Baby Naps

Why I sleep with my back to my baby....



I don't understand the co-sleeping phenomenon. How can I sleep with this perfect little face in front of me? My eyes refuse to close with something so beautiful before them. The impulse to kiss the fullness of his cheeks and to rub the softness of his tiny hands overwhelms me, and if I do then he wakes up, squandering my rare moment of rest. So now I've learned to only indulge in his sleeping beauty for a few minutes, then I turn my back to him. Sometimes his warm foot or hand will fall against my back and instantly I am asleep. When he begins to stir I wake not only rested but restored, then I turn back to him and bask in his smiling reaction to my face.

You Indian!

Little Beauty has begun name-calling. It started when she told her little brother, who was hitting himself in the face with his tiny fists, "Don't hit yourself in the face you silly Indian!"

As she repeated this phrase over and over again, as is the tendency of a three-year-old, my husband and I looked at each other, wondering where she got the term Indian and what exactly she meant when she called her little brother one.

The mystery was solved a few nights later when I was washing her hair in the tub and some water got into her eyes. With her little eyes squeezed shut she shouted at me, "You got water in my eyes - you Indian!" Suddenly, it sounded familiar to me, and then I got it. What she meant was - you idiot.

Sadly, idiot is a term I'm fond of and obviously I throw it around a bit too much. Note to self: watch the idiot ejections. All I said to LB in the tub was that it wasn't nice to call names and I made her apologize. I didn't correct her. I didn't tell her that what she meant to say was idiot not Indian. Maybe I should have. It's probably worse for her to throw around what some consider a racial epithet rather than an ordinary insult. I'll have to think more about that one.

Then we were at the park the other day when LB discovered some graffiti on her beloved rock climbing wall. She said, "Mama, look what some dummies did. They're ruining our park!" I agreed with her and told her she was right - and I didn't say anything about her using the word dummies, mainly because I agreed with her and thought she was right. Moreover, she wasn't using the word to be mean. It was simply and adjective - an astute one at that.

Post-Widsom

Seven days of excruciating pain and counting. The perks evaporated as the bruises appeared. My husband is calling me "Vicki" because I renewed my perscription for vicodin. This is not pleasant.

The Wisdom in my Teeth

After having all four of my impacted wisdom teeth yanked from my head within the space of an hour (bravo to my oral surgeon), I've spent the majority of the last two days in bed hopped up on a cocktail of vicodin, ibuprofen and acetaminophen. The swelling and the pain has been intense, yes, but the perks are worth mentioning.

Did you catch the part where I said I've spent the last two days in bed? A miracle for a mother. When we arrived home from the dental office my husband parked me in bed, popped in one my favorite movies, The Big Lebowski (and if you've seen The Big Lebowski you'd know it's well suited to vicodin-laden viewing) and then hauled the kids off to the park. Normally when he takes the kids anywhere I tackle the chores that are otherwise impossible with kidlets underfoot.

Another perk: I couldn't talk, at least not with any volume or clarity due to the wads of gauze in each cheek, the dryness of my throat and the numbness of my entire lower face. So what was the perk? Well, when I felt the compulsion to control coming over me, I was simply unable to give commands. I had to let go. I had to forgo asking my daughter is she wiped, flushed and washed after each visit to the potty. I couldn't raise my voice over my screaming son's to tell my husband to rock him not bounce him. My voicelessness forced me to relinquish my control over the minute workings of our family - and no bad has come of it. My daughter has not fallen ill due to poor hygiene and my son eventually got to sleep. All is well and I have discovered a measure of peace and freedom that comes from giving up micromanagement.

Another perk: La Leche League faithfuls please forgive me, but the responsibility of nursing my five-month-old son fell from my shoulders and I reveled in it - I reveled in the bottle! My husband fed him, my Little Beauty was delighted to feed him, and he was fine with it. I am still nursing him at about every other feeding, but I feel that this episode has given me the chance to wean him. Bring on the sexy bras!!!