19. Noble's Inauguration

And on the ninth day, she went to sleep without crying. Was it post-inauguration resignation? I keep telling her we have to stay mad. She doesn't think I'm serious because we didn't attend the march this weekend while sleep training's running its course. We watch The Daily Show together, but she seems blissfully ignorant of  politics. After all, what could be so wretched when there's 5-6 scheduled servings of breast milk a day? We both agree that Twitter is no place for a baby, so we're thankful for curated tweets like these that keep us well informed.

Nap times are a precious scramble to stay on schedule, and sometimes it feels like she's only just woken up from one as I'm setting her down for another. What can I say? I miss her when she's off dreaming. When she comes up to the library at 11 for her second breakfast and I get to leave the desk and retreat to the back for 30 excellent minutes with her, I can imagine wanting to start this circus all over again some day. Once you've been desensitized to crying it's just like riding a bike, right? But how do you make room in  your life for yet another bike?  How many other bikes does a bike really need to grow up socialized and well adjusted with a penchant for charity and tolerance? Is this when parents start considering the ceiling mount?

Just a few more days, and research assures me she'll be going down for all 3 naps and bedtime without the familiar roar of loneliness - which has already faded considerably. We've been very strict about leaving her alone while she works through it; I watched her roll around and rage for an hour at 4:30am before going in and giving her a stoic 5 minute feeding and putting her back down, which worked. Geez, having a baby is easy! Noble cries about 99% less than she did 10 days ago, including in the car, where she listens to us sing along to Raffi and alternates playing with whatever we put in front of her and staring bewildered at herself in the mirror. While we were crossing town this weekend in a hurry to reach our destination for her 3:30 nap, she fell asleep right on time in her seat before we got there. No. Crying. Sleep training has transformed my life, and the shape of my daughter's head.

She's got a preferred side to sleep on, and spending 12 continuous hours with her left cheek down has resulted in (or been caused by) a little touch of torticollis, or "tight neck".  What I thought was just adorable is actually a chronic head tilt to the left. Treatment is simple: stretches at every diaper change and a consult with a physical therapist. I'm told she has a flat side of her head due to lack of balanced pressure but I can't see it. We're supposed to get some photo imaging done at a lab periodically to see if she becomes a candidate for a helmet, but I'm just as keen on alternating her sleeping position when we lay her down for sleep to encourage ideal skull shape.

One last note on sleep. Every night around 9pm I become helplessly tired. I nap until around midnight when, barely conscious, I pump a few ounces before retiring for the night. If Noble's restless I watch the monitor until I pass out, hoping she pulls herself together and drops off. I'm more tired now than I ever was pregnant, and i'm likely to stay that way as long as I'm breast feeding. I'm talking fumbling, stumbling, struggling to construct sentences tired. Sleep training. It works.

18. Dear Noble,

This past Saturday night your father was out late, I'd put you down at your new and improved bedtime of 8pm and was attempting to watch tv. At 3am after answering your hourly calls for comfort, the migraine I'd been nursing for 2 days prompted me to slow down on the way to your room and make a consideration. Empowered by my academic curiosity, I returned to the couch and watched you thrash and cry on the monitor. Cruel, yes, to start sleep training you in the middle of the night a day after vaccinations, but Baby, your rousings were really wearing me out. You were sobbing as I rigidly settled in for a marathon of The O.A. on Netflix, but I kept an eye on your safety and quietly cheered you on. You only cried for 45 minutes before I caved and picked you up, but by then my mission was realized. After a quick and stoic feed, I placed you back in your bed and said my final goodnight. You bawled for 40 agonizing minutes and then you were out! Like, your power switch had been flipped. The next morning, you woke up sweet as ever and the decision was made. We're now a few days into following the guidelines set forth by The Dream Team in Dream Sleeper. You're not logging a solid 12 hours yet, but our pride and faith in you is overwhelming. 

You're asleep now. Twisted into a ghastly corkscrew, sure, but silent. Peaceful. Asking for nothing. Occasionally you let us know that you're struggling under the weight of your head, rasping and squealing in hopes that we've changed our minds about this cold torture. Daddy and I have tried lying in this twisty position, wondering if we should sneak in and turn your head so you can spend some time off the left side of your face. I think your neck will be stiff tomorrow, but you'll surely be sweet about it. We'll work in a massage before playtime, and some Tylenol for that tired throat you've been screaming out of.

You were measured and jabbed on Friday and we learned you've only put on 6oz in 2 months, but you've grown 3 inches. At 18 weeks, you're 11 lbs 15 oz, 25.75 inches and marvelously alert. My research suggests this attentiveness was due to your precious few hours of sleep and nap resistant nature pressing you to run on adrenaline, but now that we have you sleeping (and crying) more, you're becoming a much more manageable 4 month old. Forgive us for pushing you to conform, but if we let you make these decisions you'd never get any time to recharge and absorb all that you're learning. You know how your tickle giggles have been dissolving into tears? I was plucking your tender heartstrings into hysteria, Darling. So rest, Baby. We have two-handed shit to do.

Auntie Jade and Foggy showed you how to enjoy a rainy Sunday

Your grab and chew habits are really starting to pay off. You're even holding your bottle on your own these days. Such a virgo!

Reading my favorite finds from work. John Langstaff's Frog Went A-Courtin and Over In The Meadow.

Doing that thing you do.

Here you are enjoying some Raffi in the car. It really is magical music. Thanks Angie!

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