Dear Santa

How are you? Very busy, I'm sure, so I'll try not to take up too much of your time.  No, wait, you don't have to go check your lists to see which one I'm on... I'm sure I'm on the "nice" list.

What's that?  You've seen me sneaking extra cookies?  But that doesn't count as naughty, does it?  I mean, I'm cut off from ice cream and chocolate, so those gingerbread cookies are the only treat I can have!  Ah... I knew you'd understand.  And there will still be plenty of cookies left for you, don't worry.

Ok, it's possible that I raised my voice a time or two this year.  If you lived with a two-year-old - and not just a bunch of people that are the same height as one - you would probably raise your voice occasionally, too.  You would try very hard to remain calm when he chews up pieces of grilled cheese, decides they are yucky, takes them out of his mouth and throws them on the floor.  But if in your shock and dismay, you shouted, "STOP THAT!" it could hardly put you on the wrong Christmas list, could it?  That's right, I was provoked, so it doesn't count, either.

Hmm... you see a note of "sarcasm" next to my name, huh?  Well, I'm not sure how else one could respond to a chipper, "Good morning, how did you sleep?" from one's husband who slept a solid 9 hours while you were up every hour with the baby.  Is it possible to avoid sarcasm in that instance?  I submit that it is not.

You seem a little skeptical here, Santa, so maybe I can help you out.  I make sure that three humans and two cats have food, water, attention and (for the humans) clean clothing.  I sing songs, play games, take care of almost all diapers, hairballs, and cat puke.  I do my best to return phone calls, emails and favors.  I forego showers in order to make waffles, and give up naps to run errands.

You're right, it's true.  I should be volunteering and giving more to charity.  I'm not saying I'm at the head of your Nice list, but maybe there's some room for me... right there?  at the bottom?  What do you say?

Yes??

Yes!!

Ok, so here's what I would like for Christmas:

I want one moment.  It might come in the middle of the present-opening.  It might come just after, when everyone is busy admiring their gifts.  There will be a blurring and I will be able to look around at my family but not quite hear what they say.  I will see smiles, hear laughter, and feel nothing but love.  In that moment there will be no such things as stress or fatigue or neuroblastoma.  There will be only joy and peace.

That's all.

I know, it doesn't quite fit in a box.  It is both smaller and bigger than that.  But if you can find a way to get it to me on Saturday, I'll be even nicer next year, I promise.

Thanks, and Merry Christmas,

Jessica

Thinking about Katy Caboose

My husband has a thing for Bill Peet books.  I had never heard of Bill Peet, and when he brought home The Caboose Who Got Loose, I rolled my eyes at him after reading one page.  This was way over the head of my two-year-old.  But, since I have an entire (floor to ceiling) bookshelf filled with children's books that I love that are also too old for him, I figured I shouldn't say anything.

Until he started reading the book to Sebastian.  Did I mention that the kid is two?  And that the book takes forever to read and includes vocabulary that I might have to explain to my fourth graders?  Sebastian, of course, decided to request it over and over and over again, driving me insane because I wanted to read other, shorter books to him at night.

Now he has that book entirely memorized, and I'm pretty sure I do, too.  He understands it based on what I have told him about each page, like that Katy is nervous about being up so high as she travels up the "steep mountain grade" at the end of the train.

After reading the book a hundred times, I can't stop thinking about Katy Caboose.  She doesn't like being a caboose.  She wants to live somewhere peaceful and quiet and traveling up those mountains terrifies her.  She dreams of escaping.  One day she meets a little shack that tells her he wishes he were a caboose because she has the "best life."  She leaves again, determined to be satisfied with her lot in life.  And yet... she isn't.  As soon as the train starts up the mountainside again, she is nervous and upset all over again, sure she is going to crash down and hating the exhaust that she travels through at the back of the steam-engine-powered train.

And then it happens... Katy is jerked free of the train, goes careening down the curve and flies off the track.  Derailed!  She would have had her nightmares realized and been smashed to bits except that she gets stuck between two evergreen trees.  The crew who comes looking for her doesn't find her, and she gets to live out her days in peace and quiet, with a beautiful view.

Many people have told me recently that I sound a bit down and out, depressed, tired, etc.  They have told me that I have a lot to be thankful for (true), that I have accomplished a lot in my life (perhaps), and that this discontent will pass.  I've tried to say that I agree, and to go on and be a happy caboose at the end of the train.  But you know what?  Katy couldn't deny who she was and what she wanted, and neither can I.  Sure, there is a lot to be grateful for, and overall I love so much of my life, especially the three guys with whom I share what I hope is a happy home.

Yet I want more.

The thing is, that's ok.  It's good to feel a little uneasy sometimes in life, to feel that itch that there is something else waiting for you to open your eyes and make a move.

It doesn't mean that I don't spend a moment (or ten) every day smelling Theo's head or kissing his soft, chubby cheek.  It doesn't mean that I don't feel my heart leap as high as Sebastian does when he jumps into my arms after a good nap, chattering about what he will have for snack from the brown cupboard.

I can do all of that, and still want to find my own path.  Something that is more than diapers and laundry and dishes and playdates, and even something more than grading papers and writing lesson plans.

The real difference, I've decided, between Katy Caboose and me is that she waited for it to happen.  It happened by luck, and it was only by chance that she wasn't lost in the process.  For me, it's going to be by choice.

My choice right now is to keep soaking up these precious, sticky, chaotic moments while I can... and keep my eyes open for what's next.

(Un)Solved Mystery

So your four-month-old who previously slept consistently all night with the exception of one or two quick feedings suddenly starts waking up every hour and a half.  What's wrong?  What do you do?

I think you probably have some immediate ideas and suggestions.  If you don't find yours below, feel free to email me or comment here, because I can tell you that we are in the middle of sleep-deprivation hell (not to be confused with other kinds of hell, like not having a job hell or living in a war zone hell, both of which are obviously worse).

So this is what's been going through our minds for the past two weeks:

Maybe...

~He's teething.  (checked and saw nothing coming through, but gave Infant Tylenol just in case)
~He has a cold.  (tilted up the mattress, plugged in the humidifier, and again tried Tylenol)
~He's too hot.  (changed his sleeper for a onesie and his fleece swaddle blanket for a cotton one)
~He's too cold.  (changed back to a sleeper and replaced fan for a new sound machine)

~He needs a new diaper. (so many changes while child is screaming, I lost count)

~He's in an unfamiliar place. (left sister's house half a day early to get back to our own beds)

~He has gas.  (more cutting out of dairy so now I eat NONE, along with those gas drops)
~He has a foremilk/hindmilk imbalance.  (stopped taking fenugreek to boost milk production)
~He's going through a growth spurt.  (upped bedtime bottle to six ounces)
~He's ready for solid food.  (started him on baby oatmeal and rice cereal; he loves it.)
~He's about to make some developmental leap.  (yes, he started reaching for toys and holding them and then he rolled over from his back to tummy for the first time.  nothing we can do about that but ride it out.)

Ok, ok.  So maybe it's none of those.

Maybe it's just that (sigh) he's not yet sleep-trained to fall back to sleep on his own.

So we began phase one of the sleep training, too, on top of all of that.  And if you've ever done any method of sleep training, you know that it gets worse before it gets better and it's mentally and physically exhausting.

And suddenly he started sleeping normally again.  Five or six hour stretches, only one or two wake-ups.

Ahhhhhh.

Except that the last two nights we're back to every hour and a half.  And if I look at the list above of what we did, I have NO IDEA which of those interventions actually worked, so most of them are still in place.

Which should bring you to one conclusion:  that I am desperate for a chai latte, a pint of Chubby Hubby, and a decent night's sleep.