Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Waiting for the sleep to come

How does it work? How does a precious little boy go from sleeping all throughout the night - to deciding that 11:30 is a completely appropriate time to wake up and party? The past few days have been torturous and exhausting. I love the little guy - but let's be serious, I love everyone a lot more with at least 5 hours of sleep. Saturday night I had to sleep on the floor in his room with him. This was initially seen as happy hour. Mommy was hanging out on the floor and she brought some really cool fluffy pillows and a cozy sheet with her. Apparently the most logical thing for the tiny one was to climb on me, pull my hair and show me where my eyes and nose were - just in case I might have forgotten. Once he realized that I wasn't planning on being incredibly "interactive" - he proceeded to find every single toy in the room that made noise - toys I wasn't even aware that we had...and 2am is not when I wanted to make those discoveries.
We had a repeat of such events last night. I let him cry for 20 minutes - 20 long, agonizing and painful minutes. We cuddled for a bit and I think...I'm not terribly clear on this as I am very tired, I think that I got him back to sleep and hour or so later.
Any ideas on why this is happening or how to stop it and allow the sleep to come?

Friday, October 13, 2006

The Amazing! The Incredible! Aidendini!!

I realized just how sneaky little boys are. And how frighteningly so!
Last night after dinner, I put the wee one in his pack-n-play (what a horrible mother!!) so that I could go to the back bedroom and check a few things online. He was quiet - seemingly happy and content. I wasn't back there for more than 10 minutes when I hear footsteps hurriedly coming down the hallway. Let's all keep in mind that I am home alone. Baby Daddy is still off in Illinois. Soo - that was a smidgen frightening all in itself. I see his little red head poking through the door way - totally pleased with himself - as he can tell from my reaction that he has accomplished something fiendishly fantastic.
All the possible scenarios ran through my mind. There was an intruder, a polite intruder, who more than likely came through the front door only to find a very handsome young boy in the living room with arms raised up to be let out of his tiny baby prison.
Or perhaps Aiden had figured out how to push one of the buttons on the side rails and found a way out. I knew there was nothing in there that he could have possibly stepped up onto - so I was bewildered!
I asked if we could hold hands and if he could show me how he got out - as it was a terribly clever thing he had just done. He said "kay" and we walked happily together back into the living room. I put him back in and asked again for him to show mommy how he did it. He proceeded to raise his leg in a way I have not seen anyone do up to the top bar, then used his little bitty arms to push him self up on the bar catty corner to that his leg was on. And *poof* he was up and over in a flash!
Then - I freaked out. After the coffee table debacle - I couldn't stop myself from thinking of all the terrible things that could have happened. His round precious head falling onto the tile floor. What if would have slipped? And I wasn't there! All because I had some disgusting need to check my email 2 hours before he went to bed!
So, I am currently completely disgusted with myself. I am getting closer and closer to making peace with the fact that - I really don't know what I'm doing with all this "mommy" stuff.
God help that poor little boy!

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

Cold Front

So - Baby Daddy had to go to Illinois for his Grandmother's funeral, which is sad. I was pleased initially - at the thought of only one boy to cook for and clean up after. That was until the colds came in. The wee one and I are now fighting a mighty virus. For me - not that big of a deal, as I know to drink liquids, get rest and all of that. Poor tiny man, at 19 months doesn't have all of his words yet and can't tell me quite where the pain is - so we cry. And as of last night I literally mean "we". As soon as my coughing fit would pass enough that I could think of falling asleep - his would kick in. I still keep the baby monitor on my night stand as some nights the sound of him nreathing actually helps me to fall asleep. Last night - this was not the case. I shortly entertained the thought of bringing him in the bed with me. This was only short lived as I quickly remembered not 2 nights ago where I came to the realization that sleeping with him in the bed was like being strapped down to a boxing ring with Mike Tyson having a fit of rage. As soon as I would start to fade I would get five across the face or a sturdy kick in the gut. Not quite the image of snuggly off to dreamland I had conjured up. So, I let him cough a bit and then whine himself back to sleep...and then I would cough again. It was a fun night. The last time I remember looking at the clock it was a mere 1:45am.
I guess I sort of missed Baby Daddy last night - just a little bit.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

I'm a bad, bad mom!!

The boy was hurt. Bad. In all our outlandish attempts to keep him safe and warm and fuzzy - he was hurt. The handsome young man who's alabaster skin had only been marred by daunting bruises and the occasional mosquito bite - now has stitches and a scar somewhere in his future.
On Monday night as we were all gathered around the television to watch a friend of a friend appear on the lastest edition of "Wife Swap", my precious little man tripped over a rug that we had lovingly placed on our tiles floors in the hopes that he wouldn't fall and break his mind. He tripped and his head landed square on the corner, the sharp pointy corner, of our coffee table. There was crying, there was blood and there was a three and a half hour wait in the emergency room. There was a horrible concoction the ER doctor tried to trick me into believing was actually a numbing agent - that made my poor child scream as if it was acid as I held it to his open wound. There were stitches - three. And then...There was calm as he proceeded to point out every "light" in the triage room we were assigned to.
Then we were released - expected to go home and put the boy to bed and wake up the next day as if none of this had occurred. As if I wasn't the worst parent in the world for not taking better care to protect him. Each time I closed my eyes that night - in an effort to get some sleep so I could face the following day - I saw it happen over and over again. It was so fast and there was nothing I could have done at that moment to save him from that corner of that stupid coffee table! Why do I even have that thing - I don't drink coffee!
Three days later he is doing fine - truth be told he was doing fine on the car ride to the hospital - Mother and Father, however - not so much. He will more than likely have a slight scar that will be hidden by hair - until the day that he decides to join a punk band and shaves his head only to discover the deep dark family secret - about the horrible fall he took at 18 months. The fall they never speak of.