A Little Addy-tude

I'm laying on the couch, with Adelyn straddling my stomach. I hardly have to support her at all anymore, just a quick hand behind her back when she leans too far in one direction or the other. And this ability, being able to sit up all by herself, will be the defining triumph of Adelyn's babyhood.

The turning point came when she started sitting up with our help. Suddenly she was less fussy, more content, the smiles became frequent and the crying became few and far between. When she has her fits now they always, always revolve around not sitting. Naps, certain feedings, mom forcing a toy in her face because she has yet to truly discover them--none of these things inspire the spirit of the baby--the person--she truly is. But when she's sitting it's like she's herself, the person she will become, happy, curious, active, sassy. I'm eager for the day when she can sit by herself and I can sit across from her, engaging her, not holding her up but holding her attention.

Earlier today we stopped by my friend Candice's house. Adelyn needed a nap as soon as we got there, so I put her in Kennedy's crib and went through our usual nap-time routine--lights off, white noise, a few seconds of cuddling and then I put her in the crib, my hand on her stomach until her eyelids get heavy. It didn't work, probably because we weren't at home and because the nap was an hour too late. She finally fell asleep after fifteen minutes of agonizing cries--the girl can cry like nobody's business, as a newborn and as a burgeoning six-month-old. And it got to me, like most parenting things do. I'm hard on myself when it comes to being a mother. It still feels new to me; I still feel like an amateur. Not at taking care of my own baby, but at mothering in general, if that makes any sense. A few minutes after Adelyn woke up Kennedy took a nap with ease, without a peep, and of course it sent a what-am-I-doing-wrong shiver up my spine.

So many things have gotten easier and so much has not or has stayed the same. Stalled in its same frustrating place.

It takes a moment like the one we had later at home, with Adelyn sitting, smiling on my stomach, watching her dogs wrestle each other and choosing that this image is funny, to her, another addition to her cultivating self. She listens to her mom say "mama" over and over again in the hope she will say it back and decides that she finds this, too hilarious. She's balancing herself with her hand on my chest, her other hand in her mouth, drool dripping down and soaking the front of her shirt and mine. She's making her baby dinosaur sounds and surprising herself with the loudness of her own voice. I'm falling even more in love with her, and I didn't know there was any room for any more love for this little being that has already taken over every ounce of my self.

These are the sort of moments that make being a mother beyond worth it. I created a person who is already making decisions about what she likes, what she doesn't, what's funny and what's not worth a giggle.

My daughter is a crier. When she cries, she lets it all out. She's not always easygoing. Often she is quickly sent into a tizzy and is hard to bring back down. She doesn't like to finish her bottles all in one sitting. She doesn't like to open her mouth to eat solids. She doesn't like to eat on a schedule. She doesn't sleep through the night, and she was born to a mom who doesn't have the guts or the stamina to do any sort of actual sleep training.

She smiles bigger than any baby I've ever seen. She's the most beautiful creature--adult or bite-sized--I've ever laid my eyes on. She's got an attitude. (Or as her Janu said, just a little "Addy-tude." It's the best part of her.

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Growing Up.

Something is different here, in our house, our lives. I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. Maybe it's just that I've been sick the past few days, and often when you're sick and then suddenly not things look different, better, brighter. I said a couple of weeks ago that Adelyn has become much easier to handle. That's still true. But now she's not just easier. She's more adaptable. She's taken all three naps today in her crib. She's eaten a full bottle every three to four hours. She's been spitting up like there's no tomorrow but she's been completely content doing it.

I don't know if Adelyn's changing or if I am, if I've finally found some sort of stride as a mother, some way to define what my parenting is and isn't. I think I'm finally starting to let go and just be.

Yesterday I took Adelyn to her future babysitter's house. I majorly lucked out here--my best friend's sister, a woman I completely trust, love, and am in awe of--is going to watch Adelyn part-time when my job officially starts the week after next. I went to a meeting yesterday and took Adelyn over there for two hours, so we could "test the waters" and also make sure she wasn't completely crazy for agreeing to watch a baby in addition to her three other children.

Addy did great. When I walked in the door she was asleep on her babysitter's chest; the woman's own nine-month-old was happily scurrying across the floor. Her two-year-old and four-year-old were playing outside.

Before we left I asked her her tricks for getting the nine-month-old to nap--something I've been struggling with lately.

"I put her in her crib, kiss her, turn off the light and leave the room."

"Just like that?" I asked her. That's all it takes?

"When you have three kids, nap time is nap time."

Simple enough.

As far as mothers go, this is one that I would pay money to take advice from. She's just a natural. Not that she doesn't get irritated when her four year old son refuses to pick up after himself--because I don't idolize the sort of mothers who pretend to be immune to exasperation--but she just seems so comfortable in her role as nurturer and protector.

And it really got me thinking when I got home, about how much things must change when you've been there, done that. On your second child, third child, fourth child, are you still stressing about proper bedtime rituals and schedules or are you just doing what you know works, no frills, no incessant googling and reading up on the most mundane of topics?

So at Addy's next nap I gave it a shot. I took out the Nap Nanny. Casually kissed Addy's little cheek. Put her in her crib. Turned off the light and walked away.

The crying started within minutes, of course. I went back in, put my hand on her stomach, told her everything in her little world was just fine, and walked out.

After three rounds of this I gave in and brought back the Nap Nanny. Adelyn fell asleep in it almost instantaneously.

And since then she hasn't touched her swing. To me, this is a victory. Not that I've completely solved the Baby Sphinx, but still. And even more, I can't remember why I was so dead-set on getting rid of the Nap Nanny. I do these sort of things to myself all the time--as a mother and before--creating these complications that are all in my head. We bought the Nap Nanny because Addy likes the Nap Nanny. End of story.

Addy has gone from easier to borderline-easy, smiling all the time, napping when she needs to, crying when there's a definitive reason, entertaining herself long enough for me to do human, non-baby related tasks. A lot of it is her own growth, but a lot if it, I'm realizing, is mine, too.

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The Sleep Riddle.

Which came first--the chicken or the egg? The Nap Nanny or the baby who refuses to sleep laying flat? The swing or a baby who must be rocked to sleep?

Jason and I are gradually transitioning Adelyn out of her swing for naps and out of her Nap Nanny at bedtime. The goal is for Adelyn to be able to continue her normal day anywhere we go--in a hotel, at a babysitter's, at her grandparents'. To be able to fall asleep on her own, on a bed, in a pack n' play, on a blanket on the floor. Because the way it is right now--at least in our house, her grandparents have had more luck getting her to nap without the swing--Adelyn has a very particular way she likes to fall asleep. And it includes vigorous rocking during the day, and a bottle at night (and throughout the night, whenever she wakes up).

When I look back on our first days as parents I realize just how good those marketers are at their jobs. You know how the older generation is always marveling at how many things you need to have a baby these days? Mechanical aquariums in cribs, swings so big they look like a piece of furniture, computer devices that track the amount of times your baby wakes during the night and how long they cry each time. We only need these things because we buy these things. And trust me, I'm not making some grand proclamations of freeing myself from the baby-mania consumerism. I am a victim and I will continue to be a victim. Because it makes me happy to buy things that will make our lives with Addy easier or that look cute in her room.

If we'd never put her in the swing she never would have grown accustomed to it. If we'd never put her in the Nap Nanny because she fussed whenever she was flat on her back (I think she did have reflux in the beginning, but not anymore), she'd be a pro at sleeping on her back.

But now Addy's life is a riddle of gadgets that she both depends on and loves. She falls asleep instantly in her swing--because she knows it means nap time. She falls asleep easily at night while we feed her the last bottle--because she knows eating in her Nap Nanny means it's time to go to sleep. And when she wakes up throughout the night, as all babies do, she cries out for another bottle--because that's how she knows to fall asleep.

After five months Jason and I are beginning to work our way out of these dependencies. The first step was to put Adelyn's swing in her nursery so that she's not stirred when someone knocks on the door or Louie barks (why it took me five months to figure that one out, I'm not sure). This morning I successfully got Adelyn to fall asleep in her Nap Nanny for her first nap of the day, and she did it without a bottle and only a few minutes of fussing. It's been thirty minutes and there hasn't been a peep over the monitor.

Next, we'll retire the Nap Nanny to the attic, to be used as a lounger for her as a toddler or on our next child, or to give to a friend who's baby doesn't like sleeping on his or her back (thereby passing on the vicious cycle to someone else).

This weekend Addy stayed with her Janu and Pops and I asked them if they'd mind trying to get her to fall asleep flat on her back. I've seen them do this before, and they have a knack for it that I don't. The next morning we got the report--she slept soundly like that until one in the morning, then woke up and wanted to do nothing but play and stare at the full moon (of course, her Janu obliged. How could you not? It's nearly impossible to leave Addy to sleep when she's lying in her crib, arms and legs kicking wildly, squealing and giggling for you to pick her up). After that they put her in the Nap Nanny, because this is a guaranteed way to get her to sleep.

It all sounds so complicated and I realize that, at the heart of it, it's really not. Babies will sleep, eventually, when they need to. On your shoulder, on your bed, in your lap, in a swing, or flat on their back in a crib--the "proper" way. We--or, more so, me--make it even more complicated.

And now it's up to me to find our way out of the obstacle course that is falling asleep.

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