Sunday, June 18, 2006
Live blogging: Crying it out - mama's first time (with BONUS occasional self-praise and gratitude)
I'm no fan of Dr. Ferber; I'm much more of a Dr. Sears, attachment-parenting mama. We've never scheduled Lucas's naps or established a firm bedtime because it's not my style and because Dr. Wonderful said she feels that babies who are sleep-trained become rigid as little kids.
However, Lucas is now 9.5 months old and is still waking four to six times each night. He's also going through separation anxiety, which means he's even more reluctant than usual to sleep in his crib. And while I have no qualms about bringing him into bed with us, Mr. Trillwing can't sleep if Lucas is in the bed because the little guy flails quite a bit. And when Mama or Dada is sleep-deprived, nobody has a good day, I assure you.
So. . . I'm making a trial run right now at a little bit of crying it out, something Mr. Trillwing has done in my absence but which I have never tried because it makes me feel guilty. We're at minute #6 now, and I'm just about to cave. The little guy just tugs on my heartstrings, but I know he's really tired and after being a full-time mommy for three days (Mr. Trillwing had LOTS of work to do, I had family in town to entertain, and it was the end of the quarter, so I was happy to take some time off), I'm ready for some quiet alone time to get some work done.
Minute #8: Screaming is slowing down a bit. I've set myself a goal of 10 minutes of crying without picking him up. God, I feel like a bad mama.
But you know what? He spent at least six hours on my lap today, and the rest napping next to me, playing on the floor in my office, etc. Mr. Trillwing took over for about 20 minutes so I could run and get some lunch.
Lucas is quieting down, I think.
Minute #9: Screaming resumes. It's now a fussy, rather than an angry, crying. Oh wait. . . There was an angry shriek if I've ever heard one. I should really set myself up for some audioblogging.
The problem with the wailing-to-sleep method, I think, is that Lucas gets himself so worked up that he can't sleep. His throat has got to be sore, too, and the little guy won't drink water.
Minute #11: Still crying intermittently. I'm tempted to nurse him, but he nursed half an hour ago, so I know he's not really thirsty. And besides, I want him to learn to fall asleep without the boob, especially since today he BIT me, once on the shoulder and once on the nipple. The second time he smiled. Weaning may be on the horizon for the boy.
Minute #12. My will is breaking, but I already have so much time invested in this attempt. Must. . .hold. . .out.
Minute #14: He's still going strong. Blogging is helping to render the crying into background noise.
Minute #15: Do the neighbors think us cruel? I'm guessing it's a bit early for them to complain about noise--it's about 9 p.m.--but who knows?
Minute #16: Squeaks and squeals, shrieks and screams. At least there's some variation now.
Minute #18: Wet coughing, pause, coughing, pause, shriek, pause, shrieeeeeeeek.
Minute #19: Silence for 30 seconds. That's the longest pause yet.
Have I been a bad mama for the last 20 minutes? Yes. Have I been a damn good mama for the past 9.5 months? Yes to that, too.
[Insert your own alternating self-flagellation and rationalization here.]
Minute #20: I can't believe I've gone 20 minutes. It doesn't get any easier as time goes by, I assure you. This mama's heartstrings are strung tightly.
Minute #21: Shrieks and, I kid you not, brief panting. Followed by 45 seconds of silence.
Minute #22: BIG scream. Pause. Another big scream. Fussiness of righteous indignation at having such a bad, bad mama. Pause. Squeak. Sniffle. Squeak. Pause.
Minute #23: Begins with silence. Intermittent shrieks.
Have I mentioned the dog is not pleased with this experiment? He's perched uneasily on his doggy bed next to my desk.
Minute #24: Shrieks. Maybe I won't get any work done tonight. Dammit.
Anyway, I've been meaning to blog about this maternal triptych I have in my head, a painting of three Californian women I know.
Triptych Panel #1: a good friend from high school who has been trying to conceive for years and who recently upped the ante with a round of fertility drugs.
Minute #26: Mr. Trillwing wakes up and asks if I need some help. I was hoping Mr. T, who was sleeping in the bedroom, wouldn't be awoken by little Mr. L, who was screaming in Mr. T's office. (My apologies, Sweetie.)
Triptych Panel #2: another friend recently found out, at eight weeks gestation, that the fetus isn't viable. She's waiting to miscarry.
Minute #28: Lucas is asleep.
Triptych Panel #3: a distant cousin who underwent extensive fertility treatments abroad (she's a citizen of Country-With-Socialized-Medicine who immigrated here with her husband several years ago and who hopes, I think, to become a permanent resident or citizen of the U.S.) is due this week to give birth via C-section to twins who weigh at least six pounds each.
Thus despite all the screaming of the past half hour, I'm grateful, so grateful, that conception and motherhood came to me so easily. I wish all my friends and family could be so fortunate.
So: Good fertility vibes to all. May all your babies sleep without tears through the night.
However, Lucas is now 9.5 months old and is still waking four to six times each night. He's also going through separation anxiety, which means he's even more reluctant than usual to sleep in his crib. And while I have no qualms about bringing him into bed with us, Mr. Trillwing can't sleep if Lucas is in the bed because the little guy flails quite a bit. And when Mama or Dada is sleep-deprived, nobody has a good day, I assure you.
So. . . I'm making a trial run right now at a little bit of crying it out, something Mr. Trillwing has done in my absence but which I have never tried because it makes me feel guilty. We're at minute #6 now, and I'm just about to cave. The little guy just tugs on my heartstrings, but I know he's really tired and after being a full-time mommy for three days (Mr. Trillwing had LOTS of work to do, I had family in town to entertain, and it was the end of the quarter, so I was happy to take some time off), I'm ready for some quiet alone time to get some work done.
Minute #8: Screaming is slowing down a bit. I've set myself a goal of 10 minutes of crying without picking him up. God, I feel like a bad mama.
But you know what? He spent at least six hours on my lap today, and the rest napping next to me, playing on the floor in my office, etc. Mr. Trillwing took over for about 20 minutes so I could run and get some lunch.
Lucas is quieting down, I think.
Minute #9: Screaming resumes. It's now a fussy, rather than an angry, crying. Oh wait. . . There was an angry shriek if I've ever heard one. I should really set myself up for some audioblogging.
The problem with the wailing-to-sleep method, I think, is that Lucas gets himself so worked up that he can't sleep. His throat has got to be sore, too, and the little guy won't drink water.
Minute #11: Still crying intermittently. I'm tempted to nurse him, but he nursed half an hour ago, so I know he's not really thirsty. And besides, I want him to learn to fall asleep without the boob, especially since today he BIT me, once on the shoulder and once on the nipple. The second time he smiled. Weaning may be on the horizon for the boy.
Minute #12. My will is breaking, but I already have so much time invested in this attempt. Must. . .hold. . .out.
Minute #14: He's still going strong. Blogging is helping to render the crying into background noise.
Minute #15: Do the neighbors think us cruel? I'm guessing it's a bit early for them to complain about noise--it's about 9 p.m.--but who knows?
Minute #16: Squeaks and squeals, shrieks and screams. At least there's some variation now.
Minute #18: Wet coughing, pause, coughing, pause, shriek, pause, shrieeeeeeeek.
Minute #19: Silence for 30 seconds. That's the longest pause yet.
Have I been a bad mama for the last 20 minutes? Yes. Have I been a damn good mama for the past 9.5 months? Yes to that, too.
[Insert your own alternating self-flagellation and rationalization here.]
Minute #20: I can't believe I've gone 20 minutes. It doesn't get any easier as time goes by, I assure you. This mama's heartstrings are strung tightly.
Minute #21: Shrieks and, I kid you not, brief panting. Followed by 45 seconds of silence.
Minute #22: BIG scream. Pause. Another big scream. Fussiness of righteous indignation at having such a bad, bad mama. Pause. Squeak. Sniffle. Squeak. Pause.
Minute #23: Begins with silence. Intermittent shrieks.
Have I mentioned the dog is not pleased with this experiment? He's perched uneasily on his doggy bed next to my desk.
Minute #24: Shrieks. Maybe I won't get any work done tonight. Dammit.
Anyway, I've been meaning to blog about this maternal triptych I have in my head, a painting of three Californian women I know.
Triptych Panel #1: a good friend from high school who has been trying to conceive for years and who recently upped the ante with a round of fertility drugs.
Minute #26: Mr. Trillwing wakes up and asks if I need some help. I was hoping Mr. T, who was sleeping in the bedroom, wouldn't be awoken by little Mr. L, who was screaming in Mr. T's office. (My apologies, Sweetie.)
Triptych Panel #2: another friend recently found out, at eight weeks gestation, that the fetus isn't viable. She's waiting to miscarry.
Minute #28: Lucas is asleep.
Triptych Panel #3: a distant cousin who underwent extensive fertility treatments abroad (she's a citizen of Country-With-Socialized-Medicine who immigrated here with her husband several years ago and who hopes, I think, to become a permanent resident or citizen of the U.S.) is due this week to give birth via C-section to twins who weigh at least six pounds each.
Thus despite all the screaming of the past half hour, I'm grateful, so grateful, that conception and motherhood came to me so easily. I wish all my friends and family could be so fortunate.
So: Good fertility vibes to all. May all your babies sleep without tears through the night.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
*yawn*
1. Friday was good: Chapter 3 revisions are coming along nicely. And then Chapter 2 revisions hit me like a ton of impossible bricks. Bleah.
Picked up my regalia for commencement, which is on Thursday. I look pretty damn good in that hood, if I may say so myself. Now if I could only finish earning it. . .
2. Saturday: After the original host cancelled because her husband was sick, I took over a potluck for local parents with August/September babies. Since we live in squalor, I hosted at a local park. It went pretty well after Mr. Trillwing and I overcame our initial fear that no one would show up and, worse, that the adjacent Party of Really Cool Young Parents Who Nevertheless Listen to Dave Matthews would then witness our failure.
The babies (5 or 6 of them) crawled around and over one another. It's always nice to see Lucas socializing, even if it is while another child is chewing on his ear.
3. Today: Meant to work, really, I did. But Luke was in manic mode (pulling himself to standing now, and then onto our laps on the couch, and even crawling on his knees, for god's sake), and Mr. Trillwing was assembling three newspapers, so I mommied pretty much all day. Whew! And after Lucas went to sleep tonight at 8:30, I toyed a bit with my new digital SLR (Costco.com, baby, plus a $100 rebate!) and did a bit of tidying up.
So: no energy left for the dissertation. How the hell am I going to get this thing done with a soon-to-be TODDLER?
Bonus admission: In a very misguided attempt to get Lucas to sleep, I let him cuddle in my lap and I used my recently discovered Noggin On Demand to cue up Sesame Street for Lucas's first-ever viewing of the show. Oh. My. God. Lucas was pretty damn blasé about the animated shorts and playing children bits, but if there were Muppets on the screen, he was fixated. Fixated or shrieking and bouncing for joy. He especially liked Telly. (Elmo, thank god, held no charm.) And when REM came on and sang "Happy Furry Monsters Feeling Glad," Lucas actually turned around, looked at me, dropped his shoulders, and raised his little eyebrows as if to say, "Why have you been holding out on me?"
Picked up my regalia for commencement, which is on Thursday. I look pretty damn good in that hood, if I may say so myself. Now if I could only finish earning it. . .
2. Saturday: After the original host cancelled because her husband was sick, I took over a potluck for local parents with August/September babies. Since we live in squalor, I hosted at a local park. It went pretty well after Mr. Trillwing and I overcame our initial fear that no one would show up and, worse, that the adjacent Party of Really Cool Young Parents Who Nevertheless Listen to Dave Matthews would then witness our failure.
The babies (5 or 6 of them) crawled around and over one another. It's always nice to see Lucas socializing, even if it is while another child is chewing on his ear.
3. Today: Meant to work, really, I did. But Luke was in manic mode (pulling himself to standing now, and then onto our laps on the couch, and even crawling on his knees, for god's sake), and Mr. Trillwing was assembling three newspapers, so I mommied pretty much all day. Whew! And after Lucas went to sleep tonight at 8:30, I toyed a bit with my new digital SLR (Costco.com, baby, plus a $100 rebate!) and did a bit of tidying up.
So: no energy left for the dissertation. How the hell am I going to get this thing done with a soon-to-be TODDLER?
Bonus admission: In a very misguided attempt to get Lucas to sleep, I let him cuddle in my lap and I used my recently discovered Noggin On Demand to cue up Sesame Street for Lucas's first-ever viewing of the show. Oh. My. God. Lucas was pretty damn blasé about the animated shorts and playing children bits, but if there were Muppets on the screen, he was fixated. Fixated or shrieking and bouncing for joy. He especially liked Telly. (Elmo, thank god, held no charm.) And when REM came on and sang "Happy Furry Monsters Feeling Glad," Lucas actually turned around, looked at me, dropped his shoulders, and raised his little eyebrows as if to say, "Why have you been holding out on me?"
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Emotionally exhausted
I shouldn't be blogging now--much work to do--but I need to clear my mind a bit before I can accomplish anything school-related.
A few days ago, I delved into my copy of Getting Things Done, a book that had been sitting on my shelf for waaaaay too long (maybe 6-8 months?). Ends up it's a nifty little system, and I have indeed already started to get some long-delayed stuff done, and accomplished as well some of the stuff on which I'd usually procrastinate. (I will not be joining the GTD cultists, though, thankyouverymuch. No time for that, and too much on my plate already.)
Now that I've cleared my mind of all its clutter by writing out a huge long to-do list as well as some long-term goals, I find I have time to think about other, maybe much more important stuff. And now I feel pretty damn vulnerable because there are all kinds of feelings rushing in to fill the space.
Things from this afternoon that exacerbated my emotional exhaustion:
1. Lucas having a total meltdown in the car when I couldn't do much about it.
2. Immediately upon his quieting down (I managed to pull a bottle of water from the diaper bag, reach back, and put it into his hands without killing us both), I tuned into a replay of this week's Prairie Home Companion at the beginning of a very sad song. I can't find the name of it right now, but it's about the loss of family members who were important in one's childhood--mother, uncles, and aunts--and how much the singer misses their presence, their voices, and their touch.
I'm not yet at the stage of my life where I have to face cascading deaths, but the song saddened me significantly for the future, both for my own losses and for when Lucas will lose me.
3. I started reading The Girls Who Went Away, a new book about women who became pregnant between the end of WWII and the Roe v. Wade decision and who were pressured to give up their children for adoption. I made it through two chapters and realized I just couldn't read any more of it because it made me too damn sad. It's a beautiful book, really, but so sad.
4. I watched tonight's episode of Big Love. As much as I know there are parts of it that should offend my feminist sensibilities (like, oh, the polygamy), I've become attached to the show's characters and can't wait to see each week's stories unfold. (I'll be a bit cryptic here, but it might spoil things for you if you haven't seen this week's episode, so in that case don't read on.) Tonight's thing with Barb made me profoundly sad. It's as if she's being punished for accepting the help of other women, for not going it completely alone as a mother.
And as a mother, I know we all need the extra help. (Would I allow other women to marry into my family? Hell no. But her situation touches a chord with me.)
5. I finished reading, for the second time, The Devil in the White City, another wonderful book. But the last 50 or so pages of the book, with the progressive defacement and eventual destruction of the Columbian Exposition's dream cityscape, the White City, got to me. Add to that the conclusion's speculations about the number of serial killer H. H. Holmes's (mostly young, independent female) victims, and the book ended for me on a real low note, something I didn't need today.
As you might have surmised about my time travel post of a few days ago, I've been thinking a lot about the Columbian Exposition, since it's what I'm covering in my class right now. I'm about to compose a long blog post for my students on a lecture I promised but didn't deliver, one about women's participation in the fair. I have huge, thick folders of documents I photocopied from numerous archives and libraries when I was a grad student fellow at the Smithsonian, and while the sheer bulk of these documents are daunting, I'm hoping that I'll lose my sadness in the history.
(BTW, if you aren't familiar with the 1893 Columbian Exposition, I heartily recommend checking out The Book of the Fair, which is available online here. Also, you definitely should read The Devil in the White City, a work of creative nonfiction by Erik Larson. Some historians aren't thrilled with the liberties Larson takes, but it's a good read nonetheless.)
All right--back to work. Thanks for listening.
A few days ago, I delved into my copy of Getting Things Done, a book that had been sitting on my shelf for waaaaay too long (maybe 6-8 months?). Ends up it's a nifty little system, and I have indeed already started to get some long-delayed stuff done, and accomplished as well some of the stuff on which I'd usually procrastinate. (I will not be joining the GTD cultists, though, thankyouverymuch. No time for that, and too much on my plate already.)
Now that I've cleared my mind of all its clutter by writing out a huge long to-do list as well as some long-term goals, I find I have time to think about other, maybe much more important stuff. And now I feel pretty damn vulnerable because there are all kinds of feelings rushing in to fill the space.
Things from this afternoon that exacerbated my emotional exhaustion:
1. Lucas having a total meltdown in the car when I couldn't do much about it.
2. Immediately upon his quieting down (I managed to pull a bottle of water from the diaper bag, reach back, and put it into his hands without killing us both), I tuned into a replay of this week's Prairie Home Companion at the beginning of a very sad song. I can't find the name of it right now, but it's about the loss of family members who were important in one's childhood--mother, uncles, and aunts--and how much the singer misses their presence, their voices, and their touch.
I'm not yet at the stage of my life where I have to face cascading deaths, but the song saddened me significantly for the future, both for my own losses and for when Lucas will lose me.
3. I started reading The Girls Who Went Away, a new book about women who became pregnant between the end of WWII and the Roe v. Wade decision and who were pressured to give up their children for adoption. I made it through two chapters and realized I just couldn't read any more of it because it made me too damn sad. It's a beautiful book, really, but so sad.
4. I watched tonight's episode of Big Love. As much as I know there are parts of it that should offend my feminist sensibilities (like, oh, the polygamy), I've become attached to the show's characters and can't wait to see each week's stories unfold. (I'll be a bit cryptic here, but it might spoil things for you if you haven't seen this week's episode, so in that case don't read on.) Tonight's thing with Barb made me profoundly sad. It's as if she's being punished for accepting the help of other women, for not going it completely alone as a mother.
And as a mother, I know we all need the extra help. (Would I allow other women to marry into my family? Hell no. But her situation touches a chord with me.)
5. I finished reading, for the second time, The Devil in the White City, another wonderful book. But the last 50 or so pages of the book, with the progressive defacement and eventual destruction of the Columbian Exposition's dream cityscape, the White City, got to me. Add to that the conclusion's speculations about the number of serial killer H. H. Holmes's (mostly young, independent female) victims, and the book ended for me on a real low note, something I didn't need today.
As you might have surmised about my time travel post of a few days ago, I've been thinking a lot about the Columbian Exposition, since it's what I'm covering in my class right now. I'm about to compose a long blog post for my students on a lecture I promised but didn't deliver, one about women's participation in the fair. I have huge, thick folders of documents I photocopied from numerous archives and libraries when I was a grad student fellow at the Smithsonian, and while the sheer bulk of these documents are daunting, I'm hoping that I'll lose my sadness in the history.
(BTW, if you aren't familiar with the 1893 Columbian Exposition, I heartily recommend checking out The Book of the Fair, which is available online here. Also, you definitely should read The Devil in the White City, a work of creative nonfiction by Erik Larson. Some historians aren't thrilled with the liberties Larson takes, but it's a good read nonetheless.)
All right--back to work. Thanks for listening.
Saturday, June 03, 2006
Stymied
It is taking ALL of my reserve not to run to Target with the birthday money my parents gave me to purchase a Singer sewing machine. Why? Because Stupid Sock Creatures arrived in the mail today.
That is all.
That is all.
Serial monogamy meme
As seen at terminaldegree.
Congratulations! You are Katherine Parr.
Katherine Parr spent nearly her whole life married to crotchety old men: Henry was the THIRD old fart she was forced to marry. Is it any wonder she turned to books and religion to occupy her time?
Katherine wasn't just smart, she was a tiny bit uppity, too: she almost got herself thrown in jail for arguing with His Royal Fatness about some theological issues. After Henry croaked, Katherine dropped the prim and proper act and married Thomas Seymour, a handsome, dashing pirate kind of guy who was also as dumb as a post.
Which goes to show you that even bookworms know how to get it on.
Which of Henry VIII's wives are you?
Congratulations! You are Katherine Parr.
Katherine Parr spent nearly her whole life married to crotchety old men: Henry was the THIRD old fart she was forced to marry. Is it any wonder she turned to books and religion to occupy her time?
Katherine wasn't just smart, she was a tiny bit uppity, too: she almost got herself thrown in jail for arguing with His Royal Fatness about some theological issues. After Henry croaked, Katherine dropped the prim and proper act and married Thomas Seymour, a handsome, dashing pirate kind of guy who was also as dumb as a post.
Which goes to show you that even bookworms know how to get it on.
Which of Henry VIII's wives are you?
Friday, June 02, 2006
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Time travel
New meme, anyone?
You have a time machine. Where/when would you go under each of the following circumstances?
For leisure or entertainment:
1893 World's Fair in Chicago, baby. Columbian Exposition, here I come! (Yes, I am a freak.)
To change history:
(This one's hard!) Try to keep the atomic/nuclear bomb genie from being let out of the bottle. Or try to lure a clearer majority of Gore voters to the Florida polls in the 2000 election.
To meet someone and hang out with him or her for an entire day:
Probably my grandmother as a young woman. I think she'd dig the time travel thing. But it would also be neat to travel to the future to chat with Lucas as an older man.
To be mischevious:
Go meet Mr. Trillwing in his late 20s. Don't know what I'd do, but it would definitely be mischevious.
To witness a particular event:
San Francisco earthquake, 1906. I'm kind of drawn to disasters.
You have a time machine. Where/when would you go under each of the following circumstances?
For leisure or entertainment:
1893 World's Fair in Chicago, baby. Columbian Exposition, here I come! (Yes, I am a freak.)
To change history:
(This one's hard!) Try to keep the atomic/nuclear bomb genie from being let out of the bottle. Or try to lure a clearer majority of Gore voters to the Florida polls in the 2000 election.
To meet someone and hang out with him or her for an entire day:
Probably my grandmother as a young woman. I think she'd dig the time travel thing. But it would also be neat to travel to the future to chat with Lucas as an older man.
To be mischevious:
Go meet Mr. Trillwing in his late 20s. Don't know what I'd do, but it would definitely be mischevious.
To witness a particular event:
San Francisco earthquake, 1906. I'm kind of drawn to disasters.
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