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
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Teething...or Pica?
So we had a great Saturday today-- in parenting terms, this means that we thought of a lot of super fun activities that Dylan would enjoy because our adult Saturday activities BD (Before Dylan) of day drinking, napping and watching movie marathons are now just fond memories (sigh). Our new weekend goal is to try and wear Dylan out each day, just like the constant buzz of activity he's used to at daycare during the week when he comes home thoroughly pooped out, which hopefully leads to more sleep at night.
In the spirit of our new weekend theme of 'Tire Baby Out,' we joined our local My Gym and took Dylan for his first Tiny Tykes & Waddlers class this morning. My Gym is basically like a large gymnasium specially customized for active babies, toddlers and young children. It's just the place I've been looking for to take Dylan somewhere where he can just let loose, have fun, and not worry about getting sunburn, bug bites, eating wood chips, getting cut on rusty playground screws and contracting tetanus, getting burnt by playground metal baking in the FL sun, falling on unforgiving cement, getting kidnapped...(the list of paranoid mom fears when taking baby to outdoor playgrounds is endless). Of course, there are always the germs to worry about, but the My Gym crew are really pretty neurotic about constantly wiping, cleaning and disinfecting everything, which is just the way this mom likes it.
So, the class is in full swing, with crazy hyper-excited babies and toddlers crawling, walking, running, climbing, jumping, and hanging around everywhere (with their parents frantically chasing them around), and Dylan's right in the middle of the chaos, doing his baby explorer thing. I take him around to a few different activity stations to get a sense for what he likes and doesn't like to do, and no matter where I take him with all of the fun and exciting things to do, it becomes abundantly clear that Dylan just wants to EAT everything. I drop him in the ball pit, and he just hangs on to the edge, trying to chew through the rubber. I put him up in the playhouse, and he goes back and forth from trying to eat the screws in the floor to eating the wooden ladder rungs. We move to the rock climbing wall, and he tries to eat one protruding step after the other. I lay him on the mat, and he tries to lick the sticker label. I finally just stand him up in the middle of the padded floor and let him go, thinking 'Ha, there's nothing he can eat out here in the open.' 2 seconds later, he's crouching down, pushing his face into the floor, trying to eat the masking tape they use to mark the stations. At the other stations, I could get away with just letting him eat away the building, piece by small piece, because it just looked like he was teething or mouthing, like normal babies, right? But when your baby is crouching, kneeling or laying with his face smashed on the floor trying eagerly to eat all of the little tape markings, in the middle of a room full of rambunctious other babies and their parents trying to politely avoid running into/over him, it's totally mom-barrassing. I don't think 'oh, he's just teething' will suffice to explain such odd behavior (what kind of baby likes to chew on masking tape when they're teething?). I've honestly wondered if babies can have pica at such a young age (Dylan LOVES eating sand!). Yes, I KNOW all babies like to put everything in their mouths and that's how they explore the world, but it was just a bit worrisome that there were several other babies much younger than Dylan who didn't seem to have their faces plastered to the walls or floors of everything. Hmmm...
Tomorrow is Sunday Funday-- we're trying out a 'new' sitter, who isn't really new, since she's one of Dylan's teachers at daycare (how sweet is that!!), but it's the first time she's coming to babysit. I had all of these lofty ideas about going out to a fabulous adults-only meal, all dressed up like a human female, but then I realized that would require me to actually shower, blow dry my hair, learn how to put makeup on again, and put non-flip flop shoes on to leave the house. Just thinking about all of that work makes me sleepy. So now I think maybe we'll just go park the car somewhere in an abandoned lot, put the back seat down in the SUV so it's nice and roomy... and take a 2 hour nap. :)
Cheers,
Claire
In the spirit of our new weekend theme of 'Tire Baby Out,' we joined our local My Gym and took Dylan for his first Tiny Tykes & Waddlers class this morning. My Gym is basically like a large gymnasium specially customized for active babies, toddlers and young children. It's just the place I've been looking for to take Dylan somewhere where he can just let loose, have fun, and not worry about getting sunburn, bug bites, eating wood chips, getting cut on rusty playground screws and contracting tetanus, getting burnt by playground metal baking in the FL sun, falling on unforgiving cement, getting kidnapped...(the list of paranoid mom fears when taking baby to outdoor playgrounds is endless). Of course, there are always the germs to worry about, but the My Gym crew are really pretty neurotic about constantly wiping, cleaning and disinfecting everything, which is just the way this mom likes it.
So, the class is in full swing, with crazy hyper-excited babies and toddlers crawling, walking, running, climbing, jumping, and hanging around everywhere (with their parents frantically chasing them around), and Dylan's right in the middle of the chaos, doing his baby explorer thing. I take him around to a few different activity stations to get a sense for what he likes and doesn't like to do, and no matter where I take him with all of the fun and exciting things to do, it becomes abundantly clear that Dylan just wants to EAT everything. I drop him in the ball pit, and he just hangs on to the edge, trying to chew through the rubber. I put him up in the playhouse, and he goes back and forth from trying to eat the screws in the floor to eating the wooden ladder rungs. We move to the rock climbing wall, and he tries to eat one protruding step after the other. I lay him on the mat, and he tries to lick the sticker label. I finally just stand him up in the middle of the padded floor and let him go, thinking 'Ha, there's nothing he can eat out here in the open.' 2 seconds later, he's crouching down, pushing his face into the floor, trying to eat the masking tape they use to mark the stations. At the other stations, I could get away with just letting him eat away the building, piece by small piece, because it just looked like he was teething or mouthing, like normal babies, right? But when your baby is crouching, kneeling or laying with his face smashed on the floor trying eagerly to eat all of the little tape markings, in the middle of a room full of rambunctious other babies and their parents trying to politely avoid running into/over him, it's totally mom-barrassing. I don't think 'oh, he's just teething' will suffice to explain such odd behavior (what kind of baby likes to chew on masking tape when they're teething?). I've honestly wondered if babies can have pica at such a young age (Dylan LOVES eating sand!). Yes, I KNOW all babies like to put everything in their mouths and that's how they explore the world, but it was just a bit worrisome that there were several other babies much younger than Dylan who didn't seem to have their faces plastered to the walls or floors of everything. Hmmm...
Tomorrow is Sunday Funday-- we're trying out a 'new' sitter, who isn't really new, since she's one of Dylan's teachers at daycare (how sweet is that!!), but it's the first time she's coming to babysit. I had all of these lofty ideas about going out to a fabulous adults-only meal, all dressed up like a human female, but then I realized that would require me to actually shower, blow dry my hair, learn how to put makeup on again, and put non-flip flop shoes on to leave the house. Just thinking about all of that work makes me sleepy. So now I think maybe we'll just go park the car somewhere in an abandoned lot, put the back seat down in the SUV so it's nice and roomy... and take a 2 hour nap. :)
Cheers,
Claire
Friday, September 14, 2012
Ode to Children's Benadryl
Oh Benny, I'm your number one fan
for relieving post-nasal drip coughing in my little man.
Just half a teaspoon does the trick,
and puts baby to sleep super quick.
Oh Benny, I'm in awe of your magical powers,
if only you could last for 10-12 hours.
Health update: Dylan is officially done with the awful(ly boring) nebulizer treatments, yay! Since they didn't work, the pediatrician now believes that he doesn't have cough variant asthma (double yay!), and instead his symptoms sound like he has a persistent cough triggered by post-nasal drip (= runny nose mucus gunk running down his throat). Her latest recommendation was to give D a half tsp of Children's Benadryl before bed to dry up the nose stuff and therefore help relieve the nighttime coughing.
Warning: Benadryl is addictive-- for parents who have babies that don't sleep. Yes, super-parents of the world, I KNOW that you're not supposed to give babies Benadryl, but it was doctor-prescribed, therefore I can justify our current medicated sleep regime. Dylan went down without a single peep last night, after his Benny dose, and he slept 8 hours straight (!). While I wish I could say that he slept through the whole night, that would sadly be untrue. He did have an episode of night waking at 3:15 AM that kept us up for an hour (see previous post about the joys of sleep training), until we finally realized he was too hungry to go back to sleep on his own, so we fed him and then he went down shortly after.
My manic mom ah-ha moment after last night's episode: why don't they make a Benadryl formula that lasts longer, like 10-12 hours? Seems like a no-brainer to me. We have a bazillion other time-released 12/24 hour medications. Or put it in vaporizer form, so you can administer a steady controlled dosage throughout the night? I knew I should've gone into pharmaceuticals-- if any of you know someone in the industry, please pass along my recommendation, supported by my thorough and comprehensive research study.
Hallelujah, it's Friday. :)
XO,
Claire
for relieving post-nasal drip coughing in my little man.
Just half a teaspoon does the trick,
and puts baby to sleep super quick.
Oh Benny, I'm in awe of your magical powers,
if only you could last for 10-12 hours.
Health update: Dylan is officially done with the awful(ly boring) nebulizer treatments, yay! Since they didn't work, the pediatrician now believes that he doesn't have cough variant asthma (double yay!), and instead his symptoms sound like he has a persistent cough triggered by post-nasal drip (= runny nose mucus gunk running down his throat). Her latest recommendation was to give D a half tsp of Children's Benadryl before bed to dry up the nose stuff and therefore help relieve the nighttime coughing.
Warning: Benadryl is addictive-- for parents who have babies that don't sleep. Yes, super-parents of the world, I KNOW that you're not supposed to give babies Benadryl, but it was doctor-prescribed, therefore I can justify our current medicated sleep regime. Dylan went down without a single peep last night, after his Benny dose, and he slept 8 hours straight (!). While I wish I could say that he slept through the whole night, that would sadly be untrue. He did have an episode of night waking at 3:15 AM that kept us up for an hour (see previous post about the joys of sleep training), until we finally realized he was too hungry to go back to sleep on his own, so we fed him and then he went down shortly after.
My manic mom ah-ha moment after last night's episode: why don't they make a Benadryl formula that lasts longer, like 10-12 hours? Seems like a no-brainer to me. We have a bazillion other time-released 12/24 hour medications. Or put it in vaporizer form, so you can administer a steady controlled dosage throughout the night? I knew I should've gone into pharmaceuticals-- if any of you know someone in the industry, please pass along my recommendation, supported by my thorough and comprehensive research study.
Hallelujah, it's Friday. :)
XO,
Claire
Thursday, September 13, 2012
Sleep training is _______ (a really negative adjective).
Since this is my first post on my brand new shiny blog, I figured I'd just dive right into the good stuff.
Mr. and Mrs. Manic Mom are the proud, blessed (exhausted) first-time parents of a rambunctious, infectiously adorable, he's-so-lucky-he's-so-darn-cute baby boy named Dylan (='son of the sea'). 'Dylan the little villain' is 10 months old, and growing wilder everyday. He's the type of baby who is eager to take it all in and be the master of his universe-- crawling at 6 months, taking his first steps at 9 months, and never looking back. Dylan loves ceiling fans, anything with wheels, water in all forms, wagon rides, guitars, cheesy puffs, anything that hangs, vacuum cleaners, bushes, Baby Einstein DVD's, the laundry room, and his Macbook laptop. Dylan dis-loves car rides, foods that aren't cheesy, clothes with sleeves, medication, getting dressed, bibs, diaper changes, sitting still, boogie wipes, change, and SLEEP. As many other wise advice givers have told us, 'some babies just don't like to sleep.' Which is a great segue into today's post all about sleep training.
For those (un)lucky moms and dads out there who have experienced the nightmare of sleep training, I commend you for your strength and willpower. Sleep training, no matter what method you use, is the ultimate test of patience, and mental and emotional sanity. At 5 months, we knew we had a major problem when we were getting up EVERY 45 minutes to tend to our waking child. No one told us newbie mom & dad that putting your child to sleep with a pacifier was the wrong thing to do, until it was too late and he was already addicted to having it replaced in his mouth every time he woke up (after each 45 minute sleep cycle). After stern instructions from our pediatrician, we implemented Sleep Training Camp #1, ala the 'updated' Ferber method that involves letting your baby cry it out with brief comfort check-ins at timed intervals. I will never forget that first night because it was unequivocally THE worst night of my entire 31 years of life. It goes against every human instinct in your soul to ignore the pleading wails of your child. 7 minutes feels like an endless eternity stuck in the 8th level of Dante's inferno, overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, frustration, anger, and sadness that make your heart physically ache in your chest.
The redemption was that by the third night, all 3 of us were getting the best sleep we had in 5 months. Although he wasn't sleeping through the whole night, he was only waking once or twice a night, and in comparison, that was a major victory. We thought to ourselves "ok, this is manageable," and that became our new nightly reality.
Fast forward 4 months-- Dylan's 9th month of life went something like this: got sent home from daycare early one day with a fever, went to doctor, diagnosed with hand-foot-mouth disease AND an ear infection, put on amoxicillin, spent a week at home with mom & dad recovering, got worse, went back to doctor, diagnosed with a severe case of croup, taken off amoxicillin and put on steroids, spent another week at home with mom & dad recovering, survived croup and the nasty vomit-inducing steroids, moved into a new house (BIG change), went back to daycare, sent home early for a diaper explosion, stayed home for a few days recovering from a yucky stomach bug, slowly adjusted to new house, couldn't shake a pesky cough, went back to doctor, diagnosed with having cough variant asthma, sent home with a nebulizer and some more meds for a week-- which brings us to today. People-- I couldn't make this up if I tried...this is the real-life adventures of parenthood. It was a stressful month, to say the least.
Amidst all of the drama, sleep was simply a luxury we gave up on. Tending to a sick child is a 24 hour, day and night shift job, and after a string of back to back illnesses over the course of a month, it's no wonder that Dylan's new sleep routine became habitually waking up every few hours (still can't shake that pesky nighttime cough), crying, mom or dad comes in and soothes me back to sleep (rocking, walking, singing, whatever works). When 10 minute soothing intervals stretched into an hour or more, and we were spending more time awake at night than asleep, we knew we had a bigger problem on our hands. Commence Sleep Training Camp #2, which has thus far lasted 3 nights:
Night 1: 5, 7, 9 minute intervals. Cried for 5 minutes, dad went in to check on him, cried for 7 more minutes, fell asleep and slept until 6 in the morning (!). Mom & dad elated that Dylan is such a fast learner, even though mom still woke up every other hour out of habit (apparently I need my own adult version of sleep training). While very happy for little Dylan, we recognize that 'one night does not a trend make.'
Night 2: 7, 9, 12 minute intervals. Cried for 5 minutes and fell asleep on his own. Yea! Woke up at midnight, but put himself back to sleep after a few minutes of fussing. Double yea! Woke again at 3 AM, mom went in to check on him, fed him a bottle (since he only had a few ounces before bed), put him back down, cried for 7 minutes, mom went back in to check on him (per Ferber's rule, the same parent must continue the checks until baby falls asleep), cried for 9 minutes, mom went in again to soothe (no picking up crying baby), cried for 12 minutes, mom went in again to soothe, cried for another 12 minutes, mom wondered if diaper needed to be changed or what else could be wrong, Dylan finally falls sleep exhausted from crying, cough keeps him up for another hour but he doesn't cry, and he wakes at 6:45 AM for the day.
Night 3: 9, 12, 15 minute intervals. Cried for 4 minutes and fell asleep on his own. Sweet! Mom and dad hopeful it will be a good night. Woke up at 11 PM, dad goes to check on him, cries for 10 minutes and falls asleep. Keeps coughing on and off for 30 minutes, but doesn't cry (breaks my heart listening to this-- I curse daycare germs for the 1000th time while tossing and turning in bed). Woke again at 5:30 AM, mom fed him a bottle, put him back down, cried for 9 minutes, mom checked on him, cried for 12 minutes, mom checked on him again, cried for 15 minutes, mom checked on him again-- by that time it was 6:15 AM, so we just gave up and started the day (exhausted and frustrated).
Do you know what 10 straight months of interrupted sleep does to a person? I do. I can count on one hand the number of nights since birth that Dylan has slept the full night-- not the 'sleep through the night' technical description for sleeping from 12 AM- 5 AM without waking-- I mean the whole, full, blessed night of at least 6-8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. It makes a person completely wonky (for lack of a more technical term).
The 'experts' who say that sleep training is easier and faster the second time around are wrong. I wonder how many babies they've sleep trained themselves, how many nights it lasted and how many times they had to go through it.
And so, we persevere, and try to stay awake at work all day, physically present, but mentally asleep. I don't know how many more nights of sleep training we'll be able to endure, but I'm trying to focus on the silver lining because I've always been a positive person, knowing there is always much to be grateful for, no matter what the circumstances and challenges. Dylan is happy-- no matter how crappy the night is, he always wakes up for the day babbling and smiling and I can easily forget how tired I am in those moments. Dylan is healthy-- aside from the permanent 'daycare cold', he is a thriving, growing baby who develops new skills everyday. And as a parent, having a happy, healthy child is all that really matters-- a year of giving up sleep seems like a trivial cost.
I think of little Avery Canahuati and Ronan Thompson and their stories (please look them up), and I tell myself that I would endure sleep training for the rest of my life, as long as I have Dylan.
This is how my mom-brain operates everyday-- I'm driven to the brink of utter exhaustion and frustration, and then the little mini moments of peace & joy remind me to keep it all in perspective, and I feel strong enough to make it through another day. That's the daily cycle of motherhood, at least for this manic mom. :)
For those of you who are blessed with a good night's sleep, think of us tonight (Night #4 and counting!) and appreciate that which you so easily take for granted in everyday 'normal' life.
XO,
Claire
Mr. and Mrs. Manic Mom are the proud, blessed (exhausted) first-time parents of a rambunctious, infectiously adorable, he's-so-lucky-he's-so-darn-cute baby boy named Dylan (='son of the sea'). 'Dylan the little villain' is 10 months old, and growing wilder everyday. He's the type of baby who is eager to take it all in and be the master of his universe-- crawling at 6 months, taking his first steps at 9 months, and never looking back. Dylan loves ceiling fans, anything with wheels, water in all forms, wagon rides, guitars, cheesy puffs, anything that hangs, vacuum cleaners, bushes, Baby Einstein DVD's, the laundry room, and his Macbook laptop. Dylan dis-loves car rides, foods that aren't cheesy, clothes with sleeves, medication, getting dressed, bibs, diaper changes, sitting still, boogie wipes, change, and SLEEP. As many other wise advice givers have told us, 'some babies just don't like to sleep.' Which is a great segue into today's post all about sleep training.
For those (un)lucky moms and dads out there who have experienced the nightmare of sleep training, I commend you for your strength and willpower. Sleep training, no matter what method you use, is the ultimate test of patience, and mental and emotional sanity. At 5 months, we knew we had a major problem when we were getting up EVERY 45 minutes to tend to our waking child. No one told us newbie mom & dad that putting your child to sleep with a pacifier was the wrong thing to do, until it was too late and he was already addicted to having it replaced in his mouth every time he woke up (after each 45 minute sleep cycle). After stern instructions from our pediatrician, we implemented Sleep Training Camp #1, ala the 'updated' Ferber method that involves letting your baby cry it out with brief comfort check-ins at timed intervals. I will never forget that first night because it was unequivocally THE worst night of my entire 31 years of life. It goes against every human instinct in your soul to ignore the pleading wails of your child. 7 minutes feels like an endless eternity stuck in the 8th level of Dante's inferno, overwhelmed with feelings of guilt, frustration, anger, and sadness that make your heart physically ache in your chest.
The redemption was that by the third night, all 3 of us were getting the best sleep we had in 5 months. Although he wasn't sleeping through the whole night, he was only waking once or twice a night, and in comparison, that was a major victory. We thought to ourselves "ok, this is manageable," and that became our new nightly reality.
Fast forward 4 months-- Dylan's 9th month of life went something like this: got sent home from daycare early one day with a fever, went to doctor, diagnosed with hand-foot-mouth disease AND an ear infection, put on amoxicillin, spent a week at home with mom & dad recovering, got worse, went back to doctor, diagnosed with a severe case of croup, taken off amoxicillin and put on steroids, spent another week at home with mom & dad recovering, survived croup and the nasty vomit-inducing steroids, moved into a new house (BIG change), went back to daycare, sent home early for a diaper explosion, stayed home for a few days recovering from a yucky stomach bug, slowly adjusted to new house, couldn't shake a pesky cough, went back to doctor, diagnosed with having cough variant asthma, sent home with a nebulizer and some more meds for a week-- which brings us to today. People-- I couldn't make this up if I tried...this is the real-life adventures of parenthood. It was a stressful month, to say the least.
Amidst all of the drama, sleep was simply a luxury we gave up on. Tending to a sick child is a 24 hour, day and night shift job, and after a string of back to back illnesses over the course of a month, it's no wonder that Dylan's new sleep routine became habitually waking up every few hours (still can't shake that pesky nighttime cough), crying, mom or dad comes in and soothes me back to sleep (rocking, walking, singing, whatever works). When 10 minute soothing intervals stretched into an hour or more, and we were spending more time awake at night than asleep, we knew we had a bigger problem on our hands. Commence Sleep Training Camp #2, which has thus far lasted 3 nights:
Night 1: 5, 7, 9 minute intervals. Cried for 5 minutes, dad went in to check on him, cried for 7 more minutes, fell asleep and slept until 6 in the morning (!). Mom & dad elated that Dylan is such a fast learner, even though mom still woke up every other hour out of habit (apparently I need my own adult version of sleep training). While very happy for little Dylan, we recognize that 'one night does not a trend make.'
Night 2: 7, 9, 12 minute intervals. Cried for 5 minutes and fell asleep on his own. Yea! Woke up at midnight, but put himself back to sleep after a few minutes of fussing. Double yea! Woke again at 3 AM, mom went in to check on him, fed him a bottle (since he only had a few ounces before bed), put him back down, cried for 7 minutes, mom went back in to check on him (per Ferber's rule, the same parent must continue the checks until baby falls asleep), cried for 9 minutes, mom went in again to soothe (no picking up crying baby), cried for 12 minutes, mom went in again to soothe, cried for another 12 minutes, mom wondered if diaper needed to be changed or what else could be wrong, Dylan finally falls sleep exhausted from crying, cough keeps him up for another hour but he doesn't cry, and he wakes at 6:45 AM for the day.
Night 3: 9, 12, 15 minute intervals. Cried for 4 minutes and fell asleep on his own. Sweet! Mom and dad hopeful it will be a good night. Woke up at 11 PM, dad goes to check on him, cries for 10 minutes and falls asleep. Keeps coughing on and off for 30 minutes, but doesn't cry (breaks my heart listening to this-- I curse daycare germs for the 1000th time while tossing and turning in bed). Woke again at 5:30 AM, mom fed him a bottle, put him back down, cried for 9 minutes, mom checked on him, cried for 12 minutes, mom checked on him again, cried for 15 minutes, mom checked on him again-- by that time it was 6:15 AM, so we just gave up and started the day (exhausted and frustrated).
Do you know what 10 straight months of interrupted sleep does to a person? I do. I can count on one hand the number of nights since birth that Dylan has slept the full night-- not the 'sleep through the night' technical description for sleeping from 12 AM- 5 AM without waking-- I mean the whole, full, blessed night of at least 6-8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. It makes a person completely wonky (for lack of a more technical term).
The 'experts' who say that sleep training is easier and faster the second time around are wrong. I wonder how many babies they've sleep trained themselves, how many nights it lasted and how many times they had to go through it.
And so, we persevere, and try to stay awake at work all day, physically present, but mentally asleep. I don't know how many more nights of sleep training we'll be able to endure, but I'm trying to focus on the silver lining because I've always been a positive person, knowing there is always much to be grateful for, no matter what the circumstances and challenges. Dylan is happy-- no matter how crappy the night is, he always wakes up for the day babbling and smiling and I can easily forget how tired I am in those moments. Dylan is healthy-- aside from the permanent 'daycare cold', he is a thriving, growing baby who develops new skills everyday. And as a parent, having a happy, healthy child is all that really matters-- a year of giving up sleep seems like a trivial cost.
I think of little Avery Canahuati and Ronan Thompson and their stories (please look them up), and I tell myself that I would endure sleep training for the rest of my life, as long as I have Dylan.
This is how my mom-brain operates everyday-- I'm driven to the brink of utter exhaustion and frustration, and then the little mini moments of peace & joy remind me to keep it all in perspective, and I feel strong enough to make it through another day. That's the daily cycle of motherhood, at least for this manic mom. :)
For those of you who are blessed with a good night's sleep, think of us tonight (Night #4 and counting!) and appreciate that which you so easily take for granted in everyday 'normal' life.
XO,
Claire
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