the pieces of my life

Sleeping is now our least favorite thing. We’re trying to incorporate a “sleep ritual,” as all the books recommend. It’s a lovely ritual. It involves a massage (for the Doodlebug, although, really, I’m the one who needs it), a reading of Goodnight Moon, and two or three songs. And sure enough, the Doodlebug will drift off to sleep. For about one hour. And then he’s up. With a vengeance. For hours. Take Monday night, for instance. At about 6 p.m., the Doodlebug was getting extremely heavy eyed. Big yawns. Droopy eyes. So we begin our ritual. He’s pleased with the massage. Entertained by the book. And drifts right off to sleep during the songs (which I like to think is because he thinks my singing is soothing, although I have a hunch it’s more that he realizes if he’s asleep, it’ll stop me from singing any more). I tiptoe downstairs. Adam and I have an evening to ourselves. Yeah! I finish making dinner (chicken cumin with black beans. Yummy!). We curl up on the couch, pop About Schmidt into the DVD player, and start eating. We get fifteen minutes into the movie when little sounds begin squawking from the monitor. “Eh. Eh eh eh. Eh.” We freeze, waiting to see if it’s going to pass. Things get quiet, and we begin eating again. And then it comes. The full out “Waaaaa!” Pause goes the movie, and up I go. After another twenty minutes of heavy eyes, yawns, and droopiness with a heavy helping of pinky sucking and tummy rubbing, we’re back in movie/dinner business. Down I go. Finish eating. Get into the film. And there it is again. The tiny cry of an overtired Doodlebug. This time, I give up, and I go upstairs to pick him up. I bring him downstairs and within three minutes, he’s sprawled across my body fast asleep. As Adam says, the Doodlebug just hates sleeping on flat surfaces. When the movie’s over, I don’t even try to make it upstairs. I put him in the Pack N Play, and within moments… he’s awake (that was a surprise ending, wasn’t it?). Adam and I gave up on the whole bed idea and put him in the swing, in which, again, he was asleep in minutes. Of course, his other favorite sleeping position is in bed with us. When he was a newborn, it was adorable and sweet and I loved, well, probably every other second of it. Now, he flails and snorts and grunts with some strength behind it, which means no sleep for me. But he’s a happy Doodlebug. And I guess that’s what counts. For now, at least. (Just a week or so ago, I swore, “I’ll never let my son cry it out in order to sleep”–otherwise known as Ferberize. Now, I can see a point in the not so distance future where I invest in a pair of ear plugs and sweat it out.)

Christine had her boo, otherwise known as Zachary. And Grant now has a beautiful daughter and he gets to bypass the ’round the clock feedings. Congrats to both!

Adam has reached a new low. I was sitting in my office, updating this very blog, when I heard a strange noise in the living room. When I investigated, I discovered that Adam had fallen asleep in front of his computer, and I was hearing his semi-snoring deep sleep breathing! He’s always fallen asleep in front of the TV, but the computer? What has fatherhood done to him?

I so rarely admit defeat. I tend to not take on challenges unless I know I’m going to finish them. However, this year, Nanowrimo has gotten the best of me. I’m not going to finish. I know there is still a week and a half left, but there’s a canyon between 13,000 words and 50,000 words. And while writing those 13,000 words has been great fun–and I plan on continuing to write–there’s just too much going on. The Doodlebug obviously takes up most of my time and what few waking coherent (okay, semi-coherent) hours I have left, I need to spend on my freelancing work. But I’ll still finish a novel in the next year. Mark my words. That’s one challegne I’ll meet.

The next time I update this blog, my little Doodlebug will have lost his “newborn” status and will simply be “infant.” On Sunday, he is three months old. Three months. Unbelievable. We went to visit friends who had a baby on November 12. He was so incredibly tiny! And amazingly, he was bigger than the Doodlebug when the Doodlebug was born. But the Doodlebug looked like a giant next to Baby Dylan. When I held Dylan, he fit in a nice tight ball right on my chest. The Doodlebug hasn’t been a nice tight anything since he learned if he head butts us at just the right angle, he can knock out a tooth while barely denting his own head (his own head, that I might add, is developing bald spots from lying down in the same position no matter how many times we turn him in other directions). But my Doodlebug is still (with all due respect to other parents out there) the Cutest Baby Ever and he’s only getting more handsome by the day. But does he have to grow so fast?

This article nicely sums up how I often feel about my blog. It’s not my mom, I’m worried about, though. It’s… let’s just say, others.

What’s better than a bath with your son? Two baths with your son because he, um, defiled the first one. Bath time has become a joy because the Doodlebug has discovered the joy of nakedness. Our boy is happiest when he’s got nothing on. Miami Beach was thrilling for him because I let him romp in just his diaper. Today, when he got fussy and I couldn’t calm him down, I finally put him on the changing table (his favorite place in the house), took off his diaper, laid a blocker across him so he couldn’t pee on me, and let him sit there bare-butt for ten minutes. It was magic. Adam is concerned that our son’s preference for his bare butt on latex could prove to be problematic in the future.

So, I’m way off on my Nanowrimo goals. Of course, while in Miami Beach, I got a much better idea for my novel, so I started over (and no, I’m not an idiot–I’m counting the old novel parts as part of my word count. I’ll cut the irrelevant stuff out later). However, I simply don’t have the same time (duh) to write as I did, and my word count is falling behind. I’m hoping to get a few good naps out of Doodlebug so I can book ahead. Or else I’ll just have to have a few evening marathon sessions once he’s gone to bed for the night.

The wedding I attended in Miami Beach was great on many, many levels. The bride was a good friend from high school. The ceremony was short, sweet, and romantic. The food was delish. I got to see high school friends I haven’t seen in years (sorry, Willie, that I didn’t recognize you!). The music was rockin’. I got to dance with my lovely cousins Milo and Annie. Okay, okay. I know these are all nice. But, you’re thinking, there’s got to more. And there was. There was the Holy Grail of weddings. There was… a martini bar. Oh, the martini bar. Those of you who have been reading since before my baby days know how I feel about the martini. The martini is perfection in a glass. It must be a true martini, meaning gin, never vodka. Dry, but not extra dry. And olives. Maybe even extra olives. I knew about this martini bar ahead of time. And I planned for it. Because when you’re a mom, drinking is never an impulse decision. So I loaded up my mother (who babysat the Doodlebug while I was at said wedding) with pumped breast milk and formula–enough for about five days of food for the Doodlebug. I packed my breast pump in my purse for the infamous pump ‘n’ dump. And I entered the reception where I had my first martini since January 4 (not that I’m counting, although I will say that I found out I was pregnant on January 5). It was heavenly. I couldn’t wait for my next one. Because I was prepared. However, I didn’t count on the fact that the one martini was going to make me lightheaded and tipsy. And after an additional half a glass of toasting champagne, I was done drinking for the night. Whoo hoo! Party girl had a whole drink! One friggin’ martini. I am so out of practice. The plus side is that one drink does not a pump ‘n’ dump make, so the Doodlebug got his first taste of a real drink. I hope this toughens him up.

We took the Doodlebug to Lincoln Road Mall… and he fell asleep. We took him on a walk to see the Art Deco buildings on Ocean Drive… and he slept. We went to the beach so he could have a good view of the Atlantic… and he slept. He went to the rehearsal dinner at the Crab House… and he slept. I walked him by the house I grew up in… and as we passed it, he slept. He went to lunch at the Rascal House… and, surprise, he slept. All in all, I think the Doodlebug really liked South Beach.