True story

For a child who (always) already did not like sleeping in her crib, a week sleeping in a bed with Grandma did not bode well for the return of the crib. Even a temporary return.

To summarize the sleep post I have never written (I'm afraid of how crazy I will sound if I write it immediately after making my escape, and in the light of day everything seems strangely manageable): Will slept through the night at 2 months old. She stopped somewhere around 6 months old. This has not been a temporary situation. In other words, she has not slept through the night in 18 months.

Eighteen. Long. Months.

We tried exclusively cosleeping for a while, but her bedtime just got pushed further and further back and she became less able to settle at any time during the night.

I do not believe in crying it out. Period. So that was out.

We did finally settle into a workable routine in which she would start off in her crib (a hard won battle in and of itself, involving the Baby Whisperer's "pick up/put down" method) and then transfer into our bed at some point in the night.

Most of the time, she made the transition easily, but sometimes she tossed and turned and kicked and kept one or both of us up all night. This has increased as she has gotten older and bigger. And discovered the joys of sleeping with all of her limbs stretched across the mattress, something impossible to achieve in a crib.

We have only been home three nights from our vacation, but by this morning I thought I was going to lose my mind. No crib. Mama's bed. No this bed. No Mama's bed. Daddy! Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! But not here. No! Down! Mama! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

We ordered Will's mattress before facing last night's epic battle, but it won't be delivered for a week and a half. This morning I found myself sobbing on the couch as my daughter ate her oatmeal, and I knew I could not face another 10 nights like that.

So. I moved everything away from the reading/rocking/playmat side of her room. I hoisted the (very heavy) queen-sized mattress from the guest bed and manouevred it into the empty space. Will climbed all over it and positioned her pillow and her babies.

Then we went to the mall and bought two sets of sheets for the new bed (Dora and purple swirly things), with pillow cases that can be used now. And three pillows in various sizes and shade of purple. One is even in the shape of a daisy. All I need now is some kind of purple quilt or "coverlet" (as the saleslady called it).

Will is napping on the bed right now. She has stirred, but seems to have settled.

You can probably here my cry of desperation: Please please please let this work. Please?

Transitioning to normal life

We're back from the South, the land where mac 'n cheese is considered a vegetable and everything comes with sweet tea and a biscuit.

I agree with my husband (an urban planner in a parallel universe) that Charleston is very much like New York City. It's shaped the same, and has a similar urban feel, amid the classic southern architecture and the sprawling live oaks. I loved it.

One thing that was a bit jarring was the narration on the ferry to Fort Sumter. The narrator's tone was just too upbeat as he described "the port of entry for millions of enslaved Africans, who were kept here in quarantine until free from pestilance and disease" Not to mention the former home of a Native American tribe that "has become obselete as a result of small pox, slavery and liquors."

I picked Will up from her grandparents' yesterday and she did really well until it was time to go to sleep for the night. She wanted to be in Mama's bed right away, and I figured that was fine (a chance to cuddle and the quickest way to get back downstairs and start catching up on all the TV we missed last week).

From that point on, things deteriorated. She needed to be reassured, probably by our presence and her routine, but I just couldn't get the balance right. We moved from bed to bed; she made requests for things she didn't even want (Pooh! more teeth! light on!) and got more tired and agitated and upset as time went on.

I do think bringing her downstairs to watch Dora at 10 pm was probably a mistake, but not the rest. I couldn't just force her into her crib, to sleep, our routine.

Finally, after we both had a major meltdown, she crawled into the middle of our bed and then pushed me away and told me to "GO!" At once, everything came into sharp focus. She was afraid that I would go, that if she went to sleep I would be gone. Even though she had a great time with her grandparents, she was worried that I would disappear again.

So I climbed into the bed and held my almost-2-year-old girl, and I told her I would be there in the morning, that I would always be there for her, and if I ever had to go away for a little while, I would always come back.

It reminded me of a piece of embroidered material we saw at one of the plantations in South Carolina. The embroidering said that the sack had been given to her grandmother Rose by Rose's mother, when Rose was sold away at the age of nine. It had been filled with a tattered dress and three handfuls of pecans, and Rose was told it would always be filled with her mother's love. Rose never saw her mother again.

Walking on sunshine

Savannah is beautiful and, until this afternoon, hot. Which means that I have not only had an amazing time walking around the city in summer skirts and flip-flops, but found the necessary excuse to purchase said items (along with a summer dress and some cropped pants. And a couple of lightweight tops.) It will be summer in Ontario at some point, so they will go to good use in another month or two (or three).

I go on vacation so infrequently that it seems to have propelled me into a fantasy world where I can buy what I want and eat what I want with no consequences. I'm hoping the excess food intake at least will be balanced by the (literally) hours of walking I've been doing.

I love how you go on vacation and suddenly are willing to walk ridiculous distances you would never walk in your normal life. (Or am I the only one who does this?) Seriously, there will be a museum at Number 14 such-and-such street, another gallery at 612 on that street, a restaurant that sounds good 18 blocks the other way through a park, and then the walking tour meets in front of city hall back downtown.

No problem!

A little quiet

I am alone in my house. In the quiet of my house. I don't think I have experienced either of these things here before, let alone both of them at the same time.

Will is with her grandparents, playing happily with her cousin and wearing his extra pair of Clifford slippers.

The cats are hunkered down in my parents' basement, Oliver continuing to hide under the blanket on the couch.

Last night, we watched a complete episode of "The Amazing Race" without being interrupted by a bad dream or crib loneliness.

Today I will drink an entire cup of hot coffee. I will take a shower. I will eat lunch quietly, or maybe on the couch watching TV.

And then we're off to Savannah . . .

Lalala - not in public - lalala

We were out for dinner last night when I heard someone at the table next to us listing some of the character names from "Lost."

Then he started to tell his dining companion (my husband said it looked like his mother) the entire back story of the show.

I have never watched "Lost." But I plan to. I plan to enough that when I heard the first piece of crucial information about how they ended up on the island (which I'm sure viewers didn't find out right away, it was too strange) I literally had to plug my ears and hum softly to myself so as to not hear the entire thing.

I wish I had had the nerve to turn my chair around and tell him to shut it, that some people have not seen the show and - unlike your mother - do not want to be filled in on what's been happening over the past few seasons.

Just a suggestion people: do not discuss TV shows that rely on suspense when you are in public. Please. Some of us are just as clueless as your mother, but we don't want to hear the answers from you.

Considering a sequel

I spent much of yesterday holding a newborn baby.

She was tiny and snuggly and five-weeks-old. She snuggled into my chest just like Will used to do, knees pulled up to her chin, head full of dark hair cocked over to one side. She sighed and slept, and Will didn't even mind, busy playing with her own best friend (and the new baby's cousin).

"This is nice." I announced. "Maybe I could do this again."

But then I remembered.

"Oh she's great during the day," the newest mama told me. "But she's up most of the night. Usually until 3 or 3:30. The other night until 5."

I remember even when Will was sleeping well, she'd get up at the crack of dawn to eat and then play. She always played for 2 hours, so even if I was exhausted I just had to wait that two hours and then we could go back to sleep.

"You couldn't do that with a toddler running around," my friend reminded me. "As soon as the baby was settled you'd have to be up for the day with this one."

Right. Those quiet hours of snuggling and sleeping with a newborn are reserved for first and only children. And the not-so-quiet hours don't disappear just because there is a sibling who will need attention in the morning, afternoon or right now. Now! Mama! Right! Now!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Last week my youngest sister and I arranged a lunch for my sister-in-law, who will be having her second baby at the beginning of April. Her son is 3 months younger than Will, so when this baby is born he won't be quite two.

I am thrilled and excited for her, of course. It was fun to talk baby carriers and strollers, tiny onesies and maybe dresses, if it's a girl.

But my overriding emotion was not jealousy. There was no soft light or sense of whimsy surrounding the mother-to-be.

I was just grateful that it was not me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On our date night last month I threw out the idea of a second child. I consider it a lot, overthinking all the possibilities. (Do I want to do this again? Could I deal with two? Can I imagine not doing this again? Is our whole family here yet?) I thought it might be a good idea to find out what my husband was thinking.

"Maybe when Will is 3?"

That was something I had considered. "To start trying."

"No. To have another baby."

"But . . . she's almost 2 now."

He shrugged. "It will probably take about a year."

"But . . . then we would have to start trying soon. Like now."

"Yeah."

"But . . . I just lost 20 pounds!"

" . . . "

"But . . . I'm not ready."

" . . . "

"But . . . I don't even know for sure . . ."


* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The one thing I do know is that if we decide to have another child, I want to be excited about his or her arrival. I want the anticipation to be stronger than the anxiety (at least most of the time). I want to feel like I cannot wait to meet this new addition, to help this little person find its place in our family.

I can't say that now.

I am so not ready.

What makes me smile

1. A certain someone choosing "ponies" over clips every day.

2. My cat trying to catch the shadow of a bird perched on our mulberry tree, cast onto the ceiling of the living room.

3. The brilliant sunshine creating that shadow, despite the fact that it is beyond freezing outside today.

4. Finding out that the most adorable raincoat still fits, and finding matching rain boots.


5. Being asked to colour Dora's face "brown" or "blue," and making sure Boots' face is the same colour.

6. Using Harvey Karp's "Twinkle Interruptus" strategy to "trick" Will into a nap without screaming. (Even though that nap didn't last long enough. Then again, does it ever?)

7. The temperature in Savannah is currently 14 degrees celsius. It is supposed to be 21 degrees and sunny on Saturday.

8. My husband and I are going to Savannah on Monday. For a week. Without the child.

Smile.