16. Noble's New Year

As the stroke of 12 approached on New Year's Eve, Noble was rioting against sleep. After an hour of trying to entice her to snooze, Bill's mom (beloved Gmza) stepped in and took over, pushed me to join Bill at the annual Saenz fête down the street, and I left the hall of screams for a lighter atmosphere. Precious tidings arrived by text soon after, letting us know she'd been walked to sleep in her grandmother's arms.

The new year has ushered in lots of chatty exchanges, squeals and some well earned giggles during tickle frenzies. We are outrageously delighted about this, obviously, and I keep this treasure in mind when driving my screaming baby from place to place.

Naps continue to elude us. I can occasionally get her down for a post breakfast nap in our bed, or during a long walk around the neighborhood. She has zonked out a couple times after a nice long scream in the car for a full half hour, but once the car is off the spell is broken. Bill's had some success rocking her while blasting NPR, and through sheer strength and perseverance, but clear patterns have yet to emerge. I've been reading a lot about babies and sleep. Despite feeling armed with expert wisdom and statistics when night approaches, my research never quite seems to apply. Mastering the wake and sleep method put forth by Dr. Harvey Karp feels like a suicide mission, and lulling her to sleep with anything but nursing has failed me. Dream feeds? Too risky. I feel trapped between the promise of delirium and inconvenience. She is still young for sleep training, but I'm assured the routine I've designed will yield a smooth transition to Ferberizing - the next looming trauma.

7:30 Start winding down. Lights low, tv off. Reading until she revolts.
8:30 Bath with Mommy. Bubbles. Lounging. Hope.
8:50 Transition to robe, bundled in towel. Tentative good humor. Warmth.
9:00 White noise, quick massage, jammies and crying. Steadfast conviction.
9:05 Quiet screams with nipple. Rocking, singing and nursing until she drowses. Dread.
9:45 Break the latch, gingerly approach the swing while mimicking its motion. Darkness. Fear.
10:00 Silently exit. Hide under covers from baby monitor. Shame.

Bill has a less cowardly approach, one not riddled with anxiety or stress eating, but it does call for more of a work out. After hunching over to nurse every two hours during the day, my back is not above phoning it in by bedtime. Per Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child I'm pulling her back 15 minutes earlier every evening, so by the weekend I could be retiring her at 8 instead of 10. The best tip I've heard from my parent friends about this stage is that "it passes." An elegant truth, and one I often forget. I'm definitely functioning, and admirably so in many ways. I'm especially impressed every time I have to wake up at how much pep's in my step, and how much restraint comes naturally when I consider eating her.

15. Noble's First Noel

The new year is upon us, but before we get wrapped up in resolutions, I want to revel in a few really precious accomplishments from this last week.
Endlessly fascinated by her hands, Noble can almost get her mouth around her fist. She has cried a tear, babbled a lot, sat up in her lounger unassisted, "walks" pretty well for someone who's never walked before and enjoys swimming atop my outstretched legs in the bath. She's in a distractible phase and pulls off the boob at the drop of a pin, eyeing me as if she's just realized she forgot to turn off the stove.
 Her stretches are a thing to behold, her sneezes a spray of affection and social grace. She gives great gummy smiles if you're a charmer, and the anger I'd grown so fond of in her cries has faded to a sad resignation. In the night, when we're fighting for and against sleep at each other, I hold her tight and sing ballads until I've exhausted my repertoire (track list available upon request). Rocking in the dark nursery, smelling lavender oil and soothed by white noise, sometimes she's asleep before I hit the Christmas carols,  and sometimes I am.

Oh, Christmas. A time for people and places and thinning nerves while navigating between.  Noble's been raging against car rides these days - night rides being the ultimate betrayal - so cruising well-lit neighborhoods was out this holiday season. Often becoming fussy after dark, her sundown syndrome is an enduring challenge for me. While driving it folds my mind into tiny and tinier origami, threatening to set it on fire as the miles pass.

We attended no less than 3 holiday gatherings over the weekend and had to call in frazzled to the fourth on Christmas Day. On our last 2 hour car ride she let us know that it was enough, so we turned around on our way to join the family for Christmas dinner. Home at last, she went down for her nap easily so Daddy and I went to work unpacking, tidying and even pulled out the massage table for a true Christmas miracle. Which is exactly how babies are made.

Hope your holiday was a special splash of colors you'll never forget. Here's a little moment of zen, from us to you.

Love, 

The Morenos

13. Three Noble Moons

3 months old and my evil genius is hard at work devising new and exotic times of night to wake up.

Granted, we've committed every sleep conditioning crime there is, but I was really hoping she might rise above those tired statistics. Bill will suffer no should-dos, and instead follows a dark and delicate compass he and Noble seem to share. He insists he's just watching to see when she looks tired. I dread the night I'm in charge of putting her to sleep, and I think she can tell. I've never seen her look tired, just hungry and suspicious.

My instincts - compulsions - have grown more aggressive in the past month. We were on our way to the store last night and she was crying in the back seat; maybe she was lonely? Optimistically I decided to forge on, but a nagging sympathy made me turn around before I left the neighborhood. 

For a while there back in month 2, I was feeling strong enough to let her cry, ignoring my curdling blood and short-circuiting brain in favor of some paltry accomplishment. I thought I really had this French parenting thing down - delayed gratification, laissez-faire et la reste. Alas, my baby is 13 weeks old and I'm just an average, hovering American who speaks passable French.

We took her to Community First's Village of Lights this weekend, where she took in the festivities from the warmth of the Moby wrap. Thanks to the epileptic flash of the synchronized light show, Trans-Siberian Orchestra's most revered work is now the soundtrack to my nightmares. She was fine, awe-struck even, during our walk through that well-meaning blinking hell, but that night in the car something woke up and tore out of her. It's a grating, frantic, threatening scream, and has resurfaced a few times since. During a late visit with family Monday night she went from smiles and grins to tortured desperation (poor Debra!) that raged on until I sat with her in the bathtub, where she struggled to catch her breath. Next time we're going to try mushrooms.

12. Noble Holds Court

Ever flown with an infant? But have you ever flown with an infant on breastmilk? Some of us might consider a bloody mary, a dose of dramamine or some chewing gum to be their MVP on a flight, but I've never known anything to relax a body like that sugar under the shirt. Legs danglin all over the arm rests, eyes buggin, diaper loose, shirt off and she's like, shhhhhhh, I'mbloatedIjustwannawatch *bleccccccch* Ghostbusers.

Twelve weeks old, and Noble's just returned from a weekend in NY. She made about 30 new friends on her tidy 3 day tour of her yankee family tree, humbly receiving supplicants in her jammies or while still at the breast. Magnanimous as ever, she agreed to appear in a great deal of photos.

We use an app with assorted baby sleeps sounds (it will run in the background on your phone, moms!) to calm her in the car and at bedtime, and her favorite setting is the sound of a clanking subway. Sunday evening as we rode the A train up to Inwood to visit the Doornbos Babes she sat still, mesmerized for 30 minutes gazing contentedly at her fellow passengers. No squirming, just people watching like the rest of us. 

In the chilly glow of midtown Manhattan she delighted the crowd in her alligator suit (an homage to Auntie Hilary Bettis' debut of Alligator playing now at The New Georges,) on our way to Rockefeller Center. In the arms of her granddad with her tiny pink face and big glassy eyes, she was carried under thousands of lights for a good hour.

And then promptly fell asleep.

  I had no idea how well this kid would travel, or how much she would develop. While in NY she rolled over, back to front. She can now fit 90% of her fist in her mouth, and she's starting to sit up in her lounger thanks to all the ab conditioning we've been working on. Arching her back to assist being picked up, she is starting to inch off the edge of her swing. Next time we're on a plane we'll have to buy her a seat to keep her feet out of strangers' laps.

Now that she's back at home after being so exalted, Noble requests to be held constantly. It's kind of a drag, especially when she absently strokes your face with her velvet hands or nuzzles the cool soft of her cheek against yours on accident. It's like, you want to get unpacked but you're stuck in front of a mirror showing her how excellent she is over your shoulder. Or you spend an extra hour in the bath because she's smiling reeeeaaal hard when you submerge everything but her cherubic face. Who has time for this??? 

Baby cuddles for sale. Cheap.

11. A Noble Moniker

Hi, I'm Noble. I'm a virgo, born just this past September. My mom, an aquarius, and dad, a gemini, thought it'd be a winning idea to borrow the elegant portmanteau from Outkast and name me Noble Aquemini Moreno. I don't have any feelings about it. Yet. But those who've tried pronouncing my middle name have admitted to some feelings of inadequacy. Personally, I can't even spell the thing much less speak it aloud. Maybe we'll learn together? Let's break it down.

Aquemini:
                     (uh-kwem-uh-nye) 1. Originating from the rap duo, André 3000 (a gemini) and Big Boi (an aquarius), aka OutKast, an Aquemini is someone whose lifestyle or personal swag is the embodiment of the inventiveness, tone, creativity and energy of the album itself and the movement of meaningful, stimulating hip-hop culture; someone with a firm grasp of their heritage in-hand who is effortlessly fresh, confident, and enjoys their own uniqueness in such a way that they attract platinum status. A partner or best friend; someone you can really depend on.
"it's him and I, Aquemini"

Another thing I'm having trouble with is staying upright. I work myself very nearly to a seated position often, but then I'll notice my feet again, and suddenly I just have to be near them. Do you guys have feet? They're amazing!!! Not sure what they're for yet. I've been using the assistance of a Bumbo seat and it really saves the day sometimes. Delicious, too. (Thanks A.D.!)

Mom and Dad are bringing out all the seats this week. I think my bum's still girlishly compact, but they say I'm especially well endowed in the seating department thanks to generous contributions from family and friends.

Check me out in my bouncer, moments before I pooped in it!

(Thanks Ragsdales!)

10. Dear Noble,

Thank you. For your good humour, your generous coos and gummy grin. Your single dimple brings us all into the brisk air of clumsy, blind love. Your singularly fetching half-Caesar hairline drives me to distraction.

Thank you for tying my hands while the world is in crisis. For clutching my hair in exuberant need and frustration. For reminding me with your escalating screams that you could be the next Mister Rodgers. Or 5000% the opposite. Maybe you're just gassy?

Will I just be along for the ride in your life? Will we even ride together? Personally, I insisted on walking alone, but if you go this route I hope you'll choose appropriate foot ware; I've been unequivocally scolded by my chiropractor. If you want to ride with Daddy more than me, I'll also understand. It really comes down to musical preference, I suppose.

You're 2 months and 11 days old, and I thank you. I'm hoisting your 11.5 lbs regularly, and still I thank you. You've grown 2 inches so far and are stretching and kicking your way to a third. 

You're so sturdy your ears don't stay folded to the side of your head anymore. You've started to notice when I cut more than your finger's nail, and may have had your first punishing introduction to Newton's 2nd law of motion against Daddy's desk yesterday. If you were paying any attention. You've noticed your feet and have learned to keep a watchful eye lest someone change your shoes again. 

You've begun to covet the toys of others, and have been awarded screen time with lasting success.

It's your first Thanksgiving, and you're not yet privy to the writings of Howard Zinn or the ghastly birth of this holiday, but in our quest to dignify every day with gratitude you may be asked what you're thankful for at the table later. Just cue me before you spit up.

Love you, 

Mom 

8. Ignoble Lengths

Shortly after Noble's birth, my hair resumed the irksome shedding I was so used to before getting pregnant. Increased levels of estrogen during gestation prevented hair loss, resulting in the thick mane you always hear those waddling beauties raving about. The persistent inconvenience of picking hair off our clothes, out of Bill's beard, out of my food, and out of Noble's armpits really should have been enough to get it cut already. Waffling about whether or not to pursue "the cut" while wrestling with infant fistfuls of hair and steady fall out, I noticed that mania had begun to replace the mane.

Way into fists around here

During labor my hair was my favorite prop, whipping hither and thither during contractions in centrifugal fury, the key force propelling me from one hell to the next.
Seven weeks later, it was just weighing down my curls and eating up precious minutes every day. And washing it? Thanks to baking soda and apple cider vinegar I only have to wash it once every two weeks but when the bill comes, I pay in handfuls. So, enough.  

In a political climate like this, it's the closest thing to moving to Canada. Having trouble digesting your current state of hairs? Pull the faithless elector card and get them to make the cut while they still can! A makeover will hardly soothe the sting of our election, but if you need a pick-me-up to get to work on brightening the future, pick up those scissors and get nasty with it. Consider the perks!
Noble rarely has my hair in her mouth, her diaper, or wrapped around her neck anymore. She doesn't get stabbed in the eye when I'm breastfeeding either, which is a real pip considering the razor sharp split ends I was sporting last week. 

I wish the very best for the next four years, dear readers. I really do. If you're in Austin and want to get teamed up with some allies, check out Austin Justice Coalition for some next steps. 

Much love and safety,
Amber