Welcome to our Baby Bumblebee!
Born July 19, 2010 at 2:26 p.m.
7 lbs. 8.5 oz.
21 inches long
And, look! She has hair!
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Pool Fool
I had planned on posting tonight about my daughter's t-ball experience. Her last game was this evening, and I took a few pictures and had a few ideas started up. But it was hot, it stormed in the middle of it, and basically, it was a fairly miserable experience for me (fortunately, not for anyone else, but I'm going to be self-absorbed and call it NO FUN AT ALL, at least right now). I'm sure I'll feel better about it tomorrow and I can write about it then, but tonight I'm still feeling a little bitter at the elements, so I'm going to save my sanity and pretend it didn't happen.
So, instead, I'll post about my husband. At his request.
Remember, as you read this, he suggested I write about it.
And I'm all too happy to comply.
Yesterday evening after I got home from work and collapsed on the couch, he made a little suggestion: that we inflate the blow-up-pool my parents got the kids last summer, put water in it, and let them splash around a little bit. Since it's been in the 90's for the past several days, this sounded like a pretty good idea.
Note to self: at 35+ weeks of pregnancy, in 90+ degree weather with 70-ish percent humidity, nothing involving toddlers and playing and outside is a good idea. They are 100% guaranteed to drive me crazy for something, even if they're technically not doing anything wrong. But I digress.
I agreed that we should take them out, so he got the electric air pump and went out to blow up the pool while I rounded up the kids and got them ready. After I stuffed the Birdie into a swimsuit two sizes too small for her (but it's Princess! Ooh, Princess! Must wear the PRINCESS swimsuit! Even if it hasn't fit for OVER A YEAR!) and suited the Imp up in a swim diaper from a package that was handed down from my cousin's daughter who turned FIVE a few months ago (thanks, Tabitha!), we headed back into the living room.
A glance out on the deck told me some not-so-good news, the very news, in fact, that I had been dreading: although Craig had been trying to inflate the pool for a good five or ten minutes, it appeared that no progress had been made. And I don't mean "very little" progress. I mean NO progress. The pool mostly resembled a blue tarp that had been left outside for months, gathering rainwater and leaves and creating a habitat for mosquitos.
And the only thing I could think was Oh no oh no oh nononononono. Because I had two toddlers in swimsuits, convinced they were going to get to swim. Please please PLEASE Lord, do not let there be a hole in the pool. Please please please!
I told the kids "Don't get into anything, Mommy is going outside with Daddy for a minute but I'll be right back," which is, of course, a carte blanche for them to start tearing up everything in sight, but I didn't care - if that pool wouldn't inflate, I'd have much worse trouble on my hands than toys and mess all over the place.
I'd have a disappointed three-year-old. And there is no greater force on this earth than a 3-year-old who has been told she gets to do something fun and exciting, only to be told a few minutes later that she isn't going to get to, after all.
"So, it's not inflating," I remarked to my husband, much more casually than I felt.
He tugged at it in a few places and looked puzzled. "It doesn't look like it, but I can't figure out why."
I thought, "I KNOW WHY! IT'S BECAUSE THERE'S A HOLE IN IT! A HOLE A HOLE A HOLE AND NOW THE BIRDIE IS GOING TO THROW A FIT AND THE WORLD IS GOING TO END AND MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE!"
But I didn't say that. Because the weird thing was, it didn't look like any air was going into the pool at all. Usually when you try to inflate something with a hole, it will at least work a little bit before starting to seep back out. But this wasn't even pretending to inflate.
So I grabbed the side of the pool, and started looking for the little air hole - you know, the kind you actually blow into - because Craig was trying to inflate it through a big one, made for the electric pump, and I thought, I don't know, maybe something was wrong with it, even though I couldn't imagine what. And as I was turning the side of the pool over, looking for the other plug, I commented, "It's really weird. It's like you're putting air in and it coming right back out..."
...the other side.
Blink.
Because, you see, it was coming back out the other side.
Blink. Blink.
Oh yes. The nozzle of the pump was actually sticking out the bottom of the pool. And somehow...my (sometimes) annoyingly intelligent husband never noticed he was trying to inflate it through the drain.
Snicker.
Snicker snicker.
Umm...I think we found our problem.
I was just relieved there wasn't a hole in the pool.
At least, not any unauthorized holes.
Bitty tantrum avoided. At least for a little while.
So, instead, I'll post about my husband. At his request.
Remember, as you read this, he suggested I write about it.
And I'm all too happy to comply.
Yesterday evening after I got home from work and collapsed on the couch, he made a little suggestion: that we inflate the blow-up-pool my parents got the kids last summer, put water in it, and let them splash around a little bit. Since it's been in the 90's for the past several days, this sounded like a pretty good idea.
Note to self: at 35+ weeks of pregnancy, in 90+ degree weather with 70-ish percent humidity, nothing involving toddlers and playing and outside is a good idea. They are 100% guaranteed to drive me crazy for something, even if they're technically not doing anything wrong. But I digress.
I agreed that we should take them out, so he got the electric air pump and went out to blow up the pool while I rounded up the kids and got them ready. After I stuffed the Birdie into a swimsuit two sizes too small for her (but it's Princess! Ooh, Princess! Must wear the PRINCESS swimsuit! Even if it hasn't fit for OVER A YEAR!) and suited the Imp up in a swim diaper from a package that was handed down from my cousin's daughter who turned FIVE a few months ago (thanks, Tabitha!), we headed back into the living room.
A glance out on the deck told me some not-so-good news, the very news, in fact, that I had been dreading: although Craig had been trying to inflate the pool for a good five or ten minutes, it appeared that no progress had been made. And I don't mean "very little" progress. I mean NO progress. The pool mostly resembled a blue tarp that had been left outside for months, gathering rainwater and leaves and creating a habitat for mosquitos.
And the only thing I could think was Oh no oh no oh nononononono. Because I had two toddlers in swimsuits, convinced they were going to get to swim. Please please PLEASE Lord, do not let there be a hole in the pool. Please please please!
I told the kids "Don't get into anything, Mommy is going outside with Daddy for a minute but I'll be right back," which is, of course, a carte blanche for them to start tearing up everything in sight, but I didn't care - if that pool wouldn't inflate, I'd have much worse trouble on my hands than toys and mess all over the place.
I'd have a disappointed three-year-old. And there is no greater force on this earth than a 3-year-old who has been told she gets to do something fun and exciting, only to be told a few minutes later that she isn't going to get to, after all.
"So, it's not inflating," I remarked to my husband, much more casually than I felt.
He tugged at it in a few places and looked puzzled. "It doesn't look like it, but I can't figure out why."
I thought, "I KNOW WHY! IT'S BECAUSE THERE'S A HOLE IN IT! A HOLE A HOLE A HOLE AND NOW THE BIRDIE IS GOING TO THROW A FIT AND THE WORLD IS GOING TO END AND MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE!"
But I didn't say that. Because the weird thing was, it didn't look like any air was going into the pool at all. Usually when you try to inflate something with a hole, it will at least work a little bit before starting to seep back out. But this wasn't even pretending to inflate.
So I grabbed the side of the pool, and started looking for the little air hole - you know, the kind you actually blow into - because Craig was trying to inflate it through a big one, made for the electric pump, and I thought, I don't know, maybe something was wrong with it, even though I couldn't imagine what. And as I was turning the side of the pool over, looking for the other plug, I commented, "It's really weird. It's like you're putting air in and it coming right back out..."
...the other side.
Blink.
Because, you see, it was coming back out the other side.
Blink. Blink.
Oh yes. The nozzle of the pump was actually sticking out the bottom of the pool. And somehow...my (sometimes) annoyingly intelligent husband never noticed he was trying to inflate it through the drain.
Snicker.
Snicker snicker.
Umm...I think we found our problem.
I was just relieved there wasn't a hole in the pool.
At least, not any unauthorized holes.
Bitty tantrum avoided. At least for a little while.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Dirty Little Secret
Okay, I lied. It's not that little. And for anyone who knows me at all, it's not a secret.
I am not a housekeeper.
No, let's be real here. In the spirit of, you know, bold blogging and all. I am a slob.
Don't judge me. We can't all be perfect. We all have our dirty little secrets. Mine just happens to be, well, not so little.
In the background of many of my pictures, you have probably noticed toys lying around. This is not the type of thing I'm talking about, because, let's face it, who can keep their floors toy-free all the time? It just isn't possible with kids. It isn't. And if you're trying to tell me otherwise, I assure you I'm standing here with my hands over my ears and humming. I'm not listening!
This is not something that is new to me. I was one of those kids with the bedroom that made my mom want to pull her hair out. She earned every gray hair that she has.And she has more of them than you realize. It was awful. I'd wonder how I lived that way, except I still do. More clothing on the floors than in the drawers, and everything that was in the drawers was stuffed, not folded (which is probably why most of my clothes wouldn't fit into them). Piles of...who knows what...on the floor of my closet. Bags...blankets...toys...trash (especially tags off of new clothing, but do those really count?)...everywhere. You get the picture.
So, of course, the worst thing I could hear from my mom was, "Go clean your room." This translated to, "Go spend all day in your room picking one thing up and putting it somewhere else it doesn't fit until it's time to go to bed. Or sneak and read a book, but don't let me catch you, or you'll be in big trouble." On the rare occasions when I actually, successfully cleaned my room, within five minutes*, it would look like a tornado had struck it.
* Okay, I'm exaggerating. It may have been as many as ten or fifteen.
These days, I have gotten a little bit better. Living with someone else (and having company from time to time) can do that to you. But we still have our problem areas. Mostly, it's the out-of-the-way rooms with doors, where, during a last minute frantic cleaning session, we can toss all of the stuff that's in the way and make the main rooms look decent. (Normal people would use a closet, but we have so much random junk that it takes entire rooms to contain it all. This has gotten infinitely better since my brother-in-law put in an easier access door to our attic, but it's still an issue.)
It depends on where we're cleaning, but the worst rooms tend to be the "office" and...our bedroom.
Our bedroom? Really? Why? I mean...shouldn't a bedroom be, well, peaceful? Restful? Clean?
Well, yes, of course. But you know what else it is? It's private. When you have company, people don't usually go in it unless the door is open (which ours never is, to keep the cats off ofCraig's pillow the bed). So, when you have a room that's never seen right off of a room that's often used for company...it becomes a convenient dumping ground. And you end up with something like this:
---------------
Edited: Craig informed me, after reading this, that the electronic equipment under his nightstand does belong to us. I was confusing it with something we borrowed several years ago, and apparently did give back. Thank goodness. I was really feeling guilty about that.
I am not a housekeeper.
No, let's be real here. In the spirit of, you know, bold blogging and all. I am a slob.
Don't judge me. We can't all be perfect. We all have our dirty little secrets. Mine just happens to be, well, not so little.
In the background of many of my pictures, you have probably noticed toys lying around. This is not the type of thing I'm talking about, because, let's face it, who can keep their floors toy-free all the time? It just isn't possible with kids. It isn't. And if you're trying to tell me otherwise, I assure you I'm standing here with my hands over my ears and humming. I'm not listening!
This is not something that is new to me. I was one of those kids with the bedroom that made my mom want to pull her hair out. She earned every gray hair that she has.
So, of course, the worst thing I could hear from my mom was, "Go clean your room." This translated to, "Go spend all day in your room picking one thing up and putting it somewhere else it doesn't fit until it's time to go to bed. Or sneak and read a book, but don't let me catch you, or you'll be in big trouble." On the rare occasions when I actually, successfully cleaned my room, within five minutes*, it would look like a tornado had struck it.
* Okay, I'm exaggerating. It may have been as many as ten or fifteen.
These days, I have gotten a little bit better. Living with someone else (and having company from time to time) can do that to you. But we still have our problem areas. Mostly, it's the out-of-the-way rooms with doors, where, during a last minute frantic cleaning session, we can toss all of the stuff that's in the way and make the main rooms look decent. (Normal people would use a closet, but we have so much random junk that it takes entire rooms to contain it all. This has gotten infinitely better since my brother-in-law put in an easier access door to our attic, but it's still an issue.)
It depends on where we're cleaning, but the worst rooms tend to be the "office" and...our bedroom.
Our bedroom? Really? Why? I mean...shouldn't a bedroom be, well, peaceful? Restful? Clean?
Well, yes, of course. But you know what else it is? It's private. When you have company, people don't usually go in it unless the door is open (which ours never is, to keep the cats off of
The bed hasn't been made in weeks (and I guarantee Craig was the last one to do it). There is a random seat cushion leaning against the end of the bed. And I'm not going to get into what is on the nightstands, but we don't currently have a trash can in our bedroom and we've both had colds recently, so you can probably imagine. And then wish you hadn't.
Or this:
My favorite thing here is the baby seat in the middle of the room. It's broken, by the way, and we haven't used it since...oh, November or December. 2008. (But we're going to try to fix it. Because it worked so well for the Imp, and...I can't stand to throw anything away. Nooooo, really?) There are also boxes of clothing that I'd put away at one time, but which migrated back out of the closet for some reason. No, actually the little box has a good excuse - it's maternity stuff. But the big box? I have no idea why it's out. And the white shirt on top of it? Not even mine. Or Craig's. (It's my mom's, and she took it home with her today.)
Which reminds me to give her some HUGE credit, because without her help, our room would still look like that. She came in today and made sure the kids didn't kill themselves or each other watched the kids upstairs while Craig and I worked downstairs. Lifesaver. An extra set of hands can make all the difference. So, thank you, Mom. Because I know you read this.
And I'm sorry about the gray hair comment. Your hair looks very nice.
Or this:
I think this one is my personal favorite. It shows very clearly my tendency to say, "Oh, I don't feel like hanging this up right now, but I'll come back and do it later." And then months will pass, and by the time I admit to myself that I was lying when I said that, it will have mutated into something scary. And eaten a rocking chair. (Can you see it? It's sandwiched between the wardrobe and the chest-o-drawers, which, incidentally, yes, I know do not match, but I love them both, so they both stay.)
I decided yesterday morning that I couldn't take it anymore, and I called Mom and asked her to come up. She dropped everything at a moment's notice and drove an hour and a half to stay overnight with us and watch the kids while we tried to make our house a little bit more livable. Amazingly enough, I think we succeeded.
The way a bed is supposed to look. Made up, with fifty-million pillows at the head and a hand-made (by, you guessed it, my awesome mom) afghan at the foot. The room isn't perfect. There's still a random baseball glove on top of a book and a printed out e-mail on top of some sort of electronic device that I, um, don't think is ours underneath the nightstand. And a random bottle of generic NyQuil on top of it, but I guess my husband left that there on purpose. Two pictures on the floor, waiting to be hung on the wall. And the photo collage above the bed is one photo short. But it's so much better than it was before.
This angle shows that there really was a floor under all that junk! A few minutes ago, I walked around my bed, and had to do a double-take when I realized I didn't have to step around boxes and baby seats anymore. (Ignore the random Tigger pillow on top of our laundry basket. Like I said, it's not perfect.)
And, look, oh my gosh, the clothes really did eat the chair! Or, well, no. We moved it upstairs so I'd have something in the Imp's room that I could sit in and get up out of, because his PBK Anywhere Chair just isn't working for me anymore. Especially at 1 a.m. when I'm trying to get him to go back to sleep. It's hard to get up out of something that's 1 foot off the ground without any hands even when you're not five-and-a-half months pregnant.
Please ignore the random bottle of...champagne? I think. Sitting beside the wardrobe. I've had it for...um...wow. Three years? More? It was a gift at work for a "job well done" (each person on the project got one) while I was pregnant with the Birdie...and I've never really gotten around to opening it, what with one baby after breastfeeding after another baby after breastfeeding after another. Maybe I'll get to drink it. Eventually. Say, in another three years. They are supposed to get better with age, right? Right? Well, I guess we'll see.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed that glimpse into my not-so-perfect life. Next week, I'll be posting a video of me trying to get up out of the Anywhere Chair while holding the Imp, his cup, his Larry the Cucumber, and a book.
Or, then again, maybe not.
---------------
Edited: Craig informed me, after reading this, that the electronic equipment under his nightstand does belong to us. I was confusing it with something we borrowed several years ago, and apparently did give back. Thank goodness. I was really feeling guilty about that.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Trip To Bernheim - 3/7/10
Some of my favorite photos from a road trip we took with the kids last weekend.
I love having my sister in the tree with me!
Or...maybe not.
Bitty Soliloquy.
Sweet little Imp.
Running, running! So much freedom!
Lying on the ground, "sobbing." Just like Snow White does, in the Disney movie, after the Huntsman tells her to run away. Remember that? So I asked her, "Are you Snow White?"
"No, I'm just pretending!" Silly Mommy. Can't you tell?
Coloring in the Visitors Center.
Starting to get sleepy.
Time to go home.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Baby Bumblebee
I'm bringin' home a baby bumblebee...won't my mommy be so proud of me?
Well, we aren't bringing home our Baby Bumblebee quite yet, but we did get a look at her last Thursday.
And yes, I did say her. We found out on Thursday that our Birdie and our Imp are getting a little sister!
The Birdie was quite excited when we told her Thursday afternoon, although not in the least surprised, which was, well, surprising, since we hadn't yet told her that she was getting a new little sibling. Somehow, though, I think she just knew.
She was full of questions when she found out. Remarkably intuitive questions, at least in my opinion.
"Is she in Mommy's tummy?" (First thing she said when we told her. I thought this would be a stumbling block - "Did Mommy eat the baby?" - but I guess she picked up somewhere on her own that babies grow in Mommies' tummies.)
"What's her name?"
"I'm going to sing her a song!" And she got up and danced around the room, singing something about her sister and how Valentine's Day is her favorite holiday and a few other things that I couldn't understand. It was precious.
Then, just as I was patting myself on the back for raising such an amazing little girl who understands everything there is to know without having to explain it, she asked, "Can I see her?"
And pretty much once a day since then, she will give Baby Bumblebee a hug, and ask if she's going to come out today. We have to remind her that it will be a long time, still. This morning, she told me that she wanted Baby Bumblebee to stay home when I went to work. But I could leave, that was okay.
Ahhh, I'm feeling the love.
The Imp, by the way, is oblivious. I'm sure he will remain blissfully unaware until the day that we bring home a tiny squalling thing that hogs Mommy for most of the day. I'mcurious interested apprehensive worried terrified to see how he reacts when Mommy acquires a new appendage (and it's not him).
But we are excited about our little girl on the way, who, incidentally, has existed in our minds and our hearts ever since we were expecting the Birdie and we came up with four names (two girls' names and two boys' names). Yes, indeed. When we were expecting baby #1, we decided on 4 names - a 1st choice girl's name, a 2nd choice girl's name*, a 1st choice boy's name, and a 2nd choice boy's name. And when we came up with those names, all 4 of those babies became real people in my mind, even though three of them didn't exist yet, and at the time we didn't know "who" #1 was. The #2 boy's name has changed a bit since we originally came up with the names, but none of the others did, and now I'm just as attached to that name (and that little boy) as I have been with each of the others. So as long as #4 is a boy, everything will be perfect!
What? You mean you can't plan it out like that? Really? Haha. So far, we have been very lucky and it has worked out the way we "planned" (girl-boy-girl) - but if something doesn't go according to our plan...well, who are we to make plans, anyway? (And we're already talking about another girl's name, just in case.)
Let's just try not to get too attached to this name, because we're really not planning a #5.
* Our #2 girl's name really was only 2nd choice in Craig's mind - honestly, I'd have been extremely disappointed if we hadn't gotten to use it, because it incorporates a special part of my name that my mom shares, too, so you can imagine how ecstatic I am now.
Well, we aren't bringing home our Baby Bumblebee quite yet, but we did get a look at her last Thursday.
And yes, I did say her. We found out on Thursday that our Birdie and our Imp are getting a little sister!
The Birdie was quite excited when we told her Thursday afternoon, although not in the least surprised, which was, well, surprising, since we hadn't yet told her that she was getting a new little sibling. Somehow, though, I think she just knew.
She was full of questions when she found out. Remarkably intuitive questions, at least in my opinion.
"Is she in Mommy's tummy?" (First thing she said when we told her. I thought this would be a stumbling block - "Did Mommy eat the baby?" - but I guess she picked up somewhere on her own that babies grow in Mommies' tummies.)
"What's her name?"
"I'm going to sing her a song!" And she got up and danced around the room, singing something about her sister and how Valentine's Day is her favorite holiday and a few other things that I couldn't understand. It was precious.
Then, just as I was patting myself on the back for raising such an amazing little girl who understands everything there is to know without having to explain it, she asked, "Can I see her?"
And pretty much once a day since then, she will give Baby Bumblebee a hug, and ask if she's going to come out today. We have to remind her that it will be a long time, still. This morning, she told me that she wanted Baby Bumblebee to stay home when I went to work. But I could leave, that was okay.
Ahhh, I'm feeling the love.
The Imp, by the way, is oblivious. I'm sure he will remain blissfully unaware until the day that we bring home a tiny squalling thing that hogs Mommy for most of the day. I'm
But we are excited about our little girl on the way, who, incidentally, has existed in our minds and our hearts ever since we were expecting the Birdie and we came up with four names (two girls' names and two boys' names). Yes, indeed. When we were expecting baby #1, we decided on 4 names - a 1st choice girl's name, a 2nd choice girl's name*, a 1st choice boy's name, and a 2nd choice boy's name. And when we came up with those names, all 4 of those babies became real people in my mind, even though three of them didn't exist yet, and at the time we didn't know "who" #1 was. The #2 boy's name has changed a bit since we originally came up with the names, but none of the others did, and now I'm just as attached to that name (and that little boy) as I have been with each of the others. So as long as #4 is a boy, everything will be perfect!
What? You mean you can't plan it out like that? Really? Haha. So far, we have been very lucky and it has worked out the way we "planned" (girl-boy-girl) - but if something doesn't go according to our plan...well, who are we to make plans, anyway? (And we're already talking about another girl's name, just in case.)
Let's just try not to get too attached to this name, because we're really not planning a #5.
* Our #2 girl's name really was only 2nd choice in Craig's mind - honestly, I'd have been extremely disappointed if we hadn't gotten to use it, because it incorporates a special part of my name that my mom shares, too, so you can imagine how ecstatic I am now.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Birth Story: The Imp
Today I am joining Mama M.'s Birthstory Blog Hop with the story from when my son was born. Sadly, I can't find my daughter's birth story (although I am still looking), but if/when I find it, I will share that also.
My Imp was born on June 4, 2008, at 6:13 p.m. He was 6 lbs, 9 oz. and 19.5 in. long.
I was scheduled for an elective induction on June 4th. I chose that date because it was past 39 weeks (39w2d) and my doctor was on call. Interestingly, the Imp was due on a Monday and induced and born on a Wednesday, exactly the same as his sister, a year-and-a-half earlier.
As with the Birdie, I was told to call Labor & Delivery at 5-in-the-morning (yuk) to find out when they wanted me to come in. With the Birdie, they had me come in right away, and that was what I expected this time. Much to my disappointment, the girl I spoke to told me they were having a "computer glitch" and to call back at 7. I was not happy, and there were a few tears.
At 7:00, I called back, certain they'd tell me to come in within the next couple of hours. (By 9:00 at the worst, I figured.) The nurse told me, "Yes, you're on hold for a room, and we'll call you when one is available." What?! That was not what the first nurse had told me. There wasn't a room for me at all? Now there were a lot of tears.
I called again at 9:00 because I didn't like being at their mercy for a phone call, and the (same, sigh) nurse told me that I was still on hold, but that I was "next on the list," which meant I was going to get in that day (at that point, I had been certain it wasn't going to happen). So I waited a bit more, and just before 10:00, the nurse called and told me to come on in. Yay! (When I got there, the same nurse that I had been bugging with phone calls was the one who checked me in, but at least she was nice about it.)
They got me hooked up to an IV around 10:45 and started pitocin around 11:15. Right after that, my doctor went ahead and broke my water. I was still at 3-4 cm at this point. I'm not sure when I got the epidural, but it wasn't long after that, probably at 12-something. That wasn't fun. Since my contractions really weren't all that bad at that point, I was focused entirely on the sensation of a catheter being put into my spine, which was NOT pleasant. And yes, you CAN feel it going in. I whined a lot, although the doctor did commend me for doing a "good job" (meaning I held still). My response was, "Like I'm NOT going to hold still when you're putting something into my spine!" It did feel like it was off to the left a little bit, and I think that I was right about that because my left side ended up being MUCH more numb than my right side the whole time. Truly, I HATE the epidural, but I wouldn't dare go through labor without one.
The entire afternoon was spent waiting, and waiting and waiting. Starting around 4:30 or so, I could feel the Imp really low. It didn't feel like I needed to push, but it seemed like he was getting close. The nurse checked me at 5:00 and I was 7 cm. The nurse said things could go quickly from there because his head was pretty low, but I was pretty much expecting him to be born fairly close to 8 p.m. because of the whole 1 cm/hour once you’re in active labor thing. She told me to call her back in there if the pressure got worse.
Ten minutes later, the pressure got worse. I knew I was crazy for calling the nurse back, but I did, anyway. She checked me at 5:15 and said, "Your cervix is almost gone, and his head is right there!" I was shocked – I had gone from 7 cm to ready to have a baby in 15 minutes. How scary is that? I mean, if for some reason I wasn't ready, or I if told Craig, "I'm only 7 cm, why don't you get dinner now while there's still time?" Which, of course, I didn't, but still - it was very eye-opening.
My doctor and I had decided ahead of time that we'd let him "labor down" on his own instead of having me push right away. Turned out I didn't have a choice because she had just started someone else’s c-section at 5:15 so she wasn't available to "catch" him, anyway. The nurse said the timing would be "just right," that my doctor would do the c-section then come in and deliver the baby.
So we waited for her, and waited, and waited some more. It felt like an eternity, and I could feel him getting lower and lower with each contraction. Finally, around 6:05 the nurse came in and checked me again. She said something along the lines of, "Oh, yeah, he's right there!" I asked her how far in he actually was, and she measured it on her finger - about the distance to her first knuckle, roughly an inch. Again, I was shocked. And WHERE was my doctor?
At this point, the room became a blur of nurses setting up stuff for the Imp's imminent arrival. My mom took away my cell phone (yes, I'd been texting updates to people this whole time) and the L&D nurse got me ready to push. She had Craig get on one leg and, to my surprise, my mom get on my other leg (at that point, I was beyond being uncomfortable about it – but it was a shame because Mom had been going to take pictures of the Imp coming out, although from a less graphic angle than straight-on. Since they were digital pictures, I figured I could delete anything that made me uncomfortable.) The nurse had me do a "practice push," I guess to see how things were going to work, and right after that, my doctor came in. I pushed for one contraction, and she said he was close, and then on the second contraction, I started pushing and she said, "Okay, he's out!" Amazing. And I guess because of the way the epidural was working, this time I actually felt him come out of my belly - not the pain, but the release of pressure as he came out. It felt really weird, but in a good way because the pressure was causing some nausea that stopped when he came out.
Unlike with the Birdie, they immediately put him on my chest, before he'd been cleaned up, and I got to hold him right away. I was shocked that he was blue-ish, although I guess this is normal because he was crying and he pinked up right away when the nurse rubbed him. It was amazing to get to hold my little boy right away. After I got to hold him for a few minutes and everyone got some pictures, they took him off to clean him up, measure him, and weigh him (he was actually 6 lbs 8.8 oz), then gave him back to me and everyone except family cleared out and I got to nurse him. That, also, was amazing. I didn't get to nurse the Birdie right away because I was shaking/nauseated and I had to be drugged up immediately. He nursed so well right from the start, and he's been good at it ever since.
Oddly, I started having the shaking and nausea right after I finished nursing him and they took him away. I threw up a couple of times, and they gave me phenergan and carted me off to the mother-baby unit. I was in a lot of pain that night overnight, I guess from him being in the birth canal for so long (the pain was in my butt) so they gave him a bottle overnight because I didn't feel like I could sit up to nurse him. I was better by that morning, though, and the bottle didn't hurt breastfeeding any.
We went home on Friday morning, and his weight was still good at 6 lbs 4 oz. At the pediatrician the next morning, he had dropped to 6 lbs even (my guess would be that he didn't pass most of the meconium until Friday because I didn't change any dirty diapers until then, and that caused his weight to drop more after we went home than before). On Monday, he was back up to 6 lbs 4 oz, and by the following Friday, he was 6 lbs 10 oz, so he did a great job of making up for what he lost!
The last paragraph was from when I wrote this up, I guess when he was a month or so old. I'm leaving it in for nostalgia's sake.
He has been an amazing baby. So far, he rarely cries - just during some diaper changes or if he gets hungry and someone other than me is holding him. He's very easy to calm - usually if I pick him up he will quiet right down. And he has been really good on me with sleeping. He sleeps in a little glider beside my bed and as long as I don't doze off while I'm nursing him overnight, he'll let me sleep for several hours at a time lying down in my bed.
I am so blessed to have my two beautiful babies, the Imp (6/4/2008) and my Bitty Birdie (12/13/2006)!
My Imp was born on June 4, 2008, at 6:13 p.m. He was 6 lbs, 9 oz. and 19.5 in. long.
I was scheduled for an elective induction on June 4th. I chose that date because it was past 39 weeks (39w2d) and my doctor was on call. Interestingly, the Imp was due on a Monday and induced and born on a Wednesday, exactly the same as his sister, a year-and-a-half earlier.
As with the Birdie, I was told to call Labor & Delivery at 5-in-the-morning (yuk) to find out when they wanted me to come in. With the Birdie, they had me come in right away, and that was what I expected this time. Much to my disappointment, the girl I spoke to told me they were having a "computer glitch" and to call back at 7. I was not happy, and there were a few tears.
At 7:00, I called back, certain they'd tell me to come in within the next couple of hours. (By 9:00 at the worst, I figured.) The nurse told me, "Yes, you're on hold for a room, and we'll call you when one is available." What?! That was not what the first nurse had told me. There wasn't a room for me at all? Now there were a lot of tears.
I called again at 9:00 because I didn't like being at their mercy for a phone call, and the (same, sigh) nurse told me that I was still on hold, but that I was "next on the list," which meant I was going to get in that day (at that point, I had been certain it wasn't going to happen). So I waited a bit more, and just before 10:00, the nurse called and told me to come on in. Yay! (When I got there, the same nurse that I had been bugging with phone calls was the one who checked me in, but at least she was nice about it.)
They got me hooked up to an IV around 10:45 and started pitocin around 11:15. Right after that, my doctor went ahead and broke my water. I was still at 3-4 cm at this point. I'm not sure when I got the epidural, but it wasn't long after that, probably at 12-something. That wasn't fun. Since my contractions really weren't all that bad at that point, I was focused entirely on the sensation of a catheter being put into my spine, which was NOT pleasant. And yes, you CAN feel it going in. I whined a lot, although the doctor did commend me for doing a "good job" (meaning I held still). My response was, "Like I'm NOT going to hold still when you're putting something into my spine!" It did feel like it was off to the left a little bit, and I think that I was right about that because my left side ended up being MUCH more numb than my right side the whole time. Truly, I HATE the epidural, but I wouldn't dare go through labor without one.
The entire afternoon was spent waiting, and waiting and waiting. Starting around 4:30 or so, I could feel the Imp really low. It didn't feel like I needed to push, but it seemed like he was getting close. The nurse checked me at 5:00 and I was 7 cm. The nurse said things could go quickly from there because his head was pretty low, but I was pretty much expecting him to be born fairly close to 8 p.m. because of the whole 1 cm/hour once you’re in active labor thing. She told me to call her back in there if the pressure got worse.
Ten minutes later, the pressure got worse. I knew I was crazy for calling the nurse back, but I did, anyway. She checked me at 5:15 and said, "Your cervix is almost gone, and his head is right there!" I was shocked – I had gone from 7 cm to ready to have a baby in 15 minutes. How scary is that? I mean, if for some reason I wasn't ready, or I if told Craig, "I'm only 7 cm, why don't you get dinner now while there's still time?" Which, of course, I didn't, but still - it was very eye-opening.
My doctor and I had decided ahead of time that we'd let him "labor down" on his own instead of having me push right away. Turned out I didn't have a choice because she had just started someone else’s c-section at 5:15 so she wasn't available to "catch" him, anyway. The nurse said the timing would be "just right," that my doctor would do the c-section then come in and deliver the baby.
So we waited for her, and waited, and waited some more. It felt like an eternity, and I could feel him getting lower and lower with each contraction. Finally, around 6:05 the nurse came in and checked me again. She said something along the lines of, "Oh, yeah, he's right there!" I asked her how far in he actually was, and she measured it on her finger - about the distance to her first knuckle, roughly an inch. Again, I was shocked. And WHERE was my doctor?
At this point, the room became a blur of nurses setting up stuff for the Imp's imminent arrival. My mom took away my cell phone (yes, I'd been texting updates to people this whole time) and the L&D nurse got me ready to push. She had Craig get on one leg and, to my surprise, my mom get on my other leg (at that point, I was beyond being uncomfortable about it – but it was a shame because Mom had been going to take pictures of the Imp coming out, although from a less graphic angle than straight-on. Since they were digital pictures, I figured I could delete anything that made me uncomfortable.) The nurse had me do a "practice push," I guess to see how things were going to work, and right after that, my doctor came in. I pushed for one contraction, and she said he was close, and then on the second contraction, I started pushing and she said, "Okay, he's out!" Amazing. And I guess because of the way the epidural was working, this time I actually felt him come out of my belly - not the pain, but the release of pressure as he came out. It felt really weird, but in a good way because the pressure was causing some nausea that stopped when he came out.
Unlike with the Birdie, they immediately put him on my chest, before he'd been cleaned up, and I got to hold him right away. I was shocked that he was blue-ish, although I guess this is normal because he was crying and he pinked up right away when the nurse rubbed him. It was amazing to get to hold my little boy right away. After I got to hold him for a few minutes and everyone got some pictures, they took him off to clean him up, measure him, and weigh him (he was actually 6 lbs 8.8 oz), then gave him back to me and everyone except family cleared out and I got to nurse him. That, also, was amazing. I didn't get to nurse the Birdie right away because I was shaking/nauseated and I had to be drugged up immediately. He nursed so well right from the start, and he's been good at it ever since.
Oddly, I started having the shaking and nausea right after I finished nursing him and they took him away. I threw up a couple of times, and they gave me phenergan and carted me off to the mother-baby unit. I was in a lot of pain that night overnight, I guess from him being in the birth canal for so long (the pain was in my butt) so they gave him a bottle overnight because I didn't feel like I could sit up to nurse him. I was better by that morning, though, and the bottle didn't hurt breastfeeding any.
We went home on Friday morning, and his weight was still good at 6 lbs 4 oz. At the pediatrician the next morning, he had dropped to 6 lbs even (my guess would be that he didn't pass most of the meconium until Friday because I didn't change any dirty diapers until then, and that caused his weight to drop more after we went home than before). On Monday, he was back up to 6 lbs 4 oz, and by the following Friday, he was 6 lbs 10 oz, so he did a great job of making up for what he lost!
The last paragraph was from when I wrote this up, I guess when he was a month or so old. I'm leaving it in for nostalgia's sake.
He has been an amazing baby. So far, he rarely cries - just during some diaper changes or if he gets hungry and someone other than me is holding him. He's very easy to calm - usually if I pick him up he will quiet right down. And he has been really good on me with sleeping. He sleeps in a little glider beside my bed and as long as I don't doze off while I'm nursing him overnight, he'll let me sleep for several hours at a time lying down in my bed.
I am so blessed to have my two beautiful babies, the Imp (6/4/2008) and my Bitty Birdie (12/13/2006)!
First photo (or one of them):
First kiss from his sister:
3 Months Old:
6 months old:
9 Months Old:
1 year old:
18 Months Old:
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Irony (and some Big News)
I wanted to share some irony (and some news) with you. I've been wanting to post about this for a while, but it's something that I expected to take a while to write, and I haven't had a lot of time to sit down and write, lately. With both kids in their rooms, apparently napping (although I keep hearing noises from the Birdie, so this might not last long) I thought I'd give it a try.
My husband and I have been to Disney World three times since we got married. The first trip down there was our "babymoon," which we took in May 2006, when I was in late 1st trimester with the Birdie. It was fantastic, except for me being exhausted the whole time. The. Whole. Time. Most days (if I am remembering this correctly), Craig and I would go to the parks in the late morning, return in early afternoon, and I would take a nap while he would go back for a few hours. Also, I couldn't ride any real rides. I am a ride-a-holic, so that was pretty hard for me. Worth it, but hard.
Our second trip was in January 2008. We were spending a week in Daytona (a mistake, because there is almost NOTHING to do in Daytona, although we had a nice time anyway) and decided to take a day and go to Disney World. My birthday, January 10, to be specific. At that point, I was 18 weeks pregnant with the Imp, so we just took the Birdie to Epcot and walked a lot. A lot. But I wasn't exhausted anymore - that was a bonus.
After we left Disney World, on the ride back to Daytona, I started brainstorming. We needed to make a trip to Disney when we could stay on the property and have lots of fun, preferably with friends and family there. We thought November 2009 would be good timing, because November is a slow month at Disney, but the weather is still nice, the Birdie would not yet be three (kids under 3 get in free), and the Imp would be old enough to enjoy it, too (17 months). We planned and schemed for the next year and a half. We got my parents and Craig's parents on board and even got one of my good friends, Jaime, to join us there with her family, too. We weren't able to stay on the property, but we were able to stay close enough that we may as well have been on property - for a lot less money. It was perfect!
And I was very excited about the fact that I'd be at Disney World and not be pregnant. I'd have plenty of energy. I'd be able to ride the rides. I'd be able to have a glass of wine here and there if I wanted to.
Oh yes. I bet you can see where this is going.
I'm sure, at this point, it won't be much of a stretch for you to figure out what I discovered just two weeks before we were scheduled to leave.
That's right. Baby #3 will be here in mid-July 2010.
(Yes, as a matter of fact, we do know how that happens. But thanks for the offer, anyway.)
We were planning on trying for #3 when we got back from Disney World, so this really did not throw a wrench in anything (except maybe my plans to have a few drinks at Disney, but who needs that anyway? Probably saved us some money!) It just pushed things up one or two months.
So, we are very excited, and looking forward to meeting our new little one in just a few short months!
My husband and I have been to Disney World three times since we got married. The first trip down there was our "babymoon," which we took in May 2006, when I was in late 1st trimester with the Birdie. It was fantastic, except for me being exhausted the whole time. The. Whole. Time. Most days (if I am remembering this correctly), Craig and I would go to the parks in the late morning, return in early afternoon, and I would take a nap while he would go back for a few hours. Also, I couldn't ride any real rides. I am a ride-a-holic, so that was pretty hard for me. Worth it, but hard.
Our second trip was in January 2008. We were spending a week in Daytona (a mistake, because there is almost NOTHING to do in Daytona, although we had a nice time anyway) and decided to take a day and go to Disney World. My birthday, January 10, to be specific. At that point, I was 18 weeks pregnant with the Imp, so we just took the Birdie to Epcot and walked a lot. A lot. But I wasn't exhausted anymore - that was a bonus.
After we left Disney World, on the ride back to Daytona, I started brainstorming. We needed to make a trip to Disney when we could stay on the property and have lots of fun, preferably with friends and family there. We thought November 2009 would be good timing, because November is a slow month at Disney, but the weather is still nice, the Birdie would not yet be three (kids under 3 get in free), and the Imp would be old enough to enjoy it, too (17 months). We planned and schemed for the next year and a half. We got my parents and Craig's parents on board and even got one of my good friends, Jaime, to join us there with her family, too. We weren't able to stay on the property, but we were able to stay close enough that we may as well have been on property - for a lot less money. It was perfect!
And I was very excited about the fact that I'd be at Disney World and not be pregnant. I'd have plenty of energy. I'd be able to ride the rides. I'd be able to have a glass of wine here and there if I wanted to.
Oh yes. I bet you can see where this is going.
I'm sure, at this point, it won't be much of a stretch for you to figure out what I discovered just two weeks before we were scheduled to leave.
That's right. Baby #3 will be here in mid-July 2010.
(Yes, as a matter of fact, we do know how that happens. But thanks for the offer, anyway.)
We were planning on trying for #3 when we got back from Disney World, so this really did not throw a wrench in anything (except maybe my plans to have a few drinks at Disney, but who needs that anyway? Probably saved us some money!) It just pushed things up one or two months.
So, we are very excited, and looking forward to meeting our new little one in just a few short months!
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Nickname Dilemma - Help Wanted!
I need nickname advice for my kiddos. I would love to post their real names on here, and honestly, many of you (including anyone who read my Oatmeal w/photos post before I edited it) already know them. But in retrospect, I've decided I'm more comfortable sticking with nicknames right now. Just to be on the safe side.
I've been referring to my daughter as "the Birdie." This comes from my infant nickname for her. When she was about two weeks old, I decided she looked and acted like a bird bobbing around when she was hungry (many moms will be familiar with this, as I've learned it's a fairly common observation during those early weeks). I started calling her "Baby Bird." At some point over the next few months, this morphed into "Bitty Bird," because she was on the small side for all of her first and much of her second year. Although she is fairly average now, size-wise, the nickname has stuck, and I still call her that fairly often. I will continue to call her that on here.
Bitty Birdie
The advice I need is for my son. Because my daughter's nickname quickly presented itself to me, I expected something to become obvious for him fairly early, as well. So I waited. And waited, and waited. But the only things that were coming up were "little guy," "little bitty guy," and "baby guy." Not very creative, huh? "Baby Guy" has stuck, and I call him that a lot now. However...that one really doesn't have long-term application. When he is 3 or 4, it's not going to sound right at all to be calling him "Baby Guy." So I am wanting something a little more lasting for him.
For the past several months, I've been calling him my imp. He really is. He gets this mischievous look in his eye, he grins at you, and then he does something you don't want him to. My little imp. My troublemaker. He doesn't do really bad things - he is very easygoing and doesn't complain a whole lot - but he does do little things that are kind of cute, kind of annoying. For example, over the weekend, he turned the TV on, and when a basketball game came up, climbed into his sister's Princess chair and started chanting something unintelligable at the teams. (I suspect he was thinking either "Go Cats!" or "Go Cards!" - except neither team, of course, was one of the ones playing.) Certainly not a big deal, and really, very cute - but we have been trying for months to get him to leave the tv alone.
So, he is very impish. He's a little troublemaker, although...not really, I guess. I just call him that, and he agrees. :) He likes frogs...maybe call him Frog? I don't like that as much. Any ideas? Anyone?
Imp? Frog? Booger-Butt *?
* Yes, I call him that. No, I don't think that would make a great blog nickname. That's one I probably don't want to stick.
A few more photos, to help show his personality a little more:
Does anyone have any ideas? I'd appreciate any help I could get. Thanks! :)
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
My Baby Guy is Growin' Up....
Last night was miserable for pretty much everyone in my house. It's a toss-up as to whether it was worse for me or for my husband, as he was up more times than I was, but it usually only takes him about five minutes to get back into snore snooze-land. On the other hand, although I was only up once, I have a raging cold right now and it takes me about forty minutes to fall back asleep...if I'm lucky.
So, why were we up?
I'll give you three guesses.
Yup, kids woke up screaming. Three times. Two kids, three times.
But, as you can probably figure from the title, our miserable night isn't exactly the point of my story. It just sets up the circumstances.
About 2:50, the Baby Guy woke up screaming. I let him go for a couple of minutes, because sometimes he will fuss himself back to sleep, but it quickly became clear that this wasn't going to be one of those times. My husband was up with him the night before and it seemed to go pretty well (he was only up there for 15-20 minutes or so), so I asked him what he did. "Turned on his music and held him until it stopped, then put him back down and he went back to sleep."
Ahhh. The Standard. Also The Best Scenario. I figured I'd try that, but suspected it wouldn't go quite as well for me. The Baby Guy is a Mommy's Boy, and I was afraid that when he realized it was Mommy who was holding him, one run of the music wouldn't be enough. But I trudged up the stairs and went into his room, determined to at least give it a try.
Little guy snuggled into my shoulder immediately when I picked him up. Even at 2:50 a.m., the snuggles can make me melt. He put his arms as far around me as they would go and held on tight. It was sweet, but also didn't bode well for putting him back down.
The music played. I stood and rocked. Baby Guy clung. About ten minutes passed, and then something unexpected happened. My little guy did something he has never done before. He pulled away from me and looked down into his crib, then looked back at me.
"Do you want to get back in bed?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied (using one of the five or so words of his that we can actually understand).
I blinked a couple of times, then kissed him, and put him back in his crib. He didn't fuss. I was amazed. I covered him up, restarted his music, and left the room. He stayed quiet. Iwent back to bed and happily fell asleep went into my bathroom, took a (generic) Mucinex, then got back in bed and lay there hacking my head off for fifteen minutes while I waited for the requisite 4 hours to be up so I could take two more puffs on my the Birdie's Xopenex inhaler. Then I lay awake for another 20 minutes listening to my husband snore sleep. Ahh, the joys of being...sick.
But, only 20 minutes? That's not too bad, right? Yes, well, 20 minutes wouldn't have been bad if I had then fallen asleep, but what actually broke things up again was the sound of more crying. The Baby Guy was awake again. This time, my husband went up, and fortunately, it went as smoothly as my trip, with the Baby Guy again agreeing to be put down early.
And then, about an hour later, the Birdie woke up. I asked my husband if he would go up even though it was my turn, and he took pity on me and went. Again, we were fortunate since she had only kicked her covers off and replacing them was all it took to calm her down.
The rest of the night went fairly well, and I was eventually able to fall back asleep. I'm sure you're happy to hear that.
Anyway, returning to my original point - the Baby Guy has never before indicated he was ready to get back in bed during one of these middle-of-the-night visits. It's always been a case of me putting him down and hoping desperately while tiptoeing out of the room as softly as I could. So I was surprised and pleased that he chose to go back to bed on his own last night, and I hope this is a new habit for him.
So, why were we up?
I'll give you three guesses.
Yup, kids woke up screaming. Three times. Two kids, three times.
But, as you can probably figure from the title, our miserable night isn't exactly the point of my story. It just sets up the circumstances.
About 2:50, the Baby Guy woke up screaming. I let him go for a couple of minutes, because sometimes he will fuss himself back to sleep, but it quickly became clear that this wasn't going to be one of those times. My husband was up with him the night before and it seemed to go pretty well (he was only up there for 15-20 minutes or so), so I asked him what he did. "Turned on his music and held him until it stopped, then put him back down and he went back to sleep."
Ahhh. The Standard. Also The Best Scenario. I figured I'd try that, but suspected it wouldn't go quite as well for me. The Baby Guy is a Mommy's Boy, and I was afraid that when he realized it was Mommy who was holding him, one run of the music wouldn't be enough. But I trudged up the stairs and went into his room, determined to at least give it a try.
Little guy snuggled into my shoulder immediately when I picked him up. Even at 2:50 a.m., the snuggles can make me melt. He put his arms as far around me as they would go and held on tight. It was sweet, but also didn't bode well for putting him back down.
The music played. I stood and rocked. Baby Guy clung. About ten minutes passed, and then something unexpected happened. My little guy did something he has never done before. He pulled away from me and looked down into his crib, then looked back at me.
"Do you want to get back in bed?" I asked.
"Yes," he replied (using one of the five or so words of his that we can actually understand).
I blinked a couple of times, then kissed him, and put him back in his crib. He didn't fuss. I was amazed. I covered him up, restarted his music, and left the room. He stayed quiet. I
But, only 20 minutes? That's not too bad, right? Yes, well, 20 minutes wouldn't have been bad if I had then fallen asleep, but what actually broke things up again was the sound of more crying. The Baby Guy was awake again. This time, my husband went up, and fortunately, it went as smoothly as my trip, with the Baby Guy again agreeing to be put down early.
And then, about an hour later, the Birdie woke up. I asked my husband if he would go up even though it was my turn, and he took pity on me and went. Again, we were fortunate since she had only kicked her covers off and replacing them was all it took to calm her down.
The rest of the night went fairly well, and I was eventually able to fall back asleep. I'm sure you're happy to hear that.
Anyway, returning to my original point - the Baby Guy has never before indicated he was ready to get back in bed during one of these middle-of-the-night visits. It's always been a case of me putting him down and hoping desperately while tiptoeing out of the room as softly as I could. So I was surprised and pleased that he chose to go back to bed on his own last night, and I hope this is a new habit for him.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Nights One & Two (or Trudge, Trudge, Trudge, Trudge)
Night One went almost better than I could have imagined, with the Baby Guy waking only once, around two-ish. This was pretty consistent with his usual schedule, but - but - he went back to sleep with two playings of the musical soother on his crib. And here is the important part: without a bottle.
I can probably count on one hand the number of times he has not insisted on a bottle (or two) overnight, or at least I could if I could remember them. This was a huge accomplishment. Huge.
And encouraging, of course. Could it be that this truly would be a new beginning, a new era of baby sleeping that didn't include a bottle overnight?
Maybe. But, as you might guess from the fact that I'm writing this post at 2:45 the next night (or next-next morning, in fact), Night Two is not going quite as well. This is not too alarming, because what would be a step forward without a step back? Plus, there were other factors that went into play tonight: he didn't eat quite as much today as he did yesterday (I'm guessing); my parents watched him all day while my husband and I played (the reason I'm guessing about the food); my parents put him to bed at their house before we picked him up around 10:30 p.m., and then we didn't get home until midnight-ish, when I put him back to bed for real; and, because of the craziness surrounding bedtime tonight, he didn't get any ibuprofen before bed.
So, yeah. It wasn't exactly a normal bedtime. So it's not truly alarming that it's been a little bit of a rougher night. He woke up fussing a bit before 2 a.m. I trudged upstairs, hugged him, settled him back in bed (I know, and I wouldn't pick him up, but he had escaped his covers so he needed to be settled anyway), and turned on Winnie-the-Pooh (the bedtime music crib soother thingie).
Then I returned to bed to listen to that on the monitor as it played over and over for about fifteen minutes.
Winnie-the-Pooh
Winnie-the-Pooh
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff, He's
Winnie-the-Pooh
Winnie-the-Pooh
Willy nilly silly ole bear!
Of course, there aren't any words on the crib soother, it's instrumental, but don't worry, my brain filled those in all on its own.
Oh, and the fussing. Don't forget the fussing. Because of course he didn't settle down. So I sighed, and groaned, and was about to trudge (there really isn't any other word for it) back up to re-settle him and turn Winnie-the-Pooh back on, when my husband got out of bed. "Where are you going?" I inquired. "Up to turn Winnie-the-Pooh back on." All right! Ooh - but - "Make sure you give him some ibuprofen!" Because I forgot the first time, and I'm pretty sure my teething little prince needed it.
Husband came back. Baby still fussing. Sigh. So, a third trudge, up I go, pick up the baby and hug him, and he just melts into my shoulder like that's where he really wants to sleep all night. Very sweet, precious, adorable...but, um, no, but thanks anyway. I settled him back in, to the misery of all involved (or maybe it was just him), turned Winnie-the-Pooh back on for yet another run (let's see how long those four D-batteries last, haha!) took some ibuprofen for myself, and settled down on the couch to write this post.
Because, at least that way, if I had to soothe him again, at least the trudge would be shorter this time. No stairs involved, anyway. Not enjoying the stairs at 2 a.m. At all.
As of now, he's been quiet for most of the time I spent writing this post. He's made a peep every now and then, but I am at least a little hopeful that we might avoid the warm milk again tonight. A little.
I can probably count on one hand the number of times he has not insisted on a bottle (or two) overnight, or at least I could if I could remember them. This was a huge accomplishment. Huge.
And encouraging, of course. Could it be that this truly would be a new beginning, a new era of baby sleeping that didn't include a bottle overnight?
Maybe. But, as you might guess from the fact that I'm writing this post at 2:45 the next night (or next-next morning, in fact), Night Two is not going quite as well. This is not too alarming, because what would be a step forward without a step back? Plus, there were other factors that went into play tonight: he didn't eat quite as much today as he did yesterday (I'm guessing); my parents watched him all day while my husband and I played (the reason I'm guessing about the food); my parents put him to bed at their house before we picked him up around 10:30 p.m., and then we didn't get home until midnight-ish, when I put him back to bed for real; and, because of the craziness surrounding bedtime tonight, he didn't get any ibuprofen before bed.
So, yeah. It wasn't exactly a normal bedtime. So it's not truly alarming that it's been a little bit of a rougher night. He woke up fussing a bit before 2 a.m. I trudged upstairs, hugged him, settled him back in bed (I know, and I wouldn't pick him up, but he had escaped his covers so he needed to be settled anyway), and turned on Winnie-the-Pooh (the bedtime music crib soother thingie).
Then I returned to bed to listen to that on the monitor as it played over and over for about fifteen minutes.
Winnie-the-Pooh
Winnie-the-Pooh
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff, He's
Winnie-the-Pooh
Winnie-the-Pooh
Willy nilly silly ole bear!
Of course, there aren't any words on the crib soother, it's instrumental, but don't worry, my brain filled those in all on its own.
Oh, and the fussing. Don't forget the fussing. Because of course he didn't settle down. So I sighed, and groaned, and was about to trudge (there really isn't any other word for it) back up to re-settle him and turn Winnie-the-Pooh back on, when my husband got out of bed. "Where are you going?" I inquired. "Up to turn Winnie-the-Pooh back on." All right! Ooh - but - "Make sure you give him some ibuprofen!" Because I forgot the first time, and I'm pretty sure my teething little prince needed it.
Husband came back. Baby still fussing. Sigh. So, a third trudge, up I go, pick up the baby and hug him, and he just melts into my shoulder like that's where he really wants to sleep all night. Very sweet, precious, adorable...but, um, no, but thanks anyway. I settled him back in, to the misery of all involved (or maybe it was just him), turned Winnie-the-Pooh back on for yet another run (let's see how long those four D-batteries last, haha!) took some ibuprofen for myself, and settled down on the couch to write this post.
Because, at least that way, if I had to soothe him again, at least the trudge would be shorter this time. No stairs involved, anyway. Not enjoying the stairs at 2 a.m. At all.
As of now, he's been quiet for most of the time I spent writing this post. He's made a peep every now and then, but I am at least a little hopeful that we might avoid the warm milk again tonight. A little.
Friday, September 25, 2009
A New Beginning?
Tonight is our Baby Guy's first night in his own room. Yes, yes, YES. I know. Fifteen-and-a-half months old. Beyond due. I know.
Now that we're past that...
We have been toying with the idea of putting him in his own room for weeks, now. Months. Years. Oh, wait.
No, falling asleep isn't the problem. It's staying asleep. So in another hour or three, we will know the truth. Will he sleep all night? Or will he wake up screaming, as usual, insisting on a bottle of warm rice milk? Will he wake the Birdie, thus causing her to also insist on a serving of warm milk in the middle of the night?
Now that we're past that...
We have been toying with the idea of putting him in his own room for weeks, now. Months. Years. Oh, wait.
We were all set to do it last weekend, and then he went and got sick, and we decided a major upheaval probably wasn't in anyone's best interest.
We had planned on this weekend, then. The Bitty Girl would stay with my parents all weekend and we would be free to get the Baby Guy transitioned into his own room, his own bed...all night long...no matter how noisy it got, without fear of him disturbing his sister in the next room. But then our plans changed again, and our daughter stayed home, so I didn't think we were going to do it this weekend.
Then, five minutes before bedtime, my husband starts puttering around in the Baby Guy's room. He comes out with the video monitor and the apparent intent of using it tonight. "What are you doing with that?" I asked.
"I thought we could go ahead and put him in his room tonight anyway."
Despite my misgivings about doing it while the Bitty Girl is here, I didn't argue because I do want my son in his own room. As much as I love the proximity of having him in our bedroom, it just isn't a good long-term solution for us.
As I was sitting in the living room, I heard my husband laughing. My son likes his crib. It's bouncy. He stood at the side, held onto the rail, and jumped, and grinned. It was adorable.
I got my son's sleeping items - his blankets, his Lion, his Glowy Bear, and of course, the ubiquitous green stacking ring - and brought them upstairs. He got a little excited when he noticed me bringing them up the steps, and I think that's when he realized Something Was Up. I dumped them in the crib, brushed his teeth poked at his mouth with his toothbrush while he clamped his lips shut, whipped his head back and forth, and wailed, then dumped him in the crib.
We had planned on this weekend, then. The Bitty Girl would stay with my parents all weekend and we would be free to get the Baby Guy transitioned into his own room, his own bed...all night long...no matter how noisy it got, without fear of him disturbing his sister in the next room. But then our plans changed again, and our daughter stayed home, so I didn't think we were going to do it this weekend.
Then, five minutes before bedtime, my husband starts puttering around in the Baby Guy's room. He comes out with the video monitor and the apparent intent of using it tonight. "What are you doing with that?" I asked.
"I thought we could go ahead and put him in his room tonight anyway."
Despite my misgivings about doing it while the Bitty Girl is here, I didn't argue because I do want my son in his own room. As much as I love the proximity of having him in our bedroom, it just isn't a good long-term solution for us.
As I was sitting in the living room, I heard my husband laughing. My son likes his crib. It's bouncy. He stood at the side, held onto the rail, and jumped, and grinned. It was adorable.
I got my son's sleeping items - his blankets, his Lion, his Glowy Bear, and of course, the ubiquitous green stacking ring - and brought them upstairs. He got a little excited when he noticed me bringing them up the steps, and I think that's when he realized Something Was Up. I dumped them in the crib, brushed his teeth poked at his mouth with his toothbrush while he clamped his lips shut, whipped his head back and forth, and wailed, then dumped him in the crib.
He picked up his toys, showing them to me one by one as if to say, "Look, here are my friends! But what are they doing in here?"
And then he found out.
So far, so good. He went to sleep without a peep. See?
So far, so good. He went to sleep without a peep. See?
However, while many parents would find that encouraging, for me, that was no more than I had expected. Falling asleep is not a problem with him, regardless of where he is, for the most part. If he's ready to go to sleep (or often if it just seems to be expected of him) he will typically oblige.
No, falling asleep isn't the problem. It's staying asleep. So in another hour or three, we will know the truth. Will he sleep all night? Or will he wake up screaming, as usual, insisting on a bottle of warm rice milk? Will he wake the Birdie, thus causing her to also insist on a serving of warm milk in the middle of the night?
Probably. But maybe not. A parent can hope.
Stay tuned.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
I'm not worthy!
On the weekends when we're not doing anything, my husband and I take turns letting each other sleep in. Sometimes that will be in the form of, "You get up now, let me sleep another half hour, then come wake me up and you can sleep a little while longer," but usually it means one of us sleeps in on Saturday and the other sleeps in on Sunday.
Yesterday morning, my husband got to sleep in while I fed the kids, then spent most of the morning watching Veggie Tales and sitting on the couch with my kids. When it came time to wake my husband up, I picked up my cell phone. His answer was groggy. Me: "It's 11:30. Do you want to get up?" And he did.
This morning, I got to sleep in while my husband took care of the kids. I think there were some Veggie Tales involved in this morning, too. But when it was time for him to get me up, he came in the bedroom with a homemade waffle that he had to make because I ate the last frozen waffles yesterday and I'm sure my daughter insisted on waffles for breakfast. He woke me up by bringing me breakfast in bed. And it was yummy.
I'm not worthy.
Yesterday morning, my husband got to sleep in while I fed the kids, then spent most of the morning watching Veggie Tales and sitting on the couch with my kids. When it came time to wake my husband up, I picked up my cell phone. His answer was groggy. Me: "It's 11:30. Do you want to get up?" And he did.
This morning, I got to sleep in while my husband took care of the kids. I think there were some Veggie Tales involved in this morning, too. But when it was time for him to get me up, he came in the bedroom with a homemade waffle that he had to make because I ate the last frozen waffles yesterday and I'm sure my daughter insisted on waffles for breakfast. He woke me up by bringing me breakfast in bed. And it was yummy.
I'm not worthy.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Breaking News
This just happened. While I blog, I'm (gasp!) letting my son watch TV. Specifically, the Veggie Tales Silly Song Countdown. It's on The Yodeling Veterinarian of the Alps. For those of you who aren't familiar with it, in this silly song, Larry the Cucumber is "The Yodeling Veterinarian of the Alps," an unconventional vet who, instead of giving medicines, yodels to people's sick pets to make them feel better. Doesn't sound effective, you think? It isn't. After each verse, the vet's nurse, played by Pa Grape, gives each owner some practical advice that is really what cures the pet, although the yodeling vet gets all the credit.
Aha. Here it is on YouTube.
Anyway, the second verse is, "This is a song...for your pregnant kitty..." As it started, before Larry started singing, my 15-month-old son announced, "Kitty!"
I guess you had to be there.
Edited to add: Something else just happened. More Toddler Terrorism. I just happened to catch out of the corner of my eye - my daughter just took her socks off and stuffed them in between the couch and the ottoman. I often find her socks down there, so she must do this a lot. I thought they just happened to end up there, somehow. Now I know otherwise.
Aha. Here it is on YouTube.
Anyway, the second verse is, "This is a song...for your pregnant kitty..." As it started, before Larry started singing, my 15-month-old son announced, "Kitty!"
I guess you had to be there.
Edited to add: Something else just happened. More Toddler Terrorism. I just happened to catch out of the corner of my eye - my daughter just took her socks off and stuffed them in between the couch and the ottoman. I often find her socks down there, so she must do this a lot. I thought they just happened to end up there, somehow. Now I know otherwise.
Friday, August 28, 2009
An Unintentional Break
I haven't posted lately, mostly because I've been too busy reading in the evenings to turn on my computer and write. I apologize. Not that I feel anyone is expecting an apology, but I have intended to post several times this week, I just never got around to it. I tend to get fairly caught up in books, and have trouble putting them down, because, my goodness, what if I stop reading and miss something important? It might ruin the whole story.
I usually don't blog while my kids are awake, but I decided on the way home that I'd get something new out there, even if it meant neglecting not playing with my children. Right now, they are chasing each other around the house. My son is dragging around my daughter's nightgown as if it were a blankie.
I have no idea.
Every once in a while, my son stops by and commands, "Bup! Bup!" At that time, I am expected to stop what I'm doing, put my computer aside, and pick him up so he can hug me, wallow all over, and try his darnedest to get his pudgy little fingers on my computer keys.
My daughter is wearing panties instead of pull-ups for the first time tonight. Not long ago, I witnessed my husband chasing her around the living room, waving purple panties, as she threw a fit because she didn't want to put them back on after sitting on the potty (she wanted to change to her princess panties). He finally held her down and got them on her. Surprisingly, she's kept them on.
Now they're playing in my daughter's bedroom, where the sound of toys being strewn about would make the writers of Stomp jealous. If only they could clean up with the same amount of enthusiasm and creativity.
A mom can wish.
I usually don't blog while my kids are awake, but I decided on the way home that I'd get something new out there, even if it meant neglecting not playing with my children. Right now, they are chasing each other around the house. My son is dragging around my daughter's nightgown as if it were a blankie.
I have no idea.
Every once in a while, my son stops by and commands, "Bup! Bup!" At that time, I am expected to stop what I'm doing, put my computer aside, and pick him up so he can hug me, wallow all over, and try his darnedest to get his pudgy little fingers on my computer keys.
My daughter is wearing panties instead of pull-ups for the first time tonight. Not long ago, I witnessed my husband chasing her around the living room, waving purple panties, as she threw a fit because she didn't want to put them back on after sitting on the potty (she wanted to change to her princess panties). He finally held her down and got them on her. Surprisingly, she's kept them on.
Now they're playing in my daughter's bedroom, where the sound of toys being strewn about would make the writers of Stomp jealous. If only they could clean up with the same amount of enthusiasm and creativity.
A mom can wish.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
A Fun-Filled Day
My family and I recently spent the day at my parents' house, celebrating my mom's...well, let's just say a milestone birthday. It was very low-key (probably a little bit too low-key, sorry, Mom) and we basically just took the kids up to hang out with Mom and Dad for the day.
We did a lot of different things while we were there, though:
Picked tomatoes with Granddaddy...
...ate the tomatoes right off the vine...
...wore crowns made from foam floor pads...
...got haircuts (before)....
...(after)...
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Movin' On Up
Have I mentioned that my Baby Guy is a tiny thing? He was a whopping 6 lbs 9 oz and 18.5 inches when he was born, and he's stayed on the small side ever since. He's consistently in the "less than 3rd" percentile in both weight and length/height when we go to his well-baby checkups. So, although he has a low weight, it's consistent with how short he is. He's healthy, just small.
(Although since he has switched from primarily nursing and being fed from jars to drinking rice milk and self-feeding, his weight has dropped a bit, but we're working on that.)
We went to church tonight (we typically go on Saturday evenings, which is so much easier with parents who like to sleep in two young children). We were running a bit late, so my husband dropped the three of us off near the door and went and parked while I dragged hurried my children in, while praying there would be room in child care for both of them.
As I got to check-in, my heart sank temporarily. We go to a somewhat larger church, and I was dismayed to find a surprisingly long line (although why I was surprised, I don't know - it's not like we're the only family with small children that tends to run late sometimes). My turn came up, and I checked my children in - my son into "Suite C" and my daughter into "Suite E."
Suite E? I thought. That sounded weird, but figured I was just confused. That happens frequently from time to time.
This whole time, my daughter had been whining. "I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy!" Sigh. Then it became, "I want my Kitty!" and I realized we had potentially made a grave mistake - we had left her Kitty at home. My daughter and Kitty are inseparable, and there was a good chance we were in for a rough ride since we had left it behind.
As she was sniffling, red-nosed, beside me and I was trying to figure out where she was supposed to go, a volunteer walked up. She gave my daughter a sticker, cajoled a little smile out of her (which disappeared the moment she walked away) and smiled at my son, whom I was holding.
"It's Promotion Weekend," she informed me.
Huh? My cluelessness must have shown on my face, because she continued, "Your daughter will be moving up to the next class today. Your son won't be moving, though."
Ahhh. That's right - two weeks ago we were told that our children would be moving up in two weeks. That would make it today. That would also explain the reason "Suite E" sounded odd. Since my children are only a year apart (from a school perspective), my daughter has been in Suite C for a year, while my son has been in Suite A. So "Suite C" still sounded familiar because that's where she has been, while Suite E sounded weird because neither of them has been in it before.
Promotion Weekend. What a funny thing to call it. And then I realized something else hadn't sounded right.
"Why won't my son be moving up today?"
She smiled. "Oh, he'd have to turn 1 by October 1st to move up today! How old is he?"
Uhhhhh...."Fourteen months."
Blink. "Oh! Well, you're a little guy, aren't you?"
Yup. My little bitty guy.
But...wow. October 1 is still a month-and-a-half away, and she thought he still wouldn't be a year old yet. I know he's little, but does he really look that much smaller than he "should?" Wow.
Anyway both of my children "moved up" today. I actually thought it was strange that my daughter was moving up so soon...until we got to the room and I realized she was moving into the two-year-old class. She'll be 3 in December.
When I picked up my son after the service, I had to laugh. Clutched in his left hand was - you guessed it - the green ring from their stacking toy.
And - bonus - it was star-shaped.
(Although since he has switched from primarily nursing and being fed from jars to drinking rice milk and self-feeding, his weight has dropped a bit, but we're working on that.)
We went to church tonight (we typically go on Saturday evenings, which is so much easier with parents who like to sleep in two young children). We were running a bit late, so my husband dropped the three of us off near the door and went and parked while I dragged hurried my children in, while praying there would be room in child care for both of them.
As I got to check-in, my heart sank temporarily. We go to a somewhat larger church, and I was dismayed to find a surprisingly long line (although why I was surprised, I don't know - it's not like we're the only family with small children that tends to run late sometimes). My turn came up, and I checked my children in - my son into "Suite C" and my daughter into "Suite E."
Suite E? I thought. That sounded weird, but figured I was just confused. That happens frequently from time to time.
This whole time, my daughter had been whining. "I want my Daddy! I want my Daddy!" Sigh. Then it became, "I want my Kitty!" and I realized we had potentially made a grave mistake - we had left her Kitty at home. My daughter and Kitty are inseparable, and there was a good chance we were in for a rough ride since we had left it behind.
As she was sniffling, red-nosed, beside me and I was trying to figure out where she was supposed to go, a volunteer walked up. She gave my daughter a sticker, cajoled a little smile out of her (which disappeared the moment she walked away) and smiled at my son, whom I was holding.
"It's Promotion Weekend," she informed me.
Huh? My cluelessness must have shown on my face, because she continued, "Your daughter will be moving up to the next class today. Your son won't be moving, though."
Ahhh. That's right - two weeks ago we were told that our children would be moving up in two weeks. That would make it today. That would also explain the reason "Suite E" sounded odd. Since my children are only a year apart (from a school perspective), my daughter has been in Suite C for a year, while my son has been in Suite A. So "Suite C" still sounded familiar because that's where she has been, while Suite E sounded weird because neither of them has been in it before.
Promotion Weekend. What a funny thing to call it. And then I realized something else hadn't sounded right.
"Why won't my son be moving up today?"
She smiled. "Oh, he'd have to turn 1 by October 1st to move up today! How old is he?"
Uhhhhh...."Fourteen months."
Blink. "Oh! Well, you're a little guy, aren't you?"
Yup. My little bitty guy.
But...wow. October 1 is still a month-and-a-half away, and she thought he still wouldn't be a year old yet. I know he's little, but does he really look that much smaller than he "should?" Wow.
Anyway both of my children "moved up" today. I actually thought it was strange that my daughter was moving up so soon...until we got to the room and I realized she was moving into the two-year-old class. She'll be 3 in December.
When I picked up my son after the service, I had to laugh. Clutched in his left hand was - you guessed it - the green ring from their stacking toy.
And - bonus - it was star-shaped.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Favorite Photos
I don't have much to say tonight, so I'm just going to join in the MckLinky Blog Hop and post a few of my favorite pictures. First, a picture of my beautiful bitty girl:
I can't remember what that look was all about, but I thought it was too cute not to share!
And a picture of my baby guy, too:
Notice the green star in his left hand? Yeah. Here is probably the #1 crazy quirk about my baby guy: he loves the color green, and will gravitate towards green toys. Particularly stacking rings. If we visit someone's house and they have stacking rings, he will take out the green one and carry it around with him for the entire rest of the visit. Seriously, he does not put it down for anything. Just imagine, for a moment, the episode of tiny baby fury that occurs when he has to take a bottle and he can't hold both it and the toy.
Not a pretty sight.
If there aren't stacking rings, then he will find another green toy and carry it around, instead. He's not that picky. It just has to be green. And small enough to carry around. The. Whole. Time.
But, quirky or not, he's a cutie. See?
Friday, July 31, 2009
Confessions of an anti-cosleeping mom
I confess: I am anti-cosleeping. Not for you and your family, but for me and my family. Please understand - if your kids sleep in your bed with you, and that works for you, then more power to you.
But it is not for us.
Let me explain why.
First, there are the safety issues. I'm not talking SIDS risk - I am really thinking more here about older babies and children, who are past the high-risk age for SIDS. No, I'm talking more everyday things: What if Daddy one of us rolls over in the middle of the night and squashes the baby? What if the baby gets tangled up in the covers and suffocates?
What if he decides he wants to play in the middle of the night and even though we've put him in between us he manages to squirm his way out and crawl around and fall off of our extra-large king-size bed?
Whew. Do you wonder how I sleep at night? Yeah, me too.
Second, there are the attachment issues. If my baby is sleeping in my bed at 1 year old...18 months old...2 years old...will he still be there at 3 years old? 5 years old? 15 years old?
Okay. Probably not 15. But chances are pretty good that it'll be a few years before I get a good night's sleep again.
Third, there is the comfort issue. Sleeping with a baby in your bed - especially for a nursing mom - means sleeping contorted into random uncomfortable positions - all night long. Well. Maybe that's just me. But remember how much I worry? The contortions are to keep the baby as safe from my husband myself rolling around as possible.
Fourth, and this is the most important one (when you accept that my safety concerns are pretty unlikely to happen) - the best thing for my relationship with my husband is to not have a baby in bed with us. That time before we fall asleep is quality time for us, and having a baby in between us makes it hard for us to connect during this time.
So while my child may be needy and really want that extra Mommy Time, the most important thing for him to be healthy and secure is to know that Mommy and Daddy have a good relationship.
That's why I'm against cosleeping, at least for my family.
But.
Sometimes you just have to do what works, and lately my son has been sleeping with us. It was either that or me sit up all night nursing him. The only way I was going to get to sleep lying down was if I brought him into bed with me. So I did.
We're going to work on getting him into his own room soon. But until then, he's going to sleep with us.
And I am enjoying it. My Baby Guy is snuggly. In the middle of the night, he snuggles up close to me and sleeps, and I love it. In the mornings, he wakes up smiling and jabbering. He leans over to my husband and gives him good-morning hugs. It's sweet and precious and something I'm going to treasure long after he's in his own bed.
That is my confession. I, a mom who is very much against cosleeping - at least for my family - am going to miss sleeping with my Baby Guy.
But I'm looking forward to having my Grown-up Guy all to myself again.
But it is not for us.
Let me explain why.
First, there are the safety issues. I'm not talking SIDS risk - I am really thinking more here about older babies and children, who are past the high-risk age for SIDS. No, I'm talking more everyday things: What if Daddy one of us rolls over in the middle of the night and squashes the baby? What if the baby gets tangled up in the covers and suffocates?
What if he decides he wants to play in the middle of the night and even though we've put him in between us he manages to squirm his way out and crawl around and fall off of our extra-large king-size bed?
Whew. Do you wonder how I sleep at night? Yeah, me too.
Second, there are the attachment issues. If my baby is sleeping in my bed at 1 year old...18 months old...2 years old...will he still be there at 3 years old? 5 years old? 15 years old?
Okay. Probably not 15. But chances are pretty good that it'll be a few years before I get a good night's sleep again.
Third, there is the comfort issue. Sleeping with a baby in your bed - especially for a nursing mom - means sleeping contorted into random uncomfortable positions - all night long. Well. Maybe that's just me. But remember how much I worry? The contortions are to keep the baby as safe from my husband myself rolling around as possible.
Fourth, and this is the most important one (when you accept that my safety concerns are pretty unlikely to happen) - the best thing for my relationship with my husband is to not have a baby in bed with us. That time before we fall asleep is quality time for us, and having a baby in between us makes it hard for us to connect during this time.
So while my child may be needy and really want that extra Mommy Time, the most important thing for him to be healthy and secure is to know that Mommy and Daddy have a good relationship.
That's why I'm against cosleeping, at least for my family.
But.
Sometimes you just have to do what works, and lately my son has been sleeping with us. It was either that or me sit up all night nursing him. The only way I was going to get to sleep lying down was if I brought him into bed with me. So I did.
We're going to work on getting him into his own room soon. But until then, he's going to sleep with us.
And I am enjoying it. My Baby Guy is snuggly. In the middle of the night, he snuggles up close to me and sleeps, and I love it. In the mornings, he wakes up smiling and jabbering. He leans over to my husband and gives him good-morning hugs. It's sweet and precious and something I'm going to treasure long after he's in his own bed.
That is my confession. I, a mom who is very much against cosleeping - at least for my family - am going to miss sleeping with my Baby Guy.
But I'm looking forward to having my Grown-up Guy all to myself again.
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