Sick Dude and Parenting Reflections

Thatch had a cold about a week ago, and though he seemed fine during the day it made him fairly miserable at night. For 3 nights he would only sleep on me, in the recliner.

During the third (exhausting) night, right when I was wishing for my bed and a less-clingy child, he started to cry, reached out and touched my face, and then sighed happily and drifted back off to sleep.

And suddenly I felt not exhausted, but proud. (okay, exhausted AND proud) Proud that I had bonded so well with this beautiful boy, that when he didn't feel well he needed *me*. It just seemed so RIGHT. So natural.

Which made me reflect yet again on the huge mistakes I made with Lay-- too many parenting books, not enough trusting my own instinct. The book I held in such high esteem, which I followed faithfully-- and yes, it DID make her sleep early, and yes it DID make her "self-soothe", but only because she learned that I wouldn't come when she cried, and only because she no longer trusted me to soothe her. I have no memories of holding her as a baby when she slept, because I never did. She was easier (as if THAT is what we should be striving for)-- she never needed me to rock her when she was sick, never ran to me when she got hurt or tired--she wanted her blankie and her bed instead. Easier, because I chose to follow all of the common Christian advice, and put my infant on a strict schedule, make her sleep alone, and comfort herself.

I still loved and enjoyed my daughter, but we were missing something important. When I realized my mistake, I had to re-bond with her as a toddler. It took a lot of years to build the bond with her that I would have had naturally had I not followed that horrible book. (The still very popular Babywise, which has several medical warnings against it). I remember the first time she was sick and wanted me to sleep with her-- she was 4. I don't think I'll ever completely get past the guilt of how I screwed up with her, though I know it was because I was an overwhelmed new parent, and those (effing) books seemed to have all of the answers. I learned a valuable lesson though, to never ignore my own instincts. I'm a better parent because of it, and I have many memories of holding a sleeping Paisley, and countless ones of snuggling a dreaming Thatcher.

It's tiring sometimes, but it really is so, so worth it.

Summer Daze

Well it's officially summer. How do I know this, you ask?
My children have returned to their nudist roots. Piles of clothes and discarded diapers fill every chair on the patio. Unexpected guests are greeted with a warm and gentle, "Hold on a second! Paisley! Get some undies on! Now!"

In the not-quite-miserable heat, the girls have been bug-catching, blue-pool lounging, and letting their imaginations run wild with dozens of little animals (about which I gladly sacrificed my hippie ideals for some plastic, made-in-China, hours-long entertainment i.e. mommy-time.)

The boy continues to be the World's Cutest Kid, smoothing over any parental irritation with a dimpled smile. He's absolutely obsessed with colors and letters-- at 20 months he knows every color, almost every letter and a few letter sounds. His awe-inspiring fits are getting shorter and more manageable, and after 2 whopping months of sleeping through the night, I'm getting serious baby-fever again. Ruh-roh.

Pais is growing up quickly-- it seems like kids have these sudden spurts where they do a year of maturing in 2 or 3 months... she's in one of those. She still has a 2-second attention span (at least for things *I* ask her to do), but now she's asking great philosophical questions and peppering her speech with words like "espeshewy," "sewiouswy," and "intewesting." Her imagination is amazing, and right now she's spending hours outside every day acting out plastic-animal dramas, comedies, and American-Idol spin-offs.

Layla... well, she's always been old. I swear we're going through pre-teen drama right now (at nearly 6). She's rolling her eyes and asking "seriously?" when Daddy tries to be funny. (which makes us want to do it even more). She's reading chapter books, and loving being a big sister. She's leading the campaign for baby #4, and she's convinced her sister to want one as well (though Pais was at first completely against the idea. "I don't want anotho baby, because like, they take SO long to gwow up and PLAY with us!")

I'm finally FINALLY being artsy again. It feels so good to be doing something for me-- something besides all of the day-to-day mama stuff. I love the mama stuff... but it gets monotonous, and like lots of other mommies out there I felt like I had lost part of myself somewhere between the 1,232nd diaper change and 425th load of laundry. Making things and reading helps me remember that other part of myself... now I just need to get better at making and maintaining friendships. I feel like such an idiot sometimes, starved for adult conversation, with other mommies right across the street... and I don't do anything about it! Mom-dating is even worse than regular dating I think (though the latter is pretty foggy). I just need to get my butt out there, and make a priority of hanging out with other moms.

Oh yeah, and I also need to cut down on my carbs. And exercise. And keep up with the laundry, homeschooling, and my jewelry business. And make sure the kids are active enough, social enough, and eating healthy enough. And that Jacob and I get enough alone time. And that I get enough *me* time. So many things I feel like I'm not doing as well as I should be, and yet I want another baby. I must be crazy. And yet... watching my three snuggle together on the couch, I get a little teary. And I realize that for me, the very best moments of parenthood-- those Hallmark, cue the music, life-doesn't-get-any-better-than-this moments, have all been watching them together. Paisley stealing a kiss from baby brother on her way out the door, The sisters cuddled up together asleep in their bed, the way Thatcher looks at Layla with such complete adoration (and sometimes accidentally calls her mama)... so yeah, maybe I'm crazy, but I'd like one more. Even if we don't have another though, and even though it's hectic and loud, messy and emotional, I really do feel like the luckiest mama and wife in the world.

the incredible annual blogger strikes again!

All right, this is embarrassing. It's been over a year since I last blogged. My excuse is that I've been using Facebook like a blog. And that I have 3 small kids. And my little guy is super high-maintenance. And I've been lazy.

Okay, let's see... Thatcher went from getting up once a night to getting up 2-3 times. Then to staying up for hours in the middle of the night. Then to getting up at 2:30. FOR THE DAY. By this time he was 16 months old. We took him off dairy, no change. We tried going gluten-free, no change. I tried keeping a food diary for him and charting which nights were the worst, which led me to take him off of eggs, strawberries, citrus, and hummus. No change. We tried probiotics... you get the idea.

Needless to say, I was at the end of my rope, when suddenly the problem was solved in a totally unexpected way. Thatch got the stomach flu. Bad. Like, throwing up for 18 hours straight bad. Then for the 24 hours after that he could only suck on ice cubes-- any amount of water and he would start throwing up again. I had weaned him from the bottle at least 3 times since he was a year old, but when it made no difference in his sleeping I ended up going back to it so I had SOME way to get him back to sleep. Getting so sick, he was completely off of the bottle again for 4 days, and I decided we may as well take it away officially. 3 nights after he got better, he slept through the night. Then again. And again. Now at 19 months he is sleeping 10-11 hours straight at night. Usually. :)


Some more stats from my year of MIA:

First word: vrrrrrroom! Yes, a car sound preempted "mama" by a couple of days.
Walked: 11 months
STTN: 18 months *angels rejoicing*

T is now 19 months. He is in what I like to call the "label-maker" phase. He points and names EVERYTHING he sees. He was/is a very late talker, but he understood everything I told him from a young age. Lately he has been obsessed with letters, and already knows a few. He also knows his colors; blue, yellow, red, purple, and green... even though he can barely talk. (boo, yo-yo, weh, po-po, ghee)

He's also throwing some incredible, mind-blowing, award-winning fits lately. If he was being eaten alive by lions, his volume & intensity of screaming would STILL be a tad dramatic.

The current loves of his little life are mama, dada, lala, seesee, cars (cah!), balls (bah!), his blankie (baby), and his stuffed elephant Bob (Bah!).

Every time he wakes up or feels like a cuddle he walks up to me, hands me his blankie, announces "baby!" (which I must throw over my shoulder), then hands me Bob (Bah!) which goes on top of blankie, then he stretches his arms up and says "Dat-doh!" (Thatcher) which means I should pick him up so he can cuddle me, blankie, and Bob at the same time. It's the cutest thing ever, but don't be fooled-- following his directions is not optional. Any failure on the part of the mother (or other chosen adult) will result in an immediate meltdown.

Oh yes, and since the last time I blogged the boy has grown hair. And it's curly. Curly hair, dimples, and huge blue eyes. This is why he runs things around here. We're all putty in his sticky little hands.