My Poor Ears

A couple of weeks ago, the little man and I went with my mom and grandma to visit some relatives. The little man was angelic on the plane ride (it was a quick one) and decently behaved on the car ride to our final destination - for a baby who had been stuck in a stroller or car seat all afternoon and evening.

Even in the new environment and unfamiliar crib, he did fine. It wasn't until we put him in his play yard (brought from home) that we had a problem. Any time people were not focusing 100% of their attention on him, he would shriek at the top of his little lungs. It was not pretty. Same thing happened when we were in a situation where he needed to be held rather than being allowed to roam around on the floor.

Because we were with a bunch of older people and because every first time mom worries about being judged, I was a lot quicker to respond to his demands than I would be at home. In our own environment, I would make a bigger effort not to reinforce his behavior, but away from home there are different challenges. So in the end, I think I created a monster.

Ever since that trip, when the little man doesn't get his way, the screeching begins. It's awful and it makes me crazy. I have no idea how I am going to break him of it. My approach so far is to ignore the screaming and give him extra attention when he plays quietly or attempts to express himself in a less unpleasant manner. I have no idea if it's working or if it will ever work, though.
Do any more experienced moms out there have other ideas? I really don't want the little man to become one of those obnoxious babies that no one wants to be around.

Eating and Pooping

We had a little issue yesterday that I thought I should share so maybe someone can learn from my mistake.

It was time for the Little Man’s bath, but I decided he should have his dinner first. As he was finishing up his chicken and brown rice, he started making telltale grunting noises and turning red in the face. Now, I don’t generally poop and eat at the same time, but the Little Man doesn’t seem to have an issue with it, so I went ahead and gave him what was left in the jar before we moved on to bathing.

I took him in his room, removed his clothes and dirty diaper, let him play naked on the floor while I ran the bath and then went back in to get him. I picked his little, naked self up and headed to the tub. Just as I was about to set him down in the water, I realized we didn’t have a towel. Since I knew that Daddy was absorbed in the NBA playoff game, I figured I better grab it myself.

When we returned to the bathroom, I carefully placed the Little Man down in his rubber ducky tub. As I did that, I looked down and there it was. Between the edge of the real tub and the outside of the inflatable tub was baby poop, except at first glance, I thought it was from the cat. Why I thought she would have crapped in the tub, I do not know.

Anyway, I yelled for Daddy to come and help me clean up the mess. There actually wasn’t much of a mess to clean up, but screaming for my husband just seemed like the right thing to do at the time. As he came rushing down the hall to assist, he stepped in yet another pile of baby poop. I’m really sorry that happened to him, but also very glad it wasn’t me.

So I guess the moral of that story is, wait a little longer after simultaneous eating and pooping to run around the house with a naked babe. Or something like that.

That Mom

I always said I would not be “that mom” that contains her child in a bubble. As it turns out, that is one of the many things about parenting that is much easier said than done. As the Little Man becomes more mobile, it becomes harder and harder not to intervene every time I spot a potential danger.

I mean, honestly, one of these days he will have to learn that not all surfaces are as cushy to fall on as the carpet in our living room. He will discover that not everything is safe to chomp on. And he will need to figure out that it hurts when you take a dive off the side of the bed.

It’s hard, though. I want so badly to protect him from the bad stuff. I would do just about anything to avoid having to listen to him cry. But then, at the same time, I would hate to stifle his curiosity. He’s just so interested in the world right now. There must be some middle ground here; I just haven’t found it yet.

So for now, I will continue to let him do his thing and watch from a distance. I’ll try not to let him hear me gasp every time he pulls himself up on something that isn’t the least bit stable. I will pick him up turn him around when he’s headed toward every single electrical cord he spots. I guess that’s just what moms have to do, right?

The Bedtime Story

Pretty much since birth, the little man has been able to express very clearly when it’s time for him to sleep. Unfortunately, he did not come pre-equipped with the mechanisms required to make going to sleep an easy process. He was never one of those babies that drifted off peacefully while drinking a bottle. His eating and sleeping patterns don’t match up in the slightest.

When you add colic and reflux into the mix, putting him to sleep as a newborn was pretty much a nightmare. He had to be swaddled, rocked and patted just so. Eventually, he would give up the fight and fall asleep. We stopped swaddling him many months ago (when we started finding him with his swaddle wrapped around his neck), but the need for rocking and patting stuck – not as easy a feat at 17 pounds as it was at 7.

I read somewhere that you can start sleep training any time between 4 and 6 months. That seems pretty early to me because I don’t feel like babies (mine at least) understand well enough at that point that to get it. But then I started to realize that since the little man gives pretty obvious cues that it’s time for sleep - rubbing eyes, irritability, yawning - maybe it was time to start trying.

So one day, instead of battling the kicking and screaming and pinching, I thought I’d try putting him down in his crib when it became evident that he was ready for bed. I gave him his pacifier, patted his back and then backed far enough away from the crib that he couldn’t see me. He cried a bit, I waited, he cried some more, I went back and patted him again. And then, something miraculous happened. He rolled over and went to sleep. It was amazing.

At this point, the method we use really only works for us about 60% of the time. Other times, the screaming gets so loud and so intense that we just can’t take it. My husband’s success rate is a bit lower than mine because he gives in more quickly than I do, but we’re working on it. Part of me cannot wait for it to work all the time, but there’s a tiny part of me that wants to hold on to those moments when only being in my arms puts him to sleep.

Snips, Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails

Four years ago, around this time, I was getting ready for a vacation to Hawaii with some family and friends. Life was pretty good. I had a job I loved, friends I cherished and the only thing missing was a man. I was fairly convinced at the time that I wasn't interested in ever having kids, but I so badly wanted to find Mr. Right that I was looking for him everywhere (on the interwebs, in bars, at work, on vacation, whatever). Little did I know he was right there all the time, disguised as my youngest sister’s sweet friend.

Three years ago, I was wrapped up in a somewhat whirlwind relationship with the man I knew I would eventually marry. One day, it was like a light bulb went on and we went from kind of knowing each other to practically living together in a matter of weeks. I was the happiest I had ever been, even though our relationship was putting serious kinks in my previously free-as-a-bird lifestyle. Oddly, this perfect man of mine’s desire to be a father was starting to change my long held views on the subject of parenthood.

Two years ago, I was newly engaged. We had set a wedding date a year and half in the future and I couldn’t have been more excited to plan my wedding. Also, we were anxiously awaiting the birth of my sister’s baby at the end of the summer. Life was changing so quickly, I think I must have been dizzy. By this time, I knew we would have children one day, but one day still felt pretty far away.

One year ago, I was entering the second trimester of my very unexpected pregnancy. It’s always been said that the women in my family are hyper-fertile, but I never believed it. My husband likes to think it was actually his super sperm, but whatever the case, we were thrilled to be expecting. Our wedding day was rapidly approaching and the enthusiasm I once had for wedding planning had long since worn off. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted nothing more than to be married, it was the wedding I could have done without. I was too busy thinking up names for the baby girl I was convinced we were destined to have.

And that brings us to today. Our little surprise is now a babbling, rolling, teething, 6-month-old little man. Because I grew up in a house full of girls, baby boys are not a species I am extra familiar with. I had no idea that everything in his path is to be kicked, poked, pulled or prodded. I didn’t realize that a man's indescribable need to disassemble things is innate (as is the tendency to throw a fit when they are unable to put them back together exactly right). And most importantly, I never knew that baby boys could be sooooooooooo much fun.