The Scoop on Baby's W's Sleep Issues {in case you wanted to know}

What's your biggest fear?

Mine...

FAILURE.

And there's nothing quite like parenthood to provide a Momma with the unending and overwhelming fear that "I'm failing this particular momma-test".

Just the other day Baby W had his 15 month check up. If you read this post then you know that I agonize over each of these appointments. Not because I fear that my baby is sick {I am blessed that he is so healthy}, but because I fear that my doctor will ever so kindly inform me that I am--pardon my French--screwing my child up.

Kind of like the time the pediatrician told me that I have a "difficult baby" and I translated that to mean that I have no control over my child and it's all my fault that he can't sit still and self-entertain with a toy like his toddler friends--surely I did something to cause his hyperness, right?!

And while I think Baby W's doctor is top notch {one in a million, even}, he certainly is black and white in his approach to raising a child. For example, even before Baby W was born, he told us "NEVER bring the baby in bed with you, NEVER EVER".

Of course not, pre-baby Ashley and Hubby would never think of doing something so "not-by-the-book".

But then Baby W was born, and our "by the book" plan changed--drastically, might I add.

It wasn't more than two months after our little guy was born that this tiny, warm, little bundle of happiness was curled up in a little ball in between Momma and Daddy every night. We couldn't resist his new baby smell, not to mention everything just seemed easier with him right next to us {feeding, changing, etc.}.

Flash forward a few months...

Baby W: still adorable {he even still has the new baby smell}...

And a sleep deprived Mommy and Daddy are haunted by our doctor's infamous words: "Never bring the baby in bed with you"

Our little bundle transformed into a thrashing, kicking and head bonking sleeping baby--and after one too many kicks in the face, this Momma and Daddy were ready to put the babe back in his crib.

The first few weeks were rough--so rough in fact that the hubby had to go on a long drive every time I put Baby W down for bed--he couldn't handle the sound of Baby W's piercing cries.

Eventually we got Baby W to sleep in his own crib--for a little bit anyway. Every hour and a half without fail Baby W was awake--and screaming at the top of his lungs. It wasn't long before he had learned how to climb out of the crib and crash down onto the floor sending us into a panicked tail spin.

We even went so far as to install one of those tents on top of his crib--which he dismantled immediately.

We were tired and defeated.

I started hiding in his room so I could figure out how he was getting out of his crib. And that's when I discovered the truth to how Baby W was waking up in the middle of the night...

Baby W is a big-time snorer--has been since day one. So when I sat, hiding in the corner of his dark room listening to his snores as I waited patiently for him to wake up...I noticed silence.

As in no sound whatsoever...

No snoring.

No breathing.

And then, about 10 seconds later a loud GASP for breath.

Followed by a disoriented Baby W standing up in his crib with his eyes still closed as his stumbled around, eventually crashing face first into the side of the crib.

I sprinted from my hiding place in the corner and scooped up my sobbing and bruised baby.

As you can guess, he was back in our bed for the next month--where we monitored his every movement and breath. We began to notice a pattern that explained Baby W's frequent awakenings throughout the middle of the night. Loud snoring, silence, stop breathing, gasp for breath, disoriented thrashing, crying, and then back to sleep. Over and over and over again.

And since I pretty much have a doctorate in googling--I headed over to my favorite search engine to find some answers; and this is what I found:

Sleep Apnea

And when we took Baby W to see his doctor the next day our suspicions were confirmed. Baby W's tonsils and adenoids are just too large for that little breathing hole of his--resulting in a terrible night's sleep {for baby and mommy/daddy}.

And you want to know how I felt?

Sad? Sure, a little. The extent to Baby W's sleep disorder is by no means life threatening, so there is little to worry about, so long as we monitor his sleeping conditions.

What I mostly felt--RELIEF.

Baby W's diagnosis helped relieve my biggest fear. I was NOT failing my son. I had not caused his horrible sleeping habits. This was not my fault. And this is not something I can control.

I came home that day with a new energy to combat his middle of the night "freak out sessions", with more energy to wake up for the day at 5:45 am every morning, and with a new perspective on how much we beat ourselves up as Momma's.

We're not perfect, but I promise you, we're better than we think we are.

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Btw: Have you said hi to our newest sponsor--they pretty much ROCK! Stay tuned for details on the awesomeness that is Inner Hooker!

 

Big Ol Teefers

{Getta look at those mondo teefers}

My Momma {Baby W's Grandmomma} is spending a few days with us this week and when she arrived today I found myself justifying all of Baby W's actions to her:

"He's crying right now because he has a big ole molar coming in {not because I turned off Sesame Street}"

"Oh, don't worry he's refusing to eat even one bite of his lunch because he's teething {not because he's stubborn and wants a cookie instead of pasta}"

"He wakes up a million times a night still because he's cutting teeth {not because I failed at the cry-it-out method }"

"Yeah, he's chewing on the side of the coffee table because it massages his gums {not because he's weird and likes the taste of wood}".

"Sorry your grandson is throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the isle at Party City--his teeth tend to hurt around this time of day {it's not because he's mad that I tried to take off his Super Man costume so we could pay for it}.

"Put him in the crib?! Oh no, when he's teething it's better for him if he's in our bed {it's not because we are completely defeated at getting him to sleep in his own bed}".

How much longer do you think I can go on blaming all of Baby W's bad attitude and naughty moments on teething?

Have I mentioned he's been teething since birth?

{Gotta love that toothy grin}

Debbie Downer

or Negative Natalie--whichever term you prefer to call me today.

Because every now and then I have one of those days where I could stand to "do without" certain things.

Today I could have done without stepping in chewed up puffs that were found mashed into my white carpet.

I could have done without chewed up gold fish crackers being licked blow fish kissed onto my freshly cleaned windows.

{image source}

I could have done without Baby W repeatedly and purposely shutting his fingers in the dresser drawers until he cried {even with those safety latches}.

I could have done without Baby W hurling his food across the room and treating the word "NO" as an invitation to continue throwing.

I could have done without poopy diaper{s}. Not one--not two, but THREE in one day.

I could have done without another leaky Avent bottle all over Baby W's cutest outfit.

I could have done without Baby W learning how to squeeze out of the extra tight straps in his car seat while Momma is driving.

I could have done without the Sesame Street theme song playing in my head {over and over and over}.

I could have done without the overwhelming feeling that I am losing control over my laundry pile.

I could have done without discovering the source of the mystery stench in my car--curdled milk bottle--ugh!

And I could have done without cleaning that bottle...

And as much as I would love to pretend I'm one of those Momma's who never has "her moments"--you all know that would be a lie.

So today, when I had reached my maximum number of tolerable "moments", I did what any Momma-of-the-Year would do.

I buckled up Baby W and we headed to Mickey D's.

Where I ordered a Quarter Pounder with Cheese Extra Value Meal...

And I SUPER SIZED it...

And I added an apple pie for 50 cents...

And then I felt better.

So then I went home to feed Baby W his favorite dinner--messy Lasagna.

And I had one of those other Momma moments.

The ones where you remember why you do what you do.

Why you step in chewed up food, or go through ten loads of laundry a week, or eat spilled food off your kiddos shirt because you're too tired to walk to the trash can, or put away the same toy 47 times a day, or never sleep through the night, or forget to shower, or watch creepy Mr. Noodle on Sesame Street every morning, or clean curdled milk, or wipe stinky bummies, or forget about most of the things from your pre-Momma days...

It's because you CAN'T do without moments like these:

And then you remember that

these are the moments that matter.

Lessons Learned as a New Mommy {revisited}

Back in March I put together a post of the lessons I had learned as a new momma {up to that point}.  This morning {five months later}, I reread the post and couldn't help but chuckle at the things that "stressed me out" in the beginning.  Wow, I was narotic {and I kinda still am}--but isn't that my right as a new momma?

Let's revisit my "lessons learned" in the first 8 months of Baby W's life, shall we:

{Lil W 8 months old}

I have officially been a momma for 8 months and 1 week (unless you count preggo time--in which case I have been a momma for 17 months and 1 week). And in that time I have learned a few tidbits that would have been nice to know before I started this whole parenting business--little helpful hints that could have made my life, oh, so much easier... little words of wisdom that would have saved me countless hours of worry... little life lessons that, had I of known before, would have made me a wiser and calmer momma over these last 8 months and 1 week.

So...through my journey of mommy-hood I thought why not share some of these unexpected experiences:


1. You will NOT have your pre-baby body back after 6 months (unless you are super woman, in which case you should stop reading this entire post because nothing will apply to you). After Lil W was born I went to my 6 week OB check-up expecting to receive the "go ahead" to begin exercising again. I remember my disappointment when my doctor postponed physical activity for another 6 weeks. So you would think that I would be rearing to go as soon as those 6 weeks were up--well you would be wrong. Instead, every day turned into "I'll start working out tomorrow"--and that mentality has continued through to today (8 months and 1 week later).


2. Don't let anyone tell you that you won't need a SUV until you have at least three kids. I have one small 17 pound baby and I feel like a U-Haul would be the most appropriate method of transportation to house all of the necessary "gear" I need just to run to the grocery store two blocks away. Diapers, wipes, bottles, a binkie, an extra binkie, toys, snacks, blanket, changing pad, car seat, stroller, extra change of clothes, baby bjorn, hand sanitizer, and yes, another extra binkie. I suppose my baby wouldn't starve if I forgot the extra bottle or snacks just once--after all, my hubby manages just fine when he takes Lil W out and about with nothing but a car seat {*love you hun*}.

3. Your house will never resemble the "perfect order" it did pre-baby, and the sooner you accept that the more sane you will feel. If you stepped into my home today, you would think that you were in the home of Octomom. Every once empty ounce of floor space is now filled with some baby contraption I never knew existed a year ago. The bouncer and jumper have taken the place of the new end tables you wanted and the pack n'play has replaced the ottoman you were planning to buy--and this is your new reality, and it doesn't even bother you.


4. How you look when you leave the house is no longer a top priority--in fact, not really a priority at all. Instead, your new priority is making sure you Lil One is dressed to impress. *Embarrassing Confession Alert*: Some days I dress Lil W in his cutest little get up and take him to our local Costco just so I can smile as he receives compliments--I don't need to buy anything, I just go to be a proud momma and show off my well-dressed baby {how sad is that}. Meanwhile I have greasy hair, spit up stains on my shoulder, cheerios stuck to my bum and the same outfit I wore the day before.

5. You will never eat breakfast again. Apparently this is the period of the day when your new Lil One requires the MOST attention (bathing, feeding, dressing, poo diaper changing, entertaining after a good nights rest, going on a walk, etc). The closest thing I have ever experienced to breakfast is the last of the pureed bananas and rice cereal I fed Lil W. And yes, I have sadly acquired a taste for rice cereal--I'm serious.


6. Strangers will touch your baby. I know this, because before I had Lil W, I was one of those touchy strangers--I just couldn't resist. I didn't realize that my potential stranger germs were giving the new mommy a panic attack. And nowI receive my pay back every day as complete strangers kiss my baby's hands and let him put their fingers in his mouth, ick!


7. Speaking of strangers, as soon as you have a new baby you WILL be insulted by complete strangers. I remember the very first time the hubby and I took Baby W out in public. Lil W was 8 weeks old and the hubby and I hadn't left the house since we brought him home. We were desperate for a taste of the real world, not to mention we needed to restock our fridge--so we took a trip to the grocery store. We were so worried to take our little bundle of joy out in public that we loaded up on antibacterial gel and covered his car seat with a blankie so no one could touch him. Once inside the store, we were approached by a woman and her young children. She asked how old our baby was and when we told her he was 8 weeks she gave us a mini-lecture about how "she couldn't believe we would bring him to the store at such a young age--she never would have done that with her kids". My jaw hit the floor and my eyes filled with tears as she made me feel like the worst mom in the world. Lesson learned that day: let it go--because it will happen again, because even strangers will have an opinion about how you should raise your children.

8. And the last tid bit for today--There is such a thing as feeding your baby too many carrots. And yes its true, your baby will turn orange when you feed them too many carrots. And then your pediatrician will point this out and politely tell you to widen the range of foods you are feeding him.  And because you are learning to "let it go" you won't freak out that you have an orange baby, instead you will go home and feed him some green beans. 

Thats all the tidbits for now, more to come later!

Current Ashley back here...

And I'm thinking this post needs some updates and additions...

What lessons learned do I need to add?

Will I EVER Sleep Again?

Have you ever been so desperate and defeated that you have actually crawled into your baby's bed in a last attempt to get them to fall asleep? And I'm not talking about your toddlers race car bed--that would be normal {by my standards}.

I'm talking about squishing into the fetal position and climbing into your 1 year olds play pen in hopes of stopping his piercing cries that have endured for the last hour...

Because that's where I was tonight.

Curled up.

Like a baby.

In a play pen.

Desperate for Baby W to fall asleep.

And as much as I wanted to let him cry it out {because that method worked like a charm a few months ago}, I couldn't.

Why not, you ask.

Well, I'll tell ya.

You see, it seems that over the course of the last few days Baby W has taught himself to hoist his skinny little body up over the side rail of his play pen until he comes crashing down onto the floor--stunned, and further distraught than he already was. And furthermore, he has "un-taught" himself how to fall asleep on his own, in his own bed.

He screams and wails and stomps his little feet in his play pen until Momma and DaDa come to the rescue. But we don't come to the rescue, because we've learned the differences in his cries. And tonight's cry is a not one of pain or fear...Oh no, this cry, my friends, is a full blown temper tantrum.

How do I know, you ask?

Because when Baby W is scared or not feeling well, tears fill up in his adorable blue eyes until they are streaming down his puffy little cheeks. But... when Baby W is throwing a tantrum, his cries are TEARLESS--and that's what we had tonight--tearless cries!

 So I put on my tough Momma face while the hubby went into the garage to sulk {he hates the Cry It Out method}, and I settled in to endure the Baby W cry fest. But, it seems Baby W was wise to my tough Momma ways and changed up his methods a bit by throwing himself out of his play pen and hitting his head on the changing table.

And once again, my Momma heart hit the floor.

I rushed into the room, scooped him up and then gave in--and into our bed he crawled.

I couldn't help but feel responsible for the growing lump on his head and I spent the entire night holding him close {and developing a kink in my neck}.

I suppose I went wrong when I broke his routine and brought him back in bed with us while he was sick last week. I knew the potential repercussions--but I couldn't bare another night of waking up to him crying in a bed full of his own throw up {sorry for the graphic visual}--so I gave in, and once again, into our bed he crawled.

Exhausted, frustrated, defeated, I woke up the next morning and googled for a solution. You see, out of all my shelves full of Momma-in-training books, not one mentions how to wrangle and baby who can climb out of any baby sleeping apparatus.

And here's what google suggested:

1. Tent for top of crib/play pen: CHECK--Baby W laughed in the face of this concept as he ripped the tent from it's "secure" place on top of his play pen while the poles nearly poked out his eye balls.

2. Get him a big boy bed: Are you serious Google? Get my one year old a big boy bed? And expect him to stay in it? Psschh!

3. Reprimand him for getting out of bed: Ummm, how do you suppose I punish a one year old more than he already feels he's being punished by going to bed in the first place?

So tonight, when I felt I had exhausted all options, I gave in again--but this time I didn't bring Baby W into my bed--this time I crawled into his--and his tearless crying stopped immediately...

He even cracked a smile.

And as frustrating as the whole song and dance was--I couldn't help but smile back...

Inevitable Yucky Moments

There are certain yucky experiences in life that every new momma will be forced to endure throughout her first go around.

First shot. {check}

First fever. {check}

First cough. {check}

First tantrum. {double check}

First sandy poo diaper. {check}

First bug eating.{yes, check}

The list goes on.

Well today, this momma experienced her first spill with Baby W.

And not the kind of spill where his bottle empties onto my freshly cleaned kitchen floor. 

No, I'm talking about the kinda spill where your precious little baby falls flat on his face, cuts open his adorable little lip, hyperventilates from crying so hard and nearly breaks your momma heart into a million little pieces.

Today I was able to check this ultra yucky experience off of that icky list of 'inevitable experiences'.

I always knew this day would arrive, and honestly, at the rate {and speed} my babe crawls, I am surprised such an incident hasn't occurred sooner.  But I was even more surprised by my reaction.

Not even one second after he took his spill, Baby W was already scooped up into my arms as I attempted to calmly assess the damage.

I knew he was in real pain because he was doing his "silent cry". 

The cry where his face looks like he's crying, but no sound is coming out.  The one where his face begins to turn purple and I have to blow on his mouth to remind him to breath.

You know the cry I'm talking about.

Well, I handled the crying just fine.

It wasn't until I saw the blood that I fell apart.

I became completely overwhelmed and fell into one of those black hole momma moments where you feel utterly helpless.  And that feeling of helplessness only magnified the catastrophe at hand.

And, YES, to a new momma, this experience was deemed a catastrophe. 

Note the extra puffy top lip, the tear tracks on his cheeks and blood on his nose and eye lid.

I'm not sure who was more emotional,

Baby W or his Momma. 

Still dazed and confused.

Lucky for Mommy, Daddy was home and able to put on a brave face for Baby W while Momma got it together in the other room.

So here's to hoping this momma handles the future icky items on the list with a bit more courage--and without getting those black spots in her eyes and losing her balance.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.

_________________________________

On a happy note,

I just added a NEW section to the LMM Etsy Shop...

HOME DECOR!!

Here is a sneak peak at what you'll find:

Click HERE to visit the shop!

Doctor's Orders

Baby W had his 10 month check up the other day.

That day, I went through my usual pre-doctor routine: give Lil W an extra long bath, q-tip his ears, brush his teeth, apply smell-good baby lotion to every surface of his body, put fresh baby powder around his bummy and pick out the most adorable outfit--all to prove to his pediatrician that I am the best mommy out of all his patients.

Pathetic, I know.

At every appointment, I half-expect the doctor to walk in the room, hand me a trophy and say, "On behalf of Pediatricians across America, we want to award YOU with this Momma-of-the-Year trophy--because your baby has the cleanest ears we've ever seen".

Because for some reason, it's as if the doctor's opinion of my mothering skills serves as a confirmation that I am not messing up at this whole parenting business, a confirmation that I am learning to be the best momma my little guy could hope for.

As if a 20 minute doc appointment can illustrate the immeasurable love, pride, anxiety, worry and hope I have for Baby W.

That being said...This day's trip to the doctor would be a bit different than past visits, and I found that I was a bit anxious.  You see, this was the longest gap we had ever had between visits {2.5 months}, and I knew my calm little infant had turned into a bouncing-off-the-walls baby...

and I feared what my doctor would think.

So the hubby, baby and I headed off to our appointment with our fingers crossed.  Imagine our excitement when Baby W was on his absolute BEST behavior throughout the whole appointment.  As we were putting his cute little outfit back on him, I was smiling to myself.

 "See Ashley, he's not that out of control", I told myself.

And then, just as I was about to give myself a literal pat on the back, Dr. B broke the news to us as gently as he could:

"You have a very difficult baby".

I was stunned.  But why? I knew this already. In fact, these were the exact words I had been telling everyone and their mother.  Yet, for some reason, it stung hearing the words from someone else's mouth {and a doctor nonetheless}.

The hubby and I exchanged concerned glances and then proceeded to take mental notes of all the advice he began giving us about how to regain control of our child.  And this coming from Dr. B's opinion of Baby W on his BEST behavior {which I decided not to mention to him}.

A bit disheartened, but armed with a plethora of doctor tips to give us hope, we left the doc's office and headed home to put those tips into action.

Most important, our pediatrician told us, was to allow Baby W to learn to be content in his play pen while I worked around the house.

  Past experience setting Lil W in his play pen has resulted in severe back arching, tearless crying, and a momma frantically scooping up her baby to give our home some peace and quiet.

This time, I was told not to pick him up.

As hard as it was to endure his screeching cries, eventually Baby W realized that I would not be succumbing to his tantrum--and so he became

his own version of content in his play pen.

You mean you're not going to pick me up and get me outta here?

Well then, maybe if I push really hard I can get out myself.

I guess I will just have to climb my way out with my teeth.

I don't imagine this was the kind of "content in his play pen" the doc was referring to, but its as good as we're going to get.

And that's kinda become my motto with this whole "difficult baby" situation. Yes, I realize that much of his behavior is in my control, but sometimes, just sometimes, this is really just as good as its gonna get.

And I'm okay with that.

Vacation with a Monster Baby

Baby W is finally asleep...

The suitcases from my surprise Mother's Day mini-vacation are finally unpacked...

My frozen dinner has been consumed, a load of laundry is in the washer and the hubby is off at an activity for church...

I take a deep breath, pour a glass of diet cherry pepsi on ice, sit down with my laptop, and try to find the words to explain whats on my mind...

{photo from Getty Images, and no, its not me}

You see, something happens to me when I go on vacation.  Whenever I'm away from home, away from all the responsibilities and obligations of every day life, I make this unrealistic commitment to myself.  I commit that when I get home I am going to turn my life around, get everything in order, do all those things I have been putting off. 

I tell myself, "when I get home I'm going to clean out my closet and all my junk drawers, I'm going to officially declutter my home, I'm going to start that diet,  I'm going to start exercising every single day, I'm going to start reading classic literature, I'm going to cook dinner every night, I'm going to start doing flashcards with Baby W, I will get Lil W on a set SCHEDULE, I'm going to start writing my novel, I'm going to study the scriptures for 30 minutes every day, I'm going to read the newspaper and actually know whats going on in this world, I'm going to STOP watching TV"...and the list goes on.

You see, when I am on vacation, anything seems possible. And its not that these are unrealistic or impossible goals I'm setting for myself {I mean read the newspaper, how hard can that really be, ha!}.  After all, these are all goals that will inevitably make my life better...but for some reason, these are the areas I struggle with every day...these are the same goals I recommit to over and over.  And this last vacation, I did it again.

I told myself, when I get home, things are going to change...

And this time I want to believe its true.

Aside from the goal setting and commitment making, this vacation was different than past ones the hubby and I have taken--this time Baby W was with us.  

When the hubby announced my surprise Mother's Day gift of a trip to our favorite destination ever, the place where we spent our honeymoon {Catalina Island}--I became overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of introducing Baby W to the place that holds so many special memories for our little family. 

{Catalina Island, the happiest place on Earth}

I imagined Lil W having a blast playing on the beach, excited to explore the island in his stroller, baby-flirting with all the new people, enjoying the undivided attention from his mommy and daddy, and then crashing from exhaustion at the end of the day.  And to a large extent that's exactly what happened {minus the crashing from exhaustion part}.  

For 4 days and 3 nights Baby W did not sleep.  Sure he closed his eyes, he even snored a bit...but, without fail, just as mommy and daddy closed their eyes and drifted into stage 1 of the sleep cycle, Baby W was awake and crying loud enough to wake up our unsuspecting hotel room neighbors.  Needless to say, we were not the most popular family in the hotel. 

In addition, Baby W learned how to throw a full-blown temper tantrum this week--which he did often.  And because we were in a place where others were trying to relax and unwind, I couldn't just let him throw a fit until he calmed down, like I wanted to. Instead, I had to cater to his every whimper, which only succeed in increasing the frequency of tantrums.

The hubby and I spent our mornings taking turns waking up with Baby W at 4:45 am, because for some reason Lil W is confused about the whole sleeping in on vacation thing--instead, he decided to wake up an hour and a half earlier each morning. 

At one point on our "vacation" the hubby actually asked if I wanted to go home early.  And for some reason {one that I can't explain} when he uttered those words, I nearly cried.  To me, it was as if "going home"
 was admitting failure to this whole parenting business.  I mean, we have a baby now, so we are supposed to enjoy vacationing together, enjoy making scrapbook worthy memories together...so why were we so miserable? 

I wish I could say that the remainder of our vacation was smooth sailing--but that would be a lie.  The truth is, the downward spiral continued.  By the time we arrived home, back to obligation and responsibility, we realized we were now in need of a vacation from our vacation.

Would we do it again, you ask? You know, we probably would. {Que another cheesy Little Miss Momma life lesson} Because aside from the tantrums and 3 hour night sleeps, we did enjoy ourselves at least a little bit.

And as miserable as our trip seemed at times,

our pictures tell a different story:

{And yes, Baby W did pee on Momma on day 1 of our vacation}

In 20 year from now, we'll look back at these photos, and we won't remember the stress and middle-of-the-night-lack-of-sleep-nervous-breakdowns. Instead, we'll remember the first time we took our son to our most favorite place and made new memories as a new little family {and we'll laugh about the whole temper tantrum thing--I hope}.

Once again, all in all, totally worth it!