parenting – Page 4 – Angel Wheeler

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

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!

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.

5 months

My sweet and precious Emma Kate,

Today you are 5 months old. I’ve known this day was coming, but it just doesn’t seem possible.

I look at you and I can’t believe it. That sweet tiny baby has morphed into a bundle of fun, with a big grin and a bit of a mischievous nature I believe. Your daddy keeps saying you’re turning into a little person. A little person full of personality and curiosity.

We enjoy every minute of you. Even the 3 a.m. ones. Even the “somebody better do something to fix my problem” crying ones. Even the “I think I’ll go to the bathroom since you already have my diaper off” ones.

Your good moments completely outweigh the tougher times. You play with your toys for a really long time. Sometimes you get frustrated when you can’t reach your favorite toy, but you don’t give up easily. You have a determined spirit about you, which I think is a good quality. Later, we’ll likely call it stubbornness, which you’ll come by honestly since both your daddy and I possess it as well.

I quit my job so I can be a stay at home mom with you. I don’t think we’ve been separated since the end of May. We spend our days playing, singing, reading, eating, sleeping, and having some outside time which is your favorite. Some days we go to town to visit or run errands, but not too much, because mama is a homebody.

You love feet, and it doesn’t really matter whose they are. You learned how to get your piggies into your mouth this month and boy how good they must taste! Really, it’s quite an accomplishment considering those fat rolls on your thighs. My goodness, you’re cute! You’re absolutely perfect. At your last check up (when you had to get those mean shots) you weighed in at 14 pounds 10 ounces, 24 3/4 inches long, and your head was 16 inches.

You’ve got some pretty big brains in there, I think. You’re smart Emma Kate. There are things you do, that others may think are a fluke or accidental, but mama doesn’t think so. I swear you know how to play peek a boo. You pull a burp cloth or a small blanket up over your face and wait for us to say “Where’s Emma?” and then you pull it down to see us. You do this again and again. You give mama kisses on the cheek with that wide open mouth and you go in for Eskimo kisses with your Grandy. You know that when you press down on that little green button the wipes will open up and you can try to eat them.

Bath time is a blast. You’ve outgrown those little baby baths so you are a big girl in the tub these days. And boy do you make a splash, literally. You kick those feet like mad and splash water until it hits you in the face and slows you down a bit.

Sleeping is getting better. This month, I’ve tried out a new method I read about on the internet called the E.A.S.Y method. You eat, then you have activity time, and then when I notice you are getting drowsy, I’ll hold you with your binky for just a little while till your eyes are heavy, then I put you in your bed and you go right to sleep. Usually. You like to put a little blanket over your head. I gave you a soft blanket to hold onto, and when I went back to check on you, you were sound asleep with it over your face. Now, that’s just what you do. Going to sleep works just fine, it’s just staying asleep that you don’t care for. But you’re getting better.

You were dedicated to the Lord on June 3rd at Briarwood Church and received your very first little pink Bible and a certificate. All the congregation reached out their hands to you as the pastor prayed God’s protection and guidance over your life. He also made me tell the story of how a man in the church told me you were coming years ago, but I thought he was crazy.

We had your pictures made this month with all your cousins on my side of the family. Your aunt Jolea and your cousins Hannah and Zoie came to visit. It was the first time H & Z had ever seen you, so we gathered up your cousins Harley and Maxx as well and went to daddy’s work to have pictures made. They’re going to make Grandy a nice birthday present in a few days.

We also had your pictures made by yourself.

The doctor said we can start you on some rice cereal if we want, and start trying some other foods. So mommy jumped the gun and gave you a taste of avocado instead! You liked that for a little bit, but not for long. I’ve also given you tastes of strawberry, cantaloupe, and asparagus! Mostly you shuddered and got this awful look on your face. So we’re still waiting on the whole eating thing.

I hope I’m capturing everything I can about your little life honey. You are our little joy. Your daddy and I want to do the best we can for you. There will be times that we fail miserably I know. We’re going to have bad times along with the good on this ride. I want you to have good memories of your childhood with us. I want you to always know you’re loved deeply by us, grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends, and mostly by Jesus. It’s incomprehensible that He loves you more than I do, but He does. My love for you pales in comparison.

I’m so happy to have you, baby of mine.

XOXO,

Mommy

Day 1: Reporting In

I consider today my first day on the job as an official SAHM.

I was tired by 9:30.

Last week was actually the first week of summer vacation, but my sister and her two rug rats drove down from New Mexico and spent the week with us. So, of course, the house didn’t get cleaned, boxes from my classroom didn’t get put away, and EK was not on a schedule (as if she’s ever been). J-Dub also had some family drive in for the weekend, so I can assure you EK was extremely neglected with all the company. But now the aunts and cousins have all returned to their normal routines, and the baby and I are trying to find our normal routine, if one even exists.

This is my favorite picture as of now.

Tomorrow I’m sure I’ll have another.

I love this picture because that is the image of the baby of my dreams. A calm, quite, studious daughter who can be found with her nose in a book.

My mom bought EK these 12 little Disney board books. We began reading and EK took the book and put it in a perfect hold. I had to take a quick snap with the camera, as it didn’t last long.

For the past 4 months, we’ve wondered what kind of a kid EK is going to be. What kind of an adult? What kind of a an overall human being. As much as I’d love to snuggle up in bed on Saturday and read books together, I’m beginning to get the feeling she isn’t going to want to be still for very long.

I know you have all said she has been alert since the day she was born, and it’s true. Even now, she won’t hardly sleep because she’s afraid she’s going to miss something. Nursing is beginning to present yet another challenge as she pops her head up and looks around at the slightest sound. Even snapping her picture while she naps awakens her.

She kicks her little legs fiercely and pedals a million miles a day on her imaginary bicycle.

She’s a little roly poly now too as she’s learned how to roll across the room. I lay her on her blanket, leave the room for 1 minute (I swear) and she’s across the room chewing on the vacuum cleaner cord.

I’ve spent my first day as a SAHM trying to clean the floors since she’s on the move. Because you see, I have this shedding problem. It’s my hair. It comes out in GOBS. It’s probably an undiagnosed medical condition of some sort, and it is totally gross when you pick up your baby and have to grab long brown hair out of her wet little fists and off her wet little chin. I know…..Grody, Gross, Gross.

On the bright side, I’m looking forward to the weight loss when I’m chasing her around the house.
A girl can dream anyway, can’t she?

On the go or sleeping, she’s a dollbaby. That’s all there is to it. Her personality is beginning to emerge and even if she isn’t that calm, quiet, studious child; she’s mine.

And I couldn’t be happier.

I feel like whining

T minus 10 hours before the clock tolls April 13th. The day I dread. The day I must return to work and leave my baby with a sitter. The diaper bag is packed with everything possibly needed from a change of clothes to a snot sucker. The bottles of pumped breast milk are made with me having not a clue if it’s too much or not enough.

I know she’ll be fine.
I know I’m not the only mother that has ever walked this path.
But it doesn’t make it any easier.
It’s only 7 weeks. That’s what I keep telling myself. 33 days till summer vacation.
But it doesn’t make it any easier.

I have relished the past eleven weeks. Basked in the time I’ve had to hold her and nurse her. Rock her and nap with her. Play with her and love her.

It’s only 7 weeks. 33 days.

But still this mama’s heart is sad.

Baby

There comes a time in a blogger’s life, when she must decide if something is too personal to share. It’s easy to share chicken stories and recipes, possum deaths, and classroom funnies, but not so easy to tell others when you’re falling apart. Not for me anyway. There is an occurrence in my life and something on my heart that I want to write down. I want to be able to reflect back on this season. And I must decide. Do I want everyone who happens upon this blog to know my struggles? But then again, there may even be the wild chance that it might help someone else. Or even there might be someone who can help me. Who knows.

I’m a very private person really, although it may be hard to believe. A lot of the things I write are simply stories and day-to-day happenings that really are just for entertainment purposes and possibly posterity., I keep myself tightly guarded for the most part, but sometimes I find myself wanting to share my emotions. Today is one of those times. This leap leaves me wide open. Open to criticism, open to judgement, open to pity. Today I’m deciding to share something very personal and something that I’ve only shared with my closest loved ones. But I’m sharing it for a few reasons.

1) Prayer: It allows people to pray for me, which is all I’ve got.

2) Humility: It’s very humbling to admit when I’m in the valley. I don’t want to sin by being proud, and it is something I struggle with.

3) Support: By sharing, I hope to hear stories that will comfot and rest my heart.

4) Friends: I know I have enemies, but I like to believe I have friends too. I know that people care about me and I am overwhelmed by the love of friends and even strangers who I only know through this computer screen.

My pregnancy was unplanned and the shock of my life. It also has been a piece of cake so far. At times, I’ve even felt guilty when I see and know of pregnant women who are struggling with sickness, puking their guts up, hooked to IV’s, dehydrated because they can’t keep anything down. I know that God has granted me good health during this time.

I enjoy being pregnant. After I passed through the initial shock and the acceptance stage, I have discovered that being pregnant is an awesome experience. When people ask me how I am feeling, I tell them I feel great, but what I really want to say, but don’t for fear of sounding hokey is, “I feel honored”. And I do. This is truly an honor to be chosen to carry a baby. To know that I am working with God to create a miracle, if for only a short time. To look at the night sky, at the vast expanse of stars, aware that the planet I live on is a tiny mass in a small galaxy in a huge universe. And I, an insignificant, minute speck, have been chosen to carry this one little being, this little combination of me and my dear husband, to nurture it, and sustain it. Sappy, sappy, sappy, I know. But it’s true.

I am beginning to get a little more excited each week. My belly is starting to noticeably grow, and I love to lay on my back and press on my abdomen and feel that hard little ball of cells and organs, and imagine it slowly and miraculously developing into this being with fingers and toes and a little button nose whom I already absolutely adore. I can’t wait to meet him. Or her.

Yesterday, however, I received a call from the doctor’s office and it rattled me to the core. At my last appointment, I had an optional blood test done called an AFPTetra. It screens for certain abnormalities like Spina Bifida, Down’s Syndrome, and Trisomy 18, and tests to see if I’m a carrier of cystic fibrosis. All the screens came back negative, except one. Down’s Syndrome. This does NOT mean our sweet baby has Down’s Syndrome. It is only an indication that it is at an increased risk. I’m sitting at the “advanced maternal age” of 36, and based on that, it appears I have a 1:198 possibility it could have Down Syndrome. Based on the test, however, I have a 1:75 chance. This test has been known to worry and fret a lot of women, all for naught. It’s only an indicator of risk, not a confirmation. The test is notorious for false positives and more often than not, the baby is just fine. But even knowing all that, I experienced my first tearful, worrisome night as a mother. I cried, I fretted, I imagined, I planned, I prayed and prayed and prayed.

Next Thursday I will visit a genetic specialist who will give me a consultation and an ultrasound. The way I understand it, they will look for certain “markers” of Down Syndrome during the ultrasound. It also can not confirm the baby has it, only an amniocentisis can do that.

It’s an extremely scary, uncertain time for us all. My loved ones are praying and reassuring me that everything will be fine, and I desperately want to believe that. My heart, my hope, and my faith is shaken right now. But one thing I know: God is good, all the time. All good things come from Him. I know that this precious baby is fearfully and wonderfully made, knit together, with all his days ordained. I know that God will never give us more than we can bear. I know that this baby may not have been planned by Jason and I, but it was planned by Him, and is loved immensely already, no matter.

We will hold tight to our faith and not allow the devil to cause fear and panic into our hearts.

The scriptures I’ve been focusing on are:

Proverbs 3:5—Trust in the Lord with all thine heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all thine ways, acknowledge Him, and He shall direct thy paths.

Isaiah 41:10—Do not fear for I am with you, do not be dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you. I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

2 Timothy 1:7 For you have not been given a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.

Psalm 121—I lift up my eyes to the mountains—
where does my help come from?
² My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
⁴ indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
⁶ the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.

⁷ The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
⁸ the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.

~Angel