Cheek

How Do I Rue The Day? Let Me Count The Toys.

I am still wading through your tome on sleep and how to get some. I got none last night. I slept in one hour spurts and fed She Who Awakes Constantly every hour. Something must be up. It's bad, people. I'm going to compile all of your comments into a handy list that I will then refer to, so keep 'em coming.

You will be relieved to hear that I am not pregnant. It was an errant puke, I suppose, one of those UPEs--Unidentified Puking Episodes. At any rate, Random is relieved. And I guess you could say I was too--I mean who the hell do I think I am, anyway? Pregnant after a quickie, whilst on birth control pills and breastfeeding full time? Who am I, Fertile Myrtle? Heh. We all know what Tire* would have to say about THAT.

But here is the REAL point of my post:

There are several toys in the house that drive me absolutely insane.

These are generally toys given to us, generally in a goody bag or something, generally unrequested and immediately regretted. These are toys that, for whatever reason, inspire extreme movement or noise or jumping up and down or thrusting over and over in faces. Or they are just plain ugly, and always underfoot.

Past toys of this ilk include:

• A red flexible square of see-through plastic, about three feet by three feet, that came with a bowling set and that was used as a cape, a mask, a jumping off item, and anything BUT what it was supposed to be used for. I hid that thing about forty thousand times and MP always found it--I shoved it under the couch, behind the couch, folded it up and put it between books on the bookcase. Still she found it and put it on the floor for me to slide, trip on, and curse. It is now in some landfill. Sorry. 
• A pinwheel. This thing, although initially amusing and pretty, has been shoved in my face so many times it was broken over a knee (okay, it wasn't, but we plotted its death like that). It too met a garbagey end, and is entertaining some vultures as we speak. 
• The wooden sausage. See a previous blog post. 
• A tin of marbles. I gave MP this, in her stocking. Or rather, Santa gave it to her. I'd like to shoot Santa and her good intentions right about now. Those marbles are always underfoot, an army of marbles, always being poured into some other container (shoe, plastic bag, flower pot, coffee mug) and always threatening to choke baby Chloe. I want to kill these marbles. Lordy, does MP love these things, though, so I have not confiscated them yet. 
• And last but not least--a pom pom, which MP calls her "pom." This thing is used every day if possible, cheered heartily with, rammed, again, in our faces, left in my kitchen (there is a standing rule: no toys in the kitchen. The pom, however, somehow transcends the "no toy" rule as, MP attests, it's "not a toy.") MP will jump like mad with this thing, and bemoan the fact that there is only one of its kind (and it will stay that way, God help me, until she decides to become a cheerleader, at which point I will accept my fate as a Cheerleader Mom, ai).

So. What toys do you rue the day you ever purchased? What toys do you hate to listen to, hate to look at, hate to play with, hate to watch in action? What toys make you want to commit yourself? And why, pray tell, do you hate these toys? Please share your horror stories.

By warning each other, we will be doing ourselves a great service. It will keep the Bad Toys from making us crazy.

*In case you have no idea what I am talking about, I used to draw a comic featuring an infertile heroine and her pet tire.

Sleep? Yeah, I Remember That.

A long, long time ago, in the land of No Children, I got sleep.

I got some good sleep in those days, weekend morning sleep, early night to bed sleep, and naptime sleep. It was a plethora of sleep.

Then MP arrived, and she curtailed that sleep. She would take her time getting to bed, coming out regularly to ask for such items as her pillow (actually a blanket), or to tell me her Monkey Fish was making a weird noise (her aquarium toy that was running out of batteries and actually groaning). And she would wake up early, bouncing into our room at the good hour of 6 to 7 ish, announcing that "IT'S WAKE UP TIME!!!!"

And so there was less sleep to be had.

And then the littlest one arrived, she of the pterodactyl scream and the wide grin. And she was bound and determined that No Sleep would happen in the house, or else.

She teased us. Sometimes, she would sleep long stretches at a time. Other times, she'd awake every hour. At four months, the pediatrician scoffed and told me I needed to let her cry a bit, put her in her own bed (she was still in a bassinet next to ours), wean her off the constant night feedings. I scoffed right back (I can scoff real good) and ignored him. She still slept in the bassinet. I still fed on demand.

And now we are at the almost-seven-month mark, and she is not sleeping through the night, my friends. On the contrary. Sometimes, she will gloriously surprise us with a six hour stint and no wakings, but last night....last night she awoke, I am NOT KIDDING, around eight or nine times. Every hour. She fed for a minute or two and then went back to sleep. I tried to pat her, whisper shush, to no avail.

Random wants her out of our room and into her crib, but I'm concerned about what that will mean for me--I will then have to listen to the monitor, get out of bed, trudge down the hall in a half sleep, feed her, put her back, etc. etc. Rinse and repeat. I can barely, sometimes, discern where she is in her bassinet to take her out, let alone to walk down the hallway at the hellish hour of 2. In my house, we wake up at 4:45 for work (YES THAT'S AM, PEOPLE) so sleep is a premium.

I don't want to stop breastfeeding--and feeding her more doesn't seem to work--we feed her "real" food at dinner and she goes down shortly thereafter. I, like Random, would like her to eventually move to her crib, but I'd like her to be sleeping more before that happens. She could be teething--she's got no teeth yet, but waking up that much (every hour) is a bit unusual, even for her--she averages maybe 2 times a night. STILL. The night waking is nuts. Last night she woke herself up because she farted loudly--it made her cry (and Random and I laugh--we couldn't stop. There's nothing like laughing when you are so sleep deprived you can't even distinguish between the dog in your bed and the baby in the bassinet--and yes I have tried to put the dog back in the bassinet, thinking he was Chloe).

Anyway: Help. I need your sleep stories. I need book recommendations--I have the "No Cry Sleep Solution," but I'm not sure that will work with her since she's so booby attached. I need your wise, sage assvice. How do I work this?

Oh, and I should mention that I just threw up in the middle of the day and Random is so convinced I am pregnant that he took off immediately to the store to purchase an HPT. I am scoffing at him, because I am SO not pregnant. While it is true that I haven't resumed my periods yet and have missed a day or two of minipills here and there, the idea is so preposterous. I will let you know. In the meantime, tell me your sleep stories!

In Which I Emerge From My Pity Pit, With Pictures To Boot

  Oh, my sweet, smart, beautiful big girl. What a good sister you are: so patient when Chloe pulls your hair, such a good help, so funny and silly and creative. I love how you collect things of similar sizes and shapes--like marbles and wooden peas--and put them in containers that you tote with you all over, proclaiming that "the marbles need to be with me because they need their mommy and I am their mommy." I love the way you get concerned when someone or something on tv is sad. I love the way your little brows knit when you are trying to remember something, or think of an excuse. I love how you leave your room at bedtime, after you are supposed to be in bed, and stand in my doorway fabricating excuses for being up ("I have a secret to tell you!" or "Ummmmmmm...make sure if you go downstairs, that's just for a minute.") I love how you console your sister, singing her songs about not being sad. I love how when you are in time out, you sing about being in time out. You are the light of my life, little big girl and I adore you to the moon and back.

  To my gorgeous, happy, glorious baby: what a joy it is to take care of you, to be your Mama. You have the ability to make me laugh no matter what kind of mood I'm in. Your blue eyes, your wide smile, your hysterical giggle--I can't keep away from your warm neck, your slightly stinky feet, or the upside down C that makes up your belly button. You roll everywhere, my little rolly polly bug; you laugh all the time, at everything. You adore your big sister, love being with her. But it's your Mama you crave the most: you check me out all the time, grab my shirt and stick your head down it, eye me up. Your dad sings songs about you to me as you stare at me: "Don't you always feel like..someone is watching you?" and "Private eyes, are watching you, they see your every move..." You are just learning to sit up and soon you will be crawling--you can heft yourself up on your knees and hands and rock back and forth. I love you, baby, so much.

Here's to 2009. Thanks, as usual, for reminding me what's what. These two keep me going, in all ways that matter. I hope you have things that keep you going, and that you keep them warm, and close to your heart.