London Calling

"Kids need love the most when they're acting most unlovable." Erma Bombeck

Erma Bombeck knew what she was talking about. 

Just when I wonder if the sign of the devil may really be somewhere on his body -- when he screams at the top of his lungs, and talks back, and he literally shakes with anger -- that's when this quote comes in handy.

First, I remember that beating him isn't the answer.  I take a time out or do a little yoga breathing or whatever.

Second, I think back to his sleep pattern.  Did he nap?  (not any more) Did he go to bed late?  Did we do a lot in the morning? 

Third, I determine the approach.  When I push, he pushes harder.  When he's tired -- which is usually the problem -- I need to get him to relax and quiet down.  Sometimes, he'll just fall asleep in my arms.  If he's not tired, I prepare for a time out.  That equals three minutes of top-of-lung-screaming and snot blowing and head slamming.  By the end of three minutes, he's pretty tired out and ready to give in.

And when I just don't know what to do, I need to remember what Bombeck said.  He's needing love and just doesn't know how to say it.  I guess there are a lot of adults like that too. 

"Quiet"

Taylor, London's "brother from another mother" as he likes to say, went back to Texas today.  He only spent a few weeks with us this summer.  Now that he's 16 and too cool for us, he wanted to get home quickly.  We all miss him.  Emily is always in a state of depression when he leaves.  The car will be safer though. He took part out of the side on his first trip out of the driveway.  Guess that's why teen car insurance is so expensive. 

To kick off our first night, we decided that Violet's first night in her crib was long overdue.  Her legs actually hang over the edge of her swing where she's slept so comfortably for the first seven -- yes seven -- months of her life.  She's cried for 42 minutes so far and although I have the sound off on the baby monitor, I can hear her from downstairs.  So, like any good mother, I sent Blue off to get a bottle of wine.  What do they call it?  Liquid courage?  I may need to sit outside for a while -- not that I couldn't hear her out there.  That little lady has a great set of lungs! 

Toddler power struggle

While I was pregnant, I prayed and prayed for a healthy baby that slept and was sweet and rarely let out a cry. God took pity on me and granted my request. For this I am so thankful.

As I often note, God has a fantastic sense of humor. Now, our lovely strong-willed toddler who has gone straight to sleep with a smile on his face every night at 7:30 has transformed into a vampire. He tricks you with his smile and his sweet way of saying "okay mama" when I tell him how the night will go. "Now London, we'll finish our bath, brush teeth, put on jammies and read two books. Then it's time to sleep." "Okay mama," he says in an angelic voice.

Yet, not more than fifteen minutes after I leave, I hear, "mama come back. mama come back. mama come back." Over and over and over. I often think that he'll talk himself to sleep, but no, no, no luck. We'll take turns going upstairs to talk to him. Not too often of course, but only when we feel the guilt -- so about every 30 minutes. For the last week or so, he's played this card for close to two hours a night.

Then there's the night waking when he scares the crap out of us by standing close to our faces as we sleep. He switches sides of the bed to keep us guessing. You feel someone watching you and open your eyes to see him just inches from your face. Very creepy.

We try to send him back to bed, but lately he's been putting up a big loud fuss and waking the little angel -- who, once awake, likes to stay awake for two hours. (Glad to have a DVR.) Last night was the worst -- so far. Baby Violet woke at 3 to eat and was fussy and super hungry. So, she ate and ate and ate and pooped and pooped and pooped. London joined the late night party around 4, just as baby Violet was snuggled into her cradle. We let him stay in our bed, which is unusual, but he's basically broken our spirits and we were too tired to put up a fight.

Within minutes, little Violet barfed an exceptional amount of milk all over herself, her cradle, and within a few minutes, her mommy. London thought this was just about the funnest event to take place in our house in ages. He wanted to help clean up baby and her bed and to provide commentary on the process. (His commentary was actually pretty entertaining.  "Oh, that was a big barf mommy.")  It was near 5 before we all got back into our own beds and went to sleep.

Just an hour later, London came back to tell us that he wanted to watch Mickey Mouse. In the process, he woke up our peacefully sleeping baby, who then realized that she was really, really hungry after spewing her late night snack everywhere. Blu took the little man downstairs and passed out on the couch while Mickey entertained London. Baby Violet ate and decided that it was time for her to wake up.

And that is just one night in the circus that has become our home.

So, is London jealous that the baby is in our room? Or just being a toddler on the prowl late at night? Or afraid of being alone? Any advice from parents is much appreciated. I actually laughed out loud when I looked at my reflection in the mirror this morning. I looked like a 50+ year old meth addict -- a very chubby one.

Catching up

I had actually written a few blog entries, but Typepad’s new software opens a preview in a new window.  My pop-up blocker prevents it from opening and then I hit back and it’s all gone.  So, sorry I haven’t written.  I really meant to.  Learned my lesson and started writing a draft in Word.

So, baby girl is wonderful.  She’s eating well and sleeping well – for a newborn that is.  My MIL was in town for a week which would make you think that I’d have all kinds of extra time, but somehow, I feel like I have much more to do when she’s here to help.  (I have many stories to share.  My MIL is a kind woman and very unusual – at least to a northerner like me.  I’ll save stories for later.

We’ve been out to a Christmas party and to lunch once.  I even made it out to Target for an hour.  Now Barry won’t let me take baby Violet anywhere, but I’ve been able to sneak out. 

We have a week of quiet to get out our birth announcements and get ready for Christmas before Taylor arrives on the 23rd.  I don’t know if he’s excited to have a new sister or if he’s pissed that he has to share a birthday.  We’ll see ….

She's here!

Violet Kathryn arrived on Sunday, November 23.

She was 8 lbs. 1 oz and 21 inches long.

Everyone is healthy, happy and are all in love with her. 

Big Kraft Cooking Contest

London & I spent Friday night over at my parents to give Barry a day off.  It was his last big night to party and sleep in before the baby arrives.  At least that's how the story goes today.  We decided to make a video of Kathy & London making an ice cream cake to submit to Kraft for a contest.  (See Video.)  It was fun making the video and the cake was pretty good -- although I need ice cream cake like I need another ass. 

Today, I was hoping to have my own day off.  Barry woke up with London -- after he crawled all over us in bed -- and let me sleep in a bit.  I took a shower and shaved my legs without anyone disturbing me and that says a lot right now because leg shaving is a pretty big adventure when you can barely put on your shoes.  London joined me for a while as I did a little more organizing.

We went to breakfast and then Barry ran an errand while London & I colored. When he was home, I ran out and bought a few Christmas gifts, birthday cards, etc.  London was still sleeping when I got home, so I organized another closet -- honestly, who knew you could organize closets this well -- and pulled down some of our window treatments for the painters.

London was playing with his trains, so I told Barry that I wanted to go upstairs and edit the video we made yesterday.  Now, I'm a little Mac slow, so it was a challenge and I was loosing my patience.  London came upstairs and wanted to watch videos for a while before Barry gave him a bath.  Then, he wanted to sit with mommy, who screwed up some of the edits while he was sitting on my lap.  I lost it a bit and raised my voice which made him cry and made me feel horrible.  I just can't concentrate on kids and anything not kid related at the same time.  That whole ability to do two or three things at once that is supposed to be natural to women doesn't work for me with kids.  I'm in the kid zone or I'm not.  I can't hold a conversation with a grown up -- or at least really participate -- if a kid is around.  Not sure if that's a blessing or a curse.

Mommy, something's scratching at my bed

A few nights ago, hubby was at the gym and I had put London to sleep about 20 minutes earlier.  I'd just finished a huge chocolate sundae and was curled up on the couch feeling fat and happy and watching baby girl do a little dance in my belly.  (It's nice that someone burns up the sugar from my splurges.)

I heard London cry out, " Mommy, something's scratching at my bed."  Not really sure what he was saying, I waddled upstairs to check on him.  He is really so cute in his PJs, carrying his blanket and pillow around with him.  It's hard not to just grab him and cuddle him and bring him to our room or to sit with me downstairs.  I stuck to my guns and brought him back to his bed where he told me again that something was scratching his bed.  I comforted him and he went back to sleep.

But in the back of my mind I thought, what if "something" really is scratching his bed?  The wall behind his bed leads to empty space next to the closet.  Now, rationally, it could be a mouse or a bird or other animal/rodent, but of course I immediately thought that we had a ghost.  Totally practical, right?  The house is 110+ years old.  It had been vacant for a while before we moved in.  And, karma owed us one because we told Taylor that the house was haunted this summer just to freak him out.

When Barry came home a little while later, I told him the story -- leaving out the ghost theory.  He, being as rational as me, came to the same conclusion.  Of course there's not ghost, but now I get to creep myself out every time London hears unfamiliar sounds. 

A longer marathon

I had a visit with the doctor yesterday & it seems that I'm no imagining things:  this little girl isn't so little.  I've been feeling pretty uncomfortable -- more than I remember with my beautiful 6 lb 5 oz baby boy.  The doc is guessing that our "little" girl will be more in the range of 8 lbs.  Oddly, that means that we should not induce a few days early like our original plan.  To me, I'd think that we'd want to get big girl out before she gets too big, but I guess the theory is that we want to make sure that all of my girl parts are ready for the big -- literally -- passage.  So, no rushing, just wait until the body is ready. 

So my end date, which I compare to the finish line of a marathon, has moved from December 1 to -- I don't know -- December 14 or so.  That's like getting to mile 25 and having someone tell you that they've moved the finish line from grant park to the Chicago River.  While that may only be a mile or two, every step is a challenge and that mile feels like a second marathon.

I'm being a little dramatic, but extending the date is a blow to my mental imaging.  Just thinking of one more week at work where I have to figure out how to look professional which at this point just means finding bottoms and tops that meet and don't show my mid-drift.  One more week of chasing a toddler.  And, of course, she really could show up at any time.  The firm end date -- well the earlier firm end date -- was just a comfort.

Back to the good old strategy of spicy food, raspberry tea, long walks and maybe even a little sex.

Kicked in the head

About 2-3 weeks ago, London finally realized that he can get out of his new toddler bed without calling for mommy and daddy. We used to listen to him sing in the morning and then, when he was bored, he'd yell, "Mommy, daddy, I'm ready to wake up."  And while I wasn't that happy about having to get out of bed, it was nice that he stayed put for a while.

Now, I hear this "pat, pat, pat" of little feet running down the hall and open my eyes to him staring at me.  Usually, he brings his favorite blanket and binkie along and hops into bed.  Sometimes Pooh Bear joins us.  Then, London either snuggles in or starts to climb all over us until we give up and head downstairs for breakfast.

Last night, he decided to join us around 2 a.m.  Barry is standing firm on his no kids sleeping with us policy and sent him right back to bed with just a few tears shed -- by London, not Barry.  At around 5 a.m. Barry said something -- not sure what -- and I turned over swinging my knee over a big body pillow (because that's the only way I can sleep these days) not realizing that London's face was in my knee's path.  Oh, so that's what Barry was saying.  London is awake.  The poor kid went flying to the floor.  I felt terrible. 

Once he recovered, he snuggled between us to sleep for a little while longer.  When I woke up, he played nicely in his room and hopefully didn't remember the earlier incident.  His friend Dean had spent the night and thankfully slept through the whole drama.  London couldn't get close enough to Dean, who is a big boy and in kindergarten.  You can see how he edged poor Dean into the corner of the couch this morning while they watched Mickey Mouse.

(41 -- or so -- days to go)

42 days and counting

  Baby be good!  She's moving and taking up lots of space right now.  We're starting to have Braxton Hicks contractions.  In fact, they started yesterday on my flight home from Orlando & were stronger than the contractions I had when I went into labor with London.  I thought I would have the baby on the plane for sure.  Barry would have killed me.

But, we're home safely and I'm not getting on any more planes until after this little girl arrives.  Big Ray, my father-in-law, seems to be doing better, so we're hoping that there won't be any emergency trips to Texas in the near future.