Perhaps my favorite picture so far of the Samster
Friday, February 25, 2005
Monday, February 21, 2005
Breakfast Beans
Sami's dad must've been in a fog yesterday when he graciously allowed me to sleep in, and took it upon himself to get up with Sami on the early shift...
He got up with her around 6:45am, and I finally joined them around 8-ish. As I prepared our breakfast, I asked Michael how Sami did eating her cereal earlier. He kind of screwed up his face, and went, "Oh. Cereal. I forgot about that." I had an inkling of what was to come... I said, "You didn't feed her cereal?" And he goes, "Um, no." I said, "Then what might you have found for her for breakfast?" "I guess I gave her green beans." I made a face, "Green beans at 7am, for breakfast?!"
He brightened... "But she ate the whole jar!"
I suggested to Sami that we make a salad for her dad's breakfast to pay him back.
I guess that is the beauty of being not quite 6 months old; she really has no expectations about what is normal. I was thinking that if you took her outside and the sky was orange and the grass was purple, it wouldn't make any impression on her. If that was all you had ever known, orange and purple would seem as reasonable as blue and green, right?
He got up with her around 6:45am, and I finally joined them around 8-ish. As I prepared our breakfast, I asked Michael how Sami did eating her cereal earlier. He kind of screwed up his face, and went, "Oh. Cereal. I forgot about that." I had an inkling of what was to come... I said, "You didn't feed her cereal?" And he goes, "Um, no." I said, "Then what might you have found for her for breakfast?" "I guess I gave her green beans." I made a face, "Green beans at 7am, for breakfast?!"
He brightened... "But she ate the whole jar!"
I suggested to Sami that we make a salad for her dad's breakfast to pay him back.
I guess that is the beauty of being not quite 6 months old; she really has no expectations about what is normal. I was thinking that if you took her outside and the sky was orange and the grass was purple, it wouldn't make any impression on her. If that was all you had ever known, orange and purple would seem as reasonable as blue and green, right?
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Sami Eats
About 3 weeks ago, I started trying to feed the Samster some "big girl" food. Her pediatrician gave us strict rules to follow... first give her rice cereal. Then after that was going okay, move her to peas, then green beans. And then and only then, introduce her to fruits. Okay. Yeah.
For about a week and a half, I tried with the cereal. I tasted it, and it wasn't horrible, but it was pretty bland. (I've vowed not to feed her anything I haven't tasted and deemed acceptable first.) It had just the slightest bit of sweetness to it, but it wasn't very tasty. Anyway, I'd get about 3 spoonfuls into it, and half of that she pushed back out with her little tongue. And then she'd start the motorboat thing, where she blew it back all over me. I decided that was her way of saying, "Thank you so much, dear mother, but I believe I've had just enough, thank you."
I actually even quit trying for a day or two.
Then with no regard whatsoever for Dr. Noah's rules, I tried applesauce, which tended to make her shiver. Upon tasting it, I discovered it was really quite tart, and so decided to mix it with the slightly sweet rice cereal. It was very palatable to me, mixed together like that. And sure enough, she too found it quite agreeable. And before I knew it, she had eaten almost a quarter cup of it. Opening her mouth like a little bird for each bite. Success at last.
So feeling guilty for flouting the feeding rules, I decided to catch up, and tried some peas. She liked them just fine. And it seems like overnight, she suddenly had this voracious little appetite for all things baby food.
You're only supposed to introduce one new food every 3 days, to check for allergies. And I kind of tried to adhere to that for around 2 days, but I got caught up in the whole thing and bought her all kinds of veggies and fruits. And now I just shovel all different things into her eager little trap. Within just a couple of days, she began to consume pretty much anything with gusto.
Peas, green beans, applesauce, peaches, sweet 'taties, corn, carrots, oatmeal. She loves it all. Why did I know she was going to be a good little eater?
Her only beef with the whole process is the feeder's speed. You have to like choreograph the whole thing and keep it coming fast or you get her off her rhythm and she's trying to swallow when you're trying to shovel it in. She's now eating a half cup of cereal--either oatmeal or rice--mixed with a spoonful or two of fruit in the morning. Then nearly a full jar of veggies for lunch. And at dinner, another jar of veggies, followed by a few mouthfuls of fruit for dessert.
Who ever thought I would actually feel so proud of her simply eating so enthusiastically? I swear, being a mom is just one surprise after another for me.
For about a week and a half, I tried with the cereal. I tasted it, and it wasn't horrible, but it was pretty bland. (I've vowed not to feed her anything I haven't tasted and deemed acceptable first.) It had just the slightest bit of sweetness to it, but it wasn't very tasty. Anyway, I'd get about 3 spoonfuls into it, and half of that she pushed back out with her little tongue. And then she'd start the motorboat thing, where she blew it back all over me. I decided that was her way of saying, "Thank you so much, dear mother, but I believe I've had just enough, thank you."
I actually even quit trying for a day or two.
Then with no regard whatsoever for Dr. Noah's rules, I tried applesauce, which tended to make her shiver. Upon tasting it, I discovered it was really quite tart, and so decided to mix it with the slightly sweet rice cereal. It was very palatable to me, mixed together like that. And sure enough, she too found it quite agreeable. And before I knew it, she had eaten almost a quarter cup of it. Opening her mouth like a little bird for each bite. Success at last.
So feeling guilty for flouting the feeding rules, I decided to catch up, and tried some peas. She liked them just fine. And it seems like overnight, she suddenly had this voracious little appetite for all things baby food.
You're only supposed to introduce one new food every 3 days, to check for allergies. And I kind of tried to adhere to that for around 2 days, but I got caught up in the whole thing and bought her all kinds of veggies and fruits. And now I just shovel all different things into her eager little trap. Within just a couple of days, she began to consume pretty much anything with gusto.
Peas, green beans, applesauce, peaches, sweet 'taties, corn, carrots, oatmeal. She loves it all. Why did I know she was going to be a good little eater?
Her only beef with the whole process is the feeder's speed. You have to like choreograph the whole thing and keep it coming fast or you get her off her rhythm and she's trying to swallow when you're trying to shovel it in. She's now eating a half cup of cereal--either oatmeal or rice--mixed with a spoonful or two of fruit in the morning. Then nearly a full jar of veggies for lunch. And at dinner, another jar of veggies, followed by a few mouthfuls of fruit for dessert.
Who ever thought I would actually feel so proud of her simply eating so enthusiastically? I swear, being a mom is just one surprise after another for me.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Sami @ 5 Months
This is an entry truly better suited for her baby book, that I have previously admitted I am woefully inadequate at maintaining. But I know in a few months, I myself will be fascinated to look back and reminisce upon these details... so bear with me, this one is for Sami and me...
Sami turned 5 months old weekend before last, and here is what's going on in her world right now.
She has discovered her little, dear feet. If she's upright, or lying down, her favorite pasttime is to clutch her unusally long (inherited from me) toes in her hands. No more, no less. She's perfectly satisfied just to clutch and occasionally study them. It is, of course, adorable.
Today, I made the mistake of trying to compensate for cold weather and floors by putting socks on her. First of all, infant socks are not one-size-fits-all. None of them fit her. The heel ends up mid-arch, and they won't stay on. And in addition to inheriting my hideously long toes, she also assumed my distaste for socks and shoes, apparently. She was unusually irritable all afternoon. I thought, "Gosh, she seems out of sorts." Yeah. Tried removing the socks and retrieved my good-natured baby girl.
She's monumentally frustrated by this reclined position she continually finds herself relegated to. She wants so badly to be upright and able to view the world. But if you sit her up, she has no concept of righting herself once she starts to list to one side. A faceplant is iminent. And it makes her so angry. She's just starting to make slight musculature moves that would right the leaning, but hasn't quite mastered them. I can tell she'll be so much happier and satisfied with the world once she has figured it out.
If she's awake, she's happy. Smiling, laughing. She's amazingly engaged and alert about what's going on around her. She concentrates so dutifully on whatever her dad and I are doing when we're not precisely paying attention to her. Note to self: she's a sponge right now. I'm trying to maintain constant awareness of what I'm feeding the sponge that is her. When I eat, I try to savor every bite verbally. I feel like it is all about setting an example currently.
She seems mesmerized by me singing to her. It can be a baby song, or something off one of my CDs. Regardless, she apparently adores music at this point, and seems to really appreciate and recognize the difference between my speaking voice and my singing voice.
She also seems to acknowledge that there are times I'm speaking to her and times I'm speaking in front of her, but not to her. When her daddy and I are just conversationally talking in front of her, I have caught her paying special attention. She watches our mouths so intently. Both her dad and her Aunt Terri swear she has purposely said "mama." How can that be that I haven't witnessed it? She may be enunciating it, but I am sadly but fairly certain that at this point it is inadvertant.
She loves going to sleep at night. I mean, leading up to it, she does what her dad and I call "hitting the wall." It is so blatant. She's this happy, humorous child one minute, and the next she can't be consoled. Off to bed with our bedtime rituals, and she's perfectly content within about 10 minutes, and pleased as punch to be laid to bed.
Her hair--and I'll admit I think it is due to our coaxing--sticks straight up in this adorable "do." We're so used to it and fond of it that we don't notice it anymore, but lately it has become the subject of several comments from strangers. We may need to rethink this at some point in the near future.
We're just now getting started, on occasion, trying to feed her "real" food. We tried every afternoon for a week with rice cereal. But she just isn't that fond of it. So yesterday I bought some fruits and veggies to try. We started with applesauce. I tasted it, as I have vowed to do with all of those things I will be feeding her. If it tastes horrible to me, I'm not giving it to her. Anyway, the rice cereal is pretty bland, but just ever so slightly sweet. Not horrible or anything, but not very exciting either. So we tried the applesauce yesterday. The good news is she did in fact open her mouth every time I put the spoon to her, but this applesauce had no sugar added and was in fact a little bit tart. She ate some of it, but after a few bites, the tartness must've gotten to her, because it kept making her shiver. It was cute, but I felt kind of bad for her. At least half of it came right back out of her mouth via her tongue. Oh well. We'll keep trying.
Sami turned 5 months old weekend before last, and here is what's going on in her world right now.
She has discovered her little, dear feet. If she's upright, or lying down, her favorite pasttime is to clutch her unusally long (inherited from me) toes in her hands. No more, no less. She's perfectly satisfied just to clutch and occasionally study them. It is, of course, adorable.
Today, I made the mistake of trying to compensate for cold weather and floors by putting socks on her. First of all, infant socks are not one-size-fits-all. None of them fit her. The heel ends up mid-arch, and they won't stay on. And in addition to inheriting my hideously long toes, she also assumed my distaste for socks and shoes, apparently. She was unusually irritable all afternoon. I thought, "Gosh, she seems out of sorts." Yeah. Tried removing the socks and retrieved my good-natured baby girl.
She's monumentally frustrated by this reclined position she continually finds herself relegated to. She wants so badly to be upright and able to view the world. But if you sit her up, she has no concept of righting herself once she starts to list to one side. A faceplant is iminent. And it makes her so angry. She's just starting to make slight musculature moves that would right the leaning, but hasn't quite mastered them. I can tell she'll be so much happier and satisfied with the world once she has figured it out.
If she's awake, she's happy. Smiling, laughing. She's amazingly engaged and alert about what's going on around her. She concentrates so dutifully on whatever her dad and I are doing when we're not precisely paying attention to her. Note to self: she's a sponge right now. I'm trying to maintain constant awareness of what I'm feeding the sponge that is her. When I eat, I try to savor every bite verbally. I feel like it is all about setting an example currently.
She seems mesmerized by me singing to her. It can be a baby song, or something off one of my CDs. Regardless, she apparently adores music at this point, and seems to really appreciate and recognize the difference between my speaking voice and my singing voice.
She also seems to acknowledge that there are times I'm speaking to her and times I'm speaking in front of her, but not to her. When her daddy and I are just conversationally talking in front of her, I have caught her paying special attention. She watches our mouths so intently. Both her dad and her Aunt Terri swear she has purposely said "mama." How can that be that I haven't witnessed it? She may be enunciating it, but I am sadly but fairly certain that at this point it is inadvertant.
She loves going to sleep at night. I mean, leading up to it, she does what her dad and I call "hitting the wall." It is so blatant. She's this happy, humorous child one minute, and the next she can't be consoled. Off to bed with our bedtime rituals, and she's perfectly content within about 10 minutes, and pleased as punch to be laid to bed.
Her hair--and I'll admit I think it is due to our coaxing--sticks straight up in this adorable "do." We're so used to it and fond of it that we don't notice it anymore, but lately it has become the subject of several comments from strangers. We may need to rethink this at some point in the near future.
We're just now getting started, on occasion, trying to feed her "real" food. We tried every afternoon for a week with rice cereal. But she just isn't that fond of it. So yesterday I bought some fruits and veggies to try. We started with applesauce. I tasted it, as I have vowed to do with all of those things I will be feeding her. If it tastes horrible to me, I'm not giving it to her. Anyway, the rice cereal is pretty bland, but just ever so slightly sweet. Not horrible or anything, but not very exciting either. So we tried the applesauce yesterday. The good news is she did in fact open her mouth every time I put the spoon to her, but this applesauce had no sugar added and was in fact a little bit tart. She ate some of it, but after a few bites, the tartness must've gotten to her, because it kept making her shiver. It was cute, but I felt kind of bad for her. At least half of it came right back out of her mouth via her tongue. Oh well. We'll keep trying.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Some Advice from Durse
Durse (Kristin Mathers, my cousin) felt compelled to share some appreciated advice from her perspective:
Kelli shared the address of your Sami blog with me.....I hope you don't mind. I need to tell you that I REALLY enjoy it and couldn't be happier for all of you. I have felt these exact emotions but just wasn't eloquent enough to put it into words. I know you mentioned that you don't necessarily want advice, but I can't help but give you this little tidbit. This past weekend, I was going through some old pictures of the kids in preparation for Erin's graduation party in May. I have never been so sick in my life. I can't even remember so much of their childhood and I am panicky that it's almost over. My main regret is that I didn't spend as much time with them as I could have. Did it really matter whether the house was clean or not, or that their toys weren't picked up? God, NO. Since I was only 21 when Erin was born, I think I just maybe didn't have the luxury of knowing this at the time. Now, I can only wish I had known and try to do better now. I do enjoy both of my kids so much - maybe even more now that they're near adults. It's very easy to just "hang out" with them both and I'm so proud of both of them. One thing that really touches me is how polite and respectful they are to their grandparents. As far as I know, we have never told them they HAVE to be. They just have the decency to know they should be. Anyway, I guess my advice is to spend as much time as possible and to enjoy every second you have with them. It appears you're definitely on the right track in this regard.
Kelli shared the address of your Sami blog with me.....I hope you don't mind. I need to tell you that I REALLY enjoy it and couldn't be happier for all of you. I have felt these exact emotions but just wasn't eloquent enough to put it into words. I know you mentioned that you don't necessarily want advice, but I can't help but give you this little tidbit. This past weekend, I was going through some old pictures of the kids in preparation for Erin's graduation party in May. I have never been so sick in my life. I can't even remember so much of their childhood and I am panicky that it's almost over. My main regret is that I didn't spend as much time with them as I could have. Did it really matter whether the house was clean or not, or that their toys weren't picked up? God, NO. Since I was only 21 when Erin was born, I think I just maybe didn't have the luxury of knowing this at the time. Now, I can only wish I had known and try to do better now. I do enjoy both of my kids so much - maybe even more now that they're near adults. It's very easy to just "hang out" with them both and I'm so proud of both of them. One thing that really touches me is how polite and respectful they are to their grandparents. As far as I know, we have never told them they HAVE to be. They just have the decency to know they should be. Anyway, I guess my advice is to spend as much time as possible and to enjoy every second you have with them. It appears you're definitely on the right track in this regard.
Hormones and Me
First, let me say, I have always considered myself rather "above" all this hormonal business. I mean, really... mind over matter, right? If I just decided I wasn't going to succumb to hormonal imbalances, and the consequences thereof, then I wouldn't. Seemed so simple.
For instance, during my pregnancy, I feel like I was pretty even-keeled. And I would verify that with Michael throughout, and following. Now, you're probably thinking he was just going along with whatever I said to keep me happy, but really, I swear it, I was very even-tempered and reasonable. Especially compared to some women's stories I had heard.
Same for during delivery. I never screamed or swore or anything.
Then as I anxiously awaited the post-partum hormonal peaks and valleys, again... nothing much. Michael was so helpful and willing to do his fair share, that I never felt overwhelmed or sleep-deprived or any of that that I heard so much about.
Oh., I was smug, indeed. I secretly scoffed at weaker women that allowed themselves to be moody and tempermental.
Then, just when I thought it was over... I mean, my feet were all done swelling. My belly flattened back out (well, as much as it could at 42 still carrying 20 extra pounds). And my period started again. I was back to normal. Poof. Just like that.
So when it happened (okay, and occasionally continues to happen), it really caught me off-guard.
Michael would leave for work, and I would enjoy Sami all day, and get some other stuff done--laundry, unpacking boxes in our new home, etc. Maybe whip up a lovely meal to share with my dear husband upon his return from work. And I swear to you, I would actually feel excited about having him come home. I literally do miss him just when he's at work. Then, he'd come home, and before my very eyes, I would turn into this raving bitch that I've never been before. Irritated at the tiniest of things, stressed out, exasperated with him beyond belief. Even as I was doing it, I couldn't recognize myself in there.
If he left a glass unrinsed in the sink (which for all intents and purposes is kind of annoying since the dishwasher is right there beside it), I could rant about it for 10 minutes. Or if he wrote a memo for work and asked me to review and edit it for him, I could work myself into a rage over his misspelled words. And if he made Sami a bottle and sprinkled some dry formula on the countertop? Well good God, the anger it could produce in me. And sometimes he just didn't look at me right, I guess.
Now get this straight... Michael is an exemplary husband and dad to Sami. I'm not saying he is without fault, but if you weighed out all the pluses and minuses, he's overwhelmingly a good, sweet, caring, wonderful, evenheaded, thoughtful, and funny man.
So these "times" began happening to me much further into motherhood than I ever would have expected. Sami was over 3 months old, for goodness sake. Where did this raging witch in me come from? After an episode of hissing at Michael for purely nothing, I would realize it, recognize it, and vow to not do it again. But inevitably, it would indeed happen again. It went on for about a month, on and off. And Michael would timidly suggest that maybe he needed to be more understanding because I was having hormonal issues, and that would just set me into a further rage. But now that I think for the most part I'm through it, and I'm able to look upon it, I'm fairly certain that is exactly what it was. My body was finally reverting back to where it had been for 40-odd years, and it came with a little writhing around on the inside, that just maybe affected me emotionally. Just a bit, of course.
Now in my own defense, during the final few weeks of my pregnancy and the first few weeks of my newfound motherhood, I did singlehandedly pack up two condos, two storage units, get us moved, and unpacked into a new house. This involved more financial wrangling than I care to think back upon, along with all the other items and hassles involved with moving, but times two -- since we were going from two households into one. And I had to get one condo sold, one rented, and simultaneously pack enough maxi-pads into a suitcase for my hospital stay.
Looking back, I feel awe and relief that I made it through that period. Does Michael consider with me that I've come through that and left it behind me? Not sure. But life seems to have settled into something that I find unbelievably wonderful. I'm not kidding or exaggerating when I say that each and every day I am so grateful for the life I've stumbled into. If I feel the least bit irritated with a work issue, or household issue, it takes about 5 minutes for me to reflect on how fortunate and blessed I am to be in the situation I'm in. My husband. My incredible, amazing daughter. My sister. My mom. My best friend Lisa that understands what no one else can. My invaluable "work friends." My timeless relationships with highschool girlfriends. And perhaps above all, the fact that everyone I mention here can bitch about daily happenings because they're in good health and have no other worries. What a luxury we all enjoy.
I can't imagine that I've done anything worthy of enjoying my life so much at this point.
For instance, during my pregnancy, I feel like I was pretty even-keeled. And I would verify that with Michael throughout, and following. Now, you're probably thinking he was just going along with whatever I said to keep me happy, but really, I swear it, I was very even-tempered and reasonable. Especially compared to some women's stories I had heard.
Same for during delivery. I never screamed or swore or anything.
Then as I anxiously awaited the post-partum hormonal peaks and valleys, again... nothing much. Michael was so helpful and willing to do his fair share, that I never felt overwhelmed or sleep-deprived or any of that that I heard so much about.
Oh., I was smug, indeed. I secretly scoffed at weaker women that allowed themselves to be moody and tempermental.
Then, just when I thought it was over... I mean, my feet were all done swelling. My belly flattened back out (well, as much as it could at 42 still carrying 20 extra pounds). And my period started again. I was back to normal. Poof. Just like that.
So when it happened (okay, and occasionally continues to happen), it really caught me off-guard.
Michael would leave for work, and I would enjoy Sami all day, and get some other stuff done--laundry, unpacking boxes in our new home, etc. Maybe whip up a lovely meal to share with my dear husband upon his return from work. And I swear to you, I would actually feel excited about having him come home. I literally do miss him just when he's at work. Then, he'd come home, and before my very eyes, I would turn into this raving bitch that I've never been before. Irritated at the tiniest of things, stressed out, exasperated with him beyond belief. Even as I was doing it, I couldn't recognize myself in there.
If he left a glass unrinsed in the sink (which for all intents and purposes is kind of annoying since the dishwasher is right there beside it), I could rant about it for 10 minutes. Or if he wrote a memo for work and asked me to review and edit it for him, I could work myself into a rage over his misspelled words. And if he made Sami a bottle and sprinkled some dry formula on the countertop? Well good God, the anger it could produce in me. And sometimes he just didn't look at me right, I guess.
Now get this straight... Michael is an exemplary husband and dad to Sami. I'm not saying he is without fault, but if you weighed out all the pluses and minuses, he's overwhelmingly a good, sweet, caring, wonderful, evenheaded, thoughtful, and funny man.
So these "times" began happening to me much further into motherhood than I ever would have expected. Sami was over 3 months old, for goodness sake. Where did this raging witch in me come from? After an episode of hissing at Michael for purely nothing, I would realize it, recognize it, and vow to not do it again. But inevitably, it would indeed happen again. It went on for about a month, on and off. And Michael would timidly suggest that maybe he needed to be more understanding because I was having hormonal issues, and that would just set me into a further rage. But now that I think for the most part I'm through it, and I'm able to look upon it, I'm fairly certain that is exactly what it was. My body was finally reverting back to where it had been for 40-odd years, and it came with a little writhing around on the inside, that just maybe affected me emotionally. Just a bit, of course.
Now in my own defense, during the final few weeks of my pregnancy and the first few weeks of my newfound motherhood, I did singlehandedly pack up two condos, two storage units, get us moved, and unpacked into a new house. This involved more financial wrangling than I care to think back upon, along with all the other items and hassles involved with moving, but times two -- since we were going from two households into one. And I had to get one condo sold, one rented, and simultaneously pack enough maxi-pads into a suitcase for my hospital stay.
Looking back, I feel awe and relief that I made it through that period. Does Michael consider with me that I've come through that and left it behind me? Not sure. But life seems to have settled into something that I find unbelievably wonderful. I'm not kidding or exaggerating when I say that each and every day I am so grateful for the life I've stumbled into. If I feel the least bit irritated with a work issue, or household issue, it takes about 5 minutes for me to reflect on how fortunate and blessed I am to be in the situation I'm in. My husband. My incredible, amazing daughter. My sister. My mom. My best friend Lisa that understands what no one else can. My invaluable "work friends." My timeless relationships with highschool girlfriends. And perhaps above all, the fact that everyone I mention here can bitch about daily happenings because they're in good health and have no other worries. What a luxury we all enjoy.
I can't imagine that I've done anything worthy of enjoying my life so much at this point.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
I'm All Puffed-Up With Pride
Please indulge me and allow me to post this email I received from my sister today. I could not feel less deserving of her kind words, nor more proud... (Yes. I know this is extremely self-serving. And I didn't even ask her permission to post this. But GOD this made me feel good. :-) )
From my "seester:"
"Oh, you are such a good Mom. Of course Sami is going to actually look forward to bedtime, with you doing your little "ritual" every night with her. How sweet. So unlike Moms who just more or less throw them into a bed, prop a bottle, and shut the door so they can't hear them screaming. Thank you for being so good to her. I couldn't stand it if you just acted like you couldn't take the time to actually rock her, read to her, and cuddle with her. I really am so proud of you and how you have just "taken to" being a Mom. I have never heard you, I don't think even once, complain about taking care of Sami in any way or form. You are just always so amazed by her and seem so happy to do even the smallest things for her. I really didn't know about you playing the Mom figure, that day so long ago when you called and said you were PG. I just couldn't see you "fitting" that into your lifestyle. It was so unlike how you've always been. I knew you LIKED kids, but you were never really like me, where you just can't get enough of them. But you have truly amazed me. I don't think you could do anything (so far) differently, to make you a better parent. Congratulations. I'm so proud of you."
From my "seester:"
"Oh, you are such a good Mom. Of course Sami is going to actually look forward to bedtime, with you doing your little "ritual" every night with her. How sweet. So unlike Moms who just more or less throw them into a bed, prop a bottle, and shut the door so they can't hear them screaming. Thank you for being so good to her. I couldn't stand it if you just acted like you couldn't take the time to actually rock her, read to her, and cuddle with her. I really am so proud of you and how you have just "taken to" being a Mom. I have never heard you, I don't think even once, complain about taking care of Sami in any way or form. You are just always so amazed by her and seem so happy to do even the smallest things for her. I really didn't know about you playing the Mom figure, that day so long ago when you called and said you were PG. I just couldn't see you "fitting" that into your lifestyle. It was so unlike how you've always been. I knew you LIKED kids, but you were never really like me, where you just can't get enough of them. But you have truly amazed me. I don't think you could do anything (so far) differently, to make you a better parent. Congratulations. I'm so proud of you."
I'm Serious... These Are Good Things
I have so far experienced two times since having Sami that make me want to shout out my advice from my rooftop.
Let me say, I have little tolerance for advice directed at me, mainly because it always comes from such self-righteous mothers that breastfeed at least the recommended length of time, or eat tofu, or don't put their babies in front of the tv to get a break, or don't look forward to putting Baby to bed in order to enjoy a chilled adult beverage. Or two.
But despite my apparent ineptitude, I stumbled across two amazing items that I feel I must share.
The first came from my pediatrician. He's so tolerant of Michael and I. We taunt him, we tease him, we test him. And he always comes back with a smile and a dogged determination to not only endure us as parents, but to perhaps mold us into decent ones. But gently. He could sense from the start that I'm automatically programmed to be skeptical of any doctorly advice, and my tendencies lean towards customarily dismissing it because I'm, just, well, "different." But better. But Dr. Noah perseveres.
At the first couple of visits, we insisted that our child was above any sort of sleeping disorders, or crying jags. She was perfect. Naturally. Despite our assertations, he mentioned in passing that should the unthinkable ever occur, we might want to obtain the "Happiest Baby on the Block" book for some useful tips.
Flip by some daily calendar pages, and watch me hike to the Tattered Cover bookstore in double-time following the first 60 minute scream-session at 2am. Bought the book. Read the two pages that were pertinent. And learned that by following the 5 steps in the book, magic could occur... the most fussy baby in the world could be induced to sleep--against their will--within about 5 minutes. I had become a convert. For not only the wisdom dispensed in the book, but also for my youthful, but wise, pediatrician.
The next time I saw him I insisted that hospitals should issue this book with the baby. The key is swaddling. You like to think that your baby doesn't "like" being swaddled. No! She's a free spirit, dammit. No constricting blanket-wrapping for her. But trust me--read it. Understand the 4th trimester. And believe. It saved our sanity. And restored my battered sense of being in control.
I'm not exaggerating when I say that I cried with relief when I tried this and it worked not the first time, not the second time, not the third time, but every fricking time!! Right when I needed it most.
Fast forward several months. I have an unusually happy, easy-to-care-for child. I'll admit it. But even so, at times, bedtime could be trying. She gets in this zone at bedtime that puts her into hyper-mode. She becomes ultra-animated, and very physical, but also very prone to becoming upset and in full-out cry mode at bedtime.
Most nights resulted in putting her to bed with no crying. No fussing. But on the nights when that wasn't the case, letting her cry (more like scream) herself to sleep, were heartwrenching. What kind of dreams does that cause an infant to have?
An aside note here...I'm certain that a bazillion mothers before me already discovered this technique. But it is their own fault for not publicizing it or being adament enough about it. I'm still bent on taking credit for it.
Our bedtime ritual is to make a bottle, and head upstairs to her room. We settle into our comfortable, comforting rocker. And we read a book. Yeah, she's only 5 months old. But I want her to love books like I do. So we take 5 minutes to peruse a book. Then we shut off the light, and only allow the hall light to illuminate her room. I cover her with a blanket, and feed her what she'll accept from her bottle of formula. Then when she finally shuns that, I settle her into a particularly comfortable position, and "tickle" her face. We call it tickling. But it isn't "coochee-coochee-coo" tickling--it is a light caress of her skin. I go ever so slowly around her face and all over her little sweet head. Include the ears and nose, and the spot just under her nose, and the cheeks and the brows, and all over. Within about 60 seconds, this child virtually melts into me, and relaxes so completely that it amazes and humbles me.
By the time I am forced to rouse her and move her into her crib, she is so relaxed and content that as I tuck in her blankets and she realizes that it is bedtime, that all she can find within herself to do is smile at me.
Rarely is there crying. Just a happy attitude towards slumber.
I love to have it done to me. Her dad loves to have it done to him. Why wouldn't it feel good to a baby? I learned it from my mom. I remember her "tickling" my back when I didn't feel good--was sick. It is the most relaxing, wonderful feeling there can be.
She didn't enjoy or notice it that much when I tried it when she was just a newborn. But it appears to be magic now.
You have to be somewhat relaxed yourself, I think, to make this work. And thinking sweet thoughts while you do it might possibly enhance the effect. :-)
Try it, and I dare you to tell me it doesn't work.
Let me say, I have little tolerance for advice directed at me, mainly because it always comes from such self-righteous mothers that breastfeed at least the recommended length of time, or eat tofu, or don't put their babies in front of the tv to get a break, or don't look forward to putting Baby to bed in order to enjoy a chilled adult beverage. Or two.
But despite my apparent ineptitude, I stumbled across two amazing items that I feel I must share.
The first came from my pediatrician. He's so tolerant of Michael and I. We taunt him, we tease him, we test him. And he always comes back with a smile and a dogged determination to not only endure us as parents, but to perhaps mold us into decent ones. But gently. He could sense from the start that I'm automatically programmed to be skeptical of any doctorly advice, and my tendencies lean towards customarily dismissing it because I'm, just, well, "different." But better. But Dr. Noah perseveres.
At the first couple of visits, we insisted that our child was above any sort of sleeping disorders, or crying jags. She was perfect. Naturally. Despite our assertations, he mentioned in passing that should the unthinkable ever occur, we might want to obtain the "Happiest Baby on the Block" book for some useful tips.
Flip by some daily calendar pages, and watch me hike to the Tattered Cover bookstore in double-time following the first 60 minute scream-session at 2am. Bought the book. Read the two pages that were pertinent. And learned that by following the 5 steps in the book, magic could occur... the most fussy baby in the world could be induced to sleep--against their will--within about 5 minutes. I had become a convert. For not only the wisdom dispensed in the book, but also for my youthful, but wise, pediatrician.
The next time I saw him I insisted that hospitals should issue this book with the baby. The key is swaddling. You like to think that your baby doesn't "like" being swaddled. No! She's a free spirit, dammit. No constricting blanket-wrapping for her. But trust me--read it. Understand the 4th trimester. And believe. It saved our sanity. And restored my battered sense of being in control.
I'm not exaggerating when I say that I cried with relief when I tried this and it worked not the first time, not the second time, not the third time, but every fricking time!! Right when I needed it most.
Fast forward several months. I have an unusually happy, easy-to-care-for child. I'll admit it. But even so, at times, bedtime could be trying. She gets in this zone at bedtime that puts her into hyper-mode. She becomes ultra-animated, and very physical, but also very prone to becoming upset and in full-out cry mode at bedtime.
Most nights resulted in putting her to bed with no crying. No fussing. But on the nights when that wasn't the case, letting her cry (more like scream) herself to sleep, were heartwrenching. What kind of dreams does that cause an infant to have?
An aside note here...I'm certain that a bazillion mothers before me already discovered this technique. But it is their own fault for not publicizing it or being adament enough about it. I'm still bent on taking credit for it.
Our bedtime ritual is to make a bottle, and head upstairs to her room. We settle into our comfortable, comforting rocker. And we read a book. Yeah, she's only 5 months old. But I want her to love books like I do. So we take 5 minutes to peruse a book. Then we shut off the light, and only allow the hall light to illuminate her room. I cover her with a blanket, and feed her what she'll accept from her bottle of formula. Then when she finally shuns that, I settle her into a particularly comfortable position, and "tickle" her face. We call it tickling. But it isn't "coochee-coochee-coo" tickling--it is a light caress of her skin. I go ever so slowly around her face and all over her little sweet head. Include the ears and nose, and the spot just under her nose, and the cheeks and the brows, and all over. Within about 60 seconds, this child virtually melts into me, and relaxes so completely that it amazes and humbles me.
By the time I am forced to rouse her and move her into her crib, she is so relaxed and content that as I tuck in her blankets and she realizes that it is bedtime, that all she can find within herself to do is smile at me.
Rarely is there crying. Just a happy attitude towards slumber.
I love to have it done to me. Her dad loves to have it done to him. Why wouldn't it feel good to a baby? I learned it from my mom. I remember her "tickling" my back when I didn't feel good--was sick. It is the most relaxing, wonderful feeling there can be.
She didn't enjoy or notice it that much when I tried it when she was just a newborn. But it appears to be magic now.
You have to be somewhat relaxed yourself, I think, to make this work. And thinking sweet thoughts while you do it might possibly enhance the effect. :-)
Try it, and I dare you to tell me it doesn't work.
Predictable
First of all, I have to say... I feel just so... predictable. Don't think for one moment that I don't remember how I felt and reacted to mothers when I was "pre-baby." Because I do. I did not find all the little intricacies of babies to be fascinating whatsoever. And naturally, now I do. Can't help it. And frankly, wouldn't want to feel any other way.
Thank goodness that I have an outlet for these seemingly daily epiphanies about motherhood. My sister either is endlessly interested, or is amazingly adept at pretending she is.
So Sami was suddenly able to put her fingers into her mouth by grasping her little, chubby, perfect, adorable hands together first--to this day, it reminds me for some odd reason of "gangstas" making their gang signs - the way she melds her hands together with her arms bent out in front of her, then brings the whole thing home to her mouth--and then smirks with contentment at her accomplishment.
So I'm granted by "the grace of God" with an incredibly happy, cheerful baby, and misdirectedly take credit for her good nature by virtue of my superior (questionable at best) parenting skills.
So she appears to already exhibit her little sense of humor, with crinkly-nosed responses to things that are only subtley funny.
So I can make amazingly accurate assessments of whether or not people I meet have children or not, based upon their reactions to my daughter.
So I can strike up a Target check-out lane conversation with an expectant mother "of a certain age" now, and exchange intimate details within 2 minutes flat, and feel I've bonded with her in a certain, lasting way.
So when I get together with girlfriends that aren't obsessed with babies, for an adult beverage, and get intolerably bored within about 20 minutes--ready to go home to my dear husband and child with no regrets for missing the rest of the good times.
It doesn't mean I'm predictable. It means I've discovered what I had been missing all along.
The mothers that tried to explain it to me before are now pardoned. Turns out they were being so gracious by not being condescending about my ignorance. They had the good sense to let it go, rather than try to make me comprehend it.
Please make me learn to be as wise.
Thank goodness that I have an outlet for these seemingly daily epiphanies about motherhood. My sister either is endlessly interested, or is amazingly adept at pretending she is.
So Sami was suddenly able to put her fingers into her mouth by grasping her little, chubby, perfect, adorable hands together first--to this day, it reminds me for some odd reason of "gangstas" making their gang signs - the way she melds her hands together with her arms bent out in front of her, then brings the whole thing home to her mouth--and then smirks with contentment at her accomplishment.
So I'm granted by "the grace of God" with an incredibly happy, cheerful baby, and misdirectedly take credit for her good nature by virtue of my superior (questionable at best) parenting skills.
So she appears to already exhibit her little sense of humor, with crinkly-nosed responses to things that are only subtley funny.
So I can make amazingly accurate assessments of whether or not people I meet have children or not, based upon their reactions to my daughter.
So I can strike up a Target check-out lane conversation with an expectant mother "of a certain age" now, and exchange intimate details within 2 minutes flat, and feel I've bonded with her in a certain, lasting way.
So when I get together with girlfriends that aren't obsessed with babies, for an adult beverage, and get intolerably bored within about 20 minutes--ready to go home to my dear husband and child with no regrets for missing the rest of the good times.
It doesn't mean I'm predictable. It means I've discovered what I had been missing all along.
The mothers that tried to explain it to me before are now pardoned. Turns out they were being so gracious by not being condescending about my ignorance. They had the good sense to let it go, rather than try to make me comprehend it.
Please make me learn to be as wise.
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