Jingle bell sleep.

Me:Ok, perfect. Ummm...maybe a little to the left. Yep, that's it.

Husband: You do realize it's the third weekend in November and we're putting up our Christmas tree, right?

*I tilt head and look at husband questioningly.

Me: Your point?

Now that baby is in the picture, I can finally fulfill my lifetime dream of putting up Christmas decorations way before it's socially acceptable to do so. What won't us mothers do for our wee little ones anyway? Alright, I have to admit that baby isn't the sole reason for my holiday eagerness; I am a Christmas junkie. I love everything about this time of year, so you can understand my enthusiasm when baby seems to show just as much appreciation for the season as I do.

Just a couple of weeks ago, baby began pointing and yelling "danta" at nearly every passing man with a 5 o'clock shadow. He is amazed with the lights, the ornaments, the tree and of course, all things Santa. I have found my perfect little Christmas mate.

Tonight it was just baby and I as we cruised the mall. There were crowds of people, but the two of us nearly skipped through the aisles (well, I nearly skipped through the mall. Baby was firmly strapped in his stroller, but I sensed he would have skipped if he could). We were giddy and for all the years I have contained myself and shown restraint, I now have an excuse to oooh and ahhh over the twinkling lights, the overly decorated trees, and the Santa display.

Our local mall has given up on the age old torture of placing unwilling babies on Santa's lap. Instead, kids who have registered can sit in an assigned area and listen to Santa sing and read stories for 15 minutes. Tonight, baby and I sat on the sidelines and watched. And as he watched with all his baby gusto, grunting "ho ho ho" right along with the bearded guy, I watched him. And as I watched, I teared up. And then I cursed myself for being such a sap. And then I looked around at all the moms and dads showing just as much vigor as I (minus the tears) and I didn't care. Children have this amazing gift of getting you to see everything is an entirely new way; albeit a sappy, teary-eyed, gooey kind of way. Good lord. What will baby and I do come January?

Sister sleeper.

Me: Baby, please don't touch that. That's mommy's.

Baby grins at me and ever so slowly pulls at the laptop cord.

Me: Baby. (giving my best stern mommy voice)

Baby looks over at me, smiles, then yanks on the cord.

Me: No, baby, no! You cannot touch mommy's things. Now come over here and read a book, or start a puzzle, or do something non-laptop cord related.

Baby giggles and heads towards a book. Ya, this whole discipline thing might be a problem.

How do you set boundaries for an adorably sweet 18 month old? Moreover, is it even possible to consider discipline at such a young age? My mother insists on "re-directing" baby to something new every time he gets his little fingers into something. She also insists that this new found "bad" behaviour must come from the other kids at daycare (Pfft! Not my grandson!). But what if baby seriously just wants to push the limits? What if baby just wants to see how far he can go? And really, can I blame him for this? Are these not times when he's learning to be a part of our house?

For the most part, we really do have a great listener on our hands. Baby is quite attentive and actually listens when we call him, when we give him instructions, when we ask him to give us a back massage. Yep, our little one is becoming a full fledged contributing member of this house. However, there are those times when baby throws us a fast one. Take dinner tonight, for instance. Baby thought it would be cute to begin smashing his otherwise tasty, but uneaten butternut squash. After asking him politely to stop (which he did for all of 4 seconds) the smashing began again, this time with a slow introduction of "tap.....tap" on the orange mass. This continued right on through to a rapid "smash..smash..smash.."full of gusto, all the while grinning goofily at his father and I. I smirked and urged my husband to not laugh. He responded by first hiding his grin, then smothering his laughter, to finally choking on his prime rib, all in an attempt to hide his obvious humour in the whole situation. What was I doing? Well crap. Of course I began laughing, too. Of course, I swiftly removed the fork from Baby's hands. He laughed heartily at the whole situation. Groan.

To be honest, I can't really say I am bothered by Baby's attempts on pushing the limits. Sure, I would be mortified if he tried the whole butternut squash incident at someone else's house, but is it fair to really get upset at an otherwise great little boy? Absolutely not. And we do as my mother suggests and redirect and hope that his short attention span will move onto something far more interesting than smashing the food on his plate. Besides, the kid really does rub my back. I can deal with a bit of orange goop in my hair.

Oh baby, I like the sleep.

Daddy: Ok, baby. Look at the camera. Say cheese, baby.

I look over my husband's shoulder, grinning foolishly as I often do when taking pics of baby.

Me: Say cheese, little one.

Daddy: Say cheese! (snap, snap goes the camera)

Baby: Tsheeeze.

Us: Huh?

Baby: Tsheeze

Me: Mother of god, he just said cheese!

Husband: Quick, grab the cheddar!

And just like that, baby went ahead and said his first recognizable noun.

To say we were excited would be like saying Romeo only sort of liked some girl whose name starts with a J. We were elated and in a mad rush to reinforce this new found word, my husband quickly ran to the fridge, grabbed the cheddar and began feeding chunks to our very eager (and cheese hungry) baby. *side note: Baby caught on very quickly those first few minutes that when he actually said the word "cheese", Daddy would swiftly break a chunk of cheddar and feed baby.

Additional side note: We also learned very quickly in those first few minutes that cute children can easily, and without warning, manipulate their parents into getting anything they want.

Baby:1 Parents: 0

September had been such a month of significant firsts for baby and I. We had our first plane ride, our first trip to the East Coast (holla, Hali!), his first dip in the Atlantic (which he loved), and now his first true word. And really, cheese is a pretty cool as far as first words go, don't you think?

Since the vocabulary frontier has been broken, baby's words seem to flowing out of his little mouth. Cheese has quickly made room for other words like, "please" "apples" "juice" and "la la" (short for Charlie,our family poodle and his BFF) And with every new word, we squeal at its cuteness, lift baby high in the air and sigh at how fast he is growing. Oh, and how demanding he is for a good brie now. Geesh.

And we all sleep on.

Very large security dude at Pearson Airport, Toronto: Ma'am, take the baby out of the stroller, and please walk through security with him.

Geesh, is it the look of baby's stuffed bunny that has him so tightly wound? I haul baby into my arms and we walk through the metal detector, only to hear the distinct sound of the alarms going off. Gah! Why am I flying solo??

Very large security dude at Pearson Airport, Toronto: Ma'am, please stand back and remove your belt. 

Groan. It's bad enough that he insists on calling me "ma'am." Now I have to place baby on the floor, remove my tightly woven leather belt from my too tight skinny jeans, and in addition, this process takes so long that the woman behind me actually asks if she can go ahead of me. Very large security dude was not impressed. Suddenly, my very short two hour plane ride to Halifax seemed like a huge endeavor.  

My husband occasionally has to fly out west or out east for business. I thought when we got married I would benefit from said business trips and dine on the company's dime. We have been married for nearly three years now and I haven't gotten so much as a free brunch yet. When my husband came home a month ago and announced he was headed to Halifax at the end of the month, I insisted on going. With baby, of course. Our east coast friends wouldn't mind if I crashed at their house instead of my husband's hotel; we all have babies now. 

I have never flown with baby. In fact, our once long, but relaxing car rides to the cottage have become tortuousness events because baby insists on staying awake the ENTIRE ride. How many verses of "Wheels on the Bus," must we be forced to belt out?  "The grumpy old men take over the whole seat, take over the whole seat, take over the whole seat....."

I was sure I would need every available provision to make the flight as painless as possible. I researched on the internet (and by "research" I mean I put out an all-call to the moms and dads of facebook and asked for advice). I got some interesting answers: drug the baby, give the baby new books and activities to do, bring an ipod, bring a DVD player, take loads of snacks, and drink lots of vodka before the flight (for me, not baby). I decided to pack a small pink gym bag with goodies from the Dollarama. Baby went wild. We played stickers, drew with markers, read two new books, and ate a ton of snacks (not from the Dollarama-that would be gross). And I did it all completely sober. *breathes on knuckles and rubs on shoulder.

Baby and I had a great flight. He made friends with a sweet  little 9 month old baby behind us and continually would reach his little hand in between the seats and reach for her. It was cuteness overload and the people seated around us thought I had the best little baby. I was beaming, baby was smiling (with his tooth sparkling like an all-star in a cheesy American movie) and we were even early when we landed. It was going to be a great trip. Take that very large security dude at Pearson Airport, Toronto.

Hush, little baby.

Me: I'll just wear what I wore last year. 


I scrimmage through my closet looking for a summer dress I wore last year to a party. I figure I might be able to get a few more wears out of it before the hot weather abruptly ends. 


Yes, it's a walk-in. No, I don't have it organized. Finding the dress takes a bit more time than I thought.


Me: to husband (who is lazily laying on the bed as I try on every last piece of clothing I own in an attempt to find "new," forgotten gems of clothing)  Just help me zip this sucker up in the back. I'll hold my breath and sqeeze. When I say "go", you zip as quickly as you can. K?


Husband looks warily at the back of my dress, then back at me.


Me: Don't worry. It'll go. Now zip! (I take one last breath and use all my mighty powers to mentally visualize myself in a smaller, more toned body. A body that will fit into this dress again.)


Husband: Ummm...babe. You can breathe again. This is so not doing up. 


Crap.

What had happened?? I didn't get it. Ok,ok,  let's be honest here: I got it. Months of my non-exercising butt had finally caught up to me. My once proud declaration that I fit into my skinny jeans just one month after I gave birth no longer rang true. Not that I even really cared about losing the "baby weight" anyway. I was just happy to fit into something that didn't come with an elastic waist line. So why the worry now?

Being on mat leave left with a million reasons why I didn't have to "dress up" on a day to day basis. Hell, baby would be lucky to see me out of my pj's before noon most days. Why bother with my old work clothes, or my cute summer dresses, or those sassy black shorts I paid way too much money for? I took to wearing things that were comfortable, and so my daily wardrobe consisted of jeans and a t-shirt. Ugh, I know. But now, I was having a clothing crisis of sorts. I'm too cheap to spend a shit load of clothes on myself r, and too in denial to admit that maybe I've gone up a dress size or two.

I suppose all newish moms go through this whole new-body acceptance, or non-acceptance phase. I seem to be hitting my non-acceptance phase now, nearly 17 months after I have given birth. I just need some focus, some drive. Repeat: I will drop that croissant. I will start back at the gym. I will kick butt. I will feel good about that dress again. I will breathe when trying on clothes. I will.......maybe tomorrow.

We all fall down. (and sleep)

Me: Come here, my sweet thing. 


Baby waddles over toward the stereo stand where I am sitting, waiting with a book to read.


Baby trips over unassuming plastic duck. (damn you, cute, malicious yellow duckie!)


Me: Oops, baby boy! 


Baby is silent. A little too silent. In fact, it's the kind of silent that alarms moms and dads around the world that their baby is moments away from shrieking so badly that you feel your ears might bleed.


In 5, 4, 3, 2, 1......


Baby: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Me: Shhhh...it's ok baby, you're ok.....


I take a peek into baby's mouth and everything seems ok, there's just a little bit of blood......no scratch that, there's a lot of blood....shhhhh....it's ok baby....mama's going to help you.....let me just get some ice.....shhh......ok, ok, ok, i'm not going to faint, i'm not going to faint.....funny, i don't remember the counter being this high.....maybe i'll just sit for a few minutes, catch my breath......oh crap............

Well there it was: my first big test of mommy-helping-the-boo-boo-hood and I failed miserably. Is it wrong that baby had to console me when he was the one who nearly lost a tooth? Jesus, I am pathetic. Who knew I was scared of blood? I mean, when was the last time I had even been around that much blood? (and don't even think about my labour and delivery-how I managed to get through that I'll never know) When I was 6 or 7 years old I remember taking a tumble on the sidewalk. I certainly don't remember nearly fainting over it. In fact, I distinctly remember my own mother offering her shoulder to wail on as she swiftly and painlessly covered the boo boo up. My own baby is only 15 months old. How in god's name am I going to get through his clumsy toddler years? And worse yet, his elementary school years with sports, and equipment, like bats, and balls, and sticks, and the running, and the tripping and the falling....oh god....breathe, Carolyn, breathe.

I once said, while pregnant, that I would have no objection to my little one being contained in a bubble for the first 18 years of his life. Sure, he could go out, have fun, perhaps even sneak a beer or two at a party when he is 16. The little peanut just felt so safe, so contained in my belly that I knew once he was exposed to the world, and despite all my efforts and even my suggestions that a kid can have a normal life in a plastic bubble, that somehow I won't be able to protect him all the time. The idea is daunting and terrifying to me.

I was told that a little cut to the lip and a near tooth loss is nothing. "Oh, there will be worse," I am told. Geez, thanks, folks. As if I don't know this. As if I don't know that I am going to have to get a grip with the whole blood/fainting thing because being sprawled in the middle of the kitchen floor while a screaming, bloody baby is wailing is certainly not solving any problems. As if I don't know that there will be times when my baby will hurt and there might not be any way for me to help him. I can't even think about his first heartbreak, his first rejection, his first big disappointment. So for now, I'll "shhhhhsh"  him and rock him and tell him mama's here and hopefully, for a little while, that will be enough. So long as the room stops spinning.

Sleeping on a river.

Me: C'mon baby, let's dance!


The sounds of The Clash fill our living room and it's only 10am.


"Say you stand by your man
Tell me something I don't understand
You said you love me and that's a fact
Then you left me, said you felt trapped


Well some things you can explain away
But the heartache's in me till this day!!


Did you stand by me?
No, not at all
Did you stand my me?
No way"


Me: That's it! Shake it, little one! (I politely wave at the neighbours through my wide opened window. They probably think I'm weird. Meh, I don't care)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYK7bEo1Z4M

I have a confession: I don't listen to kiddie music. At all. In fact, I was given a Raffi CD when the sleepy wonder was still the sleepless wonder and I think I have only listened to it a few times. Not that I don't love Raffi. Let's face it, the man is a legend. I just couldn't bring myself to blast it through the car speakers. I tried, I really did, but I found my enthusiasm was just lacking and at about the third, "the more we get together,"  I had to turn poor Raffi off.

I have played music for the little one since the day he was born. In fact, we have spent many an afternoon searching through Youtube for old Elvis songs, classic Elton John ballads, and of course, all things Busta. The other day we were listening to Cee-lo and I thought I would video tape (do we still say video tape?) the little guy dancing and bobbing his head. I flicked the "on" switch just as Cee-lo let out a loud,  and very clearly  articulated "Fuck." Christ, how would I explain that one to the grandparents? I personally don't have that big of a deal with cursing, (I've been known to say a few words here and there) but how do I feel about the little guy listening to music that throws out the odd curse or two when he could be shaking it to songs about sharing and rhyming, and the letters of the alphabet?

When I was still in my mama's belly, my father would crank up Meatloaf and he swears I would begin furiously kicking (he claims it was because I loved "Bat Out of Hell"-ummmm...I'm not so sure I agree). I grew up with a house full of loud music, much to the sometimes annoyance of my mother (especially when said music is still blaring at 2am!) I would go to various friends' homes and be shocked when their living rooms didn't have 3ft wooden speakers in them. Wasn't that as necessary as say, a couch? As such, I had every word to, "The Wall," memorized long before I was a teenager and it was cool to quote such lyrics. In fact, I know my love of Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan, and Cat Stevens can be directly related back to my mom and dad's vinyl collection.

I guess parenting is all about balance. While I might not be able to endure a whole Raffi CD, there will come a point when I'll slip the disc in and enjoy a few songs. In the meantime, I'll be sure to fill our home with all the sounds and music that make me happy and hopefully our little one will enjoy it too. Watching him dance is by far the cutest thing he does. Today.

Sleep is but a breath away.

Me: Hey there! I am calling to see about the Fall registration for my son. I came for a tour a few months ago and you said to call back in June.

Daycare Centre: Right. What age group is he?

Me: Well, he's actually only 14 months old but he'll be 17 months old by the time September comes. I was told enrolling him a month earlier wouldn't be a problem.

Daycare Centre: Right....of course. Did the toddler room supervisor indicate that there would be spots available at that time?

My heart sinks. I just knew this sort of questioning might happen. At the tour way back in March, I wanted to give the Centre money, gold, anything at all to secure a spot for baby. They promised that there should be a spot for him come June. Can you say "promise," and "should" in the same sentence?

Me: Yes, yes, totally. In fact, she said there would be three spots in the Fall. (I begin thinking of what jewelery I can give up for bribe money.)

Daycare Centre: Alright, then why don't you come in tomorrow and fill out some forms about your child. As long as he is walking by September then it shouldn't be a problem....

Me: Right......Sure......he's walking..........

I would put baby on stilts if I needed to.

Ok, so the whole daycare thing has been a bit of a mess. Currently, I am on two waiting lists, one of which told me to that baby could basically earn a PhD by the time he is able to see the inside of their building. Ya, thanks for that. But really, what the eff is with this city and it's catastrophe of a daycare system? We live in what would be deemed a "transitioning neighbourhood." In other words, our neighbourhood has six Cash Money shops and young women who bounce around with their Bugaboo strollers. We have lots of dollar stores, and one organic meat shop. I like that I can peruse my local fruit market and get great veggies for cheap and grab 3 dozen tulips for $10.00. I suppose being in a "transitioning neighbourhood" means that while the newbies to the area have money, the local shops and businesses remember that the older locals may not. That being said, we have plenty of daycares in our area-seven that I know of. I hadn't even given the cost of daycare a second thought while I was pregnant. Sure, it would be costly, but look at our neighbourhood. Really, how much could it be?

Oh sweet, naive me. Sweet, sweet naive new mom me. Sweet, sweet, sweet, naive new mom me who was just quoted $85/per day for 5 of the 7 daycares in her area. Say what?? Surely, the woman on the other end did not just say $85.00??

Me: (choking on own saliva) Excuse me? It sounds like you said $65 per day??

Daycare #1: Oh, no, no, no. I said $85 per day. And there is a waiting list.

Me: Can you believe I was just quoted $85 per day? Really, that's absurd. What's your price now?

Daycare #2: Umm....our's is the same price. You can apply for a subsidy if you want.. But we have a waiting list to get in with one.

Me: So.....I was wondering....

Daycare: Sorry, we have a waiting list and we are no longer accepting applications. (Hangup)

So let me get this straight: Girl goes to University. Girl travels. Girl goes back to school. Girl marries. Girl gets good job in her field. Girl has baby. Girl is sleepless for a while. Girl goes back to work. Girl earns more money on E.I after the daycare is paid.

Does this make sense to anyone? 

In the meantime, our little one is with his Auntie FiFi (a very patient, loving, nurturing mom herself) and then it's Nana and Grandma for the Summer until he walks and can go to a private daycare centre in the Fall (that we will only pay $175/week for. Score!) 

The only question that remains is this: Does anyone have a baby sized pair of stilts I can borrow?

Sleep is just a breath away

Student A: So this is your first day back at the school?


Me: Yep, and so please, please. please be patient with me, guys. I may be a bit rusty. Do you all know what the word "rusty" means?


The class nods in agreement and smiles.


Student A: Teacher, you had a boy or  girl?


Me: (with a huge ass grin on my face) I had a boy.


A collective "awwwww....." is said in the room.


Student B: What is his name?


Me: (with a huge ass grin on my face) If I start talking about my baby, I am really afraid I won't stop and you guys will learn nothing for 2 weeks.


Student A: That's ok, Teacher.


Student B: Do you have a picture?


You don't have to ask me a second time as I furiously reach into my purse.


There was so not going to be a lesson happening today..............

Do not get me started talking about baby. I swear I don't want to be one of those crazed new moms who constantly berate the teachers' room with stories about how the sleepless wonder did the cutest thing (again) this week. Or that the sleepless wonder (almost) walked this week, or that he (almost) said "mama", or that he (almost) used a spoon. Yep, I need restraint. However, all gloves are off when a student asks. I mean, there is something culturally significant about learning how to raise a Canadian baby that I can teach to my international adult students (yes??). There is something important about talking about sleeping habits and the delights of a one year old (right??).
I detest getting up and showering right away, blow drying my hair, and trying to make it out the door on time. Admittedly, this past week has been pretty smooth and our morning routine with the three of us getting ready at the same time has been less painful than I thought. However, how long before the little butterfly of excitement wears off and the bitterness of working everyday sets in?  If I am being honest, I really liked being at work this week. I even liked the commute (horror!) as it gave me some time alone before having to face the workday. Dare I say I even enjoyed wearing something other than the same old skinny jeans everyday (or if I am being entirely truthful, that I enjoyed wearing something other than my pjs that I sometimes lounged around in all day)? Yep, I was a working gal again and let me tell ya, I sort of had a strut walking to work.

A coworker of mine told me I was going on a "baby vacay" before I left for my mat leave. I thought it was the funniest thing ever until another (already a parent) coworker quickly piped in and said that a year off with a new baby was nowhere near a vacay. At the time, I though he might be correct, but I have to say, walking with my strut this week, I felt renewed, refreshed, like I had been on vacay this whole time. Sure, there was  no beach and let's face it, the sleeping wonder has only been sleeping through the night for 4 months, but still, as grateful as I am for the time off with baby, I am almost equally as grateful for that separation from work. I feel reinvigorated in a way that can only come from being detached from the workplace for so long and I hadn't expected to feel that way at all. Perhaps we all need our own little baby vacay every 10 years or so, a sabbatical of sorts. Wouldn't the workplace be such a happier place? Or we could all have children of our own and then I wouldn't feel so bad scrolling through my phone with all the latest pics of my little one (almost) standing on his own. Awwww......isn't he just soooo cute???

We're gonna get some food (and sleep) in the house tonight.

Husband: I think he's still hungry.....


Baby: Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!


Husband: No, he is definitely still hungry. What can I give him? He needs something. Now.


Me: Here, give him some cheese. The soup is still cooking.


Husband: Hurry! Good god, he's eaten the cheese already. Forget heating up the soup, pass me a piece of bread. Anything! Stat! He's freaking out here!


*I furiously open the bag of whole wheat bread and throw a slice across the kitchen to my husband's waiting hands. Baby is foaming at the mouth. Geez, this is already breakfast number two. 

The sleepless wonder is an eating wonder. He eats everything. Pasta? No problem. Meats? Please. He practically asks for the BBQ sauce. Fruits and veggies? He can't get enough! Curry? It's like he's already been to India. I tell ya, there is nothing this boy won't try (and eventually demand more of). How did we luck out? For starters, luck may have played a small role in his eating, but I like to think we helped with his ferocious appetite.

There were a few conscious choices my husband and I made while the sleepless wonder was still all cuddly in my belly. For one, we always wanted him to eat with us. We were going to make every attempt to integrate him with our meals. That means we would prepare food in front of him and talk him through the process as though he were watching something on the Food Network, "I like to use mushrooms in my pasta sauce. It brings a certain texture to the pasta."  To help with this, we didn't invest in a super expensive high chair that wouldn't fit in our house anyway. Instead, we bought a Chico chair that has hinges that go on any space with a ledge i.e the dinner table or our kitchen island. When the sleepless wonder was old enough to sit on his own, we put him in his chair at the kitchen island and I cooked in front of him. We also began to eat in front of him and at 6 months old, we gave him his first taste of rice cereal (after staring at our mouths awkwardly while we ate). He went crazy and thus began his obsession with food.

Secondly, we decided to prepare all our own baby food- that way the transition from what he eats to what we eat wouldn't be all the different, and he would be introduced to a larger variety of foods. At 7 months old, after making sure he had no allergies, we began to make delicious combos of yummy fruits and veggies- rice, spinach and curry; sweet potato and nutmeg; strawberry, blackberry and mango; baby couldn't get enough and surprisingly, it was super easy to do and we felt pretty darn proud of ourselves once we lined our little freezer with all his favorite foods.

Lastly, we began giving baby finger foods that were soft and easy to swallow early on. Baby loves to pick at food, touch it, feel it squish in his mouth, and occasionally share a couple of servings with the dog. We have allowed him to try to use a fork and spoon and not worry about the mess (although having Charlie clean up the aftermath certainly helps!)  He screams and points when he wants more (and by scream I mean a full ear piercing holla!), but otherwise, meals are fun, not rushed, and we all sit together (actually, the dog sits under the baby's seat-she has hit a gold mine there!)

So how much have we influenced baby and how much it just him? I'm not so sure, but I like to think of every positive as something we have somehow  taken a part in. I can only pray that his love of all food goodness continues.

Sleep, my little darling.

Me: I feel like the worst mother ever. I know I have to do it. I mean, I want to do it. But it just seems so soon....We finally have a good routine going on here.....gah! 


*tears begin to slowly make their way down my face. Jesus, what is this, like the tenth time I have cried about this??


Husband: Do you really not want to go back to work?


His voice trails. He feels sad about me going back, too. God, this sucks.


Me: No, I do. I just feel like I am going to miss out on so many things. *a huge sob escapes and now I am crying  in the nook of my husband.


This will get easier, right??

It is the Sunday before I return to work. Luckily for me, I actually don't start work until Wednesday so I don't feel those anxious Sunday night blues quite yet. After nearly 14 months off, I am torn between feeling desperate for adult interaction of the work kind and utterly devastated that someone other than me will take care of the sleepless wonder. I also feel like I've been out of the work loop for too long. What if I forget how to do my job?? "It will come back to you in no time, " everyone around me reassuringly says, but I'm not so sure. My husband asked me a basic grammar question the other day and my super keen brother-in-law who was a part of our little debate googled the answer I gave and I was wrong! (and was super annoyed at that stupid Iphone. And google. Pff!) I'm an ESL teacher for foreign adult students and believe me, they are just waiting for me to make a mistake. Remember in elementary school when the teacher would misspell a word on the board and the loudest and most obnoxious student would yell, "Miss!! You spelled that wrong!!" Ya, some of my students are just like that. Except they are 20 years old and paying a lot of money and I can't threaten them to the corner for being rude. Dammit! I'm so screwed.....

I also feel so sad. Like, really sad. And guilty. What if he walks when I'm at work? Says something brilliant? Or says anything beyond, "Da da da ga ja ja?" My head knows he will be ok. My head knows that for every one thing I miss, he will be at home and do ten things that will wow me. My head knows that I want to work, that I love my job (most days), that I have great co-workers. My head knows that I can't wait to dress up a little and head downtown everyday. My head knows that I went to school for 5 years so I can earn my own keep. My head knows that my baby needs this, that he'll do so well with other kids, that he will do so well learning and playing without me. My head knows all of this. If only my heart would catch up.

Now of sleeping.

Me: Gah! You  left the pizza box out.


Huband: And....


Me: And?? I asked you last night to throw in the recycling and now it smells like stale pizza in the kitchen!


Husband: And...


Me: Don't patrionize me. I do a lot around here, y'know and you totally don't respect that 'cuz if you did, you would do what I ask you to do instead of looking at me like I have three heads! God! What am I? Some fifties housewife??!


Husband: Christ, I'll put the damn pizza box away. Listen, is it, you know, that time...??


Me: Ah!!! Move or I'll show you where you can put that damn pizza box!

What was with me and the hubs constantly bickering? I was annoyed; he was annoying. And honestly, who cares about a pizza box, really? Well, apparantly, this is what our arguing had been reduced to-he didn't want to be bossed around, and I didn't want to feel like a hired housekeeper. We had been down this path constantly over the past year; sqaubbling back and forth over the most trivial things. It had never been like this for us before, and believe me, we did not enter parenthood lightly. We knew it would be difficult at first. What was up with us?
My husband and I met way back in university and bonded almost immediately. He studied hard. I, well... I studied English, so after graduation when he was prepared for home ownership and was settling in a great job, I wondered what the hell I was going to do with my Liberal Arts degree (the sleepless wonder is soooo not studying American Poetry of the 1780s when he goes to Uni!). I decided to teach overseas and explore the world. It didn't take long for my (then) boyfriend to quit his job, sell the car and join me. We've been inseperable ever since. So how was it that my partner, my travel mate, my rational thinker, and my alway reliable guy and I were fighting over the most asinane things? Sure, I guess I could blame sleep deprivation, but there was something more at play that was happening.
I remember watching an episode of Dr.Phil where he said that everytime you argue in front of your kids, you damage them. That, and something about looking at a rooster while the fox waits in the den. The point was, arguing is never good for the kids and here we were, arguing like a couple of emo sixteen year olds with damaged egos. In some ways, the tension was simply just the change of having this super huge responsibilty in the house. The adjustment to having to care of the little one was big for us. For 10 years, it had been just the two of us, with the exception of Charlie for the last 3 (and really, Charlie may have prepared us for the kind of bickering that led to statements like: "I changed him last time," but in no way did she compare to baby). Suddenly, (ok, not so sudden; we did have 9 months to prepare for this) we were thrusted into parenthood and I think neither of us expected it to be such hard work( I know, I know, insert eye-roll here). It is a 24 hour, 7 day a week job. Sure, it is absolutely the best thing we have ever done, but it can be a tireless, thankless job and things, like the occasional pizza box being left out overnight, can really get the blood boiling.
I suppose when it really comes down to it, both of us are looking for some form of validation. My husband wants me to recognize (and acknowledge) that he works his butt off daily, with a crappy commute, on little sleep, and a brown-bag lunch of leftovers (hello, E.I people!) And I want him to recognize that I don't punch out for lunch or a coffee break, that I seem to straighten up the house a little bit all day only for it to look just as disasterous as the hour before, and that sometimes I miss that crappy commute.
At the end of the day, the bickering isn't what we focus on; usually my husband is the first to apologize and I am grateful for that. We can't be perfect, but we try. I just say to my husband: Always listen to me, and we'll be just fine. There, that wasn't so hard, was it? 

Sleep, sleep all, the sleepy town.

Me: So I have reorganized the kitchen cupboard on the left, did 3 loads of laundry, and finally threw out all my socks and undies that are either too old or have too many holes in them. Whew. I am the ultimate woman. What's up with me lately? I feel like I'm nesting.


I look at husband questioningly until a sense of dread overcomes me.


Me: Wait. You don't think? Good god, I'm not pregnant, am I??


Husband: No, silly. You've been sleeping. You actually have energy to do these things now....


Oh......duh.


Me: Right. Well, I've done enough for a week. You'll find me on Facebook.

It was amazing what a couple of night's rest could do for the soul. And the bags under my eyes. I felt (and sort of) looked like a new woman. My eyes didn't sting at 2pm. I didn't feel like calling it a night just as we finished eating dinner. I felt recharged and quite frankly, it was the best I had felt since giving birth. During baby's sleep strike, I always felt on the cusp of either tears or that I wanted to claw someone's eyes out. In other words, it was like a wicked case of PMS. Combine that with the ever changing hormones and wham bam, you got one sassy mama, and not in the good way. It's not that I was a basketcase all the time. In fact, I had become sort of numb to my own sleep deprevation that when I finally slept a full two nights in a row, I didn't recognize myself.

And so our sleepless wonder slept. And each night I would anticipate a wake up call that didn't come. We would put him down at 7:00pm and he would just sleep. A few nights we had to let him whimper and re-enter his room once or twice, but ultimaltely, sleep overcame him quite quickly and he would stay dreaming until 6am. Every so often we would hear a loud wail, and I would jump out of bed and head to his door only to hear silence before I could even turn the handle. He had actually put himself back to sleep and I would close my eyes and breathe a quiet "thank-you" to the sleep gods that had helped my little one get back to dreamland.

Naps were still a struggle, and as much as I used the technique we had mastered at night, the little one just didn't want to go down during the day. After three days of struggling, (and three days of a very fussy boy around the 5pm mark) baby finally got the whole "nap" concept. Although he never seems to nap for more than hour, putting him down is actually a piece of cake most days (*as I furiuosly knock on wood).

So is this it? Is my blog finished? Is there nothing more I can say about the trials of parenthood? Hell no! Everyday brings something new to discuss, so let me hear it, people! Please comment on your own parenting stories, or share some of your own tribulations with kids (that may or may not even be yours! Hey, props to all the fam members out there. You know who you are!) I will contine writing and as the weekend of the (ex) sleepless wonder's first birthday ends, I can't help but think of what the next year will bring. Stay tuned to find out......

No sleep 'til Brooklyn.

Husband: Sweet lord, it's like a thousand degrees in here.

Me: I think I've lost 5 pounds since midnight.

Meanwhile, baby is a wailin'.......

Husband: I knew this would happen. It's 4:30 in the morning. He's been screaming for an hour and a half. Why won't he settle? (he says in his ultra-annoyed voice)

Wife: His head is wet and we are beyond hot in here. Obviously it's the heat. He won't even take my breast. This is going to be a hell of a weekend. In Hell. With this heat. Jesus, open a window!

That was the first night I dreamt of Edward Cullen. No wait, wrong story. That was the first night Jackson woke up and nothing, (and I mean nothing) would make him settle. I cringed everytime the next wail would become louder than the next; my poor family in the next room. Although we had traveled to northern Ontario, the heat in the room felt more like we were vacationing in Mexico, which would have been awesome aside from one sweaty and very angry little boy. Not that I could blame him. Hell, I was a little cranky myself. Oh, who am I kidding? I was beyond cranky. And hot. At 5am, baby finally settled (the window had been opened for the past half an hour, allowing for the cool night air to infultrate our stiffling room).
The next morning, right on cue, baby awoke at 6:30am and before I could even groan, Nana was at the door, rice cereal already in her hand. God bless Grandmothers. Seriously, this child lacks for nothing when Grandma or Nana is in the room.
Both my husband and I slept for another blissful 2 hours.

Me: Ok, what is with the bloody heat in this joint?

Sister: Oh. My. God. I was freezing last night.

Nana: Was there a draft near the door?

Husband: I woke up thinking I was in Cuba.

Grandad: You opened a window?? In winter?? That's wasteful.

Sister's BF: Ah, I had the best sleep last night.

Us: Groan......

The following night, my husband went skiing. I was nervous about putting baby to bed, but my dad seemed to have fixed the heating debacle and I hoped that would mean baby would sleep "better" than he had the previous night in Dante's Inferno. I laid baby down after our nightly routine of bath and a story. He put his head down right away and I started the bum shooshing thing. Since he was in a playpen, I had to lean right over the side. Doing this longer than 30 seconds and I literally felt my back seizing. I knew baby was fed, was tired, and was ready to fall asleep. I gently reminded him I loved him, apologized for the blazing heat the night before and left the room. I shut the door behind me, heard him cry for 2 minutes and then slilence. It was the first time I had listend to him cry and not gone rushing in. Physically, I knew I couldn't shoosh him to sleep. Emotionally, I knew he'd be ok.

2 minutes. That's all it took. And he really wasn't even crying; it was more moaning than anything. 2 minutes and then quiet. 2 minutes and I released a breath I didn't even realize I was holding. 2 minutes and my baby had fallen asleep on his own. My mom high-fived me and I couldn't help but plaster a massive grin on my face. He had fallen asleep without the shoosh.

At 4am, I startled awake and lunged across the bed to the playpen and dove my arm in. I immediatly checked for breathing, a pulse, some indication that baby was ok. He had never, I mean never, slept this long. It was 4 am and my body was confused, refreshed even. Of course baby was ok. He was sleeping soundly until my intrusive arm woke him up. I gently patted him and he fell back asleep until 6am. Wha???

Several things happened that weekend:
1) Baby began crawling. And I, of course, went crazy with delight. And then 10 minutes later internally groaned about the lack of baby proofing we had done back home.
2) Baby swam in the pool every day and loved it. I am open to Nike endorsements and am declaring 2024: Baby's Olympic year.
3) Baby slept through the night for three nights straight.
4) I felt ok leaving baby to moan, knowing he was fed, changed, tired and ready to go to bed. When he wouldn't settle after a minute, one of us would go in, reassure him that everything is ok, and then leave the room again. We never had to go in more than twice.
5) We had support from my fmaily and were less stressed and less tired than we normally were.
6) We slept with baby in between our bed so when he briefly arose, we were able to calm him right away with a simple touch to the back.
7) I started to feel like 'me' again.

When we left, we had no idea what to expect at home. Would baby keep this up? Could this be the turn around we've been waiting for?
One thing was certain: we were installing a pool in our downstairs den.

Sleep and the City.

Me: Baby, this is curry spice. Mama adds it to your rice cereal so that when Daddy and I are able to take you to a restaurant, we won't be limited to Swiss Chalet and Wendy's.

Baby: Mmmmmmmm......

I have to say, what the sleepless wonder lacks in sleep he certainly makes up in eating. He has an amazing appetite and has been such a great eater ever since that tiny spoon entered his mouth. I'd like to think it was all the curry and spices I ate during my pregnancy, but I don't sit around wondering why; I just enjoy the fact that he loves food. I can deal with bags under my eyes if it means that we can at least find joy in this.

Baby: Ahhhhhhhh!!!!!!! (shakes his little fists in a fury and kicks legs excitedly in his chair where he sits with us at the kitchen table)

Me: (quickly mixing a new batch of food as baby screams at me for more) Patience, my sweet thing....who clearly inherited his mother's lurve of food. (I whisper that last remark under my breath

We make baby's food and he has yet to turn down any concoction we whip up. This is a great sign as we embark on our first winter road trip. My mom has agreed to take baby in the morning and fix him breakfast thus giving my husband and I a few extra hours sleep-god bless her. We arrive at the resort eager and ready. First thing on our agenda: check out the pool and get baby swimming. I am convinced that if he tires as much as I do after a swim, then perhaps we won't keep the entire hotel up all night. Before I swim, I plop down on the couch for some 'light' reading: Ferber's Sleep Solution. I must admit, I thought I had this guy all figured out, but there is more to his theory than I knew (and clearly the 200 page book is not simply 'let baby cry until baby falls asleep'). The idea behind his work is that babies need to learn to fall asleep on their own. This process takes time, encouragement, compassion and patience, but if consistent, baby and parents can have a full night's sleep fairly quickly. The method itself is actually quite simple: follow the sleep routine that we have (bath,book,crib), place baby in crib, say 'night night', walk away, and then wait. If (and in our case, when) baby cries, wait one minute, go back into the baby's room, reassure baby that he is ok, that you love him, say 'night night' and walk away. Wait 2 minutes if baby continues crying. Repeat this process and enter room at 3 minutes, then 4 minutes and so on until you reach the maximum time you are comfortable with-for us,we decided we would not let him cry any longer than 10 minutes at a time.

I was skeptical and 6 months prior, I would have been horrified at the thought of allowing my little one to cry, even for a minute. But the fact of the matter was, baby was crying for way more than a minute, even in my arms, even in my bed beside me. I was determined to finish the book and get down to business when we returned to the city.

It turns out I didn't have to. I only had to read to chapter 5.

Hold me closer, tiny sleeper.

Me: No. NO way. I am not doing that.

Husband: But it would make life so much easier if we did. Think of how much we have struggled today.

Me: Listen, I have to hold to what little I have left. I won't do it.

Husband sighs, hangs head and continues packing the car.

Husband: Fine, but what you're asking for is.....

Me: I've said it once and I'll say it again: A mini-van is the death of cool.

We (and when I say "we" I actually mean my husband while I watched and he complained about how much "shit" we had) were packing the car for our ski trip north. And by ski trip I actually mean dining out, watching late night movies and sipping wine by the fire. Oh how I looooove skiing. As usual, our car was cramped and I actually had to choose between bringing my pillow or that extra bag of Doritos. Clearly, the potato chips won. My husband was in full dad mode, grumbling that baby has too many things, that I packed too many clothes, that it's ridiculous for one family to fill a car for just 4 days of travel. Why yes, we had officially turned into my parents. My husband had thrown out the idea that perhaps we should think about getting a mini-van. Hello, what happened to the man who used to make fun of bad mini-van drivers? The one who complained that they were ugly, that they were too big, that the soccer moms who drove them couldn't parallel park? That's right: we were parents now and suddenly priorities such as maintaining some semblance of cool were thrown out the window; Along with watching a full movie without interruption, waking up late on the weekends, and eating without sharing with a nine month old. So now, my once hip husband was suggesting we bite the bullet and get a mini-van. "Besides", he said, "our traveling is going to consist of mostly camping and parks now anyway." Groan....ya, we were those guys now. Goodbye dreams of Fiji. Not that I didn't love the idea of traveling around Canada with my boys. In fact, I look forward to it. I would just rather not do it in a Caravan.
About a week before the packing debacle, my friend's cousin contacted me about the sleep coach. She had, in fact, not used one. Since the sleep coach was going to cost her $4000 and sleep overnight in her house, she thought she could try whatever the sleep coach was going to do instead. Her baby was very similar to the sleepless wonder: up all night and hated taking naps. (She once counted her little one waking up 14 times in one night). She took the suggestion of the coach and slept beside baby on the floor next to the crib. After three exhausting nights, and no progress, she gave up. She had reached her last resort and finally took the suggestion of all the former sleepless moms around her: Ferber.
As she is telling me this, I am silently screaming. No, no, no. Don't tell me Ferber worked. The name itself told me she "cried it out" and I was more than a little apprehensive (and skeptical). "Does she sleep now?" I quietly asked, cringing knowing what her response would be, "Carolyn, it took one night." That's all I needed to hear. I was off to Chapters to read about this Ferber fellow.

Eat, Pray, Sleep.

Me: Err, hello. Yes, my name is Carolyn and a friend of a friend recommended that I contact you. Ummm....our baby doesn't sleep. (Duh,she is a sleep coach. Why else would I be calling?)

Sleep coach (in an Australian accent): Yes well, describe a typical day for you and baby.

Me: Well.... (as baby is screaming in the background. I put him down 20 minutes prior for a nap, thinking this was a good time to try to make a quick call.That little monkey hates it when Mama is on the phone.) As you can hear, this is nap time. Night time is pretty much the same. He sleeps about 2 hours at a time.I'm at my end.(in my best desperation voice, that I don't even really have to fake)

Sleep coach: He's nine months old, right? (I emailed her all my info prior to the phone call) And he's eating solid foods? Oh, No, no, no. That baby should be sleeping. (This is her 'duh' moment.)

Me: Ya, that's kinda why I called......


Australians sleep well, right? I mean, really, who was this woman? Aside from her website that assured, no, guaranteed sleep success, I really had no idea how she was going to get the sleepless wonder to transform, in about five days no less! I couldn't believe it and yet this woman offered us something that we felt we would not see until our baby was off to University: a full night's rest. It seemed too good to be true, but I didn't care. I also didn't care that it was going to cost us some dough-a few hundred dollars, but hell, at this rate I thought I might never be able to work and earn money again (at least not doing anything which required use of about .1% of my brain). A few hundred dollars seemed like a deal. I was willing to pay her to just sit all night with baby just to catch a few zzzzzs.

All this excitement was short lived, however. Her last question to me was direct: "Are you going away in the next couple of months, like on a vacation?" Was she kidding? I had been on EI for 10 months. The only vacay I was looking at was a trip downtown. "No, not at all." I quickly replied. "Are you sure you are not going to be out of your house for any time at all?" she asked again. Oh crap. I was. We were. A weekend ski trip up north. My husband skis. I hot tub. (What? It's hard work!I prune very easily.) The sleep coach was insistent that we could not start any sleep training prior to going away, even if our weekend trip was nearly three weeks away. She implored me to call when I returned, at which time she'll have written our own personal sleep plan that we would implement the next weekend.

I could do another two weeks. Hell, it had been months, what was another two weeks?

Husband: We can't go. That's it. We're not going.

Me: (groaning) Ugh. This isn't new. Nothing has changed. My family knew when they agreed to come with us that baby doesn't sleep. They won't care.

Husband: It's 4am. He's screaming. We can't do this to people.

Me: (groaning) We are not canceling. I'll just sleep with him and when he attempts to cry, I'll whip out my boob, k?

The plan was set: Wait until we return from our mini-vacay and then contact the sleep coach. My family assured us that baby waking up frequently would be no problem (Ah, they lie so well. I love them.) and I was buzzing with anticipation knowing that in less than a month, we could (and I firmly believed we would) have a baby sleeping through the night. I relayed my buzz to my three girlfriends, all of whom have little babies of their own. One of them piped in, "Hmmm....my cousin hired a sleep coach, I think. I'm not sure if it went so well. Why don't I contact her and get some info for you?" It couldn't hurt. We still had another week to go before we left the city.

A series of emails and phone conversations that would follow changed everything......

And I have miles to go before I sleep.

Me: (speaking into the big brown eyes of baby) If you nap, just once today, I promise when you are 16 you can borrow your father's Metropass and head into the city. Because, let me assure you, with the price of insurance and the immaturity of young males, not to mention peer pressure and the rush to go too fast, and well, that's just a combination I am not entirely comfortable with, and I really don't think, scratch that, I know you won't be allowed to drive until your at least 18. Hmmm...maybe 19.....

Baby: Waaaaaaaaaaaaa!!!

Me: Crap.

Negotiating with a baby is about as useful as opening a bag of dill pickle Lays and swearing you're only going to eat a handful and then close the bag up. Ya right. Since I knew that napping and sleeping better at night were so closely linked, I vowed to get baby to nap, and nap long. As it stood, he was the master of the 25 minute snooze. I had read that any nap less than an hour didn't really count as a nap because the necessary sleep cycles were not met.I had become a bit obsessive about the whole thing. The way I saw it was if I could achieve this victory, then a full nights sleep would soon be on it's way. Not to mention, I was so beyond sick and tired of rushing through a shower, hurrying through my mascara, and barely doing my hair. I may not have been sleeping, but dammit, I still wanted to resemble at least some part of my former self-the one that thought 8 hours sleep was just right, but could easily sleep 9 hours if she could.

Since the call to the sleep coach had yet to made, we really only had the bum sooshing to get us by. However, it's effect was waning and was the least useful at naps. I decided to use the power of the internet and I searched out several methods.

1. Gently put your baby in the crib. Say goodnight, I love you. Baby will slowly drift asleep on their own.

Was this a joke?? No, really. What sick fool thought of this? I snorted, but still gave it a shot. Baby screamed and screamed. I took a shower. I even took a few extra minutes, just to be sure. I got out of the shower. Baby was still screaming. This was torture and went against all the attachment parenting we had instilled in baby. Who said babies could only cry for 25 minutes before they tire and fall asleep? I call B.S on that little theory. If anything, the crying became louder and more desperate the longer I sat outside his room.

2. Place your arm in the crib to make baby feel secure. When baby is asleep, gently remove your arm.

First of all, there is nothing "gentle" about any movement made by me. Although I might think I am being stealth like in my actions, baby senses it nonetheless. And believe me, after standing over a crib with one arm in, that evidently is turning blue from lack of circulation, being gentle is not an option. As such, blue arm and all, I would become even more angered about having wasted my time.

3. Sit in the room with baby so he can see you. Put your back to him and do not respond to him. Slowly move closer and closer to the door. Baby will eventually fall asleep.

Ah yes. Torture device #3. I think I actually felt a soother hit the back of my head at one point. Yep, not one stitch of progress.

So how long did I do each of these suggestions before moving on? Well, that depended on my mood or my patience level that day. In the end, I often caved, and picked him up, or nursed him, or let him cry, or forgot nap time all together and canceled my plans for the afternoon. Wasn't napping supposed to be natural? I mean, I was tired. I could nap anytime, anywhere. Hell, before baby, I actually suspected I was part feline. I had to nap after coming home from work. Isn't that genetic?
I suppose I should have stuck with one method, for a longer period of time. I didn't have this epiphany until much later. C'mon now. I've raised how many children in my life? I just kind of expected baby to take on the same lazy sleep routine as our pup, Charlie. She's so into sleep she actually gets annoyed in the morning when you try to walk her.

I had to make the sleep coach call. I had to be told what to do. I had to be reminded that our child was not a brown Toy Poodle.

S.L.E.E.P Find out what it means to me!

Me: We need help.

Husband: I know, I know. Listen, I've been thinking about what is was like when we were dating and maybe I was bit more of a romantic back then...

Me: (wrinkles brow in confusion) Wait, no. Not "us". And yes, you were more romantic back then. I meant, we need help with baby.

Husband: Right, that's what I thought you were talking about.

We had had enough. Waking up every 2 hours for the past 3 months had finally taken it's toll and I was now willing to pay for some much needed baby sleep. I suppose the breaking point had been when my husband went on a business trip for a week. I was alone with baby, something I had done before and believe me, I give huge props to single moms. Yep, I can say with certainty that I couldn't do this alone. Husband was away, baby wasn't sleeping and I kind of, sort of had a little bit of an itsy bitsy breakdown. Ok, I had a big breakdown. By day three, I felt desperate, alone and completely at a loss for what to do. I mean, isn't sleep deprivation on a list of "things to do" to get a hoodlum to fess up to a crime? In fact, I would have admitted to a misdemeanor I didn't commit if it meant that I could shack up in jail for the night. I had no idea I depended so much on another set of hands to help (to her credit,my mom is usually here 24/7 in such situations but she was recovering from surgery; serious bad timing on our part). My husband, frantic that his wife was going to hide in a closet and not leave for the duration of his trip, called every woman in our family asking them for their support. I was totally embarrassed (hey, I might be willing to pay a complete stranger for help, but am a little more reluctant admitting total sleep failure/breakdown to my own fam) and knew that the time for serious sleep help (no more bum patting, sooooshing here!) had come. We decided to call a sleep coach. At this point, I was willing to dish out some cash for sleep. I kind of wish Russel Oliver would offer some sort of deal "I'm the sleep man...."

I sleep, therefore I am.

Husband: I think I hear the baby.

Nudges me in the side.

Me: (groan) Maybe it's another baby.

Husband: Nope, I think it's ours.

Me: Ugh. (checks time) I was just with him, like an hour ago.

Husband: Does that matter?

Me: (groans again, this time in anger) Fine. I will get the baby. Again.

Husband: This is not a competition. I got up the time before that.

Me: Whatever. (huffs outta bed and trudges to baby's wailing)

About 2 hours later......

Husband: Jesus, it's the baby.

Me: How much are we expected to take?? (in best "Actress in a Drama" Oscar nominated voice)

Husband: I'm getting a vasectomy. Like, tomorrow.

Me: Whatever. (huffs outta bed and trudges to baby's wailing)


Ah.....the unspoken trials of a non-sleeping baby is not just the lack of sleep, it's the 4am fighting spoken by the non-sleeping parents. Had my husband just threaten to not have any more children? Had I just agreed? What had we become? Well, in a word, we were zombie slaves to our sleepless wonder. He owned us and our sleep (and the rights to the family car on Saturday nights the day he turns 18). Of course, morning would come and our little night tirades would seem silly, comical if you will. "Ha!" I would laugh, "You said you were going to the doctor's today!" "Har, har," he would say, "You wanted to hire the woman at the grocery check out to be the night nanny from now on." Ah yes, our lives had been reduced to this. So what was our best solution? Bum patting and shoooshing! That's right. Bum patting and shooooshing. And guess what? It worked! One of us would enter baby's room, pat his bum gently, shooosh soothingly, and about 10-20 minutes later, voila, sleeping baby. I, of course, would hit my arm ever so lightly on the door on my way out and so the process would begin again. It wasn't fool proof, but it wasn't my nipple. Therefore, it was progress and we found some happiness with that.

All you need is sleep.

Nursing had become an addiction of sorts; there was no way baby was giving it up without a fight. It was time for a nursing intervention. Baby, your boob addiction has affected your father and I in the following ways: 1) You will only fall asleep laying in mom's arms, while gently sucking. 2) Dad cannot help when putting you to bed and cannot help when you wake up 3) Mom is feeling a little overwhelmed and a bit like an open milk buffet.

This had to end. We decided that although I would still nurse baby during the day, the nighttime feedings could be dropped. We bought the "No Cry Sleep Solution" book and decided to give it a go. The idea behind the book (aside from not allowing your child to cry it out, duh) is that baby is slowly weaned off the expectation of the breast when he wakes up. The method is as follows: let baby suck until milk comes in. Baby vigorously sucks. When sucking slows, gently break latch. Baby will squirm, wait 60 seconds, then place baby back on the breast. Count to ten, then remove and repeat the process until baby eventually falls asleep without the nipple. Surprisingly, it only took about three tries and baby was sound asleep. I was stunned. Part of the routine was also to keep an active log book of when baby wakes up (honestly, was it necessary to write down the time every two hours??) but actually (and more depressingly), baby was waking up more frequently than that. The little notebook I kept beside my bed looked something like this:

Day 1: 8:45 9:36 12:03 2:24 4:15 6:27 7:09

Ugh. The situation seemed more dire when we saw it written on paper like that. Really, how can one little body wake up that much? Didn't baby get how good sleep could be? Why oh why had he not inherited his parents love of sleep?

The process of getting baby off the nighttime boob was a painful one. Sometimes it would take try after try to get baby to drift back to sleep, often causing my own body to resign to the fact that it must be the morning and therefore I couldn't fall back asleep myself. I often looked at my bedside clock at the numbers that would glow 4:13am and groan. I was anxious, anticipating baby's next awakening. Christ, now I needed a sleep intervention.

The method was met with some success. Baby slept his first sleep cycle the longest yet, sometimes for 5 hours. When he finally woke up the first time, (breaking the sleep seal much like going to the bathroom at a bar for the first time after drinking for a few hours) he was up every 2-3 hours after that. However, napping was finally making an appearance and I could handle waking up 2-3 times a night. After a few weeks, baby did what can only be described as a "sleep plateau." He was no longer satisfied with me gently breaking the latch and going back to sleep. His little lungs began to exert their power and I am certain that it was at this time when the neighbors decided we were not getting a Christmas card that year. Although Dad was still putting baby to bed with success, the nighttime awakenings became louder and more frequent. We needed another plan.

We came, we saw, we slept.

Having baby co-sleep with me was not our decision. In fact, there was no choice in the matter. After giving birth, there was no way this little one was NOT going to be by my side. I felt this overwhelming need to have him close. When the nurse wheeled us to our post-labour room and my husband went to catch a bit of sleep and it was just the two of us, I felt compelled to take him from his little plastic box on wheels and tuck him right in my nook. He felt right. And he fit in the nook nicely. My husband and I never really gave a thought to co-sleeping. My mother had even bought us a beautiful bassinette that we fully intended on using. That first night home (and the subsequent few days) were difficult. We found that baby actually calmed down when he slept nestled into me (go figure, a newborn life wanting to be close to his mother!) ,so we didn't fight it. My husband took up camp in the spare bedroom, and baby and I enjoyed late night reality TV. We became so comfortable and at ease that I often found myself awake with one breast out of the nighttime nursing bra, looking at baby and asking, "did I do that or you?" I slept. He slept. It felt right.

Our groove continued this way without much thought. I still had people quirk an eyebrow at me when I said I slept with my baby, "but won't you roll over on him?" they would enquire. I seldom dignified that question with any real answer. Please, ask any mom if she EVER sleeps the same way after giving birth. That said, little baby began to change. He became more mobile, more demanding, and we knew the time for the crib had come.

At around 5 months old, we began the transition. I would gently nurse baby to sleep and then with as much grace and ease as I could muster, I would put him in his crib and slowly walk out of his room, quietly asking the sleeping gods for a long rest. I often hit my elbow on the door or would click the doorknob too loudly and little baby would squawk and cry. I would curse under my breath and we would start the whole process again. He still woke up to nurse, but no more than he had sleeping with me. To be honest, I missed him beside me (and now had my husband's snoring to contend with) ,but I knew deep down that this was the right thing to do. Right??? Napping became a part of our day as well and although I was still nursing him to sleep, I felt that in a month's time, that would all change with solid food. Obviously, it did not and we knew we had a bigger problem on our hands. Our next hurdle: get baby to sleep without the comfort of the boob.

Sleep, perchance to dream.

Breastfeeding was no easy feat. An hour ofter the little one's birth, he was gently placed on my chest and started a munchin', in all the wrong ways, and in front of my father-in-law. (You'd think that after 26 hours of labour and an hour of pushing in front of a team of medical staff all modesty would be gone. Ummm....not so much.)
Baby couldn't latch, and I couldn't wear a shirt that didn't rub against my nipples causing me to yelp. Yep, it sucked. Pun intended. However, three lactation appointments later and most of my family familiar with the sight of me bare chested, we were breastfeeding successfully. It still took weeks for the babe and I to find our groove, but when we did, I breastfed whenever I could, all with my very eager and supportive husband looking over my shoulder announcing, "oh, that's a great latch." Enthusiasm aside, it still didn't stop me from threatening formula at 3 am at least twice a week. I persevered and sort of just accepted the night time feedings as the reality of our eager little latcher. I also developed a strange fascination to late night TV. I still think back to 'Paradise Hotel' and wonder how a geek like Dave got on that show. Reality television aside, in the back of my mind, everything would change at 6 months, when we introduced solid foods. Ah.....the solid food myth. Much like the formula myth and the myth that your body will go back to normal after giving birth. Really? C'mon now! I suppose I never questioned that baby was waking up so frequently because he was at least feeding well and hell, the kid was 17 pounds at 4 months old. Who was I to slow him down? But as time often gives you perspective on things, my husband began to think that maybe these wakings were not normal and that we should do something about it. Our first project: get the babe to nap!

We soon realized that about 2 hours after waking up, baby starts rubbing his eyes, and is less enthused about hanging out in the exersaucer or playing with blocks. It's at this time that the napping ritual must begin. We dim the lights, gently rock; I would nurse and little baby would fall asleep peacefully for 2 hours.
Wait, did you actually think that it happened that way?? Why am I writing this blog? No, napping usually involved me lying beside babe until he fell asleep, usually with nip still in mouth, and then me tip toeing out of my room to furiously shower, skipping all hair removal rituals, and applying make up swiftly, (Benefit's 'Oh la lift' does wonders for the eyes) all with about 2 minutes to spare before baby lets it wail. We knew the next step had to happen in order for napping to be successful. Baby had to get to his own bed. The crib was our next hurdle.

Sleep is for the weak.

I love sleep. In fact, my husband and I would sleep until noon most weekends and gladly nap any time during the day if given the opportunity. "What a waste of the day!" my coworkers would chastise; to which I would coldly reply, "what a waste of your night."
"Wait until you have kids," they would warn. "Ha! Do you see me changing diapers right now? I didn't think so. Now I gotta go. I only got 6 hours sleep last night and I'm dyyyyyiiiing."

Ya, I am completely aware of the irony that our beautiful 9 month old repels sleep.

Sleep karma is a bitch and I have taken to accessorizing the permanent colour of bluish purple under my eyes to my shoes and handbags.

"But you don't look tired....."

To which I reply:

"It's the caffeine and make-up."

Here's our sleep story.
(Thanks to a very wonderful friend and sometime sleepless mom for encouraging this!)