A taste of spring, a touch of sleep deprivation

She gets more email than me. Probably has more Facebook friends, too.

She gets more email than me. Probably has more Facebook friends, too.

Spring sprang for a few hours today. And it was lovely. Stella and I went for a sun-drenched walk, and later, we sat outside on the quilt Mimi made. (If only Stella would put down her Blackberry and live in the moment once in a while!) This evening, it rained cats, dogs, and ponies. It was like two days’ worth of weather crammed into one. I was confused. Stella loved it all. She enjoys rainy walks in the carrier and even helps me hold the umbrella.

Have I mentioned how much Stella loves going for strolls in the Baby Bjorn? We head out two or three times per day, rain or shine. I am beginning to wonder if our wandering, and general lack of structure, is getting the way of a proper “sleep schedule.” You see, I basically follow Stella’s lead. When she seems hungry, I feed her. When she seems tired, I put her down for a nap, or to bed for the night. In recent weeks, she developed a lovely habit of falling asleep upon finishing a bottle. HOWEVER. Lately, it isn’t so easy. Stella is fighting sleep, especially during the day. And I’m not sure what to do about it.

There are lots of theories on why this happens and what to do about it. I have an annoying book called Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child. I hadn’t looked at it in months but perused the section about five- to 12-month-old babies today, immediately prompting near record levels of neurosis. Apparently, Stella should be awake by 7am. Then have a nap at 9am and 1pm, and perhaps, another late afternoon nap if she seems tired. Well, today, Stella woke up around 9am, napped for almost two hours (unusual and fantastic) at noon, then napped for five minutes at around 4:30pm. And that was that until she went to bed at 9:30pm, after her last bottle of the day. Every day is a little different, but most often she doesn’t nap for more than 30 to 45 minutes at a time tops. As a result of this, my annoying book tells me, my brilliant, usually cheerful Stella is on the path to A.D.D. and behavioral problems. (I told you this book was obnoxious–not to mention HORRENDOUSLY EDITED. I will admit, however, it did help us a bit early on. Especially the bit about how sleep begets sleep, and that in their very first weeks and months, babies can really only be happily awake for one to two hours at at time.) In recent days, a troubling trend of screaming and crying–even though she is obviously tired and in need of a nap and rubbing her eyes like crazy–is emerging. The book says that by comforting her, I am being a terrible, terrible parent. What to do?

Spring looks good on Stella.

Spring looks good on Stella.

Before I decide what, if anything, I need to do about Stella’s sleep schedule or lack thereof, I am going to see what happens over the next day or two. We just enjoyed a visit from Mimi and Grampa (my parents), and perhaps all the excitement got us out of our normal rhythm. Or maybe she’s teething. Or, I’ve heard that the development of new skills disrupts sleep, so perhaps her recent advancements in the areas of rolling and sitting up have thrown her out of whack. Or the normal phase of seperation anxiety is to blame. Or maybe there’s a pea under her mattress.

THE THING IS. After all the craziness with the feeding aversion and the tube, I think I get especially worked up when she gets worked up. When she cries, there is a part of me that is truly terrified that something is seriously, seriously wrong and if I don’t jump on it, it will explode in our faces. Because way back when her feeding issue was just starting, there were signs. They haunt me.

Crocus Pocus. Spring is starting to work its magic. Hopefully it will extend its powers to Stella's napping.

Crocus Pocus. Spring is starting to work its magic. Hopefully its powers extend to napping.

But there is another part of me–a sane part buried deep within, a beaten down part that often gets drowned out by panic–that knows that babies cry. And that babies often prefer play over sleep. Hek, so do I. Even when I’m exhausted, and when earlier that day I berated my bedraggled self for going to bed late, I’ll stay up and watch LOST. Or write a blog post. Or check Facebook for the billionth time. It’s the same thing. Only instead of Facebook, she has a network called “mom and dad.” And instead of LOST, she has the suspenseful thriller entitled “mom and dad.” And instead of a blog, she has Goodnight Moon (read to her by mom and dad).

So, I’m trying not to worry too much. And just  follow my instincts.

Sunshine helps a bit.

And with that, I’m 41 minutes late to bed myself. A.D.D., here I come!

At six months, a weight is lifted.

Welcome to the ERP (Experience Rice cereal Project).

Welcome to the ERP (Experience Rice cereal Project).

Stella has been weighed dozens and dozens and dozens of times during her six months here on earth. More times than the average Orange County housewife–nevermind the average baby. Many more times than a parent can reasonably expect to endure while maintaining his or her sanity. For close to three months, we went to the pediatrician’s office weekly for official weigh-ins. She was weighed every three hours during our four-day stay at Children’s Hospital in November. I’ve weighed her at home, before and after nursing her, on a fancy rented scale that I turned to out of desperation in the the time before the tube when I was trying to figure out how much milk she was getting from me and what the hek was bothering her so much. Lately, every few days, I’ve popped her onto the cheap baby scale I bought when the tube came out. I suppose, technically, she was also weighed before birth, when I stepped on the scale at the start of each prenatal check-up.

At this rate, Stella and I will wind up with a majorly problematic focus on her weight for years to come. (“Stella, what did I tell you? Put down the broccoli and have a cupcake!”) And a weight obsession of any kind is just about the LAST THING I want for my precious girl.

So, it is with much relief and joy-bulation that I announce the good news: Stella Weigh-In Mania (SWIM) is officially over. Today, at Stella’s six-month “well child” check-up, after a full six weeks without the NG tube, she proved that we don’t need to worry anymore. No more weekly weight checks. Our only future appointment is for her nine-month “well child” visit. Hallelujah!

Things are looking up.

Things are looking up.

Needless to say, the appointment went VERY WELL. There was no stand-off between me and Dr. Numrych, as I’d feared might happen if the scale didn’t tip in our favor. She gained more weight than we expected. She’s growing longer (taller?) at a quick clip. And her head is more gigantic than ever. The subject matter at today’s check-up didn’t involve tubes or high-density formulas or other craziness aimed at helping her gain weight. It was refreshingly normal. Topics of discussion revolved around spoon feeding and baby-proofing. Here are her stats, including the dreaded percentiles:

  • 16 pounds, 8.5 ounces (between 50th  and 75th %)
  • 26.5 inches long (75th %)
  • 45.3 cm head circumference (+97th %)

After all we’ve been through, these numbers are worth celebrating. Even the god damned percentiles. Though, I hope that I can think about percentiles as often as I think about, say, checking my car’s oil (every couple of years–sorry, dad, I’ll get on that).

Necessary but not cause for celebration were Stella’s shots. And there were many. She handled FOUR SHOTS (plus an oral rota virus vaccine) like a champ. One was an optional flu shot. Scores of people in my “circles” have been dropped like bad habits by the flu. Otherwise I probably wouldn’t have allowed her to receive so many shots at once. Right after the nurse gave her the three standard shots, Cody realized that they’d forgotten the flu shot. So they had to go tromp through the halls to retrieve it, then come back and inject her again, after she’d calmed down (with the help of a pacifier) from the initial three. Well, oddly enough, when stuck for the fourth time, she didn’t cry. In fact, I am not even sure she noticed the shot at all. Perhaps her chubby little thighs were in shock.

All dressed up in her Wednesday best.

All dressed up in her Wednesday best.

I think Cody and I were in shock upon seeing the number on that scale. We’re always a bit quiet and tense right before a weigh-in. In that moment, I cease breathing and put all emotions on hold. Because it always feels like there’s so much riding on it. Upon entering the doctor’s office, I am mute and/or annoyed until I see or hear that number. Cody and I practically did chest bumps and high fives when we heard “sixteen p0unds eight and a half ounces” announced with appropriate enthusiasm by the nurse. I honestly wanted to bust out with a rendition of Public Enemy’s “Bring the Noise”–something Cody and I do quite well. “Black is back, all in, we’re gonna win, check it out, yeah y’all c’mon, here we go again, turn it up! Bring the noise!” I think Stella would’ve enjoyed it. Maybe next time.

A brighter day.

Stella, sunshine and sculptures, oh my!

Stella, sunshine and sculptures, oh my!

Okay. So we’re 99% sure that Stella’s change in eating habits is due to the pain of teething. I heard from Robin today and she reminded me that it will take months for us to really relax and not worry so much about how she eats. Stella is just fine. We are expecting a tooth to make an appearance any day now–perhaps we’ll see it tomorrow, on her 6-month birthday! She’ll eat more when she is ready. I have faith in her. We’re doing better.

Let’s just say that I’m so glad yesterday is yesterday. I’d started to freak out about Stella’s fussiness around eating–BIG TIME. With my dear friend Kari, I caught an excellent and poignant, but exceedingly depressing independent film, WENDY AND LUCY.  Picked the wrong day to see that one. Then, on the way out of the theater, I was berated within an inch of my life by a belligerent, drunk homeless woman! She assaulted me a barrage of mindblowingly crude insults, some of them tailored to what she’d overheard me saying about the movie, laced with the worst expletives you can imagine for five solid minutes (while we walked down the block and then as we waited for the light to change so we could cross) . On the drive home, I was involved with a scary near-miss (or as George Carlin would’ve more accurately dubbed it, a “near-hit”) with a distracted driver from Ohio, apparently. A few blocks later, I almost hit a pedestrian at the huge intersection at Denny and Boren–I hit the gas when the light turned green, when suddenly I saw a pedestrian right in front of me. I couldn’t help but wonder if my negative energy was attracting all this nonsense. It motivated me to think more positively. Before bed, I paged through Louise Hay’s You Can Heal Your Life. And slowly but surely, I have begun to feel just a little bit better. I expect that trend to continue.

Squinty Squinterson

Squinty Squinterson

We took a stroll through the Olympic Sculpture Park today. Stella loved it. The sun was very bright, causing her to squint like crazy, so we had to bust out her sweet, hand-me-down (thanks Julia!) pink shades for the first time. I couldn’t help but be surprised when, after we popped them on her cute face, everyone in the park didn’t stop in their tracks, with jaws open, and form a line to admire her adorableness. In my eyes, nothing in the park–none of the art, not the sunny weather, nor the views of the water and mountains–compared to the brightness of Stella. I was reminded of how to simply be happy. Thanks, Stella.

Beachy keen (on the shore at the Olympic Sculpture Park)

Beachy keen (on the shore at the Olympic Sculpture Park)