“The difference between you and I, Mom, is that I make cooking look good.“
This week Bay’s bag of choice was my big beach tote. She could easily fit inside it if she wanted and it takes her two little baby man hands plus a lot of strength to carry it around, but she loves it.
A bottle of lotion
Butt Paste diaper rash cream
A ziploc bag
Her Mini Mouse purse – she needs a bag to carry all her bags!
Play food ice cream and cookies
A bowl of Goldfish crackers
Her Barbie cup
The box from a new bottle of Benadryl
Her “goggles” – she think because her sun glasses have a strap that they are goggles
Her business card that daddy made. It reads:
Baylor E. Wand
BaP (Big Girl at Play)
Available for Bar Mitzvahs, Weddings, Parties and Funerals
This morning at 1am, during my second visit to Baylie’s room and after Peter’s second visit to her room, I found myself thinking the same phrase over and over; Baylie is a sleep terrorist.
When Bay was a newborn and several months after, I knew I wasn’t going to get any sleep. Not that knowing I wasn’t going to sleep at night was any prize, but the alternative was the anticipation of a restful sleep and then having it repeatedly disrupted. While I have the honed skill of not having to be fully awake in order to comfort B and get her back to sleep, lately the process has been a bit more involved, Rocking her, barganing with her and then putting up with a few minutes of screaming (both Baylie and myself) in order to get her to go back to sleep is forcing me to be in a hightented state of awareness. Thus making me very cranky.
As I was trying to guess the reason she couldn’t get back to sleep this morning, I couldn’t help but think that these little acts of wakefulness are indeed acts of terrorism. They are meant to make me feel a little uneasy each night, never really knowing if it’s going to be a dream-filled peaceful night or one where I pull myself out of my cozy bed, stomp across the living room and focus very hard on not falling alseep in the glider and thus dropping the kiddo. Only to put her in her crib and have her spring back up screaming.
And so the Sleep Terrorist wins another battle…
This is the second edition of “What’s in Baylie’s Bag?”. In case you missed the first, I am documenting the crazy things that Ms.B likes to carry around with her in an edition posted each week.
This week, Bay chose the baby buggy that once belonged to her Aunt Ali and myself as her method of transportation of her treasure. The contents? Why Barbies, of course.
Peter Rabbit themed Barbie
Bath Tub Barbie
A bowl that once contained Goldfish crackers that were most likely stealthily eaten by Bear T. Dog – now containing a play food ice cream cone
A wiffle ball
The instructions to her Peg Play game which she opens and pretends to read by saying “read read read”. Also a few pegs and the strings from the game
The bathing suit and towel costume from her new and very much loved Build-A-Bear brand “Kat”. We can’t be normal and just build a bear, we build cats
UofA Wildcat puppet – BEARDOWN!!!
For those non Catholics (or Catholics who forgot) today is Ash Wednesday – which is why many are walking around with what looks to be schmutz from pressing their forehead against a dirty window. It is the commencement of Lent, the time where we prepare for Easter. Or otherwise known as the time where people come up with something silly in their lives to give up and promptly bail on it four days later.
Baylie and I attended Mass this morning with Pop and Noni (Jim and Jude – my parentals) and also Uncle Mike (“Aaah My” as B says) joined us. We were a minute late and ended up sitting in front of Pop and Noni – which means Bay spent the entire hour walking or trying to climb back to them.
After getting our ashes, B was horrified. I have passed my germ-a-phobe ways on to her so she was disgusted by the fact everyone had dirt on their heads. She made a face that she usually only uses when she is telling me she needs a diaper change – a furrowed brow, a wrinkled nose and her little gapped front teeth showing. She then proceeded to point to each of our heads and say “eeewwwww”. When I pointed out that she too had the dirt, she began to rub her own head and mine to get clean. Thankfully she’s adorable so most of the parishioners around us didn’t mind her judgment.
Needless to say, the ashes didn’t make it to pancakes after church.
Last Sunday afternoon, we decided to venture out to one of the great hiking trails near our home and enjoy some nature. It had rained the night before so we knew the desert would be particularly beautiful. The clouds were big and puffy, the air clear, it couldn’t have been nicer. Peter carried Ms.B in the backpack and we enjoyed some great family time.
The Iphone camera doesn’t do the view justice. There is snow on the Four Peaks in the distance. Cotton candy clouds and blue blue skies.
A few weeks ago a friend told me that her son got a small staph infection from his pacifier after having a bad cold. I made the mistake of sharing this anecdote with Peter who immediately decided it was time to throw Baylie’s “minkies” out the door.
While I know that at some point she was going to have to give up the pacifier, I just figured it was something we would do when she was, like, 10. So I held him off for about 2 weeks but lost the battle this past weekend. I had to agree that it wasn’t the worst idea to get rid of them – I was just afraid of the aftermath.
Aaaannnddd I was right.
After nap time on Saturday, Peter got a big envelope and wrote “For the Babies” on the outside. Then Bay got to add her personal touch and one by one, add the pacifiers to the envelope. She was happy to pack 7 of them away, but hesitated on the last one. After gentle encouragement from Daddy, she happily added the last one. They sealed it up and put it in the mailbox. All we had to do now was wait for the inevitable meltdown.
That night was rough getting her to sleep, but not the end of the world. She fussed a little during the night, but for the most part, it was not the end of the world. She did cry for several minutes saying “buuhh bbbyyyeeeee!!!! buh byeeee!!!” in the saddest voice I’ve ever heard. It was killing me. The solution to her pain was a mere 5 feet away in the mailbox outside the front door and I couldn’t get it for her. I was dying. But she quickly calmed down with a rock and a kiss and then slept semi well.
The big issue was nap time on Sunday. I knew it was going to be ugly, I just didn’t know how ugly it could be. I again rocked her to sleep and then put her down only to watch her pop back up a second later. We decided to let her cry it out for 10 minutes. At 4 minutes, I was concerned about the sounds that were coming out of B’s little mouth so I went into check on her. Apparently in an act of opposition, Bay had torn off her diaper and proceeded to pee all over her crib. A.MA.ZING. Peter continued to rock her in the bedroom while I stripped down her bed. An additional hour of rocking and she finally went down and stayed down. Sheesh.
Sunday night I was not up for the fight and was this close to giving in and getting the minkies out of the mailbox. Thankfully Peter’s competitiveness outweighed his exhaustion so he took over the downing process. There was the typical fussing and then silence. He exited her room and there was still silence. I was so grateful, but not amazed. Peter has had the ability to calm the kiddo since the second she was born. She was all screams when she was carried to the side of the delivery room to be weighed and measured and it wasn’t until Peter leaned down and whispered to her that she was quiet. When I asked what his secret was for getting her to calm down this time, he said that he simply made her look him in the eye while he told her that she was a big girl and that she could go to sleep without a pacifier. She responded “noooo” and so he repeated himself. She then responded “ok” and laid down in her crib. Done and done. Daddy does it again!
Nap time today was rough. The kid has some amazing lungs. A few minutes of quiet time, 10 minutes of crying followed by 10 minutes of rocking and she was out. This is a significant improvement over yesterday so I’m thinking by Friday, we should be in a good place. I’m pushing the blankie and a stuffed animal of her choice so that she gets attached to one of them. As someone who had her yellow satin blankie until she was 11 years old and took Foofur the dog with her to college, I think these are safer options. People might laugh if she has a pacifier. But a stuffed dog is always in style.