At 12:45 a.m. last night Brian said, "Let ME post about this day." "Yeah," I replied. "You can call it 'live blogging from the pit of hell.'"
Of course that's not true. Of course it's not. There are way worse things than what we're doing right now. But at 12:45 this morning, it was hard to think of any of them.
Did I mention yesterday Asher is sick? Sick is a euphemism for wretchedly miserable. He cries every time he swallows, gags and spits out any medicine, eats only ice chips and popsicles (and only after extensive begging from his mother), and asked at nine this morning, "Night-night? Please?" He has the virus from hell (only evil forces would conceive of covering a baby's throat in blisters), and there is absolutely nothing to be done but think up ways to keep him hydrated and wait it out.
Brian stayed home from work yesterday, and between Silas, whose little leg was sore from his vaccine, but who doesn't understand that kicking in response to the pain only makes it hurt worse, and Asher's horrible throat thing, neither of us went longer than ten minutes in a 36 hour period without holding a baby. I do not exaggerate. At 8:45 last night Brian loaded the whole family up to drive around the neighborhood, hoping they would fall asleep in their car seats. It didn't work. Silas got hungry and Asher started coughing so bad that Brian had to pull off for emergency ice chips. Asher slept for about an hour when he got home, but woke up at 10:30 wailing inconsolably. Only going outside to wave at the moon distracted him long enough to calm him down. If you had driven past our house at 11:45 last night, you would have seen Brian pacing the street with Asher in his stroller while I fed Silas (who had finally settled back into the normal demands of an infant). I could tell when they had turned back toward the house because I could hear Asher sobbing from the street. Back and forth, back and forth, like a little siren. I am sure we woke the neighbors.
Finally we tricked him into drinking some water. How did we do it? I put ice water in my water cup, the kind with a big straw that he's normally not offered, and asked him to show Daddy how he drank out of my cup like a big boy. Then, show Silas how he could do it. Show your blanket. Show the moon. Show Taylor. That worked. He was so proud of drinking like a big boy that he forgot how much it hurt to swallow. Once his throat was soothed by the cold, he could swallow his medicine again. He fell asleep, exhausted, at 1:30 a.m.
Silas was ready to eat again at 3.
That's all the time I have - Asher is awake again. Send all of your prayers for healthy throats and hydrated children (and infants who do not catch the virus from hell) our way.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Asher is sick and Silas had shots yesterday. Enough said.
That's really all I have to say this morning. But, we finally finished Silas' nursery (it only took until he was a month old - although, if he'd gone to his due date, he would have only been a week old when we finished it. Not that I'm complaining about him coming early), so I'm posting pictures below. The walls are pretty bare, but one thing I learned from the first time around is that as he grows, he's going to accumulate stuff of his own - pictures, frames, etc. If his walls are full now, that stuff will end up in the closet instead of in his room. So I don't mind bare walls for the moment. Anyway, pictures. Of our life this week and of Silas' nursery.
Have a cup of coffee in our honor today.
That's really all I have to say this morning. But, we finally finished Silas' nursery (it only took until he was a month old - although, if he'd gone to his due date, he would have only been a week old when we finished it. Not that I'm complaining about him coming early), so I'm posting pictures below. The walls are pretty bare, but one thing I learned from the first time around is that as he grows, he's going to accumulate stuff of his own - pictures, frames, etc. If his walls are full now, that stuff will end up in the closet instead of in his room. So I don't mind bare walls for the moment. Anyway, pictures. Of our life this week and of Silas' nursery.
Have a cup of coffee in our honor today.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
tuesday morning news
Good morning.
Our friend Mark is staying with us this week. Mark is an artist in temperament and in skill. He is a dreamer, an activist, the kind of believer who wants only to honor God, not to build a reputation or career in ministry. He talks in pictures and engages my children. It's good to have him here.
In other news, I realized Asher is misbehaving more because he has too much unstructured time (thank you Take Home Nanny). So we made a Fun Box over the weekend. It has preschool-ish activities that don't require much prep or clean-up for me. Asher and I no longer have two hours at a time to spend playing together, but we often have twenty minutes here, fifteen there. The Fun Box is perfect for that. And he's only screamed once since we started.
I have also decided to let Silas sleep on his belly. The trade-off is that he sleeps in a common area at all times. At night, his bassinet is right beside me. I am not the kind of sleeper who wakes at every grunt (that's the upside of sleep deprivation, I guess), but I always hear him when he's really stirring around, even if he doesn't cry. I'm counting on waking up if he is struggling, I guess. Whether that's guile or faith I'm not sure.
Happy Tuesday.
Our friend Mark is staying with us this week. Mark is an artist in temperament and in skill. He is a dreamer, an activist, the kind of believer who wants only to honor God, not to build a reputation or career in ministry. He talks in pictures and engages my children. It's good to have him here.
In other news, I realized Asher is misbehaving more because he has too much unstructured time (thank you Take Home Nanny). So we made a Fun Box over the weekend. It has preschool-ish activities that don't require much prep or clean-up for me. Asher and I no longer have two hours at a time to spend playing together, but we often have twenty minutes here, fifteen there. The Fun Box is perfect for that. And he's only screamed once since we started.
I have also decided to let Silas sleep on his belly. The trade-off is that he sleeps in a common area at all times. At night, his bassinet is right beside me. I am not the kind of sleeper who wakes at every grunt (that's the upside of sleep deprivation, I guess), but I always hear him when he's really stirring around, even if he doesn't cry. I'm counting on waking up if he is struggling, I guess. Whether that's guile or faith I'm not sure.
Happy Tuesday.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Friday, July 25, 2008
this is me, gnashing my teeth.
Oooohhhhh.
Two things of dire importance that must be addressed immediately:
1. We found the secret to getting Silas to sleep: put him on his belly. He sleeps like, I don't know what, but someone who is sleeping REALLY WELL on his belly. That's why he sleeps so well on me, apparently. But he likes no equipment. None. No swing, sling, bouncy, swaddler, carseat, or bassinet has any soothing effect whatsoever. This is why he's waking up every freaking hour at night. He's not hungry so much as he can't get comfortable on his back. All I can think about is the Back to Sleep campaign, and this blog that disturbed me so much Georgia's Mom and Brian both told me I needed to stop reading it. I'll put him on his belly during the day, when he's on the couch (with nothing around his face) so that I can make sure he LIVES through his nap, for pete's sake. But what am I supposed to do at night? Seriously, I'm asking. Please tell me. It appears Silas' sleep and mine have an inverse relationship. That really has to change. Soon. Because -
2. I have decided screaming will be the hill that I will die on in parenting. There will be no more screaming in my house. I don't care if I do nothing else in life, Asher is going to learn how to stop screaming. If he was playing, I could teach a different (more appropriate) behavior. But he screams specifically because he knows it bothers me. Ooohh no. This morning we were half an hour late for play group, and he spent a solid chunk of his time there in time-out. If you scream, you do not get to play. The end and amen. This is the first time I've ever had to watch my temper with Asher. Other things were difficult to handle, but they didn't make me M-A-D like screaming does. Sleep deprivation is no doubt a contributing factor. So, seriously, Silas needs to sleep (at least during the times when he should be asleep - I'm not saying he has to drop a feeding, I'm just asking him to stay asleep in between them. And I'm asking YOU how to get him to do that), and Asher needs to stop screaming. Or their mama might lose her mind.
Bill Cosby says God made babies cute so you don't kill 'em.
Two things of dire importance that must be addressed immediately:
1. We found the secret to getting Silas to sleep: put him on his belly. He sleeps like, I don't know what, but someone who is sleeping REALLY WELL on his belly. That's why he sleeps so well on me, apparently. But he likes no equipment. None. No swing, sling, bouncy, swaddler, carseat, or bassinet has any soothing effect whatsoever. This is why he's waking up every freaking hour at night. He's not hungry so much as he can't get comfortable on his back. All I can think about is the Back to Sleep campaign, and this blog that disturbed me so much Georgia's Mom and Brian both told me I needed to stop reading it. I'll put him on his belly during the day, when he's on the couch (with nothing around his face) so that I can make sure he LIVES through his nap, for pete's sake. But what am I supposed to do at night? Seriously, I'm asking. Please tell me. It appears Silas' sleep and mine have an inverse relationship. That really has to change. Soon. Because -
2. I have decided screaming will be the hill that I will die on in parenting. There will be no more screaming in my house. I don't care if I do nothing else in life, Asher is going to learn how to stop screaming. If he was playing, I could teach a different (more appropriate) behavior. But he screams specifically because he knows it bothers me. Ooohh no. This morning we were half an hour late for play group, and he spent a solid chunk of his time there in time-out. If you scream, you do not get to play. The end and amen. This is the first time I've ever had to watch my temper with Asher. Other things were difficult to handle, but they didn't make me M-A-D like screaming does. Sleep deprivation is no doubt a contributing factor. So, seriously, Silas needs to sleep (at least during the times when he should be asleep - I'm not saying he has to drop a feeding, I'm just asking him to stay asleep in between them. And I'm asking YOU how to get him to do that), and Asher needs to stop screaming. Or their mama might lose her mind.
Bill Cosby says God made babies cute so you don't kill 'em.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
We have hit the hump. What I remember most clearly from Asher's first few months of life is the fourth week. You can do anything for a little while, but sleep deprivation is cumulative. By week 4, Asher was his fussiest, and I was my most desperate. This was the week that I drove to Auburn just to make a phone call (he would sleep in the car, and I needed him to sleep. NEEDED it.), and began to realize there is a lot about being a mother nobody ever tells you. Like, when it gets better than week 4.
Here we are friends. Silas is 4 weeks old. He was up every two hours night before last, and every 2 1/2 last night, creating such a state of confusion in my bumfuzzled brain that at 4 a.m. I brought him to Brian. "He's crying and I don't know why," I said. "But I have to keep sleeping." Brian told me this morning he was crying because he was wet and hungry. Huh. How about that.
Add to the mix Asher, who, lined up against other toddler boys is relatively calm and easy to manage, but nonetheless has the "let's see what happens if ..." mindset that all toddlers possess. We had dinner with a friend last night, who observed, "You're going to have to throw every bit of stimulation you can at that child just to keep up. He's a little sponge." Indeed.
And here is the rub: Asher really is soaking up every thing right now. He wants to know how the world works, all of it, in no particular order. And in order to keep him from climbing the walls (to see what happens if he does) I really do need to give him as much opportunity to learn new things as possible. Which stands in direct conflict to what Silas needs, which is predictability and calm and most importantly, for the love of all that is holy, to be held. So every morning I wake up and think, who am I going to mess with today? Will I bungee Asher to the house so that Silas can have a little peace in the world, or will I strap Silas to me, let Asher live a little, and deal with the overstimulation screaming later?
Alas.
Week 6 is only 10 days away, though. By week 6, my world was much brighter last time. Let's hope that will prove true now, too.
Happy Thursday every one.
Here we are friends. Silas is 4 weeks old. He was up every two hours night before last, and every 2 1/2 last night, creating such a state of confusion in my bumfuzzled brain that at 4 a.m. I brought him to Brian. "He's crying and I don't know why," I said. "But I have to keep sleeping." Brian told me this morning he was crying because he was wet and hungry. Huh. How about that.
Add to the mix Asher, who, lined up against other toddler boys is relatively calm and easy to manage, but nonetheless has the "let's see what happens if ..." mindset that all toddlers possess. We had dinner with a friend last night, who observed, "You're going to have to throw every bit of stimulation you can at that child just to keep up. He's a little sponge." Indeed.
And here is the rub: Asher really is soaking up every thing right now. He wants to know how the world works, all of it, in no particular order. And in order to keep him from climbing the walls (to see what happens if he does) I really do need to give him as much opportunity to learn new things as possible. Which stands in direct conflict to what Silas needs, which is predictability and calm and most importantly, for the love of all that is holy, to be held. So every morning I wake up and think, who am I going to mess with today? Will I bungee Asher to the house so that Silas can have a little peace in the world, or will I strap Silas to me, let Asher live a little, and deal with the overstimulation screaming later?
Alas.
Week 6 is only 10 days away, though. By week 6, my world was much brighter last time. Let's hope that will prove true now, too.
Happy Thursday every one.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Our camera is here. It is way smarter than me. I'm pretty sure it had higher ACT scores, and can probably even make better lasagna. But it's good for me, the point-and-click type, and good for Brian, who likes to try settings and lenses and what-not.
Also, do you see how Silas' hair is turning red? I would swear he looks like Sawyer, Georgia's brother, if such a thing were possible.
Check back for more pictures.
Monday, July 21, 2008
on smiles, Erickson, and traveling circuses. circi, Brian would say.
Guess what.
Silas just smiled at me.
To anyone out there who is thinking, that baby is too young to smile; he probably has gas - First of all, boo. Second, it was different. He was awake, looked at my eyes, and grinned. I know that's not supposed to happen for another few weeks, but clearly he is an extraordinary child.
Shortly after Asher was born, I remember reading that the Navajos believe whoever witnesses a baby's first smile is linked to that child; the baby will take on the adult's characteristics. This information stuck with me because Granny first made Asher smile, and Granny's life was characterized by laughter. Asher, too, is quick to laugh, and his name means "happy."
So what will Silas take from me?
In other news, I've realized something about myself as a parent. I love order deep in my soul, so I always thought of myself as a routine/structured (i.e., Babywise) parent. Even when I didn't follow Babywise whole-heartedly, I held on to the label, because it seemed to be the most accurate description. But that's not true. I have a degree in human development, which means I've studied who knows how many theories of how children and adults become who they are. Erickson convinced me. Erickson says that every stage of life has a question to be answered, and that the questions are cumulative. Right now Silas is learning to trust me, and, by extension, people in general. And while my sleep is important, my autonomy is important, and his independence is important - nothing matters as much as Silas learning to trust, creating a framework for understanding and accepting love. Which is why I am so excited to see him beginning to calm down when I pick him up to feed him. He's beginning to understand he doesn't need to cry anymore, because I am going to take care of him. That knowledge is way better than my sleep.
Asher is transitioning out of the question of trust and beginning to learn about autonomy. He is figuring out that he is a separate entity from me. I see it in everything he does - in the way he screams when I say, "no", in his fascination with his own reflection, in his desire to use his newly discovered language. He is his own little person, with his own ideas and shadow. The challenge, as a mom, is to allow him to grow into his own person while teaching him to function as part of a whole - in our family, in a group of peers, in the wider world. Any suggestions?
Finally, the Circus is going on tour tonight. I'm taking both boys to a restaurant, and then home for bed, by myself. Go ahead, laugh. I am sure that I will at some point in the evening, too. The good news is that both sets of grandparents will be at dinner, so someone can make sure Asher doesn't pull down the tablecloth or eat the sugar packets. Come on, come all.
Happy Monday, everyone.
Silas just smiled at me.
To anyone out there who is thinking, that baby is too young to smile; he probably has gas - First of all, boo. Second, it was different. He was awake, looked at my eyes, and grinned. I know that's not supposed to happen for another few weeks, but clearly he is an extraordinary child.
Shortly after Asher was born, I remember reading that the Navajos believe whoever witnesses a baby's first smile is linked to that child; the baby will take on the adult's characteristics. This information stuck with me because Granny first made Asher smile, and Granny's life was characterized by laughter. Asher, too, is quick to laugh, and his name means "happy."
So what will Silas take from me?
In other news, I've realized something about myself as a parent. I love order deep in my soul, so I always thought of myself as a routine/structured (i.e., Babywise) parent. Even when I didn't follow Babywise whole-heartedly, I held on to the label, because it seemed to be the most accurate description. But that's not true. I have a degree in human development, which means I've studied who knows how many theories of how children and adults become who they are. Erickson convinced me. Erickson says that every stage of life has a question to be answered, and that the questions are cumulative. Right now Silas is learning to trust me, and, by extension, people in general. And while my sleep is important, my autonomy is important, and his independence is important - nothing matters as much as Silas learning to trust, creating a framework for understanding and accepting love. Which is why I am so excited to see him beginning to calm down when I pick him up to feed him. He's beginning to understand he doesn't need to cry anymore, because I am going to take care of him. That knowledge is way better than my sleep.
Asher is transitioning out of the question of trust and beginning to learn about autonomy. He is figuring out that he is a separate entity from me. I see it in everything he does - in the way he screams when I say, "no", in his fascination with his own reflection, in his desire to use his newly discovered language. He is his own little person, with his own ideas and shadow. The challenge, as a mom, is to allow him to grow into his own person while teaching him to function as part of a whole - in our family, in a group of peers, in the wider world. Any suggestions?
Finally, the Circus is going on tour tonight. I'm taking both boys to a restaurant, and then home for bed, by myself. Go ahead, laugh. I am sure that I will at some point in the evening, too. The good news is that both sets of grandparents will be at dinner, so someone can make sure Asher doesn't pull down the tablecloth or eat the sugar packets. Come on, come all.
Happy Monday, everyone.
Friday, July 18, 2008
notes from the other side
I am shrinking.
Georgia's Mom, wise soul that she is, gave this advice when asked about having two babies close in age: "With each child, you find more of yourself to give." In a similar vein, Halle used to tell me that her children were teaching her about selflessness. I'm beginning to understand what they meant.
Time is the most valuable commodity in our home right now. I have less time to spend with each child individually, less time to spend with Brian, and almost no time to devote to anything outside of our little universe. But it's easier than I thought it would be. Not only am I more confident, but I am accustomed to being needed. I am learning how to give more of myself, understanding that this is only for a season. They will not always need me as much as they do now. And when they don't, I will wish they did, or so I am told. Some days that's easier to believe than others.
My body, too, has diminished. This has been more of a transition than I expected. For so long, I housed another person, and now I don't. There are no more flutters, no more internal hiccups. While I can't say I miss being pregnant, exactly, I do notice the absence of something extraordinary happening. To be pregnant is to participate in Creation, and even on my worst pregnant days (because we won't pretend I didn't have many, many bad pregnant days), the idea of another life growing inside of me never lost its significance. Now, my body is once again unremarkable. Calories are a matter of input and output, simple math, with no adjusting for the demands of pregnancy. It's a bittersweet reality.
My children seem to be growing at the same rate as I am shrinking. Silas, with his tiny, perfectly round face and lightening hair, is filling out his little outfits and becoming more aware every day. And Asher has graduated into a full-fledged toddler this week, completing the transition by learning to say, "no." He has no malice (yet) in it, though. It's just a statement of fact. "Asher, are you ready for bed?" "Mo," he'll say quietly, shaking his head. I can't help but smile.
This is what I know now that I didn't know a month ago: raising two babies is demanding and sweet in equal measure.
Thanks be to God.
Georgia's Mom, wise soul that she is, gave this advice when asked about having two babies close in age: "With each child, you find more of yourself to give." In a similar vein, Halle used to tell me that her children were teaching her about selflessness. I'm beginning to understand what they meant.
Time is the most valuable commodity in our home right now. I have less time to spend with each child individually, less time to spend with Brian, and almost no time to devote to anything outside of our little universe. But it's easier than I thought it would be. Not only am I more confident, but I am accustomed to being needed. I am learning how to give more of myself, understanding that this is only for a season. They will not always need me as much as they do now. And when they don't, I will wish they did, or so I am told. Some days that's easier to believe than others.
My body, too, has diminished. This has been more of a transition than I expected. For so long, I housed another person, and now I don't. There are no more flutters, no more internal hiccups. While I can't say I miss being pregnant, exactly, I do notice the absence of something extraordinary happening. To be pregnant is to participate in Creation, and even on my worst pregnant days (because we won't pretend I didn't have many, many bad pregnant days), the idea of another life growing inside of me never lost its significance. Now, my body is once again unremarkable. Calories are a matter of input and output, simple math, with no adjusting for the demands of pregnancy. It's a bittersweet reality.
My children seem to be growing at the same rate as I am shrinking. Silas, with his tiny, perfectly round face and lightening hair, is filling out his little outfits and becoming more aware every day. And Asher has graduated into a full-fledged toddler this week, completing the transition by learning to say, "no." He has no malice (yet) in it, though. It's just a statement of fact. "Asher, are you ready for bed?" "Mo," he'll say quietly, shaking his head. I can't help but smile.
This is what I know now that I didn't know a month ago: raising two babies is demanding and sweet in equal measure.
Thanks be to God.
Ok, listen. Can moms just agree to something? Cleaning house for a playgroup is RIDICULOUS. Please don't clean up for me, and I won't clean up for you. I'll make sure nothing is growing in the sink, but otherwise, you're on your own. Because, seriously? You're going to need to clean up after we leave way more than you needed to before we got there.
The end and amen.
The end and amen.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
worth 5000 words
This is my sister and me. Nothing about this moment was staged or planned in any way.
Silas with his grandparents.
Do I look a little haggard? I am. But happily so.
This picture is from a few months ago, but I just saw it today. That's one loved baby.
Asher is enjoying my parents being home for the summer.
Silas with his grandparents.
Do I look a little haggard? I am. But happily so.
This picture is from a few months ago, but I just saw it today. That's one loved baby.
Asher is enjoying my parents being home for the summer.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
silver linings
Do you want to know my biggest spiritual struggle? Somewhere along the way I got the idea that God doesn't care about details. World peace, yes. If I got to shower today, not so much.
I think this started as a personal backlash to the prosperity gospel. Does God care if I have a cool house? I don't think so. But Jesus always addressed immediate needs, and his parables used ordinary things. To think God doesn't care about my day is, ultimately, to assume He doesn't care about me, because my life is just a string of days put together. It's not true; He does care about me and my life, and while it is not His yearning desire for me to have clean hair, my gratitude to Him for all things is.
So, here it is. I'm grateful for the silver linings in my week, such as:
1. We ordered a camera. Ours was stolen with my purse, and I take pictures every day. I'm just not willing to have babies without one. So, we got a good one - a digital SLR, which means no more pictures of the side of Asher's face. And because my husband is nothing if not a bargain hunter, we (he) found it for about half-price. Yay for us.
2. I do, in fact, have clean hair at this moment. Also, a cake in the oven. Cake gets double points.
3. Silas has been peaceful all morning. Thank you God.
4. A friend is coming to eat grilled cheese sandwiches at naptime today, which means I may actually finish a sentence while she is here.
5. My neighbors have started a local playgroup, and I can't tell you how excited I am about it. Right now we have to drive to do everything. I would love to have friends in walking distance; I would also love for Asher to have friends that live down the street. The older he gets, the more that will matter. They started the week Silas was born, so Thursday will be my first opportunity to join them.
6. Best of all - I love Brian. Today is our 8th anniversary, and I'm so thankful to be in a relationship where we still like and appreciate each other. The value of that is not lost on me.
7. Silas is still eating around the clock (of course), but he's starting to sleep through the middle of the night feeding. That's a good sign, and I'll take whatever good signs I can get about sleep.
Why are you thankful today?
Happy Tuesday everyone.
I think this started as a personal backlash to the prosperity gospel. Does God care if I have a cool house? I don't think so. But Jesus always addressed immediate needs, and his parables used ordinary things. To think God doesn't care about my day is, ultimately, to assume He doesn't care about me, because my life is just a string of days put together. It's not true; He does care about me and my life, and while it is not His yearning desire for me to have clean hair, my gratitude to Him for all things is.
So, here it is. I'm grateful for the silver linings in my week, such as:
1. We ordered a camera. Ours was stolen with my purse, and I take pictures every day. I'm just not willing to have babies without one. So, we got a good one - a digital SLR, which means no more pictures of the side of Asher's face. And because my husband is nothing if not a bargain hunter, we (he) found it for about half-price. Yay for us.
2. I do, in fact, have clean hair at this moment. Also, a cake in the oven. Cake gets double points.
3. Silas has been peaceful all morning. Thank you God.
4. A friend is coming to eat grilled cheese sandwiches at naptime today, which means I may actually finish a sentence while she is here.
5. My neighbors have started a local playgroup, and I can't tell you how excited I am about it. Right now we have to drive to do everything. I would love to have friends in walking distance; I would also love for Asher to have friends that live down the street. The older he gets, the more that will matter. They started the week Silas was born, so Thursday will be my first opportunity to join them.
6. Best of all - I love Brian. Today is our 8th anniversary, and I'm so thankful to be in a relationship where we still like and appreciate each other. The value of that is not lost on me.
7. Silas is still eating around the clock (of course), but he's starting to sleep through the middle of the night feeding. That's a good sign, and I'll take whatever good signs I can get about sleep.
Why are you thankful today?
Happy Tuesday everyone.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
What did I win? Because surely there's a prize for days like this. Silas would not be satisfied unless he is asleep on me (not Brian, not a grandparent - me. Which means I have had a baby strapped to me ALL day long. Still do.); Asher had a COMPLETE toddler moment this morning that involved swatting at me and then running from me, and in general has been more likely to sit down and cry than to follow any directions today; what started as a very simple leak in the bathroom has become the Pipe That Will to be Tamed, demanding more of Brian's energy than either of us wanted him to give; and I spent TWELVE (I do not lie - twelve) hours doing housework that would take me two hours sans children, and STILL did not finish. Sigh.
At least today is over. I guess that's my prize - the chance to start fresh tomorrow.
At least today is over. I guess that's my prize - the chance to start fresh tomorrow.
Friday, July 11, 2008
and also with you.
Today is my 30th birthday and Silas' due date, and both of those facts merit some discussion, I think. But three weeks of interrupted sleep, preceded by nine months of interrupted sleep, have left me a little less chatty and a little more prone to growl and mutter the past few days. So we'll save it for another time. Today, a story. From me to you.
Our church hosts an event called a Swap a few times a year. The Swap is a garage sale without money; you bring what you don't need, take what you do. It's open to the larger community, and usually attracts a crowd. At the last Swap, Brian picked up a cell phone and charger to use for work, but never activated it. So when my cell phone was stolen a few days ago, we had another ready, thankfully. Yesterday afternoon, we charged it, turned it on - and discovered p*rn. Of the animated and homemade varieties, to be exact. Lots of it.
Now, I don't harbor any delusions that church members are less interested in p*rn than the wider world. Churches are for people who need a little grace, and I'm glad to be a part of one that expresses that. But, seriously? You didn't want to delete that stuff instead of donating it to the church? You weren't just a liiiitle concerned someone might recognize you? ( Not I've seen that end of anyone at church, but there were a few benign snapshots of smiling faces in the mix.)
All day this phrase has been running through my head - The Peace of God be with you. And also some p*rn.
Our church hosts an event called a Swap a few times a year. The Swap is a garage sale without money; you bring what you don't need, take what you do. It's open to the larger community, and usually attracts a crowd. At the last Swap, Brian picked up a cell phone and charger to use for work, but never activated it. So when my cell phone was stolen a few days ago, we had another ready, thankfully. Yesterday afternoon, we charged it, turned it on - and discovered p*rn. Of the animated and homemade varieties, to be exact. Lots of it.
Now, I don't harbor any delusions that church members are less interested in p*rn than the wider world. Churches are for people who need a little grace, and I'm glad to be a part of one that expresses that. But, seriously? You didn't want to delete that stuff instead of donating it to the church? You weren't just a liiiitle concerned someone might recognize you? ( Not I've seen that end of anyone at church, but there were a few benign snapshots of smiling faces in the mix.)
All day this phrase has been running through my head - The Peace of God be with you. And also some p*rn.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
on vulnerability in the big wide world
I had a plan.
We were getting ready to spend a day at my parents' house at the lake. Picture me, packing sunscreen, big diapers, little diapers, two night-night blankets, big paci, little paci, sunscreen, floats, and onesies to go around. My water bottle, Asher's water bottle, shoes for the water, shoes for now, running to the back to brush my teeth, running to the kitchen to brush Asher's teeth, picking up Silas to settle him down, and Asher orbiting around me shouting, "Big Daddy!" Does it sound like a circus? Because it is. But not a chaotic one, and certainly not a dangerous one. So I thought.
I can't lift Asher, and I can't lift Silas in his carrier, but we've adapted, see? So I pack everything in the bag, but the bag on my back, and help Asher walk down the brick front steps to his car seat. He proudly climbs up, I strap him in and hand him Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? I roll down the windows because it's summer in Alabama, and it wouldn't take long for a baby to bake in the car. I put everything else I'm going to need - the float, water bottles, and my purse - on the front steps, wrangle Taylor into his (our) room, take chicken out of the freezer for dinner, make sure the back door is locked, pick up Silas, make sure my keys are still in my pocket, walk back to the car, fasten Silas into his carrier, confirm to Asher, "Yes, we're going to see Big Daddy," shut the car door, and go back to get the rest of the stuff.
My purse is gone.
Now, I have a reputation for being scatterbrained. When Brian and I were dating, the joke was that he walked behind me and picked up whatever I'd forgotten along the way. It's true, he did. And I can still get somewhere and realize I left my cell phone on the counter (I once pulled out of the driveway for a day-long trip before I realized I still had my slippers on). But, ironically, the more responsibility I have, the less likely I am to forget something. I have never left the house without Asher's blanket, for example. I have only left once without a water cup for him, and he almost always has shoes on. So, I thought, maybe I misplaced it. Maybe it wasn't on the step. I went back through every single place I'd been to pack their bag (which is almost every single place in the house). I checked the freezer, thinking of the Cosby show. I checked under a baby blanket, I checked the bathroom sink. No, I had it on the front steps. I know I did.
Someone stole my purse. From my front steps, while my back was turned. We live in an older neighborhood on a quiet street with a good-sized front yard, so someone had to walk through my yard (or hide in the bushes, God forbid), take my purse, and get back to the street without attracting either my attention or the attention of my sixty pound dog. They did.
I really don't care about the cash or the cell phone or the debit card or the digital camera (ok, I care a little about the digital camera) that was in my purse. What bothers me - what makes me shudder - is how close they were to Asher. While he was pointing to frogs and goldfish, they were fifteen feet away, taking what was mine. Their gall is what shocks me. Why just my purse? If someone was willing to take something from the front steps of my house, why didn't they just rob me? Why did they leave Asher alone? It was luck of the draw that a petty thief was watching this morning, and not someone with more sinister intentions.
We went to Big Daddy's house anyway. I watched Asher, playing in the water hose, eating peaches and okra for lunch, dancing while his grandmother sang, and thought about what they got this morning, and what they left behind. They can have my cash. They didn't touch one thing - not one damn thing - that matters.
We were getting ready to spend a day at my parents' house at the lake. Picture me, packing sunscreen, big diapers, little diapers, two night-night blankets, big paci, little paci, sunscreen, floats, and onesies to go around. My water bottle, Asher's water bottle, shoes for the water, shoes for now, running to the back to brush my teeth, running to the kitchen to brush Asher's teeth, picking up Silas to settle him down, and Asher orbiting around me shouting, "Big Daddy!" Does it sound like a circus? Because it is. But not a chaotic one, and certainly not a dangerous one. So I thought.
I can't lift Asher, and I can't lift Silas in his carrier, but we've adapted, see? So I pack everything in the bag, but the bag on my back, and help Asher walk down the brick front steps to his car seat. He proudly climbs up, I strap him in and hand him Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? I roll down the windows because it's summer in Alabama, and it wouldn't take long for a baby to bake in the car. I put everything else I'm going to need - the float, water bottles, and my purse - on the front steps, wrangle Taylor into his (our) room, take chicken out of the freezer for dinner, make sure the back door is locked, pick up Silas, make sure my keys are still in my pocket, walk back to the car, fasten Silas into his carrier, confirm to Asher, "Yes, we're going to see Big Daddy," shut the car door, and go back to get the rest of the stuff.
My purse is gone.
Now, I have a reputation for being scatterbrained. When Brian and I were dating, the joke was that he walked behind me and picked up whatever I'd forgotten along the way. It's true, he did. And I can still get somewhere and realize I left my cell phone on the counter (I once pulled out of the driveway for a day-long trip before I realized I still had my slippers on). But, ironically, the more responsibility I have, the less likely I am to forget something. I have never left the house without Asher's blanket, for example. I have only left once without a water cup for him, and he almost always has shoes on. So, I thought, maybe I misplaced it. Maybe it wasn't on the step. I went back through every single place I'd been to pack their bag (which is almost every single place in the house). I checked the freezer, thinking of the Cosby show. I checked under a baby blanket, I checked the bathroom sink. No, I had it on the front steps. I know I did.
Someone stole my purse. From my front steps, while my back was turned. We live in an older neighborhood on a quiet street with a good-sized front yard, so someone had to walk through my yard (or hide in the bushes, God forbid), take my purse, and get back to the street without attracting either my attention or the attention of my sixty pound dog. They did.
I really don't care about the cash or the cell phone or the debit card or the digital camera (ok, I care a little about the digital camera) that was in my purse. What bothers me - what makes me shudder - is how close they were to Asher. While he was pointing to frogs and goldfish, they were fifteen feet away, taking what was mine. Their gall is what shocks me. Why just my purse? If someone was willing to take something from the front steps of my house, why didn't they just rob me? Why did they leave Asher alone? It was luck of the draw that a petty thief was watching this morning, and not someone with more sinister intentions.
We went to Big Daddy's house anyway. I watched Asher, playing in the water hose, eating peaches and okra for lunch, dancing while his grandmother sang, and thought about what they got this morning, and what they left behind. They can have my cash. They didn't touch one thing - not one damn thing - that matters.
Monday, July 07, 2008
suring up my nomination for Mother of the Year - updated with illustrations
The following things actually happened this weekend:
1. I had Silas in my arms and was talking to Brian. His little arm flailed (as infants are wont to do) at the same moment as I opened my mouth, and I BIT my baby's finger. Hard. And then I laughed while he screamed.
2. I woke up at 2:30 to feed him. I changed his diaper, made a bottle, picked him up ... and fell asleep. I don't mean I dozed off, I mean I woke up an hour and a half later, realized I was holding both a baby and a bottle, and put the bottle in his mouth. In my defense, he never complained. At least, I never heard him complain. It is possible I was so comatose that he cried and I didn't hear him, I guess. Surely not.
3. Asher had goldfish and cake for dinner on the 4th. A first for him.
4. Yesterday morning I heard myself saying, "Do not put goldfish on your feet." (It was a moment where I thought - the things you never expect to say in a day). At which point, my child PICKED CRACKER FROM BETWEEN HIS TOES and ate it. And I did not stop him.
5. While I fed Silas this morning, Asher did this:
That would be his clothes hamper on his head. Which begs the question, where are his dirty clothes? (Because they certainly aren't clean.) All over his floor. Of course.
All in all, though, life is good. We're learning the art of Baby Juggling, which is an extreme sport, and should not be attempted by those who have heart conditions or are prone to dizziness. It involves such activities as keeping one from injuring himself while nourishing another, bouncing one while reading to another, and phrases such as "feet on the floor" while searching for pacifiers. And just when you think Round One is over, there is invariably a poopy diaper waiting to be found.
Happy Monday, everyone.
1. I had Silas in my arms and was talking to Brian. His little arm flailed (as infants are wont to do) at the same moment as I opened my mouth, and I BIT my baby's finger. Hard. And then I laughed while he screamed.
2. I woke up at 2:30 to feed him. I changed his diaper, made a bottle, picked him up ... and fell asleep. I don't mean I dozed off, I mean I woke up an hour and a half later, realized I was holding both a baby and a bottle, and put the bottle in his mouth. In my defense, he never complained. At least, I never heard him complain. It is possible I was so comatose that he cried and I didn't hear him, I guess. Surely not.
3. Asher had goldfish and cake for dinner on the 4th. A first for him.
4. Yesterday morning I heard myself saying, "Do not put goldfish on your feet." (It was a moment where I thought - the things you never expect to say in a day). At which point, my child PICKED CRACKER FROM BETWEEN HIS TOES and ate it. And I did not stop him.
5. While I fed Silas this morning, Asher did this:
That would be his clothes hamper on his head. Which begs the question, where are his dirty clothes? (Because they certainly aren't clean.) All over his floor. Of course.
All in all, though, life is good. We're learning the art of Baby Juggling, which is an extreme sport, and should not be attempted by those who have heart conditions or are prone to dizziness. It involves such activities as keeping one from injuring himself while nourishing another, bouncing one while reading to another, and phrases such as "feet on the floor" while searching for pacifiers. And just when you think Round One is over, there is invariably a poopy diaper waiting to be found.
Happy Monday, everyone.
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Some of you will recognize the post below. As I have considered and prayed about how to spend my time during the 40 Day Fast, the post below kept coming to mind. It's a big world, and there's suffering everywhere you look. But this is how God leads me to pray, nearly every time I have fasted, every time I am quiet long enough to ask. Peace to you all.
my turn for the 40 Day Fast
A disclaimer: I worked for several years in Early Intervention, a nationwide program that serves children under three years old with developmental delays and disabilities. This is a description of my first meeting with one of the children I served. In the following (true) story, the foster mother was unimpressive at best. However, I know and love several amazing foster parents. I have watched children flourish under the love and nurturing of good foster homes. So please don’t read this particular character as a commentary on the foster care system. The world is already a better place because of families who have devoted their lives to displaced children. Having said that …
I remember sitting in a clean, dark living room cluttered with porcelain and picture frames. The sun is shining, it’s springtime in the South, and this is my last appointment of the day. I’m ready to finish up and be outside. I have conducted meetings like this a few hundred times, and by now am comfortable sitting in strangers’ living rooms. I don’t remember the foster mother’s face, but I remember her demeanor as cold, indifferent. I talk briefly with the little girl before I open her file. She’s two years old, with neatly braided hair and a clean pink sundress. She and her four-year-old sister have been in foster care for only a few months. They are together in the living room. I notice how quiet they are, how the little girl doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t smile. I open my notes.
I ask her foster mother the usual questions, and she answers politely without elaborating. As I’m completing another form for her to sign, she looks at the little girl. “Go on, now. Go potty.” The girl begins to cry, not with the exuberant resistance of a toddler, but in a guttural wail I have never heard in another context. The woman is undaunted. “Go.” The little girl obeys, moaning as she moves across the room and down the hallway. “Does she always cry like that?” I ask. “Only when she goes to the bathroom,” she responds. “I don’t know why. Something must have happened.”
Something must have happened.
I am not an expert on child abuse, but I know there is only one reason why baby girls are terrified of bathrooms. I try to reason with myself. Don’t respond, I think. She’s already in the system; someone already knows more about this than you do. They don’t even know you yet. There’s nothing you can do about it. Just have this woman sign the forms and you can go home. But it’s not working. I hear her at the far end of the house now, softly wailing in the bathroom. I put down my file. I can’t take it.
“Excuse me,” I say to the woman. She does not respond. I walk to the end of the hall and see the little girl, standing alone outside of the bathroom, still moaning. I pick her up. “Shh,” I said. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” She relaxes against me, resting her braids on my shoulder as I rock her. She is no more or less afraid of me than anyone else. Gradually the wails subside. Her breathing slows to the shuddering sob of a tired baby. When she is calm, I carry her back into the living room. I sit down on the couch, the little girl in my lap, talking quietly to her. She never looks at my eyes.
* 90-95% of sexual abuse is never reported.
* 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys will be sexually assaulted before they turn 18.
* Among them, nearly 30% will be molested before the age of 7.
* In the United States, three million children will be sexually abused this year.
* 90% will know their assailant.
* 1 in 20 men will sexually abuse a child.
*1 in 3300 women will also become perpetrators.
* When sexual abuse is reported, only 1-4% are false accusations.
* In those instances, 75% are made by an adult, not a child.
* Thirty nine million American adults were sexually abused as children.
They are staggering statistics that we never hear.
In preparing for the 40 Day Fast, there has been a lot of talk about abundance and excess. In this, too, I see my own excess. How easily I trust others, how naively I assume the best because I have never endured the worst of humanity. How often I have sensed that something was wrong, but chosen to believe otherwise. It is so overwhelming to consider nationally that I have chosen to pray specifically for my little corner of the world. I am focusing on the greater Montgomery area of Alabama. My prayer is that a child will be heard and a child will be spared every hour that I pray. I am also praying for adults in my sphere of influence who were abused as children, that they will experience the freedom and peace that only comes from the restoring power of Christ.
In every county there are organizations devoted to catching criminals and helping children and adults heal from the devastation of sexual abuse. I have personally interacted with The Family Sunshine Center in Montgomery and the Rape and Sexual Abuse Center in Nashville. Both programs are run by gracious and compassionate people. If you have time or money to give to your local program, by all means, they need a hand. But if you want to know how to help, just look around. Three million children need us to pay attention, to ask uncomfortable questions and speak up when we think something is wrong. And 39 million adults need to talk.
I remember sitting in a clean, dark living room cluttered with porcelain and picture frames. The sun is shining, it’s springtime in the South, and this is my last appointment of the day. I’m ready to finish up and be outside. I have conducted meetings like this a few hundred times, and by now am comfortable sitting in strangers’ living rooms. I don’t remember the foster mother’s face, but I remember her demeanor as cold, indifferent. I talk briefly with the little girl before I open her file. She’s two years old, with neatly braided hair and a clean pink sundress. She and her four-year-old sister have been in foster care for only a few months. They are together in the living room. I notice how quiet they are, how the little girl doesn’t make eye contact, doesn’t smile. I open my notes.
I ask her foster mother the usual questions, and she answers politely without elaborating. As I’m completing another form for her to sign, she looks at the little girl. “Go on, now. Go potty.” The girl begins to cry, not with the exuberant resistance of a toddler, but in a guttural wail I have never heard in another context. The woman is undaunted. “Go.” The little girl obeys, moaning as she moves across the room and down the hallway. “Does she always cry like that?” I ask. “Only when she goes to the bathroom,” she responds. “I don’t know why. Something must have happened.”
Something must have happened.
I am not an expert on child abuse, but I know there is only one reason why baby girls are terrified of bathrooms. I try to reason with myself. Don’t respond, I think. She’s already in the system; someone already knows more about this than you do. They don’t even know you yet. There’s nothing you can do about it. Just have this woman sign the forms and you can go home. But it’s not working. I hear her at the far end of the house now, softly wailing in the bathroom. I put down my file. I can’t take it.
“Excuse me,” I say to the woman. She does not respond. I walk to the end of the hall and see the little girl, standing alone outside of the bathroom, still moaning. I pick her up. “Shh,” I said. “You’re okay. It’s okay.” She relaxes against me, resting her braids on my shoulder as I rock her. She is no more or less afraid of me than anyone else. Gradually the wails subside. Her breathing slows to the shuddering sob of a tired baby. When she is calm, I carry her back into the living room. I sit down on the couch, the little girl in my lap, talking quietly to her. She never looks at my eyes.
* 90-95% of sexual abuse is never reported.
* 1 in 4 girls and 1 in 6 boys will be sexually assaulted before they turn 18.
* Among them, nearly 30% will be molested before the age of 7.
* In the United States, three million children will be sexually abused this year.
* 90% will know their assailant.
* 1 in 20 men will sexually abuse a child.
*1 in 3300 women will also become perpetrators.
* When sexual abuse is reported, only 1-4% are false accusations.
* In those instances, 75% are made by an adult, not a child.
* Thirty nine million American adults were sexually abused as children.
They are staggering statistics that we never hear.
In preparing for the 40 Day Fast, there has been a lot of talk about abundance and excess. In this, too, I see my own excess. How easily I trust others, how naively I assume the best because I have never endured the worst of humanity. How often I have sensed that something was wrong, but chosen to believe otherwise. It is so overwhelming to consider nationally that I have chosen to pray specifically for my little corner of the world. I am focusing on the greater Montgomery area of Alabama. My prayer is that a child will be heard and a child will be spared every hour that I pray. I am also praying for adults in my sphere of influence who were abused as children, that they will experience the freedom and peace that only comes from the restoring power of Christ.
In every county there are organizations devoted to catching criminals and helping children and adults heal from the devastation of sexual abuse. I have personally interacted with The Family Sunshine Center in Montgomery and the Rape and Sexual Abuse Center in Nashville. Both programs are run by gracious and compassionate people. If you have time or money to give to your local program, by all means, they need a hand. But if you want to know how to help, just look around. Three million children need us to pay attention, to ask uncomfortable questions and speak up when we think something is wrong. And 39 million adults need to talk.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Silas is starting to wake up. I love how babies, after they are born, take a nap for two weeks. He is nearing the two week mark, and has been more awake today. Let the fun begin.
We went to one of those places this morning that has all of the blow-up equipment for kids (moon walks, slides, etc). This place has a preschool hour on weekday mornings, and since we're vacating, we took Asher. He loved it - loved it so much that I don't have one single good picture to share, because he was too busy playing and our digital camera is starting to show its age. I would love to have the kind that has a zero delay when you take a picture. All of my pictures from the past six months are of the side of Asher's face, because by the time the camera works, he has moved on. Alas.
Anyway, it's been a fun week. Here are some pictures from the past few days.
Playing with his dad. Have I mentioned that Brian is perfectly suited for raising little boys? He's the biggest kid on any playground. When we lived with the Searcys, he used to make up obstacle courses at the park and get the kids to compete on who could make the best time. When we were at the church picnic, he had the kids organized and trying all kinds of stunts on the water slides. He had as much fun as Asher did this morning. And slept just as well after lunch.
Making a cake with me. We're adjusting to me not being able to pick him up. I spend a lot of time on the floor. My favorite part of making the cake was Asher's spontaneous "YUUUMMM" as he ate the batter.
Enjoying the batter.
Look at how small that baby is. You can't see it here as much. Look.
This is Silas, hanging out on the couch. Tiny. By the way, he does have other clothes. Somehow, the only two times he's worn that shirt, his picture has ended up on the blog. Go figure.
We went to one of those places this morning that has all of the blow-up equipment for kids (moon walks, slides, etc). This place has a preschool hour on weekday mornings, and since we're vacating, we took Asher. He loved it - loved it so much that I don't have one single good picture to share, because he was too busy playing and our digital camera is starting to show its age. I would love to have the kind that has a zero delay when you take a picture. All of my pictures from the past six months are of the side of Asher's face, because by the time the camera works, he has moved on. Alas.
Anyway, it's been a fun week. Here are some pictures from the past few days.
Playing with his dad. Have I mentioned that Brian is perfectly suited for raising little boys? He's the biggest kid on any playground. When we lived with the Searcys, he used to make up obstacle courses at the park and get the kids to compete on who could make the best time. When we were at the church picnic, he had the kids organized and trying all kinds of stunts on the water slides. He had as much fun as Asher did this morning. And slept just as well after lunch.
Making a cake with me. We're adjusting to me not being able to pick him up. I spend a lot of time on the floor. My favorite part of making the cake was Asher's spontaneous "YUUUMMM" as he ate the batter.
Enjoying the batter.
Look at how small that baby is. You can't see it here as much. Look.
This is Silas, hanging out on the couch. Tiny. By the way, he does have other clothes. Somehow, the only two times he's worn that shirt, his picture has ended up on the blog. Go figure.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
adjusting.
We all are. I have other thoughts - real thoughts, about things not related to babies - but I don't think they're going to make it here today. So for today I'll say we're all adjusting.
Silas is easy. Asher, as an infant, emphatically was NOT, though his parents were so uptight I can hardly blame him. Asher ate for an hour, cried for an hour, slept for an hour, for the first six weeks of his life. Also, we didn't know what we were doing. AT ALL. We bungled our sleep, we were anxious about the wrong things, and we put an enormous amount of mental energy into minutia that worked itself out within a few months. Round two has been better. First of all, to have a child that is easily soothed is a blessing, and makes the whole experience more rewarding. I didn't know that was possible. Second, I know more about what matters and what doesn't. Turning blue matters. Nutrition matters. Almost everything else, at this age, does not. Whew. I wish I'd known that the first time around.
Asher is adjusting. He likes to talk about his brother (called "bubba" or "i-as"), point out his eyes, rub his head, and then move on. Most of the time he ignores him. We've worked hard on a "one at a time" rule with baby equipment, and Asher seems to be getting the hang of it. Really, the bigger issue for Asher is his mom having surgery. That's the harder adjustment, and has changed our dynamic temporarily. He's accustomed to me being his primary caregiver, and while I'm doing more and more with him, it will be another month before I can put him to bed, and that has been hard. Otherwise, though, Asher is fine.
Brian and I, for our part, are almost having fun. We're only up once apiece at night, and while it's interrupted sleep, it's still sleep. I'm feeling normal (this is what I'd like to write more about soon). More like myself than I have in a few years, and that's exciting to me. I still tire pretty easily, but otherwise, I'm great. This was a nice surprise for us, so Brian's vacation time is starting to feel like an actual vacation. When we were both working, we used to take a few days off and vacate in whatever town we were living at the time. We'd go out for a nice meal, see whatever touristy things were available, go for a hike. This week has turned into a modified version of that. We went out for pancakes (on a Tuesday!), we spent a day at the lake. We spent two hours in the park. I love vacating.
So there you have it. Life in our little world is good. Don't forget to follow the 40 Day Fast bloggers, and stay tuned for substantial thoughts soon. In the meantime, happy Tuesday. Enjoy your pancakes.
Silas is easy. Asher, as an infant, emphatically was NOT, though his parents were so uptight I can hardly blame him. Asher ate for an hour, cried for an hour, slept for an hour, for the first six weeks of his life. Also, we didn't know what we were doing. AT ALL. We bungled our sleep, we were anxious about the wrong things, and we put an enormous amount of mental energy into minutia that worked itself out within a few months. Round two has been better. First of all, to have a child that is easily soothed is a blessing, and makes the whole experience more rewarding. I didn't know that was possible. Second, I know more about what matters and what doesn't. Turning blue matters. Nutrition matters. Almost everything else, at this age, does not. Whew. I wish I'd known that the first time around.
Asher is adjusting. He likes to talk about his brother (called "bubba" or "i-as"), point out his eyes, rub his head, and then move on. Most of the time he ignores him. We've worked hard on a "one at a time" rule with baby equipment, and Asher seems to be getting the hang of it. Really, the bigger issue for Asher is his mom having surgery. That's the harder adjustment, and has changed our dynamic temporarily. He's accustomed to me being his primary caregiver, and while I'm doing more and more with him, it will be another month before I can put him to bed, and that has been hard. Otherwise, though, Asher is fine.
Brian and I, for our part, are almost having fun. We're only up once apiece at night, and while it's interrupted sleep, it's still sleep. I'm feeling normal (this is what I'd like to write more about soon). More like myself than I have in a few years, and that's exciting to me. I still tire pretty easily, but otherwise, I'm great. This was a nice surprise for us, so Brian's vacation time is starting to feel like an actual vacation. When we were both working, we used to take a few days off and vacate in whatever town we were living at the time. We'd go out for a nice meal, see whatever touristy things were available, go for a hike. This week has turned into a modified version of that. We went out for pancakes (on a Tuesday!), we spent a day at the lake. We spent two hours in the park. I love vacating.
So there you have it. Life in our little world is good. Don't forget to follow the 40 Day Fast bloggers, and stay tuned for substantial thoughts soon. In the meantime, happy Tuesday. Enjoy your pancakes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)