Happy 11-months Clair!

My little Clairzee is 11 months today, just one month shy of the magic 1-year-mark.
I can't believe how fast the time has gone. (I feel like I say that all the time. And I'm sure I'll be saying it again!)

One thing this means is that we need to start weaning her off of formula. With the boys, we started about a month in advance of their birthday, gradually increasing the amount of whole milk in their bottles. So we'll start that with her this week or so.

I thought I would be more excited about the prospect of never having to buy Enfamil ever, ever again. But I'm a little ambivalent about it. I'm not sure if it's because in the scheme of things, it's not that much money -- especially compared to having to buy jumbo packs of diapers and wipes for three kids, including a jumbo-jumbo pack for school (I will seriously do a happy dance when we get rid of that triple-kid diaper-and-wipes bill! Whenever that happens with my two potty-refusers!)

Or maybe it's because somewhere deep down I'm not all that excited about her growing out of this very visible marker of infancy. I dunno. I'll have to think about that some more.

Anyway, to mark the occasion of the countdown to her birthday, my sweetie was up half the night, coughing and sniffling and twisting herself into unfathomable positions in the crib. I seriously must've gone in to rescue her six or seven times. And then, around 6:15 this morning, she woke us up screaming her head off. Turned out she had somehow gotten her blanket up over her head and was unable to free herself. She hasn't done that since early infancy. She was scared to death, and she scared me to death, and after my heart rate went down to some semblance of normal, I thought to myself, "UGH! When will this baby learn how to sleep?"

Honestly, I am so much more tired than I was with the boys, because although Clair sleeps through the night (technically), she is so ridiculously fitful, and such a Princess-and-the-Pea-like diva, that she consistently requires "adjusting" -- at least twice, sometimes more times, a night. And although Miss Missy barely even wakes up to alert me to her predicament, I end up struggling to fall back to sleep each time. I don't know that I have gotten a true full-night's sleep since she was born. Heck, since I was pregnant with her! The lack-of-sleep is showing on my face, too. I feel like I look 50, instead of a few months shy of 40. So as Clair hits the 1-year-mark, here are my birthday wishes for her:

• I need her to learn to get herself back in a comfortable position when she twists and turns herself around in her crib.
• I need her to NOT get herself smothered in her blanket. Ever again!
• I need her to stop moaning and groaning so much at night as she sleeps, waking her insomniac Mother up with every wriggle and roll. (Perhaps I need to wean myself off the baby monitor?? Hmmm.)

Other than that, I hope my Clair stays exactly the way she is:
Happy and sassy, with a huge personality. 
Loving and opinionated, sweet as can be. 
Clairzee.

Who is this Murphy character and why can't we shoot him?

Never again will I make mention of children sleeping or not sleeping through the night. Even in veiled ways. Or with asterisks.

Stupid Murphy's Law.

And that's all I will say about that, as I chug this coffee.

P.S. R.I.P. Maurice Sendak. Thank you for making the phrase "I'll eat you up!" synonymous in our house with "I love you so much."

Cary, Dean, Clair and I hope you are somewhere where someone loves YOU best of all.

Skipping meals and popping pills

It appears the sleep regression in our house is something that will wax and wane.

For about the last week or so, the boys have been blissfully sleeping through the night (cue the angels singing). The only person waking up a million times at night is their baby-resting-on-her-bladder Mommy. (cue the heavy sighing).

I knew a week of STTN meant that we had had too much of a good thing, so I wasn't surprised when Dean woke up last night around 1:30, crying, needing a hug, his Lovey and some more hugs. And then I wasn't surprised when Cary then woke up, too, saying "Ma-ma! Up, pees!"

No, I was not surprised. But as this would not be my life if there weren't some drama involved, of course I had to worry about something.

Two things had happened earlier in the night that have never happened before in our house:

1) Dean refused to eat even one bite of his dinner. Instead, he decided it was better to get remanded to time-out -- twice -- for throwing food on the floor or across the dining room table. Nothing I could do would make this child eat. The pediatrician had just told us a few days earlier that we should not allow Dean to continue with dinnertime if he insists on quarterbacking his meals. "Two times," Dr. Bodnar says. "And then dinner's done." He said if he was hungry, he'd eat and not throw. And the fact is that kids his age eat so much during the day (with snacks and all) that by the time they reach dinner, they're often not all that hungry. And that's OK, he assured me.

But is it? IS IT?

Because when Dean woke up last night, all I could think of was: "This child is starving!! He needs to eat! What should I do? What should I DO??"

2) While Lester was getting Dean undressed for his bath, Cary somehow, somewhere unEarthed an old pill that was hidden God-knows-where in our bedroom. I think, from the size and shape of it, that it is one of the old diabetes-related pills I was taking pre-pregnancy, and that it must've fallen at some point and I forgot about it. Whatever it was, Cary found it and of course, ate it.
Thank God the pill-makers purposefully make pills bitter, because Lester spied Cary's (actually quite-hysterical) screwed-up, sour face and immediately removed the pill from his mouth. So he only sucked it a little bit, as opposed to gulping the thing down whole.
Helpful-Poison-Control-Man assured me over the phone that this particular medicine was fairly benign, even in small children, and besides, 'it sounds like he only sucked off the coating anyway." So, he summed up, no need to worry. Cary should be just fine.

Will he? WILL HE??

Because when Cary woke up last night, all I could think of was, "This child has been poisoned!! He needs his stomach pumped! What should I do? What should I DO??"

I really considered filling Dean's stomach, and emptying Cary's (somehow), but then Lester got up, went in the room with the crying babies, said something I couldn't hear because I was too busy thinking of what I would tell CPS when they came asking me why my one child was sucking on diabetes medicine and why my other child was starving to death, and then came back in the room and said, "Go back to sleep. They're fine."

About 10 more minutes of really half-hearted crying later, they were both knocked out again -- this time until 7:15 this morning.

And they've been fine since.

The moral of this story is....I have no idea. But I am certain I will have more such stories to tell in the future. Stay tuned.

Worst night with the babies ever!

I used this blog title once before and predicted I would use it again many times throughout my children's babyhood. So far, although I have had many, many "worst nights ever" I have resisted titling a blog post as such, because I always felt slightly better about the night by the time I got around to sitting in front of a computer to complain about it.

Not so when it comes to last night.

I will not go into all the details, as I would be here all day repeating these key words and phrases:

Screaming, whining, defiance, temper tantrums, resisting, meltdowns, brother-swatting, dinnertime indecisiveness, irrationality, uncontrollable crying, food on the floor, banging sippy cups, confiscated sippy cups, more screaming, whining, bucking, flailing, unhappy bathtime, complete and total craziness, demands to be rocked in the rocking chair before bed, waking at night for missing Lovey, then 2 hours later, waking at night for NO REASON WHATSOEVER, screaming, crying, refusing to go back to sleep, melodramatic moaning for "Ma-Ma!!!!", "Da-Da!!!", throwing Lovey out of the bed and saying "Uh-oh! Uh-oh! UH-OH!" until someone comes in to retrieve Lovey, more screaming (at higher decibels), wife snapping at husband, husband snapping at wife, retreat to basement to get away from screaming toddler(s), eating waffles AND a bowl of cereal (I know. I know!), mindless television, finally, finally hearing the sweet sounds of silence at 4 a.m. Delirious at 6:45 a.m. What am I doing wrong??

Seriously, people. I feel like I am about to lose my mind. If it's just craziness in the evenings, but then we get to rest peacefully at night, I could probably deal. Or if the boys were pleasant and enjoyable in the evenings but were having toddler-troubles with sleeping, I could probably deal. But this all-you-can-eat smorgasbord of craziness they've started lately? I can. not. deal.

"There is nobody in the world more lovable, more unmovable, more implacable, more challenging, more difficult to live with than your 'typical' 15- to 21-month-old child," so says Louise Bates Ames, in "Your One-Year-Old: Fun-Loving and Fussy."

Truer words have never been written.

I just wish I knew what to do to help them through this "phase" (at least I hope it's a phase).

But since I have no clue (really, I have been using ALL of my tricks and none of them are working) I suppose I will just become more and more familiar with the basement -- and maybe not just in the middle of the night. Maybe I'll start taking my meals down there! Maybe I'll start coming in the basement door after work, so they don't even know I'm there!!!

Sigh.

Maybe this will just get better??

Groundhog Day in the Davis household

So last night, Cary drank just about his whole bottle and fell asleep before his head hit the mattress.

I prayed he would stay asleep, and even talked to Cary while he was drinking about how much Mommy would appreciate it if he stayed asleep all night. Does that sound crazy?

Maybe so, but apparently he and God decided to accommodate me because Cary slept through the night! Not a peep out of him from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m.!

Whooo-hoooo, right?! Not quite.

At 3 a.m., a baby began moaning. At 3:20, the baby was still moaning. At 3:50 the baby's moaning ratcheted up a notch. At 4:10, up another notch. At 4:15, a pitiful little cry escaped from the baby and I could take no more.

I went in the boys' room and the baby was my little Deanie! Poor thing was moaning and half crying! He had rolled over onto his back and couldn't (or wouldn't) move back. So I rolled him over, put his blanket on him, gave him Lovey the Puppy and left. He was asleep before I closed the door.

If you notice, however, I was awake from 3 a.m. to 4:15. Sigh.

But even worse: It turns out poor Deanie has a cold! (Which might explain the moaning and the tossing and turning over in the crib.) He woke up this morning with a face covered in crud. Poor baby!

Michelle says he was snotty all day. And tonight, I've had to go into his room once already to prop him up on a pillow to help him breathe. Again I say, Pooooooor thing!

So I am steeling myself up for another long night. And then when Cary gets it -- and he WILL get it. Oh yes. He WILL get it -- another couple of weeks of long nights.

Cary will wake up for a few days because he can't breathe, and then, after a few more days, he'll wake up out of habit and need a bottle to soothe himself back to sleep.

And you know what will happen once Cary gets over the cold? I'll have to re-wean him from the bottle. Again.

This is either "Groundhog Day" or "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie." Or Sleepless in Baltimore!

Clearly, I'm delirious. Good night.

P.S. Cary started clapping! Only imitating us, mind you, not spontaneously out of joy or excitement. But he is putting palm to palm two or three times in a row. Hooray!

Bad, bad night (why do I have the feeling I will use this blog post title many many more times in my life?)

So last night, Cary and I had a moment. Not the moment I wanted to have, but a moment nonetheless.

For the past week or so, the poor thing has been so tired at the end of the night that he can't stay awake long enough to finish his bedtime bottle (around 6:45). So he wakes up for more milk anywhere between 11 and 2. I, of course, have been waiting for the right moment to get him back in the habit of STTN.

Last night, he finished his bedtime bottle. Sucked it down to the last drop. I thought, "Great. Here's our moment! Either he'll sleep through the night, or if he doesn't, I can start the three-day process of re-weaning him from overnight milk." Famous last words.

At 3 a.m. he woke up for milk. At first, he was merely complaining. I let it go. Then he escalated to loudly complaining. I let it go. Eventually, Lester got up and turned the monitor off and said, "Either give him a bottle or not. But I'm not listening to this all night." (I also let that go!)

A few minutes later, actual crying began. I went in to comfort him, but (veteran parents know what's coming next) that just made it worse! I patted him and patted him and even ended up sitting on the floor next to his crib, patting and soothing. Again, this just made it worse.

Finally, at 4:45, when the crying was more than I could stand, I caved and gave him a bottle. He was asleep almost instantly. I, however, did not get back to sleep until about 5:15.

Like I said, NOT the moment I wanted to have.

Oh, and in the middle, Lester and I yelled at each other! He's all: "Just give him a bottle!!!" And I'm all: "No, he's not really hungry; he's just in the habit of waking up for milk now and we have to break him out of it." And Lester's all: "I don't CARE. I just want to go to SLEEP!" And I'm all: "Well you SHOULD care! I don't want to be waking up to give him a bottle for the rest of our LIIIIIIIIVVES!!"

I say again: Bad, bad, BAD night.

What is it about pre-dawn awakenings that makes everything seem so life-or-death? I mean, today, it doesn't seem so awful. Why couldn't I have had the calm I have today when Cary was crying in his bed, and I was gripping my sheets, sighing heavily, and staring at the ceiling, praying for lightning to strike me right. this. minute to take me out of my misery?

Don't ask me what I'm going to do tonight when (if?) he wakes up. I have no idea. But as tired as I am, I might give the kid a steak, if he indicated that it'd keep him asleep.

OK, maybe not. But I really don't know what to do. I don't want him waking up for a bottle just because it soothes him. He has to re-learn to self-soothe (which I know he can do, because he's done it. LOTS.) But I also don't want him hungry! And I can't take another night like last night. Lester thinks he'll eventually grow out of needing a bottle at night. But I've got a 3-year-old nephew who still wakes up in the middle of the night for milk in a sippy cup. (Yes, Tahira, I'm shouting you out!)
I swear, I will learn to make lightning in an old pickle jar and strike myself if that is me in 2.33 years.

Stay tuned to see how this turns out.

P.S. Can you believe Dean slept through this whole ordeal??? That baby sleeps like a teenager!

Baby for sale!

Baby for sale. 9-months-old. Incredibly cute.


Buyer must be willing to withstand frequent night wakings, insanely early mornings and incessant whining.

Buyer also will get to nuzzle the sweetest-smelling little neck and tickle the most adorable little curled-up-toes. Buyer will get to hear the most infectious giggle ever known to man. Buyer will laugh and laugh and laugh at baby's antics and impish grins. Buyer will swoon every time baby rubs his heavy eyelids, rests his head on your shoulder and falls fast asleep. Buyer will never know so much love.

Sigh.

Maybe baby isn't for sale after all.

(But if anyone wants to rent baby between the hours of 2 a.m. and 7 a.m., there may be room for negotiation.)

Never, ever declare STTN after just one day of STTN

You'd think I'd know this by now. It's like saying, "Thank goodness it hasn't rained yet," and then the sky opens up. Or, "My this traffic is going so smoothly for 4:30 p.m. on Friday," and then there's a 5-mile back-up.
The same is true for prematurely declaring that your 8-month-old twin boys who had once been wonderful sleepers, but were derailed by illnesses and unavoidable developmental stuff, were now sleeping through the night (STTN). As soon as I did that yesterday, both Cary and Dean woke up not once but twice each last night! Twice. EACH. And despite our desire to let them "work it out" (which we like better than "cry it out"), I totally caved after an hour and gave them both bottles around 3 a.m.
Bad, bad Mommy!!
We'd changed their diapers and their little jammies because both were super-wet and that didn't calm them. I rocked Dean; Lester patted Cary's little back. Nothing was working. I was desperate.
And then, to make matters worse, I kept hearing the sitter's voice in my head as she told me that neither boy had much interest in formula all day yesterday. So my Mommy-anxiety made me think that perhaps they were hungry. Poor little wriggly worms! Crying of starvation!! Wasting away in their cribs! Stomach acid churning, eating mercilessly at their tiny tummies!
Now you see why I had to do it! I was murdering my children!
(Sidenote: My cousin, Nicole, who has a gorgeous 5-year-old daughter, told me long ago that she was not prepared for the sheer anxiety that parenting brought. I had no idea how bad it could be until Cary and Dean came along. In fact, most days, I go back and forth between anxiety and guilt -- and on really bad days, they both team up against me. Nicole says this does not get better as they get older. Seeing as how she was right the first time, I'm inclined to believe her.)

Anyway, I'll never know if they really were hungry, or if I just gave them another hash mark in the "Two crying babies at 3 a.m. = WIN; sleepy and anxious Mommy = LOSE" column.
But at the end of the day (literally), Mommies have to do what Mommies have to do.
Because this is not a sprint, folks, but a long, long cross-country marathon. And in the end, Mommies who love, love, love their babies always win.

Another sidenote: Lest you think my babies are non-STTN tyrants, I need to report that this morning, after they were changed and fed, I put Cary in Dean's crib with a bunch of toys and the two of them played together!! Beautifully! It was so awesome, I couldn't believe it. Lester was able to go out and shovel our front walk and cars, and I was able to shower, make breakfast, and get dressed for work -- all while they played. Together! This is my consolation prize for last night, I know it. And it's a pretty darn good one, if you ask me!

Here they are in the crib together!

Sleep! Yes!

Well folks, both babies STTN (that's new-mommy-parenting-forum-speak for "slept-through-the-night") last night. I should be thrilled, except I kept waking up all throughout the night. I'm not sure if I was anticipating their little plaintive cries, or if my body is just in the habit of waking up to see about the babies and doesn't know to KNOCK IT OFF!

Also, Cary woke up at 6:45 this morning and was cranky, cranky, cranky! He kept wiggling his adorable, little narrow body (he can't technically crawl yet) all over the floor, wailing to be picked up, and it was heartbreaking to have to keep up the busy-ness of getting ready for work and tell him, a million times, to please be patient. (Baby llama, what a tizzy!! Sometimes Momma's very busy...)

AND... Dean slept until almost 8, and so I only got to see my little stoic, solid-as-a-rock baby for about 10 minutes before I had to rush out the door for work. In the snow.

So all in all, the zen I should feel from having babies STTN is seriously zapped. Grrrr to zapped-zen!!!!!!!

Dare I Say It?

This has been a brutal winter for us. The boys got their first cold in October and it honestly never went away. It ebbed a little and then flowed like the Nile! It looked like it might go away, and then morphed into something even more nefarious. Since October, we have been dealing with ear infections, bronchiolitis (complete with nebulizing treatments), sore throats, more ear infections and tons and tons of never-ending snot! All of this sickness has affected the babies' eating and sleeping habits and served to try the nerves, patience and good-humor of Lester and me.

But...do I see a light at the end of the tunnel? Can it be? The boys are still somewhat snotty, but other than that, no earaches, no sore throats, no waking in the night with a raging fever; in fact, no waking in the night at all! Thank the Lord! Two nights ago, Cary woke up twice but after moaning a bit, went back to sleep. And last night, he only whimpered once or twice but never fully woke up. Yesssss!

This is exciting news, because Cary had been sleeping through the night since about 14 weeks old. Dean took a little longer and was sleeping through the night at 18 weeks. But the sickness knocked that out of the water. Every week was unpredictable as to who would be waking up; how many times would he wake up; how long would he stay up after waking? Cary even started waking up for a bottle again at night -- sometimes TWO bottles. It was like we had newborns again. Oh my. Just thinking about it is making me sleepy.

But...it looks like we might be out of the woods. At least for awhile anyway. The weatherman seems to think this is going to be a loooooong winter. So I won't count my sheep just yet.