actually, that's not quite right. Other people put it that way. I like to be more folksy. I always say, "If I stepped in front of a bus tomorrow..."

Which almost turned into a prophecy on a warm afternoon some months back, when I very nearly did just that. I damn near stepped in front of a bus.

It wasn't the bus that almost killed me, at least not at first. It was the panel truck that the bus blocked from my view. I stepped off the curb of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-third Street, certain that I could cross against the light; certain that I'd gauged the speed of the M3 bus correctly and, with just a slight jog, I would be on my way to the subway that much faster. Somewhere between being right in front of the driver and having cleared the bus entirely, I realized my mistake -- and I stepped backward as the truck blew past me. I stepped backward into the path of the bus. There was a horn; I can't tell you whether it was the truck's or the bus's, or whether it was just the noise adrenaline makes when it's being pumped to one's every extremity at once, because I remember only the sound. And I remember the sound only because it somehow wove itself into the intense and immediate sense of panic I felt. I don't even recall looking at the bus driver or how my legs got me back to the west side of Fifth Avenue. I know only that the bus kept going, missing me by a very little bit, and I got back to where I started.

Here's an interesting medical theory: If the heart races to five trillion beats per minute, short-term memory ceases to function. Maybe it's a problem of blood flow.

However I avoided becoming a part of New York City's asphalt, the important part of the story is not that I was lucky (and how!) nor that I was incredibly stupid (guilty as charged, Your Honor), but rather that my goose was very nearly cooked. This was suddenly for me not some lofty conversation about how I would like to be remembered, this was "Ohmygod I nearly widowed my wife and left my children fatherless." This was also the first time I could ever recall feeling the need to do a little inventory on that part of the soul where regrets are stored.

And you know what? I couldn't find any. While there were plenty of things I felt bad about, and even more that still make me flush with embarrassment, there was nothing that had any urgency to it. Nothing that I hadn't done that would've caused me to lose sleep; no serious trespass against anyone that I hadn't asked forgiveness for.

For a guy who'd just stepped in front of a bus, I felt pretty good. Except for one nagging thought. Call it a pre-regret, if you'd like. If I had stepped off the curb in front of that bus and died stupidly and tragically -- or even if I had died heroically, pulling children (and nuns and puppies) from a sinking boat in the East River -- my last thought would have been this: I haven't shared with my daughters all the things I meant to as they grow up, like telling them all of the experiences I've had that might actually be of some use to them as they make their way in life. I would have regretted not passing along to them the lessons that I've learned from the mistakes I've made, the things I've gotten right, and the good advice that I've been given.

That night, after squeezing my wife and daughters just a little tighter than usual, I lay awake wondering if there was a way to avoid that regret. Maybe for the first time since becoming a dad, I thought about how I would talk to my girls about the really important stuff, and when. Should I wait until things come up in their lives, and try to comment on them as they happen? Should I hold my tongue until I'm asked? Should I be reading 548-page books by guys with degrees in child psychology and taking notes? What if my daughters won't listen to me? What if they think I'm too pushy/annoying/dumb/out-of-touch? What if I give lousy advice? Needless to say, sleep did not come easily.

Over the next few days, I thought a lot about the best advice I've gotten, and where it came from. I realized pretty quickly that the stuff that's helped me most in life came from all kinds of different sources, but always in the same way. Supportively. Conversationally. I don't think I've followed a single piece of guidance that was given to me by someone who was lecturing; nothing that started with "Let me tell you something" or "You need to listen to this" has ever sunk in very deep. All the good stuff has come in conversation, usually with people who were simply passing along their own experiences.

Suddenly parenting didn't seem quite so daunting. Maybe I didn't need to have a series of lectures prepared -- they'd likely fall on deaf ears, anyway -- but instead I could focus on explaining to my girls how I had come upon my own beliefs. I needed to be able to tell them not only what I'd learned but also how I'd learned it.

Of course, that still left the problem of the bus. On the chance (hopefully slim!) that the Grim Reaper should decide to visit me anytime soon, I figured it would be best if I wrote down the things I most wanted my daughters, Anna and Maggie, to know. About the same time that I started seriously thinking about what I hoped would eventually be a bunch of letters to my girls, I found myself writing letters to my friends' daughters, to mark big events in their lives, both good and bad. It was my grateful friends, telling me later that those notes served as good conversation starters with their girls, who gave me the idea for this book.

It occurs to me that there's a benefit to passing experience on by writing it down, and that's distance. Most advice, most life guidance, is given in some context. It's given at the moment it applies, which means that it's often tainted by the particulars of that moment, for example:

If the day comes that either of my girls comes home from high school with a forty-year-old boyfriend, I sincerely doubt the twin Furies of fear-for-her and rage-at-him will allow me to give a reasoned argument as to why he's not a great choice. (Even if I could, I suspect the homicidal way I'd be looking at him would make listening to me pretty hard.)

Writing it all out removes the limitations brought on by context; limitations not just on a dad's ability to give counsel, but also on a daughter's ability to hear it. My wife and I are learning -- slowly, but we're learning -- not to let discussions of important things go on too long if one or both of us are angry...especially at each other. Angry minds are seldom open, and I would guess scared or miserable minds function the same way. That is, they don't function. Distance, whether it's achieved by walking around the block to cool off or spending the time to put what you feel on paper, is the most important tool you'll have in dealing with situations in your life. Distance dampens anger and calms fear; it'll serve you well, if you let it.

Consider all that follows on these pages as a father's advice, given as he would most like you to hear it; guidance that's from the heart and the mind and not from the reactive gut. These are life lessons that are passed along with a sense of hope, not a sense of urgency or resignation. This is guidance that comes with a healthy dose of distance.

But understand that the word "distance" refers only to the removal I feel, as I write this, to the specifics of the questions a daughter might ask and the situations that she may be in as she grows up. There isn't the slightest bit of distance in the feelings that I have for my girls as their father. The chapters ahead are a distillation of what I know about the world, which I hope you'll use as you see fit. First, though, let me tell you what I know about being a dad:

Daughters are dreams come true. For me, that's literal: it was always my dream to be the father of girls, just as some men dream of playing center field and others dream of running large companies. I wanted daughters. It'd be swell to be able to explain why to you, but I can't. Whatever the reason, getting what I wanted has proved humbling, in that it has revealed the inadequacy of my imagination -- I never in my wildest dreams imagined the depth of emotion being a dad has brought out in me.

I realize the sappiness of writing that last bit...but I revel in it. And perhaps that's the greatest gift a daughter can give her father. Because they haven't yet amassed a lifetime of hang-ups or gender notions (or any of that fun stuff that cost my fellow New Yorkers two-hundred dollars a forty-five-minute hour to hash out with professionals), my girls have helped me see what's missing from a life led with emotional caution. They've taught me that there's no shame in the tears that form when one of them tells me, solemnly, that they love me "bigger than the moon and stars," and that there's plenty of shame in not recognizing such moments as the best that life could ever offer. Having daughters has taught me that the words "I love you" shouldn't be saved for private moments, but should be shouted across Grand Central Station at the height of rush hour. The good stuff -- love, happiness, and pride -- needs to be celebrated openly and regularly. I plan on spending the rest of my life thanking my girls for teaching me that.

One other thought before we start, a quick note on what I guess I'll call "Dead Bird Syndrome."

Some time ago, I was walking my younger daughter, Maggie, to the garage where we park our car. She was singing that god-awful "Titanic" song for the millionth time to me while I was remarking upon how grown up she seemed now that I no longer had to carry her. (My knees and my back were particularly thankful.) We were both smiling and chattering away...until I saw a dead bird in our path. So I did what parents do: I distracted her until we were safely past the brown shape on the sidewalk. And she did what children do: she laughed when I scooped her up and swung her around, and she remained wonderfully oblivious to my reason for doing so.

It was only later that I realized I'd done Maggie a disservice. My intentions were good, but in shielding her from evidence of a very basic fact of life, I robbed her of the ability to notice it and to talk about it and maybe to put it in its proper place. I'm not melodramatic enough to think that the one instance has any great significance -- like it would cure her of the fear of death, or anything -- but I do believe that my impulse was wrong in that case. It's the little, everyday examples of tough things like death that help prepare you for the big, infrequent examples.

So, I'll continue to hustle her out of the room when the evening news wallows in the latest mindless act of cruelty, but I'll try a bit harder to stop acting like a human blinder. I'll try a bit harder to let her see the whole world, and the flaws included therein.

That includes my flaws, many of which are detailed on the pages that follow. I hope that it won't embarrass you, kind reader, to know some of the silly and stupid things I've done over the past forty-two years. Please also know that it doesn't embarrass me to tell you about them. Like that dead bird on the sidewalk, most parents think their own blunders are unpleasant realities best hidden and forgotten. But I've learned a little something about mistakes: They are the truest measures of you, both in what prompted you to make them, and what (or whether) you choose to learn from them. They are what define you and what teach you. And they are maybe the only things in your life that are truly your own. Everyone will jump in to grab a little glory when you do something right; mistakes are yours and yours alone. The trick is in how you make use of them.

That's confusing, I know. Let's try it this way:

My older daughter Anna and I once built a fort out of cushions and blankets and towels and chairs. It was incredibly elaborate, as those things go; we even brought a battery-powered lamp into it, to read Yertle the Turtle by. It took us about half an hour to get it right. About ten minutes into making it, she wanted her Barbies to sit along one stretch of blanket by the coffee table and started piling them on. The whole thing collapsed. Anna pouted for a minute, then said, "Wait, I know let's do." (It's remarkable how much I miss the garbled syntax of her four-year-old self.) She got a box from the dining room, set it up on the coffee table, and draped a blanket over that. Just about each and every Barbie fit on that contraption.

And when her grandmother came over, that was the only part of the fort Anna wanted to show her. Her silly father was crowing about the door flaps and the reading room, and about how the American flag blanket was draped just so over the side of the dining room chairs, and Anna made sure her Nana saw how a strategically placed box could hold the weight of a dozen dolls. Because she'd made a mistake and because fixing it took some thought and effort, that part of our fort was the one that she was proudest of.

Most folks think that mistakes get bigger and more important than that as they get older, but they don't, mostly. Except for the major errors that destroy lives, most mistakes are about as consequential as the temporary collapse of that fort. The only difference is that as you grow up you find your mistakes more embarrassing...the world has a way of convincing you that if you goof something up, you're somehow diminished. That to admit failure, no matter how small or correctable, is a weakness. That's just completely absurd. If you're willing to learn, each false start is more experience to help you trust the path you eventually find. Each mistake is a chance to show yourself that the things worth achieving are worth the effort of trying again and again.

So here's my first piece of advice to you, and maybe the most important one between these covers: Make glorious mistakes. If you can, try not to make them out of laziness or meanness. Make them instead because you are overreaching your abilities. Make them because you bit off a bit more than you can chew. Make them because they will prove to the world -- and more important to yourself -- that you are striving, and not coasting. Don't be too self-critical; no one who really loves you expects you to be perfect. Count on failing every so often, so when success comes, you'll know you've earned it.

Oh, and listen to your old man, from time to time.

Copyright © 2005 by Philip Van Munching



Continues...




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Excerpted from Boys Will Put You on a Pedestal (So They Can Look Up Your Skirt) by Philip Van Munching Copyright © 2005 by Philip Van Munching.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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