Separation anxiety peaks between the ages of 10-18 months. Dylan will be 11 months this week (!) and he is most definitely f-r-e-a-k-i-n-g out in true manic fashion. Like a majestic humpback whale (which I feel like most days minus the 'majestic' part), I have my very own human barnacle. While I'm deeply flattered that another human being can love me so desperately, dealing with separation anxiety is a true test of one's patience and personal boundaries-- let's just say that babies should not enter the privacy of the bathroom with you, but sometimes a mom just doesn't have a choice.
All of the experts say that separation anxiety is normal and healthy because it shows that your baby has a strong and secure attachment to you. Repeating this to myself multiple times throughout the day helps me keep my frustrations in check, but dealing with a severe case of separation anxiety during the night is something I was completely unprepared for. I can testify that sleep training is completely powerless and ineffective when your child knows that you're somewhere on the other side of his door and he will do whatever it takes to make you come back-- going to sleep is the last thing on his mind. After losing 2 hours of precious sleep in the middle of the night attempting another round of sleep training the past 2 nights, and Dylan showing no signs of even starting to tire out from his wailing (except during the 1 minute check ins when he would immediately stop crying and lay down as long as mommy was there), I finally caved and brought him into bed with us. He slept great the rest of the night, once he felt all safe and secure with mommy by his side.
I'm sure all of the anti-co-sleepers out there would criticize me for giving in and creating bad sleeping habits for my baby, but if I've learned anything with certainty about parenting, it's that you have to do whatever works for your own family. Of course I struggled with my own demons-- what if this isn't just a phase and short-term solution and I end up with a 10 year old (barnacle) who won't sleep without mommy beside him? But when you're going on 11 months of interrupted sleep in 2-4 hours chunks, the priority is on getting better sleep for everyone, rather than worrying about a million 'what ifs'. Besides, I've found that co-sleeping has its own unique perks-- the world's most high tech baby monitor can't pick up all of the special little sounds and noises a sleeping baby makes. Laying there in the middle of the silent peaceful night listening to Dylan's breathing patterns, his little grunts, snores, and hilarious sleep farts has been a magical experience I know I won't ever have the chance to get back as he grows older.
One day (and night) at a time-- it's the only way my brain can process this organized chaos without completely fritzing and shutting down. Embrace your little barnacles because someday sooner than later, you'll wish they would stay a little closer.
XO,
Claire
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Goodbye vacations, hello staycations
I am a recovering travelholic with a treatment resistant case of wanderlust. I infected John with the travel bug early on, and from our years together between 2003-2011 BD (Before Dylan), we ventured abroad to Spain, Mexico, Jamaica, Italy, Thailand, Cambodia, Korea, France, Peru, and Antigua, returning to some of those places that became our favorite destinations. We invested as much in our vacation fund as we did in saving for other important (boring) adult life things, and each year we looked forward to planning our 2 seasonal trips--the rules were that one would be a lazy, sit on the beach and get fatter, dumber and tanner trip, and the other would be an adventurous, explore the far corners of the world, globetrotting expedition. Those were some great years of unbridled independence.
2012 AD (After Dylan): It's our 4th anniversary this week (we always used to try and plan our annual fall vacation over our anni week to celebrate), and this year marks a new milestone in our adult life-- our first staycation. We drop Dylan off at daycare as usual every morning, and then we have all day to do whatever we want. While a former travelholic might succumb to cabin fever and airplane food withdrawal (Air France and Korean Air top the list), I'm trying to focus on the positives of the staycation:
Here's how our first staycation has actually unfolded thus far:
I know what the moral of this story is, but I'm stubborn and I refuse to admit that which I know is the truth: it's not about where you go or what you do (on vacation)-- it's about the people you're with. If John and I get to hang out all day together and then we get to spend our evenings as a family unit with our wild child, then home is my favorite place to be.
Peace out homies-- I think I see the sun!! The weather gods must be rewarding me for learning my lesson of the day.
Claire
2012 AD (After Dylan): It's our 4th anniversary this week (we always used to try and plan our annual fall vacation over our anni week to celebrate), and this year marks a new milestone in our adult life-- our first staycation. We drop Dylan off at daycare as usual every morning, and then we have all day to do whatever we want. While a former travelholic might succumb to cabin fever and airplane food withdrawal (Air France and Korean Air top the list), I'm trying to focus on the positives of the staycation:
- naps. as often and long as I want (between the hours of 8 AM- 5 PM)
- pampering. think hair cuts, mani/pedis, massages...aaaaaahhhhh
- gluttony. eating out for breakfast and lunch everyday fulfills the 'get fatter' vacation requirement
- no foreign language skills required
- free lodging & transportation
Here's how our first staycation has actually unfolded thus far:
- Monday: had to take Dylan back to the doctor in the morning-- diagnosed with an ear infection and a cold. Since he didn't have a fever and wasn't contagious, we planned on taking him to daycare for the rest of the day to kick off our staycation. Dylan fell asleep right after he got home from the doctor, before we could get him back in the car and off to daycare-- and he decided to take the longest nap of his LIFE (2 hrs, 40 minutes) on that random morning. Seriously?!? So, by the time we finally got him out of the house, we basically had time to go out to a late lunch, run a few errands (at Babies R Us of all places), and then it was already time to pick him up
- Tuesday: John took Dylan to daycare in the morning, so I could sleep in after a rough night of multiple wakings (ear infections make it hard for babies to sleep comfortably). I actually made it to the salon to get my wild, unruly, overgrown hair cut, so I resemble a human female again, at least from the neck up. We went out to lunch at a new gourmet restaurant in town, and then went to get a luxurious pedicure. It was a very successful staycation morning...and then daycare called and said we should come and pick Dylan up early because he was having bad diarrhea (a really fun side effect of the antibiotics he needs to take for the ear infection). Super fun times.
- Wednesday: fresh start on day 3. Dropped Dylan off at daycare, and planned to spend the day soaking in the last of the hot sunny FL days at the beach. Started raining on the drive home from daycare and hasn't let up since. Doesn't look like we'll make it to the beach. Going to see a movie, and hoping the rain will be gone by the time we're out, so we can make it to the beach later (the rain is getting louder and heavier as I type this, as though the weather gods are laughing at my optimism)
I know what the moral of this story is, but I'm stubborn and I refuse to admit that which I know is the truth: it's not about where you go or what you do (on vacation)-- it's about the people you're with. If John and I get to hang out all day together and then we get to spend our evenings as a family unit with our wild child, then home is my favorite place to be.
Peace out homies-- I think I see the sun!! The weather gods must be rewarding me for learning my lesson of the day.
Claire
Sunday, September 23, 2012
While (some of) you were sleeping...
...at 4 AM on Saturday morning, I was (yet again) in manic mom mode, woken up for the hundredth time that night by Dylan's persistent coughing (maybe it's more accurate to say that I never actually slept at all). John had already made his rounds that night, so it was my turn in the funhouse-- I never know what to expect when I walk through that nursery door.
I don't even have the creative brain power to fluff this up, so I'll just give you the play by play:
groaned, got out of warm, smushy tempur-pedic bed, donned fluffy pink robe and stumbled upstairs to the nursery
tried desperately and ineffectively to soothe little Dylan, while he coughed and coughed and coughed, his whole body tensing from the strain of the coughing fits. note to the cruel and senseless universe-- all the hugs and rocking in the world can't soothe a baby's cough, so it would be great to come up with a more effective form of relief (infant nyquil?)
was holding Dylan in the rocking chair when a particularly vigorous coughing spell forced him to vomit all over me
groped around in the dark nursery (every parent knows that turning the light on at night means it's the end of any chance baby will go back to sleep) to frantically grab baby wipes and attempt to clean the vomit off of Dylan's arm and face, while trying to hold him in a (completely awkward) position that won't get him even dirtier from my soiled robe
realized the robe must be sacrificed for the greater good, so I juggled Dylan around from arm to arm as I wiggled my way out of the robe
Dylan continued to cough through all of this, and at some point during the chaos, he must have exerted so much force coughing that he also let loose on the bottom end too-- it took me a little while to separate the smell of poop from my vomit covered self (oh yes, this is for real)
I caved and turned on the light in the adjoining bathroom, so I could at least see what I was doing as I changed his diaper-- Dylan is wide awake at this point, and I'm in denial that this is all really happening
Finally managed to get him cleaned up (good enough) of all vomit and poop, turned out the light, and resumed motherly soothing methods, praying to the baby sleep gods that he would go back to sleep
The baby sleep gods granted me a brief reprieve after all of the drama and thankfully Dylan eventually went back to sleep for the last hour before his usual 6 AM start-the-day time
We're taking him back to the doctor tomorrow, and I will not leave that office until the doctor prescribes something/anything that will help relieve this awful coughing. It's not that I think medication is the answer to all baby health problems, but I have to believe that giving him medicine that will help him get more sleep is better for him than letting him just ride it out for the week or 2 it will inevitably take until whatever illness this is works its way through his system.
I have a feeling we're in for another long night...may yours be more peaceful and sleepful.
Claire
I don't even have the creative brain power to fluff this up, so I'll just give you the play by play:
groaned, got out of warm, smushy tempur-pedic bed, donned fluffy pink robe and stumbled upstairs to the nursery
tried desperately and ineffectively to soothe little Dylan, while he coughed and coughed and coughed, his whole body tensing from the strain of the coughing fits. note to the cruel and senseless universe-- all the hugs and rocking in the world can't soothe a baby's cough, so it would be great to come up with a more effective form of relief (infant nyquil?)
was holding Dylan in the rocking chair when a particularly vigorous coughing spell forced him to vomit all over me
groped around in the dark nursery (every parent knows that turning the light on at night means it's the end of any chance baby will go back to sleep) to frantically grab baby wipes and attempt to clean the vomit off of Dylan's arm and face, while trying to hold him in a (completely awkward) position that won't get him even dirtier from my soiled robe
realized the robe must be sacrificed for the greater good, so I juggled Dylan around from arm to arm as I wiggled my way out of the robe
Dylan continued to cough through all of this, and at some point during the chaos, he must have exerted so much force coughing that he also let loose on the bottom end too-- it took me a little while to separate the smell of poop from my vomit covered self (oh yes, this is for real)
I caved and turned on the light in the adjoining bathroom, so I could at least see what I was doing as I changed his diaper-- Dylan is wide awake at this point, and I'm in denial that this is all really happening
Finally managed to get him cleaned up (good enough) of all vomit and poop, turned out the light, and resumed motherly soothing methods, praying to the baby sleep gods that he would go back to sleep
The baby sleep gods granted me a brief reprieve after all of the drama and thankfully Dylan eventually went back to sleep for the last hour before his usual 6 AM start-the-day time
We're taking him back to the doctor tomorrow, and I will not leave that office until the doctor prescribes something/anything that will help relieve this awful coughing. It's not that I think medication is the answer to all baby health problems, but I have to believe that giving him medicine that will help him get more sleep is better for him than letting him just ride it out for the week or 2 it will inevitably take until whatever illness this is works its way through his system.
I have a feeling we're in for another long night...may yours be more peaceful and sleepful.
Claire
Friday, September 21, 2012
Mealtime mania
I love to eat. My husband loves to eat. Our progeny seems to have inherited his eating habits from the crazy chimps in our genetic ancestry.
There are some days (rare and infrequent, unexpected tidings of joy) when Dylan will happily and calmly sit in his little high-chair throne, gleefully accepting whatever food I offer, eagerly concentrating on picking up each morsel of food on his tray and neatly transporting it into his smiling mouth. We are a picture-perfect family, enjoying a meal gathered around the kitchen table, conversing and babbling cheerfully.
Then there are the usual days that go something like this:
I scramble around the kitchen like a sweaty, disheveled Iron Chef contestant, frantically throwing things around trying to pull together an edible meal for myself and my hungry hippo husband, while simultaneously collecting random, pseudo-nutritious baby food items and snacks to provide Prince Dylan with an assorted buffet, in hopes that he'll eat even one thing I present to his highness during his evening banquet (have I mentioned that he's a finicky eater??).
When we finally all manage to get seated at the table, with Prince Dylan tucked into his throne and fitted with his mealtime armor (god bless BabyBjorn pocket bibs!), I begin my court jester juggling act, attempting to entertain and feed the prince and shovel food into my own mouth in between acts. I present an assortment of delicious foods, being mindful of including some of his usual favorites (mac and cheese please), while also trying (and failing miserably) to introduce him to new foods and flavors.
The high prince would much rather play with his food than eat it. On any given day there is an impressive display of his crazy chimp genetic ancestral traits-- smashing, squishing, throwing, rubbing, squeezing, squirting, crushing, squealing, pounding--90% of the food that started on his tray ends up on the floor, in his chair, down his onesie, up his nose, in his ears or hair, and the remaining 10% lands safely inside the catch pocket of his bib. Digested foods = 0%. Parental frustration and frazzle factor = 110%.
We could sustain a small country with the amount of rejected and physically abused food we throw away on a weekly basis. It's beyond aggravating, not to mention, personally concerning because I constantly wonder if Dylan is getting enough nutrition or nourishment. Although he's still on formula, he's approaching the 1-year milestone when he'll be weaned off bottles, and at that point, we the parents have full responsibility for making sure that he receives a healthy variety of nutrients and foods so he continues to grow and mature into a real person. :) Can a child flourish on a daily diet of goldfish crackers, mac and cheese and gogurt?? Only time will tell, I suppose. I console myself by rationalizing that at least I buy whole grain goldfish, organic mac and cheese (made with supposed hidden veggies) and organic gogurt, so it's not all crap junk food. Mentally rationalizing and justifying each decision is a critical survival skill of motherhood, and I am a master of this technique.
Happy family eating manic moms!
Claire
There are some days (rare and infrequent, unexpected tidings of joy) when Dylan will happily and calmly sit in his little high-chair throne, gleefully accepting whatever food I offer, eagerly concentrating on picking up each morsel of food on his tray and neatly transporting it into his smiling mouth. We are a picture-perfect family, enjoying a meal gathered around the kitchen table, conversing and babbling cheerfully.
Then there are the usual days that go something like this:
I scramble around the kitchen like a sweaty, disheveled Iron Chef contestant, frantically throwing things around trying to pull together an edible meal for myself and my hungry hippo husband, while simultaneously collecting random, pseudo-nutritious baby food items and snacks to provide Prince Dylan with an assorted buffet, in hopes that he'll eat even one thing I present to his highness during his evening banquet (have I mentioned that he's a finicky eater??).
When we finally all manage to get seated at the table, with Prince Dylan tucked into his throne and fitted with his mealtime armor (god bless BabyBjorn pocket bibs!), I begin my court jester juggling act, attempting to entertain and feed the prince and shovel food into my own mouth in between acts. I present an assortment of delicious foods, being mindful of including some of his usual favorites (mac and cheese please), while also trying (and failing miserably) to introduce him to new foods and flavors.
The high prince would much rather play with his food than eat it. On any given day there is an impressive display of his crazy chimp genetic ancestral traits-- smashing, squishing, throwing, rubbing, squeezing, squirting, crushing, squealing, pounding--90% of the food that started on his tray ends up on the floor, in his chair, down his onesie, up his nose, in his ears or hair, and the remaining 10% lands safely inside the catch pocket of his bib. Digested foods = 0%. Parental frustration and frazzle factor = 110%.
We could sustain a small country with the amount of rejected and physically abused food we throw away on a weekly basis. It's beyond aggravating, not to mention, personally concerning because I constantly wonder if Dylan is getting enough nutrition or nourishment. Although he's still on formula, he's approaching the 1-year milestone when he'll be weaned off bottles, and at that point, we the parents have full responsibility for making sure that he receives a healthy variety of nutrients and foods so he continues to grow and mature into a real person. :) Can a child flourish on a daily diet of goldfish crackers, mac and cheese and gogurt?? Only time will tell, I suppose. I console myself by rationalizing that at least I buy whole grain goldfish, organic mac and cheese (made with supposed hidden veggies) and organic gogurt, so it's not all crap junk food. Mentally rationalizing and justifying each decision is a critical survival skill of motherhood, and I am a master of this technique.
Happy family eating manic moms!
Claire
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
A morning surprise
Quick sleep training update, for those loyal readers who have been with me from the beginning:
(Pre-emptive disclaimer: Dylan's still on the Benadryl nighttime regimen (hallelujah), per doctor's orders for another week, since it does help him fall asleep and reduces his nighttime coughing episodes.)
Last night was the first night in MONTHS that Dylan slept through the long whole night! He went down at 7:30, had a brief coughing episode at 3 AM, but put himself back to sleep, and then he woke up at 5:40 in the morning! Greedy, sleep-deprived mom that I am, I went up to feed him and had a secret plan to try and put him back to sleep for another blessed hour (humans should not have to wake up before the sun), but little Dylan had another idea in mind to greet the day. He wanted to celebrate his good night's rest with a nice, fresh, pre-dawn stink bomb. Gone are the days of waking up to the enticing aromas of Folgers in your cup or bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove (ok, let's be real here-- no mom ever wakes up to the smell of someone cooking breakfast because we're always the ones doing the breakfast making!). I can tell you one thing I've learned firsthand-- nothing wakes you up as quickly as the smell of a dirty turdy. My mental AM dialogue went something like this: '(yawn). wow, i can't believe he slept through the night. that's so great, but it's still dark outside. (yawn). maybe if i just rock him for just a few minutes, he'll get sleepy...oh, i think his eyelids are drooping (yea!)...just a little longer...wait, did he just make a poop grunt?! oh no, he's opening his eyes. oh grossness, he's totally dropping a deuce right now! i better put him back in his crib and go downstairs, so John will have to change him when he does the morning diaper change. haHA!' Then I proceeded to go wake up my groggy baby daddy and told him that Dylan was up for the day, so he better get up too (John's in charge of the morning baby hygiene routine as part of our division of labor). He was looking super tired, so I figured I was doing him a favor by helping him wake up for the day with Dylan's special morning surprise. :)
This manic mom desperately needs coffee today, some to drink and some leftover grounds to sniff to banish the lingering stink in my nostrils.
Is it really just Wednesday???
Claire
(Pre-emptive disclaimer: Dylan's still on the Benadryl nighttime regimen (hallelujah), per doctor's orders for another week, since it does help him fall asleep and reduces his nighttime coughing episodes.)
Last night was the first night in MONTHS that Dylan slept through the long whole night! He went down at 7:30, had a brief coughing episode at 3 AM, but put himself back to sleep, and then he woke up at 5:40 in the morning! Greedy, sleep-deprived mom that I am, I went up to feed him and had a secret plan to try and put him back to sleep for another blessed hour (humans should not have to wake up before the sun), but little Dylan had another idea in mind to greet the day. He wanted to celebrate his good night's rest with a nice, fresh, pre-dawn stink bomb. Gone are the days of waking up to the enticing aromas of Folgers in your cup or bacon and eggs sizzling on the stove (ok, let's be real here-- no mom ever wakes up to the smell of someone cooking breakfast because we're always the ones doing the breakfast making!). I can tell you one thing I've learned firsthand-- nothing wakes you up as quickly as the smell of a dirty turdy. My mental AM dialogue went something like this: '(yawn). wow, i can't believe he slept through the night. that's so great, but it's still dark outside. (yawn). maybe if i just rock him for just a few minutes, he'll get sleepy...oh, i think his eyelids are drooping (yea!)...just a little longer...wait, did he just make a poop grunt?! oh no, he's opening his eyes. oh grossness, he's totally dropping a deuce right now! i better put him back in his crib and go downstairs, so John will have to change him when he does the morning diaper change. haHA!' Then I proceeded to go wake up my groggy baby daddy and told him that Dylan was up for the day, so he better get up too (John's in charge of the morning baby hygiene routine as part of our division of labor). He was looking super tired, so I figured I was doing him a favor by helping him wake up for the day with Dylan's special morning surprise. :)
This manic mom desperately needs coffee today, some to drink and some leftover grounds to sniff to banish the lingering stink in my nostrils.
Is it really just Wednesday???
Claire
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Pointing Games
Just to clear up any initial confusion upfront, the Pointing Games isn't nearly as exciting or cool as the Hunger Games. There are no special weapons, omniscient announcements, tracker jackets, falling gifts from the sky, or Liam Hemsworth involved. However, the common thread comes down to human survival skills-- physical survival in the Hunger Games and mental survival and endurance in the Pointing Games.
Dylan has magically surpassed another grand milestone seemingly overnight, and he is absolutely thrilled silly with himself now that he can point his little index finger all on its own in any direction he chooses to wield it. This is a BIG deal in baby land-- where just a few days ago he was flapping his whole hand to indicate things, he's discovered now that if he closes his fingers one by one, leaving just his index finger up, he can point to things using said finger and Mommy will name them for him. Let the Pointing Games commence!
The first time I noticed he was actually pointing at something (naturally the first thing he pointed at was a ceiling fan-- his favorite all-time worldly object), I was dorkifiably ecstatic, showering him with high praise for achieving such a smart developmental milestone. My Proud Mommy ego was all 'did you see THAT?! Those are some advanced fine motor skills my awesome super-little-man has mastered.' I shared his wonder and amazement as he studied his little fingers, willing them to slowly close one at a time in the difficult coordinated method that would allow him to make such a significant gesture. I wanted to encourage him to keep pointing at things for practice, so I would name whatever he was pointing at in a happy, excited voice, and then he would point to other things to elicit another enthusiastic response from mom. I'm thinking 'gee, this is so great! He's learning so many new words, and he's going to have such impressive vocabulary skills, once he starts talking.'
(Pause for a dramatic sigh of defeat)
In hindsight, I now regret expressing such amateur-mom enthusiasm from the get-go, as my mind has gone numb from cheerfully saying 'tree, bush, car, street sign, plant, dog, car, flower, another tree, grass, bush, car, another bush, another bush, street sign, tree, street light, car, truck, dog, tree, bush...,' and that's just on one brief 10 minute wagon ride. There's only so much excitement a person can muster for a bush (that looks exactly like the 10 other bushes we've already named!). My mental endurance wanes with every repetitive word, and I know I will not be the victor of these Pointing Games. While Dylan's vocabulary may be exponentially growing, mine seems to be rapidly deteriorating. When Dylan finally says 'Mom, thanks for teaching me everything I know (on his first birthday),' I'll respond with 'goo goo gah, bah vava bah'- the remnants of my once awesome communication skills.
It's getting dark outside, so I better find a cave to curl up in and get some rest to restore my brainpower, so that I can face a new dawn tomorrow in this warped psuedo-reality called Parenthood. :)
May the odds be ever in your favor, manic moms.
Claire
Dylan has magically surpassed another grand milestone seemingly overnight, and he is absolutely thrilled silly with himself now that he can point his little index finger all on its own in any direction he chooses to wield it. This is a BIG deal in baby land-- where just a few days ago he was flapping his whole hand to indicate things, he's discovered now that if he closes his fingers one by one, leaving just his index finger up, he can point to things using said finger and Mommy will name them for him. Let the Pointing Games commence!
The first time I noticed he was actually pointing at something (naturally the first thing he pointed at was a ceiling fan-- his favorite all-time worldly object), I was dorkifiably ecstatic, showering him with high praise for achieving such a smart developmental milestone. My Proud Mommy ego was all 'did you see THAT?! Those are some advanced fine motor skills my awesome super-little-man has mastered.' I shared his wonder and amazement as he studied his little fingers, willing them to slowly close one at a time in the difficult coordinated method that would allow him to make such a significant gesture. I wanted to encourage him to keep pointing at things for practice, so I would name whatever he was pointing at in a happy, excited voice, and then he would point to other things to elicit another enthusiastic response from mom. I'm thinking 'gee, this is so great! He's learning so many new words, and he's going to have such impressive vocabulary skills, once he starts talking.'
(Pause for a dramatic sigh of defeat)
In hindsight, I now regret expressing such amateur-mom enthusiasm from the get-go, as my mind has gone numb from cheerfully saying 'tree, bush, car, street sign, plant, dog, car, flower, another tree, grass, bush, car, another bush, another bush, street sign, tree, street light, car, truck, dog, tree, bush...,' and that's just on one brief 10 minute wagon ride. There's only so much excitement a person can muster for a bush (that looks exactly like the 10 other bushes we've already named!). My mental endurance wanes with every repetitive word, and I know I will not be the victor of these Pointing Games. While Dylan's vocabulary may be exponentially growing, mine seems to be rapidly deteriorating. When Dylan finally says 'Mom, thanks for teaching me everything I know (on his first birthday),' I'll respond with 'goo goo gah, bah vava bah'- the remnants of my once awesome communication skills.
It's getting dark outside, so I better find a cave to curl up in and get some rest to restore my brainpower, so that I can face a new dawn tomorrow in this warped psuedo-reality called Parenthood. :)
May the odds be ever in your favor, manic moms.
Claire
Monday, September 17, 2012
Cabinet safety locks are smarter than our combined brainpower
As any responsible (or neurotic in my case) parent knows, baby-proofing a house is a critical priority. In our household, we tend to be more reactive parents, rather than pro-active, always scrambling to keep up with Dylan's rapid development. We didn't expect him to start crawling as early as he did at 6 months, and we certainly didn't expect him to transition to being a true bi-ped until he was closer to a year old, but at 10 months, he is the master of his own domain, toddling all over the place with his uneven, straight legged steps. Every time he starts to take off, I'm both overwhelmed with pride and terror, scanning a mile-wide radius for all things he could possibly run into or trip over, since he hasn't quite mastered the finer aspects of speed and directional control.
Now that Dylan can walk his dandy little self wherever he wants to go, albeit in a roundabout way, and reach places he never could on all fours, he's absolutely delighted at being able to pull and (slam) close each and every cabinet door he comes across. My Proud Mommy ego says 'oh, what a smart little man, learning how to open and close the cabinets all on his own!,' as I stand there repeatedly saying 'open, close, open, close' 10 times in a row in rhythm with his moves, convinced that I'm teaching him valuable language association skills. My Risk Management Mommy ego says 'oh sh*t, why haven't we installed those stupid cabinet safety locks yet?!' (They have been sitting out on the counter for a week). Finally, after putting Dylan to bed last night, we decided to tackle the (ridiculously overcomplicated) task of installing cabinet safety locks.
After doing extensive research online about the best rated, easiest to install cabinet locks, we opted to go with the magnetized ones with the cool magnet key that were supposedly a 'cinch' to install and super easy to use (thanks Katie > Suzy & Joe). As I sat on my kitchen floor testing out the yet-to-be-installed locks, I was actually quite impressed at how simple yet effective they were, and I was all excited to finally get them installed and have a fully baby-proofed kitchen. I counted 10 cabinet doors in our kitchen within reach of Dylan's little alligator arms, and I figured once we learned how to install one, the rest would be easy.
One hour later, we're sitting on the floor of the kitchen in a pile of fresh sawdust from the 10 holes that we've drilled into 1 cabinet door, and we've got exactly ZERO cabinet locks installed. We tried every possible position and location in trying to align the lock and catch properly-- along the top edge and the side, just like the stupid little pictures in the instruction sheet. Apparently, the design of our (totally average) cabinets isn't suited for the super cool magnet locks. ARRRGH!
New plan: buy more baby gates and ban Dylan the villain from the kitchen. Who needs cabinet locks anyway?? By the time I'm done baby-gating the house to keep Dylan from all areas of potential danger, he will have his own life-size, 2-story version of Mouse Trap (yea!) to navigate. I tell myself that this will only make him smarter by having to figure out mazes and directions and a complex labyrinth just to get around his house. I will leave little cheesy poofs and goldfish crackers and ravioli along the floor to keep him on the right trail, so he doesn't get lost and confused. Yes, this is a WAY better plan than installing silly cabinet locks. :)
Happy manic Monday!
Claire
Now that Dylan can walk his dandy little self wherever he wants to go, albeit in a roundabout way, and reach places he never could on all fours, he's absolutely delighted at being able to pull and (slam) close each and every cabinet door he comes across. My Proud Mommy ego says 'oh, what a smart little man, learning how to open and close the cabinets all on his own!,' as I stand there repeatedly saying 'open, close, open, close' 10 times in a row in rhythm with his moves, convinced that I'm teaching him valuable language association skills. My Risk Management Mommy ego says 'oh sh*t, why haven't we installed those stupid cabinet safety locks yet?!' (They have been sitting out on the counter for a week). Finally, after putting Dylan to bed last night, we decided to tackle the (ridiculously overcomplicated) task of installing cabinet safety locks.
After doing extensive research online about the best rated, easiest to install cabinet locks, we opted to go with the magnetized ones with the cool magnet key that were supposedly a 'cinch' to install and super easy to use (thanks Katie > Suzy & Joe). As I sat on my kitchen floor testing out the yet-to-be-installed locks, I was actually quite impressed at how simple yet effective they were, and I was all excited to finally get them installed and have a fully baby-proofed kitchen. I counted 10 cabinet doors in our kitchen within reach of Dylan's little alligator arms, and I figured once we learned how to install one, the rest would be easy.
One hour later, we're sitting on the floor of the kitchen in a pile of fresh sawdust from the 10 holes that we've drilled into 1 cabinet door, and we've got exactly ZERO cabinet locks installed. We tried every possible position and location in trying to align the lock and catch properly-- along the top edge and the side, just like the stupid little pictures in the instruction sheet. Apparently, the design of our (totally average) cabinets isn't suited for the super cool magnet locks. ARRRGH!
New plan: buy more baby gates and ban Dylan the villain from the kitchen. Who needs cabinet locks anyway?? By the time I'm done baby-gating the house to keep Dylan from all areas of potential danger, he will have his own life-size, 2-story version of Mouse Trap (yea!) to navigate. I tell myself that this will only make him smarter by having to figure out mazes and directions and a complex labyrinth just to get around his house. I will leave little cheesy poofs and goldfish crackers and ravioli along the floor to keep him on the right trail, so he doesn't get lost and confused. Yes, this is a WAY better plan than installing silly cabinet locks. :)
Happy manic Monday!
Claire
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