Sleeping on the Floor Part 2

I’m continuing to log my experience with getting my little 8 month old to sleep in her own crib, eliminate night time feedings, and sleep through the night.

According to Tracy Hogg, a.k.a. The  Baby Whisperer, children fall into typically 5 different categories,  of course usually with some overlap.  Now since this post is a bit long, I paraphrased the types in my own words in italics for those who would prefer the Clif notes.

The Angel Baby—(in other words perfect)Angel babies are good as gold. They are mellow, eternally smiling, and consistently undemanding. Their cues are easy to read. They are not bothered by new surroundings and they are extremely portable. They feed, play, and sleep easily, and usually don’t cry when they wake up. They easily amuse themselves when they wake up in the morning. They can often calm themselves down. Even when they get overtired, it is easy to settle them down again.

The Textbook Baby—does it all by the book.  Textbook babies are predictable and fairly easy to handle. They do everything on cue so there are usually few surprises with them. They reach all the milestones right on schedule – sleep through the night by three months, roll over by five, sit up by six. They’ll have growth spurts like clockwork. They can play on their own for short periods (about 15 minutes) as early as one week old. They’ll coo a lot and look around. They smile when someone smiles at them. Though they have normal cranky periods, they are easy to calm and it isn’t hard to get them to sleep either.

The Grumpy Baby—-mad-as-hell Grumpy babies act like they’ve been here before and they are not at all happy to be back. They’re mad at the world and they let you know it. They whimper every morning, don’t smile much during the day and fuss their way to sleep every night. Their mothers have a lot of trouble keeping baby-sitters. They hate baths at first and every time someone tries to change or dress them, they get fidgety and irritable. Feeding is difficult because of their cranky disposition. Calming grumpy babies takes a patient Mum or Dad because they get very angry and their cries are particularly loud and long. If they reach a major meltdown, gently sway them front to back.
The Touchy Baby—sensitive and slow to adapt  touchy babies are ultra-sensitive. To them, the world is an endless array of sensory challenges. They flinch at the sound of a motorcycle revving outside their window, the TV blaring, a dog barking in the house next door. They blink or turn their heads away from bright lights. They sometimes cry for no apparent reason, even at their mothers. They often get fussy after a number of people have held them, or after outings. They’ll play on their own for a few minutes, but needs the reassurance that someone they know well is close by. They like to suck a lot and this cue may easily be misread for hunger. They nurse erratically, sometimes acting as though they have forgotten how. They have difficulty falling asleep during nap times or at night. They easily get off schedule – an extra-long nap, a skipped meal, an unexpected visitor, a trip, a change in formula, etc. can throw them out of the loop. To calm them, you have to recreate the womb – swaddle, snuggle them to your shoulder, whisper a rhythmic shushing sound close to their ear, and pat their back gently. The quicker you learn their cues and their cries, the simpler life is. They love structure and predictability.

The Spirited Baby– (my way or the highway) Spirited babies emerge from the womb knowing what they like and don’t like and they never hesitate to let you know it. They are very vocal and even seem aggressive at times. They scream for Mum or Dad when they wake in the morning. They hate lying in their own pee or poop and will vocalise their discomfort. They babble a lot and loudly. Their body language tends to be a bit jerky. They often need swaddling to get to sleep because their flailing arms and legs keep them up and overstimulated. If they start crying and the cycle is not interrupted, they reach the point of no return. Their crying will lead to more crying until they reach a fever pitch of rage. They’ll also notice other babies before those babies notice them. They’ll grab at their bottle at an early age and as soon as they’re old enough to develop a good, firm grasp, they’ll grab other babies’ toys as well.

Of all these types, EK tends to be a combination of Textbook and Spirited.  The Baby Whisperer continues to describe spirited toddlers as active, physical, willful, determined, and prone to temper tantrums.  Um, yes, starting to see a few of those already.  A spirited child is a consummate adventurer, needs clear boundaries, and here’s the part I know much too well:

Once they start crying, they have stamina and staying power, so you’re in for a long haul if you don’t have a good routine going at night.

As for sleep:  As babies, they hate being swaddled, but you absolutely need to block out any visual stimulation. They tend to be resistant to naps or nighttime rituals, because they don’t want to miss anything. If you’re lucky, even though they sleep less in the morning, it will be followed by a long afternoon nap.

Me?  Not lucky.  Never won at black jack or the long afternoon nap.  Most naps are 40 minutes for my sweetheart, both morning and afternoon.

When we first began sleep training, I started some routines for bedtime which included bath, a fan for white noise, talking to her and letting her know we were getting ready for bed, saying night-night to different things in the house while we made our way to her room, holding her for 10 minutes while her lullabies played softly, and then placing her in her crib.  EK cried for an hour and a half before going to sleep.  When she woke in the night, she also cried for an hour and a half.  Realizing that maybe she needed me in the same room, I made my make-shift bed from couch cushions and laid down beside her crib the following night.  She continued to stand at her crib and cry wanting out.  I took her out for one feeding per night, she calmed immediately, and I returned her as soon as she was finished.  Even though I badly wanted her to snuggle on my couch-bed, I made myself stick with the routine.  The other times she cried, I told her to lay down, go night night, and plugged my ears while she wailed.

On day three, she began laying on her stomach and reaching for me through the bars of her crib while crying, so I would put my hand in there and she would lay her sweet head down on top of my hand.  This at least kept her from standing up and settled her down.

We are making progress friends!  EK is still waking 4-5 times every night, but now instead of standing up and screaming, she whimpers a couple of times, sometimes she’ll sit up and look around, finds her binky, then she lays back down and puts herself to sleep.  Except for one time, when it continues for a long time, I go ahead and give her milk.

I’m glad to report that she is getting used to her crib, understanding that it is her new sleeping place, and starting to become a more independent sleeper.

I’m not sure how long this is going to take, but I’m in it for the long haul.  I see the progress that has been established in the last four days, and I’m feeling confident that consistency will pay off.  Kids learn by repetition and the more we do it, the better it will be for all of us.

Sleeping on the Floor Part 1

I have a great mattress.  It’s one of those Sleep Numbers, where you can adjust the firmness.  A few years ago, J-Dub and I pranced into the mall with a credit card and succumbed to a sales pitch.

Impulse Buying + Credit Cards = The American Way, right?

I can’t remember my sleep number;  I can barely remember my birthday, much less the 42 different passwords stored in my brain for various accounts etc.   I usually have to ask J-Dub what my sleep number is.  For some reason he always knows, or makes one up just to fake me out.  Heck, I wouldn’t know the difference.  I did consider having it tattooed on my butt, but then I’d have to get a mirror to look, and to be frank, my butt isn’t much to gaze upon, even for myself.   I thought maybe I should tattoo it on my wrist, but then people might think I’m a concentration camp survivor or at the very least, a state penitentiary parolee in which case if I were a male state penitentiary parolee, my butt might have gotten noticed.

I guess it doesn’t really matter what my sleep number is since the last 3 nights I’ve slept on the floor.

In the baby’s nursery.

On a makeshift bed of couch cushions, my pillow, and a blanket.

You see, my little babe, she is utterly adorable.  She is.  She is also utterly awake most nights.  It’s not that she doesn’t go to sleep.  She does.  It’s just that she doesn’t STAY asleep.

So like a good mother, I’ve read.  I’ve researched.  I’ve investigated.  And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s All.My. Fault.  It is.

Now I won’t take responsibility for her behavior if she robs a bank, but for this, I am the culprit.

She used to be a good sleeper.  When she was a wee one, she slept very well.  She would sleep in her crib.  She would go to sleep without being nursed or rocked.  She awoke and laid in her crib peacefully at times.

And then, then I screwed her up.

I took all the things I knew I was supposed to do, and didn’t do them.

“Swaddle her?” I scoffed.  “She gets too hot, she’s too confined, she doesn’t like it.”

“Let her sleep in her own bed?”  I laughed.  “But she’s so little, I need her, she needs me, she grows so fast, I’ll miss this.”

“Let her cry?”  I exclaimed.  “She feel afraid, abandoned, and become untrusting.”

“Be consistent?” I remarked.  “What about our free spirits?  Schedules, shmedules.  Routines, shmoutines.”

And so, the saga began.  She slept in our bed, at whatever times we traipsed to bed, and when she made the tiniest whimper, I comforted; two, three, sometimes four times each night.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before I knew it, I had an 8 month old in the bed standing at the headboard, or crawling on top of us while we tried to sleep, or kneading us in the back with her pointy little feet as she laid crosswise in the bed.  And as I lay there one night with her trying to suck my nose, I imagined our lives a year, two years down the road.  I saw a little toddler, upside down, feet in our face, whining ‘tickle my back, can I lay on your arm, I need a drink of water’, all the while wiggling, squiggling, and causing a ruckus.

You see, I like to sleep.  I enjoy it.  It’s practically the only fun I have in my life.  Take that from me, and I have nothing.  I am nothing.  So I stood on my exhausted two feet and made my valiant cry of, “ENOUGH!  THIS MUST STOP!”

And it hasn’t been easy.  Nay, nay.  We are currently on day 6 of a real effort to get her to sleep in her crib. (with 3 days of inconsistency when we were out of town).  That’s the first step.  Then comes sleeping with no feedings, next will be sleeping without me in the room.  I have my work cut out for me, but am beginning the process of undoing my doings.   The first night, I took expert advice to lay her down every time she stood in her crib, and then I counted the attempts.

No, not twenty times.

No, not thirty-three times.

No, not even one hundred twenty times.

But 133 times.  One hundred thirty-three times I laid her down.  And one hundred thirty-three times she pulled her weary self back up again.  Can you say torture?  For her.  For me.

Were there tears?  Oh my, yes.  Many tears.  Hers and mine.

She finally fell asleep crying and exhausted.

Like this.

She stayed asleep about 30 minutes, but who can blame her?  Could you sleep like that?  Can you even sit like that?

And now, since this post is becoming a novella and is only partially complete, I will end here and continue with our experimental research sleep training documentation tomorrow.  Hopefully.  If my bleary eyes can see the keyboard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8 months

Hey sweet Emma!

You’re a little doll, dear.  As beautiful as ever, and growing so big.

For a while now you’ve been belly crawling, but this month you decided to try out the old hand and knee crawl.  It’s still a bit clumsy, and you really only do it when you don’t have a shirt on.  I don’t think you like the feel of the hardwood on your belly.  But you still prefer the “wounded soldier” crawl and drag one leg behind you.  You’re pretty fast at it too!  You certainly don’t let many things stop you either, that’s why your daddy calls you his little 4 X 4.  It’s so fun watching you explore your new world, and learning to be so independent.

You are pulling yourself up now to every surface that you can reach.  The ottoman, the dining room chairs, the toy box, the drawers in the kitchen, and mostly my pant legs.  You are a brave little thing, taking one hand off while standing up.  You think you are much bigger than you really are.  But I love your confidence and hope you always keep it, with humility of course.

Although your only 8 months old, the tag in your clothes says 12 months!  Thankfully, you haven’t had to go to the doctor since your 6 month check-up, so we don’t know how much you “officially” weigh, but when we weigh you, our scales here say about 19 pounds.

You have 2 new teeth, but you are a nonconformist, and decided instead of getting your two upper teeth like you’re supposed to, you might as well be a vampire for Halloween, and have cut one fang, and are working on the other.

Have I ever told you how smart you are?  Your mind works constantly.  You are super observant, and want to know how things work, like your car seat buckle, which I’m afraid you are certainly going to figure out.  You are trying real hard to patty cake right now, and I know you understand everything I say.  You yourself are a jabber box too.  You have all kinds of new sounds, you can say bye-bye and are practicing wiggling your fingers.  You talk all the time and I wish I knew your language.

I am trying real hard to be the best mommy I can.  Sometimes it’s frustrating because I don’t have an instruction manual for you, and I’m not sure if I’m making the right decisions.  Please always know you are loved immeasurably, dear one and I’m always thinking of you.

I love you!

XOXO,

Mama

 

 

Favorites

I did not marry a literary kind of man.   I, on the other hand, love books, articles, the written word.  I come alive in bookstores and libraries calm me.  I love the smell of a new book, the way it has a little creak when you open it.  I do not own an electronic reading device and I still make trips to the local library to choose my books.

When I read something that speaks to me, whether it’s a book, a character, descriptive language, a quote, whatever, I always want to share it with someone.  This someone happens to be my husband.

I don’t know how long after we were married, after I had orated paragraph after paragraph of various topics to him, that  my husband informed me he hated being read to.  It just about broke my heart.  So now, I carefully choose my sharing times and always ask him if I can please read something to him.  He’s never told me no, he just endures it.  As is the husband’s job in marriage.  It should have been in the vows.

But before you start feeling sorry for me, just know that my little girl, EK, loves books.  Even thought she is only almost 8 months old, she shows delight in them.  She loves to pull every one off the shelves, chew on their covers, and eat their pages, which I think must be a sign of fondness.  Or genius.  Or perhaps just a nutritional deficiency, I guess only time will tell.

I get a free magazine called The Country Life.  It comes out quarterly and gives tips and inspirations for country living.  Things like how to arrange a fall flower container and the top 10 tools needed to get your home ready for winter.  Stuff like that.

But the very last part is an article written by a guy named Brent Olsen.   It’s very excellent writing in my opinion and makes you feel like all is right in the world.  So I asked my husband if I could read it to him, and even he agreed it was good.

And because I love to share things that speak to me, I now share it with you.

“Fall is a wonderful time of year.  A deep breath on a crisp morning expunges moist, stale pockets of air that have been cluttering your lungs all summer.  There’s a sense of urgency, an acceleration of pulse and ambition that turns the tired, sweaty trudge of summer into a brisk walk through falling leaves.  Winter is about enduring and dreaming, spring is unreasonable optimism, summer is growth and fruition-new potatoes and fresh tomatoes.  But fall is for planning and preparing.

It’s also about sitting on the patio in a worn wool sweater and warming your hands one the swirl of steam rising from a coffee cup.  It’s about walking across a darkened yard and seeing a flight of geese cross the face of a full moon.  It’s about settling in, relishing the sights and sensations of a world slowing down.

A house warmed by the memory of a sore back and splinters, and a kitchen table blessed by food there as a result of dirty fingernails, sunburn, and compost is a great and generous gift.  Enjoy your fall—we are each granted a finite number of them, and it is a vast mistake to let any go by without cherishing the moments that make them real.”

Fall and words:  these are a few of my favorite things.

And you?  What are your favorite things?

 

 

Feeding the Big Chickens

We recently had a family picnic at the park.  It was a beautiful September day and we were in the big city, so we decided to grab a couple burgers and enjoy them under the treetops.

The park has a big lake with walkers and joggers circling it.  A few fisherman had cast their poles into the water and were waiting patiently in their lawn chairs.  A sweet elderly couple sat at a picnic table, his arm draped around her shoulders, enjoying the day.

 

We sat right at that other picnic table fighting off the flies.  I watched  that little old couple and my thoughts turned romantic.  I smiled at the idea of  how sweet and long-lasting their love is.  Like something Nicholas Sparks would write.  And then as I eavesdropped a little more, I discovered that they weren’t an old married couple after all, but new companions.  He was telling her about the time when he was twelve and they visited Wisconsin.  He talked about the war.  She asked questions about his former marriage.  As we got up to leave, I snapped their picture, glad to know that new love exists.  That little white-haired couple lifted my spirits and reminded me that no matter how old you are, there is still time to make new friends.

We saved a little bit of our hamburger buns for the ducks.  Is it just me, or do you get a little wigged out when all the ducks start surrounding you, crowding into your space, honking and quacking?  I was attacked by a duck once, I guess you could call it that, and ever since that experience, I’ve been a little gun-shy.  Or duck-shy.

EK has a way of expressing her delight.  She OH’s.  When she sees that little black baby boy on the Pamper’s box, she says Oh, Oh, Oh, but drags it out.  She Oh’ed at the ducks and the swans.  I wonder what her little mind was thinking of those gigantic birds.  Maybe something along the lines of “Whoa man, that is one big chicken.”

She was just as curious as they were and when it mistook her bare toes for bread crumbs, she didn’t cry, she just Oh’ed at it.

When all our hamburger buns were either eaten or growing soggy in the water, we took a little stroll around the lake and enjoyed the moment with dreams of many more to come.

 

 

 

 

sleeping, eating, and other motherly woes

Of one thing I’m certain:  each day that I’m given is more proof of how little I know.

We’ve all been there, a time in our life when we thought we knew it all.  When we stuck our chest out and announced, if only to ourselves, “I got this.”

For me that was 7 months and 3 weeks ago.

 

Before her.

But now those days are over.  Although I’ve always felt like I relied on God, I can tell you that this day, today, without a doubt, I desperately need His grace, His direction, His wisdom, combined with His mercy and goodness and provision, tossed in with a good handful of His forgiveness and a shake or two of second chances.

Raising a child is hard. And I have a good one.  She’s not difficult, really.  Perhaps a touch stubborn and spirited.  She doesn’t sleep like other mother’s claim their babies sleep.  And she doesn’t eat like she’s supposed to.  She’s adventurous and bold, she’s determined and serious.   Sometimes she’s playful and occasionally you could even say she’s sweet.  Each day I ask God to help me and to forgive me.

If she has trouble sleeping, it’s because of me not her.  I have 0%consistency in my day.   Schedules are for trains.

If she has trouble eating, I’ll take the blame on that too, although she’s the one with her lips clamped together.

I’ve scoured the internet for help on every parenting subject that one could encounter with an almost 8 month old. (because the internet doesn’t lie)

*Breastfeeding
*co-sleeping
*baby wearing
*sign language
*pacifiers
*teething
*crawling
*separation anxiety
*night weaning
*sleep training

Plus lots more.
Through my hours upon hours of research, I’ve discovered there’s basically two camps of parenting.

1) “the force your baby to do what you want” camp

2) the “forget about your life, it’s officially over, make concessions for your baby’s needs” camp

I’m no longer looking for advice, I’ve received enough.  So really, you don’t need to give me any, but I will allow you to commiserate with me all you want!

I’m just writing to air my frustrations, state my opinions, and talk out loud.

Case in point.  Sleep trainers suggest that I put her in her crib for naps and at bedtime when she’s drowsy but still awake.  Not to rock her or nurse her, or give her any sleep crutches what so ever.  After placing her in the crib drowsy, but awake, she is supposed to put herself to sleep.  All on her own.  This has actually happened a time or two when she was smaller.  I can actually testify that when she’s in her appropriate window of sleepiness, as long as she’s not teething or gassy, when her diaper is dry, and her room is the correct temperature, as long as her nose isn’t stuffy or her socks aren’t too tight, and as long as the moon is in the second house, she will actually go to sleep.

But most of the time, when I put her in her crib, I get this.

Now, how can I tell her no and lay her back down, when for the last two weeks, I’ve been clapping and cheering every time she pulled herself up to standing?

Then she looks at me with this face of “aren’t you proud of me for pulling myself up, that’s a new trick you know mom.  When I’ve done it before you’ve danced a jig”, and yes baby I am so proud of you, and then she gives me the “aren’t you going to pick me up and hug me.  I’m whimpering over here?”

I’m at a crossroads.  If I pick her up, then she won’t understand she’s supposed to lay down.  And if I tell her,”no, lay down”, she won’t understand how proud I am of her for working so hard to stand up.  During this sort of dilemma, my maternal instinct usually wins.  The one that says love and comfort, hush her cries, make her feel safe and loved.  I know I’m reinforcing undesirable habits, but I can only pray that I’m building trust and reassuring her that she needn’t worry about her needs being met.

After giving this parenting gig a go for the last 8 months, I’ve come to some conclusions.

Of the little I know, this is what I know:

  •  All babies are unique.
  • I must figure what works best for my family.
  • If the situation isn’t a problem to the family, then the family shouldn’t let society (or the internet) convince them it’s a problem.
  • There’s really no right way to do this.
  • Most other mothers must be liars, wanting others to believe they have dream babies, or it’s been so long ago, they’ve forgotten.
  • I don’t have the answers and can only do my best.
  • I’m going to mess up everyday and I can only hope she doesn’t turn out to be Jeffrey Dahmerish.  Or worse.

 

God bless all mothers, everywhere!

 

Picture Perfect

After we buried my dad February of last year, I drove back to Texas basically with a pickup, plants, and a photograph.

The pickup still sits in front of my yard, longing for a spin around town.

The plants, I’m proud to say, are flourishing.

And the photo sits on a shelf in my dining room.

It was one of his favorites.  At one point, being technologically disinclined, he asked my sister to put it as his profile pic on his Facebook page.  I don’t know how he expected her to do that, as he had the picture in a frame two states over, but nevertheless.

It’s a tiny picture, maybe a 3 X 5 in a cheap brass frame with parts of the frame chipped.  It displays a much younger us.

I remember the day.  Thanks to a generous landlord aunt, my sister had recently scored a cheap one bedroom rent house, albeit in need of some TLC.  I was helping her paint, when our dad showed up to check on our progress.  I’m covered in paint.  He’s not.  The hat I’m wearing leaves me to question.  Was I painting in that hat or was it on his head and I put it on mine?  I don’t recall the detail.

On the back, he’s written, “me & ang, yukking it up in ’91”

I can’t remember the exact conversation, but I know it went something like this:  my sister holding a camera, my dad draping his arm around me, my sister telling us to say “cheese”, and right before the camera snapped, my dad sucked in his gut, and I busted out laughing.

“Yukking it up in ’91” he called it.

If I’d  known then that we had only twenty more years together.  Twenty years.  It sounds like a long time when you say it, but it sure goes by fast. What would I have done differently?  Anything?

Throughout those years, we had many more times of “yukking it up”, and I’m grateful for every one of them.

But I can’t help but wish we could have one right now.

Miss you dad.

Under the weather

It’s September 15th, or is it the 14th?  Regardless of the number on the calendar, it is my favorite time of year.  It’s a dreary, overcast day and my thoughts bounce around randomly, like an annoying fly trying to find a place to light, but never satisfied for long.

I’m feeling a tad under the weather, which seems fitting with the forecast.  I want to curl up in bed with a book and hide all day.  I would too, if I didn’t have a 7 month old competing for my attention.  She’s a bit under the weather too, and just wants to be held, but doesn’t want to sit still once I pick her up.  She’s obsessed with reaching and grabbing everything from the side table, attempting to climb on top of my head, or rubbing her face frantically in my chest, smearing snot all over my fourteen dollar sweatshirt.  Desperate for a reprieve to blow my nose,  I did the bad mom thing.  I turned on the TV.

As most of you probably know, we don’t have TV.  I can see you scratching your head now.  How can I turn it on, if we don’t have it you ask?  Well, we have an actual TV, but we have no cable, or satellite, or even rabbit ears.  We do own a DVD though, so I dug through stacks of exercise tapes, sneezing and coughing as the piles of dust billowed, and discovered a cartoon belonging to my niece.  Kung Fu Panda.

Since EK only gets TV time when we’re visiting someones house or when she’s watching Blazing Saddles with her dad, which is so appropriate I might add, I thought this was a win-win situation.

I imagined her in a TV daze while I vegged out in an antihistamine induced state of mind on the couch.

Turns out, she doesn’t care too much for pandas.  Or Kung Fu.  A matter of fact, I think I heard her say, “Pandas?  We don’t need no stinking pandas.”

I’m left with no other option but to sit here with EK on my head, watching a cartoon mouse with a Fu Man Chu do jujitsu, using the sleeve of my sweatshirt to wipe my nose.  Good thing it only cost fourteen dollars.

 

 

The toughest job

When I was a teacher, just a few short months ago, I used to believe teaching was the hardest profession there was.  In fact, I’ve been known to tell people that very thing.

Now that I’m a stay-at-home-mom, I have changed my opinion and believe mommy hood is the hardest job there is.

More than likely if I was an artist, I’d think that was the hardest profession to be had.

The toughest job, I’ve discovered, is the one I’m presently working.

Suzanne gave me a devotional book for moms.  “A Time-Out for Busy Moms”.   I’m not sure if that really exists.  The book was in good condition when I first received it, but now the edges are ruffled and torn, tiny bite marks have dried the corners.  When I sit down to read it, EK is usually in her  favorite spot, my lap, and she would rather chew on it than let me read it.

She is a blessing and a challenge.  The simplest things are no longer simple.  Showers, toilet breaks, eating.  She has no regard for my basic needs.  She is an infant.  A selfish, needy, narcissistic little baby, just like every other baby that was ever invented.  She is at my feet when I fix a cup of coffee or when I wash the dishes.  If I walk away, she scuttles after me dragging her leg like a little hermit crab calling “mama, mama, mama”.  When she’s not at my feet or on my lap or in my arms, I must watch her like a hawk.  She’s exploring and discovering and learning things the hard way, like how a mousetrap feels on her little fingers.  All this, and we’re not even in the difficult age yet.  Give her enough time and she will be putting Cheerios in the toilet and displaying her artwork with permanent markers and nail polish on the dining room table.

To date, the biggest mess she’s managed is unloading about 15 wipies one by one, only after tasting each one first.

 

And yes, I took a picture.

I know other moms have this thing figured out.  They are doing a better job of it I know.  Their babies sleep through the night.  In their own beds to boot.  They eat their veggies and take a bottle so their mamas can leave them for more than three hours at a time.

I ain’t gonna lie, it’s a tough gig, and I’m doing the best I can.

Today she fell asleep in my lap and I was able to pick up my mommy devotional book.  We rocked while I read and it was one of the most peaceful and gratifying moments I could experience.  As I gazed down at her sleeping face, the corners of her mouth turned upwards and a small smile spread across her mouth. I imagined the angels were whispering in her ear.  I couldn’t help but smile too.

In the big scheme of things, this baby stage is such a short time in the span of her years.  Instead of wishing this and wishing that, I need to learn to appreciate every nuance and detail.   Before you know it we’ll be driving her to college.

I’m sure when I leave her in the dorm room, she won’t be the one crying then.

7 months old

Hey baby girl,

Another month has come and gone.  It’s simply unbelievable.

You are still as cute as always.  And pssst, just between you and me, some people are saying you are starting to look like me.  It thrills my soul every time I hear it.  You sure are good lookin’, but your insides are more important.  Let me tell you about your little 7 month spirit.

You are determined.

You are alert to everything going on around you.

You are smart, smart, smart.  Your brain is working all the time.  Just for future reference, I don’t think I’ll be able to help you with your homework.

You’re getting the hang of the peek-a-boo game and we can play that for a real long time.  It seems I get bored before you do for sure.

You are sweet and have just begun to give hugs and snuggle down to us when we pick you up.  You are starting to show affection to your people and it is so darling.

Sleep?  Who needs it?  You are too busy scooting around on your tummy, dragging one leg behind you like a wounded soldier, exploring everything you can and everything you shouldn’t.

You’re getting much stronger in your legs and have begun to attempt to pull up, especially in your crib when you don’t want to be in there.  You can also stand for a real long time holding onto something, like the ottoman.

You aren’t crawling on your hands and knees yet, but you’ve started to crawl onto things.  The other day you got in quite a bind when you crawled on top of a case of water sitting on the floor, and you didn’t really know what to do next so you started yelling.  You’re funny, girl.  But you don’t think other things are funny.  Although you grin and smile all the time, you rarely laugh.  It usually takes your cousin Ash to get you to laugh, and yesterday for the first time ever, you laughed at me.

This month we’ve hit a few bumps in the road.   It seems that you’ve developed a small case of “Stranger Danger” and will sometimes cry when your not familiar with the person holding you.  Also, you’ve gotten super attached to momma, and you’ll cry if I walk out of the room.  So guess what I’ve done?  I’ve pulled out the old baby wrap.  Remember that thing?  I’m back to strapping you to me and away we go to do the things that don’t really get done, like sweeping and cooking.  I need to figure out how to turn you around to face out however because you keep twisting your little torso around to see what in the world is going on behind you.  I’m worried you just might topple out.

But the biggest bump is the sleeping thing.  All over the internet is says kids your age should be sleeping through the night.  You did that once.  Once.  Months ago.  So in case I haven’t already told you, mom and dad would really appreciate it if you’d go ahead and meet that milestone real soon.

I hope you know sweet thing, that I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.  I google directions everyday for you concerning all sorts of issues.  Should I let you cry it out at sleep time or should we co-sleep, should I teach you sign language so you can communicate, what sorts of foods should I fee you and the list goes on and on.  I don’t know if all the “experts” have a clue either.  What I do know is you are loved deeply,  and you matter.  I want you so much to be an independent, confident, well rounded little person, now and always.  I’m trying my best and we’ll just figure this out together, okay?

I love you, baby.

XOXO

Mama