My Sister the Supermom

I've been thinking about my sister these last few days.  Although I know many moms who have no desire to live up to any "supermom" ideal, I like it.  I've worked hard these last few months to keep up with the housework, the laundry, the grocery shopping, the cooking, taking care of myself and being the best mom to S.  But the truth is, I can't even imagine keeping up with it all if I had more than one child.

My sister has three children.  Not only that, her husband is in the military and he just left for like 15 months!  I can't even fathom taking care of three children with help, but definitely not on my own.  I can at least pass little S off to her dad when I'm needing a break.

So, to all the moms of several children, single moms or moms who's husbands work crazy hours or are gone for days, weeks, months or years at a time, I hearby award you the title of Supermom...whether you have a clean house or not.

Worst Mom Ever?

Why isn't there a place in the baby book for this first: "First time I let you take a head-first dive off the couch."  Probably because those are not the moments we want to remember!  I know I'm not the worst mom ever.  There are sick moms out there that hurt their babies on purpose.  But I will give myself the, "Worst mom of the week among my friends" award.

Monday night I clipped her thumb with the finger nail clippers and made her bleed... a lot.  She screamed and cried and wouldn't calm down until I gave her to her daddy.

This morning I smacked her head into the wall.  No idea how I managed that.

This evening I sat her down on the couch next to me so I could put my hair up in a pony tail.  Before I even managed to get my hair up, S somehow managed to fling herself off the couch, head first.  I looked to my side and as if time had frozen I saw her head about to hit the hardwood floor while her feet were straight up in the air.  Faster than gravity, I got my arms around her just as she hit.  I think/hope I softened the blow.  I held her in my arms until she calmed down, trying to decide if I needed to call the advice nurse.  I supposed it wouldn't hurt so I called and they asked me to take her to urgent care since she's so young.

All is fine.  She made it out with only a big scratch on her leg.  And now I know, I have to have a hand on her at all times.  One second is one second too many.  

Too Much Information?

So usually I have a rather fast flowing milk.  I mean S often chokes on it.  Occasionally, however, she has to work to get it going...like it takes more than a second.  This morning was one of those times.

She looked up at my like, "Hey, just give it to me already."  I smiled and said, "Oh S, you need to know that not everything in life will come easy to you.  You will have to work for things.  And in fact, the things you have to work for, are often the most rewarding."

She went back to eating.  I think she gets it.  She's very mature for her age.  Not even three months old and already she's learning the hard lessons of life.

Uh-Oh Out to Eat

We haven't eaten at a restaurant very often since S was born but we've done it a few times and she has always been a perfect angel. Either she sleeps, sits happily in her car seat or happily in my arms. Until today...

I was already a little hesitant because we were heading out during what tends to be a cranky time of night for her. But I thought perhaps it'd be okay because she seems to really enjoy getting out of the house. I got a little more worried as she cried in the car during the drive. And of course as soon as we got there she wanted out of her car seat and started fussing.

It's hard to decide what to do at that moment I discovered. Stay or go? We just walked in, we haven't ordered. We could leave without a problem. Should we brave it and hope she doesn't get any fussier or should we run for the hills?

We stayed and braved it. Luckily, between her dad and I bouncing her and continually switching her position throughout the meal, she kept mostly quiet. It wasn't until the very end that she really started to cry. But seriously, who wants to pay $7 for a tiny plate of food while having to bounce a fussy baby and rush through dinner. I could do that at home! Oh well, better luck next time.

Fleeting Moments

This week little S started picking up her rattle.  Last week she could only hold it if I opened her hand and placed it in it.  Today she picks it up and tries to put it in her mouth.  I can't help but think she's almost 20 and moving out of my house already.  I can already hardly remember what it was like to hold her when she was barely even 8 lbs.  The nights of pacing the floors for hours and hours and sleeping on the couch with her because she refused to lay anywhere but in someone's arms, seem like a long forgotten memory.

Last night I while I nursed her in bed at 1:30 in the morning I smiled as her tiny little hand softly caressed my breast.  These are the moments that won't be captured on film.  These are the moments that fill my heart up.  These are the moments that I fear will fade in my memory as new special moments between mother and daughter appear.

I know many moms who talk about really disliking having their babies sleep in the room with them, but I cherish it.  I love it when I wake up in the night and can look over and see her sweet little arms stretched out and her body curled up on her side, just like I like to sleep.  I love that when she starts to fuss before falling asleep, it usually only takes my hand resting on her tummy to calm her back to sleep.  I love those last couple of hours in the morning when she's not tired enough to sleep in her co-sleeper but she will cuddle up in my arms and sleep beside me.  I wake up before she does many days and open my eyes to see her sweet face next to mine and I just watch her as she sleeps.  I wouldn't trade any hours of extra sleep for these moments with my daughter.  I know that before long she'll be too grown to cuddle in bed with me.  She'll want her own room, her privacy.  But for now, I will cherish these moments.

Rough Night

What exactly makes a baby a bad baby? I get asked all the time, "Is she a good baby?" I never quite know how to answer that. Well, how would you describe a good baby? Quiet? Sleeps well? Good eater? Okay, my little one is really none of those things. Does that make her bad? I can't imagine we'd ever tell a 3 year old she had a bad personality because she wasn't quiet and compliant. In fact, those skills don't necessarily benefit a person as they get older.

Last night was a rough night. It was probably what some would describe as "bad baby" behavior. Not that she could really help it I suppose. Wouldn't fall asleep until around midnight and that was only in bed with me. Slept a few hours in her co-sleeper after I ever so gently slid her from under my arm into her bed. Woke up to eat again at 5:30 and half an hour later she'd pooped all over my bed. I suppose those are the dangers of co-sleeping. Besides suffocation of course. Although I'd say the chances of turning over into a pile of spit-up or a wet poopy spot are much higher than suffocation.

I tend to always look for a "reason" for the behavior. I figure if there's a reason then I can fix it. I admit to certain ridiculous thinking along these lines. Last night (and actually it was at 6 am this morning but since I was planning to sleep a few more hours, I'm calling it night), I was thinking, "You just pooped all over yourself to make sure I had to get up and change your diaper, didn't you?" See I've pretty much stopped changing her diaper at night. She rarely poops and frankly I'm too exhausted to get up and I'd rather try and keep her as asleep as possible. Her changing table makes her giddy for some reason. She goes from fast asleep to laughing in seconds. But of course she's started to get a little diaper rash (I thought we had that all taken care of!!). So I'm thinking, what kind of mother lets her baby stew in urine all night and gives her a diaper rash? So certainly, she must have had a blow-out to insist that I get up and change her. She's quite clever like that.

God our Father

Last night I woke up from a dream where Matt ran into our room in the middle of the night to tell me to grab the baby and hide because there was a bad person in the house. I remember thinking I'd do anything to protect her, even give my life.

Moments later she's in my arms and refusing to sleep. I was reminded of a book I'm reading called, "Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year," by Anne Lamott. She writes about the strange feeling of loving her son so incredibly deeply and yet wanting to throw him down the stairs at times.

In my extreme exhaustion I'm understanding her feeling. While I just woke up from a dream where I realized I'd give my life for her, at this moment the thought of dropping her down some stairs sounds intriguing. Okay, maybe just wrapping her nicely in a basket and leaving her at the neighbors doorstep like poor little Alvin, Simon and Theodore.

I wonder if God feels like this about us. He obviously loved us enough to give his life for us. But perhaps he also wants to throw us down some stairs at times. And I've only got one little screaming child. God has an entire earth filled with screaming children. I used to think the Psalm that talks about God never sleeping because he's always watching over us was a beautiful picture of God's love and protection. Now I'm thinking maybe this whole never slumbering thing is not for lack of trying.

Insanity Plea

If I ever committed murder I could easily call for an insanity plea. It's completely ludicrous, the things I do and think are necessary to achieve just a few hours of sleep or peace and quiet. One night my dear child falls asleep quickly and stays asleep for four hours so I have to retrace my steps to figure out what miracle cure I have found.

Okay, so Tuesday night I drank three sips of cherry coke and ate half a chocolate chip cookie while daddy held her. Then I nursed for fifteen minutes and quickly changed her diaper. Daddy rocked her in the chair for half an hour and then laid her in her co-sleeper with the fan on and the small lamp lighting the room. Five hours later she wakes up for her first middle of the night feeding. Sweet! Well, then Wednesday night I must do the exact same thing because obviously I have found the key. Lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat...as needed.

My new thinking is that daddy has to rock her or she won't stay asleep. Which sucks since daddy is playing poker tonight. Shit. I'm going to be up all night with a screaming baby. So I'm sitting in my rocking chair after nursing and changing her diaper. Matt says I'm not relaxed enough and since she's screaming at the top of her lungs, I'm thinking, "Sure...relax." So I let me body go limp (while trying to still hold her...right). Uh yeah, this doesn't help. Ah, perhaps it is the perfect balance of relaxed and stiff that I'm looking for. Stiffen, relax, stiffen, relax. And so it goes.

This ridiculous line of thinking goes on in my head for a while when I suddenly realize, she's quiet and her eyes are barely open. And just a few minutes later, she's asleep in her co-sleeper and I'm sitting here typing when I should be getting ready for bed.