Sleeping on her own!!!

Omigod, this is such a big deal. I've finally trained her to go to sleep, in her own bed, all by herself! I couldn't figure out how to do this b/c she sleeps in a big-girl bed and she would get out and pound on the inside of her door and just wail for hours. Well, I followed the "Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child" formula: every time she got out of bed, pick her up and put her back into bed, then leave. No eye contact, no affection, no talking, no playing. The first night we did it, I had to do it continuously for about 40 minutes. I didn't even try to count how many times, but I'd put her in her bed and then hear her footsteps behind me following me back to the door as I walked out. Second night, she only needed to be put back in bed six times, and she fell asleep after fussing for about 15 minutes. Third night (last night), she only needed to be put back in bed twice, but fussed for 25 minutes before falling asleep.

Tonight we followed our new routine. Bedtime at 7PM; we'd been doing 8PM but the book says she was probably overtired by then and that was hindering her sleep. Bath, brush teeth, hug/kiss Daddy nite-nite, then sit in the glider for a nice leisurely booby session with lullabies. Then place her in bed, hand her her Pooh and her stuffed puppy to hug, sing her one more lullaby, kiss goodnight and then leave. And you know what? Not one fuss. Not one time out of bed. She just closed her eyes right where I put her down and when I checked back 15 minutes later she was asleep in the same position.

Hallelujah.

Up until now, I'd been putting her to sleep for the night laying down on her bed with her, laying across my chest, drooling on my upper left arm. Often she wouldn't close her eyes, wouldn't allow herself to drift off. Other times she would go to sleep, but the instant I rolled her off me she'd wake back up and fuss and climb back onto me. So very, very many nights when I went to sleep at 8PM because I couldn't get free. For awhile that was OK, but I'm ready to stay up until the late, grown-up hour of 10PM now. It's only been 21 months, after all!

Oh yeah, and my little girl turned 21 months old yesterday. To celebrate, she had a growth spurt. Not really upwards, but filling out her lean frame. She's really eating very well now. And her hair is coming in too. I can finally put it up in those tiny little baby elastics - one at the crown of her head, one in the back, and one teeny little tail over each ear. The hair from all the various points of her head is too short to make it to one big ponytail, or even to two pigtails. Anyway, it's very cute. She looks so "big girl" that way.

My beautiful girl

My hubby got a fancy new digital camera for Daddy's Day. Here are some pictures of our beautiful little girl, courtesy of the Fuji Finepix.









And one last, perhaps my favorite, evoking the joys of co-bathing. Can you see the manaical glee on my child's face? That's because she'd been splashing me, in the tub, and her daddy, outside of it, for a good ten minutes by then.

#1 on my list of things that suck.

Tonsils.

More than likely you had these out when you were a kid. Somehow, I missed the opportunity to lie in bed and eat ice cream for a coupla days. As an older kid, I was aware that they weren't routinely taking them out any more because they supposedly are part of the lymphatic system and supposedly contribute a useful function. Blah blah blah.

Tonsils, as far as I can tell exist for one reason. They exist to do this thing, maybe 3-4 times a year, where they get nasty and inflamed and white crud crawls out all over them. They hurt like a bastard, and make swallowing an exercise in pain tolerance. Breathing sometimes even becomes a challenge.

I'm done with this. Even my doctor finally agrees. I've been through enough with no trend towards improvement evident. I got a referral to an ENT doctor and hopefully can schedule the procedure for about 2 weeks from now. Out they come. Of course, it's supposedly harder to recover from a tonsillectomy as an adult than as a kid, but I think I'll manage.

I got strep throat, situated firmly in the tonsils, on Thursday AM. I got to take two days of sick leave I really was trying to save up. On Thursday, I was exhausted and spent all day trying desperately to sleep over my little girl's protests. She was really incredibly good. She spent almost the full day parked in front of Noggin on TV as I tossed on the seas of fever. I'm satisfied that I managed to get her diapers changed and to feed her at reasonable intervals, at the very least. It really was all I could manage.

Yesterday the medicine kicked in and I suddenly got all this energy. I cleaned house, cleaned out the back stairwell (no small job with a houseful of men and a huge black dog), dumped out the wading pool to clean and refill it, and did some laundry. I sat in the backyard and kicked cool water at my child as she splished and splashed in her fishie bathing suit. I snoozed with her for an hour. It was a great day except for the fact that I had two scaly alien hatchlings nested in the back of my throat.

This work-free sunny Friday brought to you courtesy of strep throat.

Yeah. O.k.

Anyway, my little girl is blossoming in front of me like a glorious flower - like a tiger lily where I expected a tea rose. She is wonderful and surprising. She has a sense of humor. She is incredibly stubborn and opinionated. And she is utterly fearless - of heights, of speed, of bigger kids, of anything.

This last is both a blessing and a curse. I've spent my life constrained by my fears - of speed, of heights, of being looked down upon. I hate that I can't ride a motorcycle because I am instinctually incapable of trusting centrifugal force to take me around the corner with the bike leaned in at a normal angle. I'd love to see her not be constrained to avoid things that are fun, like riding, or say, skiing. But I don't want her to get beyond herself, or even worse, to not develop that inner voice that tells her she's getting in over her head, or when a person is just plain not to be trusted. Especially that last one. And, of course, I'm afraid she will climb up something too high and fall and get hurt. It is certain to happen eventually - whether actually or metaphorically. So how shall I deal with it when it does?

She is lovely to look at, too. In my humble opinion. She is lean and athletic, straight-limbed and certain in her physicality. Her layer of baby firm/softness is sheathed in warmest, softest raw silk. Her smile alters her entire face in the most delightful way. And she is just ravishing in hats.

I bought my husband a really nice camera for Father's Day. (This was about in the same price range as the beautiful ring he bought me for Mother's Day, which never got posted about because Blogger was not working right that day). We got some nice pictures of the little girl - I'll post them soon, hopefully.

Why I love the farmer's market

Stopped at the farmer's market at Haymarket here in Boston today with a $20 bill. Here's what it got me:

1 lb. fresh, sweet strawberries
5 big ears of sweet corn
5 green peppers
2 red peppers
2 big gorgeous artichokes
4 Anjou pears
Big bunch of fragrant cilantro
Small tub of blackberries
Little bag of intriguing, red & yellow, doubtless very hot peppers
1/2 dz. heirloom tomatoes
2 pints cherries
3 giant oranges
7 nectarines
1 perfectly ripe pineapple


Oh yeah - and having an excuse to get out of the office into the gorgeous June sunshine? Priceless.

Melancholy.

Some things are going well. June is a three-paycheck month, so we have some extra cash and are finally going to be able to buy that nice big eight-chair ceramic-tile-top outdoor dining set with the umbrella I've had my eye on for over a year. The little girl is doing fabulous. She now says blue and purple and yellow and orange and green and red. She says sorry though she clearly has no idea what it means. And in the car on the way home from the park at dinnertime, she said home for the first time. And said it again as I sang her to sleep. Her hair is coming in so full now, finally, with the adorable baby curls at the back. She is just so lovely that it breaks my heart.

But tonight I am feeling melancholy. She is down for the night, and my hubby is out playing softball as he does twice or three times a week during the season. This should be a blessed moment of me time. But I've just set my alarm for 4AM and I know I should be asleep right now. I just can't sleep. My best friend is going to be leaving for Indonesia in a couple of months - her husband has been there in charge of disaster relief for many months already. I'm going to miss her so much. And I have so few other friends right now. I have one close friend, G; we've seen each other through hell and high water. But we are friends despite the fact that we don't have a lot in common. We have once-a-week playdates (she has a 1 and a 4 year old) and go to each other's parties & BBQ's. I love her dearly, but I can't talk to her about everything I think about. I had one other very close friend but she's grown away from me in the past few years and sometimes I just don't know what to say to her. I had two very close friends in law school, but now they both live in California while I'm in Boston.

Yes, I'll admit it. I'm lonely. My husband cannot be my entire support network. I never expected him to be, nor did he want that. But sometimes he is just that on a de facto basis. And sometimes I can't stand him. Sometimes I just want to scream at him. I haven't really gotten over the big money fight a month or so back. There's this line in a Pink Floyd song - "quiet desperation is the English way" - and damned if I don't feel English right now. I do still love him, but I hate the way he treats me when we fight. I don't know what we have in common anymore either. He loves motorcycles and football and playing softball with his team. Oh yeah, and sex. I don't know what the hell I love (other than our little girl of course). I love sleeping. I wish I could sleep for a year. I used to love studying Russian and French, and reading about Paris in the hopes that someday I might get to spend the six-months-to-a-year there that I'd need to become fluent. That's clearly not going to happen, at least until I retire. I used to like going to the theater. Now I'd rather sleep. I used to like movies. Now I wait for them to come on HBO so I can fall asleep to them. I like to eat. Yeah, that's going to work out well for my weight when I wean the little girl. I have loved sex at times in the past, but I don't right now. Often I'd much rather just be left alone to - you guessed it - sleep. I don't know if I have it in me to be the enthusiastic exhibitionist sex-crazed slut my husband needs me to be. Aaargh. I'm shutting down this line of discussion right now.

Anyway, what I meant to say is that my best friend is going to be moving to Indonesia very soon and I am going to miss her very much. And I don't have anyone to step into her best-friend shoes. Which means I am soon going to be very much alone. Just me, my sweet and hungry husband, and our wonderful little girl.

I think I'm going to invent an imaginary friend.