As many of you know, I'm not a big fan of lacy white bassinets (or anything lacy, for that matter). A month or so before she was born, Kim had made Lilah a beautiful Moses basket to sleep in. It was lined with green fleece and a cute brown embroidered owl. It had a removable brown pad about an inch or so thick to sleep on. I was thrilled I could take it out and wash it if the situation arose (and no doubt, it would). To cover her up, it had a matching green fleece blanket with another charming little owl. I couldn't wait to bring my baby home, plop her in it, and go to bed for two hours before having to get up and feed her.
When we finally brought her home, we were a little unsure of what to do. The hospital had been straightforward enough. From birth, she had boycotted the strange plastic bin they toss the babies in. I could sympathize not wanting to feel like you're in an aquarium, so I had her in bed with me the whole time and she slept like a rock (a strange expression, since rocks are inanimate and don't sleep or do anything else, for that matter). I wasn't allowed to sleep with her in bed, in case I rolled over and squashed her. I thought that was ridiculous. I was acutely aware of every sigh, breath, and squeak that came from the foreign little bundle in my arms. Every nurse and aid that came in the room stressed the same points over and over - "Don't sleep with your baby. You'll kill it", "Put your baby in a basket or cradle or you'll kill it", "Put your baby to sleep on its back or you'll kill it". I was beginning to think babies were very susceptible to the elements and likely to drop dead at any point. So when we brought her home, I dutifully put her in her basket next to the bed and laid down to sleep. My head hadn't even hit the pillow when she started to cry. "No no, they sleep for two hours, *then* they wake up to cry, " I thought. "That's what new babies do. All the books say so." I picked her up to lull her back to sleep. This consisted of me rocking her and shushing her softly while she stared at me happily with very awake-looking eyes. I was beginning to get horrified. "What if I have one of those defective ones that confuse day with night, like all my Alzheimer's residents?" I recalled many a night at the nurse's station being asked by one angry man with a walker, "WHERE are my car keys!?" every 5 minutes for hours on end (this is how my brain was functioning after 40 hours of no sleep). I tucked her safely and securely in her basket again. I hadn't even turned around before she started wailing again. Dano and I looked at each other with dread. "What do we do?" he asked. "How the hell should I know? I've never done this before!" I thought. "I'm not sure," I told him. "She slept just fine in the hospital." Then it dawned on me. She slept with me in the hospital. I decided to just let her fall asleep in my arms, then transplant her into her basket. We all snuggled down into the bed, and Dano drifted swiftly off to sleep. "Jerk," I thought. I watched Lilah's eyes get droopier by the second. "Only a few more minutes until I can finally sleep."
We all woke up at 4:00 AM when she woke up to eat (after going to bed at 11:00). I was relieved and a little surprised to find my newborn daughter still alive. I fed her and tucked her next to me again, wondering at the fact she hadn't woken up screaming for food every two hours. "Maybe she's broken." She didn't wake up again until the next morning at 9:00. In finding that I could get zero sleep and let her scream in her basket all night, or let her sleep between us in my arms and get nearly a full night's sleep, I chose the irresponsible, selfish option. "Don't do that!" People would tell me often. "She'll be 5 and still in bed with you!" If having a 5 year old in bed with me meant 10 hours of nearly uninterrupted sleep, that was fine with me. "Your husband will resent you. You'll never be able to have sex again!" Again, see above.
When she was 8 weeks old, she let us put her down without bursting into pitiful, lonely cries for the first time in her short life. We decided to try the basket again. She slept in it half the night, then wanted to be in the bed after her middle of the night (and only) feeding. Over the past month since then, she's stayed in her basket a little longer each night. Two nights ago, I woke up feeling rested and refreshed, and heard birds singing in the sunshine out the window. I leaned down to give Lilah her morning kiss and greeting - "Good morning, beautiful baby!" - to find that she wasn't there. I flung aside the blankets to see if she'd weaseled her way somewhere else. No Lilah. I was frantic. I leaned over the side of the bed to see if she'd fallen off and died during the night. Instead, I saw her supine, limp little body in her basket. "She's dead. She died of SIDS during the night," was where my brain immediately went. I snatched her up and held my poor baby close to my chest. She her eyes snapped open confusedly and she scowled at me. She had been sleeping? She slept in her basket all night? That seemed much more unlikely to me than her dying in her sleep.
I asked Ann later if I was ridiculous for being so worried, for immediately jumping to Lilah being injured or dead, rather than happily sleeping in her basket (which was a goal we'd been working toward for 13 weeks). She said it was very natural, and she had continued checking to make sure her children were breathing well into their teens. After I got over the initial shock, I celebrated. Not only did my baby sleep through the night from birth (as long as she was being held), she was doing it alone in her basket at 3 months! Then I thought the same thing I always do when I realize what an exceptionally good baby we've been blessed with - "Our next baby will be Devil's spawn..."
Monday, June 29, 2009
Friday, June 26, 2009
3 months old!
I can't believe my sweet little baby is so big now. On one hand, she gets cuter and more interactive every day. She sits up to play, loves her toys, comments enthusiastically on books being read to her, charms the pants off everyone she comes into contact with, and and has this deep belly laugh that just makes you want to laugh along with her. On the other hand, sometimes she wants to be put down to roll around on the floor and explore the whole world (within rolling distance). Sometimes she looks at me like I'm clearly insane for scooping her up and kissing all over her little cheeks. She likes to experimentally taste whatever I'm eating - ice cream, ketchup, garlic sauce, soup. She rolls it on her tongue and looks at the ceiling thoughtfully like the most professional food critic. If she likes it, she starts sucking on the finger that offered her the tidbit, like she expects it to start squirting the magic substance out of the tip. If she doesn't, she pushes it out of her mouth with her tongue and makes a disgusted face. It makes me the teeniest bit sad that she's getting bigger. I love every new stage of development, but I know that for every new one, she leaves an old one behind. She'll never be the tiny newborn with the kitten cry again. She's a big baby now, getting bigger every day.
Usually at least once a week, Dano and Lilah drop me off and pick me up from work. When they pick me up, they usually come inside so Lilah doesn't howl with the boredom of being in a stationary vehicle (my baby is a mover and a shaker). Any residents who are still awake shower her with kisses and love. Some take her on their laps in their wheelchairs and touch all of her like they've never seen a baby before - "Look at her little toes! Look at her little fingers!" Sometimes they come up early when she's fussy. I don't mind, because I never see her. The supervisor, nurses, or CENAs take off with her, and I don't see her again until it's "quittin' time". I'm afraid she'll be spoiled with everyone telling her how beautiful and sweet she is, but for now she just soaks it up.
This weekend, we bought Lilah her first little swimsuit and pool. I can't wait to fill it up and let her go to town!
Usually at least once a week, Dano and Lilah drop me off and pick me up from work. When they pick me up, they usually come inside so Lilah doesn't howl with the boredom of being in a stationary vehicle (my baby is a mover and a shaker). Any residents who are still awake shower her with kisses and love. Some take her on their laps in their wheelchairs and touch all of her like they've never seen a baby before - "Look at her little toes! Look at her little fingers!" Sometimes they come up early when she's fussy. I don't mind, because I never see her. The supervisor, nurses, or CENAs take off with her, and I don't see her again until it's "quittin' time". I'm afraid she'll be spoiled with everyone telling her how beautiful and sweet she is, but for now she just soaks it up.
This weekend, we bought Lilah her first little swimsuit and pool. I can't wait to fill it up and let her go to town!
Friday, June 19, 2009
Status quo
Things have just been going lately. I'm adapting to work, money is going decently, and we're falling into the rhythm of summertime. We're making an effort to get outside every day, and I've lost all my baby weight plus 2 pounds!
Lilah rolled over from back to front for the first time two days ago. She did it almost instantly, and was successful except for her arm that was stuck under her. She yelled and struggled, but I didn't let Dano intervene, even when she was pathetically complaining. After almost 10 minutes, she freed herself, then dropped all her flailing limbs to her side limply. I worried that she had killed herself or something, so I looked closer to see if she was breathing. She had exerted herself to the point of exhaustion and had fallen asleep! I left for a meeting, and Dano said she didn't wake up for 3 hours!
We had a mini-miracle the other day. We were doing great on money, and after all bills were paid, would have a little over a hundred dollars leftover when all the bill checks cleared the bank. I was overjoyed. I went to bed happy and non-stressed. The next morning, an extra 103.00 had randomly been taken! I scrambled to find out what had happened. Somehow, my student loan payment had been taken out twice. I had authorized it, but had mistakenly authorized it twice. I started to do what I do best - I went into my money-freak out mode. I was agonizing over what to do. We would be overdrawn by 5 dollars. I would rather have at least been overdrawn by a respectable amount. I worried most about being overdrawn because if it looks like I make a habit of it, they can take my nursing license away for fraud, so I make painstakingly sure never to be overdrawn. I was still worrying when I checked my email. Miracle of miracles, a week after my eBay auction for an old watch I had ended without selling, someone emailed me wanting to buy it for 50 dollars! God completely came through. After that, Dano and I had a talk and have agreed to change our mindsets and be much more positive. We've made a vow that for every negative thought we vocalize, we will vocalize a positive thought as well. So far, it's worked great. We want to have a happy, positive family, We'll see how it goes.
Lilah rolled over from back to front for the first time two days ago. She did it almost instantly, and was successful except for her arm that was stuck under her. She yelled and struggled, but I didn't let Dano intervene, even when she was pathetically complaining. After almost 10 minutes, she freed herself, then dropped all her flailing limbs to her side limply. I worried that she had killed herself or something, so I looked closer to see if she was breathing. She had exerted herself to the point of exhaustion and had fallen asleep! I left for a meeting, and Dano said she didn't wake up for 3 hours!
We had a mini-miracle the other day. We were doing great on money, and after all bills were paid, would have a little over a hundred dollars leftover when all the bill checks cleared the bank. I was overjoyed. I went to bed happy and non-stressed. The next morning, an extra 103.00 had randomly been taken! I scrambled to find out what had happened. Somehow, my student loan payment had been taken out twice. I had authorized it, but had mistakenly authorized it twice. I started to do what I do best - I went into my money-freak out mode. I was agonizing over what to do. We would be overdrawn by 5 dollars. I would rather have at least been overdrawn by a respectable amount. I worried most about being overdrawn because if it looks like I make a habit of it, they can take my nursing license away for fraud, so I make painstakingly sure never to be overdrawn. I was still worrying when I checked my email. Miracle of miracles, a week after my eBay auction for an old watch I had ended without selling, someone emailed me wanting to buy it for 50 dollars! God completely came through. After that, Dano and I had a talk and have agreed to change our mindsets and be much more positive. We've made a vow that for every negative thought we vocalize, we will vocalize a positive thought as well. So far, it's worked great. We want to have a happy, positive family, We'll see how it goes.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
"The things I do for love!"
Anyone who has ever seen the creepy-but-incredible children's program Courage the Cowardly Dog is very familiar with that mournful lament. For the rest of the masses, an explanation: Courage is, as you might have guessed, a cowardly dog afraid of everyday things. He lives with his sweet Scottish mistress Muriel, and her angry, dog-abusing husband Eustace. They reside in Nowhere, Kansas, and "straaange things happen in Nowhere, and it's up to Courage to save the day!" Courage is consistently called upon to rescue his family from all manner of terrifying ordeals, from witches to aliens to science experiments gone wrong. Being scared was no excuse for Courage. He always managed to save the day, but not before proclaiming at least once an episode in regretful moans, "The things I do for love!"
I had one of those moments yesterday, in what can only be described as a clusterf**k. Several days prior, Ann (Dano's mom) and I had decided that we were in need of martinis and edamame (google it, then go try some. It's delish and great for you). We actually managed to get a nice group together - Dano's cousin Sam and Ann's good friend Kristin. All of us were mothers in need of a few hours without children or significant others. The plan was to meet at L'attitude. Dano told me to call his dad sometime in the late afternoon to see when he was picking us up, dropping me off, and taking Lilah for a few hours until Dano got out of work.
In lounge clothes still at 4:00 (anyone who has every cared for an infant understands the futility of getting dressed more than 2 minutes before walking out the door), I called Larry to see around what time he was coming over. Apparently, he and his friend Tyler had wrapped up a waterfall hike and were just minutes away. I frantically threw some clothes on and packed Lilah's bag like a madwoman. They arrived just as I was finishing. Larry went shopping in our movie collection and decided to borrow Rocky Horror Picture Show. I didn't care, since I hated it anyway. We loaded up, and I locked the door behind me as Larry was buckling Lilah's car seat base into the back seat. I had a dark-cloud-over-the-sun feeling after I shut the door, since I realized I hadn't grabbed a spare set of keys (since Dano took the more desirable set). I shrugged it off, since I would be coming home with Dano.
Halfway to Marquette, Larry realized that Rocky Horror was still happily hanging out on top of the Suzuki. After several expletives burst from him, I suggested going back, since it most likely hadn't made it out of our alley before sliding off the roof of the car. Halfway back to the house, I realized that in my insane attempt to pack everything Lilah would need (on a side note, WHY do infants need an entire entourage to spend 3 hours away from their mothers?), I had grabbed a frozen bag of milk, but neglected to grab the clean bottles out of the cupboard. "No problem," I thought. "We're already headed back. I'll just grab them out of the house." I'm sure the issue here occurred to anyone reading this before it occurred to me. Wait for it. "OH MY GOSH, I locked the door." I started panicking. We were almost home, and brainstorming rapidly. I realized the door to the balcony was unlocked. Our house is strange. You open the "downstairs door" to an entryway, walk up some stairs to a landing. Off the landing is the balcony, cleaning supplies closet, then the "real" door to the house, which is never locked. The "downstairs door" is the one that locks. "If there's a ladder in the shed, maybe I could climb onto the balcony and get into the house that way." This is a photo of the balcony from the landing.
Rocky Horror was rescued unharmed from the street, and Tyler, Larry and I got out of the car to tackle the next part of the ordeal. The only ladder available was the questionable-looking wooden thing that led up to the loft in the shed. However, it was unattached, so we commandeered it and set it up against the balcony. The top rung of the ladder fell glaringly short of the desired height. It just barely made it to the gutter. Take a look.
After a moment of silence, Tyler generously offered to scale the tree next to the house and leap from limb to landing. After telling him the branch he would need to leap from had a nest full of about a thousand baby birds and a protective mother, quiet settled over the group again. I swallowed hard. My baby had to eat, and I was running late. I set the ladder next to the house and asked the two men to hold the sides of the wobbly ladder, since I would obviously have to stand on the top rung. Then my arms would barely able to wrap around the balcony wall. Provided I had enough upper-body strength to pull my entire body from the top of the dangerous ladder over the balcony, I could break into the house and we'd be all set.
I got all the way to the second-to-top rung before my practical brain started screaming, "STOP! DON'T! THIS IS ABSURD! YOU'LL FALL AND BREAK YOUR LEG/ARM/SPINE!" I hushed my brain and asked the men, "If I stand on the top rung, will it wobble or fall?" Larry encouragingly replied, "I hope not." With that reassurance, I wrapped my arms around the balcony wall and stood on the top. The ladder swayed cheerfully in the spring breeze. I took a deep breath and thought, "The things I do for love." I'd heard motherhood gives you superhuman abilities. I now know this to be true. I did an epic pull-up move (which is impressive, since I was never able to accomplish a pull-up before in my life, after many unsuccessful attempts), and swung my suspended leg over the balcony. Seriously, I'm sure I looked as cool as Wolverine, or another nimble mutant of some sort. I gave a victory shout, ran into the house, and came out through the door with an arm full of bottles and a set of spare keys. My heart was racing, and I had enough adrenaline going to cause even the most dedicated pot-head to sign up for and run a marathon, but my baby had food.
Speaking of my baby, she was in the back seat of the car shrieking her head off, thinking she'd been abandoned. I got dropped off at L'attitude, had a BMW (Baileys, Malibu, and Whiskey) in a fun martini glass with an orange peel, got my edamame fix, and after about 30 minutes, my heart slowed to its regular, steady pace. Ann told me that motherhood entails doing many, many things you never thought you would do. I believe her.
I had one of those moments yesterday, in what can only be described as a clusterf**k. Several days prior, Ann (Dano's mom) and I had decided that we were in need of martinis and edamame (google it, then go try some. It's delish and great for you). We actually managed to get a nice group together - Dano's cousin Sam and Ann's good friend Kristin. All of us were mothers in need of a few hours without children or significant others. The plan was to meet at L'attitude. Dano told me to call his dad sometime in the late afternoon to see when he was picking us up, dropping me off, and taking Lilah for a few hours until Dano got out of work.
In lounge clothes still at 4:00 (anyone who has every cared for an infant understands the futility of getting dressed more than 2 minutes before walking out the door), I called Larry to see around what time he was coming over. Apparently, he and his friend Tyler had wrapped up a waterfall hike and were just minutes away. I frantically threw some clothes on and packed Lilah's bag like a madwoman. They arrived just as I was finishing. Larry went shopping in our movie collection and decided to borrow Rocky Horror Picture Show. I didn't care, since I hated it anyway. We loaded up, and I locked the door behind me as Larry was buckling Lilah's car seat base into the back seat. I had a dark-cloud-over-the-sun feeling after I shut the door, since I realized I hadn't grabbed a spare set of keys (since Dano took the more desirable set). I shrugged it off, since I would be coming home with Dano.
Halfway to Marquette, Larry realized that Rocky Horror was still happily hanging out on top of the Suzuki. After several expletives burst from him, I suggested going back, since it most likely hadn't made it out of our alley before sliding off the roof of the car. Halfway back to the house, I realized that in my insane attempt to pack everything Lilah would need (on a side note, WHY do infants need an entire entourage to spend 3 hours away from their mothers?), I had grabbed a frozen bag of milk, but neglected to grab the clean bottles out of the cupboard. "No problem," I thought. "We're already headed back. I'll just grab them out of the house." I'm sure the issue here occurred to anyone reading this before it occurred to me. Wait for it. "OH MY GOSH, I locked the door." I started panicking. We were almost home, and brainstorming rapidly. I realized the door to the balcony was unlocked. Our house is strange. You open the "downstairs door" to an entryway, walk up some stairs to a landing. Off the landing is the balcony, cleaning supplies closet, then the "real" door to the house, which is never locked. The "downstairs door" is the one that locks. "If there's a ladder in the shed, maybe I could climb onto the balcony and get into the house that way." This is a photo of the balcony from the landing.
Rocky Horror was rescued unharmed from the street, and Tyler, Larry and I got out of the car to tackle the next part of the ordeal. The only ladder available was the questionable-looking wooden thing that led up to the loft in the shed. However, it was unattached, so we commandeered it and set it up against the balcony. The top rung of the ladder fell glaringly short of the desired height. It just barely made it to the gutter. Take a look.
After a moment of silence, Tyler generously offered to scale the tree next to the house and leap from limb to landing. After telling him the branch he would need to leap from had a nest full of about a thousand baby birds and a protective mother, quiet settled over the group again. I swallowed hard. My baby had to eat, and I was running late. I set the ladder next to the house and asked the two men to hold the sides of the wobbly ladder, since I would obviously have to stand on the top rung. Then my arms would barely able to wrap around the balcony wall. Provided I had enough upper-body strength to pull my entire body from the top of the dangerous ladder over the balcony, I could break into the house and we'd be all set.
I got all the way to the second-to-top rung before my practical brain started screaming, "STOP! DON'T! THIS IS ABSURD! YOU'LL FALL AND BREAK YOUR LEG/ARM/SPINE!" I hushed my brain and asked the men, "If I stand on the top rung, will it wobble or fall?" Larry encouragingly replied, "I hope not." With that reassurance, I wrapped my arms around the balcony wall and stood on the top. The ladder swayed cheerfully in the spring breeze. I took a deep breath and thought, "The things I do for love." I'd heard motherhood gives you superhuman abilities. I now know this to be true. I did an epic pull-up move (which is impressive, since I was never able to accomplish a pull-up before in my life, after many unsuccessful attempts), and swung my suspended leg over the balcony. Seriously, I'm sure I looked as cool as Wolverine, or another nimble mutant of some sort. I gave a victory shout, ran into the house, and came out through the door with an arm full of bottles and a set of spare keys. My heart was racing, and I had enough adrenaline going to cause even the most dedicated pot-head to sign up for and run a marathon, but my baby had food.
Speaking of my baby, she was in the back seat of the car shrieking her head off, thinking she'd been abandoned. I got dropped off at L'attitude, had a BMW (Baileys, Malibu, and Whiskey) in a fun martini glass with an orange peel, got my edamame fix, and after about 30 minutes, my heart slowed to its regular, steady pace. Ann told me that motherhood entails doing many, many things you never thought you would do. I believe her.
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