Nap time this afternoon: five minutes of whining before falling asleep. Not even real crying, just some fussing and complaining and whatnot.
Bedtime this evening: five minutes, thirty seconds of whining before falling asleep. (That last thirty seconds almost broke me, if I'm being honest. Just as I was walking in to get her I realized she'd gone silent.)
To sum up: total freak show easy-going-to-bed-style baby. Let's just see if it lasts.
Oh, oh, and I totally forgot to mention, she rolled over for the first time ever today! I clapped for her, I was so excited! (I am lame.)
In other news, Gabe turns two tomorrow. I will probably cry because my little baby boy is not a baby anymore! He's officially a big guy now! And I will blame the crying on postpartum hormones. So there.
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Sleeping Beauty
I think I'm being tricked.
For three nights in a row now the baby has easily, cheerfully gone to sleep at night like it's no big deal. I feed her, wrap her in her swaddle blanket, give her half a dozen or so kisses and tuck her into her cradle.
And then she just...falls asleep.
Tonight she sort of fussed around for under four minutes before dozing off. I put her down at 7:24 and at 7:28 I went back to take this picture:
Amazing! Or a clever trick?
Oh, the acrobatics we went through to get Gabe to go to bed when he was this age! I distinctly remember rocking him for hours and hours, walking him in endless circles across the floor, shushing him gently, singing lullabies, frantically re-reading sections of Happiest Baby On the Block on the off chance that I had missed some important clue in infant sleep... one time I even crawled out of his room on hands and knees after finally getting him to sleep after several previous failed attempts.
And this one just...goes to sleep. Has someone stolen my real baby and replaced her with a fake? Perhaps it is some sort of reality television show of which I am an unwitting participant, Candid Camera-style. I am going to check the bedroom for hidden cameras tonight, just in case.
For three nights in a row now the baby has easily, cheerfully gone to sleep at night like it's no big deal. I feed her, wrap her in her swaddle blanket, give her half a dozen or so kisses and tuck her into her cradle.
And then she just...falls asleep.
Tonight she sort of fussed around for under four minutes before dozing off. I put her down at 7:24 and at 7:28 I went back to take this picture:
Amazing! Or a clever trick?Oh, the acrobatics we went through to get Gabe to go to bed when he was this age! I distinctly remember rocking him for hours and hours, walking him in endless circles across the floor, shushing him gently, singing lullabies, frantically re-reading sections of Happiest Baby On the Block on the off chance that I had missed some important clue in infant sleep... one time I even crawled out of his room on hands and knees after finally getting him to sleep after several previous failed attempts.
And this one just...goes to sleep. Has someone stolen my real baby and replaced her with a fake? Perhaps it is some sort of reality television show of which I am an unwitting participant, Candid Camera-style. I am going to check the bedroom for hidden cameras tonight, just in case.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Powered by Caffeine and Medela
Tessa has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad cold. Newborn with a bad cold = parents with no sleep. Like, almost none at all. I think in the past two days I have gotten five broken hours of sleep total. Yikes.
Here is what happens: It is 3:00 a.m. Baby begins to cry. Baby is picked up out of the crib by one of her exhausted parents, and then fed/changed/walked in circles as required to calm her down and get her back to sleep. (Bonus points to the parent if a blowout poopy diaper is discovered, such as the one that happened last night around 1:15 a.m. requiring a full outfit change and swaddle blanket replacement.) The parent continues to soothe baby until she is clearly deeply asleep, perhaps even snoring. Then the parent continues the soothing process for an additional ten minutes, just to be absolutely positive that baby is now sleeping soundly and can be returned to cradle with minimal risk. Parent lays baby very gently and slowly down into her cradle and makes sure she is comfy and warm. Parent lays back down in own bed; pillow feels blissful. Ahhhh, bed. Glorious bed.
Parent has bought himself or herself perhaps ten minutes before the crying begins again. Only now the baby is angry, because seriously, who gave you permission to put her down in the cradle, you evil parent? Quite obviously the baby will only tolerate sleeping in your arms, and not any stupid cradle. Or swing. Or bouncy seat. Or strategically-angled car seat propped on bedroom floor.
The fun scenario described above is made more interesting by occasional pathetic coughing, sneezing, and snorting from the newborn. Tessa is so congested that is she refusing to breastfeed. She does not want her little nose or cheeks touched or squished in any manner, and thus will only take bottles. This means I am spending even more quality time with my already close friend the Medela Symphony to make sure my sadly mediocre milk supply doesn't drop any further.
To sum up: newborn with a cold = bad bad bad.
The good news is that the baby is, snot nose and all, so adorable. I mean it. She's much more alert and looking around (somewhat suspiciously) at her surroundings, and I am waiting with baited breath for her first real smile. Please send us some good thoughts that this cold passes quickly and we can return to our regular, non-snotty, occasionally decent-sleeping baby ASAP.
Here is what happens: It is 3:00 a.m. Baby begins to cry. Baby is picked up out of the crib by one of her exhausted parents, and then fed/changed/walked in circles as required to calm her down and get her back to sleep. (Bonus points to the parent if a blowout poopy diaper is discovered, such as the one that happened last night around 1:15 a.m. requiring a full outfit change and swaddle blanket replacement.) The parent continues to soothe baby until she is clearly deeply asleep, perhaps even snoring. Then the parent continues the soothing process for an additional ten minutes, just to be absolutely positive that baby is now sleeping soundly and can be returned to cradle with minimal risk. Parent lays baby very gently and slowly down into her cradle and makes sure she is comfy and warm. Parent lays back down in own bed; pillow feels blissful. Ahhhh, bed. Glorious bed.
Parent has bought himself or herself perhaps ten minutes before the crying begins again. Only now the baby is angry, because seriously, who gave you permission to put her down in the cradle, you evil parent? Quite obviously the baby will only tolerate sleeping in your arms, and not any stupid cradle. Or swing. Or bouncy seat. Or strategically-angled car seat propped on bedroom floor.
The fun scenario described above is made more interesting by occasional pathetic coughing, sneezing, and snorting from the newborn. Tessa is so congested that is she refusing to breastfeed. She does not want her little nose or cheeks touched or squished in any manner, and thus will only take bottles. This means I am spending even more quality time with my already close friend the Medela Symphony to make sure my sadly mediocre milk supply doesn't drop any further.
To sum up: newborn with a cold = bad bad bad.
The good news is that the baby is, snot nose and all, so adorable. I mean it. She's much more alert and looking around (somewhat suspiciously) at her surroundings, and I am waiting with baited breath for her first real smile. Please send us some good thoughts that this cold passes quickly and we can return to our regular, non-snotty, occasionally decent-sleeping baby ASAP.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
In which I am exhausted
Newsflash: having a newborn baby come and live at your house means you will be very, very tired. Bonus newsflash: if you have a toddler who already lives at your house, and then you add a newborn baby to the mix, it means you will be so tired you can hardly see straight. Literally. As in, last night my eyes wouldn't really focus and I ran into a door frame so hard that I am sporting a sizable bruise on my hip. I swear, that doorframe jumped up at me out of nowhere.
In lieu of an actual blog entry, please accept this very long video of Gabe singing most of the ABCs, followed by his rousing and enthusiastic rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Oh wait, I do have one thing to add. The Canadian ice dancing team won the Olympic gold medal last night. The woman ice dancer's name is Tessa Virtue (for real). We tried to pick something not terribly common for our kid's name, and now I am convinced that every other baby girl born in Canada in the next few months will be named Tessa, because those Canadians are pretty fired up about the ice dancing gold. Awesome.
In lieu of an actual blog entry, please accept this very long video of Gabe singing most of the ABCs, followed by his rousing and enthusiastic rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
Oh wait, I do have one thing to add. The Canadian ice dancing team won the Olympic gold medal last night. The woman ice dancer's name is Tessa Virtue (for real). We tried to pick something not terribly common for our kid's name, and now I am convinced that every other baby girl born in Canada in the next few months will be named Tessa, because those Canadians are pretty fired up about the ice dancing gold. Awesome.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
It must be this crazy weather.
We had a bit of a rough evening here. Gabe did that awesome toddler thing where he would intentionally create a small disaster, and then while I was cleaning it up, he would relocate and create another small disaster. For example, he refused his dinner in a definitive manner (he threw part of it on the floor), then while I was cleaning up dinner, he got into the pantry and managed to create a small shower of Rice Krispies in one corner of the kitchen. Then, while I was cleaning that up, he got a mostly-empty Diet Coke can out of the recycling bin, some orange peels out of the trash can, and combined the two decidedly icky items to make a very sticky art project in the opposite corner of the kitchen floor.
Wheeee.
Just when I was feeling super exhausted and approaching the end of my rope (and huge to boot - I look like a cartoon character with my ginormous belly), it was bedtime. We did our normal bedtime routine of milk and stories and rocking, and then I dimmed the light. We cuddled in the rocking chair for a few minutes when Gabe suddenly hugged me very, very tightly and said, in his sleepy voice, "I got you. Doan worry. I got you."
Much to my surprise I felt tears in my eyes. (Damn pregnancy hormones.) I hugged him just as tightly and said, "I got you too, baby." Then, after a moment or two, I settled back in the chair to rock more easily.
He was not having that. He grabbed my wrist and placed my hand on his back, where it had been during the hugging a minute before. "More hand, Mommy. More hand."
"Of course, baby," I replied, tears blurring my vision now. "Of course." He nuzzled his chin into my chest, curled his body around my belly as best he could, and thirty seconds later he was fast asleep.
Orange peels, Diet Coke, chicken, Rice Krispies all on the floor...all forgotten. It sometimes astonishes me how very much I love that little person.
Wheeee.
Just when I was feeling super exhausted and approaching the end of my rope (and huge to boot - I look like a cartoon character with my ginormous belly), it was bedtime. We did our normal bedtime routine of milk and stories and rocking, and then I dimmed the light. We cuddled in the rocking chair for a few minutes when Gabe suddenly hugged me very, very tightly and said, in his sleepy voice, "I got you. Doan worry. I got you."
Much to my surprise I felt tears in my eyes. (Damn pregnancy hormones.) I hugged him just as tightly and said, "I got you too, baby." Then, after a moment or two, I settled back in the chair to rock more easily.
He was not having that. He grabbed my wrist and placed my hand on his back, where it had been during the hugging a minute before. "More hand, Mommy. More hand."
"Of course, baby," I replied, tears blurring my vision now. "Of course." He nuzzled his chin into my chest, curled his body around my belly as best he could, and thirty seconds later he was fast asleep.
Orange peels, Diet Coke, chicken, Rice Krispies all on the floor...all forgotten. It sometimes astonishes me how very much I love that little person.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Sometimes it's hard to love the cat.
This evening as Gabe and I were going through our cozy bedtime ritual, I walked him over to his crib to take out the decorative stuffed animals (as placed there by the decorators who staged our home which STILL HAS NOT SOLD ahhhhh am losing my mind from the noise of the vacuum and the fumes from the kitchen cleaners which I use EVERY DAMN DAY), I noticed something highly unpleasant.
Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.
CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.
The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.
So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.
Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.
I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.
Not tonight.
Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"
Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.
After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.
Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.
Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.
But what am I going to do about the cat?
Our cat, who has been acting up a bit ever since Gabe started walking in earnest, had peed in the crib.
CAT PEE IN THE CRIB.
The bad, bad, bad cat also managed to pee all over Gabe's lovey lion blanket (a very soft, sweet, small blanket with a lion's head sewn on one corner). I was horrified. I am still horrified, several hours later.
So rather than rock Gabe in the glider chair and lay him down gently to sleep as had been my plan thirty seconds earlier, I was forced to strip the crib and and put on a clean mattress pad and sheets. Thank goodness for the waterproof mattress pads that I bought in bulk when Gabe was a newborn. That purchase represents a rare moment of lucidity in the midst of several highly sleep-deprived weeks.
Also, thank goodness we have a backup lovey blanket.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
Gabe has slept with his lovey lion blanket since he was a very little guy. It's organic and made from breathable fabric and it's quite small, so even though I was absolutely terrified of SIDS (and undoubtedly will be again for Version 2.0), the lovey lion blanket never worried me much. Shortly after Gabe began sleeping with the lovey lion, we received a nearly identical blanket as a gift. It's exactly the same, except it has (you guessed it smart readers!) a bear's head on the corner.
I've offered Gabe the bear blanket on a few occasions in the past, usually when the lion was in the wash, and he accepted it without protest.
Not tonight.
Tonight I got him all snuggled down in his crib and handed him the lovey bear. He took it happily, then frowned and sat up to get a better look at it. He examined the blanket, looked at me with raised eyebrows, looked back at the blanket, then smelled the blanket. He turned to me with a very serious expression on his face, extended his arm to show me the blanket, and said, "Uh oh!"
Clearly, not fooled. Not for a minute.
After some serious negotiations he accepted his Elmo doll and DaDoh the gingham stuffed lion as substitutes, and seriously, I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't taken them. I had a few moments of something close to panic as I tried to imagine how I would get him to sleep without the cat-pee-soaked lovey lion. We have an allegedly high efficiency washing machine and dryer, and those damn things take an hour each to run a full cycle, so tossing the lovey lion in for a quick wash was not a good option.
Lucky for me, I have the greatest baby in the whole entire world, and he cheerfully settled down with Elmo tucked under one arm and DaDoh tucked under the other, and was out cold in mere minutes.
Lovey lion is in the wash now, and should be good as new in a couple of hours.
But what am I going to do about the cat?
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Night Night
We have the nicest little bedtime routine, Gabe and I. When it's getting late enough, Gabe gets a clean diaper and a clean pair of PJs, and we lower the blinds in his bedroom to make the room feel nice and cozy. Then we settle into the big soft glider chair in his room with a bottle (the only bottle he gets nowadays, which he drinks with unbridled enthusiasm) and a stack of picture books. Then we read and read and read until he begins to rub his eyes. Next is the best part: we turn the lights down very low and cuddle in the glider and rock and rock and rock until he is nice and sleepy. Then it's kisses and hugs and time to go to sleep in the crib.
Tonight while we were rocking, when I suspected Gabe was beginning to drift off to sleep, he nuzzled his head a little deeper into the crook of my arm and said, "Mommy." Then he looked up at me, straight into my eyes, and said, "Happy." Then he nuzzled back down and let out the most contented sigh I have ever heard.
This ranks in the top ten moments of my life, for sure.
I love our routine so much, and I really, truly hope I can figure out some way to continue it after baby #2 is born early next year.
That's right, I'm pregnant again. Like, really pregnant. Fourteen weeks. That's officially second trimester and everything.
I've been trying to muster up the enthusiasm to write a "Hooray I'm Knocked Up Again Hooray Hooray!" post for literally weeks now, because Matt and I are over-the-moon excited, but quite obviously this post has not happened. I blame: (1) my full-time job, which seems to be more full-time than ever, if such a thing is possible; (2) my toddler, who only walks now (no crawling!) and is trying to figure out how to run; (3) the killer fatigue of early pregnancy, which I somehow managed to block out from last time around (although I really should have remembered the multiple times I flat-out fell asleep at my desk at work during my pregnancy with Gabe, including once with a little drool on the desk); and, most critically (4) the evil, evil "morning" sickness.
I experienced very little morning sickness during my pregnancy with Gabe, and really, I should have thanked my lucky stars for that fact. I did not appreciate it enough at the time. Not nearly enough. Because this time I am sick. SICK. Since the six-week mark, I have been somewhere on the sliding scale of nausea - dry heaves - puking every single day. Usually towards the puking end of the scale, and not just once a day puking either. One of my pregnancy books refers to morning sickness as "progesterone poisoning," and really, that is such a better and more accurate description.
It's bad enough that I whined to my OB about it, hoping he would have some good advice or maybe some nice anti-nausea drugs or something. His respone? "Well, you got off easy last time. This should make you appreciate what an easy pregnancy you had last time around!" He said this with remarkable cheerfulness and a big smile. I kind of wanted to hit him.
So as I mentioned, I am now about fourteen weeks along. I am hoping (praying!) that the progesterone poisoning tapers off pretty soon so that I can attempt to enjoy this pregnancy. Because honestly, we are so damn lucky. Tonight as I sat in the glider chair in Gabe's quiet bedroom, I had a growing baby in my belly and a happy baby in my arms. That, my friends, is just about as good as life ever gets.
Tonight while we were rocking, when I suspected Gabe was beginning to drift off to sleep, he nuzzled his head a little deeper into the crook of my arm and said, "Mommy." Then he looked up at me, straight into my eyes, and said, "Happy." Then he nuzzled back down and let out the most contented sigh I have ever heard.
This ranks in the top ten moments of my life, for sure.
I love our routine so much, and I really, truly hope I can figure out some way to continue it after baby #2 is born early next year.
That's right, I'm pregnant again. Like, really pregnant. Fourteen weeks. That's officially second trimester and everything.
I've been trying to muster up the enthusiasm to write a "Hooray I'm Knocked Up Again Hooray Hooray!" post for literally weeks now, because Matt and I are over-the-moon excited, but quite obviously this post has not happened. I blame: (1) my full-time job, which seems to be more full-time than ever, if such a thing is possible; (2) my toddler, who only walks now (no crawling!) and is trying to figure out how to run; (3) the killer fatigue of early pregnancy, which I somehow managed to block out from last time around (although I really should have remembered the multiple times I flat-out fell asleep at my desk at work during my pregnancy with Gabe, including once with a little drool on the desk); and, most critically (4) the evil, evil "morning" sickness.
I experienced very little morning sickness during my pregnancy with Gabe, and really, I should have thanked my lucky stars for that fact. I did not appreciate it enough at the time. Not nearly enough. Because this time I am sick. SICK. Since the six-week mark, I have been somewhere on the sliding scale of nausea - dry heaves - puking every single day. Usually towards the puking end of the scale, and not just once a day puking either. One of my pregnancy books refers to morning sickness as "progesterone poisoning," and really, that is such a better and more accurate description.
It's bad enough that I whined to my OB about it, hoping he would have some good advice or maybe some nice anti-nausea drugs or something. His respone? "Well, you got off easy last time. This should make you appreciate what an easy pregnancy you had last time around!" He said this with remarkable cheerfulness and a big smile. I kind of wanted to hit him.
So as I mentioned, I am now about fourteen weeks along. I am hoping (praying!) that the progesterone poisoning tapers off pretty soon so that I can attempt to enjoy this pregnancy. Because honestly, we are so damn lucky. Tonight as I sat in the glider chair in Gabe's quiet bedroom, I had a growing baby in my belly and a happy baby in my arms. That, my friends, is just about as good as life ever gets.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Best Laid Plans
I had this great idea that I would take a vacation day from work today, send Gabe to school as usual, and spend the better part of the day packing up all of our junk to put into storage this weekend (see earlier post re: oh-my-stars-i'm-having-a-nervous-breakdown-getting-ready-for-the-professional-stagers-ack!). Then I would go grab Gabe in the late afternoon and whiz down the traffic-less freeway towards home, accompanied by unicorns and shooting stars, to play with my baby in my perfectly clean and organized home.
Then this happened:
For those of you who can't tell, that would be the Stinkeye Pinkeye, a/k/a the disease that will get you evicted from daycare in fourteen seconds FLAT. When I picked up Gabe from the Children's Center yesterday afternoon, they literally could not hand him to me fast enough. After (gently) shoving him into my arms, one of his teachers frantically began using hand sanitizing gel as she backed up ten feet away from us and gestured in the general direction of his eyes.
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Then this happened:
"We had to wipe his eyes twice. You should take him to the doctor. Like, right now."
At this point Gabe rubbed his eyes briskly with his little fists, then smiled up at me and began patting my face because he was just so happy to see me. (I tried to see beyond the contagious plague on his fingertips and focus on the fact that my favorite baby was giving me big smiles. Of course there is no doubt in my mind that I am going to wake up with my eyelids crusted shut tomorrow morning.)
Thank goodness my lovely father-in-law is an eye doctor, and he promptly called in a lovely prescription for lovely, lovely, anti-Stinkeye eyedrops. Although putting eyedrops in the eyes of an almost-ten-month-old baby is, shall we say...challenging. But that is a subject for another post, because I am just too freaking exhausted to describe holding his arms down with my body while attempting to gently, gently pry open his poor goopy blue (red) eyes long enough to drop a single eyedrop in each one.
Oh good grief, I just scrolled up and looked at the picture of his pathetic little self again. Let's face it, there's nowhere good that further discussion of Stinkeye Pinkeye can go, so here, distract yourselves with this picture of a baby with no comunicable disases, which was taken during a happier time (e.g. last weekend):
P.S. My house looks like a complete disaster, thanks for asking.
P.P.S. Gabe got another tooth yesterday, bringing him up to a grand total of TWO!
P.P.P.S. He slept through the night twice this week (FIRST TIME EVER since that one time he did it when he was three months old and still sleeping in the swing), but I dare not say more for fear of jinxing it. (pleasepleaseplease let it happen again tonight!!!)
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
My Day (Aren't You Giddy With Anticipation?)
- Jerk awake from sleep to the sound of baby crying. Check clock. Is 4:03 a.m.
- Drag self out of bed and into baby's room for standard 4:00 a.m. feeding.
- Kiss baby, lay baby back down in bed.
- Crawl back into bed, then check fancy video baby monitor. Baby appears to be sleeping again, tummy full. Excellent, excellent.
- Resume sleeping.
- Jerk awake to the sound of alarm clock. Check clock. Is 7:01 a.m.
- Force self awake. Accept mug of coffee proffered by lovely, lovely husband.
- Fortified by caffeine, commence morning routine of feeding baby, showering, dressing baby, preparing bottles/lunch for baby, getting ready for work, etc.
- Am hungry, but realize there is no time to eat.
- Kiss baby and husband goodbye and get in car (as lovely husband is dropping off baby at daycare as usual).
- Sit on 405 freeway.
- Sit on 101 freeway.
- Merge onto 134 freeway and discover there is no traffic on 134. Accelerate to 70mph. Whee!
- Exit ramp for my exit is backed up. Boo.
- Arrive at work at approx. 9:07. Commence drafting contract while returning emails and voicemails simultaneously. Am excellent multitasking-type person.
- Still hungry at approximately 10:19. Run across the street to Starbucks and grab low-fat muffin (but who am I kidding? Allegedly "low-fat" muffin undoubtedly contains 867 calories and 52 grams of fat) and black coffee. Mmmmm, Starbucks.
- Return to desk and continue work while picking gross dried apricots out of "low-fat" muffin.
- Send out three contracts for signature. Hooray for me!
- Send out a draft contract to my business contact. Am such an effective lawyer. Pat self on back.
- Is now 12:23. Must run to Studio lot to pick up a copy of 101 Dalmatians for my sister-in-law like I promised her I would do.
- Arrive at Studio lot. Damn, no copies of 101 Dalmatians in stock. Purchase "101 Dalmatians 2: Patch's London Adventure" as wholly inadequate substitute.
- Grab salad at Studio commissary. Am paragon of virtue, food-wise.
- Return to desk at 1:17 and begin eating salad while replying to emails and feeling guilty re: lack of original 101 Dalmatians DVD.
- Conference call from 2:00-2:30. No fun. Everyone cranky. Force self to pay attention and not check favorite websites.
- Receive comments to draft contract from business team. Revise draft and send out to vendor for signature. Such a good lawyer today!
- Conference call from 3:00-3:30. Less crankiness on this one.
- Check gmail account and www.icanhascheezburger.com because am lazy and ineffective sometimes.
- Also check favorite blogs, www.flotsamblog.com, and www.amalah.com. Ooooh, new update on Flotsam! Hooray!
- Send out one more contract for signature. Return some more emails. Is almost 4:00!
- 4:02. Time to sneak out. Check hallways for signs of boss. Boss is nowhere in sight. Scurry to elevators as quietly as possible.
- Where is elevator? Damn it.
- Ahh, elevator arrives. Excellent, have escaped without notice!
- In lobby, encounter co-workers returning from afternoon Starbucks run. Busted.
- Oh well.
- Locate car in parking garage.
- Drive to daycare to collect baby. Is raining. Oof.
- Baby!!!!!!!!!!!
- Many squeezes and kisses. Baby applauds for me and buries his head in my shoulder/neck area.
- Am happy.
- Put baby into carseat and take him out to car. Grateful for excellent parking spot right near door, as the rain is really coming down now.
- Sit on freeway on-ramp. Inauspicious beginning to drive home.
- Sit on 134.
- Sit on 101.
- Sit on 405 (all the while thanking God or whatever higher power is in charge of baby naps that baby fell asleep on 134/101 transition and remains asleep now. Snoring slightly, actually.)
- Arrive at home!
- Baby still sleeping. Huh.
- Will sit in car and wait for him to wake up.
- Check BlackBerry, return work emails.
- Baby still sleeping. Double huh.
- Baby awake! Hooray!
- Gather baby in carseat (with blanket carefully draped over same to prevent any raindrops from touching his precious skin), daycare bag full of empty bottles and lunch containers, mail from mailbox, and oversize (but very stylish) purse and run for the front door, as rain continues to pour down.
- Discover I am excellent at running in the rain in high heels. Yay for me!
- Am drenched. Baby is amused. Claps hands.
- Remove baby from carseat and play on the floor for a while. Baby loves clicking butterfly toy and old cell phone with battery removed.
- Try to return a few more work emails while amusing baby with floppy dog toy. Baby spies BlackBerry and demands to play with it.
- Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground. The back comes off and battery skitters under the coffee table.
- Reassemble BlackBerry.
- Baby demands BlackBerry again.
- Baby flings BlackBerry to the ground again.
- Enough of that game.
- Carry baby to the highchair and present him with his menu options. Baby rejects lentils and rice combo dinner (judging from volume of rejection, baby suspects lentils might contain poison) and instead selects Cheerios and applesauce. Surprise, surprise.
- Feed baby. Much babbling and smearing of applesauce occurs.
- Attempt to wipe off baby. Leave disgusting Cheerio/applesauce mixture mashed into highchair tray for later.
- Realize baby has just spit some Cheerio on my soft, soft (read: expensive) cashmere sweater. Feel that baby is perhaps slightly disrespectful of cashmere, and that I am perhaps stupid for not changing clothes before feeding baby.
- Play with baby some more. Many tummy kisses and giggles and banging on the little red piano are involved.
- Am happy.
- Cuddle up with baby in big chair and give him bottle, then offer baby selection of bedtime stories.
- Baby selects "Hippos Go Berserk," "Each Peach Pear Plum," and "The Going To Bed Book." Excellent choices all.
- Read books, smooch baby's fat cheeks, and lay baby down in crib. Baby is tired, rubbing eyes.
- Turn out lights.
- Grab aforementioned fancy video baby monitor and head to kitchen to do the Big Bottle Wash. Wash all bottles and baby food containers used today, plus scrub previously mentioned Cheerio/applesauce mush (which has now solidified into a hard crust) from highchair tray.
- Check monitor. Baby appears to be fast asleep. Hooray!
- Realize have forgotten one dirty bottle on bedside table. Damn.
- Check work emails. Return work emails. BlackBerry trackball not working quite properly, perhaps as result of BlackBerry being flung to the ground several times. Hmm.
- Husband arrives home bearing take out Chinese food! Best Husband Ever!!!
- Smooch husband then greedily grab Chinese food bag from his hand.
- Eat delicious shrimps and mixed vegetables. Mmmmmmm.
- Also drink wine. Mmmmmm.
- Watch American Idol saved on TiVo. Feel strong feelings of love for: (a) husband; (b) baby, who is still asleep; (c) Chinese food; (d) Simon Cowell; (e) cats (one of whom is sitting on feet keeping them warm); and (f) TiVo.
- Prepare bottle things for 4:00 a.m. feeding; put all supplies on bedside table.
- Brush teeth, remove contacts, etc.
- Give husband big hug and smooch.
- Go to bed.
- Whew.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
I am an awesome mom and never miss obvious solutions to annoying problems.
Gabe sleeps beautifully in his crib at night. We put him down to sleep between 7:00 and 7:30 every evening, and he usually just hugs his lovey lion, rolls over, and goes to sleep. Fussing is rare.
Naps, however, are a different story.
I can count on one hand the number of times we've managed to get him to nap in his crib. Usually we lay him down, hand him the lovey lion, and kiss him...and he looks at us as though we've crushed his little spirit. After about thirty seconds when he realizes that we are serious and we really do expect him to stay in his crib because we are the meanest parents of all time, he starts screaming and then rolls over and pokes his hands through the crib bars in a desperate attempt to escape. It's pathetic and awful and after five minutes of listening to him cry I inevitably give up and go pick him up.
He'll nap in his stroller, Ergo sling, and car seat no problem, but he hates the crib. (Silver lining: taking Gabe for two one-hour walks a day in his stroller or sling went a long way towards helping me lose the baby weight. Hooray!)
Anyhow, I am sick (yet again, I know), and lack the energy for a good long walk, so I decided I would make an effort to get Gabe to nap in the crib this morning.
And much to my shock and surprise, he babbled quietly to his lovey lion for about five minutes, then rolled over and went to sleep. NO CRYING!!! It's practically a miracle!! That's right, after eight months of struggling we achieved a successful crib nap!
What did I do differently, you ask? What marvelous parenting technique did I employ?
I closed the blinds in his room so it would be dark in there.
I am such an idiot.
Naps, however, are a different story.
I can count on one hand the number of times we've managed to get him to nap in his crib. Usually we lay him down, hand him the lovey lion, and kiss him...and he looks at us as though we've crushed his little spirit. After about thirty seconds when he realizes that we are serious and we really do expect him to stay in his crib because we are the meanest parents of all time, he starts screaming and then rolls over and pokes his hands through the crib bars in a desperate attempt to escape. It's pathetic and awful and after five minutes of listening to him cry I inevitably give up and go pick him up.
He'll nap in his stroller, Ergo sling, and car seat no problem, but he hates the crib. (Silver lining: taking Gabe for two one-hour walks a day in his stroller or sling went a long way towards helping me lose the baby weight. Hooray!)
Anyhow, I am sick (yet again, I know), and lack the energy for a good long walk, so I decided I would make an effort to get Gabe to nap in the crib this morning.
And much to my shock and surprise, he babbled quietly to his lovey lion for about five minutes, then rolled over and went to sleep. NO CRYING!!! It's practically a miracle!! That's right, after eight months of struggling we achieved a successful crib nap!
What did I do differently, you ask? What marvelous parenting technique did I employ?
I closed the blinds in his room so it would be dark in there.
I am such an idiot.
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