Normal Rules

When I wake up a 4:45 AM, all my normal rules fly out the window.

Joel has had a rough couple of days with the sleep---short naps resulting in him being over-tired, and difficult to settle down. We'll put him down for bed around 6, and he'll wake up periodically, crying and moaning, before falling asleep again. We can count on him hitting his head hard against the side of his crib at least once an evening, howling at the cruelty of this rough, cold world, and then once again, returning to sleep.

It's delightful. I'm not quite sure what is causing this pattern, but I'm guessing he's either working on another tooth or fighting a head cold. Possibly both. If it is a tooth, it had better be a Bugs Bunny-sized chomper for all the drama it's causing.

On second thought, I hope not. After all, they probably make baby-sized orthodontics, too. That would really complete the picture---blue glasses, braces on his four teeth, and his pants pulled up to his armpits a la Urkel.

I kid. You know he's cute. See?

Cute he may be, he's also getting up really early, which means one of us is getting up really, really early. Today, it was my turn. So, like I said at the top of this page, when it's 4:45 AM, most of my rules are...modified. If Joel wants to chew on the remote control, Paul's flip-flop, or a magazine featuring the wit and wisdom of Spencer Pratt, that's fine with me. Whatever keeps me from getting off the couch.

When Owen comes downstairs also entirely too early, because (despite my best intentions), Joel's grunting and "Ma-Ma-Ma-Mas" have awakened him, I don't hesitate to turn on the 6 AM showing of "Sesame Street," and then sit in the dark haze, staring blankly, all of us in our jammies.

And, when we put Joel back down at 6:45, and Paul decides to take Owen out for pancakes, I choose to ignore the fact that Joel WAKES UP AT 7:00. He's apparently ready to go after a restorative slumber of FIFTEEN MINUTES.

Instead, I turn on the computer, turn off the baby monitor, and pretend that the squeaks and bouncing coming from Joel's room are actually the gentle sounds of nature on this beautiful May morning.

My early morning. My rules.

Second, but not second best

What a difference a day makes.

My friend's son is home, and appears to have turned a corner. I realize that I didn't specify that he was admitted to Calvert Memorial, not a NICU, thank goodness. So, yay for that. And double yay that he's home and on the mend.

Also, at this time yesterday, I was thinking of my sons, so grateful, so anxious that they stay safe in my cocoon of love and neurosis. Today, they're back to being fun, but a real cramp on my style.

For the longest time, I had Owen and Joel on identical napping schedules. It was heaven. I would have an uninterrupted period of at least two hours every day to recharge and indulge in my important work, such as Facebook, reading the Style section of the Post, and this blog. All good things must come to an end.

Joel now wakes up earlier in the morning (like 5:30 in the freaking AM), thus naps earlier. To rub salt in the wound, he often starts stirring from his nap just as I leave Owen's room after tucking him in for his. Bru-tal. So, having mentally prepared myself for downtime, I find myself beginning the second shift, looking at Joel's sweet, beautiful face, and thinking "Damnit kid, you should be asleep."

I know that I should see this as a positive, an opportunity to spend quality time alone with Joel. And, to an extent, I do. I'll tickle his belly, sing him songs, read stories, whisper hopes and dreams into his ear, listen to his belly laugh. That takes about fifteen minutes. Then, he and I stare at each other, thinking, "Now what?"

True Confession: I don't feel like I hit my stride as a mother until Owen started talking. All the baby books preached the importance of talking to your baby, but I would feel like a big, fat idiot, talking to six month old Owen: "These are Daddy's boxers. They are blue and white. This is Mommy's shirt. It is yellow. She got it at a 10K." All the while, Owen was attempting to suck on his big toe. It was like I was mentally ill, except that the voices in my head were a lot less interesting, and only talked about laundry.

Once Owen started talking, it became so much fun, because he constantly surprises me and makes me see things in a new way. For example, here's a few Owen comments I jotted down on sticky pads:

#1: We're in the car. Owen says to me, "Good, driving, Mommy!" I thank him. He then turns to his brother and says, "Good sleeping, Baby Joel!"

#2: Owen toddles downstairs after not taking his nap, and announces, "Well, it looks like I'm going to bed early tonight."

#3: When I was impatiently telling Owen that he needed to get his shoes on or I was leaving without him (an idle threat, repeated almost daily), he replied, "Mommy, I'll do what you want when you ask nicely." Gee, where did he hear that?

#4: He told me, during lunch, "Carrots taste good when you eat them like rabbits." Indeed.

See what I mean? So, I struggle. I love Joel, and I don't want to rush through his babyhood, especially since it's so fleeting and precious, and we don't plan on having any more children. But, I'm just not a natural with babies. Even my own.

I hesitate to even write this, because I don't ever want Joel to read this and think that he was second best. He's not. I dreamed of him before he was conceived, hoped for him, prayed for him, and I love him with an intensity that I know of only because I feel that same fierce love for Owen.

But, I'm really looking forward to the day when he and I can have coffee and apple juice together, discussing the world, building memories together. I can't wait to discover him, each year a new introduction, and new dimension, a new reason to be grateful.

Even though I would be okay with him napping at this moment in time.

In case you were curious...

1. A disposable diaper, thrown into the clothes washer by a sleep deprived person (hint: not Paul), will come out clean and waterlogged, as big as a two year old's head. Science is amazing.

2. You can get your hair cut with your four month old, if you're okay with letting strangers hold him during the blow-drying session.

3. Babies know, within the minute, when it's the older sibling's naptime. That's the moment they choose to get up.

The N-word

Napping is the most tedious discussion topic ever. Yet, again and again, Paul and I will find ourselves discussing sleep with the intensity and thoughtfulness that we once saved for important topics, like Quentin Tarantino films.

We want Joel to be a good sleeper. I checked out a book called Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Baby. When my nephew was in the NICU, the nurses told my sister-in-law that this book was the best. I've had other friends say the same thing, talking about it with near-reverence and awe. So, I figured we would give it a shot.

The book starts off by explaining that if your child does not get enough sleep, he or she is more likely to be an insomniac, suffer depression, do poorly in school, become obese, and be diagnosed with ADHD. No pressure. The book goes on the explain that you need to put your child down before he starts fussing, because once they start crying, it's too late. It will be harder to put them down, and, as the author states, ominously, "Lost sleep can never be regained..."

Basically, it's worked, but the side effect is that I have a two hour window during the day to leave the house. Last night, we put Joel down for the evening at 5:45 and he slept until 6:30 this morning (with one short feeding break around 2:30). I guess that's good.

Time will tell if we continue this or not. In the meantime, don't call unless you want to hear all about it. We'll try to talk about other things, but it's almost impossible.

Feed Him, Little Cat

When Joel is acting fussy, Owen has started to say, "Feed Him, Little Cat." Your guess is as good as mine...

Owen has been toying with my emotions come naptime. He napped every day last week, after not napping for a good three weeks prior. Now he's back to not napping. It's the inconsistency that kills me. The other day, Owen said, "I took a nap." Outraged, I replied, "No, you did NOT take a nap, and if you had any consideration, you would take one and give Mommy the time she needs." As you can imagine, this came across to Owen as "Blah Blah Mommy Blah," as his attention was already diverted by a piece of lint on the ground.

When we voted yesterday, I introduced him to the words "McCain" and "Obama." He finds "Obama" to be hilarious and great fun to say. Then, at story time today, the librarian read a book, Llama Llama Red Pajama. She asked, "What rhymes with Llama?" Owen said, "Obama!" The two year old next to him said, "Osama!" And that, my friends, passes for political discourse in my life these days...

Pride comes before a fall...

If I've learned anything about parenting, it can be summarized into three words: Don't Get Cocky.

Anytime that you find yourself thinking, "I can do this," or "Life is getting back to normal," then buckle your seatbelts, for a piping hot serving of fresh Hell is on the horizon. Case in point:

The keyboard was still warm from yesterday, when I was smugly writing about how Joel is a better sleeper than Owen, due to my experienced parenting skills, when he woke up from a 45 minute nap, and did not sleep again (except for a 20 minute captap) until bedtime. Naturally, we were at my mother-in-law's house, so I wasn't able to use the baby hypnotizer of the swing, and since they live on ten acres in rural Virginia, a soothing stroller ride was out of the question. The "put him in the crib and walk away" option Was. Not. Happening.

So. Let's just say it was a long day, and on the way home, Paul and I discussed not traveling to Charlotte for Thanksgiving (a six hour drive). The idea of not seeing the extended family for Thanksgiving breaks my heart.

Joel is the cutest little thing, and when he coos and smiles, my innards turn to jelly (my belly is in this state permanently). However, babies can be damn inconvenient.

In other news, the boys are I were enjoying lunch at Panera, when Owen decided to hide under a chair----the standard posture when he's about to do a deuce. I scurried him to the potty and he went poo-poo in the noisy potty at Panera. Just like Diego, Dora, Boots, Swiper the Fox, and all the Backyardigans, my little man is going poo-poo in the potty. Finally.

Putting Joel to Sleep

Having the second child, among other things, helps you realize how bat-shit crazy you were during the infancy of your first. At least, that's my experience....



Owen did not sleep in his crib during the day with any consistency until he was eight months old. He slept in slings, "buzz chairs," swings, car seats, and other such nonsense. I would always take the long way home to prolong naps, and was not above sitting in the car with a book for sometimes one to two hours while Owen dozed. It made perfect, logical sense to drive to Annapolis (almost two hours away) because I could go to the drive-through Starbucks and get a nap in for my finicky little boy.



Fast forward two years. My finicky little baby is now a toddler, prone to yelling for no logical reason. One of his favorite non sequesters is "STAND UP AND SHOUT!" He will yell this at the grocery store, during communion at church, bedtime, and yes, in the car. Thus, the perfect storm of loud toddler, new baby, and soaring gas prices have forced me to find different ways to get Joel to sleep.



So, I've tried something really revolutionary. I put Joel in the crib. I turn on the mobile. I walk away. Sometimes he fusses and I try again later. Sometimes he goes to sleep after about five minutes of fussing. Sometimes, I give up and put him in the swing. But, I have yet to drive out of county lines in hopes of getting a nap in.



Now that I've written this smug post, he will not sleep anywhere but in my arms, using me as a human pacifier, as revenge.