They Call It "Extinction."

Today, Little E skipped her afternoon nap.

This means something. This is important.

All week, the afternoon nap has been hard-won and increasingly short. This afternoon was the worst, and she didn't go to sleep at all. An hour and a half after putting her down and listening to her alternate between babbling and screaming, we gave up. I called off our afternoon trip to the grocery store (not that I was sad about this--I hate grocery shopping) in favor of a low-key afternoon and an ultra-early bedtime. I gave her a nice big supper, put her in her jammies, read a few stories and nursed her down at five o'clock. Five o'clock! 


And I won't open her door again until six tomorrow morning. This is huge. This will be painful for all of us. They call it extinction, a term as ugly as the practice.

Sleep is the bane of most new parents' existence. We are no exception. Little E proved early on that she does not respond well to a subtle approach. At six months, she was up five to eight times a night. By seven months, she was pulling midnight dance parties--up for two hours straight wanting to play, and screaming her sweet little beet-red head off at any attempt to put her back down. It started when she first broke free of her swaddle. I knew the morning I found her in her crib, on her belly with her arms out that we were in trouble.

Adorable, but dangerous.

We had to find a way to break the swaddle habit. It did not go well. I had a baby who would not settle down for the night without being tightly wrapped and nursed to sleep. I tried leaving one arm out, but she would flail and wake herself up. Or worse, she would roll on to her belly and not be able to use her arms to roll back over. 

I did not believe in letting my baby cry it out. Not only did I think it was cruel and that she couldn't possibly understand what was going on, I was also convinced that it just wouldn't work. I felt terrible even considering it. Then, a friend of mine who had a baby Little E's age with similar sleep problems recommended the book Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. I was skeptical--we'd not had much luck with sleep books in the past. 

One night, after a particularly brutal two-hour stretch of shushing, rocking, nursing, patting and a seemingly endless bout of screaming, I snapped. I hit bottom. I put my hysterical baby in her crib, closed the door, and rocked back and forth in bed while she cried. Twenty agonizing minutes later, she was quiet, and she slept peacefully until morning. I was stunned, and I awoke on a mission: to help my baby learn to sleep on her own no matter what the cost. I went out and bought the book, and put it to practice that very day.

Less nighttime nursing means more morning cuddles.
It's now my favorite time of day.

I had uncovered a completely different baby. After less than a week she was waking only twice a night, and putting her down no longer took an hour. At bedtime we would nurse and she would roll over with a contented sigh and go right to sleep. I couldn't believe it. Getting more rest at night also meant her development took off in flying leaps--she learned to crawl and began pulling up on every piece of furniture in sight. 

I now know that letting my baby cry a bit does not make me a terrible mother. So now, as she approaches a whole new set of milestones and her sleep is degrading again, I know what I have to do. She no longer needs to nurse at night and it's time for her to learn how to get a full night's sleep without calling to me. It's a scary thing to do, as it means the end of another chapter of her babyhood. It means letting go of those sweet nighttime cuddles (though I would like more rest, I have to admit I will miss this greatly) and helping my girl develop independence. It's also one step closer to weaning her completely, which is bittersweet. But I know my girl, and I know when she is trying to tell me something. 

There is a great part of me that is proud of my ability to make tough decisions in my child's best interest. Being a new parent comes with so many doubts, and overcoming those hurdles is no easy task. But each of these trials leaves me feeling more comfortable in my new-mama skin, more certain that I know her better than anyone else. I am no less afraid of the struggles we will face, but I am more confident. 

Wish us luck tonight. 

Swimming

Yesterday, I went to work. For the record, I went to work today as well. But yesterday was different.

When we clean rooms at the Inn, it's usually in pairs. Because of scheduling and timing yesterday, however, I was alone. And my head was swimming.

There's something about spending four (very, very busy) hours doing repetitive manual labor that gets my brain going. And going. And going and going and and AND!

I must've written sixteen fragmented blog posts in those four hours, and I've forgotten them all. I also may or may not have come up with three new career ideas and played out three different life-paths for each one. I'm not sure, because all of those thoughts are gone now. And that's okay, because I needed to let them go.

Yes, there's something about being truly alone (and very busy) that does wonders for my tired mind. I was productive when I got home, and I didn't turn on the TV all afternoon. And if my back weren't so sore (did I mention it was very, very busy?) I'd want to do it all over again.

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In other news, this week has been crazy. Well, not really. Maybe it just felt like it. What day is this, again? 

Anyway, we had a few nice days and went to the Arboretum to play in the (filtered) sunshine. It's always amazing this time of year as everything is beginning to wake up. In a normal spring, it looks like this by the end of April. We're really struggling to warm up this year, but I dare say that will make summer seem that much sweeter. Also, I don't like to get sweaty so I won't complain too much.

My baby, the sunglasses thief.

I'm going to revisit this little daytime adventure as my happy place for a good long time to come, and I'll be going there a lot in the next few weeks. Yesterday afternoon, we received a bit of news that is sure to really mix things up in our little family (I am absolutely not pregnant.) I'll be more specific when we have a game plan put together, but for now please send us some good vibes. We'll be doing our best to stay positive, and I might even go so far as to get a little excited. Change can be good, yes?

Be well, friends.

All the World's a Jungle Gym

Or, rather, this corner of our home has become the center of all the baby action this week. Little E has learned to climb, and she's getting quite good. Soon we'll be shopping at REI and buying her a pint-sized harness and helmet. Because I know she's not stopping at this old orange chair.

She also never goes anywhere these days without her trusty toothbrush.
Great for pretending you're a mob boss with a fat cigar.

I love the annoyed looks I'm getting these days. I will not love these looks
when she's a teenager. Or maybe I still will. Let's hope.

A little breather on the way to the summit.

A pause to take in the view.

Watching her stories like a big girl.

Seriously, mom. Stop.

Chair conquered. Now on to bridging the gap to the couch. Oh boy.

This is another tricky point in parenting for me. It's so very tempting for me to hover over her, to tell her no, to keep her from climbing. But I can't control every second, and she needs to learn. This is a pretty huge milestone and though I can picture a million different ways for her to hurt herself, I have to let her try. And try again when she tumbles. 

So, I put pillows on the floor. I move the sheep skin to cover the sharp pointy parts of the furniture. And I sit nearby, ready to help her when she gets stuck (again) between the couch and the chair. I taught her how to turn around and get down feet first, and for the most part that's worked. She's never once actually gotten hurt. 

Trusting my once itty bitty blobby baby to maneuver the world (or even just the living room) will never be easy. 

I wonder if I can pad the road with pillows when she learns to drive.

Say Yes to the Dress.

You know what's a good idea? Getting married before you have a baby.

This is not about morals, or expectations, or being proper. No, I'm quite happy about the order in which we've gone about building our life, planned or otherwise.

But as we're (sort of, haphazardly) planning this whole wedding thing, I'm realizing the real reason(s) people get married before they have kids. I'll list them as follows:

One: DRESS SHOPPING. Dress shopping with a baby is impossible without a helper. Did you know that babies hate shopping? Yeah, me too. When I worked in retail it angered me to no end when I saw bored, fussy children being dragged around stores by their parents. Why take a baby shopping at all? Why can't they just leave the kid with someone and go alone? It never occurred to me that this is often impossible. Babies have schedules, adults have schedules, and most often there just isn't another option than to take the kiddo with you. Yet another misconception about parenthood. I was the girl who gave toddlers paper and markers to keep them happy while mom shopped. Mostly because I loved kids and I got to play with them for a bit. And because I hated my job and would do pretty much anything to distract myself from actually working. I digress.

Dress shopping has been a nightmare. And I don't even need a real wedding dress! All I want is something fun and casual but not sloppy. I want to look effortlessly elegant, but not stuffy. Nothing fancy. Did you know that's a completely unreasonable request? Yeah, me either.

Also: my body is not what it used to be. Did you know that having a kid rearranges everything and leaves you stumped as to how to work with your new shape? Yeah, me too. But still. I can no longer look at something and think, "Yeah, that'll probably fit." My only worry used to be whether or not it had a full skirt (this Mama's always been...a pear) and whether or not I had to wear a bra. Now? Now all sorts of things need support. Shaping. Concealing. I'm confounded. And this is just the first reason why wedding planning with a kid is no fun.

Two: Money and time. These could probably each be separate categories, but if I expound too much my head might just burst. Money--we don't have it. Time--we don't have that, either. Also, my family all lives out of town and they do not enjoy things like making travel arrangements. Or being in the same room together. Or staying in the same hotel. On to the next category, before I burst a blood vessel in my eye.

Three: Caring for the baby on The Big Day. In order for my wedding day to not suck, I need to be as stress-free as possible. In order for my blood pressure to remain in a healthy place, I need to make sure my kid is happy. In order for my kid to be happy, she needs to nurse regularly and take naps. On time. I know, I know. I need to loosen up. I'm working on it, but at this rate I'm going to be a basketcase making sure Little E is taken care of. This means having the wedding in a familiar place, which leaves...our apartment (NO WAY) and Elliot's parents' house, which is where we'll end up doing things, I'm sure. What's that? I have less than two months and we're still not completely set on the location? Yeah, we're awesome at this.

But anyway. We'll figure it out. All I'm hoping is that the day will feel something like this:

This was another very simple wedding, a few months after we'd begun dating.
It pretty much sums up why we're doing this whole thing.

This weekend, I'm putting the babe to bed, gathering some girlfriends, and heading downtown to look for a dress, followed by some expensive swanky cocktails. It may be as close to a bachelorette party as I'll get, and I'm very excited. Wish me luck!

It's not often...

...that I get morning alone time. My babe woke me up at five o'clock sharp this morning. I spent the next hour hoping she would go back to sleep on her own, to no avail. At six I finally caved and nursed her, grumbling the whole time. And then I put her back down, closed the door to her room (not a peep! Yes!) and remembered how much I love mornings.

It's been a long time since we've had a sunrise like this. Hello, Olympics.

I put on a pot of coffee and sat down for some serious, guilt-free blog reading. Well, almost guilt-free. There are probably a million other things I could be doing with this time. But I've (mostly) learned to just savor every one of these rare quiet moments.

Just me and my favorite mug. 

In 23 Days

This girl is turing one in less than a month. And every time I think about it, I get teary.

Cut it out, Mom. You're embarrassing me.

She's growing so fast now; it's blowing my mind. I had to move her up to size 18 month jammies this week. *tear*

Though she is swimming in them. Swimming in jammies makes you tired. Growing is hard.

Every morning she wakes up and makes new sounds. Her babbling has taken on actual inflection, and she is a master of mimicry.

She's perfected tongue-clicking, and she thinks it's hilarious. I do, too.

She's such a happy little thing. A ham and a half. She claps, dances, waves and gives a mean high-five.

That goofy, toothy grin. Where did my baby go?

Lately, she's begun to snuggle with us on purpose. Tiny, wrinkly babies are wonderful, and they smell good and they're squishy and sweet. But there's something about an almost-toddler who comes over to put her head on your chest for a quick cuddle, just because. I know that the challenges will become more complex in the coming years, but those tiny moments of baby-love have me thinking that maybe, somehow, it's worth it.

Then again, the meltdowns at every diaper change have me thinking...not so much. Give me my baby back!

Breaking my heart, this one.

Sigh. I've got a birthday cake to bake.

Camera Love

First, comes baby. Then, comes blog. And then, comes a desperate need to take better photos. I've been dreaming about getting a DSLR for a long time, but it seemed far out of my reach and completely unnecessary when all I had to take photos of were pancakes and cats.

But then, I had a beautiful baby. And she grew, and grew, and grew, and here I am a month before her first birthday, longing to capture every single second of her short-lived babyhood. Babies do not hold still. Ever. Have you noticed?

Sure, we got some decent ones in the first few weeks, when she was a melty, grunting lump of digestion.

And things were hit-or-miss in the middle months, when she started to mobilize but was still slow.

But then, she learned how to crawl. And soon all of our photos began to look more or less like this:

...And I pouted. And whined. And stomped and lamented that my baby was growing too fast and we were just letting it all slip away! So Elliot got me a fancy camera. Not so fancy that I'm intimidated, not so fancy that I'll set up a photography studio and take pictures of newborns sleeping in hollowed-out watermelons, but far fancier than any point-and-shoot I've ever picked up. It's a Canon Rebel T2i, and I've never been happier to play with a gadget. I have no idea what I'm doing, of course, but this little guy is quite user-friendly and we were able to take some lovely snapshots straight out of the box.

This weekend has been full of the usual playdates in the park, laughing at the yuck faces babies make when you give them lemon slices, and not much else. But now? Look out, grandparents! I've got a new toy!

This is My lovely friend Brenda and her sweet little one. She and Little E are thick as thieves.

See?

Aforementioned lemon shot. There are lots of these.

There are also three hundred shots of babies on swings, but I'll spare you the rest.

And then, there are the ones that make my heart explode.
The cost of the camera is more than recouped right here.

Okay, okay. Enough already.

Last one, promise.

Next up: learn how to really use the camera. I've read over some super-easy tutorials courtesy of Ree, The Pioneer Woman, and I'll be spending the next, um, decade of my life practicing. Because I don't think I'm ever getting another gift again. 

Tips? I hate manuals. Talk to me like I'm four.

Still in there

Becoming a Mama has been an...interesting journey. Not all of it has been pleasant. I'm not talking about the sleep deprivation or the constant poop clean-up. Those things, I think, are pretty much expected and (somewhat) easily dealt with. Your body basically adjusts to having broken sleep, and skin is highly washable. Not even the mightiest of diaper disasters can scare me, especially now. No, the most difficult part of the past year has been the struggle to hold on to my former self, or at least a few tiny shreds. I know you know what I'm talking about.

I had so many grand visions of what motherhood would look like. I would wear my baby about town doing all the things I used to do: we'd snuggle in coffee shops. I'd read to her in the book store. She would be an extension of myself--a tiny, sweet reflection of both her father and me. Everyone has these dreams of parenthood, I think. Were it not for ideals, we wouldn't bother having kids, right? Sure, there would be struggles, but we'd persevere, holding our heads high and telling tales of the tough times at dinner parties.

These moments are actually pretty rare. Babies are heavy!

I couldn't have been more wrong about the early days of motherhood. My perfect, romantic homebirth gave way to a hospital transfer and much-dreaded cesarean after three grueling days of labor. The baby whom I'd pictured sliding out of my body and onto my chest in a pool of water, the baby who was supposed to grunt and latch immediately to my breast was instead pulled and yanked from me and whisked away. Instead of crawling cozily into my own bed and drifting to sleep with my perfect pink little bundle I was laid up in a hospital bed, unable to move on my own. Unable to respond to my daughter's cries without help.

This is not how I expected to meet my daughter, but I love this photo. 

Little E's birth was my first lesson in letting go. Now almost a year later, I'm still struggling with this concept. I've read it all on a hundred blogs, heard it all from a hundred friends. Let the dishes pile up, they say. Soak up every minute, because they grow so fast, I've read. And I know. Looking back, I know this is sound advice. The only problem is, sometimes I want to do the dishes. Sometimes, in order to be happy in the present moment, I first have to find time to put the laundry away. I miss cooking. I miss scrubbing my bathroom until it gleams. And lately, I've learned I can do both. I can have fun with my girl and get crafty. Really.

This weekend was crazy. At first I thought I'd yet again bitten off more than I could chew. So many ingredients! Multiple trips to the store! There's no way!

I wanted to make jam for my soon-to-be mother and sister-in-law for Mother's Day. It turns out, going out and buying all the ingredients to make jam with fruit that's not quite yet in season isn't really a good idea cost-wise, but I think we broke even. I tossed a vanilla pod in with the simmering strawberries to make it a little more special than store-bought varieties. Success! 

Next up: Opa's birthday cake. Oh boy. I've had this heap of sugary, peanut buttery doom bookmarked for months, and couldn't wait to test it out. I called a girlfriend over to entertain the baby and took my time with the assembly, taking frequent breaks to dance and nurse and gossip and drink some fantastic dark beer. Four hours later, we had ourselves a cake!

I almost passed out just from licking the frosting from my fingers. And the spatula. And the bowl. And the mixer paddle...you get my drift. It took all day, and that is precisely my point here. It's okay to spend an entire day baking a cake if that's what you want to do. It's also okay to spend the whole day in your pajamas. Or two hours primping in the bathroom to make yourself feel pretty, provided you have someone to come make silly faces at the baby while you take some time once in a while. 

New parents spend so much time fretting over the small things, so much time feeling guilty and agonizing over every decision. Six months ago, there's no way I could've pulled off a two-day kitchen marathon. It takes time to get to this point, and it also requires good friends and a relatively independent child. But it's good to know I'm still in there, somewhere.

Cheeky baby

It seems as though this past weekend's flurry of activities has caught up with my babe. She's been fighting a cold for a while now, or maybe it's just due to teething (we can never really tell, which is totally awesome) and the poor dear is feeling quite under the weather. Luckily for us, she has adorable cheeks to nom...and the best sad face ever.

Time for some extra snuggles, some time spent in a steamy bathroom, and a few sleepless nights. It may not exactly be Mama to the rescue, but at least we'll get some cute pictures out of the deal.

On Mother's Day and getting out of my own way

This weekend was (my very first!) Mother's Day. The celebration lasted all weekend and involved a lot of time in the kitchen and ridiculous amounts of sugar. I'll write more about what I made in another post, but let's just say I may need to give my poor pancreas a break for a while.

Thursday and Friday were spent gathering ingredients and carefully planning my time to get everything done despite millions of distractions from a curious almost-toddler. Not an easy task, but we made the best of it and everything came together without one Mama (or baby) meltdown.

On Friday afternoon we packed up the car and headed down to visit Elliot's family in Steilacoom. Little E's Opa had a birthday this week so we combined celebrations with Mama's Day. I didn't get any pictures (Megan, however, did) but there was a lot of couch time, food, and babies poking each others' eyes out. Fun times!

 Here's the hardest part of an event like (my very first!) Mother's Day: I get excited. When you live in my brain, getting excited about something almost always spells disappointment. I am a master of setting huge expectations, watching everything crash and burn, and getting all stompy in the aftermath. This is so much fun for everyone around me, I'm sure. It started out ugly. Sunday morning looked like this:

This view is not unusual this time of year. Actually, it's completely expected. EXCEPT on (my very first!) Mother's Day. Things were not looking good.

Elliot had to work all day. This was actually okay by me, as Little E and I had plans to have coffee with one of my very best girlfriends. Around mid-morning, our coffee date was cancelled. Stomp, stomp, stomp. Things were definitely not looking good.




One of the biggest challenges of motherhood, for me, has been getting out of the house alone with the baby. I am not a particularly motivated person and I've never been adventurous. Adding a baby into the mix means it's nearly impossible for me to get up the gumption to leave the house unless I have a friend with me. It is a challenge, but I am doing my very best to get beyond my anxieties (and laziness) and just get out there. This Sunday was a prime example of why I need to get out of my own way, put on real pants and go outside, kiddo in tow. We had a lovely afternoon, Little E and me.

One of the reasons I was so excited about this weekend was that it wasn't only (my very first!) Mother's Day, but also the opening day for our neighborhood farmer's market. I've been eagerly awaiting the first market of the season for weeks, perhaps months. The selection is meager this early in the season, but the energy is amazing. It seems everyone comes out of hibernation to get their hands on the first tender bunches of asparagus and onion tops. We soaked up a tiny bit of afternoon sunshine and took pictures of the still-pale tomatoes. I sipped lemonade, bought flowers and ran into some friends I haven't seen in far too long.

Little E was thrilled to spend the afternoon with her Auntie Wendy, and I was happy to receive the enormous pile of new reading material she brought for me. 

I'm working on getting out of my shell more and more, difficult as it is at times. I have to remind myself to just keep moving, not to think so much, not to set impossible expectations. I'm almost a year into this mama gig and I'm just now starting to see glimpses of my former self, the woman who got lost in the baby haze. I'm also seeing bits of a new me, of the mama I'm becoming, and I'm excited about getting comfortable in this new life. I just need to stay out of my own way.

My pretty baby, just because.

I hope everybody had a lovely Mother's Day weekend, whether it was your very first or your fiftieth. We do get the whole weekend, you know!