2.5

Yesterday you were officially two-and-a-half years old. And you gave me that beautiful rose. I think it's time for a few updates...

In late July, you decided you were over your crib. Not by climbing out or anything, just by NOT SLEEPING. Also by pointing to the bed in your room and saying, "I want to sleep there, mama." You've always been very articulate. So, we got one of those fancy bedrail things and set you up. For the most part, you sleep great in it and barely ever get down from the bed by yourself. When you do, your father and I are terrified you will stumble through the hallway and fall down the stairs - so we've taken to locking you in your room like Rapunzel.

You've figured out how to undo locks.

Potty training: I would say we are 75% there. You've always loved to rub your diaper while you're drinking milk, and this habit will not die. So you're allowed a diaper in the morning, during naptime and at night. You're also allowed one when we're out and about and you haven't pooped yet that day. What, I'd rather not deal with cleaning up crap at the grocery store. Other than that, you love going pee pee in the potty. Every successful attempt is like a mini party... I jump up and down, hug you and tell you how proud I am, and you get an M&M. That is, if you remember you want one.

You always remember you want one.

I've started giving myself treats after I go pee pee, too.

Mission Impossible

There are nights (many nights) when you wake up crying. I usually try to ignore it (trust me, it's better for both of us) but sometimes it gets to the point where you start to convince me that there might actually be a monster under your bed. So, I walk down the hall like a sleepy elephant, bumping into walls and tripping over my own feet. I first try to soothe you back to sleep with my soft voice and a gentle pat on the back. If that doesn't work, I rip you out of bed and shove a bottle of water in your mouth. Eventually you fall back asleep... and this is when the trouble begins...

Mission Impossible: DON'T WAKE THE BABY

Obstacle 1 is walking out of your room. This part is relatively easy because luckily, there is carpet, and I am able to time my steps to the waves that your Sleep Sound Machine makes.

Obstacle 2. Did I say luckily there is carpet? Scratch that. There is too much of it, and closing the door against the thick carpet makes a really loud "swisssssshhhhhhhh" sound. Again, if I time that with the sound of the fake waves I am able to close it in 3 attempts.

Obstacle 3. This:


The gate that will prevent you from falling out of your crib, opening your own door, walking down the hall and falling down the stairs. The gate that sounds like prison doors closing. So opening and closing it in the middle of the night is not an option. I have to climb over it. During the day I can do this no problem. But at night, my limbs are heavy, and my body is rubbery. Fifty percent of the time I successfully make the leap. The other fifty percent results in a CLANG! that slaps the quiet night in its balls. You wake up. Repeat soft voice, gentle pat, rip up, shove water, obstacle 1, 2, 3...

Obstacle 4 is walking down the hall. Tiptoeing is never a good idea. I am too clumsy for that at 2:32am. No, instead I need both feet flat on the ground. I know exactly where the floor creaks. I avoid those spots like land mines. But I have to step every so softly, equal weight on each foot. I must make lucid movements, relax my body, because if I don't...

BONE SNAP! How is it even POSSIBLE for one's body to make such a loud noise!!?? I curse you old, out-of-shape body!!! DO SOME YOGA, G'DAMMIT. Sometimes you hear these bone snaps and it's back to square one, repeat soft voice, gentle pat, blah, blah, blah.

Obstacle 5, I am back in bed, I can't fall asleep. 5 minutes later, it's 6:30am, and I have to wake up...

E-I-E-I-Oh.

Hey Buddy,

It's been awhile since I've written to you, but I swear I'm only neglecting you in bloggy blog world and not in real life. We've been up to SO many fun and interesting things!! Here's an update...

HITTING


This one falls in the "interesting" (said sarcastically) category and not the fun one. You've hit your mama (moi) and more than once. It happens when you're a combination of frustrated, angry and exhausted. As a 15 month-old, you're not exactly sure how to handle these emotions yet. So you hit me in the face. My response has been a very stern NO (which causes you to sob) followed by a gentle (I think) explanation on why you don't hit your mama. This should work. Right? Right.

SLEEPING


You have 4 teeth coming in right now, which has been interrupting your sleep habits. (Don't worry, if I had 4 poky things piercing through any part of my body I would scream in my sleep too.) The only thing that seems to sooth you back into a peaceful slumber is when I sing Old McDonald Had a Farm. However, I'm a little koo koo at 3:30 in the morning, and sometimes it's hard for me to remember what belongs on a farm. The other night, my rendition of the song went something like this...

Old McDonald had a farm. E-I-(YAWN)-E-I-O. And on that farm he had a (LARGE PAUSE) folder. E-I-E-I-OOOO. With a fold fold here, and a fold fold there. Here a fold, there a fold...

You get it.

TALKING


You've been saying lots of new things! Step, truck, beach and of course, DADA. What woman's name have you uttered? DORA. That's right, not mama, but DORA. The EXPLORER. It's okay, I'm not bitter, because it is adorable when you say your girlfriend's name. Dooooooooooh-rah! (As long as I'm next...)

Photos HERE, HERE and HERE.

Dear Lord...

HELP. You have figured out how to do this:


No, not transform yourself into a monkey. STAND IN YOUR CRIB! Do you know what this means?! It means, if you don't feel like napping, well then you can just stand up. And jump around. And throw your video monitor on the floor. And eventually, you can figure out how to climb out. Rather, FALL out.

Time to build a new crib with bars that reach the ceiling...

Photo HERE.

Snout Mouth

Last night, I went mental. Let me explain...

You woke me up around midnight, not exactly crying but stirring in your crib. I sluggishly turned to the monitor, half asleep, to take a look. (We have a video monitor which has come in very, very handy... i.e. when it sounded like you were coughing but instead you were throwing up on your back.) It took a second for my eyes to open even halfway, and that's when I started to panic. You looked strange. Your mouth was very dark, and in a weird shape. Almost cartoonish. It looked like a pig's snout. Like this:


What was wrong with you, I started wondering?!? Oh my god, you looked swollen and weird, and where were your eyes?! Suddenly all I could see was this darkened, odd-looking snout mouth. I threw off the covers, ready to make a mad dash for your room. And that's when my eyes opened fully, and I realized what I was looking at.

Your feet. You had moved and your feet were where your head usually is. You had them pressed together and I guess the movement of your stirring combined with the nighttime shadows combined with the fact that my eyes wouldn't open made you look like a pig monster.

I quickly checked your actual face. It looked fine. I went back to bed.

*&@$%#^*^&#%

In the middle of the night, when I think I hear you crying, as I reach for the monitor to check, I inevitably knock the damn thing down... sending a huge ruckus of THUD into the otherwise quiet night. This is the definition of frustration. Because most of the time, you were sleeping. I was only hearing your cries in my cracky sleep. But the noise of my clumsiness echoes down the hallway and THAT wakes you up. FRUSTRATION.

Ocean's 11

It is Day 3 of Waking Up Before You and so far, so good. You're still asleep. I almost fell down the stairs on my way to get coffee, but I was able to regain my balance quietly so again, so far so good.



HAPPY 11 MONTH BIRTHDAY! You know what this means. This means we're nearing that age where I stop counting your age in months. I swore to myself I would never say you're 19 months old. How about one and a half? Close to two? Just turned one. That sounds better.

(I will crumble under pressure... you just wait... you'll be 13 months before I can stop it from coming out of my mouth.)

Stuf

This morning I woke up at 5am, to try and get stuff done. I am turning into that crazy person that wakes up at 5am to try and get stuff done. I'm not sure even I know what stuff I'm referring to. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that you woke up at 5:30am. The only stuff I got done was showering. I guess that's something, considering most days I don't do that particular kind of stuff.

Somehow you fell back asleep in my bed and I was able to go downstairs to collect my coffee and computer. I love that stuff. And speaking of stuff...


One f? Why? That is all.

In the great green room...

...there was a telephone. And a red balloon. And a picture of...


I know this book by heart. Goodnight Moon, by Margaret Wise Brown. I have read it to you almost every night since you were born. Well, at least since you've been sleeping in your own room, which was around 6 months. I exaggerate.

The point is, I love reading it to you. Such a simple book, such a simple idea... saying goodnight to objects, to the air, the stars, to nobody. You love it too. (Isn't this a nice letter?)

Until recently. You're smart now, you're figuring things out. You know that Goodnight Moon means, BED TIME. Now, as you turn the pages - something you've done since you were very little - you turn them with such intensity, it's almost as if you're punching them. That's exactly it, you do not turn pages, you punch pages. It makes me giggle, which makes you shoot me a look of "this is not funny, MOM."

Oh well, it's still our special time, and our special book... even if you are trying to destroy it with your fists.

copy that

Update on yesterday's plan:

It didn't work.

It's probably for the best. I'm not sure how many more times I can watch Joe Biden nod and Nancy Pelosi blink. Tacos for dinner every night would make my other blog pretty pointless and boring. While I do have a love/hate relationship with showering, I'm not sure I could rock the mom dreadlock look in Santa Monica. And, as it turns out, Blythe Danner lives in New York, which would complicate our attempt at running into her daily.

So, back to a life of unpredictability and very little sleep. It's exciting!

Oh, and by the way, the most recent message you've typed into my blackberry:

CCPOOP.

Naturally, I think you must be reminding yourself to copy POOP on an email. Why are you emailing POOP? I don't know, I'm just your mother. I'm here to support, and not to judge.

NIGHT NIGHT!

Last night, you slept from 8:30pm to 7am. This is HUGE NEWS. BREAKING NEWS. RECORD-BREAKING NEWS. I don't know what we did right yesterday, little buddy, but you can bet that we will be doing it exactly the same tonight and every night after that, to a T. That means...

1. I'm going to need a copy of the State of the Union. Did anyone DVR that? This will become your new bedtime story.
2. Tacos for dinner, every night, from this point forward.
3. Oh, crap! I showered this morning! I hadn't showered yesterday. No more showering ever again.
4. We went for a really long walk and saw Blythe Danner, meaning, we'll have to try and run into her at least once a day. Hmm, does anyone know who represents her? Maybe we can find some paparazzi to tip us off on where she is at all times.

Alright, it's Groundhog's Day starting NOW. Get ready for a predictable, boring, unoriginal life with LOTS OF SLEEP!

Lullaby, and goodnight...

Jack, buddy, you're not sleeping well lately. Last night, you cried for an hour straight. And, I let you.

Now wait, it's not entirely as cruel as it sounds. Letting you cry is part of a sleep training method known as the Cry-it-Out Method or, more professionally, The Ferber Method - named after Dr. Ferber.

Who is Dr. Ferber? I don't know. But, he has this method, and it seems to work. Most of the time. Last night, you were definitely testing it out. The whole purpose is to get you to fall asleep on your own, without the aid of a clutch. Therefore, I go and check on you in timed intervals, but I do NOT attempt to soothe you - pick you up, rock you, feed you, etc. I just show my face, rub your belly, tell you you're fine, in an attempt to show you that I haven't left you in the house alone.

Last night, you were on to me. It was like we were playing a game of chicken. When I tried to rub your belly, you swatted my hand away as if to say, "Lady, if you're not going to pick me up then get out of my face."

I want you to know, little buddy, especially in case you are harboring deep-rooted feelings of abandonment that will resurface later on in life... this is NOT easy for me. In fact, it may be the hardest thing I have ever done. To put it simply, it's agonizing. Listening to you cry for 5 minutes sucks, let alone an hour. But, in my heart of hearts, I know that it is for the best. Especially when you wake up every morning with a huge smile on your face.

But, just in case you're reading this and you have issues, go find this man, or a living relative, and blame them:

Dr. Ferber