Mommy Dearest

He used to be such a good sleeper. Brag-worthy four- and five-hour blocks of time were spent catching up on restful sleep, allowing us all to recharge and face our days, all smiles and productivity. But for the past few nights - hell, maybe a week or two? - I haven't gotten more than three hours of sleep at a time. In fact, the three hour chunk happened only a handful of times over the past week. More often, these days, Zephyr wakes up every two hours or less, wants to nurse, and is difficult to lay back down (even though he falls asleep while nursing). During the day, it lately takes an hour to get him down to sleep for thirty minutes. Scott badly wants to help, but alas, he lacks the breasts that allow Zephyr to succumb to deep, lengthy sleep (when I take time for myself, it's always at the expense of Zeph's nap schedule).

I feel like I'm completely losing my shit, and I'm shocked at how quickly I go from a creamy Madonna to a hanger-wielding harpy when my precious sleep is compromised. Sometimes I get so frazzled that it takes an hour or more for me to get back to sleep (and by the time this happens, Zephyr often starts fussing again). Then I crumble into frustrated tears and wonder what I was ever thinking, deciding to have a kid.

I should put things into perspective, though. He is still the sweetest, goofiest, smiliest and happiest little baby I've ever met. He grins so big that it splits his face in two. He is not a difficult baby at all, not by any stretch of the imagination. The little guy is teething, and is covered in eczema that he scratches until it bleeds. He is merely guilty of being a baby: mutable, unpredictable, inconstant. He evolves at an hourly rate.

What kind of monster loses her cool at a tiny baby, just because he won't sleep? This one, evidently. During those wee hours of sleeplessness, I worry that I will never be good enough for my precious little changeling. I spend so much time in that dark place in my heart that tells me that I can never be the mother that my son deserves. I have spent the better part of my life obsessing about being the polar opposite of my intolerant, dictator father (the dominant parent in my family), but I am terrified that, if pushed, I might still have his capacity for violence. The worst thing that can happen to Zephyr is for him to be raised by someone who hates children.

In case you have already dialed six of the seven digits to call Adult and Family Services, I should let you know that I don't beat my infant with a hanger, or shake him, or anything like that (I have yelled at him, though, I'll admit it). It's just that my own anger frightens me. It's so early in this ride - how awful will I be when, in a couple years, he starts throwing tantrums in the grocery store? Or when actually looks me in the eye and talks back?

In the meanwhile, I will learn to take deep breaths. I will take Zephyr's nap-free days as opportunities to play more and count my blessings that he is such a joyful creature. And I will hope fervently to gain the grace that only restful sleep can bring.

(Note: as I finished typing this, Zephyr just woke up from a 3.5-hour nap. Just to prove me wrong and make me look a harpy fool. Little bastard.)

Tooth and Nail

Take a good look - still no toofies in this mouth. Any day, now. Yep. Aaaaannnnnyyy daaaayyyy. Sigh. This poor kid. He's at the end of his wee rope. He's trying so hard to be a good baby, but you can just see the wimper on his face as he crams his fingers and anything near them into his mouth. Sometimes this results in a scratched face. Nail-clipping is a daily endeavor these days.

Even bath time is another opportunity to work those little gums of his. Now that he's bigger, we have opted to start daily baths - 5 minutes or so in just-above-tepid warm water, followed by a good rubdown with Weleda Calendula Baby Cream on the rough, eczema spots and Burt's Bees Buttermilk Baby Lotion everywhere else. I love the way that stuff smells. Our bathroom is in the middle of a remodel right now and gaps at the base of the wall expose the basement crawlspace, so we have to warm it up in there with a space heater and keep a vigilant watch for house centipedes.

(and another shot just because he's so damn cute)

Not too much new this week - he did get into his first little baby altercation. He and his friend Oshea were enjoying some time on the play mat, laying head to foot, and Oshea grabbed Zeph's toes with a little too much aplomb. Zephyr started crying sharply, and this set Oshea to crying. Claudia and I picked up our respective babies, and they took turns looking at each other and melting down. It was really cute and funny. Lesson learned: fun-wanting moms just best not fuck around with naptimes.

Have you ever seen a more dimply butt? I mean, without cringing in the mirror. I want to chew on his tiny butt cheeks. They're as soft as mochi, and almost as sweet.

Little Green

"If your knees aren't green by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life."
-Bill Watterson

Zephyr had his first forays into the wilds last week, nettle-picking (as a passive participant) and moss-stepping (as a more active, if forced, participant). He thoroughly enjoyed himself, or the walk at least, and I was better for the exercise. The weather started to take a serious turn for the worse in the midst of our stroll, and certain a downpour was imminent (the wind and clouds were telling), I ran him and the stroller across the north lawn at Reed College toward leeward trees and their relative shelter (relative to a field, anyways). His Graco Metrolite is not intended for off-road use, though, and I'll probably need to tone down these adventures or get a new stroller (in which case I will tone these adventures way up).

Yep, things are really starting to get exciting with (and for) Zephyr. Every day he's a mite smarter, a little abler, and just a bit more cognizant of his world. His hands are more articulate, and he now derives great pleasure (and maybe some pride?) from turning the pages of his board books when we read to him. His bedtime story is becoming so rote that he even waits for the pauses in our lilt before reaching his chubby digits toward the stiff page edge.

In our attempts to get him to sleep more than two hours, we gave him his first rice cereal last week. At first we just put it in a bottle of warm breast milk to make a thin slurry (cut a hole in the nipple to promote flow), but once the novel first few tastes were swallowed, he just let the last two ounces dribble out of his mouth and gave us a funny look. He ended up waking up after two hours anyways, so the next day we tried just giving a few spoonfuls of a rice cereal-breast milk mush. This didn't work either, but the rice cereal does effect a powerful change in the texture and odor of his shit. Needless to say, we've backed off the solids for the time being.

Could he look more like his father? I think not.

Now that Zephyr has been hanging out in his exersaucer, his legs are getting a lot of practice supporting his weight. He stands with help for several seconds at a time, and delights in his new skill. I think he feels powerful and strong on his little legs. Tummy time is still not totally his favorite, but the new play mat that I picked up at Ikea is turning him around on floor play. I just regret not having gotten Zephyr onto a comfortable floor setup earlier. Though, I will admit that there is a strong temptation to just leave him there while I tend to matters around the house.

Finally, I wanted to share this triptych of Scott, Zephyr and myself, all at 4 months of age. It's really remarkable how much he looks like the both of us instead of just one of us. He has my mouth, I think, and he totally has Scott's chin. His eyes look like both of ours. I think he's cuter than either of us, and greater than the sum of his parts. Zephyr is our awesome son and he is synergy.

Zombie Baby

I went back to work yesterday. It's not the same as before, I just have a few projects that I will work on, and primarily from home, but I did spend five hours in the office yesterday. It felt pretty good to put on a button-up shirt and pay too much for parking, to be on the phone and to crunch numbers. I felt like Career Mom Barbie, pumping breast milk in my old office. If anyone other than Scott had been home with Zephyr, I never would've made it those five hours. It'll be interesting to see how long I can keep it up, though. Next week I think I might take Zephyr out to a field visit with me. We won't have to get out of the car.


Zephyr's latest trick is this thing where he acts like a baby zombie. It only happens when Scott is holding him (and he's hungry). He will violently lurch forward toward Scott's chest, mouth agape, and just gum at him like a hungry baby zombie. It's really hilarious.

And the last update (they are few this week), we have found that Zephyr loves being in an exersaucer. It's nice to be able to have him in the kitchen while I work, without him getting bored in a matter of minutes. He even seems to be aware of cause and effect, mashing buttons that name animals and mimic their sounds. It's so wonderful to see his little gears turning.

Sorry for the brevity - weekly updates are only as thrilling as the milestones themselves. Not that it's not a total rollercoaster...

The doughnut shop is now open

Okay, last time, I promise. I'm gonna talk about sleep again. We had a little breakthrough this week. I should say, I figured out a few things, just by taking a step out from all up in Zephyr's Kool-Aid, so to speak. Get this: if I leave him alone after he wakes up in the first half hour of his nap, HE FALLS BACK TO SLEEP ON HIS OWN. I know, right? If I just leave him the fuck alone, he sorts that shit out all by himself. My coddling and doting was just reinforcing his awakeness, and he seriously only fusses for like a minute or two (I timed it) and then quiets back down to sleep. And then he sleeps for two and half more hours. Brilliant. I suppose it's kinda like moms rushing to their kid's scraped knee is what really makes the kid cry, not the scrape.

We had his 4-month checkup on Friday, and he's still in the 95th centile for weight (at 18 lbs., slightly less than I thought) and 97th centile for length (at 26"). Dr. Martin is really laid back and thinks Zephyr is doing great, told us to ignore the books that say the babies are supposed to sleep through the night at his age. Of course, I can't. I decide she's just trying to make us feel better and take matters into my own hands.

So, last night I decide we're gonna try our hand at sleep training. I'm drunk on power, having discovered the secret to getting Zeph down for solid naps (and seriously, getting two 3-hour breaks a day is delicious), I think we can totally do this. I formulate a plan: when he starts crying, give him five minutes, then gently soothe him back to sleep by patting his back but not picking him up or feeding him. That's what the No Cry Sleep Solution book (err, the summary of it that I read online) said to do. So we give it a go.

We go through the bedtime ritual: rub him down with calendula cream and get him into a dry dipe and jimjams. Upstairs to the bedroom, snuggle in bed to read I'll See You in the Morning and then into his swaddle he goes. Then we lay down for a nurse, and I tuck him into the Arm's Reach sidecar co-sleeper thing, kiss his little head and say good night. Fifteen minutes later, he starts fussing. "Just let him fuss for a minute," I reinforce the plan to Scott. He stops fussing, and we clink our wine glasses and high five each other and enjoy an hour or two of grown-up time.

Scott and I settle into bed at around 11:00pm, and after a couple hours of blissful slumber, Zephyr starts fussing. I decide to firmly ride it out for five minutes, instead of just reactively bringing him to my breast like normal. His fussing escalates into full-blown crying. I pat his back, "it's okay, Zephyr, go back to sleep." No dice. I look at the clock. 12:50am. The crying isn't slowing down, and now Scott and I are both completely frazzled. Zephyr is starting to totally unravel. I try patting his back again, with no results. I look at the clock again. 1:11am. Sigh. This feels mean and neglectful and exactly like the cry-it-out method (which I'm pretty sure has never been attempted in a cosleeping situation), I'm at my wit's end and scoop up my baby to soothe him and fret for being such a disastrous mother, planting apologetic kisses all over his tiny, tear-damp head. He starts mouthing on my shoulder before I even get him to my breast, and then nurses frantically back to sleep. It takes me probably two hours to get back to sleep after the ordeal.

At 5:00am, same story. This time I figure out that four hours is about as long as he ever really goes between meals (and I already feel like a failure for having caved at the first attempt), but not before he cries for five loud minutes. I nurse him to sleep again and finally get back to sleep myself after Scott's alarm goes off at 6:00.

This afternoon, I read the Going Through the Night Without Being Fed section of Penelope Leach's Your Baby & Child and realize that I hadn't been doing anything wrong at all until I decided that we were going to try to fuck with Zephyr's sleep habits. The kid needs to eat a couple times at night, and this is completely normal! I feel renewed as a mother, have reinstilled faith in my pediatrician (whom I already trust and should've just listened to in the first place). One neat trick that Leach offers, though, is to wake the baby to nurse when I go to bed instead of waiting for him to wake up at the four-hour mark. I can reset his tummy-clock myself to get a full four hours of sleep for myself. Now that's sleep training I can get with.

In other news, today Zephyr had his first poop in FIVE DAYS. I know it's normal and common for babies to go several days between poops at this age (particularly breastfed babies), but holy shit, it totally freaked me and Scott out! And then when he finally did poop, it went all the way up his shoulder blades and required a full bath. But lemme tell ya, he's been a much more pleasant kid since. Tummy time was thus extended with comfort and ease, offering me a chance to shoot him in his new pants. It's motherfucking doughnut time.

Consistently persistent

It's been a tough few days for Zephyr (and me). The rough patches on his legs, arms and abdomen (that I'd heretofore been blithely treating with Burt's Bees after baths) is eczema. This isn't much of a surprise and I know it's pretty common, but something - possibly allergies inherited from Scott, or the recent addition of OxyClean to the laundry regimen - has triggered the rash to become so itchy that Zeph has begun scratching himself raw. We had to make a late-night call to the pediatrician's triage desk the other night because, after nearly three hours of trying to get him to sleep, he began sobbing inconsolably and was starting to break the skin with his scratching. Now he's on hydrocortisone and is wearing sock mitts to prevent scratching, but coupled with teething and a lack of good sleep, he's been kind of a Fussy McCrabberson. I just really hope he doesn't end up with allergies and asthma (the other two legs of the Nerd Trifecta).

At some point, I guess I can stop talking and thinking and fretting about sleep. There has to be more to parenting an infant than worrying about sleep, right? He used to be so good, even a week ago, at the onset of transitioning him out of our bed. Now? I'm lucky to get four hours. I usually get two (particularly if I succeed in getting him to bed at 9:00, in which case his first "long" stretch is overlapped by me and Scott trying desperately to relate to each other as friends and partners). Last night he never slept more than two hours at a stretch. He slept better as a newborn than he does as a "settled" infant, when he's supposed to be finally sleeping through the night. The main difference between my energy levels now versus when he was brand new is that now he weighs 20 pounds and it physically exhausts me just doing day-to-day tasks like diaper changing and lugging him from room to room.

I think I'm most frustrated by his inconsistency, when I'm working so hard to be persistent with his routines. I don't really know how to bounce back when he, say, naps for only 30 minutes instead of a couple hours. Am I supposed to try to get him right back down? And how long do I keep trying if I don't succeed? I usually give up after about an hour or two, and then try again in two hours. Sometimes he cues that he's sleepy right away, and then wakes up right after going down again. Repeat ad nauseum. What I'm most sick of, though, is talking about his fucking sleep problems.


Hey, though, on the plus side, I found some new camera apps for my iPhone, and have been thoroughly enjoying photographing Zephyr (as any of my Facebook friends can attest). One more way to obsess over this kid. Just what I need.

Puttin' along

Not a lot to report this week, not as far as new milestones go. His laughter now comes from the belly, and it's easy to get him going by giving his cheeks raspberries and then giggling at him. Zephyr is also really getting good at bringing his hands, and anything in them, to his mouth (or to each other, which always looks adorable).


Thank goodness for these $0.49 toys from Ikea. They're his favorite! He is particularly fond of the bunny (whom I have secretly names Ferdinand), whose ears and carrot he soggifies with great gusto. He also likes to nurse on the nose of the turquoise wolf, chomping his sore little gums into submission. Better the toys than my nipples.

His mirror is much more interesting to him these days too, and he'll often watch himself playing with toys. Sometimes he talks or shouts at his reflection, which cracks me up to no end. I know he still lacks a sense of Self, but I think his recent acknowledgment of other babies coincides with his newfound appreciation of the mirror. I think he thinks his reflection is another kid.

Sleep continues to be up and down, but I guess I don't really care anymore. If I really need a break, I just lay down with him. Otherwise, I try not to sweat it. We're in the process of transitioning him out of our bed and into his cosleeper adjacent to the bed, mostly because he's just so big now, but also because he's kind of a squirmy sleeper. This way he's also less disturbed by Scott's and my nighttime movements, and we all sleep better. We're also moving him to an earlier bedtime, but this is a little bit bumpy. Usually instead of going straight to bed at 9:00, we get him down for what ends up being an hour or two nap, then we go through the formal bedtime motions: change dipe and into PJs, swaddle and story, then nurse. Once his afternoon naps become more predictable, I think it'll be easier to start readying him for bed at around 8:30 or earlier, and really make a big production of it to cement the routine. We'll omit the swaddle step soon, once his routine becomes canon. It's starting to get a bit warm for it, and if he gets an arm out he becomes really distressed. He tends to nap better without any swaddling, so my swaddle-weaning process has involved simply tucking a light blanket tightly around him. He can easily squirm completely out of it with the kick of a leg, but I think it feels secure to him as he's drifting off.

His viselike grip on Ferdinand even while sleeping was worth taking another photo, even though the click woke him momentarily. He loves his bunny.