Report on night number two of the closed-door policy: Noah went to bed last night just after 7:00. He woke briefly at 8:30. Matthew was working furiously on a job application in the office under Noah's bedroom, and when he telephoned a friend to request a reference, his voice carried through the ceiling. I held my breath as I heard Noah cry briefly, go to the door, and then returning to tumble back into bed. Total time awake, three minutes. He awoke next in the middle of the night, for seven minutes, and then slept again until 6:00 in the morning. I am filled with gratitude at his goodness. I am not yet relaxed about this whole thing, as evidenced by my complete attention to the total number of minutes he is alone and awake in his bedroom, but I creep toward adjusting.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Domestic Policy and (En)treaties
The prolific musician Paul Simon released a greatest hits collection in 1988 called "Negotiations and Love Songs" and yesterday I woke thinking how apt and wry a title this is becoming for my newest experiences of Noah's toddlerhood. Parenting Noah in the last several weeks has brought me the farthest out of my comfort zone as I've been to date. I'm sure this is just the beginning, but it has been a hard realization after so many truly blessed months of feeling like a competent mother.
Noah is 20 months old, and exploring his world as much he possibly can. This includes strengthening his independence, while of course continuing to be very dependent. A situation none of us would find easy or fun, and yet it has startled Matthew and I at moments to see Noah asserting so LOUDLY and ADAMANTLY about how he doesn't want us to pull off his shirt before bathtime, or doesn't want us to touch the tower of blocks, or any number of things that we've coasted along doing forever until now. It's not about rhyme or reason, and largely causes us to smile a lot and offer empathetic support for Noah finding his way while we try to stay out of the way. Except, of course, for the point of this blog - the real rub. Noah's sleep has been really disrupted, for nights on end, more than ever in his life. Therefore, so has ours.
Our history with sleep involves co-sleeping with Noah until he was 16 months old, when he then moved to a single mattress bed on the floor of our room for two months, and then in January moved down the hall into his own room. He's never slept in a crib. Once he'd really settled into his room, I weaned him from breastfeeding at night, and then weaned him from having me lie down and/or sleep with him, which brings us to where we have been for some weeks now - I have continued to respond to his wakeful cries in the night by going and sitting by him on the bed until he falls asleep, and then would creep back to my own bed. A few weeks ago we hit a plateau as this "I want...Can I get?" phase started and it started to be five times a night that he would call for me. Then he wouldn't fall asleep deeply enough so I could get out his door before he woke and cried for me again. Then he was getting out of bed and padding down the hall to get me several times a night.
While I've had tired nights before, and actually Noah has never slept all the way through a night, what was excruciating about this was that as a parent I had arrived at the edge of a new cliff. Each transition before I had been able to help Noah make by remaining physically close to him. Looking back I don't know whether this was more comforting to him or me. As Matthew and I gathered information and talked in the last two days to come up with a new plan together to help Noah get better sleep and stay in his room at night, it became clear that he would not be able to enter a process of disorganization and then problem-solving to learn to comfort himself if I (or Matthew) was always there to do the job for him. And the fact that all three of us were now sleeping poorly despite my dogged response to Noah's cries was telling us that change was again upon us. So Matthew and I wrangled and struggled and talked and finally agreed that we would do the most scary thing we've had to do so far with Noah: shut his bedroom door.
To type that, it seems very inocuous compared to the strong negative connotations both Matthew and I had with doing this. Neither of us are proponents of the "cry it out" method and we know that our tolerance for Noah's crying, discomfort, and distress is pretty low. We both feared traumatizing him by withdrawing from him and containing him in his room. But we finally agreed that we could talk with him about this plan, would place a new nightlight in the room, offer a lovey to him that he could use or not use, and would try it. A child development specialist we rely on for assistance had offered in a phone call yesterday afternoon that we could try 15 minutes of waiting after Noah wakes in the night, and Matthew and I agreed that we could tolerate this much distress on Noah's part, but not much more more. We enjoyed a bath, putting on pajamas, reading books, and I nursed Noah down to sleep. Matthew and I went downstairs to watch a little t.v. and try to unwind, both basically thinking that the night ahead could be pure hell.
Noah woke around the time he usually does in the night - the clock said 11:59. I tensed and both Matthew and I were immediately completely alert and listening. Interestingly, Noah called for Matthew first, an unusual thing for him. Since I had done most of the talking at bedtime about the plan, I think Noah knew that I wasn't going to come tonight. He usually knows when I mean business. So he called for Matthew for about 30 seconds. Then he called for me. Then he called for the cat. "Cat! Caaaaat!" At this time Matthew said "He's so smart." We could hear Noah thinking, trying to figure out what to do. Then he started knocking on his door really loudly. He rattled the doorknob. Matthew and I held hands and listened. Four minutes had passed. Noah started to cry hard, and then quickly began to gag and choke, a really painful thing to hear as any parent knows who has a child who has this secondary response to an unwanted event. A few times when Noah has cried really hard for a long time he has done this. It's AWFUL. Matthew and I had agreed beforehand that if he did that for more than 30 seconds, then Matthew would go in and comfort Noah and try to calm him down and get out of the room again as quickly as possible. Noah stopped and it got quiet for a minute. Matthew said, "He's thinking." I had enough room in my brain to notice how different Matthew and I were responding. I was lying there stiff as a board warding off thoughts that I am a terrible mother, and he was a sports announcer giving an empathetic play-by-play of our son's words and deeds. "He's on his bed," he said next, with some amount of wonder in his voice. It had been six minutes. Noah went back to the door and started really yelling loudly for me. He did this for about another six or seven minutes and unbelievably, 14 minutes from his first cry, we heard him go to his bed. "He's going to safety," said Matthew. At exactly 15 minutes Noah was silent, asleep. I got up and turned up the monitor to hear Noah breathing for a minute, and then got back in bed. Matthew and I debriefed for a few minutes, and went back to sleep. Noah didn't wake again until 6:00 a.m.
The light was coming in the window, and Matthew and I went and got Noah when we heard him stir. On his bed with him was a book, a diaper, the container of diaper wipes, and his sippy cup of water. The things he'd take to a deserted island if stranded. I felt, well, like we'd all made it through alive. So great was my fear, my wanting to do the right thing for Noah.
I can't say that I slept well last night, from listening so hard, but I learned my own lessons, distinct ones from Noah's. First, what felt so intensely like a parenting issue, negotiation, and decision, was so much really a developmental issue for Noah. It's his job to ask for what he wants and what he knows, and to work to gain control of his own little life. It doesn't mean he always gets what he wants, because new things become appropriate as he grows. Second, while the goal was to give Noah the opportunity to learn a new skill, he was teaching us at least as much. Creating space for opportunity is not abandonment or brokenness. A hard one for me to remember, as this is a vulnerability I've long lived with. Finally, I am so blessed to learn that all those earlier months and moments of giving him love and space to be himself are mattering already, because he has the support to use what he has inside him to step off his own little cliff and find - amazing! The net is right there for him. What more could a mother want for her child than this - resourcefulness and strength.
It's this mix of having to take the lead, make the rules, have control, use force, guide and shape, give up, nudge and allow, and let go. This impossible mix that had us pleading with Noah two days ago, and making a plan as his parents the next. On this day I feel so blessed that my deepest belief has proved out that with the closing of his bedroom door, a host of new bridges are built.
Noah is 20 months old, and exploring his world as much he possibly can. This includes strengthening his independence, while of course continuing to be very dependent. A situation none of us would find easy or fun, and yet it has startled Matthew and I at moments to see Noah asserting so LOUDLY and ADAMANTLY about how he doesn't want us to pull off his shirt before bathtime, or doesn't want us to touch the tower of blocks, or any number of things that we've coasted along doing forever until now. It's not about rhyme or reason, and largely causes us to smile a lot and offer empathetic support for Noah finding his way while we try to stay out of the way. Except, of course, for the point of this blog - the real rub. Noah's sleep has been really disrupted, for nights on end, more than ever in his life. Therefore, so has ours.
Our history with sleep involves co-sleeping with Noah until he was 16 months old, when he then moved to a single mattress bed on the floor of our room for two months, and then in January moved down the hall into his own room. He's never slept in a crib. Once he'd really settled into his room, I weaned him from breastfeeding at night, and then weaned him from having me lie down and/or sleep with him, which brings us to where we have been for some weeks now - I have continued to respond to his wakeful cries in the night by going and sitting by him on the bed until he falls asleep, and then would creep back to my own bed. A few weeks ago we hit a plateau as this "I want...Can I get?" phase started and it started to be five times a night that he would call for me. Then he wouldn't fall asleep deeply enough so I could get out his door before he woke and cried for me again. Then he was getting out of bed and padding down the hall to get me several times a night.
While I've had tired nights before, and actually Noah has never slept all the way through a night, what was excruciating about this was that as a parent I had arrived at the edge of a new cliff. Each transition before I had been able to help Noah make by remaining physically close to him. Looking back I don't know whether this was more comforting to him or me. As Matthew and I gathered information and talked in the last two days to come up with a new plan together to help Noah get better sleep and stay in his room at night, it became clear that he would not be able to enter a process of disorganization and then problem-solving to learn to comfort himself if I (or Matthew) was always there to do the job for him. And the fact that all three of us were now sleeping poorly despite my dogged response to Noah's cries was telling us that change was again upon us. So Matthew and I wrangled and struggled and talked and finally agreed that we would do the most scary thing we've had to do so far with Noah: shut his bedroom door.
To type that, it seems very inocuous compared to the strong negative connotations both Matthew and I had with doing this. Neither of us are proponents of the "cry it out" method and we know that our tolerance for Noah's crying, discomfort, and distress is pretty low. We both feared traumatizing him by withdrawing from him and containing him in his room. But we finally agreed that we could talk with him about this plan, would place a new nightlight in the room, offer a lovey to him that he could use or not use, and would try it. A child development specialist we rely on for assistance had offered in a phone call yesterday afternoon that we could try 15 minutes of waiting after Noah wakes in the night, and Matthew and I agreed that we could tolerate this much distress on Noah's part, but not much more more. We enjoyed a bath, putting on pajamas, reading books, and I nursed Noah down to sleep. Matthew and I went downstairs to watch a little t.v. and try to unwind, both basically thinking that the night ahead could be pure hell.
Noah woke around the time he usually does in the night - the clock said 11:59. I tensed and both Matthew and I were immediately completely alert and listening. Interestingly, Noah called for Matthew first, an unusual thing for him. Since I had done most of the talking at bedtime about the plan, I think Noah knew that I wasn't going to come tonight. He usually knows when I mean business. So he called for Matthew for about 30 seconds. Then he called for me. Then he called for the cat. "Cat! Caaaaat!" At this time Matthew said "He's so smart." We could hear Noah thinking, trying to figure out what to do. Then he started knocking on his door really loudly. He rattled the doorknob. Matthew and I held hands and listened. Four minutes had passed. Noah started to cry hard, and then quickly began to gag and choke, a really painful thing to hear as any parent knows who has a child who has this secondary response to an unwanted event. A few times when Noah has cried really hard for a long time he has done this. It's AWFUL. Matthew and I had agreed beforehand that if he did that for more than 30 seconds, then Matthew would go in and comfort Noah and try to calm him down and get out of the room again as quickly as possible. Noah stopped and it got quiet for a minute. Matthew said, "He's thinking." I had enough room in my brain to notice how different Matthew and I were responding. I was lying there stiff as a board warding off thoughts that I am a terrible mother, and he was a sports announcer giving an empathetic play-by-play of our son's words and deeds. "He's on his bed," he said next, with some amount of wonder in his voice. It had been six minutes. Noah went back to the door and started really yelling loudly for me. He did this for about another six or seven minutes and unbelievably, 14 minutes from his first cry, we heard him go to his bed. "He's going to safety," said Matthew. At exactly 15 minutes Noah was silent, asleep. I got up and turned up the monitor to hear Noah breathing for a minute, and then got back in bed. Matthew and I debriefed for a few minutes, and went back to sleep. Noah didn't wake again until 6:00 a.m.
The light was coming in the window, and Matthew and I went and got Noah when we heard him stir. On his bed with him was a book, a diaper, the container of diaper wipes, and his sippy cup of water. The things he'd take to a deserted island if stranded. I felt, well, like we'd all made it through alive. So great was my fear, my wanting to do the right thing for Noah.
I can't say that I slept well last night, from listening so hard, but I learned my own lessons, distinct ones from Noah's. First, what felt so intensely like a parenting issue, negotiation, and decision, was so much really a developmental issue for Noah. It's his job to ask for what he wants and what he knows, and to work to gain control of his own little life. It doesn't mean he always gets what he wants, because new things become appropriate as he grows. Second, while the goal was to give Noah the opportunity to learn a new skill, he was teaching us at least as much. Creating space for opportunity is not abandonment or brokenness. A hard one for me to remember, as this is a vulnerability I've long lived with. Finally, I am so blessed to learn that all those earlier months and moments of giving him love and space to be himself are mattering already, because he has the support to use what he has inside him to step off his own little cliff and find - amazing! The net is right there for him. What more could a mother want for her child than this - resourcefulness and strength.
It's this mix of having to take the lead, make the rules, have control, use force, guide and shape, give up, nudge and allow, and let go. This impossible mix that had us pleading with Noah two days ago, and making a plan as his parents the next. On this day I feel so blessed that my deepest belief has proved out that with the closing of his bedroom door, a host of new bridges are built.
Monday, March 24, 2008
While My Baby Gently Weeps
Matthew and I continue to say that Noah is an old soul. He seems to express deep emotions that are years beyond his years. Matthew and I have thought for a very long time how amazing it is that he would sit on the floor in front of our shelf of photo albums, pull them out, flip through for a long time, and then would begin weeping. Not the frustrated cry, not the angry cry, not the "I want something right now" cry, but weeping. We would hear him sniffle, and then he'd drop his head, and then he would cry big sad tears. Weeping with the sweet sentimentality that I thought we were imbued with only when we get older.
Last week he had another reason to weep. He's been missing his "Dadn" while he is away at work. At first, the only love object that got this special pronounciation was our cat, Sidney, who for some time was referred to as "Catncatncatncat." Now he has taken on another completely different pronounciation that is kind of a Snagglepuss-with-Long-Island-dialect, "Cyaaaaat. Cyaaaaat. Cyaaaaat." Anyway, last week, "Dada" became "Dadn," which Matthew takes to mean that Noah truly loves him now in some way he didn't before. So anyway, one day after bathtime in the morning, Noah took the largest of the rubber ducks in the tub and proclaimed it "Dadn." Then he carried the duck around with him all day, and wept on it. He would play with me for a while, or we would read, and then he would hold up his "Dadn" duck while making the baby sign for "Daddy" at the same time, and big crocodile tears would roll down his cheeks. I'd hold him tight and tell him I miss Daddy too, and this would prompt Noah to open his mouth wide and wail with the saddest sobs I've ever heard. I would nurse him and he'd have to stop nursing to cry and sob. I've never seen anything like this. Much of my young life I worked as a personal caregiver and watched over many babies who never revealed this absolutely sweet heartbreaking behavior.
We called Daddy at work on both of these days, and Noah would listen intently while Matthew talked to him, and then would burble and chat himself whenever Matthew paused. He would do well for a while after the call, and then would weep again. Those two nights he also wanted Matthew to sleep in bed with him in the middle of the night, a huge first. Usually, if Daddy tries to help out at night he is met with arms pushing him away and screams for "Mamaaaaa! Mamaaaaa!" But on these nights Matthew got into bed with him and held him tightly and slept beside him. I prayed that Noah didn't know something tragic that I don't, because he acted like Matthew was going away forever, or had been gone forever.
After those two days, there was another sea change. As many people have said, there is no getting comfortable with any certain stage, and even calling behaviors a stage seems ridiculous when it's only two days of said behaviors, but he was back to our light-hearted love of a son. He was happy, didn't mention Matthew much when he wasn't around, and slept wonderfully and happily again at night with only a few wakeful moments.
It's a mystery, this parenting thing. While I can probably count on my two hands the times I've actually panicked because of either being afraid for his safety and well-being, or because I absolutely didn't know what to do, many more times do I watch in wonder like a student looking at an admired teacher, and do what I can, amazed when things make a difference to him, or when he shifts gears seemingly effortlessly, from joyful to bereft, or from pain to peace. He is moved by tides and waters deeper than I can see. And when he shows us his tender heart so plainly there is no more sweet and sad song out there.
Last week he had another reason to weep. He's been missing his "Dadn" while he is away at work. At first, the only love object that got this special pronounciation was our cat, Sidney, who for some time was referred to as "Catncatncatncat." Now he has taken on another completely different pronounciation that is kind of a Snagglepuss-with-Long-Island-dialect, "Cyaaaaat. Cyaaaaat. Cyaaaaat." Anyway, last week, "Dada" became "Dadn," which Matthew takes to mean that Noah truly loves him now in some way he didn't before. So anyway, one day after bathtime in the morning, Noah took the largest of the rubber ducks in the tub and proclaimed it "Dadn." Then he carried the duck around with him all day, and wept on it. He would play with me for a while, or we would read, and then he would hold up his "Dadn" duck while making the baby sign for "Daddy" at the same time, and big crocodile tears would roll down his cheeks. I'd hold him tight and tell him I miss Daddy too, and this would prompt Noah to open his mouth wide and wail with the saddest sobs I've ever heard. I would nurse him and he'd have to stop nursing to cry and sob. I've never seen anything like this. Much of my young life I worked as a personal caregiver and watched over many babies who never revealed this absolutely sweet heartbreaking behavior.
We called Daddy at work on both of these days, and Noah would listen intently while Matthew talked to him, and then would burble and chat himself whenever Matthew paused. He would do well for a while after the call, and then would weep again. Those two nights he also wanted Matthew to sleep in bed with him in the middle of the night, a huge first. Usually, if Daddy tries to help out at night he is met with arms pushing him away and screams for "Mamaaaaa! Mamaaaaa!" But on these nights Matthew got into bed with him and held him tightly and slept beside him. I prayed that Noah didn't know something tragic that I don't, because he acted like Matthew was going away forever, or had been gone forever.
After those two days, there was another sea change. As many people have said, there is no getting comfortable with any certain stage, and even calling behaviors a stage seems ridiculous when it's only two days of said behaviors, but he was back to our light-hearted love of a son. He was happy, didn't mention Matthew much when he wasn't around, and slept wonderfully and happily again at night with only a few wakeful moments.
It's a mystery, this parenting thing. While I can probably count on my two hands the times I've actually panicked because of either being afraid for his safety and well-being, or because I absolutely didn't know what to do, many more times do I watch in wonder like a student looking at an admired teacher, and do what I can, amazed when things make a difference to him, or when he shifts gears seemingly effortlessly, from joyful to bereft, or from pain to peace. He is moved by tides and waters deeper than I can see. And when he shows us his tender heart so plainly there is no more sweet and sad song out there.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Cat Caveat
Noah has always liked our cat Sidney, but he has recently discovered him on a new level. We will be down in the living room at any given time, reading books, working on puzzles, playing with his train or blocks, and he will suddenly jump up, sing out - "Catncatncatncat!" - run to the stairs, and head up to find the cat wherever he might be passed out at the time. This now happens several times a day. And he makes offerings to the cat, giving Sid his most prized possessions: one day he laid out three organic Cheerios-type cereal in front of Sid, another day a matchbox car, another day a board book opened so Sidney could read. He loves that cat, and points to the floor next to where he's sitting, inviting Sid to come and be with him, to be his friend and playmate. It's so sweet to see Noah lay his heart out.
The cat has simultaneously been showing more signs of interest and affection toward Noah. A few weeks ago he started wandering in to Noah's bedroom to sleep at the end of his bed when Noah takes his naps. This makes Noah shake all over with excitement when he wakes to find the cat there. Sidney also started purring when Noah pats him. But unfortunately, this new and more intense connection has even more recently resulted in Noah trying to lie on Sidney to feel the love even more, to crawl under the bed or couch after Sid once he'd removed himself in retreat, and to chase him eagerly from room to room to try to get him to come and play. It's love gone wrong. Sidney has gone from mewling warnings, to slapping Noah on the shirt, to scratching his hand and cheek. Noah acts so confused when he gets scratched, because he loves Sidney so much.
I remember reading advice to never leave a cat in the same room with the baby, but Sidney always had a very friendly and passive relationship with Noah when he was a toothless, bald, immobile sweet baby-blob. Even when Noah cried Sidney would stay close, and look concerned. But in the last two days Matthew and I have had more than one heated conversation about this being the end of the road for Noah's love affair with Sidney. I am now officially the mother I used to joke about who wails "Someone could put an eye out!"
So our plus-size kitty has to take a back seat (but he actually gets the whole upstairs) to Noah. This sweet baby kitten whom I've loved so much the past 3 1/2 years isn't the "top dog" any longer. It's a clear back seat for the animal. Of course it's not so bad for Sid, who has a pretty great life here with us, but so hard for me to remove him once he's given his warning meow, like I would a jar of poison or bottle of thumbtacks. He was the first creature in my adult life to unlock my maternal instincts and feelings, and really paved the way for the baby human to come along later. And Noah will not always be this adamant about pursuing him, I feel sure. Until that time, Sidney and I will have our early morning time, when Matthew takes Noah downstairs and I sleep for another hour, and the cat crawls up onto my chest as he has since he was a kitten, and settles down to sleep, soaking up the love there for him.
The cat has simultaneously been showing more signs of interest and affection toward Noah. A few weeks ago he started wandering in to Noah's bedroom to sleep at the end of his bed when Noah takes his naps. This makes Noah shake all over with excitement when he wakes to find the cat there. Sidney also started purring when Noah pats him. But unfortunately, this new and more intense connection has even more recently resulted in Noah trying to lie on Sidney to feel the love even more, to crawl under the bed or couch after Sid once he'd removed himself in retreat, and to chase him eagerly from room to room to try to get him to come and play. It's love gone wrong. Sidney has gone from mewling warnings, to slapping Noah on the shirt, to scratching his hand and cheek. Noah acts so confused when he gets scratched, because he loves Sidney so much.
I remember reading advice to never leave a cat in the same room with the baby, but Sidney always had a very friendly and passive relationship with Noah when he was a toothless, bald, immobile sweet baby-blob. Even when Noah cried Sidney would stay close, and look concerned. But in the last two days Matthew and I have had more than one heated conversation about this being the end of the road for Noah's love affair with Sidney. I am now officially the mother I used to joke about who wails "Someone could put an eye out!"
So our plus-size kitty has to take a back seat (but he actually gets the whole upstairs) to Noah. This sweet baby kitten whom I've loved so much the past 3 1/2 years isn't the "top dog" any longer. It's a clear back seat for the animal. Of course it's not so bad for Sid, who has a pretty great life here with us, but so hard for me to remove him once he's given his warning meow, like I would a jar of poison or bottle of thumbtacks. He was the first creature in my adult life to unlock my maternal instincts and feelings, and really paved the way for the baby human to come along later. And Noah will not always be this adamant about pursuing him, I feel sure. Until that time, Sidney and I will have our early morning time, when Matthew takes Noah downstairs and I sleep for another hour, and the cat crawls up onto my chest as he has since he was a kitten, and settles down to sleep, soaking up the love there for him.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Top Five Noah Verbalizations to Celebrate Mid-January
5. The universal "ca" which as of this morning stands for "car", "clock", "cow", and sometimes "chicken." You have to keep your eyes open for what's going on or you'll miss the correct interpretration. When they say that communication is only partially about what is said outloud, they are so right!
4. Another great new word in the past two weeks - here's a clue: What rumbles down the street removing snow so we can safely drive on our road? It rhymes with "meow", yes, it's "pyeow!"
3. No more struggling to remember which name goes with which family member. It's all for one and one for all. He names all of us when he names one of us: "MumDadCoCoCaCa." If brother Colby hasn't been around for a while or if the cat is on the outs, he reverts to the abbreviated "DadMumDad."
2. When we are sitting at the dinner table, and I go around the table pointing to all of us, or if Noah and I are looking at a photograph album and I point to people in the pictures, saying, "Who's that?" "Who's that?" He answers loudly "Da-Da!" "Co-Co!" I point to myself, "Who's that" He says "Mum." I touch his shoulder, "Who's that?" In a much quieter voice, his small little Noah voice, he says "No-no." Beloved, No-No, our Noah.
And the Number One verbalization to celebrate in this cold month of January...
1. Noah loves his older step-brother Colby, and when Colby is here Noah can be heard saying (or more likely screaming) "Co-Co! Co-Co! Co-Co!" as a constant invitation to come play, look at this, and as a general "I love you more than toast with butter!" This weekend he started saying it just out of the corner of his mouth, but just as loud - "Co-Co-Co-Co!" Before our eyes he became Popeye the Sailor Man! "Ar-Ar-Ar-Ar!"
4. Another great new word in the past two weeks - here's a clue: What rumbles down the street removing snow so we can safely drive on our road? It rhymes with "meow", yes, it's "pyeow!"
3. No more struggling to remember which name goes with which family member. It's all for one and one for all. He names all of us when he names one of us: "MumDadCoCoCaCa." If brother Colby hasn't been around for a while or if the cat is on the outs, he reverts to the abbreviated "DadMumDad."
2. When we are sitting at the dinner table, and I go around the table pointing to all of us, or if Noah and I are looking at a photograph album and I point to people in the pictures, saying, "Who's that?" "Who's that?" He answers loudly "Da-Da!" "Co-Co!" I point to myself, "Who's that" He says "Mum." I touch his shoulder, "Who's that?" In a much quieter voice, his small little Noah voice, he says "No-no." Beloved, No-No, our Noah.
And the Number One verbalization to celebrate in this cold month of January...
1. Noah loves his older step-brother Colby, and when Colby is here Noah can be heard saying (or more likely screaming) "Co-Co! Co-Co! Co-Co!" as a constant invitation to come play, look at this, and as a general "I love you more than toast with butter!" This weekend he started saying it just out of the corner of his mouth, but just as loud - "Co-Co-Co-Co!" Before our eyes he became Popeye the Sailor Man! "Ar-Ar-Ar-Ar!"
Friday, January 11, 2008
Some Days the Eagle, Some the Statue Below
Last week we entered a new transition with Noah. After some very difficult nights of me being awake with him, and trying to wean him at night but him crying for milk for a very long time, and my dear husband getting so sleep-deprived that he was becoming shall we say less than supportive in those wee hours, I'd had it. I moved Noah's bed into his Own Room. I took out much of the stuff we've been storing in his room all these many months that the room has gone unused by the baby. I took out the plants that we'd lined against the windows for the winter. I washed and hung new curtains. I brought toys into the room. I brought in all Noah's books that had been in our bedroom. I brought his diapers and wipes and bum cream into his room. This had never yet been Noah's place to be and spend time. Until this day.
Since then, my new ability to go in and close Noah's door and focus on Noah at night without also being preoccupied with Matthew's needs across the room has brought me huge relief. I feel that I've been able to so much better balance Noah's nights of great progress with the others that involve sheer exhaustion and me mining patience out of the ceiling and cracks in the floor when I've used all mine up.
Early this week Noah slept seven-and-a-half hours straight at night without waking and asking for me or asking for milk. I woke feeling incredibly optimistic about life. Noah then took a two-and-a-half hour nap in the morning, so I had a long shower, caught up on e-mail, did some consulting work, and actually did some pleasure reading. When he woke up we found three missing puzzle pieces that had been gone for weeks - they had drifted under the dryer in the upstairs washer/dryer closet. Moments later I located a matchbox car that had disappeared ages before the puzzle pieces - it was in the cat's carpeted climbing tower, in the back of the compartment at the bottom. It isn't often lately that I have a day of finding things, let me tell you. It was a great day. So kind of like at Christmas, I'm realizing that there are rarely perfect 24-hour periods of time, but there are lots of great moments almost every day. Almost.
Because there was of course yesterday. I woke up exhausted, as Noah had woken tearfully several times in the night and was forceful about wanting milk, even pulling my hair a few times in his frustration. I don't know where I found a gentle nighttime voice for those last hours between 3:00 and 5:00. Matthew got up with Noah at 5:30 and I went back to our bed for another hour but it was not restful sleep. Matthew left for work and I went to the refrigerator to start breakfast for Noah and me. The bulb in the refrigerator blew and I saw a small bolt of electricity shoot across the air in there. I took out the milk and bread and closed the door, trying to ignore the fact that the refrigerator was no longer humming. Then the toaster broke. Then when I was making scrambled eggs Noah played with the tea kettle and dropped it on the tile floor, breaking a big circular chunk of enamel off the side. And for the first time he wasn't really excited about eating scrambled eggs, so I ended up scraping them dry off the floor later.
A short time after breakfast Noah started falling down a lot so I knew it was naptime, even though the clock only said 9:30. I took him up to his bed, anxious for a chance to unwind in a long, hot shower. He went down quickly, and I got in the shower. I was in the shower just long enough to discover that the conditioner I'd bought myself was actually a second bottle of shampoo. My hair would be impossible to comb through. Then the doorbell rang. It couldn't be my 11:00 appointment already, could it? I got out and put on my robe and went downstairs, my hair dripping. I peeked out the study window to see who it was, not intending to answer the door as I was. It was my friend and neighbor, with whom I'd arranged to watch Noah next Thursday, not today. She was obviously having an off day too, so I invited her in and we ended up talking until my 11:00 appointment did show up. Since I was still in my robe I went upstairs to get dressed, thinking that I had to find some way to get into a groove with this day. I went on to break a bowl while setting the table for lunch with my guest, and burned my finger and thumb on the pizza stone when I lifted it from the oven. The total lack of perfection going on all around me was really wearing me down, but somehow didn't break me. I was actually in kind of a silly mood when my husband got called from work to see how Noah and I were doing. At some point it's a good thing I guess to just stop trying and see what happens next.
Two real days, and sometimes I don't understand how I could feel so completely off one day and how everything just seems to click and make me go all teary from the joy of it all on another. And I forget that Noah, and Matthew, and everyone are meanwhile having their eagle and statue days too, and of course, none of our days are necessarily the same ones. And it's never even a whole day that can't be rescued. Last night Noah had his best night yet - he woke a few times, but never cried, and never persisted asking for milk, just said into the dark a few times in his sweet tiny voice, "Mama? Mama?"
Since then, my new ability to go in and close Noah's door and focus on Noah at night without also being preoccupied with Matthew's needs across the room has brought me huge relief. I feel that I've been able to so much better balance Noah's nights of great progress with the others that involve sheer exhaustion and me mining patience out of the ceiling and cracks in the floor when I've used all mine up.
Early this week Noah slept seven-and-a-half hours straight at night without waking and asking for me or asking for milk. I woke feeling incredibly optimistic about life. Noah then took a two-and-a-half hour nap in the morning, so I had a long shower, caught up on e-mail, did some consulting work, and actually did some pleasure reading. When he woke up we found three missing puzzle pieces that had been gone for weeks - they had drifted under the dryer in the upstairs washer/dryer closet. Moments later I located a matchbox car that had disappeared ages before the puzzle pieces - it was in the cat's carpeted climbing tower, in the back of the compartment at the bottom. It isn't often lately that I have a day of finding things, let me tell you. It was a great day. So kind of like at Christmas, I'm realizing that there are rarely perfect 24-hour periods of time, but there are lots of great moments almost every day. Almost.
Because there was of course yesterday. I woke up exhausted, as Noah had woken tearfully several times in the night and was forceful about wanting milk, even pulling my hair a few times in his frustration. I don't know where I found a gentle nighttime voice for those last hours between 3:00 and 5:00. Matthew got up with Noah at 5:30 and I went back to our bed for another hour but it was not restful sleep. Matthew left for work and I went to the refrigerator to start breakfast for Noah and me. The bulb in the refrigerator blew and I saw a small bolt of electricity shoot across the air in there. I took out the milk and bread and closed the door, trying to ignore the fact that the refrigerator was no longer humming. Then the toaster broke. Then when I was making scrambled eggs Noah played with the tea kettle and dropped it on the tile floor, breaking a big circular chunk of enamel off the side. And for the first time he wasn't really excited about eating scrambled eggs, so I ended up scraping them dry off the floor later.
A short time after breakfast Noah started falling down a lot so I knew it was naptime, even though the clock only said 9:30. I took him up to his bed, anxious for a chance to unwind in a long, hot shower. He went down quickly, and I got in the shower. I was in the shower just long enough to discover that the conditioner I'd bought myself was actually a second bottle of shampoo. My hair would be impossible to comb through. Then the doorbell rang. It couldn't be my 11:00 appointment already, could it? I got out and put on my robe and went downstairs, my hair dripping. I peeked out the study window to see who it was, not intending to answer the door as I was. It was my friend and neighbor, with whom I'd arranged to watch Noah next Thursday, not today. She was obviously having an off day too, so I invited her in and we ended up talking until my 11:00 appointment did show up. Since I was still in my robe I went upstairs to get dressed, thinking that I had to find some way to get into a groove with this day. I went on to break a bowl while setting the table for lunch with my guest, and burned my finger and thumb on the pizza stone when I lifted it from the oven. The total lack of perfection going on all around me was really wearing me down, but somehow didn't break me. I was actually in kind of a silly mood when my husband got called from work to see how Noah and I were doing. At some point it's a good thing I guess to just stop trying and see what happens next.
Two real days, and sometimes I don't understand how I could feel so completely off one day and how everything just seems to click and make me go all teary from the joy of it all on another. And I forget that Noah, and Matthew, and everyone are meanwhile having their eagle and statue days too, and of course, none of our days are necessarily the same ones. And it's never even a whole day that can't be rescued. Last night Noah had his best night yet - he woke a few times, but never cried, and never persisted asking for milk, just said into the dark a few times in his sweet tiny voice, "Mama? Mama?"
Saturday, December 29, 2007
The Christmas Letter I Didn't Send
To My Dear Family and Friends,
Although Christmas has come and gone, and some of you may still receive a holiday card from me in the mail, it will not be accompanied by the usual letter in which I try to pull together the meaningful events of the year with some sort of reflective tone and hopeful stance toward the coming year. Should any of you happen to visit my blog, here you will find that offering.
I'm struck tonight how I rarely rue the passing of a year anymore. As I've gotten older, each year has brought more and more moments of being present, trying harder and more intentionally to reach my actual goals and dreams, and less times when I sit and miss the Glory Days of my youth, which in my case were pretty much more guts and less glory. Each year also brings me more stinging realizations about my hard edges, and how much more I wish I was doing in general to actualize myself. I guess in the end, the last twelve months are what they are, and there's no going back now.
Initially, by way of catching up on the last many weeks since my last post, I'll sum up by saying this: I've been sick recently. Pretty much constantly. I've had all of Noah's first three colds, plus one to grow on, and really, it's been more days under the weather than healthy, so it basically feels like I haven't taken a smooth breath through my nose since October. And I'm still blowing my nose a few times a day. So for any of you who have wondered, you haven't missed much, except for of course all the amazing developments in Noah's life that keep me happy, if not also slightly strung out. He is communicating with one- and two-word sentences, is using 40+ baby signs, and can be heard at any time of day or night saying "meow" or "hee-haw" or one of the other wonderful animal sounds that he loves to make. He is sleeping in his own bed now instead of snuggling in with my husband and me. He is climbing on anything he can find that will give him just a bit of added height - sometimes this means standing up ever so carefully on a flattened cardboard box, a lot of work for very little payoff. He is moving and slimming down, but still has enough chub in his lower body to make even a miser smile. He weighed in at 31 pounds at his last well-baby visit with our family doctor, and is wearing 4T shirts. He turns 18 months old in January. I add the past 12 months into the previous year and can say without hesitating that these have been the best two years of my entire life.
Aside from parenting Noah, there have been many other wonderful things this year that make me feel very thankful as I think back over them:
Although Christmas has come and gone, and some of you may still receive a holiday card from me in the mail, it will not be accompanied by the usual letter in which I try to pull together the meaningful events of the year with some sort of reflective tone and hopeful stance toward the coming year. Should any of you happen to visit my blog, here you will find that offering.
I'm struck tonight how I rarely rue the passing of a year anymore. As I've gotten older, each year has brought more and more moments of being present, trying harder and more intentionally to reach my actual goals and dreams, and less times when I sit and miss the Glory Days of my youth, which in my case were pretty much more guts and less glory. Each year also brings me more stinging realizations about my hard edges, and how much more I wish I was doing in general to actualize myself. I guess in the end, the last twelve months are what they are, and there's no going back now.
Initially, by way of catching up on the last many weeks since my last post, I'll sum up by saying this: I've been sick recently. Pretty much constantly. I've had all of Noah's first three colds, plus one to grow on, and really, it's been more days under the weather than healthy, so it basically feels like I haven't taken a smooth breath through my nose since October. And I'm still blowing my nose a few times a day. So for any of you who have wondered, you haven't missed much, except for of course all the amazing developments in Noah's life that keep me happy, if not also slightly strung out. He is communicating with one- and two-word sentences, is using 40+ baby signs, and can be heard at any time of day or night saying "meow" or "hee-haw" or one of the other wonderful animal sounds that he loves to make. He is sleeping in his own bed now instead of snuggling in with my husband and me. He is climbing on anything he can find that will give him just a bit of added height - sometimes this means standing up ever so carefully on a flattened cardboard box, a lot of work for very little payoff. He is moving and slimming down, but still has enough chub in his lower body to make even a miser smile. He weighed in at 31 pounds at his last well-baby visit with our family doctor, and is wearing 4T shirts. He turns 18 months old in January. I add the past 12 months into the previous year and can say without hesitating that these have been the best two years of my entire life.
Aside from parenting Noah, there have been many other wonderful things this year that make me feel very thankful as I think back over them:
- Late last winter my husband and I went completely debt-free except for our mortgage, with the help of Dave Ramsey. I have mentioned him on my blog before, and he is worth mentioning again. By following his financial planning steps and utilizing his guidance and motivational techniques, we kissed off over $25,000 worth of debt (credit cards, motorcycle loan, student loan, etc.) in two years. We now own no credit cards and are living within our means for the first time in either of our adult lives.
- After that milestone, we purchased a new computer with cash and upgraded from dial-up to high-speed internet. What a difference it is to purchase something that we could actually pay for and own outright! I gave my ten-year-old laptop to a techy computer friend as salvage.
- In May it became apparent that Noah would in fact soon walk instead of dragging himself around on the floor forever, so the blissful months of him being able to come to work with me were coming to an end. After much weighing of options, I decided to leave my job of eight years as a domestic violence Community Educator. For me, coming home to be with Noah was the clear and obvious thing to do, but it meant leaving the workplace at which I had grown up and into the professional and ethical person I try to be today. Just like that, on June 26th, it was over.
- June also brought my stepson Colby's graduation from 8th Grade, and he headed into a second summer of washing dishes in the family restaurant.
- This year Matthew and I have continued our efforts to take better care of our bodies and the earth. We joined our local CSA - community supported agriculture - farm and enjoyed organic vegetables all summer and fall. We invested in low-energy bulbs throughout our house. We switched our electricity supply over to water and wind. We have a lot more to do, but these concrete things have helped balance the distress we feel every time we visit the gas pump, or have fuel oil delivered to our home. I still sometimes miss my old hair products, laden with ammonium laurel sulphate, but when I look at a bottle in the drug store, I am still able to hold off on buying it.
- I was not idle for long, in terms of work. Still wanting to make a contribution to a movement that I care so much about, I decided to make a go of consulting, and in the summer mapped out some projects with a few clients. I also decided to continue on a volunteer basis with some of the statewide domestic violence-related task forces and committees that have been a part of my employment in past years. Although income was certainly a hoped-for outcome, my primary goal was finding a way to keep my balance while offering the best I can to Noah. And so far, with the support of Matthew and the flexibility in his work to be with Noah if I am out at a training or meeting, it's actually working.
- July brought Noah's first birthday, which we celebrated in concert with his brother Colby, who turned 16 the same month. We took a day to enjoy a family cookout and swim in the lake, the perfect Maine party.
- In August, Noah started walking. Also that month, I turned 38. Enough said about that. It's almost entirely great to be this age, although when I think about having another baby, which Matthew and I hope to do, I intellectually shudder a bit at how compressed time seems when it comes to additional years of diapering and nursing.
- In the fall Matthew and I began planning for Christmas. This has never happened in our relationship before. The first year I celebrated the holiday with him, I was at his house with his son on Christmas Eve and he was out shopping. We were wrapping gifts at 9:00 p.m. that night. I swore to myself I would never do that again! This year we gave homemade applesauce, organic lavendar sachets, mixed CDs, and cards made of construction paper. We were also intentional about the gifts that we bought, and it made the slide to the Christmas season about a hundred times less anxiety-producing.
And that brings us to where we are now, in December. Post-Christmas, I feel good. I also feel relieved. No matter the preparation, the holidays bring surprise - many unplanned joyous moments, right through to times of flat-out terror. Just like the rest of the year, right? Sometimes being a mother feels like it's life or death, all the time. Here's one example of what prolonged hypervigilance can do for you - at one family gathering we were at, I was looking around the room and down the hall for Noah, and finally said outloud "Where's the baby?" One of the other folks there pointed back at me and said "He's there." He was lying in my lap breastfeeding. Talk about checking out - I'd gone to the Grand Canyon in my mind. Another more wonderful memorable moment from the past week - Matthew and I spontaneously gave Noah his first haircut in the bath on Christmas Eve. I thought I would be sad to see his baby curls go, but somehow he looks even sweeter to me than he did before. Finally, the terror I spoke of earlier, when at my in-laws' house their tiny chihuahua snarled and bit Noah in the face when he walked near the dog's food bowl, thankfully only leaving a dark bruise on his lip. It was heart-stopping when my husband scooped Noah up and his face was hidden in Matthew's shoulder and I hadn't yet seen the damage. Life or death, all the time. And throughout it all, the moments are peppered with Noah's newest catchphrases - "Oh no!" he sings out in his little voice when something goes awry. "No," he says while he closes his eyes and sways his head like Stevie Wonder when his Daddy asks him for a kiss. "Mama!" I hear him say in staccato from another room when he needs to know I am there. God Bless us, every one.
In closing and on a happily lighter note, this New Year's I want to take a few sentences to thank the New England Patriots, who will hopefully create history tonight by going undefeated, in a final regular season game against the New York Giants. This has been a season worth watching, and a team that continues to be worth rooting for. My household, with its moments of harmony, exhaustion, sarcastic insults, and quiet comings together, has united weekly to watch this team make it happen, and they have brought a lot of excitement into our lives as fans. For anyone else who is pulling for them to make it all the way - Go Pats!
Happy New Year to you all, with my best wishes for all good things to come your way.
Love, Kate
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)