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Winter is Coming

10/21/2011

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I'm going to go out on a limb, and say that the three most dreaded words in the world of Parenthood (aside from "some assembly required" and "car seat installation") are...

(insert scary music here)

...DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME.

It's coming. I can feel it. The temp in Vegas has dropped to 85 degrees. The calendar is reading mid to late October. People (including myself) are decorating with gourds and fake leaves. I know it's coming, but I cannot bear to look up the date of when it actually occurs.

Is it coming this weekend?

Next weekend?

The first weekend in November?

Kind of like that puff-of-air-test at the optometrist's office, I'd rather not know when it's coming. Surprise me.

I remember when I was a non-parent and I would relish in the extra hour during the weekend. Now, it's all about the schedule. And as any good parent would likely tattoo on their body, since they take it so seriously...

Don't deviate from the schedule.

Words to live by.

And then some yahoo went along and invented Daylight Savings Time. Yes, yes, I understand that without it, it would be dark at noon in like, 30 years. But I'm willing to sacrifice that because right now, all I care about is that my two-year old is sleeping past 7am.

Oh, the beauty of it.

But because I'm a glass-half-empty kind of gal (or as Brian likes to say about me, "Do we even know if there is a glass?"), when Scotty blissfully sleeps that late, my very first thought (after "where are my glasses?") is "don't get used to it. 7:15 today is 6:15...soon."

I bet the guy who invented DST didn't have young kids.

Either way, it hangs over me.

Winter is coming.
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Naptime Glory Days

5/24/2011

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Remember when I used to bemoan the constant struggle between Scotty and I to take a nap? Namely, my desire for him to sleep, which in turn, allowed me to sleep? (or blog, or clean the house, or -- the greatest luxury of all -- shower?)

I'm happy to say we have reached a truce.

Naptime has become a glorious time of day. I'm not sure when it happened or how it happened, but I want to let all new mothers know this: it gets better. Really. The nap striking, the crying, the cursing of the baby monitor -- it seemingly ends with a whimper. And before you know it, you actually find yourself enjoying the afternoon bedtime routine.

Scotty and I have it down pat. We eat lunch around 11:30. He finishes up about 11:50 and wanders over to the bop-bops in the living room after I wash his hands and face. As I clean up the kitchen, he makes a nice post-lunch poopie (in the privacy of the living room, naturally.) Once I've got the kitchen in working order, I head to the stairs calling his name. He usually grabs his stuffed dog ("Doggie," as he affectionately calls him) and begins the long climb up the stairs. At some point, he will turn to me and hand over the dog to allow both hands free to climb. I am usually shouting "Go!" and "Up!" as this happens, while turning my head in the other direction to avoid the ungodly stench that is wafting up from his bum.

After what feels like two hours but is actually closer to two minutes, we've hit the top of the stairs. He takes his dog back and charges into our bedroom. I continue to his room, and by the time I am closing the blinds, he's entered the room and is closing the door. When I ask what time is it, he replies, "Night night!" (oh, blessed language skills!)

There is a quick diaper change while I gag and he giggles, more cuddles with the stuffed puppy, and some books. With those fabulous words just rolling off his tongue, he asks for books and I actually know what he is talking about. ("Moo, baa, ya ya ya" is a daily favorite.) We sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" 2-3 times, play a quick game of "Where's Scotty?" (hint: still there!) and it's crib time. I put him face down on the lion blanket, he waves, blows a kiss, and shouts, "Night night!" and I am free to be me again. For approximately 45 - 90 minutes.

It's a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I'm sure now that I have typed this out and put it into the universe, the nap strikes will attack again. But for now, I acknowledge that while we haven't won the war, we've won a battle. And what a great victory it is. 
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As Promised...

1/19/2011

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Type Fast: The Beauty and Challenge of the One Nap Schedule.

I'm not lying, I really am typing fast.

Scotty turned 17 months yesterday (and was a stinker for most of the day...please, please tell me that 16 months wasn't our peak) and he's officially a one-nap kid. It took a little while to get to this point, and just like all things in Motherhood, you constantly question yourself about what you are doing and if it's the right thing. I mean, I know there is some statistic that says by 18 months, like 80% of kids are down to one nap. But what if my child was part of that 20%? And what if I'm essentially robbing him of precious sleep and in four years, he's going to be inaccurately diagnosed with ADHD as a result of his over-tiredness, not actually because he is hyperactive and I've officially screwed up his life?

Do all of you have these thoughts? Please tell me I'm not the only one.

::deep breath::

Anyway, I can tell you now that I feel fairly confident that Scotty is squarely in that 80% figure. After a 7am wake-up, his little eyes regularly droop by 11:15am. We eat a quick lunch and he's shuttled upstairs by 11:30. On a good day, he'll sleep until 2:00pm. On a GREAT day, he'll sleep until 2:30-3:00. On a I-want-to-kill-my-husband-because-he's-not-suffering-through-this-the-way-I-am day, he'll sleep until 1pm. (dagger to the heart). But really, the best part is Scotty is so tired that there is literally no fight over nap time anymore. Be still my heart! Oh, music to my ears. I cannot tell you how stressful that damn afternoon nap had become; keep him upstairs for an hour as he wails, but bring him downstairs only for him to fuss and grunt at me? What's worse? And there were so many times that I would listen in agony to the monitor for 45+ minutes, only to go upstairs to get him and be met by total silence. Since we were not thoughtful enough to purchase a video monitor (Jill, you're the smart one), I would stand outside the nursery door with my ear pressed to it. Is he asleep? Did he finally collapse from sheer exhaustion? Or did dingos break into my house and steal my baby? Either way, I wasn't about to open that door and find out.

I'm so glad the dingo-fears are now behind us. The little Bear wearily climbs the stairs, heads to his room like a big boy, we have a brief diaper change, some snuggle, and then it's snoozy time. Easy as pie.

And another perk of the one nap schedule is I can actually do multiple things during the day, versus living my life two hours at a time. We can do morning play-dates, be home for lunch, and then work in an afternoon at the park. Glorious! Scotty is hitting the bath by 6:15 and is in a deep sleep by 7pm. This schedule just feels so darn...clean. It's organized, it's simple, it's beautiful.

I, however, am not. Because the challenge of the one nap schedule is while Scotty may benefit, it's making me run a little faster. See, before, I would hop in the shower when Scotty went down for the 9am nap, and then have plenty of time to blog as he slept. I had an afternoon nap to suffer through, but cleaning the house was a good distraction to what I was hearing through the baby monitor.

Now, I have literally about 2 hours to shower, eat, clean the kitchen, clean whatever part of the house he destroyed, dry my hair, put makeup on, and do anything else that needs to be done when a child is not present. Which is essentially how I've divided up my day: what things can I do with Scotty around (wash dishes, pick up toys, vacuum) and the things I cannot do when he's around (blog, check Facebook, talk on the phone, write out bills, etc.) Sadly, "use the restroom" falls in the "When Scotty's Around" category, but I'm hoping it's good modeling when our time comes to start potty-training. Although he's developed a a penchant for shredding toilet paper. (please file that under "Clean Up What's He's Destroyed.")

I think the hardest part for me is showering. I hate having to ask Brian (beg, actually) if I can hop in the shower before him on a weekday morning. Sometimes it works, but if he has court, I'm screwed. And I'm the type of person that just really isn't awake until I have a shower, regardless of the amount of coffee consumed.

(In fact, when we were playing Angry Birds one night, we had gotten to the part with the Boomerang Birds (the ones that you fling over the building and then touch the screen, which causes them to squawk loudly, do a 180, and then crash into something) when Brian exclaimed, "Oh, these are Kimmy-in-the-morning-birds!" Hahaha. Yeah, he's right though. Touch me pre-shower and I will promptly squawk at you and then dive right for your throat.)

Anyways, unless you too are showering during the day, it's easy to miss how much damn time one spends on basic hygiene...which isn't saying much, considering how I look most days. A shower is 10 minutes; drying/dressing is another 5. It takes me 12 minutes to dry my hair and another 17 to lotion up/put makeup on. That totals 44 minutes of time spent attempting to look mildly presentable to the rest of the world, and when you're working with maybe 120 minutes max, it feels like a giant waste. Of course, I could skip the blow-out and makeup, but all of the other mothers I hang out with manage to look really pulled together. It's like of like the Arms Race of Motherhood; if we'd all just put down our blow-dryers and mascara, we'd have so much time for other things. But I'll put mine down just as soon as you put yours down...

So this is my advice to those transitioning to a one nap schedule: find a mother who lives near you, who has children exactly the same age as your child, and is very similar to you in terms of lifestyle, personality, and sense of humor. That way, you can bemoan or celebrate every part of your day with a buddy regardless of if you are awake or not. For me, this person would be Deana. I realized the other day, she's not just a friend, she's my co-worker. She's the person that you share a cubicle with at work, and within six months, you realize you've shared every detail of your life up to that point, and when something extremely small (yet hilarious) happens, you don't call your husband (because they actually are working), but you call your co-worker. Your co-worker must also be up for multiple play dates during the same day (since her kids sleep when yours do), trips to Costco, trips to the park, and best of all, trips to your house "after hours" when your husband has to work late so you don't have to eat dinner by your.

This Motherhood stuff is tough, and it's so much better with a buddy. So thank you, Deana, and I hope you managed to get a shower in today.
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Embracing the New

10/14/2010

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Hello there.

Blog? What blog? Oh...this blog! Totally forgot about it.

I've been so bad about writing this week, and for good reason. I even actually forgot to weigh myself yesterday morning because 1.) I didn't know it was Wednesday and 2.) the whole concept of weight loss has taken a back burner to other issues that have presented themselves this week. So, weight check-in next week, promise.

First, I keep hearing Gordon Gekko's voice in my head...'Sleep...for lack of a better word...is good." (Yes, we saw that atrocious mess of Oliver Stone's a few weeks ago. Skip it). Sleep is, in my opinion, a cornerstone for successful daily functioning. And when you are not sleeping (or say, your baby isn't) life can get pretty miserable.

And for the last few weeks, I've been wondering when Scotty is going to switch over from two naps a day to one. It's worse than sitting through the results show for Dancing With the Stars; I am just waiting, wondering, waiting...it's maddening. And then on Tuesday, he woke up at a blissful 8am. Today is the day! I thought. Today, we will skip the morning nap, move right into the three-hour afternoon nap, and be in bed by 7pm. Textbook! Love it.

So we did. He was in his crib at 12:30 and fell asleep at 1pm. And I sat on the couch, happy for a breather, and watched 45 minutes of Oprah.

And then he woke up.

I wasn't showered. The kitchen was still a disaster from lunch. I had a bunch of phone calls to make and bills to pay and nothing was done. And worse, I had a cranky toddler on my hands for the next FIVE hours until Da-da comes home. Please kill me now.

I think it's so funny that stay-at-home moms complain of having the same day everyday, which results in extreme boredom. And then bam! One day, things are different and I'll admit, I freaked out. I literally had no idea what to do. Do we try to go back to sleep? Early bedtime? Run errands? Stay close to home? All of this probably sounds very trite, but at the moment, it was like alarm bells ringing in my head and the clock ticking slowly...very slowly...until the hour when Dad comes home.

We managed to get through it (lots of errands) and Wednesday was no different. Asleep at 1:30 and I raced around the house getting stuff done. I only had an hour, right? I was flying.

And then he slept until 4:45pm.

This lack of predictability can really make a person crazy.

So anyways, that's why I didn't get a chance to write. Blame it on the baby.

Back to the new stuff. After a lovely weekend with my favorite Republicans (I swear, the four of us are the only people I know that can spend an entire dinner arguing about the mental health of the people of Denmark. I'm not kidding), Tiffany was kind enough to suggest some reading that might help me better understand the concepts of individualism v. collectivism. (I know, once again, don't you wish you could hang out with us? We're so fun...) So, next on the iPad reading list is "Anthem" by Ayn Rand. Yes, it's a bit of a change from the Sookie Stackhouse series, but I'm excited. (kind of). And I really need to get my brain working again since last week, I spelled our last name wrong; I forgot the C.

Ah, Motherhood.

Also new is the decision to (gulp...drumroll please...) join a local philanthropic women's group here in Vegas called Junior League. It's a national organization with chapters (?) in each city, and they host and perform a variety of charitable functions. Despite the fact I've been rather, er, outspoken on my thoughts on Jr. League, it finally hit me that I'm not really doing anything to help anyone by sitting on the sidelines, and that kind of makes me a hypocrite. I also attended an event on Friday night with a friend who is a member and had a great time,which gives me hope that I can have fun, restart my brain, and do some good for the community all at the same time. And the fact that we went out to dinner afterwards and noshed on mac'n'cheese with crushed Doritos on top just made the whole experience that much better. Did Doritos factor into my decision to join Jr. League? Yes, yes it did.

So, I joined. I submitted my application on Tuesday and our first pledge class meeting, er, provisional meeting, is next Wednesday. I'm not going to lie, trying to sort out the difference between sororities and Junior League is going to take me awhile, so bear with me as I learn the new vernacular. (I did rather snarkily ask my friend when the hazing started, but she just laughed and smacked me.)

And finally, in terms of the new, Brian's birthday was yesterday so he is embarking on a new year. Scotty was thoughtful enough to get him all kinds of Green Bay gear (purchased prior to the myriad of injuries), including a little stuffed moose in a Green Bay shirt. Brian promptly names him "Moose-tafa." Hahahaha. Happy birthday, sweetie!
Picture
Mmm, pumpkin cheesecake
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Birthday Celebration Bear
Picture
SuperBear!
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Friday Potpourri

10/8/2010

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What the heck...how is it Friday already??

I honestly have no idea where this week went. And I am a rather loud, vocal complainer when it comes to the week moving too slowly, so this is kind of a nice change. I'd like to thank Mother Nature for the drop in temperature, which I think played a role this week flying by. It is beyond blissful to be able to actually go to the park and not worry about your child frying off his hand on playground equipment.

So, what's new...let me think. We have more visitors in town this weekend; this is the SoCal Contingent (last weekend it was the NoCal Group.) I'm so excited to see Adam and Tiffany again on their first excursion as a married couple, even though they are in town for Young Republican stuff (::sigh::). How many weeks until the election? I'm at a place where I could really care less who wins (Harry Reid: blah, too), I just want the ridiculous phone calls to stop. Since Brian and I are in different parties, it seems like we get twice as many. And when they call during naptime...oh, lord. Yesterday, Scotty fell asleep at 2:45 (after only 19 minutes of fussing!) and then the phone rang at 2:52. He didn't fall back asleep until 3:45. And right now, as he sleeps, I have the phone off the hook. Not joking.

We attended another music class this week, and I take back everything I said previously. It was BEYOND fun. Oh my gosh, I had the best time and so did Scotty. I went to the 1:00pm class on Monday, and it was only four other kids...all between the ages of 12 months and 22 months. So it was just perfect, since they were all doing the same things. Scotty LOVED the music and dancing, and made a few new friends. Kai was a little bit of a loose cannon; he needed to be taken out a few times for bad behavior, but Elsa and Lily were sweet as pie. (the other little boy was Michael, who looked completely shell-shocked and clung to his mother the whole time). Scotty made the rounds, shook some hands, talked policy and essentially charmed everyone in the room. (sorry for the shameless bragging. I was so proud). At the end of the class, Scotty and Elsa, this adorable little blond, were standing and just looking at each other when we started the good-bye song. I think we all held our breath, wondering what the kids were going to do (as I silently prayed, "Don't push her down, don't hit her, don't pull her pigtails, please, please") and after a thorough once-over, they grinned and went their separate ways. I know Scotty is too young to understand it's wrong to pull a little girl's hair, but it was refreshing to not have to intervene. (there were a lot of looks exchanged when Kai started flinging castanets and blocks during free play and was subsequently dragged into the hallway.) I know it's going to happen, but you just never want to be that parent.

As we walked out, Elsa's grandmother (I think) asked how old Scotty was, and then said, "He is a handsome little boy. He's going to be a heartbreaker when he grows up." Aw. So nice of her.

Finally, I think I'll round out today's potpourri with a story from Wednesday. Let's call this "Traumatic Bear Injury." I was feeling rather smug having cleaned out Scotty's Closet (the one downstairs that houses all of his toys). It was now 100% baby-proofed and we could actually play in the closet, which had kind of a cool feel to it. So Scotty and I are just chilling, stacking some blocks on Wednesday morning when bam! He tumbles down (while drinking his sippy cup), and on his way down, he slams his little head into the bottom shelf in the closet. Mind you, I baby-proofed the shelf above it, but not the one farthest down (b/c at the time, I was like, "He'll never fall into that one. It's too low.") And just like everything else in Motherhood, I was proven completely and totally wrong.

He hit his head with such force that I'm surprised he didn't lose consciousness. I immediately grabbed some (crushed) ice and held it to his head while he screamed bloody murder. After 10 minutes, he was fine. No swelling, the redness had gone down, and he was playing normally. I relayed all of my concerns to Brian when he came downstairs, and he could barely see a bump. So I didn't call the doctor. I feel like she thinks I'm a little histrionic to begin with (okay, YOU trying having a child taken by ambulance to the hospital on their 8th day of life and not be a little overly-cautious) so I thought I would wait it out. He wasn't puking, no fluid coming out of his ears or nose (other than general snot from crying), no seizures, change in affect, mood, or energy, etc. (Thank you, WebMD). I gave him some Motrin and put him down for his nap at the normal time. No problem.

I had a baby-sitter coming over so I could run some errands, and when I left, I called the doctor to just double check regarding protocol for head injuries. Mind you, the injury happened at 7am and I was calling at 12:30pm. The receptionist, clearly skilled in the manner of how to freak out a parent in 2.3 seconds, told me 1.) I should have never let him go to sleep, 2.) I needed to bring him in immediately for assessment, and 3.) just because there is no bruising, there could still be internal bleeding. WHAT?!

We were at Dr. Awesome's clinic in about 4 minutes.

And she promptly told me I was overreacting, and kind of laughed at me. So now she is just Dr. Really-Competent-but-Not-So-Great-Bedside-Manner.

I feel like this story emphasizes one of the hardest parts of Motherhood: when do you react? In my gut reaction said, "No problem." But Chicken Little Receptionist made me forgo any kind of instinct and run for medical care immediately. I'm not saying what she did was wrong (it was very correct, from a litigious standpoint), but it's just so hard to know what to do, and when to do it. Oh, the gray hairs.

I am strongly considering a helmet for Scotty at this point.

Anyways, all's well that ends well. He's fine, he doesn't even have a bruise, and we have yet another busy day planned. On my list of things to do: make pumpkin cake. (Thank you, Williams-Sonoma). If it turns out good, I'll post the recipe.

Have a great weekend!
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My Unhealthy Relationship with the Baby Monitor

9/30/2010

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It started out innocently, as most abusive relationships do.

I received the baby monitor we registered for. It was what I wanted, right? I mean, I asked for it. I requested it. And I got it. So first lesson: be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.

During Scotty's first few weeks at home, I realized I was in some deep trouble. See, I had lived with Emma for the better part of eight years at that point. For anyone who knew or met Emma, she didn't have a normal cat meow. She had this guttural, deep "MA-OW!" that erupted from her body, usually starting as early as 5am. Her meow was so distinct that not one, not two, but three different people actually talked about her (and the meow) in our wedding video. Yes, we have interesting friends, but more to the point is Emma had a very, er, unnatural sound to her.

I had literally been conditioning myself for eight years to ignore all noises around me to get a healthy night of sleep (and she wasn't allowed in our room at night, making her "MAOW" even louder from behind a closed door). By the time Scotty joined us, I was very good at sleeping through even the loudest of small, brown cats -- which wasn't  a good thing. His little meek, whimper-like baby noises came through the monitor as little squeaks, barely audible, and completely unrecognizable to my sleeping brain. I'm not kidding you, but the first few times I heard him in my sleepy state, I had forgotten we even had a baby. (Mother of the Year, right here. Thank you, thank you.)

So after leaping out of bed several times and running to the nursery, worried that he had been crying too long, I turned the monitor way, way up and started re-conditioning myself to jump at any noise (which is oh-so-fun now, as I re-condition myself for the third time in one year to try to sleep through the night). It worked for awhile, but the monitor was so full of static, that kept me up more than Scotty's night wakings.

Eventually, we figured out the night stuff. But the nap time stuff...oh, lord. That stupid monitor crackles, snaps and practically pops at every noise. I caught myself the other day, sitting on the couch, motionless for almost 20 minutes, fixated on what I was hearing on the monitor. Every sigh, every turn or roll, and the damn thing went off. There would be three blissful minutes of silence, and then Scotty would moan. And it would send my brain into a tizzy. Why isn't he sleeping? Why is it taking him so long to go down? Are we moving to one nap? Is that healthy at his age? Honestly, I'm not exaggerating, but naps are the worst part about staying home. They cause me undo amounts of stress. Listening and wondering what's going on in the nursery, twice a day, every day, is literally crazy-making. As in, I would rather go outside and weed the rocks in 110 degree heat than listen to that stupid monitor (which is essentially how I spend most of August.)

And it wasn't until this weekend that I realized, this isn't a Scotty problem, this is a baby monitor problem. Aw, snap.

How did I realize this? Brian, of course. He put Scotty down for the first nap, and I watched as he just casually hopped in the shower and ran around the house, doing stuff. He didn't sit by the monitor, holding his breath. He didn't gasp, wring his hands, or cry every time Scotty made a noise (amplified 300x, thanks to the monitor). No, Brian had the belief that Scotty would fall asleep, and he trusted him to do so. He didn't need to sit there and wait for it to happen. And you know what? He fell asleep. It took about 20 minutes, but he fell asleep on his own, regardless of a vigil by the monitor.

I'm not going to lie; breaking up with the monitor has been very, very tough for me. I usually can last about 10 minutes before I go running back to it, snap on his little dial and anxiously await a peep, scream or moan (what if he got his foot stuck in the crib and I missed it?). I keep telling myself, he's fine, I do not have to sit in silence until the monitor is quiet, but it's hard. I finally put the monitor in a different room, forcing me to get up if I want to turn it on. And on one particularly bad day, I actually pitched the monitor off of our second floor balcony in a burst of unprecedented violence.

(Of course, I immediately ran downstairs and checked the monitor, plugging it in to make sure it still worked. I'm fairly certain I apologized to it as well, officially making me a crazy person. See? Staying at home makes you do unspeakable things.)

I'm taking my monitor-free lifestyle one day at a time. You have to know, it's very hard to just cut someone - er, something - out of your life so completely, after everything he - um, it - did for you. I keep remembering the good times with the monitor, the times when Scotty fell asleep quickly and I was able to listen to blissful silence. Or the time Scotty's leg really did get caught in the crib rail and the monitor alerted me to his danger. See? It wasn't all bad. The monitor has his good side, too. No, no! I can't do that. I cannot justify the monitor's behavior. I must move forward.

I feel like the Chris Brown and Rihanna of baby monitors. We evolved into this terrible cycle: breaking up and getting back together, then breaking up. Yes, we even had some violence in the relationship, but next month, you're going to see pictures of me and the monitor riding jet skis in Miami. Not healthy, I know. ::sigh::

One day at a time, I tell myself. One day at a time.

And I as type this downstairs in the kitchen, the monitor is in our bedroom. It's on, I admit. And yes, I've been straining to hear what's going on in Scotty's room the entire time I've been writing this. I think I need a 12-step program. 

Oh baby monitor, why can't I quit you?
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The Great Nap Tantrum of 2010

8/6/2010

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Yesterday started out like any other day.

The Bear was up at 5:45am. We played for a few hours. He ate porridge with blueberries at 7:30. He was in bed for his first nap by 9, and was so exhausted he fell asleep in my arms. I woke him to burp and then gently laid him in his crib. He looked at me groggily and smiled. Then he rolled over to his side, Froggie clutched tightly in one hand, and promptly passed out.

For the next three hours.

Fantastic.

By noon, we were up and ready to go -- had to stop and sign him up for swim lessons and then make a quick run to Target. When it's 107 degrees out, you pick your errands very carefully. We were home by 1:30 and he finished his entire lunch by 2pm. Things were looking like every other day of my life and I had no warning of what was about to transpire.

At 2:15, I carried him up to bed, again, bottle in hand and Froggie in the other. Scotty rubbed his eyes, yawned, and exhibited every other symptom of a tired baby. He sucked down all six ounces of his bottle, burped, and snuggled with me as I sang gently. I laid him down in his crib, tucked him in, and tip-toed out the door. Another successful nap, right?

Wrong.

He fussed a little for about 10 minutes. I heard him on the monitor and ignored it. Then another 10 minutes went by, and he still wasn't asleep. I began to pace. I hate this part about Motherhood - do I intervene? Do I ignore it? Does he need something or is he just fussing? If I go up there, will I actually re-stimulate him and then make it even harder for him to go down? Is he moving to one nap a day? (all of my baby books state that babies transition from two naps to one "between 12 and 21 months of age." Oh, that's specific. So helpful).

I waited until the fussing became all-out crying before I finally went upstairs. Was there poop? A sneaky burp stuck in his throat? Did Froggie fall out of the crib? Now that Scotty can roll over and pull himself up in his crib, it's getting harder and harder to convince him that this is a "sleeping" place, not a place to party and get your baby on. He thinks bouncing while holding on the to crib sides is the most fun thing, ever. But he definitely wasn't bouncing or dancing - no, he was full-out crying.

So when I opened the door, I wasn't surprised to see him standing up. What did surprise me, however, is the moment he saw me, he threw himself down on the crib mattress, tummy-side down, and began wailing. I mean, wailing. Romanian-orphan-baby-no-one-ever-picks-me-up wailing. Arms and legs flailing. He looked like he was swimming in his sleep sack, there was so much movement. His little fists were clutched into tight balls and he was literally beating his crib mattress with them.  I just remember looking into the crib thinking, "Okay, drama llama. Get a grip."

I scooped him up, did a quick diaper check, and began rocking him. He immediately calmed down. And began giggling. And cooing.

Ooooh. I see what's going on here. He wants to play, not sleep.

I felt like telling him that in about fifteen years, he's not even going to want to acknowledge/admit that I'm his mother, let alone lose sleep to hang out with me. I know you think I'm cool now, but that will all change. Trust me. Get your sleep now so you can be an appropriately snotty adolescent when the time comes.

And not surprisingly, when I put him in his crib again, the screaming started. The flailing started. The giant tears rolled down his cheeks in droves but what me totally lose my marbles is when he combined all of this with little yelps of "Momb! Momb! Moooooooomb!"

Holy hell.

So I did what any self-respecting stay-at-home-mother does. I walked downstairs, grabbed my cell phone, and texted my husband. It said, "Scotty has been screaming since 2:15. Totally being a butt cheese. Doesn't want to nap. I am done. Done."

When Brian called me, I finished up my very rational line of thought by telling him, through my sobs, that 1.) I hate him, 2.) I quit and 3.) I am going to back to work. Tomorrow. Because I can't take this anymore. I said all of this while watering the flowers in the backyard, my only escape out of the House of the Screaming Baby. I began to mentally write the Craigs' List ad for a 'Free Baby to a Good Home!' in my head while we were on the phone. Should I post it on Facebook as well?

By the time Brian talked me off the ledge (and we agreed that I did not have to go the grocery store in 107 degree heat after the emotional exhaustion of the afternoon), I reluctantly went back inside and up to the nursery. All was quiet. Did a coyote come and drag my child off? I didn't know, and there was no way in hell I was opening that nursery door to find out. For all I knew, a rattlesnake had entered the nursery, Scotty fell out of his crib, or he magically apparated. I didn't know and I didn't care. All I knew is that it was quiet for the first time in up to 90 minutes and I wasn't about to accidentally wake my child and have this whole bloody mess start again.

And within forty-five minutes, I heard baby coos on the monitor. Guess a coyote didn't break into our house. When I reluctantly opened the nursery room door, I was met by big smiles and silly wiggles. Like the last two hours had never happened.

I will say this: we never did the whole 'cry it out' sleep training when he was younger, because we never had to. But now that Scotty has a much better recognition of the world around him (and that we are still existing, just downstairs, thanks to object permanence), I might look into this technique. To save his sleep and my sanity.

It's so funny because this morning, Scotty launched into Nap Tantrum #2. But I was so much better prepared for it. It's like the first time something new happens as a parent, you freak out. But the second time? No biggie. I went up to his room every ten minutes, gently put him back on his back, tucked him him, rubbed his head, and left. And by the third time, he fell asleep. No Romanian-baby-theatrics, no beating the crib mattress...just a fussy kid who doesn't want to nap.

With his birthday approaching in the next few weeks, it makes me think of all of the other 'firsts' that will be happening...and who's tantrum will be bigger: his or mine.
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Worst Mood Ever

6/24/2010

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So I  had planned to write this long blog entry about weight loss (or the last thereof...) since the big wedding is only 30 days away, but another situation has sucked away all of my time and attention for the last two days. And I cannot even begin to describe how freakin' annoyed I am that once again, this situation has come into our lives and we are forced to deal with it. I'm not going to detail here since lord knows who is reading this, but I will say this - I am sick to death of a certain person who will not leave us alone. Get a life. Leave us alone. Please. You are a big, fat, purple monster.

This is on top of a baby who randomly decided to nap strike today - and I'm talking full-on, blow-it-out-of-the-water, I'm not sleeping, 'nothin-no-way, no-how, nap. I'm half surprised that Scotty didn't stick his tongue out at me at one point, when I checked on him for the one millionth time.

I'd like to think I would be in the right state of mind to handle a nap strike, but due to the aforementioned situation, I am not. So I am leaving. I am putting Scotty in the car, we are going to Pier One and we are going to look at throw pillows to pass some time until he decides to go sleepy-time tonight. And maybe I'll smell some candles, too. I need a little bit of serenity now.

Grrr....
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Irony

2/7/2010

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So we've had some issues with Scotty sleeping through the night (he's totally teething...it has to be teething, b/c my goodness, he is a fussy bear these days).

Anyways, for the last few weeks, our glorious streak of 'bed at 7pm and sleep 'til 7am' has been replaced with several craptastic wake-up times, such as 2:30am...3:30am...and there was even a 12:30am wake-up thrown in there for good measure. I think he wants to make sure I don't get too comfortable; gotta keep Mom on her toes at all times.

So on Friday night, I woke up not to baby coos or Scotty's rustling, but to the sound of the microwave. Had my five month old finally figured out how to heat up his own milk? Could I be so lucky? Considering he cannot yet roll from back to belly, that would be a resounding...no.

Instead, I found my husband in the kitchen.  Brian, current owner of a fairly miserable head cold, had woken up to heat up more Thera-Flu. Poor guy.

I headed upstairs, slightly irritated that my pleasant night of sleep was yet again disturbed. If one of my boys was sleeping, it seemed like the other one was not...and if Scotty slept through the night, Brian did not.

I was cataloging these thoughts as I lay in bed, trying desperately to fall back asleep when I heard another familiar sound: Scotty was up. The clock read 3:25am.

I am never going to get to sleep for more than 6 hours, am I?
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Sleep Strike

1/20/2010

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No sooner did I post about  my new books and guess what? Our dear Bear launched an all-offensive sleep strike. It's almost as though he sensed my excitement and felt the need to quash it, immediately.

His new favorite thing to do is sleep for ten minutes, be cheerful for about 20 minutes, turn into screaming/nasty baby for 20 minutes, and then pass out again. This means every forty to fifty minutes (during the day), he is sleeping. Think about this: it is nearly impossible to get ANYTHING accomplished when you literally have about ten minutes on your hands, max. I feel like banging my head against the wall out of sheer frustration. It was so bad that this morning, I was already crying even BEFORE Brian left for work (I can usually hold it together until at least 10am, when I see the sink full of dirty bottles and my breast pump, sitting next to the couch, just smirking at me). Brian had a morning breakfast meeting and I think my tears scared him so much that he actually came home after the meeting (and scared the beejeezus out of me) and brought me bacon. Aw, so sweet. Bacon makes everything better.

I have mentally been composing a blog in my head for the last few weeks about the joys and trials of being a stay-at-home mom...I don't mean to open a can of worms, since I know the topic is very, very controversial, but I really can't figure out what is better: staying at home or working. I think working moms have a greater appreciation for their babies since they are so excited to see them at the end of the day. But staying at home certainly is no picnic, either, and I feel like I am Bear-ed-out by about 6pm. Don't get me wrong...I feel so lucky to be able to stay at home, but my goodness, it never, EVER, ever EVER ends. Bear this, Bear that...all Bear, all the time. And if Scotty is sleeping, it usually means Brian's home. So when exactly do I get Kim time? Not like going to work sounds any better, but at least you can go out to lunch with co-workers without having to tote a 35 lb car seat and worry about the baby waking up during lunch, thus meaning you eat yet another meal cold.

I don't know...it's a lot to think about. Either you slice it, it seems like children are just lots of work, whether you are home with them all day or not.

Speaking of which, someone is SCREAMING upstairs again. Must. Go. Comfort. Am so tired. Soooooo tired.
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