All Hail the New Crib Tent

About a week before Josie was born, Ben learned how to climb out of his crib. Ben's crib is the kind that turns into a toddler bed, so we converted it just a day or so before Josie arrived.

. . . which meant that not only has Ben been dealing with the emotional backlash of a new sibling, but he's been severely sleep deprived--climbing out of bed is SO much more fun than taking a nap. After a month of doing all the things one is supposed to do to teach them to stay in bed, I had just one (or 21) too many days of being woken up by a very-proud-of-himself toddler at 5 AM.

I put that crib right back together and got a crib tent -- and we prepared ourselves for the worst: kicking, screaming, tantrums, hitting the tent, anything, as soon as he realized he was going to be locked in.

Of course, nothing of the kind happened. When he saw the crib was back together he went up to it like an old friend. It was almost like he'd been waiting to have it back. When he saw the tent, he thought it was the best toy ever, demanded that we zip him in there and then bid us "Away!" with a summary wave of his hand. He slept incredibly soundly that night.

(Ok, he DID cry when he woke up and realized he was stuck . . . but that only lasted a day or two, and the whole household is now back to sleeping in until at least 7, and life is much much better.)

Mommy is always there

It is odd how quickly one falls into certain oddities of being a Mom. Not only, am I afraid, do I lick my fingers and wipe stuff off of Ben's face, but I also find myself holding my hand out so that he can spit food into it when he doesn't like something. He also hands me just about anything he finds on the floor and I take it unthinkingly.

This, however, may have to stop.

Yesterday he walked over to me as I lay in bed sleepily (see Ben's new sister for an explanation of the new sleepiness in our lives) with forefinger and thumb extended, to hand me something unseeable. A few moments later he was back, this time with a slight crumb in his fingers. I took this, too.

He then took his forefinger and put it right back in his nose, where said crumb was clearly from.

Be Careful What You Wish For

I know that kids are supposed to get older faster these days, but Ben has apparently turned into a teenager already. His new trick is to sit in his room, reading a book in his lap. . . and when I walk in he says: "Away!" while imperiously waving his hand towards the door.

Well, I guess we were hoping for a reader, weren't we?

On the Perils of Learning Sign Language

Well, I am very very excited because -- after a brief two weeks of his clapping in order to get food from us back when he was 9 months old, and not another bit of sign language since -- the Bug has officially learned the hand sign for "more." He got it down pat 2 weeks ago, and now signs it at me mostly when he wants food, but sometimes for an encore reading of a book as well.

It doesn't always mean things are easier, however. When I was driving along a few days ago, every time I turned around to check on him, he lifted up his hands and signed "more" and I basically just kept throwing Cookie Monster cookies back at him for the whole drive. This morning, I made the mistake of eating some left over Pad Thai and feeding him some of it. Afterwards, he kept spotting the takeout carton in the trash, lifting it up, handing it to me, and signing "more" at me. I kept having to open the carton and show him that there wasn't any left.

This went on for 3 hours.

But there are advantages to his actually communicating his needs, right? No matter how, well, needy they seem to be. . .

Things in Our Future #6

Catherine just told me this story that happened to almost-three-year-old Will (who loves trains), while we were away in France. Will had a particularly tough evening one night when he insisted that Catherine put on Thomas the Tank Engine immediately. ("I want to watch Trains! Right now. I want trains! Put it on now!")

Fifteen minute of watching "Trains" is part of his nightly going to bed ritual, but his mom was not particularly excited about his barking tone. She's been working hard lately on his getting his "may I's" and "pleases" and "thank yous." So she whisked him off into his bedroom to have a serious conversation with him.

Will cried a bit, and his mom insisted over and over that he couldn't demand to do things, he had to ask for them: "It's not a statement. It's a question. Do you understand? It's a question." Once, Will had calmed down, he and his mother emerged from his bedroom, for round #2.

A teary-eyed Will looked up at Catherine and said, "I want to watch trains. . . It's a question!"

Things in Our Future #5

I called up my friend Rebecka the other day and asked how she was. Her response: "Well, I'm in the middle of nap negotiations at the moment. My daughter is currently lying in her bed singing a little song she made up called My Mom Does Not Like Or Love Me."

(I have to say it's the "or" that shows the true budding songwriting genius.)

The Cheerios Stage

We have entered the Cheerios stage. Cheerios for snacks. Cheerios to stop the crying. Cheerios to keep him from getting bored. Ten Cheerios stuffed into his chipmunk cheeks at once. Cheerios stuck up and down his arms (which we call the "Cheerios Pox"). Cheerios all over his high chair. Cheerios attached to his backside when you pick him up out of his high chair. Cheerios melting on the floor. Cheerios at the bottom of my purse. Cheerios in his bed. Cheerios in our bed. Cheerios in the car. Cheerios mixed in with the cat food. Cheerios, Cheerios, Cheerios.

Party Tricks: Getting Smarter

It's sort of odd, after the first few months of imprinting on this kid as a being which cannot communicate and which doesn't have a lot of opinions on how is world is run, to register that his current babble, current movements, current actions actually have a lot more purpose to them. Especially since there's no big sign from on high, or even from the little creature down low to acknowledge that whatever the Bug has just done is really the conscious action of an aware human.

He has twice now -- a month ago and two weeks ago -- waved and said quite clearly, "bye bye." Twice in a month. At neither time did he look at me and smile like he knew he'd just accomplished a big thing. And he's never repeated the action when I try to get him to.

It's enough to make you think it was a coincidence.

But there are signs that there's really stuff going on in his head beyond being excited to pet kitties or being sad when he hits his head. (Which he has done three times today already. Learning to stand is HARD, I tell you.)

There is a turtle music box in his crib, which has three buttons. One to turn on the lights and make little fishies dance around. One to make ocean noises. One to play a variety of songs. He bangs and bangs away on that song button, changing the song every few moments between "Baa Baa Black Sheep" and others that are more classical. Unlike every other kids' music toy I have ever heard, the turtle sounds pleasant, almost like an organ playing.

This morning -- as he banged away after he woke up, and I lay in bed with the pillow over my head, hoping that the music would keep him entertained until a suitable hour -- I realized that he wasn't just hitting the button randomly. He'd hit it to switch over from "Baa Baa Black Sheep." He'd hit it to switch over from "Fur Elise." But he'd stop every time when he got to one particular song, which he listened to in its entirety.

He wasn't just banging. He was fast-forwarding to his favorite tune. Over and over.

I said to Steve: "I think he's actually hitting the button until he finds the one song he likes."

"Of course," said Steve. "He always stops on Blue Danube. That's my favorite, too."

Of course, my husband says. I mean, PLEASE. I was supposed to figure this out? The kid doesn't know to be excited when he says "bye bye," but he knows what he likes in music?

Ch-ch-changes. . .

I have no great excuse for not posting here in awhile. . . but I must say that the baby's big growth spurt (read: sudden increase in neediness) has certainly taken its toll on my productivity. The last few weeks have been an interesting mix ranging from -- at one extreme -- the desire to sell my child on e-bay, to the other extreme of being impressed that he is the smartest child in the world since he can wave bye bye. And maybe if I strain my ears, that "ba ba ba ba ba" babble might just be saying "bye bye" too. Maybe.

He's made this real switch in terms of communication and memory -- and again this has its ups and downs. It's charming that he remembers his grandparents and gets excited every time he sees them; it's less charming that he remembers exactly where the cat food bowl is and sets straight off to go play with it, even when you put him down on the floor somewhere where he can't see it.

He's moving everywhere -- still dragging himself along commando style, as opposed to a true crawl, but he can get anywhere. He has mastered the art of feeding himself cheerios. He has mastered the art of playing the music box in his crib over and over and over. He has mastered the art -- ok, he's learning the art -- of singing/shouting along to the music.

And, magically, wonderfully, he started clapping his hands yesterday in imitation of the sign language sign for "more" to let me know when he wants more food. Unfortunately this has not completely stopped him from whining for more food if he still thinks I'm taking too long, but communication has begun!

Throughout all of this, however, it's nice to know that some things stay the same. We take a "Music Together" class every Wednesday morning, which is one of those classes that if you aren't a parent would drive you insane with its cacaphony (the teacher, Miss Amy, literally dumps a pile of tambourines and maracas in the middle of the room and lets all the kids grab one to bang away on) but that is somehow (slightly) more tolerable when one of those spastic children is your own. Of course, the Bug -- his new singing skills not withstanding -- has his own unchanged priorities. . .

The Bug vs. The Avocado

The baby has taken incredibly well to eating. . . In fact he gets all squirmy and happy and kicky while waiting for his next bite.  We are -- per doctor's orders -- waiting about three days between introducing each new food to make sure he's not allergic to it.  He now eats rice, oatmeal, mangos, apples, butternut squash, sweet potato, and -- to my utter horror -- bananas.  I really don't even like to be near bananas, but Steve loves them, and apparently it's sort of a de rigeuer baby food, so we diligently mashed them up and, of course, he adores them.  

On the other hand, I couldn't wait to give him avocado.  Now THERE is a food that's fantastic.  And it's mushy and yummy and looks like the perfect baby food as well.  Avocados were going to be the new banana, baby.  

The Bug had other ideas. 

Today's Conversations with the Bug

"If you lick my eye glasses, I can't see."

"Let me take your socks off if you are going to suck on your toes."

"Give me back the spoon, honey, and I'll feed you some more."

"Yum! Does your thumb taste good?"

"You probably shouldn't bite the cat's tail."


Question: When does this whole oral fixation thing end??

This Week's Advice

There are a lot of breast-feeding coverups out there, but this one -- the bebe au lait -- is really good. (And don't even get me started on the Baby Bjorn which claims to be something you can breast-feed in, but they simply show you a photo and skip over the part where actually, well, you really just can't.) The men in my life claim that if the point is to be subtle, then the great big, 70s print isn't the way to go. The women in my life know that fasion is all, and we're not really trying to be subtle about anything -- it's just that in certain situations the full naked breast isn't quite polite.

In the pic you can see the bug's little foot while he eats. What you can't see so well, is that right at the top, just beneath my neck, the bebe au lait is affixed with a piece of circular wire that holds it away from my body. That rigid neckline means I can see everything going on, the baby can see me, and the coverup doesn't drape across his face convincing the average mom that her child is suffocating no matter how many times the rest of the family says you're being paranoid.

I think most mothers get over the fear of breast feeding in public fairly quickly, but at the beginning it's a bit tough because part of the problem is that neither you nor the baby is all that coordinated. The bebe au lait is pretty (it comes in many different fabrics), big enough to cover everything, and open enough to give you a great view. A highly-recommended item!

New Noises

Steve and I have gotten somewhat complacent if Ben wakes up in the middle of the night. For one thing, Ben doesn't cry as much as he did when he was younger. He just gives a bit of an "I'm awake, is anyone else?" whimper that doesn't mean he's hungry. Often he falls right back asleep. Other times he ramps up and one of us will go in and coax him back to sleep.

It is easy, however, in the confusing middle of the night, to convince yourself that perhaps you are a horribly bad parent for choosing your own sleep over comforting your child -- no matter how many sleep books tell you how much better in the long run it is for your child to learn how to comfort himself.

Thankfully, Steve and I now know that we are not bad parents, and that we can come through when it really counts. Last night, at 4:30 Ben let out a sudden yell that was unlike anything we'd ever heard before. We've heard him in pain (there was that, um, incident with the nail clipper when his skin got in the way) but this cry had real fear in it too.

We were both out of bed, wide awake, and in his room within nanoseconds. I imagined him to be in some horrible nausea state; Steve thought perhaps his twirling lamb mobile (MacGyvered to the side of the crib with duct tape) had fallen down on him.

In fact, the Bug had gotten his leg stuck in between the slats of his crib -- his foot dangling outside the bed, his thick thigh lodged between two pieces of wood. A friend of mine has a grandchild who did this so tightly that they had to call the fire department to take apart the crib -- luckily, Ben's leg slid out easily.

He stopped crying instantly. And then he started talking. These were all new noises, too, a set of vowel sounds that he was trying to make sound like a sentence. We held him as he tried to tell us all about the scary thing that had just happened to him -- "Dude, I woke up; and then I tried to kick and my leg wouldn't MOVE. It was dark and I couldn't see and something had hold of my leg. You got here just in time."

So now Ben has three party tricks -- kicking, holding, and talking -- and his crib has a pretty yellow bumper all around to protect him from those mean slats.

Important Dates

Many years ago, in a different life, when I was a dating columnist for AOL, I answered a question from a girl (as in "young", not "female") who had asked what present to give her boyfriend on their one month anniversary. I, being the sanctimonious Latin scholar that I am, published an answer on how "anniversary" came from "annum" and you could not, by definition, have a one-month anniversary, and it was absolutely ridiculous to consider celebrating such an event.

So, um, here is a picture of my husband from November 12, which is, um, our six-month anniversary. And -- while no gifts were exchanged -- this is just a note to say that I can't believe we've been married that long, I can't believe that the Bug is already three months old, and most importantly that I love my boys in blue. How cute are they?

Sleep Update

Do you want to hear about the various ways we're training his sleep habits? No, no I'm sure you don't. I'm sure you don't actually care about the different techniques and routines and attempts. But since it's all I think about these days (far more so than necessary, considering the fact that he sleeps more than many kids his age as far as I can tell) and since people do keep asking how he's sleeping. . . here is the update.

a) I have a new book I'm in love with:

Sleeping Through the Night, Revised Edition: How Infants, Toddlers, and Their Parents Can Get a Good Night's Sleep

It says all the things I've heard before but it says them better and more cohesively. And it also gives a real step by step plan of action that I like. (Also a fantastic chapter on discipline in general. . . that we certainly don't need yet, but that I am going to make every parent I know read.)

b) He is now going to bed at 8 PM (without being nursed first -- so he can learn to fall asleep on his own and replicate that skill when he wakes in the middle of the night -- so he cries for about 7 minutes, which is an improvement over the hour he cried the first time we tried it). We feed him again at 10:30, usually without his waking at all, he just eats with his eyes fastened shut for 15-20 minutes. He sleeps until 5:30 AM.

c) Next step: Get him totally comfy with falling asleep on his own with no crying. . .

Baby-Proofing

In the wide world of new experiences that Steve and I are having, we've discovered that we must have a screwdriver on hand at all times. This is because everything battery-operated for the baby has a screwed-down lid so, I suppose, the two-month old can't pry off the cover and . . . well, that's what we couldn't figure out. As Steve said, "It's not like you can really get electrocuted from a double A battery." We wondered aloud about the variety of things that seem overly baby-proofed and Steve added: "I mean it's only a 9-volt that can give you even a bit of a jolt if you hold it to your tongue."

He paused and began to reminisce: "We had a contest once to see who could hold a 9-volt to their tongue for the longest. I won. I did it for about a minute. The next day I couldn't move my tongue at all."

Remembering stories of how, as a child, he and his older brother used to play catch with firecracker-laden model airplanes in a very real version of "hot potato" I asked, "You did this with Brad?"

"Oh, no," he said. "This was just a couple years ago."

Note to Self: In addition to teaching kid to not talk to strangers, to look both ways before crossing the street, and that he may never ever become a journalist in Iraq, teach him not to suck on batteries.

Baby's First Calder

Yep. We got a Calder mobile for the kid. Did you even know Calder made baby mobiles? Well, he does. They cost about $5000.
(So,um, we got ourselves a knock off instead . . . )

You may also notice that we seem to have an abundance of themes going on around the crib: there's the underwater motif, the planet and moon motif, the how-many-stuffed-animals-can-you-have motif, and now the art motif. Apparently we're trying to have a schizophrenic baby.

We Saw This Coming

Oh, yeah. I totally jinxed it. After saying I felt like I understood the sleep thing, the Bug didn't sleep at all from 1:15 yesterday afternoon until 9:30 at night. We tried fifty million things, and he dozed for about 30 seconds here and there, but then woke himself up with a vengeance every time. It wasn't my best day. It wasn't Steve's best day either -- he came home early to help and then took over Ben-care for about 2 hours while I hid in the basement until the crying got to him too, and he handed him back. Finally -- using the age-old remedy -- I just fed the boy for about an hour and a half straight (I cringe just admitting that. . . look ma, no schedule! I fed the kid just to keep him quiet, now he's going to think food is a palliative and want it all the time! (I know that this is not actually true for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was that he was actually that hungry. . . but still.)) and he finally fell asleep soundly and totally at 9:30.

And he slept until 5 AM.

Just when he took away all my resources, the kid promptly makes up for it by sleeping through the night.

If I didn't know that this was only going to last 3 more days, I'd be damn excited. . .

Plans

Sleep. . . it's all about the baby's sleep. Really every book on caring for a baby that's out there is about how to get the kid to sleep. How to put him down, how to keep him asleep, how to get him to sleep through the night.

And everyone says not to ever get cocky, because the moment you figure it out the baby is on to something new. On the other hand, no matter how many times your friends tell you something, you really didn't believe it until it happens to you.

Ten days ago, I had finally figured out the sleeping pattern. (With the aid of my oh-so-obsessive daily graph of when he sleeps and when he eats.) I knew how it worked, I knew when he slept, I knew how much to feed him to get him to sleep at least one 5-hour stretch at night. I typed it all up to hang on the fridge -- THE schedule. That same day, he wouldn't go to sleep at night. He fussed, he fidgeted and I was distraught. I realized he hadn't slept well during the day for awhile either -- that this "pattern" I'd discerned, was more about the fact that he'd stopped napping as much, and that that wasn't a good thing. He was fussy as hell.

Back to the drawing board.

Luckily, I have also oh-so-obsessively read pretty much every single baby book that is out there. I know LOTS of plans for getting the baby to sleep. I went to plan two (after consulting with fellow moms, Rebecka, Carrie, and Elizabeth) which was the enforced napping plan. Put Ben down and make him stay, and just let him cry if need be.

It was glorious. He fell asleep and slept as soundly as he had during the day in a week. Ok, the crying was very hard to take -- but the results were so good: a happy child, a well-rested child, and two bouts of sleeping for 6 hours in a row at night. On top of which my day felt orderly. I was ecstatic. So that lasted all of three days, before Steve and I just decided that the whole putting him down to sleep and letting him cry thing was a crock -- sure it worked sometimes. But more often it just revved him up, and took him longer to go to sleep.

Plan three: Enforced napping, with an extra step -- soothe him to sleep and then put him to bed. We have been on this plan for three days now, and I can't tell you how wonderfully in control I feel. During the daytime (at night, he falls asleep without help) I put him to sleep when he starts getting tired by sitting him on my chest, letting him suck on my finger, while I read a book. It takes anywhere from 5 to 30 minutes for him to close his eyes and relax totally, and then I put him to bed. It's worked like a charm for three days.

I clearly have everything figured out. . . so tomorrow will surely be the day when it's all going to go to pot and we'll be on to plan four. . .

Redskins

For years and years, I have talked about putting up a blog about the Redskins. Not necessarily about the game per se, but about everything around it. The form of the Redskinnettes (I am obsessed with their skill set, which varies dramatically year to year), the price of the food, whether the chicken fingers are made of real chicken or that foam stuff (this too varies from year to year), and just general griping about Dan Snyder. . . and I have never gotten around to it.

Right here, right now, that's all about to change. My first official Redskins game report. Steve and I went to Fed Ex field for the Redskins/Dolphins game yesterday. Mom babysat. This was the longest we've left Ben so far -- a solid 5 hours. It was a nice afternoon off for us. Steve and I drove over to the field with the convertible top down. From our new house, it's only a 30 minute drive which was glorious. It was a beautiful, sunny, breezy day.

But the best part of the games, and what keeps me going to them, is the fact that I have grown to love the people who sit around us. On my left sit Rob and Steve -- each had a second child in the last few months -- and on my right sits Marcus and his father. Marcus is a doctor in Arizona who grew up in DC and flies in for four games a season. Rob and Steve also only come to four games a season, so I often coordinate to make sure I'm at the same games with all of them, as their commentary are part of the joy of the experience for me.

So, guess what we talked about? Rob told me all about his days on paternity leave, and how his daughter will only sleep if she's on his shoulder while he's standing. The moment he sits down she cries. We also talked about where the good public schools are. Steve told me about how his newest child isn't a problem, it's the two-year old who's being tough ("We're putting him up on e-bay," he said.) Marcus talked to me about how he got to help deliver his 18-month-old daughter and about how his wife, pregnant with their third, has started craving potato chips. . . with chopped pig lips on them.

Yes,I spent the entire game discussing parenting issues . . . Hail to the Redskins!

(Oh, yeah: The 'Skins won the game. The cheerleaders were, as it happens, in fine form, and the chicken fingers at the new Snyder-owned Johnny Rockets were, hallelujah, all real. Ooh, and the milkshakes fantastic.)

Now, I Understand

In March of 1987, when we seniors in high school, my friend Hilary and I spent a week skiing with my parents, where we became friends with another guy our age in the hotel. Peter had just, as it happens, finished a stint in rehab in Switzerland, and was now on family vacation in the Alps. He told us a lot about drugs. How he didn't do them anymore, of course, but also lots of stories about how much he had done. He also told us of the "power puking" contests that he and his friends had, in which they drank huge amounts and then threw up prodigiously over balcony railings.

He was, despite the above description, a totally likable guy. Perhaps this was because I didn't understand about this whole "power puking" thing. I didn't have an image in my head. About how unattractive it might be. About how awful for the lawn below, or worse, any patio furniture it might hit.

Because, let me tell you, Peter had nothing on my son. Oh the little cute spit ups, sure they're no problem. They're almost endearing.

But yesterday the Bug power puked. He was lying on his back, and he sent up a column of milk like a hose, like a fountain. It curved up and the kid actually cleared his own feet. Didn't get a drop on himself. My shirt and living room couch. . . that is another story.

Can't WAIT until he's a teenager -- there is so much I have to look forward to!

Week 2: This Week's Advice

This is advice I got from a friend of mine when I was only four or five months pregnant. She said to start pumping from the very beginning so that other people could get involved feeding him a bottle ASAP. It means that a) Steve can handle a feeding during the nighttime, or for that matter any time I'm just not up for it and b) it trains the child early to feel comfortable with a bottle.

(I am aware that there is a whole theory about the baby not wanting to take the breast if he sees how much "easier" the bottle is -- but since there are so many more kids who reject the bottle in favor of the real thing, I strongly suspect that the real issue is the mother. I mean that bottle is so much easier for ME. I'm still struggling to get him to feed properly, and I can see how there's some nice peace of mind with knowing, "Phew, I just watched him eat, it wasn't frustrating for either of us, let's do that more often.")

I got a rental pump from the hospital for $75 a month. It's not peanuts, but it's not exorbitant either, considering it's stronger than a commercial grade pump, and the best of those (which aren't as good as the one I have) cost some $250.

So: rent a hospital-grade pump, teach the kid to use a bottle (but don't give up on learning how to feed him the normal way), and let all the other people in your life feed the baby once a day and/or once a night. It does wonders for your psyche.