it worked!

Captain's Log, Stardate 2006:
The first attempt was a success. Subject remained in bed from 8:00 pm to 8:30 am. Any thoughts of fully awakening were quickly remedied with nursing back to sleep before both eyes opened. The length of each sleep stretch is unknown, as this writer chose to turn the clock away from the bed. The fact remains, however, that subject did not stay awake until 1 am.
The one downside to the success of this experiment is that some time around 2:30 am, this writer discovered that the sleeping subject's diaper was very, very wet. Guiltily debated whether to wake subject for a diaper change, at the risk of subject staying awake indefinitely, or pretending not to know and hoping that this would not lead to a rash. This writer chose the latter route, which led to a period of guilty wakefulness over the decision. Still no diaper rash as of this writing.

Tonight we'll see if the success continues . . .

bedtime: the saga continues

Last night, bedtime lasted two and a half hours. It started with soft Christmas music, Goodnight Moon, and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." It ended, as usual, with nursing in our bed at 1 am. I have rehashed everything that happened in between far too many times today. But bear in mind, by bedtime I mean, when I want Ghoulie to fall asleep. I am not even counting the hour and a half beforehand that she was bathed, cuddled, nursed, and cuddled some more.
A huge, huge part of this bedtime problem is our fault; we have trouble creating the idea that it is nighttime before 11:00. To us it's nighttime -- but to Ghoulie, it's all the same. People to catnap on, then wake up and play with. Lights and TV and conversation. Who could sleep?
So I am taking responsibility and creating a very loose sleep schedule that will work for Ghoulie. I woke her up this morning at 9:00. She was pretty pissed about it. After short naps during the day -- no, I don't advocate short naps, but apparently Ghoulie does. One thing at a time here, okay? -- she was rubbing her head on my shoulder at 6:30. I cruelly kept her awake by playing with her until 7:45, at which time she fell asleep in the car on the drive home from my parents'.
Now, at 8:30, she is asleep in our bed, where she will stay for the night. She already woke up once to nurse, but she drifted off once she was finished.
For now, I'm thinking of it as an experiment. Keep your fingers crossed for happy results. I'll report on my findings tomorrow.

appearances can be deceiving

The Little Ghoulie is, at first glance, a delicate little thing. Slightly small for her age, nice and round but still petite. Her eyes are big and somber, the rest of her features are -- dare I say it? -- dainty. Little nose, little mouth, little ears. (Little hair, too, but we've already covered that.) When she meets new people, she gives them a dainty little grin and they think she is so sweet and innocent and fragile.

Her Daddy and I never bought into that act.

And lately, we have proven ourselves right. Ghoulie has two favorite new tricks: First, the biggest, loudest raspberries in the world. I mean, the kind that makes giant bubbles on her chin. That trick is, admittedly, hilarious and adorable. The second, though, I could do without.

She grunts.

A lot.

Loud, long grunts that at first made both grandmothers ask when she had last pooped. But then she pooped, and kept right on grunting. She has taken to doing this in grocery store lines, in church during prayer time, and in the middle of pivotal scenes during Law and Order: SVU. And in the middle of her mommy desperately trying to blog for once.

The grunting appears to accompany teething pain, tiredness, hunger, diaper wetness, and general boredom. It also surfaces when Ghoulie does not get what she wants -- which tonight was popcorn and Craisins. If she sees anyone else eating something, she wants it. (The very same reason her Daddy now insists that her Mommy order a separate dessert when they go out, instead of saying, "Just bring a second spoon.") And if by some chance Ghoulie gets a taste of something, but then that something is taken away, look out. All hell with be broken loose by the delicate six-month-old flower.

Between Jake and I, we figured we were bound to have an opinionated, willful child. We just didn't expect that fact to surface just yet.

dream meanings for dummies

My sister, my mother, and I had something of a morning ritual when I was younger. We still return to it when we are all together over the holidays or during random weekend visits. Over coffee, in our pajamas, we tell each other any interesting dreams we had the night before. Once the dreamer has described any bizarre nightly imaginings, the listeners wrinkle their noses and wonder, "What do you think it means?" Usually, we find the answer. Sometimes we need to wait until my psychologist aunt comes for a visit of her own, if the dream is too strange for us to handle. But most of the time, we come up with some brilliant explanation.
My sister and her husband are scheduled to arrive here from Cleveland tomorrow morning, and apparently my subconscious is gearing up for the visit:
Today Ghoulie and I did one of our favorite things: we took a nap together. And it was a nice nap, a good nap, the kind that includes real, deep sleep. Which has been in short supply around here for the last, oh, six, seven, maybe eight months.
Such deep sleep, and such a long nap, that I actually had a dream. I can't remember the last time I had a dream. That is not even an exaggeration, sadly -- I really can't think of one time since my little all-night nurser was born that I have had a dream I could remember once I woke up. Being a little rusty on the interpretation end of things, my subconscious decided to be nice and obvious for my mom, my sister, and myself. I don't think we'll even need a cup of coffee first to interpret this one.
First of all, in real life, Ghoulie is busily mastering the art of sitting up. (She's quite good.) Also, we were discussing Target this morning. I'm not sure why -- yes I am. We were contemplating where to buy a highchair, and I was railing against the national chain store in which we registered for baby needs, which shall remain nameless but does not associate itself with a cartoon giraffe. Actually it associates itself with coats. And it stopped selling the highchair we wanted for Ghoulie, weeks before my baby shower. But nevermind all that. Let's move on to my dream world.

I'm outside a department store, looking for a carriage. Since Ghoulie can sit up, I decide to leave her sling in the car, and put her in the front of the carriage -- like a big girl! But, I have a hell of a time finding a carriage that works for us. First I find one that has a great seat for a baby in the front -- but it turns out to be a jogging stroller, and won't hold all the things I need to buy. Next, I find a clean, new, big carriage -- but it doesn't have any place to put a baby. Finally I find a corral full of carriages perfect for shopping with a baby -- but they are all broken in some way, or wheel-less or otherwise falling apart. I cannot find one carriage, despite searching the entire store and the vast parking lot, THAT WILL MEET THE NEEDS OF BOTH GHOULIE AND MYSELF.
And of course, the entire, very long carriage searching experience is continuously interuppted by well-meaning strangers wanting to help, other customers at the store getting in my way, and random old ladies wanting to hold my baby for their own gratification. It is all very stressful. Here I am supposed to be shopping for all our household needs, and I've been at the store for like two hours and have not managed to find even one of the many items I am here to buy, because I am so occupied with trying to find the perfect arrangement for Ghoulie and me. And it JUST ISN'T WORKING.

Back to the real world, where Ghoulie is a little annoyed that I've been benignfully neglecting her for the last 20 minutes. Can't wait to discuss the dream with my mom and sis -- over a pot of decaf.

"motherhood -- it's hot!"

Have you ever seen the Livestrong bands they sell at Motherhood Maternity, to benefit the March of Dimes? They're red and they have the afore-quoted sweet saying emblazoned on one side. Jake wore one when I was pregnant. It was cute.
The reality of it, however, I must call into question.
Ghoulie appears to be approaching her six-month growth spurt. She's nursing every two hours or so, all night long. On top of that, we're all recovering from a nasty cold that seems to have overtaken the entire state of New Hampshire.
This morning, I awoke 30 minutes later than I wanted to -- having once again set the alarm for 8 pm -- and rushed into the shower. Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror: droopy eyes, serious case of bedhead . . . and a cute little baby booger stuck to my cleavage.