Dear Abraham,
I don't even know what to say to you. You're 7 months old. How did that happen?
I don't have as much time to blog as I used to! You and I are constantly on the move; you so that you don't get bored and me so that I don't fall asleep. We go to the baby gym, swim lessons, lunches with friends, baby play dates, the list goes on and on! It seems that teething has been particularly hard on you and we try to keep you comfortable at night so you can sleep. It turns out that some of the ingredients in homeopathic teething remedies keep you AWAKE instead of calming you down. If only we'd figured that out sooner. You do your best and, to be honest, I think you're such a trooper.
You don't yet crawl. In fact, I don't know if you ever will. You don't really get it. You seem to just want to stand up and walk away. I'm wondering if you'll just get up one day and wander on into the office and start paying bills.
You love to swim and to float in the water. You still jump in your Jump Up everyday. Now you have a baby walker and last week you figured out how to walk in it. It's great practice for me, watching what you go for and get into. I've already begun moving pieces of furniture around so there's less for you to knock into like a drunken sailor.
I'm pretty sure you could eat a pizza at this point. You love to eat. You don't yet have a pincer grip, but you have NO interest in purees or eating from a spoon. You want to eat what I'm eating, and I usually let you. I help you get it in your mouth and you "chew" with your knobby little gums. You also hold your own bottle now (and scream like we've spent your college fund on frivolous dinners out and trips to Mexico when we take it away).
You. Love. Your. Dogs. Every time one of them walks into the room, you coo and laugh and reach out for them. You love to pull Bella's jowls and tug Charlie's ears. Sometimes you just sit and watch them play like it's a live show just for you.
I love the way you stare at people who try in vain to make you laugh or smile with dumb baby tricks. And I love the way you smile at people who treat you like the little person you are. I am in awe of your patience and your strength (you held YOURSELF on a trapeze in the baby gym without ANY help!!).
You are waking up from your nap now, so I'm going to run upstairs and snuggle you all up while I still can. I want to freeze you at 7 months so I can hold you forever. They say it only gets better, but I just can't imagine loving you any more. We'll see. I've been surprised a lot already.
I love you,
Mom
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Dateline
Every time I'm about to make a questionable decision regarding Abe, I run the Dateline test:
Is this something that could possibly earn me a starring role on an episode of Dateline during which viewers across the country would exclaim things like, "What an idiot!" and "Who does that?!"?
For example, the other day I momentarily contemplated giving Abe a bite of my spicy curry lunch dish. I ran the Dateline test. The outcome? Yes, in fact that could easily earn me a spot on a Dateline episode about a mother whose child lost his taste buds from a curry burn at the age of 6 months and would never taste again. I envisioned myself weeping and sobbing to Chris Hanson, "He was screaming for food! I didn't have anything else to give him! I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" Needless to say, Abe was hungry and angry, but he can still taste.
Until the other day when a long car trip and low blood sugar caused an inaccurate set of Dateline test results. After 4 hours in the car, Abraham was SO finished. He wanted to get up and stretch and get naked. So I brought him into our bedroom when he got home, took off all of his clothes and blew raspberries on his belly. We laughed and giggled for a few minutes until Abe made that unmistakable poop face. When it was clear he'd finished, I took off his diaper and cleaned him up. Seeing how happy he was to be completely naked, I decided to let him enjoy his birthday suit for a while. I tickled his feet and he grabbed some of his favorite body parts; and then my hunger overcame me. I decided to run to the kitchen to get a pear. I ran the Dateline test.
Would leaving my baby on the bed pass the Dateline test?
Sure it would. I'm only going to be about 15 seconds.
Dateline test FAIL.
Before I even began walking back to my bedroom, I heard a sound no mother ever wants to hear.
SPLAT.
It was the clearest "SPLAT" noise I've ever heard. I ran through the wall (I think) to the other side of the bed where Abe was on his belly, up on his hands, looking around like, "What the hell just happened?" I paused, he looked at me, and the following sequence of events came next:
1. Deep breath.
2. Horribly sad face.
3. Slight wimper.
4. ALL OUT SCREAM.
I grabbed him and kissed him and apologized profusely until he finished screaming a whopping 45 seconds later upon noticing the remote control on the bedside table. Ordinarily an object I try to keep away from him, I immediately grabbed it and handed it to him. All was right with the world again.
Abe left nothing to the imagination about his trip to the floor. His path was marked by the stream of pee he left like Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs off the side of the bed. He clearly scooted and then rolled onto Floor World as noted by the pee path. Before I put him to bed that night, I ran my hands all over his head and body to ensure I couldn't feel an welts or possible broken bones. I checked his eye contact and responsiveness one more time to ensure he didn't have one of those deadly concussions. Finally when I was satiated, I put him down to sleep. I put on jammies and washed my face before slipping into bed after an exhausting day. It was only then that I realized I'd forgotten to change the sheets. And the pee was on my side. I was laying in my son's pee. I was so tired and in desperate need of rest. I contemplated moving to another bed or perhaps the couch. But you know what I finally decided to do? Put on long pants so I couldn't feel the wet. Yep. That's what I did.
Dateline test?
There's a good chance I would have failed that one, but the ratings would be so high I'd likely get a book deal out of it so it seemed like an appropriate, if not lucrative, option.
Is this something that could possibly earn me a starring role on an episode of Dateline during which viewers across the country would exclaim things like, "What an idiot!" and "Who does that?!"?
For example, the other day I momentarily contemplated giving Abe a bite of my spicy curry lunch dish. I ran the Dateline test. The outcome? Yes, in fact that could easily earn me a spot on a Dateline episode about a mother whose child lost his taste buds from a curry burn at the age of 6 months and would never taste again. I envisioned myself weeping and sobbing to Chris Hanson, "He was screaming for food! I didn't have anything else to give him! I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO!" Needless to say, Abe was hungry and angry, but he can still taste.
Until the other day when a long car trip and low blood sugar caused an inaccurate set of Dateline test results. After 4 hours in the car, Abraham was SO finished. He wanted to get up and stretch and get naked. So I brought him into our bedroom when he got home, took off all of his clothes and blew raspberries on his belly. We laughed and giggled for a few minutes until Abe made that unmistakable poop face. When it was clear he'd finished, I took off his diaper and cleaned him up. Seeing how happy he was to be completely naked, I decided to let him enjoy his birthday suit for a while. I tickled his feet and he grabbed some of his favorite body parts; and then my hunger overcame me. I decided to run to the kitchen to get a pear. I ran the Dateline test.
Would leaving my baby on the bed pass the Dateline test?
Sure it would. I'm only going to be about 15 seconds.
Dateline test FAIL.
Before I even began walking back to my bedroom, I heard a sound no mother ever wants to hear.
SPLAT.
It was the clearest "SPLAT" noise I've ever heard. I ran through the wall (I think) to the other side of the bed where Abe was on his belly, up on his hands, looking around like, "What the hell just happened?" I paused, he looked at me, and the following sequence of events came next:
1. Deep breath.
2. Horribly sad face.
3. Slight wimper.
4. ALL OUT SCREAM.
I grabbed him and kissed him and apologized profusely until he finished screaming a whopping 45 seconds later upon noticing the remote control on the bedside table. Ordinarily an object I try to keep away from him, I immediately grabbed it and handed it to him. All was right with the world again.
Abe left nothing to the imagination about his trip to the floor. His path was marked by the stream of pee he left like Hansel and Gretel's bread crumbs off the side of the bed. He clearly scooted and then rolled onto Floor World as noted by the pee path. Before I put him to bed that night, I ran my hands all over his head and body to ensure I couldn't feel an welts or possible broken bones. I checked his eye contact and responsiveness one more time to ensure he didn't have one of those deadly concussions. Finally when I was satiated, I put him down to sleep. I put on jammies and washed my face before slipping into bed after an exhausting day. It was only then that I realized I'd forgotten to change the sheets. And the pee was on my side. I was laying in my son's pee. I was so tired and in desperate need of rest. I contemplated moving to another bed or perhaps the couch. But you know what I finally decided to do? Put on long pants so I couldn't feel the wet. Yep. That's what I did.
Dateline test?
There's a good chance I would have failed that one, but the ratings would be so high I'd likely get a book deal out of it so it seemed like an appropriate, if not lucrative, option.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Schedules
You'll hear two lines of thinking when it comes to parenting: parent-led and baby-led. Do you incorporate your child into YOUR life or do you incorporate your life into your CHILD'S? Whose schedule rules? And now that Abe is 6 months old, what would I even put into my schedule?? I just started leaving the house again a month ago and to be honest, human interaction is still a little foreign. The other day a woman asked me how old Abe was and I said, "Thank you."
Most people who aren't yet parents will tell you that your child should fold into your life. They should do what you do. The world isn't going to bend for them. I hear this all the time and I, myself, preached this line of thinking B.A. (Before Abe). These people have clearly never lived with a 6 month old. It's true, if I want to go to Target, we are GOING to Target. However, I can't guarantee we'll be able to stay more than 15 minutes before nap time starts calling and the mission is aborted.
I agree that you should teach your child to go with your flow. A child cannot be in charge, that's way too much pressure. As Abe's mom, it's my job to plan our days. However, as a parent, it is also my job to give my son what he needs. Abe needs 2 naps a day. For some kids it will make no difference, but for him it will ruin 2 or 3 days of happiness. And if he needs 2 naps a day, I don't get to go to the mall during one of those naps just because Old Navy is having a 50% off sale on winter coats. (This is why, I believe, God is a woman and she invented the Internet.) Earlier this week my husband tried to get me to take Abe on a whirlwind trip to NYC for 2 days. For a split second I thought about it, and then I envisioned lugging a breastpump onto an airplane, trying to get a carseat into a cab, sitting in a hotel room at 1pm waiting for Abe to wake up from a nap, and brushing my teeth at 8:30pm before bed while the rest of New York was just putting on lipstick. I quickly lost interest.
So what's a fashion conscious Broadway-loving girl to do? My conclusion at the end of the day is if it's truly important to you to keep it a part of your life, you will be willing to suffer the consequences of a skipped nap or an early bedtime. And you get to weigh whether or not it's worth it to you individually.
Yeah, if it's really important to you, your baby should follow your schedule. But I find that after having a kid, a lot of things that used to be important just aren't anymore. And that's why I don't mind bending my schedule around. I can usually get everything done everyday that I need to without interrupting a nap or pushing bedtime back too far. It's become like a multi-tasking game called Motherhood, similar to Jenga, except all the wooden pieces have been rolled in a sticky and/or crumbly unknown substance and 7 of the pieces are missing altogether. Oh, and if you lose the game, you don't get to sleep more then 2 hours for several days. Take your time. Play it right. I hear it's over pretty fast anyway.
Most people who aren't yet parents will tell you that your child should fold into your life. They should do what you do. The world isn't going to bend for them. I hear this all the time and I, myself, preached this line of thinking B.A. (Before Abe). These people have clearly never lived with a 6 month old. It's true, if I want to go to Target, we are GOING to Target. However, I can't guarantee we'll be able to stay more than 15 minutes before nap time starts calling and the mission is aborted.
I agree that you should teach your child to go with your flow. A child cannot be in charge, that's way too much pressure. As Abe's mom, it's my job to plan our days. However, as a parent, it is also my job to give my son what he needs. Abe needs 2 naps a day. For some kids it will make no difference, but for him it will ruin 2 or 3 days of happiness. And if he needs 2 naps a day, I don't get to go to the mall during one of those naps just because Old Navy is having a 50% off sale on winter coats. (This is why, I believe, God is a woman and she invented the Internet.) Earlier this week my husband tried to get me to take Abe on a whirlwind trip to NYC for 2 days. For a split second I thought about it, and then I envisioned lugging a breastpump onto an airplane, trying to get a carseat into a cab, sitting in a hotel room at 1pm waiting for Abe to wake up from a nap, and brushing my teeth at 8:30pm before bed while the rest of New York was just putting on lipstick. I quickly lost interest.
So what's a fashion conscious Broadway-loving girl to do? My conclusion at the end of the day is if it's truly important to you to keep it a part of your life, you will be willing to suffer the consequences of a skipped nap or an early bedtime. And you get to weigh whether or not it's worth it to you individually.
Yeah, if it's really important to you, your baby should follow your schedule. But I find that after having a kid, a lot of things that used to be important just aren't anymore. And that's why I don't mind bending my schedule around. I can usually get everything done everyday that I need to without interrupting a nap or pushing bedtime back too far. It's become like a multi-tasking game called Motherhood, similar to Jenga, except all the wooden pieces have been rolled in a sticky and/or crumbly unknown substance and 7 of the pieces are missing altogether. Oh, and if you lose the game, you don't get to sleep more then 2 hours for several days. Take your time. Play it right. I hear it's over pretty fast anyway.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Six Months
Dear Abe,
Today you are 6 months old. We've lived together for 1/2 a year. I've never been away from you for more than a few hours. There is no one else on the planet I could possibly be that close to for 6 months and still like so much.
This past month you learned how to sleep at night. You still wake up once to eat, but I love that time I spend with you in the middle of the night. It's quiet and sweet. And I literally praise God everytime I walk up the stairs to your room for helping you learn how to sleep through the night. Sleep is so severely underrated.
You can now roll over both ways and if I prop your knees up underneath you, you can hold yourself up in the crawl position and rock back and forth. Yesterday I sat you upright surrounded by pillows and gave you a bunch of toys. You entertained yourself for nearly 20 minutes. It was amazing considering a month ago you could barely sit up in my lap.
Everyday you re-discover your hands. You'll be playing or waving or batting at a toy and suddenly you say to yourself, "Oh! The hands are back!" You open and close your fingers, twirl your hands, and bite your fingers.
We've decided to introduce you to solid foods. You eat avocado now. Sometimes you eat it with your fingers, sometimes I put some on a spoon and give it to you. You eat the avocado and chew on the spoon and smile. It's crazy we're starting this phase of life already. I'm hoping you don't eat me out of house and home within a year because you are a big kid. You're already over 16 pounds. And while you'll cringe at this when you're older, I just have to mention that you grew from 7 to 16 pounds because of my BOOBS. That is so sci-fi.
You still love walks in the stroller and the Johnny Jump Up. You also love the car seat now. Never thought I'd see the day!! One day I had to take a friend to the airport during your nap time and instead of screaming the whole way, you quietly played with a toy until you fell asleep. I will probably never forget that day.
The other day, you laughed. Abraham, it was the most incredible sound I've ever heard. Your father was bouncing a toy on your chest and as clear as day, you giggled. We laughed and screamed. Your daddy exclaimed, "That's the best noise in the world!" I think all of our hysteria frightened you a little bit because you haven't laughed audibly since then. But that's ok. That one laugh will get me through the next month. It was that good.
This month we are starting swim classes. I'm also going to start going to a gym that has daycare. That's right. I'm leaving you with people I don't know while I run on a treadmill or take a yoga class. I'm pretty scared, but I know that you are going to be fine and that the folks running the daycare are going to LOVE you. Everyone does. We are also going on an airplane for the first time to see where I used to live and re-introduce you to your Aunt C and Uncle J. You'll also get to see your twin cousins and a bunch of other people who already really like you. I hope that you are a baby that likes to travel, because we have a lot of plans this summer!
Six months ago the month of "March" sounded like the year 2022. I am so happy that the first six months of your life are over (they were very hard but very worth it), and I can't wait to watch you change and grow through the next six. I love you more than words can say.
Love,
Mom
Today you are 6 months old. We've lived together for 1/2 a year. I've never been away from you for more than a few hours. There is no one else on the planet I could possibly be that close to for 6 months and still like so much.
This past month you learned how to sleep at night. You still wake up once to eat, but I love that time I spend with you in the middle of the night. It's quiet and sweet. And I literally praise God everytime I walk up the stairs to your room for helping you learn how to sleep through the night. Sleep is so severely underrated.
You can now roll over both ways and if I prop your knees up underneath you, you can hold yourself up in the crawl position and rock back and forth. Yesterday I sat you upright surrounded by pillows and gave you a bunch of toys. You entertained yourself for nearly 20 minutes. It was amazing considering a month ago you could barely sit up in my lap.
Everyday you re-discover your hands. You'll be playing or waving or batting at a toy and suddenly you say to yourself, "Oh! The hands are back!" You open and close your fingers, twirl your hands, and bite your fingers.
We've decided to introduce you to solid foods. You eat avocado now. Sometimes you eat it with your fingers, sometimes I put some on a spoon and give it to you. You eat the avocado and chew on the spoon and smile. It's crazy we're starting this phase of life already. I'm hoping you don't eat me out of house and home within a year because you are a big kid. You're already over 16 pounds. And while you'll cringe at this when you're older, I just have to mention that you grew from 7 to 16 pounds because of my BOOBS. That is so sci-fi.
You still love walks in the stroller and the Johnny Jump Up. You also love the car seat now. Never thought I'd see the day!! One day I had to take a friend to the airport during your nap time and instead of screaming the whole way, you quietly played with a toy until you fell asleep. I will probably never forget that day.
The other day, you laughed. Abraham, it was the most incredible sound I've ever heard. Your father was bouncing a toy on your chest and as clear as day, you giggled. We laughed and screamed. Your daddy exclaimed, "That's the best noise in the world!" I think all of our hysteria frightened you a little bit because you haven't laughed audibly since then. But that's ok. That one laugh will get me through the next month. It was that good.
This month we are starting swim classes. I'm also going to start going to a gym that has daycare. That's right. I'm leaving you with people I don't know while I run on a treadmill or take a yoga class. I'm pretty scared, but I know that you are going to be fine and that the folks running the daycare are going to LOVE you. Everyone does. We are also going on an airplane for the first time to see where I used to live and re-introduce you to your Aunt C and Uncle J. You'll also get to see your twin cousins and a bunch of other people who already really like you. I hope that you are a baby that likes to travel, because we have a lot of plans this summer!
Six months ago the month of "March" sounded like the year 2022. I am so happy that the first six months of your life are over (they were very hard but very worth it), and I can't wait to watch you change and grow through the next six. I love you more than words can say.
Love,
Mom
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Dance
Since my darling Abraham began sleeping 11 and 12 hours a night, I have been very, very busy. Mainly catching up on sleep. Though after a week of sleeping I decided it was time to have a little bit of a life again. And then I took a nap.
There is a local workout here called Dance Trance. This form of exercise is NOT your typical jazzercise or aerobics class. This place is for DANCERS. And seeing as how I danced for 10 years as a kid and young adult, I thought this would be the perfect way to get back into the real world of exercise and remember that part of my soul that loves to dance and express all those feelings that get bottled up in the first few months motherhood. Also, my husband bought me a month's worth of classes so I didn't really have a choice but to use them.
I showed up to my first class wearing tennis shoes. Amateur. Everyone else in the class had dance shoes on, as well as adorable workout outfits that ONLY women who haven't ever breastfed could wear. I was wearing two bras and some yoga pants with panty lines like a mountain range. I desperately wanted to put on a sandwich board that read, "I have a 5 month old at home, this is OK."
I took my place as close to the back of the class as possible between two women who were newbies as well. We enjoyed laughing at ourselves and bumping into each other as the new kids in town. We commisterated at the end of the class about how we should definitely try the beginners class next time. But then Jay, the class instructor, asked my name and told me I did a great job in my first class. Ha. Ego meet helium tank. I practically floated back to my car. Yeah that's right. I'm a dancer.
I got home that night and glowed all over my husband. I practiced a few of my dance moves in the shower and planned out my audition piece for So You Think You Could Dance because I am clearly next season's winner. I picked out a somewhat cuter outfit than my first Dance Trance class and went to bed dreaming of night 2.
I walked into my second class with my pass and my water and my "I know what to do, don't worry, I'm not new" face. I took my place in the second to the last row and started stretching. The music started and a female instructor shouted, "New faces? Any new faces tonight?" A few people raised their hands (not me obviously, this was NOT my first class), including a blonde girl next to me. We'll call her Flippy. Flippy looked to be about 19 years old and clearly didn't realize she should be in the BACK row being new, but I didn't say anything. The first song started and I did my best to keep up, feeling fairly confident about how quickly I was picking up the steps. As we began to rehearse the song, I couldn't help but notice Flippy. Flippy was picking up the steps, too. Faster. And adding her own flair. Like jazz hands. And hip thrusts. I began to resent Flippy. I began to compete with her. I started adding flair. And hip thrusts. By the end of the class, I was completely exhausted. Flippy was...well...flippy. She flounced off to the locker room while I caught my breath. It was the first time in my life I wanted to use the, "I'm almost 30" excuse. Thirty isn't old! But it's not 19.
When I got home, my husband was feeding our son a bottle and putting him to sleep. I was so filled with love and life listening to him whisper to Abe and care for him that I forgot about Flippy. Yeah, 30 is a little older than 19. I don't have the freedom or the flexibility or the body. Don't get me wrong, I still look great, but great in a, "I just had a kid" way. And I love that. I doubt that Flippy had a beautiful husband to go home to. And she probably looks in the mirror and thinks she's fat. Flippy is just another reminder that life is pretty flippin' perfect right now. And I'll see Flippy tonight when I dance her off the floor.
There is a local workout here called Dance Trance. This form of exercise is NOT your typical jazzercise or aerobics class. This place is for DANCERS. And seeing as how I danced for 10 years as a kid and young adult, I thought this would be the perfect way to get back into the real world of exercise and remember that part of my soul that loves to dance and express all those feelings that get bottled up in the first few months motherhood. Also, my husband bought me a month's worth of classes so I didn't really have a choice but to use them.
I showed up to my first class wearing tennis shoes. Amateur. Everyone else in the class had dance shoes on, as well as adorable workout outfits that ONLY women who haven't ever breastfed could wear. I was wearing two bras and some yoga pants with panty lines like a mountain range. I desperately wanted to put on a sandwich board that read, "I have a 5 month old at home, this is OK."
I took my place as close to the back of the class as possible between two women who were newbies as well. We enjoyed laughing at ourselves and bumping into each other as the new kids in town. We commisterated at the end of the class about how we should definitely try the beginners class next time. But then Jay, the class instructor, asked my name and told me I did a great job in my first class. Ha. Ego meet helium tank. I practically floated back to my car. Yeah that's right. I'm a dancer.
I got home that night and glowed all over my husband. I practiced a few of my dance moves in the shower and planned out my audition piece for So You Think You Could Dance because I am clearly next season's winner. I picked out a somewhat cuter outfit than my first Dance Trance class and went to bed dreaming of night 2.
I walked into my second class with my pass and my water and my "I know what to do, don't worry, I'm not new" face. I took my place in the second to the last row and started stretching. The music started and a female instructor shouted, "New faces? Any new faces tonight?" A few people raised their hands (not me obviously, this was NOT my first class), including a blonde girl next to me. We'll call her Flippy. Flippy looked to be about 19 years old and clearly didn't realize she should be in the BACK row being new, but I didn't say anything. The first song started and I did my best to keep up, feeling fairly confident about how quickly I was picking up the steps. As we began to rehearse the song, I couldn't help but notice Flippy. Flippy was picking up the steps, too. Faster. And adding her own flair. Like jazz hands. And hip thrusts. I began to resent Flippy. I began to compete with her. I started adding flair. And hip thrusts. By the end of the class, I was completely exhausted. Flippy was...well...flippy. She flounced off to the locker room while I caught my breath. It was the first time in my life I wanted to use the, "I'm almost 30" excuse. Thirty isn't old! But it's not 19.
When I got home, my husband was feeding our son a bottle and putting him to sleep. I was so filled with love and life listening to him whisper to Abe and care for him that I forgot about Flippy. Yeah, 30 is a little older than 19. I don't have the freedom or the flexibility or the body. Don't get me wrong, I still look great, but great in a, "I just had a kid" way. And I love that. I doubt that Flippy had a beautiful husband to go home to. And she probably looks in the mirror and thinks she's fat. Flippy is just another reminder that life is pretty flippin' perfect right now. And I'll see Flippy tonight when I dance her off the floor.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Pacify
I am not an addict. I don't have the personality. You tell me I can never drink again? I'd be sad, but I'd oblige. You tell me I can never exercise again? I would always be emabressed about the extra flab on my tummy, but I'd live. You tell me I can never eat spaghetti again? I might fight you a little bit on this one, but OK.
My son, on the other hand...my son is an addict.
At about 1 month old he began the uncontrollable crying. He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't play, wouldn't snuggle in my arms. The only thing he would do was eat. And I can promise you, there was only so long I could feed him before the boobs needed a break. So, I ignored every fiber of my being that stood staunchly against the use of the pacifier from the moment I learned of Abe's existence. I reached into the cabinet and opened a package we received at a shower. I sterilized 2 pacifiers and put one in his mouth. Viola. My kid stopped crying.
A few weeks later, I shouted, "INSTINCTS BE DAMNED," once again. At 2am, in a desperate attempt to sleep, I put the pacifier in his mouth again. He instantly began sucking, fell asleep, and slept for FOUR HOURS. FOUR. This was the longest stretch I'd had since he was born. I became a believer. And Abe was hooked.
Fast forward. Abe is now 5 months old. He can sleep 8-hour stretches. He only needs to eat once a night. So what am I doing at 10pm, 11pm, 1am, 3am, and 5am? PUTTING THE DAMN PACIFIER BACK IN HIS MOUTH. Abe screamed all night when it fell out of his mouth. I imagined him negotiating with me when I walked in: "I can't come down now, mom. It hurts too much. Please, the withdrawals. I'm only 5 months old. I can get clean when I'm 6 months." And being the co-dependent woman that I am, I ate that dirty spoon of addict lies. But no more.
We decided to try and help him find his hand. I'd put the pacifier in his mouth, let him start to suck, and then pull it out and quickly replace it with his hand. I did it again. And again. Unfortunately, after 4 or 5 times Abe's laughter made it clear that this was the best game ever invented, but it wasn't solving the problem.
Then we decided to help him learn to put the pacifier in his mouth himself. We practiced and practiced and sure enough, he figured it out within a few days. "HE DID IT!" I shouted from upstairs. The cruel irony was that as fun as putting the pacifier in his mouth was, taking it out was even better. Why didn't he just replace it again, you ask? Because he's 5 months old and didn't understand that it was HIM taking it out of his mouth, not me. He'd get angry and scream and I'd be forced to put it back in myself.
Finally, the time came. My husband took me aside and said, "Erin. You're enabling him."
My son, on the other hand...my son is an addict.
At about 1 month old he began the uncontrollable crying. He wouldn't sleep, wouldn't play, wouldn't snuggle in my arms. The only thing he would do was eat. And I can promise you, there was only so long I could feed him before the boobs needed a break. So, I ignored every fiber of my being that stood staunchly against the use of the pacifier from the moment I learned of Abe's existence. I reached into the cabinet and opened a package we received at a shower. I sterilized 2 pacifiers and put one in his mouth. Viola. My kid stopped crying.
A few weeks later, I shouted, "INSTINCTS BE DAMNED," once again. At 2am, in a desperate attempt to sleep, I put the pacifier in his mouth again. He instantly began sucking, fell asleep, and slept for FOUR HOURS. FOUR. This was the longest stretch I'd had since he was born. I became a believer. And Abe was hooked.
Fast forward. Abe is now 5 months old. He can sleep 8-hour stretches. He only needs to eat once a night. So what am I doing at 10pm, 11pm, 1am, 3am, and 5am? PUTTING THE DAMN PACIFIER BACK IN HIS MOUTH. Abe screamed all night when it fell out of his mouth. I imagined him negotiating with me when I walked in: "I can't come down now, mom. It hurts too much. Please, the withdrawals. I'm only 5 months old. I can get clean when I'm 6 months." And being the co-dependent woman that I am, I ate that dirty spoon of addict lies. But no more.
We decided to try and help him find his hand. I'd put the pacifier in his mouth, let him start to suck, and then pull it out and quickly replace it with his hand. I did it again. And again. Unfortunately, after 4 or 5 times Abe's laughter made it clear that this was the best game ever invented, but it wasn't solving the problem.
Then we decided to help him learn to put the pacifier in his mouth himself. We practiced and practiced and sure enough, he figured it out within a few days. "HE DID IT!" I shouted from upstairs. The cruel irony was that as fun as putting the pacifier in his mouth was, taking it out was even better. Why didn't he just replace it again, you ask? Because he's 5 months old and didn't understand that it was HIM taking it out of his mouth, not me. He'd get angry and scream and I'd be forced to put it back in myself.
Finally, the time came. My husband took me aside and said, "Erin. You're enabling him."
"But I'm his mother, David. I'll always be there for him."
"He has to learn to live without it."
"But what if it hurts him? What if he cries?"
"It's not Abe crying, Erin. It's Abe on the pacifier."
"He's too young to do this alone."
"He's 5 months old now. It's time for him to do this on his own."
"But I'd rather know he's here safe with the pacifier than somewhere out of the STREETS keeping me up ALL NIGHT LONG!"
It was time for an intervention.
We gathered around him and I started. "Abe, your pacifier use has negatively affected our lives in the following ways: We cannot sleep. We cannot put you in the car seat without doing yoga to get the pacifier back into your mouth while driving down the highway. We cannot go anywhere without panicking that we forgot the pacifier. And your father and I cannot get through an entire conversation without the word 'paci'."
Then his father continued, "We're here because we love you, son. We love you and we don't want to see you suffer like this anymore. It's time for our family to heal."
And then, we took it away. Cold turkey. And I'm not going to lie to you folks. It was rough. For 3 nights I went in and out of his room for hours calming him, encouraging him. It was awful. We agreed to try this for one week and by the end of night 3 I didn't think I could make it. Abe was tired. I was tired. My husband was tired. THE DOGS WERE TIRED. Maybe we were all destined to live with a pacifier addict forever.
And then came night 4.
Sweet, sweet night 4.
My child slept for 12 hours. Straight. Without crying. Without screaming. Just slept.
I slept about 4 hour of those 12 hours, waiting for him to wake up and scream. But he didn't. He just rocked his head gently back and forth and went to sleep. And our family began to breathe again.
I'm not saying he won't relapse. Relapse is a part of recovery, as any good 12-step program will tell you. But for him to see that he can do it without the drugs pacifier was a wonderfully positive step in the right direction.
If you or someone you know is addicted to the pacifier, I encourage you to reach out. Get help. Find a sponsor. It could be the different between sleep and no sleep for your family.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Traumatic
Leaving the grocery store the other night, David and I proudly answered questions all the way through the check-out line. "Ooo, how old is he?" "He is so cute, what's his name?" "Look at the baby, is he your first?" One woman, though, she knew what was up. She smiled knowingly at the bags under my eyes and said, "I know they all say it, but it's true. They do grow up fast. Is this your first?"
"Yes," I smiled.
"Kids are so much fun. Ours are grown now. But to be honest, that first year is pretty traumatic."
And there it was. Right out on the table. "Traumatic." And that about sums it up. It's not that a new baby is horrible, or creates resent and regret. And life isn't always sweet dreams and butterflies with a new addition, either. It's traumatic. It's a trauma to your life. Things you expected to happen don't and things you never banked on happening cash in wearing a ski mask and holding a black bag. Everything flourishes and everything suffers all at once. Like relationships, for example.
My husband and I like to walk the dogs with the baby at least once a week. It's our family outing. Living on no sleep and carrying little patience, my husband began telling me a story. I tried to listen. I really tried to care. But it was such a dumb story. And you know how he ended it? "I mean, that guy couldn't find his way out of a...paper bag."
Now, on a good day I'd just let this slide and move on. But I couldn't. I had to rain on his parade; this is likely because my parade was not only rained out, it wasn't even rescheduled.
"You mean out of a wet paper bag."
"No, just a paper bag. He can't even find his way out of that."
Ok, granted, he was exhausted too and probably didn't even realize how ridiculous his defending that statement really was. But his tone was just snotty enough to make me shoot back.
"That makes no sense. It's wet paper bag because a wet paper bag just falls apart. Someone who can't find their way out of a wet paper bag is an idiot because all they have to do and push on one side of it and it will fall apart."
"Oh. Well, whatever. This guy was a real idiot."
It's moments like this that make me realize how precious sleep truly is. And moments like this:
My husband wanders into a room and asks, "Where is the..."
I wait.
"Where's the, um..."
"The what, David?"
"The..." He opens a drawer and pulls out all the neatly folded towels. "I thought I kept it in this..." He shoves them all back in the drawer.
"What, David?"
He opens another drawer and pulls out all of tea and shoves it back in all willy-nilly as if I didn't spend 10 minutes of nap time one day organizing it. "No, not in there..."
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you're looking for."
"I know, I know. But I always, did you move it?"
"DID I MOVE WHAT?"
"Did you move the, um..."
" DID I MOVE WHAT DAVID? DID I MOVE WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR???"
"THE INCENSE, ERIN. WHERE IS THE INCENSE?"
"I DON'T HAVE ANY FREAKING CLUE WHERE THE INCENSE IS, DAVID."
"Well, I thought I put it in the..." and he wanders away.
Traumatic.
"Yes," I smiled.
"Kids are so much fun. Ours are grown now. But to be honest, that first year is pretty traumatic."
And there it was. Right out on the table. "Traumatic." And that about sums it up. It's not that a new baby is horrible, or creates resent and regret. And life isn't always sweet dreams and butterflies with a new addition, either. It's traumatic. It's a trauma to your life. Things you expected to happen don't and things you never banked on happening cash in wearing a ski mask and holding a black bag. Everything flourishes and everything suffers all at once. Like relationships, for example.
My husband and I like to walk the dogs with the baby at least once a week. It's our family outing. Living on no sleep and carrying little patience, my husband began telling me a story. I tried to listen. I really tried to care. But it was such a dumb story. And you know how he ended it? "I mean, that guy couldn't find his way out of a...paper bag."
Now, on a good day I'd just let this slide and move on. But I couldn't. I had to rain on his parade; this is likely because my parade was not only rained out, it wasn't even rescheduled.
"You mean out of a wet paper bag."
"No, just a paper bag. He can't even find his way out of that."
Ok, granted, he was exhausted too and probably didn't even realize how ridiculous his defending that statement really was. But his tone was just snotty enough to make me shoot back.
"That makes no sense. It's wet paper bag because a wet paper bag just falls apart. Someone who can't find their way out of a wet paper bag is an idiot because all they have to do and push on one side of it and it will fall apart."
"Oh. Well, whatever. This guy was a real idiot."
It's moments like this that make me realize how precious sleep truly is. And moments like this:
My husband wanders into a room and asks, "Where is the..."
I wait.
"Where's the, um..."
"The what, David?"
"The..." He opens a drawer and pulls out all the neatly folded towels. "I thought I kept it in this..." He shoves them all back in the drawer.
"What, David?"
He opens another drawer and pulls out all of tea and shoves it back in all willy-nilly as if I didn't spend 10 minutes of nap time one day organizing it. "No, not in there..."
"I can't help you if you don't tell me what you're looking for."
"I know, I know. But I always, did you move it?"
"DID I MOVE WHAT?"
"Did you move the, um..."
" DID I MOVE WHAT DAVID? DID I MOVE WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR???"
"THE INCENSE, ERIN. WHERE IS THE INCENSE?"
"I DON'T HAVE ANY FREAKING CLUE WHERE THE INCENSE IS, DAVID."
"Well, I thought I put it in the..." and he wanders away.
Traumatic.
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