Sleep shouting

January 24, 2010 at 10:28 pm (Chris, Max, Sleep)

Sleep is one of my favorite topics these days, for obvious reasons. Anyone with a baby is VERY interested in sleep. How to get it, how to prolong it, how to stay asleep once you get there. I have had many sleep troubles in my life, but I have never had trouble staying asleep once I got there until after I became a mother. I would have trouble getting to sleep, yes. Staying asleep, no.

My husband has absolutely no trouble falling asleep most nights. He sleeps so hard, in fact, that he has no idea who he is or where he is when he wakes up, especially in the middle of the night.

Max is also a very good sleeper. He has been falling asleep between 6 and 8 p.m. (The time varies with his naps.) and sleeping until either 5:30 or 6:30 in the morning. He eats and then goes right back to sleep for at least an hour or more, thank goodness. (I’m sorry if I have detailed Max’s sleeping schedule on this blog before. If I take the time to check right now, there will not be a new post tonight.)

So, you can imagine our surprise when Max awakened at 3:30 a.m. a few weeks ago. I figured he wanted to eat. Chris got up to get him for me. As I was lying in bed waiting for him to come back, I suddenly heard a loud, sprightly shout of “BABY!” over the monitor. “What the HELL is the matter with him?” I thought. I waited for him to come back in the room and asked him why in the world he was shouting at Max at 3:30 in the morning. Turns out Chris did not realize it was 3:30. In fact, I had to tell him three times before he realized what I was saying.He thought it was time to get up.

Turns out you have to strike the right balance between sleep and lack thereof when parenting. Since you cannot be guaranteed a regular amount of sleep on a regular basis, you have to stay just sleep-deprived enough to be aware when you wake up, but not too sleep-deprived as to be dangerous. I have noticed myself that I seem to be slower and, well, stupider on the mornings when I suddenly get a little extra sleep. It is evening out now, but it turns out that, even with sleep, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Luckily for our son, I am usually pretty with it when I first wake up, and Chris generally sleeps better than I do and gets better as he wakes up, so there is always a lucid parent to pick up the other one’s slack. Lucid enough anyway.

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Big Brother is keeping you awake

January 19, 2010 at 11:33 pm (Accessories, Chris, Max, Motherhood, Nursery, Sleep)

I don’t know if I have mentioned this on this blog before, but I have suffered on and off from sleep issues since high school. Becoming a mother has not helped with those sleep issues. Between night sweats, hormonal highs that caused my mind to chatter incessantly even while I was asleep, and sleeping in the same room with my husband and son (Sorry, I love you both, but you are both loud sleepers at times.) there were about three months there when I really never shut down completely at night.

Luckily, I can handle a certain amount of sleep deprivation due to my years as an obsessive-compulsive, night owl student. However, three months is a little much, even for me. “Just wait until he is back in his own room”, I thought, “That will fix everything.” (Meaning my son, not my husband.)

Boy, was I wrong. I have decided that baby monitors are a huge scam, unless you have a huge house. Our son’s room is right next to ours. We hear him if he really needs us. In fact, you can hear a baby when they really need you in practically any size house. The child is not going to let up until you hear them, believe me.

Still, I spent that first night on alert, listening to every sound he made, believing that I was keeping him alive by staying awake and monitoring his every breath. Finally (Actually, later that same night.), I came to my senses and turned the monitor way down. I reasoned that I needed to sleep at least a little in order to properly care for my son. My guilt over turning down the monitor kept me awake. Sheesh.

So, I am tentatively and conditionally adding baby monitors to my list of scams in the baby merchandise world, along with changing pad covers. They do serve a purpose at times, but they sometimes make it seem like you’re never off duty. Of course, as parents, we never really are, but sleep is the closest thing we get to a break. Embrace it as much as you can.

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Stellar parenting day

January 10, 2010 at 11:01 pm (Chris, Max, television)

Chris, Max, and I spent most of the day on the couch watching Sex and the City reruns and eating cookies. Hey, the kid is teething and I have PMS. Plus, our coffeemaker is broken. My motherly instincts told me the only way to salvage the situation was with an SATC marathon.

BTW, I love hot tea, but it just doesn’t cut it in the morning. Gots to have the coffee. It’s going to be an interesting week.

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Mommy’s Night Out

January 2, 2010 at 12:41 am (Books, Chris, Christmas, Max, Movies, Uncategorized, Writing)

This past Wednesday night, Chris convinced me to take a night off and go to the movies. Actually, he did everything but force my arms in to my coat, throw my purse at me, and shove me out the door. For some reason, I resisted committing to going out that night, despite the fact that he had been attempting to convince me I needed a break since the previous Monday.

Max has been fussy this week, probably due to the traveling and general hullabaloo which is Christmas. It may be the “most wonderful time of the year” to Johnny Mathis and many others. Kids may think they like it. But honestly, it seems to stress them out more than anything else. I really thought my niece Cailyn was going to explode. Secretly, she wanted to explode, because at least then the wrapping paper might be blown off the presents that had been sitting under the tree and TORTURING her with their mysteriousness for weeks. Or maybe it was days. I’m not sure how long my mom had them under there.

Anyway, Chris was right about me needing a break, but Max was once again fussing when he got home and I felt like I couldn’t possibly leave the baby with his father when he was fussing! Who ever heard of such a thing? Leaving him with his other parent? The “not-the-momma”? I would probably be stripped of the title of Momma if I did such a thing.

He finally got me out the door and I arrived at the Alamo Lake Creek, thinking it would be easy to get in to the movie of my choice with two minutes to showtime, since it was a Wednesday. Wrong. EVERY MOVIE I WANTED TO SEE WAS SOLD OUT. And that list constituted almost all of the movies the theater was showing. I couldn’t wait for a later show, because I didn’t want to stay out that late. After asking the ticket person for verification that, indeed, most of the movies were sold out (Prompting her to remind everyone to look at the screen before approaching the ticket window. Hello, everyone in line was ignoring that warning, because the screen was flashing too fast, which was why they kept asking and annoying her.), I found out that the 7:30 showing of Did You Hear About the Morgans? was still available. I was feeling kind of lukewarm about that one, so I stepped out of line to think and call my husband. The only spot I could find to call Chris where I wasn’t assaulted by secondhand smoke was in the corner by the front door where loud Nirvana music was blaring.

Me: Honey,  you’re not going to believe this. ALL of the movies are sold out. (Not true, but more dramatic.)

Chris: What? What are you going to do? (He then proceeds to list many suitable alternatives to each of which I respond with a wan and self-pitying “Maybe. I don’t know.”)

We hang up after I have made him feel suitably guilty for doing absolutely nothing but try to give me an evening off. I start back to my car through the cloud of secondhand smoke and stop about halfway there. Should I go to the 7:30? I would actually have time to order food before the movie starts, with the lights on, and maybe jot down some blog ideas while I waited for the movie to start. I decided no, that I didn’t want to wait forty-five minutes for the movie to start and I DEFINITELY couldn’t wait fifteen minutes for the movie to start seating and then wait to have my order taken and then wait even longer for food. My crazy breast-feeding momma appetite would not allow that.

I got back to my car, waaaaay at the back of the parking lot (Did I mention that it was below 50 degrees outside, which is the equivalent of an Arctic freeze to me, since I have never been north of Albuquerque during the winter and I spent most of the week I was there inside?), jotted down the blog ideas, and then had second thoughts. Maybe I should go. I didn’t want to go to a restaurant without a book to read or a person to talk to. I didn’t want to go to the bookstore, because I needed a decent dinner. I didn’t want to drive to another Alamo or other movie theater, because they were probably just as crowded. I decided that if I found a closer parking space, it was a sign I should go.

I didn’t find a closer space, but I went in anyway, screaming “satisficer” in my head the whole way. (One of my new mantras, thanks to Parenting magazine. It means to be happy with what you get, instead of making yourself crazy always trying to make everything perfect.) I had popcorn, an Italian soda (I wanted a margarita, since I have not had one since before I got pregnant, but I was driving home and the Alamo Lake Creek apparently makes their margaritas with wine or something crazy like that, since they have no liquor license.) , a “Diggler dog”, and fries. The food was awesome (Although the popcorn was way too salty.) and the movie was pleasant and entertaining. I don’t know why the reviews have been so bad. Then, I do like silly, sappy rom-coms. The sillier and sappier, the better.

Alas, I did not make my post-movie trip to the bookstore, since I went to a later movie. I was too anxious to see Max by the time I got out. That is saying something since I have not been to a bookstore since he was born. I am the bibliest of bibliophiles. I don’t just love to read books, I love the actual physical books themselves. The smells, the cover art and dust jackets for different editions, the little notes that previous owners wrote in them. My husband doesn’t have to worry about me buying expensive clothes, jewelry, or makeup. He has to worry about me getting on ebay and buying lots of obscure and/or expensive L. M. Montgomery books. (But, honey, it was the 50th impression of the 38th edition of Anne of Green Gables in Polish!! Come on!) Or at least, he would have to worry about it if I hadn’t banned myself from ebay after racking up a pretty nice collection (and the attendant credit card bills) in grad school. (It was for my work.)

Hopefully, the next Mommy’s Night Out will be about my trip to a bookstore. Or maybe I will go some afternoon and take Max with me. He has never been to a bookstore and it’s high time his education began.

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Happiness, TX

January 1, 2010 at 12:46 am (Angus, Belle, Chris, Family, Fort, Holidays, Max, New Year's Eve)

Tonight is the third anniversary of the day I moved in with my husband. Which means I have now lived in North Austin a year longer than I lived in South Austin. I have officially lost most of my weird points. I hang my head in shame. Luckily, I have a baby and rarely get out of the house, so it really doesn’t matter where I live at this point.

I would rather live in North Austin with Chris, Max, Belle, Angus, and Fort than in the very heart of the 78704 alone. I would move to Frame Switch if that’s what I had to do to be with them. Happy anniversary, baby, and Happy New Year to all!

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Spit-up in my Git-up

January 1, 2010 at 12:40 am (Breastfeeding, Gas, Max)

Recently, Max has had a problem with gas and spitting up. Not a serious problem, but sometimes burps awaken him from perfectly good naps and he seems to insist on waiting to spit up until we have decided he is not going to spit up and have put away the burp cloth, thereby leaving our clothes unprotected.

Usually, burping him on the shoulder was the most effective way to go. The pressure of a chest against his stomach seemed to force the burp out. However, now he has discovered his ability to hold his head up! And move it! And use both hands to yank different sections of mom’s hair as if they were reins with his drooly, spit-up covered hands! (I am probably going to have to give in and cut off my hair. I spend way too much time removing his little hands from my hair everyday and it hurts too much when he pulls it. I know it’s time for a change when I am shying away from my baby putting his arms around my neck due to fear of pain inflicted by his chubby, dimpled, vise-like hands.)

He has discovered he can turn his head to the side and lean back down towards my breast while I am attempting to burp him. I have become resigned to the fact that, at some point, he is going to puke on my face while planting his drooly, open mouth on my cheek during burping sessions. It did not occur to me until just before it happened that he would puke on my breasts, his food source. But he did. Right down the cleavage. Dead center. And I calmly wiped it up with a burp cloth and went on with my day.

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Baby’s first meow

December 29, 2009 at 11:34 pm (Belle, Fort, Max)

I heard feline voices coming through the baby monitor twice today. Twice. Two of my three cats were trapped in the nursery (at separate times) while Max was napping today. And the kid slept through the meowing. Fort thanked me for letting him out by biting and swiping at my leg. Belle just ran for her life. I can understand not seeing Belle, who is tiny, and tends to blend in (Plus, she likes to climb in to the drawer underneath the crib.), but how do you miss a seventeen pound black cat in your child’s room?

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This little piggy went to … whoa!

December 16, 2009 at 11:22 pm (Clothes, Max, Motherhood, Nursing clothes)

I have a lot of experience with kids. I took care of my two older nieces, now ages 17 and 14, for a whole summer, everyday, when they were four and two. I worked in a daycare two years later and took care of twelve two-year-olds by myself. I also babysat throughout middle school and some of high school.

And yet, there are still weird, random things that surprise me about motherhood. I have held many babies. However, I have never held any while wearing nursing clothes. Until now. Consequently, I had no idea that my son would constantly stick his foot down the front of my shirts and, upon occasion, wiggle his little piggies into my nursing bra and tickle my right boob with his left foot. Why do none of the books mention boob-tickling??

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Neighborhood, watch

December 15, 2009 at 12:50 am (Breastfeeding, Chris, Max)

Well, I finally did it. I walked outside with my boob hanging out of my top. I had finished nursing Max, but I wasn’t completely sure he was done. I guess I’ve become so accustomed to one of the girls being out that I didn’t notice after awhile. Luckily, the exposed side was pointing towards the house and Max was providing cover. Also, I didn’t stray far from the front door.

The weirdest thing by far, though, is that I wasn’t that shocked or mortified. I just kind of laughed and walked back in the house. Not even that quickly. In fact, I was already thinking about what a good story it would make. However, I didn’t get to tell it to anyone but Chris at first, because I kept forgetting that I did it. How do you forget that you walked outside with your boob hanging out of your top??

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Today’s Mommy Guilt

December 12, 2009 at 12:33 am (Animals, Belle, Cats, Fort, Life, Max, Motherhood)

It’s mostly Kittymomma guilt today. I feel guilty for saying, “Damn you, Fort!” when he jumped in the crib as I was trying to put Max down for a nap. Not to mention the fact that I damned him last night when he was chasing Belle around the bathroom while I was trying to get ready for bed at 12:30.

I also feel guilty for saying, “Jesus, Max, that hurt!” when he pulled my hair whilst screaming, just as I tripped over the ottoman while attempting to put him in his carrier.

Yes, Mommy can be a potty mouth. But my dad was a potty mouth and I turned out ok. Except that I’m a potty mouth.

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