Yesterday

My day started at 4am when the Little Guy was up for the day. For. The. Day. No amount of coaxing would put him back to sleep.

I made a major error at work, a client shouted at me, and I broke down in tears (after hanging up) due to lack of sleep. I spent all day fixing the error, ignoring the many other urgent requests.

The lady who watches the Little Guy during the day - whom we love and the Little Guy has bonded with - has had to give us her notice. Her father was diagnosed with cancer. Awful story - he went to the hospital with what he thought was bronchitis, and it turns out he has inoperable lung cancer. Can you imagine? I feel just terrible for her. She's separated from her husband, watching her two kids (and mine) all day, her mother's passed away and she has to deal with this. Quit her job. Leave her house. Take care of her father. Merry Christmas.

I don't know what we're going to do for the Little Guy come January, but right now I can't even think about that. I haven't slept properly in so long that I'm about to lose my mind. My regular Playdate post was intercepted by a sorrowful tale of woes about the lack of sleep in our house. Please go over there and offer advice, support, anything. I'm desperate.

And tired. So, so tired.

First Word

"UH-OH!"


We're in trouble.

And on the second day, it all went to sh!t...

Instant replay of my morning (or night...or morning...not sure which):

3am Mr Earth up with Little G
4:50 Mr Earth up with Little G (and, yes, Mr Earth rocks)
5:20 Nomo up with Little G
5:22 Nomo changes large stinky poo
5:25 Nomo puts Little G back to sleep
5:27 Nomo changes small stinky poo
5:30 Nomo sits in chair with Little G till Little G falls back asleep
5:45 Nomo puts Little G back in crib
5:47 Nomo disposes of stinky poos
5:50 Nomo goes back to bed
6:01 Nomo's alarm goes off
6:50 Nomo changes large stinky poo (this time from the Boy)
7:00 Nomo wakes up Little G
7:15 Little G poos again! (Mm, blueberries and sweet potato. I may never eat
again)

So, I had time to get ready without being screamed at, which was really nice. I smell like poo, which is not nice. The house smells like poo, which is even less nice. I did make it to work on time, but just barely. I had to run with the stroller most of the way. (Did I mention that Boy and Little G are in two DIFFERENT daycares?)

I am only now am drinking coffee.

[Side Note: Blogging at work is bad. Very, very bad. Bad, Nomo, Bad! But what a day Nomo had!]

One

A birthday Haiku:

Laughing, kicking, loud

Wanting in on the action,

You make us complete.

I need to channel my inner Jerry Springer

So I'm walking down a fairly busy street near my house on my way to pick up the Boy from daycare. It's a bit chillier than I thought and I'm wondering if I dressed the Little Guy warmly enough. He's sitting in the stroller thumping his legs and jawing away to himself as per usual.

Halfway down the street, I come upon a bunch of teenagers hanging out. There's about ten of them in a clump, and they're blocking the entire sidewalk. They don't see me or the stroller (naturally), so I stop and politely say "Excuse me" audibly enough to be heard over the giggles and guffaws. They reluctantly make a path in the knot of bodies just large enough for me to pass. I walk through, and just as I'm a few steps beyond the group, a blond girl speaks up, her voice nonchalantly oozing disdain:

"Your baby is fat."

I look back, not sure I heard her correctly. And then she laughs. And not in an 'I just made a joke' way. I heard correctly. I shoot her a look so dark, I'm surprised she is still standing upright. I hold the look but she looks away, dismissing me. I want to do something but I'm in a state of shock. Who insults a baby? In front of the baby's mother?? I am livid. I want to go back and say:

"The Little Guy may be on the larger end of the spectrum, but he's a baby. He will lose the baby fat as he grows. Your lack of civility, however, is a much more difficult problem to address. You are lucky that I am in shock from your appalling lack of manners, or you might find yourself in a conflict you have no hope of resolving."

Or, as they would say on Jerry Springer:

"Yo skank! Yeah you, with the puffy jacket and the painted on jeans. The baby may be large, but you're a b*tch. He, at least, will lose the baby fat. You'd better duck before I throw my shoe at your head."

Don't mess with the Mama Bear. The claws will come out.

Under the Mad Hat

Well done, Mad. G-dog is one cool puppy.

Wean

Forgive me Little Guy, for I have sinned.

It has been eighteen days since I've replaced a feed with a sippy cup. Three days since I've replaced a second feed. You are now going from morning to night without breastmilk.

It is not going well.

I don't know if it is that you are not thirsty. I don't know if it's that you don't like the (multitude of) sippy cup(s) I've offered. Perhaps you don't like the formula. Why would you when the real thing is close at hand? Maybe it's just the fact that I'm the one giving you the sippy cup. Who knows what's going on in your head? If there ever was a time to use your words, now would be it. If only you had any.

From morning till night, you don't drink. From morning till night, you have - maybe - some random sips from the cup. You seem to be taking in some small amount of water occasionally, so I guess that's something. But there's no nourishment there. I don't give in. I offer food (with high water content) and distraction instead. If it weren't for the fact that you're a champion eater, I would be beside myself with worry.

As it is, I'm as tense as a horse at the gate, waiting for the pistol that never shoots. I'm snappish and stressed, worried that I'm doing the wrong thing. No, not that I'm doing the wrong thing, per se, but approaching the right thing the wrong way. Maybe that's more accurate.

I go back to work in a month. I start rehearsals shortly after. And even if I weren't, I would be looking to wean soon anyways. I used to think that I was doing a good thing by breastfeeding for a year, but now the recommendation is that you do it for two to four years. Well, I've never been able to pump successfully, so unless I stay home altogether, it's basically all or nothing. Still, the guilt is there.

I thought that dropping four feeds in two months would be enough time. How on earth do people wean in a week? This is amazing to me. Do they know something I don't?

I press on, hoping it will somehow magically work itself out. I wonder if I spend too much of my life hoping things will magically work themselves out. You have been remarkably good humoured throughout. A person would only know something was amiss when you knock the sippy cup out of my hands and screech. If I offer you food, though, you will happily munch away. But it begs the question - what happens when the morning and night feeds are replaced...?

Even if you don't remember a single moment of this - because I don't think you will - I still don't want to be the person that takes the light out of your eyes. Not even for a moment. You may not remember, but I will.

Is this really what it's like to be a grown-up? If so, it's kind of sucky.

Pardon the pun.

The Zoo Story

What a difference a year makes! My last memories of visiting the Toronto Zoo include being insanely hot (the weather, not me) and rather pregnant (me, not the weather). The Boy didn't want to sit in the stroller, but refused to walk, so Mr Earth and I took turns carrying him. He enjoyed the zoo. Our arms, not so much.

This year, the Boy, the Little Guy and I went with my very good friend and her two children. I was a bit worried about how it would all go down, but I was pleasantly surprised. The weather was fantastic - warm, sunny, cool breeze. I couldn't stop talking about how glad I was to be out of doors on such a nice day. I felt a bit giddy with the freedom. (Or was that the vodka in my Klean Kanteen? Hm.)

The Little Guy, Mr-I-Hate-the-Stroller-Don't-You-Dare-Put-Me-In-That-Thing, sat contentedly the whole time. The. Whole. Time. Unheard of. Perhaps he was as tired as I am of looking at the same four walls of our house? Methinks we should get out more.


Oh sure, he gave me some funny looks. But he sat there. The. Whole. Time. Have I mentioned that this is unheard of? I was starting to think that he had drunk some of the contents of my Klean Kanteen. Hm.

The Boy and his friend explored the giant fallen tree. It was pretty cool. Man-made? Not sure.

I would have crawled through myself, but was afraid of getting stuck. Besides, someone had to take the pictures, right? The perfect excuse. How would I explain getting stuck in a gigantic fallen tree? Humiliating.

The boys stopped to examine a caterpillar crossing the road:

Oh sure, twenty bucks admission and eight bucks for parking, and the most fascinating animal at the Zoo? A caterpillar. He was pretty darn cute, though. (Was it a he? How does one tell these things? Are there even He-caterpillars? You can see I got me a good education..)

More shocking than the live bat we saw (Live bats. Shudder.), was the peahen who jumped out of her cage, and came to the snack bar for a little treat. Or was she window shopping? Hm.

If you look in the window, you will see the faint reflection of the Boy. I think that's a pretty neat effect for a sucky photographer like me.

One of my personal favourite parts of the Zoo (besides the weather, which really was phenomenal), was this poster:

I just think that says it all, don't you?

He Ain't Heavy

I don't know exactly why, but I always feel compelled to defend the Little Guy. Maybe it's because he's the second child and second children always seem to get short shrift. Maybe it's because people are always extolling the virtues of the Boy, saying how well-mannered and fun he is, and yet don't have much of anything to say about the baby. Maybe it's because some people keep expecting the Little Guy to somehow be more advanced, and I feel the need to say "He's just a baby! He's going to cry and fuss, but that doesn't mean he's going to be that way forever. He's teething! He's got separation anxiety! He's a baby! Lighten up!"

But what really gets my already over-sensitive and ready-to-rumble goat? The near constant references to his size. He's just shy of 11 months and weighs about 23 pounds. He's also not that much shorter than his brother (if he could stand, that is). He's wearing his brother's discarded onesies in size 18-24 months, and while they are too big, he's definitely not swimming in them.
He's a big baby. I get it. I'm the one holding him most of the day after all. What I don't need to hear over and over again is:

"He's a monster!"
"He's huge!"
"That's a BIG baby!"
"He sure doesn't miss a meal, does he??"

I can't imagine that the comments are meant to be offensive. He's a baby. A baby with a healthy appetite is a good, good thing. And he is the healthiest eater in our family, by a long shot. I'm pretty sure he eats more vegetables than the three of us combined. That's not what irks me. It's referencing his size as if it's his defining factor. As if that's the thing that makes him special.

You know what makes him special? His smile that could light up a room. His readiness to laugh. His tendency to find anything his brother does highly amusing and entertaining. In fact, all the Boy has to do is walk into the room, and he just beams. His random and plentiful hugs, and the way he's happy just to be near you. His unshakeable curiosity. His ability to move across an entire room without knowing how to walk or crawl, yet never actually moving while you're watching him.

And it bugs me, it really bugs me, when people don't even bother to take the time to see these things. Because they are so very special. As is he.

I see you, Little Guy.

Mr Sandman Send me a Dream

What happened to the "Hundred Days of Hell" theory anyways? You know the one - the whole sleep deprivation sucks for about three months, and then things start to work themselves out? Well people, we're on Month 8 now, and there is no rest for the weary here at Casa Earth. If you're wondering why I don't post more often - or why all my posts are pictures without text - it is because I am TOO TIRED TO THINK. I know, I know, my life is horrible....wah, wah...suck it up.

Despite the fact that the Little Guy stopped wanting to breastfeed through the night ages ago, he is still up about four times or more screaming and having to be put back to sleep. If you give him the soother and rock him in your arms, he will go back to sleep, but he may be up for twenty minutes, or he may be up for an hour or more. Mr Earth and I take turns soothing the savage beast, and it's taking it's toll. We muddle through as best we can, but how long can people survive on about four hours of (interrupted) sleep before they start to go a little nutty? I've always said that I can handle just about anything if I get a good night's sleep. I can't seem to handle ANYTHING without sleep. I'm crabby. I'm snappish. I'm mean. I don't like hanging out with me, and I can't see why anyone else would want to, either.

I know I could keep dealing with the lack of sleep, as long as there is, in fact, an end in sight. But in the wee small hours of the night, I feel like I will end up with a teenager that needs to be rocked back to sleep several times a night. He certainly feels as heavy as a teenager sometimes. And a minute can take a VERY LONG TIME when you're staring into the darkness wishing you were in the comfort of your own bed.

Can someone please remind me that this will pass? I could really use that right now.

An Affair to Remember

I'm really having a hard time putting it into words, it all comes out a-jumble. A senseless smattering of sounds that is infused with a multitude of emotions, but makes no sense to anyone else but me. I simply can't get enough of him. My eyes light up when I see him. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't do anything but watch him. His smile makes my heart soar, and I can do nothing but echo his grin, beaming from ear to ear. I want to do everything he does. My legs won't move the way I want them to, and I flail about in despair. I resign myself to sitting, and staring. When he comes near, I reach out with both hands and cup his face indelicately. I want more. A shirt collar or a lock of hair eludes my grasp, as the will-o-the-wisp floats just beyond my reach once again. If only he knew how much I long to be with him, to share every single moment - every smile, every laugh, every joke - perhaps he would be less inclined to leave me behind. Perhaps if he understood how much I admire his love of life, he would sit still long enough for me to catch him. As it is, I will have to satisfy myself with moments. Waiting for the day that my legs will finally obey me and we can run together wherever the wind takes us.

Let it be soon, brother.

This is Your Brain on Motherhood

Can you spot the similarities? How about the differences?

**For those wondering who the weirdo is on the cover of the TV Guide, they're doing an American Idol type thing to find the next Maria for Toronto's upcoming Sound of Music called How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria.

CIO Y/N?

The sleeping situation at night - or rather, the NOT sleeping situation at night - is getting a little ridiculous in our house. We have gone from a baby some impressively long stretches, to one who can barely make it four hours.

I'm practically positive that he is not waking up to eat. The Little Guy is not so little. He could live for weeks in the wild off the fat on his thigh (hmm, must get that from me..). Not only that, but I can usually soothe him back to sleep in about 10 minutes or so. But then, of course, I'M up. And it takes far longer than 10 minutes for ME to get back to sleep.

I generally feed him cereal around 6pm or so, and then breastfeed somewhere between 7:30 and 8pm, after I've finally convinced the Boy to stay in his bed. The Little Guy is waking up at around 11:30pm. I don't think that he's all that hungry, but since I'm often awake, I will feed him in the hopes that he will sleep "through the night". Ha.

On a "good" night, he then won't wake up until about 4:30am. I get up and soothe him back to sleep. I fall asleep shortly after 5am, and then he wakes up at about 5:30am. I take him into bed with us, eventhough I'd prefer not to because it means that I can't sleep. He might then not wake up till 6 or 6:30am. I finally get up to feed him, although frankly, he doesn't seem all that hungry. He eats, of course. He would eat each time he awoke, if I let him. My getting up at 6am usually wakes up the Boy, and then we are all awake. Fun. Have I mentioned that I'm not a morning person?

On a "bad" night, he wakes up at 2:30am, 4:30am, 5:30am and 6:30am. Sometimes I almost wish that he would wake up at 2:30am, because occasionally he will sleep until 5:30am and I have a chance to get back to sleep after getting up with him. If he goes through until 4:30am, then I'm awake for the day from that point on.

I'm afraid to go to sleep too early because it really messes with your sleep patterns to go to sleep for the night, only to wake up an hour later. I also treasure the child-free time at night. I look forward to it all day. It's also really stressful to live your life on tenterhooks, waiting for him to wake up. I could better deal with his erratic nap patterns in the day if I knew that he would at least sleep at night. So to recap, the general pattern is to get to bed somewhere around 12:30am, and up for the day around 4:30am.

It's getting to the point where I'm willing to try just about anything, even the dreaded "cry it out". I have mixed feelings about it. The Boy was a great sleeper. He went through his wakeful periods of course, but we did a miniature version of the cry-it-out with him and it worked. We only did this because we noticed that any time we tried to pick him up, it only made him cry worse than before. So instead, we let him cry and after about ten minutes, he stopped on his own. If he ever cried more than 10 minutes, we would go in and get him.

The Little Guy, though, gets himself worked up to a frenzy. He rarely falls asleep in the stroller or carseat. I've spent many an hour long car ride in the past few weeks listening to him scream louder and longer until I thought he might choke. Somehow, I don't think this bodes well for the cry-it-out approach. I'm at my wit's end, though. Anyone had any luck with it? Anybody really against it? I've overheard women swear up and down that it's the only thing that worked, but maybe their baby's temperament is just fundamentally different than the Little Guy's.

I just know I need to sleep. I don't like myself very much when I'm tired and cranky. I'm not pleasant to be around. And I can't get away from myself. Every time I turn around, there I am.

Smilers Never Win

The No-Sleep Cry Solution

Do you think that when you have a second child, the universe gives you the baby you didn't have the first time around?

The Boy was a champion sleeper. He was too good of a sleeper, actually. He had jaundice, and our feeding issues meant that he didn't get enough milk to come out of it quickly or easily. We had to wake him up to eat on a schedule for months. He would have slept through the night from day one, but that wouldn't have been a good thing. BUT, on the plus side, the moment that he had gained enough weight that we could let him sleep as long as he wanted, he pretty much slept through the night from that point on. At four months. Similarly, at about five months, I decided that I didn't really want to hold him for naps anymore because he was getting so heavy, so I put him down in his crib one day, walked away, and he slept. By himself.

The Little Guy, as I've mentioned before, will only sleep at night if tightly swaddled. He wakes up at least once to eat, and once around 5am just to be awake. At 5am, I can get him back to sleep if I bring him into our bed. (Of course, I don't sleep anymore after that. Don't squish the baby! Don't smother the baby!!)

As for naps, he used to have sleep periodically throughout the day if you were willing to hold him the entire time. Have I mentioned that he is over 18 pounds? Now he has added the necessity for absolute silence. Have you ever tried for absolute silence with a 3-year old around? No?? Try it. The Boy has only two volume options: whisper or scream. And it's a stage whisper at that. Peppered by loud guffaws and chortles of delight. It's actually lovely to behold, but not so lovely when you're trying to get a baby to sleep.

It's all very well to cowtow to the Little Guy's wishes when it's just me and him, but as of May 1st, the Boy will only be attending daycare part time. Our weekends right now consist of phrases like:

"I can't right now, the Little Guy is sleeping."
"We can play when the Little Guy wakes up."
"You need to be a little quieter, Boy, just while the Little Guy is falling asleep."
"Sorry, Boy, not right now."

I feel terrible when I see his disappointment. I was hoping the sleep thing would resolve itself, but it hasn't. So, April is sleep-training month. So far, I have been able to get the Little Guy to sleep for about a half hour on his own. But he has to be lightly swaddled (I refuse to do the full swaddle - saving that for nighttime use only), soothered, and held down until he stops jerking long enough to fall asleep. It takes about a half hour of work to get him to sleep for half an hour. Every once in a while I will get a longer sleep out of him, and I feel like the heavens have opened up and rained sunshine down on my ever-lovin' head. It's going to be a looong month.

Mac and Cheese asked me, at a certain bloggy gathering Saturday night, when I had time to shower. My glib answer was "I don't." The truth is, I do shower thankyouverymuch, but usually only with the accompaniment of much crying, or not sleeping. I try to shower every other day now, because it's a lot of stress, and I believe sanity - not cleanliness - is next to godliness.

So if you see me coming, please please please put on a pot of coffee before you even say hello. And if it's Monday, Wednesday or Friday, I probably wouldn't stand too close.

Don't Trouble Trouble

Do you ever hear somebody say something completely innocuous, and you just get this feeling in the pit of your stomach - good or bad - that it's going to come true? I do.

When it's a good thing, I call it the "Ring of Truth". It's happened to me a couple of times that stand out in my memory. In the last year of theatre school, my favourite guest teacher, Peter Hinton, handed out a pamphlet for his Restoration Theatre workshop in Abbotsford. It was seven weeks long, an their were limited spaces, but I said to my friend "I think I'm going to do this". And I knew I would. And I did. The other time, not-yet-Mr-Earth and I were at a friend's wedding, and he turned to me and said "I want that to be us up there.". We were only a year into our four year courtship, and he was drunk as a skunk (do skunks really get drunk?), but I said "I want that too." And I knew it would happen. And it did.

When it's a bad thing, I call it the "Audition Feeling". That's when you're allowed to get through your whole monologue or song, and they say "Thanks for coming out. We'll call you." And you know that you're never going to hear from them. And you don't. Let's not get into how many times I have had that particular feeling, as I don't want to get too depressed.

Now that the weather is getting better, and the Little Guy is getting older, we have decided to drop a couple of days from the Boy's daycare schedule. He'll still be going three days a week, but we'll save some money, and I'll get more of a chance to hang out with the Boy while my mat leave plays out. We have to keep him in part time so that we don't lose our spot entirely. It feels like a good decision. It feels right. I'm also a little scared that I won't be able to handle it gracefully, but whatever - suck it up Nomo.

This morning, when I dropped the Boy off at daycare, one of his teachers said "I'm really going to miss him when he's not here every day. He's doing so well." Nice enough, right? But the way that she said it sounded like we were leaving the daycare entirely. It scared me. It took a LONG time to get a daycare spot. Anyone who lives in our area of the city knows that they are next to impossible to find. And I can't afford to lose it. And I can't go back to work part time either. It's full time or nothing in my position.

Now, what felt like a good decision, may turn out to be the worst possible one if I can't get our spot back. I'm already stressed out that we have no solution for the Little Guy, as most openings around here start at 16-18 months, and I have to go back when the Little Guy is 12 months. He's not on any daycare list at all as I'm in denial, and it seems futile when there is just no spot to be had. Am I borrowing trouble??

I'm just going to close my eyes and hope that it all works out in the end. Mature, no?

Dream Feed

I pad down the narrow hallway and enter the dark bedroom. In the blackness, I feel for the sound machine. The patter of rain abruptly stops and the room falls silent. I reach into the bassinette and my hands find the swaddled baby with ease. I take him out of the room. His head angles back and his lips purse, but he is still fast asleep.

I walk down the hall to the nursery and place him on the carpet using the animal footprints as a marker so I know exactly where to put him when I'm finished. I unswaddle, careful to keep the fabric in the correct position for his return. There isn't enough room between the crib and the dresser for all the fabric. There is a lot of fabric. This baby, not yet five months old, is the size of a nine month baby. Two legs shoot up in the air, and he rolls to his left side. They shoot up again, and he rolls to his right. Over and over the baby gymnastics. I fire up the computer and watch him roll. This is my favourite part.

I heft the boy onto my left shoulder and grab the breastfeeding pillow. I sit down on the computer chair, unhook my bra and put the baby to the breast. I read blogs and try to comment. I can type with two hands if he's feeding well, one if he's not. He's usually not. I question the need to stay up late doing this if he going to barely eat. He shoves his hand in my shirt. He is one of two men who can get away with such a bold move. It's a lovely hand.

I burp him and a trickle of milk rolls down his chin. I switch sides and he starts to rub his left ear obsessively. Is it itchy? I sit him up to burp him again and he rubs his face against the receiving blanket, settling in. He is sleeping sitting up. A toe twitches. An eyebrow raises. A soft smile passes his lips.

I put him back on the swaddling fabric and his eyes fly open. Now he is awake. He squawks and struggles, but I swaddle on. No sleep for the unbound. I try to make sure it's tight enough to give Houdini pause. I shift him deftly to football position and sit back down at the computer. I read some more, the baby's head jiggling on my leg. If I want to comment on a post now, I must hunt and peck. I hate long verification codes.

Eyes are closing slowly and I hear a wail from the Boy's room. I pause, heart in throat. Silence. Was that the end, or the beginning?

I continue jiggling. I'm falling asleep myself. Soft, rhythmic breaths. I get up and walk down the hall. I turn the sound machine on. I fumble around till I find the rain setting. I tiptoe out. As I leave, I hope the lazy feed is enough to nourish.

And I hope the swaddle is tight, or it's going to be a long night.

Perchance to Dream

For the love of all that is holy, will someone please tell me how to get an infant to sleep - and stay asleep - without the aid of swaddling?

Last night, Mr Earth and I took advantage of the Boy's weekend visit to Nana's house to try out a "sleep bag" with the Little Guy instead of the usual swaddling blanket. We are firm believers in the Swaddle at Casa Earth. We used it with the Boy until - dare I say it? - six months of age. Because of the Swaddle, we had a kid that slept through the night from about four months of age, if my memory serves me correctly. We actually only stopped doing it at six months, because we went to my parents cottage for the weekend, and I thought he would be too hot without air conditioning. The first night, there were one or two wakings that were easily resolved and the next night, he slept through with no problems. We never swaddled again. I credit the Swaddle for a three-year-old who is a pretty solid sleeper. We've had some bad nights of course, but they are few and far between.

The Little Guy, though, is a bit of a sticky situation. I am more than willing to keep swaddling as he's still young. However, as I've mentioned before, we are raising the GigantiBaby. THE SWADDLING BLANKET DOESN'T FIT. Ack. This is the piece of material that I got when I went to a fabric store, and asked for the largest square of material they could produce. Because as seasoned Swaddlers know, swaddling doesn't work unless the blanket is a true square. Swaddling is fussy business enough as it is without bringing Mr Rectangle into the picture. No way, hosé.

So last night we tried the sleep bag. It did not go well. Wait, that isn't quite what I mean. It SUCKED. We got about two stretches where he slept for an hour, but otherwise he woke up every ten or fifteen minutes. All. Night. Long. Hello Sleep Deprivation! I wish I could say that it's nice to see you, but I hate to lie. The Little Guy didn't want to eat. He would take a soother, and go back to sleep. As the night wore on, I had to hold down his arms and legs to keep him from waking himself up. That got old pretty quickly, I tell you. A couple of times upon getting up from bed, I swayed like a drunken sailor from sheer exhaustion. Releasing one arm at a time isn't going to work yet, because it's precisely that - the wild jerking of his arms - that is keeping him awake. My gut feeling is that he still needs the comfort, warmth and restraint of the Swaddle to keep him asleep.

So tell me, oh wise internet mothers, how on earth do you non-swaddlers get your babies to stay asleep? Cause I have no trouble getting the Little Guy to fall asleep, but I certainly don't consider sleeping in fifteen minute segments to be sufficient for my sanity. Is there some trick that I'm missing here? Did I skip this class at Parenting School? Or, does anyone know where I can get swaddling blankets for the full-figured baby?

And hey - while I'm asking - do they make swaddling blankets for young adults? I want to plan ahead. I'm just sayin'.

Mis-Monikered?

Has anyone seen my Little Guy?


Perhaps you remember this face:



Apparently someone fed the open mouth:

I used to hold this little bundle of swaddling clothes in one arm easily:

Now, it's a two-handed heft:

I do remember thinking how scrawny he looked in this photo:

And now the only scrawny thing is Mr Corbeau on his sleeper:

Four months old today, and the only thing these photos have in common is that he is still scratching the bejeezus out of his face. My filing and trimming attempts have been total failures. All I know is, this kid needs to learn how to walk, and fast. My back is shot from carrying him around all day. Lord knows he could live for a couple of days off the rolls on his legs. A mother at daycare peered into the carseat and remarked:

"He doesn't miss a meal, heh! heh!"

Like I'm feeding him candy bars or something.

I'm not, by the way. I don't share my chocolate with anyone.

But let's just say that the Little Guy has...blossomed...into a Very Big Guy. At our two month appointment, he was just shy of 15 pounds. I'm frightened of what he's going to be at our next check up. More importantly, my back is frightened.

I'm not one to make name changes willy-nilly, but it feels somehow misleading to write about my youngest son under the label of The Little Guy these days. Technically, it still fits because he is the youngest. And anyways what would I - could I - change it to without it sounding vaguely insulting?

Mr Earth thinks he looks rather like Kingpin, but I have issues with naming my child after a supervillain.

If we got him the right outfit, he would make a dandy Humpty Dumpty - but as I recall that story didn't end all that well. Better keep brainstorming.

If it was summertime, and his legs were bared, I would have no doubt that someone would reference the Michelin Man.

I would be lying if I said I hadn't called him a little cutie potato. But how would I explain that to him when he's older and finds the blog? Sorry kiddo, we called you're brother "The Boy", but the best we could come up with for you was a random tuber reference..but we looove potatoes...

Can anyone out there think of a good name? I'm stumped. He's scratching the hell out of his face right now as I type and feed -- perhaps I should call him Baby Scissorhands?

Study In Green Crayon

for Wordless Wednesday