Hey sweetheart. Yeah, you, you chatty little goblin. Boob squeezer. Hair clutcher. Nap skipper. You started upping your small talk game the other day, and we're thrilled about it. Every time we're in a group and you start jabbering I want to shush everyone, but you seem to love chiming in. When we're alone at home you go on and on, making a lot of remarks about your mobile or the welcome breeze during a diaper change.
You darling girl. Sitting up with more conviction every day, laughing easier and easier, drooling faster than we can mop. You've resolutely cried through your 3:30 nap for so many days in a row that we've decided to let it go, but you're netting at least 11 hours a night and it's much appreciated. Upon waking around 7, you gulp down your instant breakfast in a frenzy while I work your legs and feet back into their pajama compartments. You take your morning walk with Daddy where you watch school children board school buses and neighbors scurry around the neighborhood. A sign language lesson and some bouncing on the bed or flying around the house takes us to second breakfast. At 9am you take your first nap, I go to work, and before you know it we're together again for elevenses at the library. Down again at 1 and up by 3, you have a long lunch and spend some time on a blanket watching the trees and tearing at the grass. If you've had enough excitement and show signs of fatigue, you'll get another nap around 4:30 until 5 when you take your evening stroll. At 6 we get into the bath, which you drink as much of as possible, and talk about body parts. A 5oz bottle at 6:30 is followed by a few books, some singing (Loudon Wainwright's Dilated To Meet You) and eventually you're carried away by the sounds of ocean waves. After you went to sleep on Valentine's Day, Daddy and I did a scavenger hunt piecing together limericks hidden around the house, and talked about you over pizza and sherry. We're planning your 6 month brunch, where your first taste of food (banana or sweet potato?) will be in front of an eager audience. Grandpa visited this week, having booked a flight after seeing a photo of you last month and fretting that you were growing up too fast. The threat is real, puddin.
20 weeks in Babyland have been made possible by many key ingredients gifted from friends and the occasional stranger. Patience, zip-up jammies, burp cloths, the Boppy Lounger, our Kanaluti carrier and a slobbery mountain of other things have guided us through the fourth trimester. We've just moved into our 2 day supply of Bumgenius Freetime diapers, started latching without a nipple shield, (!), and have officially sized out of newborn-sized shoes. Thanks to increased confidence and muscle definition we are no longer plagued by pitiful bouts of crying face down. This baby has lift.
She is easily entertained by buzzing, adults brushing their teeth and - shocker! - anything with a screen. She's started splashing in the bathtub, sitting contentedly, sucking her thumb and pawing her hair for comfort, using her slimy fingers to shellac her hair into charming configurations. At bedtime she gets a massage, coconut oil on her calloused knees and elbows, a 5oz bottle, a few books and some drooly bang time on the ukelele.
Now that she requires more room to roll around before dropping off, we've upgraded from a bassinet to the spacious Guava Lotus travel crib for all sleep sessions. Of the stack of blankets she's received, mine from '83 is the one that fits it perfectly. I'll wait while you admire my shapely Calvin Kleins.
She's finally started to pack on some meat, no doubt from indulging in extra helpings of bath bubbles.
I believe we must congratulate Beyonce again: she's been busy in the studio cooking up The Carter Twins. If what I know about skin is true, we might see some stretch marks on this next album. Lube up all you want Bey, twins that make it close to 40 weeks are more than likely to leave some marks in the [fossil] record. I slathered on Burt's Bees Belly Butter morning and night, but at 37 weeks I woke up and there they were. Growing stains are a part of many post natal life styles, however, and what eventually fades with age will burn red and puckered in my heart forever. Awwww!
So, you're looking for a baby carrier, or perhaps you have a small dog in diapers with attachment issues? I'm shining my light on Kanaluti carriers, the brainchild of my old pal down Houston way. She gifted me a brand new "Elements" carrier, featuring breathable mesh for a Texas summer-friendly carry. Quick on and off with military-grade buckles and webbing, this is truly comfortable and so adjustable my husband and I can swap it without rolling our eyes too hard while strapping in.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
Down again at 1 and up by 3, you have a long lunch and spend some time on a blanket watching the trees and tearing at the grass. If you've had enough excitement and show signs of fatigue, you'll get another nap around 4:30 until 5 when you take your evening stroll. At 6 we get into the bath, which you drink as much of as possible, and talk about body parts. A 5oz bottle at 6:30 is followed by a few books, some singing (Loudon Wainwright's Dilated To Meet You) and eventually you're carried away by the sounds of ocean waves. After you went to sleep on Valentine's Day, Daddy and I did a scavenger hunt piecing together limericks hidden around the house, and talked about you over pizza and sherry. We're planning your 6 month brunch, where your first taste of food (banana or sweet potato?) will be in front of an eager audience. Grandpa visited this week, having booked a flight after seeing a photo of you last month and fretting that you were growing up too fast. The threat is real, puddin.
