An Ode to the Nap Nanny (which will be used, it seems, until Adelyn can vote.)

A lot of things have happened since I've been back. Nothing big or life-altering. But all things that I'm sure will become a part of my parenting narrative, the early days, when each laugh is celebrated and each accident obsessed over.

On Friday I gave sleep training our first real try. We've been pretty lucky, and although I've googled "magical tricks to make my infant sleep through the night" more times than I can count, we never really had to do anything. We've had rough nights--maybe, like, a dozen or so--but for the most part she sleeps all the way through, from 7 p.m. until 6 a.m.-ish, often waking around 3 or 4 for a quick bottle but sometimes sleeping twelve hours without a peep.

While I was gone, she slept straight through the night every single time (why does it always happen that way, when you're not there?) except for the last night. Thursday. Jason woke up to screaming around 2 a.m. and when he went in to get soothe her Adelyn had positioned herself nearly out of the Nap Nanny. Her legs are so strong I'm surprised she's not running marathons already--she'd found her way completely out of the restraints and was kicking wildly to free herself from the Nap Nanny altogether.

My first night back I put my foot down and said no more Nap Nanny. We were done. I was so completely resolved with my decision and so determined to not give up until Adelyn was sleeping like a big girl every night without fail. And like magic she fell asleep around 8 flat on her back. And then woke up at 12. And one. Two. Three. Every time I would go in and pick her up, soothe her, feed her, comfort her, rock her, try again, repeat. And every time it would result in more screaming.

I wish I had a story about my expert solution or the trick that finally worked. I don't. Instead, I gave in around four a.m. and put her back in the Nap Nanny. And she slept until nine, and straight through the next night, and the next, and the next. Lesson learned. I have now adjusted the Nap Nanny's straps and have decided that Addy will be sleeping in it until she goes off to college. Then--and only then--will I put my foot down again and say no more Nap Nanny.

Since I've been back I've also finished my first day of actually working at home with a baby. I've done a lot of projects here and there since Adelyn was born, but this was the first day where I've had actual hours to accumulate and tasks that I'm getting paid to complete within a reasonable timeframe.

I've come to realize this from my first day: I don't know what I would do without that Jumperoo. Seriously. If Adelyn isn't hungry or tired there is nothing in this world that she loves more than jumping (especially for an audience, so I'm always sure to turn my computer toward her while I'm working).

And, oh, that Jumperoo has seen some stuff the past few days. On Saturday, my first full day back, after giving Adelyn two ounces of prune juice because she hadn't, you know, relieved herself in three days, I put her in the Jumperoo so I could, you know, relieve myself. (You already know where this is going.) Two minutes later, I hear her screaming in the other room, and I jump up from what I'm doing and run to find out what catastrophe has ensued. The first thing I notice is some dark green, horrid something all over my baby's feet. (At this point she's stopped crying and is just half-bouncing pitifully). I look closer and see a pile--no, a mound--on the floor beneath her. And all over her, and all over the Jumperoo, and once I pick her up it's all over me, as well. The only thing I can do is jump in the shower, baby in hand, and shout to Jason when I hear him come through the front door to "watch out for the Jumperoo!" (His response upon seeing it, which I heard despite being upstairs, in the shower with a crying baby: "Dear God!")

All of this is simply to say that I'm so happy to be home. I was gone for six days total. It felt like forever. And I won't be going anywhere for any length of time without my baby in tow for a long, long while. (Being a parent is sort of co-dependent like that. It goes both ways.)