Every year at Thanksgiving time, I like to take a few minutes to reflect on the things for which I am most thankful. I think most of us do something like that — after all, that’s sort of the point of this holiday isn’t it? Giving thanks for what we have — what we value — whatever that might be.
Most years, when I search my heart for what makes me most grateful, I come up with consistent answers: Family, love, health, comfort. These make life enjoyable, and while they are not unappreciated from day to day, I feel even more fortunate when I take the time to think about them and really consider their immeasurable value.
Reflecting on all of this brought me to a realization about something else for which I am thankful: Time.
People who work toward (or against, it often seems) deadlines know the value of time. And deadlines are everywhere — at work, at home … even our very lives are marked by them. The clock is an invincible foe, whether you’re a college student finishing a research paper or a military spouse dreading a loved one’s deployment.
Becoming a mother has made me acutely aware of the passage of time. Few things highlight its relentlessness more than seeing how quickly a little person goes from being a bump in your belly to a chatty little toddler, running from one end of the house to the other.
When I get home from work each weekday (some days later than others), that’s when the value of my time skyrockets. Those few hours between quitting time and bedtime are what I’m most thankful for. There are only so many hours of baby time that each child has — it’s painful to spend any of them apart. Necessary, but painful.
This Thanksgiving, I will make it a point to savor more than just the turkey and pie. I’ll be savoring the time with my family. Maybe my keener awareness — or my sheer force of will — can succeed in slowing that time down a little by making the most of it.
Happy Thanksgiving, and enjoy your time this holiday. It is as valuable as you make it.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Child Crisis Center deserves our support
This is a reprint of my column in this week's My Las Cruces. Please share this information with the parents that you know with young children.
Sometimes, otherwise loving parents reach the end of their ability to cope with parenting, and the result can be disastrous.
When you are struggling to make ends meet, or stressed out — about work or lack of work, about an abusive relationship or the lack of a relationship — it can be very hard to have the patience to soothe and comfort a screaming baby. Parents, especially those who live in poverty or come from a history of abuse, don't always have the resources and support they need to weather these crisis situations without lashing out at their helpless child.
That's where the Child Crisis Center of Southern New Mexico comes in.
With no charge, with no proof of income requirement, with no presumption that a crime has been committed, with no inquiry about your immigration status, the volunteers at this facility will intervene.
All you have to do is ask.
Not only will they accept and care for your child for a period of hours or days, providing food, clothing, diapers and love, they will even come to you.
If you can gently put down your child in his crib, and let him cry there while you call for help, volunteers will come and pick him up, or help you calm down.
Whatever the crisis, whether it's homelessness, illness, a job situation or an emergency, help and support is there, even for those with nowhere else to turn.
Why am I telling you all this?
Because with the opening of Tutti Bambini Boutique, we have the opportunity to support this worthy effort. By purchasing the gently-used baby items there — or donating your own unneeded items, in good condition — you can contribute to a team and facility that helps save families from a terrible fate. Child abuse is a devastating but preventable ill of society, and the people striving to prevent it deserve our support and praise.
Please join me in sharing information about the crisis center and the other resources for parents, like the ParenTalk warmline, KidTalk and the Family Pride Crisis Nursery. Mention them to the parents of young children that you know — bring it up casually, long before they might need it. These resources could make a world of difference for a family you love.
Help is available
Report abuse or neglect to the Children, Youth and Families Department at (800) 797-3260
Need someone to listen? Call La Piñon free, local ParenTalk "warmline" for parents and caregivers at (575) 636-3133 or KidTalk (575) 636-3636
In crisis? Call the Child Crisis Center of Southern New Mexico at (575) 636-3133 or the Family Pride Crisis Nursery at (575) 932-8946 to temporarily place your child at no cost.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Please. Just. Stop.
Right now, a certain 2-year-old is not sleepy. She does not care that it's midnight, and she wants out of her room. (That is currently prevented by a baby gate, for her own safety.) For the past couple of hours since I put her to bed, she has done a mix of lying down and wiggling (she puts herself to sleep with what we affectionately refer to as her "booty dance"), playing with her toys, singing to herself, and asking her sister if she's ok (she is — in fact, she's asleep).
But Maya knows that I am still up, and the night has turned into a battle of wills. Her strategy is to call for me in various irritating and whiny tones, over and over, louder and louder. Of course, anytime I bite and tell her it's time to go to sleep, she only gets louder. I could give in and go get her and let her watch Bubble Guppies while she does the booty dance in here with me, but I don't want to reward her strategy with the outcome she's seeking. The behaviors we acknowledge will continue, and the behaviors we ignore will go away, right?
RIGHT?
Ok, moms and dads, help me out here. What do you do when your kid doesn't want to sleep and implements the car-alarm approach so you can't sleep either? Do I ignore it? Do I shut her door to let her know it's not working? Do I go in and read a book or sing a song, but make her stay in the room? Do I let her come out for a little while, till she's more tired?
What works?
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Again! Again!
Ah, repetition.
It is the joy of a toddler's existence, and the test of a parent's patience.
I can tell that Maya takes a lot of pride in her ability to communicate effectively (most of the time) with words. She's pretty patient with us, even when she has to repeat "hambuss" over and over, while her dad and I slowly come to the understanding that she wants to play in her sandbox.
When she does get her point across, she often says "Yay!" and claps her hands, as if to say "Good job, you dumb parents! You figured it out."
Maya always wants confirmation when she identifies things, and she won't stop until she gets it. She'll bring her Weeble over and hold it up, declaring "Itsa egg. Itsa egg. Itsa eggitsaeggistaeggITSAEGG!" until one of us says "Yes! It's an egg." Then she smiles and tells us something else about the egg: that it's blue, for example. This, she can confirm for herself, for some reason: "It's bwue. Wight, it's bwue."
Since we've always quizzed her about the things she sees, asking about their color, their shape, the sound they make, now she's started quizzing us. "What tuhwuhZIS?" she asks me, holding up her crayon. I tell her it's blue. It's not that she doesn't know; she's just making sure I know.
She loves to say and do things over and over and over, just because she can. It's awesome to see her sense of personal accomplishment when she makes a request and we understand and comply. That's why Dad spends half the afternoon spinning the Weebles on the table ("Spinnit awownd?") and I spend half the evening drawing pictures ("Wet's dwah...puppies! Yay, puppies!").
She's got us well-trained.
It is the joy of a toddler's existence, and the test of a parent's patience.
I can tell that Maya takes a lot of pride in her ability to communicate effectively (most of the time) with words. She's pretty patient with us, even when she has to repeat "hambuss" over and over, while her dad and I slowly come to the understanding that she wants to play in her sandbox.
When she does get her point across, she often says "Yay!" and claps her hands, as if to say "Good job, you dumb parents! You figured it out."
Maya always wants confirmation when she identifies things, and she won't stop until she gets it. She'll bring her Weeble over and hold it up, declaring "Itsa egg. Itsa egg. Itsa eggitsaeggistaeggITSAEGG!" until one of us says "Yes! It's an egg." Then she smiles and tells us something else about the egg: that it's blue, for example. This, she can confirm for herself, for some reason: "It's bwue. Wight, it's bwue."
Since we've always quizzed her about the things she sees, asking about their color, their shape, the sound they make, now she's started quizzing us. "What tuhwuhZIS?" she asks me, holding up her crayon. I tell her it's blue. It's not that she doesn't know; she's just making sure I know.
She loves to say and do things over and over and over, just because she can. It's awesome to see her sense of personal accomplishment when she makes a request and we understand and comply. That's why Dad spends half the afternoon spinning the Weebles on the table ("Spinnit awownd?") and I spend half the evening drawing pictures ("Wet's dwah...puppies! Yay, puppies!").
She's got us well-trained.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
The perils of 'me time'
Becoming a parent can be an isolating experience.
Sure, it's magical and wonderful and fulfilling, and I am happier about having become a mom than I could ever have imagined being.
But it also puts me in a different demographic from many of my longtime friends. They are, for the most part, child-free, and can call one another up and say "Let's go to a movie/bar/concert/barbecue/lake! I'll pick you up in 20 minutes!"
Really, that is not even a void in my life. I do miss being spontaneous, but there's something else that makes me feel sort of whiny about the situation.
My husband is a bartender, which works out extremely well for us in terms of child care. He is the girls' primary caregiver during the day, and our work schedules seldom overlap, so we have the luxury of peace of mind and no child care expenses. For Maya and Kayla, it's ideal. For Brian and me, not so much. We don't have a mutual day off from work (we did, briefly, have Sundays, but no more), so there is never an evening when neither of us has just gotten off work and neither of us has to be at work in the morning. We make the best of it, though, and spend our weekday evenings together at home or on the occasional Tuesday date night.
But on Friday and Saturday nights — like tonight, for example — it's just me and the girls. Brian will be gone until the wee hours of the morning, slinging drinks for unruly college students, and I will be here, staying quiet, so I don't wake the babies. I'll read, or watch a movie, or I'll spend some time on Facebook. These are the nights when everyone else is out having fun, though, so there's not much interaction to be had online.
Even if I had no kids to watch over, it's not much fun to go out on a Friday night without your significant other, if you have one. With my coupled-up friends, I'm a third wheel. With my single friends, I'm a poor excuse for a wingman.
One day, Brian will have weekends free, too. By then, we probably won't be the party animals we once were, but that's ok.
Until then, I guess I will crack open a beer and try to make the most of the "me time" that a lot of other moms would probably envy.
Sure, it's magical and wonderful and fulfilling, and I am happier about having become a mom than I could ever have imagined being.
But it also puts me in a different demographic from many of my longtime friends. They are, for the most part, child-free, and can call one another up and say "Let's go to a movie/bar/concert/barbecue/lake! I'll pick you up in 20 minutes!"
Really, that is not even a void in my life. I do miss being spontaneous, but there's something else that makes me feel sort of whiny about the situation.
My husband is a bartender, which works out extremely well for us in terms of child care. He is the girls' primary caregiver during the day, and our work schedules seldom overlap, so we have the luxury of peace of mind and no child care expenses. For Maya and Kayla, it's ideal. For Brian and me, not so much. We don't have a mutual day off from work (we did, briefly, have Sundays, but no more), so there is never an evening when neither of us has just gotten off work and neither of us has to be at work in the morning. We make the best of it, though, and spend our weekday evenings together at home or on the occasional Tuesday date night.
But on Friday and Saturday nights — like tonight, for example — it's just me and the girls. Brian will be gone until the wee hours of the morning, slinging drinks for unruly college students, and I will be here, staying quiet, so I don't wake the babies. I'll read, or watch a movie, or I'll spend some time on Facebook. These are the nights when everyone else is out having fun, though, so there's not much interaction to be had online.
Even if I had no kids to watch over, it's not much fun to go out on a Friday night without your significant other, if you have one. With my coupled-up friends, I'm a third wheel. With my single friends, I'm a poor excuse for a wingman.
One day, Brian will have weekends free, too. By then, we probably won't be the party animals we once were, but that's ok.
Until then, I guess I will crack open a beer and try to make the most of the "me time" that a lot of other moms would probably envy.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Long time, no blog
Wow. It has been almost a month since my last blog entry. Oops. Let's see how quickly I can get you caught up on the highlights at the Bradford household.
There's plenty I left out, but I promise not to go another month without a post! By the way, I've added an option to follow my blog by email, so look for it at right, if you want to sign up!
- Maya turned 2. What? I know. I'm pretty sure she was only born just the other day, but no. It was two whole years ago. Time is relentless. She is changing and learning new things every day. For her birthday, we went to Grandma's house, swam in the pool and swung on the swings. I made cupcakes — red velvet with cream cheese frosting.
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- Grandpa came for a visit from Santa Fe, and Grandma came down a couple of weeks later. There was more swinging:
- Kayla's luxurious hair has started falling out. She's in what we call a transitional hairstyle. Here is the before, from Grandpa's visit (about 4-1/2 months):
- And here's the after, from tonight (less than a month later):
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| Oh, well. It'll grow back, right? |
- We introduced Kayla to the bouncer. She's just about an inch too short to really bounce, but she's having fun with little toys:
Friday, August 5, 2011
This just in
A good journalist is never really off duty. When stuff happens, like Undesirable No. 1 being taken out by Seal Team 6 on a Sunday night, or the U.S. credit rating being downgraded for the first time in history on a Friday evening, we get all excited, and it suddenly doesn't really matter that we're in our PJs on the couch — we are on it.
As soon as I saw the breaking news about the downgrade tonight, I was on the phone, making sure city desk had seen it, getting our partners on copy desk to update our website, and sending it out myself, from home, to our social media sites.
So, when the kitchen timer went off, alerting me that Maya's fish sticks and tater tots were ready, I missed it completely. I tell you what — fish sticks go from crispy to charcoal pretty quickly.
I try not to let work stuff trump mom stuff very often, but sometimes, to make a headline, you've got to burn a few fish sticks.
As soon as I saw the breaking news about the downgrade tonight, I was on the phone, making sure city desk had seen it, getting our partners on copy desk to update our website, and sending it out myself, from home, to our social media sites.
So, when the kitchen timer went off, alerting me that Maya's fish sticks and tater tots were ready, I missed it completely. I tell you what — fish sticks go from crispy to charcoal pretty quickly.
I try not to let work stuff trump mom stuff very often, but sometimes, to make a headline, you've got to burn a few fish sticks.
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Battle of the Boob
Today, I introduced Kayla to formula. I didn't want to do it until she was 6 months old, but she was just hungry and I wasn't keeping up my end of the bargain.
She has always gotten less milk than Maya did. I used to get 5 or 6 ounces when I pumped for Maya, but I'm lucky to get 4 ounces at a time now, and it's often more like 2 1/2 to 3. Last night, since she had been asleep for a few hours and I was still up, I pumped during the night and put about 3 1/2 ounces in the freezer, planning to pump some more today. But when I pumped midday today, I got about an ounce. And right after that, she woke up.
So there I was, with a few ounces of frozen milk, totally tapped out and with a hungry Kayla. I decided that fighting the good fight wasn't really that good, if it was leaving her unsatisfied. I think stress has been cutting into what was already a questionable level of production, and right at a time when she's needing more and more.
She accepted the 60% breastmilk/40% formula mix I gave her very enthusiastically, so I think she will transition quite well to having a mix, or even straight formula sometimes.
I'm a little disappointed, and it's hard not to blame myself — I didn't drink enough water, I didn't make time to pump often enough so we had a good stockpile, I work too much and let my self get stressed out, etc. Interestingly, one of the things I was working long hours on this past week was the August issue of Healthy U, which features a story on none other than breastfeeding. The first week of August is World Breastfeeding Week, in fact, and I wrote my editor's column all about the challenges of breastfeeding, and how important it is for a nursing mom to have support.
I have had plenty of support, and I'm not quitting or giving up. I'll continue to nurse Kayla when I'm home (I come home at lunchtime to feed her, in addition to her morning feeding and all her many evening ones.) And I'll continue to pump at work, and keep as much of her diet straight breastmilk as I can. But it's actually kind of a relief to introduce the formula, because I think part of my stress has been worrying about whether she's getting enough to eat. When that's no longer on my mind, maybe my reduced stress will help my production improve.
I think it's important for breastfeeding advocates to push for better understanding in the community and encourage moms to breastfeed for as long as they are able, but I also think there's a little bit of backlash for the moms who, for any number of reasons, are unable to follow through with their breastfeeding plans. For some, formula is necessary from the beginning; for others, like me, it's a supplement that's added sooner than expected. For all the benefits of breastfeeding that are touted, like better immunity and higher IQ, there is the unspoken but implied flip-side: If I'm not able to breastfeed exclusively, will my child be less healthy? Less smart?
Of course not. But it's enough to lead an otherwise rational woman (I'm speaking of myself here) to let her baby's hunger not always be completely satisfied in order to avoid adding formula and possibly affecting her milk supply in a negative way. When I say that now, it seems ridiculous, but it's a reality many women face.
Well, now the pressure's off. It's liberating, in a way. Now I don't have to worry about whether Kayla is getting enough nourishment every day. I don't have to worry about having enough stored milk to leave her with a sitter (see my first blog post about taking her to the movies for more on that subject). And I don't have to stress out if lunch rolls around and I haven't pumped yet.
I should have done this weeks ago — for her benefit and mine.
She has always gotten less milk than Maya did. I used to get 5 or 6 ounces when I pumped for Maya, but I'm lucky to get 4 ounces at a time now, and it's often more like 2 1/2 to 3. Last night, since she had been asleep for a few hours and I was still up, I pumped during the night and put about 3 1/2 ounces in the freezer, planning to pump some more today. But when I pumped midday today, I got about an ounce. And right after that, she woke up.
So there I was, with a few ounces of frozen milk, totally tapped out and with a hungry Kayla. I decided that fighting the good fight wasn't really that good, if it was leaving her unsatisfied. I think stress has been cutting into what was already a questionable level of production, and right at a time when she's needing more and more.
She accepted the 60% breastmilk/40% formula mix I gave her very enthusiastically, so I think she will transition quite well to having a mix, or even straight formula sometimes.
I'm a little disappointed, and it's hard not to blame myself — I didn't drink enough water, I didn't make time to pump often enough so we had a good stockpile, I work too much and let my self get stressed out, etc. Interestingly, one of the things I was working long hours on this past week was the August issue of Healthy U, which features a story on none other than breastfeeding. The first week of August is World Breastfeeding Week, in fact, and I wrote my editor's column all about the challenges of breastfeeding, and how important it is for a nursing mom to have support.
I have had plenty of support, and I'm not quitting or giving up. I'll continue to nurse Kayla when I'm home (I come home at lunchtime to feed her, in addition to her morning feeding and all her many evening ones.) And I'll continue to pump at work, and keep as much of her diet straight breastmilk as I can. But it's actually kind of a relief to introduce the formula, because I think part of my stress has been worrying about whether she's getting enough to eat. When that's no longer on my mind, maybe my reduced stress will help my production improve.
I think it's important for breastfeeding advocates to push for better understanding in the community and encourage moms to breastfeed for as long as they are able, but I also think there's a little bit of backlash for the moms who, for any number of reasons, are unable to follow through with their breastfeeding plans. For some, formula is necessary from the beginning; for others, like me, it's a supplement that's added sooner than expected. For all the benefits of breastfeeding that are touted, like better immunity and higher IQ, there is the unspoken but implied flip-side: If I'm not able to breastfeed exclusively, will my child be less healthy? Less smart?
Of course not. But it's enough to lead an otherwise rational woman (I'm speaking of myself here) to let her baby's hunger not always be completely satisfied in order to avoid adding formula and possibly affecting her milk supply in a negative way. When I say that now, it seems ridiculous, but it's a reality many women face.
Well, now the pressure's off. It's liberating, in a way. Now I don't have to worry about whether Kayla is getting enough nourishment every day. I don't have to worry about having enough stored milk to leave her with a sitter (see my first blog post about taking her to the movies for more on that subject). And I don't have to stress out if lunch rolls around and I haven't pumped yet.
I should have done this weeks ago — for her benefit and mine.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
My Electric Youth
Tonight, I am thinking ahead to when Maya and Kayla are older, and they reach the age when their dad and I will no longer be the most important people in their lives. It's so early on when their peers will have the only opinions that really matter. No matter what I say, it will not heal Maya's wounds when her best friend stops calling because she doesn't fit in with her new clique, or make Kayla feel any better when the boy she likes asks another girl to the dance.
I'm not sure why I'm planning for them to be socially awkward. I guess it's because I was. This train of thought came from a funny place: I downloaded some music from my childhood, and I am now sitting here, listening to Debbie Gibson and being transported to a time when nothing — nothing — was more important than being cool. And I was not cool.
I always had friends, and they were good friends. We had great fun together and supported each other, and now I can see how much more value that had — quality vs. quantity. My friends were quality; it wasn't that I wanted other friends. I just wanted myself — and them — to be part of the romanticized "cool kids." I know. I sound like an '80s movie. And I realize now that pretty much everyone feels like they were in an '80s movie.
Looking back, I can see exactly what I did wrong. I never put myself out there and got involved in things. I wasn't a member of the cheer squad, not because those girls didn't like me, but because I never tried out. I didn't do sports. I didn't join clubs. I have never, ever, played on a team for anything. It just never occurred to me that I could do any of those things. (I'll go ahead and defend myself here with a little disclaimer: I didn't like P.E. because running triggered my asthma, and I assumed any sort of sport would be just like P.E.) So I didn't have the sort of built-in friendships and social practice that comes from being part of a team.
I wasn't very outgoing with kids my age, either. I would talk the ear off an adult, no problem, but I was painfully shy with my peers. I was precocious, and I didn't really fit in well with the kids my age, who were a grade behind, or the older kids that I was in classes with.
I had my music, of course, but even in a choir or the cast of a show, singing is sort of individual activity for me. (Whether that's a bad thing is a topic for a whole other discussion.)
In short, being a kid sucks for everyone, but it definitely felt like it sucked more for me than it did for most. And that was really, really important at the time.
Now? Totally irrelevant. That social currency those popular kids had deflated to almost nothing pretty much instantly after graduation. Why? Because it was in my imagination. Those popular girls are my friends now. They never weren't. They weren't excluding me through any malice — they were just close with who they were close with. And the very strangest thing about all of that was realizing that I unintentionally excluded people, too. There were people who wanted to be my friend, who didn't think I liked them. What? That's crazy.
I hope that I can use my experience to help make Maya and Kayla's youth a little less torturous. Doesn't every parent hope that? Truthfully, I think that will happen anyway. After all, I think they are the most beautiful and wonderful girls in the world, so surely everyone else will have the same opinion, right? Just in case, though, I want to get them involved — and not just in individual activities like dance or music or tennis or bowling, but team activities like soccer.
Of course, no matter how popular and well-ajdusted they are, being a kid will still suck. And somehow, hearing that their social standing in middle school won't matter once they're adults probably won't give them much comfort. Besides, I'm sure they'll discount any advice I try to offer as out-of-touch.
"Mom, you just don't understand!"
Actually, honey, I understand better than you think.
I'm not sure why I'm planning for them to be socially awkward. I guess it's because I was. This train of thought came from a funny place: I downloaded some music from my childhood, and I am now sitting here, listening to Debbie Gibson and being transported to a time when nothing — nothing — was more important than being cool. And I was not cool.
I always had friends, and they were good friends. We had great fun together and supported each other, and now I can see how much more value that had — quality vs. quantity. My friends were quality; it wasn't that I wanted other friends. I just wanted myself — and them — to be part of the romanticized "cool kids." I know. I sound like an '80s movie. And I realize now that pretty much everyone feels like they were in an '80s movie.
Looking back, I can see exactly what I did wrong. I never put myself out there and got involved in things. I wasn't a member of the cheer squad, not because those girls didn't like me, but because I never tried out. I didn't do sports. I didn't join clubs. I have never, ever, played on a team for anything. It just never occurred to me that I could do any of those things. (I'll go ahead and defend myself here with a little disclaimer: I didn't like P.E. because running triggered my asthma, and I assumed any sort of sport would be just like P.E.) So I didn't have the sort of built-in friendships and social practice that comes from being part of a team.
I wasn't very outgoing with kids my age, either. I would talk the ear off an adult, no problem, but I was painfully shy with my peers. I was precocious, and I didn't really fit in well with the kids my age, who were a grade behind, or the older kids that I was in classes with.
I had my music, of course, but even in a choir or the cast of a show, singing is sort of individual activity for me. (Whether that's a bad thing is a topic for a whole other discussion.)
In short, being a kid sucks for everyone, but it definitely felt like it sucked more for me than it did for most. And that was really, really important at the time.
Now? Totally irrelevant. That social currency those popular kids had deflated to almost nothing pretty much instantly after graduation. Why? Because it was in my imagination. Those popular girls are my friends now. They never weren't. They weren't excluding me through any malice — they were just close with who they were close with. And the very strangest thing about all of that was realizing that I unintentionally excluded people, too. There were people who wanted to be my friend, who didn't think I liked them. What? That's crazy.
I hope that I can use my experience to help make Maya and Kayla's youth a little less torturous. Doesn't every parent hope that? Truthfully, I think that will happen anyway. After all, I think they are the most beautiful and wonderful girls in the world, so surely everyone else will have the same opinion, right? Just in case, though, I want to get them involved — and not just in individual activities like dance or music or tennis or bowling, but team activities like soccer.
Of course, no matter how popular and well-ajdusted they are, being a kid will still suck. And somehow, hearing that their social standing in middle school won't matter once they're adults probably won't give them much comfort. Besides, I'm sure they'll discount any advice I try to offer as out-of-touch.
"Mom, you just don't understand!"
Actually, honey, I understand better than you think.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Sleep — it's a good thing
Parents of young babies are probably the most sleep-deprived people on earth. You see them at work, nodding off in their coffee, their bloodshot eyes drooping closed during meetings. They have a harried look about them, with their hastily selected, sometimes mismatched clothing and impaired ability to follow a conversation. They pace the floors at night or fall asleep sitting up, only to awaken hours later and be unable to turn their head to the right all day. Then, when they finally get their little tyrant to fall asleep, they go to lay him down and — bam. Awake and screaming. Again.
What some little babies do to their parents' sleep is prohibited under the Geneva Convention.
But that's so not what's happening at our house. At the risk of tempting fate and inciting hate mail from zombie moms and dads, I will just come out and say it: Our baby is a freak.
As long as she's fed, her diaper is clean, and it's after 9 or so, I can lay a fully awake Kayla (3-1/2 months) in her crib and she rolls onto her side, plugs her thumb into her mouth, and goes to sleep. Just like that. No crying. No endlessly repeated attempts to transfer her to the crib without waking her. She just sort of accepts that it's bedtime and zonks out.
And to make things even more improbable, she then proceeds to sleep through the night, without waking, until such time as I go in and get her up in the morning. That's right — I get her up. Around 8:30 or 9, I go in and wake her up to feed her before work. And she greets me with a big smile, like being woken up is the best thing that's ever happened to her.
I'm pretty sure I have the easiest, happiest baby ever.
Of course, now that I've put that in writing and sent it out into cyberspace for tens of people to read, it will probably change. I'm operating under the certainty that every night will be the last night of blissful baby sleep. I'm also half expecting someone with expertise in these matters to tell me "Yeah, that seems nice now, but it actually means she'll grow up to be a serial killer."
But for now, I'm just enjoying my tiny sleep machine. And how am I taking advantage of this fortuitous arrangement? By sleeping? No. By sitting up at the computer at 2 a.m., writing about it.
She definitely doesn't get her sleep tendencies from me.
What some little babies do to their parents' sleep is prohibited under the Geneva Convention.
But that's so not what's happening at our house. At the risk of tempting fate and inciting hate mail from zombie moms and dads, I will just come out and say it: Our baby is a freak.
As long as she's fed, her diaper is clean, and it's after 9 or so, I can lay a fully awake Kayla (3-1/2 months) in her crib and she rolls onto her side, plugs her thumb into her mouth, and goes to sleep. Just like that. No crying. No endlessly repeated attempts to transfer her to the crib without waking her. She just sort of accepts that it's bedtime and zonks out.
And to make things even more improbable, she then proceeds to sleep through the night, without waking, until such time as I go in and get her up in the morning. That's right — I get her up. Around 8:30 or 9, I go in and wake her up to feed her before work. And she greets me with a big smile, like being woken up is the best thing that's ever happened to her.
I'm pretty sure I have the easiest, happiest baby ever.
Of course, now that I've put that in writing and sent it out into cyberspace for tens of people to read, it will probably change. I'm operating under the certainty that every night will be the last night of blissful baby sleep. I'm also half expecting someone with expertise in these matters to tell me "Yeah, that seems nice now, but it actually means she'll grow up to be a serial killer."
But for now, I'm just enjoying my tiny sleep machine. And how am I taking advantage of this fortuitous arrangement? By sleeping? No. By sitting up at the computer at 2 a.m., writing about it.
She definitely doesn't get her sleep tendencies from me.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
A stranger in my own house?
Ugh. This is already a rough week and it's only Tuesday!
It's sort of a perfect storm of things at work: Deadlines are looming for all my typical weekly publications, plus it's the week to produce Healthy U magazine, so there's a ton of editing to do. It's just the week every month when everything happens, and the hours are long. Colleagues are always happy to help, but of course, they are overburdened, too, so I'm reluctant to do much delegating. In fact, I really pretty much suck at delegating. (Note to self: Must get someone to work on that for me.)
It's not helped by the fact that I am very easily distracted, and there's not much opportunity here to tune out the rest of the newsroom. That will be changing soon, when we get some "modular furniture" (Read: cubicles) for our wide open office. We're all looking forward to it — we've been working on ratty old banquet tables that have to be covered with a tablecloth to avoid splinters. It feels a bit like our office is a never-ending wedding reception, without the food. The setup was supposed to be temporary after a fire made our building unusable, but as plans for a permanent solution have taken longer than first expected, it's become a rather long-term kind of temporary. Never thought I'd be so happy to have my very own cubicle!
The result of all this was that I was at work Sunday and yesterday for way too long, trying to catch up and/or get ahead later in the day, when fewer people are here to distract me. By the time I got home last night, it was way past Maya's bedtime, so I got to give her a little snuggle time, read her "One Fish, Two Fish," and put her to bed. She was not impressed by my effort to spend some time with her, and wanted Daddy instead. I guess I can't really blame her. I haven't been around much at all the past couple of days, and I hate it.
Once this week is over, the next several weeks will be much better, and I'll have more time to spend with my family. I just hope they still recognize me by then.
It's sort of a perfect storm of things at work: Deadlines are looming for all my typical weekly publications, plus it's the week to produce Healthy U magazine, so there's a ton of editing to do. It's just the week every month when everything happens, and the hours are long. Colleagues are always happy to help, but of course, they are overburdened, too, so I'm reluctant to do much delegating. In fact, I really pretty much suck at delegating. (Note to self: Must get someone to work on that for me.)
It's not helped by the fact that I am very easily distracted, and there's not much opportunity here to tune out the rest of the newsroom. That will be changing soon, when we get some "modular furniture" (Read: cubicles) for our wide open office. We're all looking forward to it — we've been working on ratty old banquet tables that have to be covered with a tablecloth to avoid splinters. It feels a bit like our office is a never-ending wedding reception, without the food. The setup was supposed to be temporary after a fire made our building unusable, but as plans for a permanent solution have taken longer than first expected, it's become a rather long-term kind of temporary. Never thought I'd be so happy to have my very own cubicle!
The result of all this was that I was at work Sunday and yesterday for way too long, trying to catch up and/or get ahead later in the day, when fewer people are here to distract me. By the time I got home last night, it was way past Maya's bedtime, so I got to give her a little snuggle time, read her "One Fish, Two Fish," and put her to bed. She was not impressed by my effort to spend some time with her, and wanted Daddy instead. I guess I can't really blame her. I haven't been around much at all the past couple of days, and I hate it.
Once this week is over, the next several weeks will be much better, and I'll have more time to spend with my family. I just hope they still recognize me by then.
Friday, June 17, 2011
It's never too early for Sondheim
My nearly-3-month-old, Kayla, is pretty laid-back. Most of the time, she's pretty happy — especially if she's being held. Still, it's always risky taking a baby to a movie theater.
Now, I know what you're thinking: I'm one of those people. The people who think it's perfectly ok to take a baby to the movies. I felt that way, too, once — and I still do, when it comes to parents who don't care who their child annoys in inappropriate venues.
But this was Steven Sondheim, so I wasn't about to miss it.
The theater is offering a limited showing of Sondheim's "Company," a musical I've come to dearly love since being introduced to it years ago by my friend, Megan. Tonight was my only opportunity to go, and my sister was happy to keep both my girls for me so Megan and I could go see it, since my husband, Brian, had to work.
But I faced an unusual problem: Although I had a sitter, I didn't have enough milk stored to leave Kayla with her. It's tough, sometimes, finding time in the day to slip away and pump, so there are days I don't get to it at all. And lately, there've been a lot of those days, it seems.
So it was take Kayla with me or stay home. For $18 a ticket, I wasn't sure it was worth a try — suppose she started fussing and I had to high-tail it out of the theater? I decided to take my chances, and I'm glad I did. She sat, quiet and attentive, through the whole 2-1/2 hour show. I'm not sure how well she could really see it from the back of the theater, where we sat so I could discreetly feed her, but it seemed like she enjoyed the music. I certainly did.
Now, I know what you're thinking: I'm one of those people. The people who think it's perfectly ok to take a baby to the movies. I felt that way, too, once — and I still do, when it comes to parents who don't care who their child annoys in inappropriate venues.
But this was Steven Sondheim, so I wasn't about to miss it.
The theater is offering a limited showing of Sondheim's "Company," a musical I've come to dearly love since being introduced to it years ago by my friend, Megan. Tonight was my only opportunity to go, and my sister was happy to keep both my girls for me so Megan and I could go see it, since my husband, Brian, had to work.
But I faced an unusual problem: Although I had a sitter, I didn't have enough milk stored to leave Kayla with her. It's tough, sometimes, finding time in the day to slip away and pump, so there are days I don't get to it at all. And lately, there've been a lot of those days, it seems.
So it was take Kayla with me or stay home. For $18 a ticket, I wasn't sure it was worth a try — suppose she started fussing and I had to high-tail it out of the theater? I decided to take my chances, and I'm glad I did. She sat, quiet and attentive, through the whole 2-1/2 hour show. I'm not sure how well she could really see it from the back of the theater, where we sat so I could discreetly feed her, but it seemed like she enjoyed the music. I certainly did.
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