Throwing Away the Books
A few months ago I started losing sleep over Amos’ sleeping. He was pretty bad at it from the very start, but he was getting worse and worse. Every night, he made his dad or me sit next to his bed and hold his hand while he fell asleep. That would be fine if he zonked out in 5 minutes or less, but we were averaging probably about 45 minutes, and sometimes it would take an hour and a half. And then he woke up every night, and one of us would just go get in bed with him because we didn’t have the energy to go through the cry-it-out method. It was getting worse, and I was pining for my evenings back so that maybe I could sweep the kitchen every once in a while, or perhaps catch a glimpse of my husband to see how he was wearing his beard these days and maybe even have a conversation with him.
I attacked the sleep problem like I do most of these parenting-related challenges: I googled. But the answers there were disjointed, and chat rooms are about the worst place in the world for anxious parents to hang out. So I got a couple of books. And sadly, the books were even more upsetting. One book in particular, “Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child,” came to us from a friend who’d endured similar trials. So I read it cover to cover and was appalled. I’m sure there were loads of good ideas in there, but I was distracted by the case studies that had a 3-year-old sleeping through the night after half a week of crying it out, say, or maybe a 2-year-old putting himself to sleep after only one night of his parents getting hardcore on him. Amos was way more stubborn than these kids, and I knew it because I’d tried most of the suggested tricks with no success. And then the book cited absolutely horrifying studies, or maybe it was just the doctor/author’s conjecturing, that children Amos’ age who don’t get hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of sleep a day have a much better chance of being social outcasts, academic failures and ex-cons. Maybe I was reading between the lines a bit, but his message was clear: If your kid doesn’t put himself to sleep effortlessly and sleep 12 hours straight, you suck. And you’ve ruined your kid’s life.
Enter friend Sarah, who offered to let us borrow her white noise machine. I didn’t have high hopes, but figured it couldn’t hurt. It’s been almost 2 weeks now, and I’m delighted to report that Amos went to bed 5 minutes ago, and both Rodney and I are stationed safely in the living room while Amos is bedding down alone. I would say the white noise machine was miraculous, but in fact he only used it the first 5 nights of our little experiment. After that, he told us he didn’t like it, but he still kept staying in bed for the most part even when we left his room. There have been lots of ups and downs, both literally and metaphorically, but it’s pretty clear that Amos was simply ready to start going to bed alone. That’s why it was taking him longer and longer to get to sleep with us sitting there. We were bothering him and not getting the message to scram because just a few months ago he would have pitched a cross-eyed, puke-inducing fit if we’d left his room before REM set in.
What I figured out, for about the 85th time and maybe it will stick this go-round, is that kids will do what they need to do when they decide to do it. They’ll drop the bottle, lose the pacifier, use the potty, master talking, etc., when they get around to it. The best thing I can do to facilitate these accomplishments is cheer lead, offer bribes of donuts and park trips, then chill out and step back.
Maybe the books are helpful for a lot of people, but they just make me crazy and nervous and anxious and incredibly irritated. Because most of the tricks aren’t really tricks, and they don’t work like a charm and parenting is frustrating even when the sleep experts are telling you what to do. The kids always outwit the experts, and they always seem to figure out what they need to figure out on their own timeline. So I’m done with the parenting self-help/advice genre. Seriously this time.
Tags: advice, books, sleep problems
As Good As Christmas Cards
Have you gotten the Christmas card I sent yet? The one with the professional photos and the heartfelt annual Bailey family update? No, you’re right. You haven’t. Because I never sent them. I’m good for Christmas cards about one year out of three. And I always feel like such a slacker in the off years. But I think I’ve hit on a good way to not feel so guilty about it. This year I got a batch of valentines with Amos’ picture on them, and putting them in the mail magically erased the slacker guilt I’ve been hauling around since the holidays. I only got ten, but next year I have grand plans to send out bunches. Who doesn’t like getting valentines? And that way I can procrastinate through the crazy stressful Christmas season without feeling like such a burnout. Anyway, this is my plan. But if next V-Day comes and goes with no adorable card from the Baileys,please forget I mentioned it.
Tags: christmas, procrastinating
Wordless
Amos has hair issues. He refuses to go to the barber shop, so I sneak in and cut it while he’s sleeping at night. That means he looks kind of nutty. See?
My mom cuts my hair, and I'm cool with that.
Tags: haircuts
What do you do when your son turns 3?
Today is Amos’ birthday. 3! We’re trying to be positive and happy about it, but of course there are moments of sniffling and heartbreak. He’s officially big now. I have a friend who took to her bed the day her youngest boy went off to kindergarten. Today, I know exactly how she was feeling. Rodney and I are tough though, and we put on happy faces and have been celebrating the big day all week. Here are some of the highlights:
Spiderman cake? Digger cake? Undecided, so we did both.
Not bad.
Birthday boys get to wear spiderman masks to school. Everyone knows that.
Tags: birthdays
Senior Reading
Have any of you picked up a copy of Cosmo lately? Me neither. The very last things I need right now are 50 sex tricks to blow his mind, or makeup tips for a night on the town. Who has the time? I was breezing through the break room at work earlier though, and a magazine there did catch my eye. Look out world, because I’m about to “Get Organized! 30 Quick and Inexpensive Ideas,” and after that I’ll be whipping up “Home-Cooked Comfort Soups & Stews.” Ooh, there’s also a special section on heart health! And some chocolate recipes. The Lucky magazine lying there with all the cute clothes and shopping tidbits seemed dull in comparison to this rocking February issue of Family Circle. Yes, I’m sitting here on my lunch break reading Family Circle. Will Reader’s Digest be next? Make fun of me if you like. I’ll be fine, probably too busy enjoying my 15-minute red pepper tomato soup to even notice. Holla!
Tags: reading
Big Brother Class
Amos will be a big brother in, oh, about 5 weeks now, so we’ve been amping up the preparations. It’s amazing how much he knows without us telling him explicitly. I thank daycare and television for some of that, and some of it is just because toddlers are wise. Has anyone else noticed that they know pretty much everything about everything? I’m not being sarcastic, they really do. Last night when I was slumped over on the couch with my shirt pulled up a bit to air out my itchy belly Homer Simpson style, Amos came over unprompted and scratched around my belly button for a while, then asked, “Is my brother coming out now?” So empathetic. Maybe obstetrics is in his future.
A while ago Amos earned his big brother wings at a class at Baptist Hospital. We tromped around the maternity ward and a nurse read a book to the kids about newborns, but mostly what I remember is lots and lots of directives to the kids to not touch babies on their heads and to wash hands constantly. Good stuff. Amos refused to don the scrubs and medical mask they had on offer (missed photo opportunity!), but he was happy to play with his assigned baby doll. He did okay, I think we’ll make it as long as Amos follows the nurse’s advice to touch only the baby’s feet.
A natural with the bottle.
Excellent snuggle skills.
What the hell is that?
Signs the Snow Days Must End
Sure, Monday at home was swell. Tuesday, though, was a little much. I wanted out. Why?
1. Snowball fights aren’t fun anymore after the 2-year-old gets pelted in the face. Do all snowball fights end in tears? Maybe it’s just a thing with my family.
2. Some husbands seem to think that no work=no need to shower. I’ve heard this is fairly common. My living room smells like a bear den after a long winter.
3. My cabin fever desperation manifested yesterday in a death march trek up the hill to Arkansas Burger Company, just for a change of scenery. The trip there actually went alright — we pretended the stroller was a sleigh, and Rodney and I took turns pretending to be Rudolf out in front. But the roof at Arkansas Burger Company was leaking, which meant everything smelled like rot. And the 20-degree walk home over icy parking lots and through knife-sharp winds may have been exorbitantly treacherous.
Spring officially starts March 21. Hooray!
Tags: snow
Amos’ First Tattoo
Last night Rodney and Amos headed out on one of their manly adventures. Usually they go to Target to look at toys, sometimes they swing by the grocery store, sometimes the gas station. You know, man time. Last night Rodney told me they were going to the bank. That may have happened, but about 45 minutes after they left I received this photo on my phone:
Bring it.
For those of you without any ink, allow me to translate. This is a photo of Amos sitting in a chair at Electric Heart Tattoos in Hillcrest, with Caleb Pritchett, Little Rock’s absolute best tattoo artist, getting ready to decorate my 2-year-old’s forearm with a dinosaur. I mean, of course we want the best for our little one, right? Before anyone calls DHS, let me assure you that the dinosaur is really just a glorified sticker that washes off after 5 or 6 showers (which means it’ll be visible until around late spring).
Amos apparently hopped right into the chair to get his dinosaur decoration going, which shocks me considering that we had to forcefully pin him down at the kid-friendly Crewcuts and Pigtails hair salon, and he pitched such a fit that we still ended up getting kicked out of there. But apparently a tattoo shop where people are bleeding and getting poked with needles is less alarming to a 2-year-old somehow? I know it is to me, but who’d have thought Amos would agree?
It turns out the tattoo was just an extra perk, and that the boys were mainly visiting the Pritchetts’ shop to pick up some gorgeous prints done by Caleb’s wife Christie at Roll & Tumble Press. We’re using her artwork to decorate the baby room. (Go look at her stuff and get some, I won’t be mad if you copy.)
Here’s a shot of the proud Amos, who’s been roaring like a T. Rex since he got home.
More like daddy every day.
And a closeup:
Nice work.
Austin Bailey used to like traveling, snazzy restaurants, oversized mugs of beer and sleeping late. Now she likes nesting, Wacky Packs, coffee drinks and sleeping through the night. 