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Toddlers. Damn.

August 19, 2015 / Tara / 2 Comments

Independent. Busy. Strong-willed. Good eater.

These are the most frequent adjectives used to describe my child, and honestly, just looking at them makes me feel a little tired. Mr. Full Throttle has been walking for about three months now, and things have been borderline chaos ever since. At the moment I’m a little terrified of restaurants, grocery stores, and shopping establishments. Or basically any place that expects a certain amount of order and decorum. Because we have neither of these. E can wipe out a shelf of, well, anything without an ounce of awareness or remorse. I follow behind trying to simultaneously “reprimand” and clean up, and pray to god we can get out of there before he does enough damage to wipe out his college fund.

Happy!

And not only is he physically on the move, he’s emotionally on the move. His mood goes from lovable and snuggly to meltdown-punch-you-in-the-face-with-a-wooden-ice-cream-cone in 2 seconds flat. So of course, now that we’re sleeping a little bit better, my daily Google search has gone from “sleep training methods” to “how to deal with tantrums.”

Which means it happened. I have a toddler.

Enraged!

I remember the first time he threw himself backwards in a screaming fit because he didn’t get what he wanted. I seriously thought to myself, “No way. He’s only 10 months old. He must have hurt himself or something.” And then he did it again. And again. And again. Which is about the point when it started to sink in that my baby was gone, and that my wild-haired little buddy had begun the process of manipulating me with his screams and tears. Early. I guess he’s a prodigy. We all have to be good at something, I suppose.

The internet told me that children who start tantruming at 10 months have some very desirable attributes that will benefit them later as an adult. Like creativity, persistence, and sensitivity. But in this particular moment in time, they suck ass. And as we all know, the internet doesn’t lie. So I’m going to believe that E machine is just some kind of tortured artist, yearning for freedom from his horrible, overbearing mother. But seriously, y’all. I truly thought I’d have a little more time before all of this crazy began.

Anyway, I’d have a witty conclusion for this blog, but I’m tired. In a different way now. The tired that comes from trying to demystify the mind of a toddler, which as we all know is a lost cause. But I’m a little strong-willed, persistent, and creative so I’m going to keep at it.

P.S. – Could someone get me a snack?

Hey Universe. Thanks.

July 10, 2015 / Tara / 1 Comment

I had one of those moments today. The kind all of the moms talk about when you’re in those dark times of infanthood, thinking you’ll never feel normal again. Where they look at your unwashed hair and dark circles under your eyes and say, “it’s totally worth it.”

And guess what? This afternoon it was totally worth it.

I took E to a splash park today after his nap. When we pulled up, all I could hear was laughter and wet feet hitting the pavement. It sounded like summer. I was instantly filled with a combination of nostalgia and happiness that I could share an afternoon like this one with my son. As we got closer, I realized the park was crazy, and I wasn’t sure how E would handle it. But as soon as I set him down, he took off like bullet straight into the water, squealing with joy. I did my best to keep up with him, getting shot with water canons the whole time, eventually just hanging out on the edges and watching him go. He’d play for a minute or two then look and up and find me and run right into my arms, soaked and smiling. After about 30 minutes, he started to get so cold his (2) teeth were chattering, so I scooped him up, wrapped him in a towel and headed toward the shade for a snack. I handed him some graham crackers, and he leaned back on me and cuddled up to get warm. Then I looked down at him, with tiny beads of water on his face and food in his cheeks, completely comfortable and content — and I realized so was I. I gave him a hug and rested my face on the top of his head, and we just sat there people watching and enjoying summer. It was perfect.

Secret graham crackers.

I wish I could talk to myself a year ago. I’d tell myself that all of those people saying it’s worth it — they’re actually right and not just trying to make me feel better. I’d tell myself that a year is actually quicker than I think. That I’m tougher than I think I am.

But since I can’t time travel, I’ll just hold on to my moment from today. Hold on to it hard. And know that I have so many more moments just like that one to look forward to.

The Hubners Go to Yellowstone

June 14, 2015 / Tara / 4 Comments

About two years ago, the Hubners sat around at Christmas time and came up with the audacious plan that we should all go to Yellowstone. Together. As a family. I was pregnant with E, so of course I was all in. Little did I know that once I had a baby, my brain would completely rewire itself, and even the simplest of trips (say, to the grocery store) would send my anxiety wrought mind into five levels of despair. Needless to say, as the Yellowstone trip got closer, the word panic was an understatement.

But closer it came, and after spending about 3 weeks packing (Do we have diapers? Yes. Wait… do we have diapers? Yes.), the day finally came to embark on the 10+ hour road trip to the first national park with my newly christened 11 month old. Of course he was sick, because we exist in a state of perpetual illness. But I hit up the doctor, and we left with antibiotics for yet another ear infection, steroids for croup/stridor, and well wishes for a safe journey. And at about 5:30 a.m., we met up with the rest of the Hubner clan and the journey began.

Watch out for rattlesnake bites, bad water, and dysentery.

I did my best to prepare enough ways to keep a baby entertained on the road. I knew he’d sleep at least 4-5 hours of it, which is killer. But the awake times… oh, the awake times. What can you do to keep a new walker happy in a car seat for that long? My solution was Target and boat loads of snacks. I hit it up the dollar section before we left and bought a toy for each hour of the trip. Plus, I had puffs, rice cakes, snack bars, yogurt melts, applesauce pouches — you name it. And, of course, frequent stops. My plan worked for about 11.5 hours. I was so proud of my boy. Then, about 20 minutes from Old Faithful Inn, shit hit the fan. E was over it. Over the toys, the snacks, the car. He screamed until we stopped and got him out of his car seat at which point the tears immediately stopped. I was fried, but of course, we still had a whole car full of crap to unload and a pack-and-play to set up. Woof. Needless to say, bedtime for baby couldn’t have come soon enough. Thankfully, he was so tired he didn’t really care that he was in a new place and slept like a champ. Even when we had to open the heavy ass historic door that came with some sort of ancient blacksmith-ed metal lever that sounded like we were breaking out of a dungeon cell every time we went in or out of our room.

Old Faithful Inn was amazing. A huge log lodge with views of Old Faithful and a cellist that played music every night. The highlight was when she played the theme song from Last of the Mohicans. It seemed so right. Or it could have been the beer(s) talking. Regardless, sitting in that amazing three story lodge, listening to music echo off the century old pine while the baby slept just a few feet away in our room was magical.

Walking with daddy around Old Faithful Inn.

On our first day there we decided to skip riding in the car and instead do some hiking right out the backdoor in the Upper Geyser Basin. There was stinky steam, gushing water, and colorful pools. A true Yellowstone experience. Peter did the awesome daddy thing and threw E in the kid backpack and trekked around with 21 pounds of boy for about 3 miles. E talked, fussed when Peter would stop walking, and eventually took a nap in the pack. While E was sleeping, we came across a bison in the middle of the path. The whole gang had to take a huge detour around him, which seemed pretty lame at the time. However, later in the trip we heard that an Australian man was gored by a bison just off a path near Old Faithful Inn the same day we were hiking, and we’re pretty sure the one we avoided was the culprit. After that story we felt pretty good about our choice to make the big loop around him.

Hiking pro(s).

The next few days were spent exploring, eating dirt/playing with rocks and napping, in that order. We saw tons of beauty and bison (the boy thought they were hilarious), and the E child even had his first graham crackers down by the river while the rest of the gang dined on camp hot dogs.

Graham crackers down by the river.

On Wednesday, we packed up and journeyed even farther north to Mammoth Hot Springs where we had reserved cabins. The drive there was ridiculous, simply because we saw half a dozen bears (and baby bears!), each of which came with their own personal traffic jam. That’s one of the crazy things about Yellowstone. You always know when there’s a cool animal sighting because half the park gathers on the side of the road and the other half drives 2 miles an hour with their billion dollar cameras hanging out the window. It’s probably a good thing because I’m the world’s worst at spotting wildlife. If life were truly like the Hunger Games, I’d die first.

Mammoth was awesome because we had porches with a view of the mountainside (and sadly, also a construction site. whatever.). The babies ran in and out of our rooms and in the grass, while we’d cook dinner and s’mores. After we got the kids to bed, we sit out and chat, drink beers, and listen to music. It was almost like vacations of old. But with a baby monitor sitting right next to me.

The days at Mammoth were spent doing more hiking and sightseeing, including a trip to Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone, which is truly one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Peter braved all the stairs and switchbacks with E on his back, and the boy enjoyed watching waterfalls and playing with pine cones and sticks I’d hand him as we walked along.

Geyser!

Our last night in Yellowstone was a bit waterlogged, but we made hot dogs and sat out on the porch anyway, all while trying to convince a 2-year-old that stepping in puddles wearing only socks was a bad idea (adults lost). After putting the babies to sleep and doing whatever packing we could, we once again sat out in the cold, bundled in jackets and blankets, drinking beers and rehashing our favorite parts of the trip.

My favorite part. Grand Canyon of Yellowstone.

The next morning, the gang split up. The Texas Hubners hung back and did a little more sightseeing, while the Denver Hubners got their butts up super early and started the journey home. Part of me was sad we didn’t hang with the rest, and the other part of me knew we were on the clock. And sure enough, after 10 hours of fairly smooth sailing, E lost his mind. It was right around Fort Collins when things started to get dicey, and they really fell apart in Loveland. E was SCREAMING bloody murder, and nothing Peter or I could do would help. Eventually he fell asleep, but he was so sad about the car ride he was actually crying with his eyes closed. It was truly one of the more pathetic things I’ve ever seen.

So, here’s what I learned about doing 12 hours on the road with your baby:

1. Know their limits. Some babies can handle more than others in terms of travel. Push things as far as you feel comfortable with, and then stop. That being said…

2. Babies are tougher than you think. You’ve got your schedule and you just know they won’t handle being off a schedule. In a new place. Full of strange and wonderful things. And then they do. Beautifully.

3. Let them explore and take part in the adventure. Baby hasn’t taken a bath in three days? Meh. Fell down 30 times today trying to scale the stairs in a century old log cabin? NBD. Just ate a crap ton of dirt with that graham cracker? Oh well. They’re on vacation, too. Let them live a little.

Needless to say, we had a fantastic time. Yes, there were meltdowns and missed bedtimes. Naps were had in backpacks and lunch was sometimes WAY too late. But, we went on vacation. Together. As a family. E had his first graham crackers, grilled cheese, and cherries. He saw bison, played with his cousins, relocated every rock, stick, and pine needle in the park, and climbed as many stairs as we would let him do. And me? I tackled a long ass road trip with a toddler — like a boss. So bring it, summer. The Hubners are headed outdoors. Because guess what? I’m not afraid anymore.

The Hubners in Yellowstone. A family portrait.

Unsolicited advice for all these new summer moms

March 30, 2015 / Tara / 2 Comments

Judging from Facebook and also a few real life conversations, I’m pretty sure the world’s population is going to triple this summer, with an abnormally large spike in August. I’m glad so many of you had a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

So, I’m about to do that thing that no first time (or anytime) parent likes. Give unsolicited advice. However, I feel like I can get away with it for two reasons:

It’s passive advice. I’m putting it in this blog. If you want it, cool. If not, then just don’t read any further. Simple as that.
I had a summer baby. Like, literally, last summer. Which is still hard for me to believe, but I also think gives me a tiny bit of street cred.

That baby I had last summer. All new and shiny.

Ok, so onward with the advice. Just so you know, this isn’t going to be about specific products or anything like that, but things I just wish I had known or found to be truly important in keeping my sanity during one of the craziest times in my entire life.

Train yourself to fall asleep quickly. You know all those dumb people that tell you to “get your sleep now”? Don’t waste your time with that BS. Last time I checked, Sleep Banks don’t exist. Instead figure out how to go from awake to asleep in 5 minutes or less. Because seriously, sometimes all that baby is going to give you is 30 minutes to sleep, and if it takes you that long or longer (in my case) to fall asleep, you’re going to be one super extra tired momma.
Get a comfy couch and chair. Look, whether you like it or not, someone at some point is going to end up sleeping on the couch. Make sure your couch is so awesome you don’t really mind that at all. Also, get a REALLY comfy chair, especially if you’re nursing. I thought I could get away with just using the chairs I have. Not true. One week in, and I had emergency purchased a lovely, reclining rocking chair. Breastfeeding mommas will spend more time in that chair than you thought humanly possible. So make it count.
Find your favorite walking routes, and try to make sure they include coffee shops. The only thing that helped me keep my sanity was walking about five miles a day. Once I found a few routes that had food and coffee, things got infinitely better. I could fuel up and get a few adult words in with the folks that worked there. Plus, when you’re five seconds from your breaking point, it’s nice to hear people gush over your baby. It makes things feel a little bit better. That being said, I feel so, so sorry for moms of winter babies in Colorado.
You think you want to “be by ourselves the first two weeks so we can get to know baby”? Think again. Peter and I talked about asking people to wait a few weeks before coming to visit so I could heal and we could get to know our new family. I’m so glad we reconsidered. We needed more help in those first two weeks than I’ve ever needed in my whole life. Thankfully, E has the best grandparents in the world, and they were totally up to the task.
If you’re going to take any classes, make sure they’re ones that help you AFTER the baby is born. Look, that baby is going to come out in whatever way it pleases. Then, you have a baby. And they let you take it home, no questions asked. It cries, it won’t eat, it eats too much and then gets gassy and cries more, it wakes up at 2 a.m. for no reason at all. I wish I had found some classes that gave me more techniques to try to calm a crying baby. After a while, I felt like I had exhausted my repertoire. But thankfully, that’s when Teeny would step in and say, “Have you tried _____?” Usually, I hadn’t. Sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn’t, but at least I felt like I had one more tool in my arsenal.
Embrace change, uncertainty, and being totally out of control. Your life isn’t yours anymore — it’s ours. That means there’s another (strong) voice in the room that may just decide you aren’t going to the grocery store this afternoon. Or hanging out with your friends. Or finishing that bite of sandwich. The quicker you can figure out ways to cope with having zero control over your life anymore, the better.
Don’t buy one of those beautiful cribs with the solid wood headboard. This is for when baby gets a little older. Those hollow sounding thunks and booms in the middle of the night? That’s your baby’s beautiful head getting bashed on that headboard. And as far as I can tell, there isn’t a bumper product on the market that can save their little noggin.* Ugh.

Alright, folks. There it is. I’m sure there are more (of course there are more), but these seemed to stick out right now in my still–although not as badly–sleep deprived mind. You’re in for a wild, beautiful ride. Hang on with both hands and don’t let go.

*If you know of something please, for the love, let me know. E’s head thanks you.

My baby now! Pulling up on everything, like a boss.

Music class

February 26, 2015 / Tara / 0 Comments

I’m not really into “mommy and me” things. They require the ability to suspend reality — to pretend that I don’t look completely ridiculous in front of a room full of strangers. Let’s just say I’m not there yet. However, a friend of mine invited me to check out the children’s music class she teaches. Turns out that my love of free things, plus the fact that my mom was going to be in town, was enough to get me to try it out with E.

When we showed up, we were required to take off our shoes. In my mind, I know that shoe removal in a room full of babies who are encouraged to crawl around all over the floor is the right and hygienic thing to do. But in my neurotic heart of hearts, I might have died a little. For reasons I can’t explain, I hate when I’m asked to remove my shoes when I enter a room. Maybe it’s the fact that my feet are perpetually cold and like to have an extra layer, maybe it’s my extreme dislike of most adult feet. Whatever my strange reasons, it definitely put my mind in the wrong space. But thankfully, I’ve become a pro at hiding my true anxiety-filled self, and I took my shoes off and strolled into the room with my baby like a boss.

While we waited for everyone to show up and class to begin, the babies all gathered ‘round a giant drum and hit it. It was some kind of super ridiculously cute baby drum circle. Watching the babies play at being hippies definitely helped me get over the fact that I wasn’t wearing shoes. However, next the teacher explained what the expectations were of the adults. “I’d like it if you all would sing and play along.”

Baby drum circle. Yes, those are fish pants.

Excuse me, what? Um, hi, my name is Tara. And I most certainly don’t sing and play along. This is the second part in our story where I had to check my anxiety at the door and remind myself I was here for my boy, not for me.

Speaking of E, this is about the time when his mind was blown. Everyone in the room started singing and clapping at the same and he was mesmerized. And perhaps a little confused. But overall, he seemed to be enjoying the sights and sounds of grown ass adults singing children’s songs in unison. I can’t say that I was singing, but I did try to clap or whatever without sweating noticeably. I think I succeeded.

And I must say, the people watching was pretty entertaining for me as well. Some of the parents were full on into it. In my head, I applauded them for their extreme humility. Others were more like me and pretended to “sing” and basically just did the clapping. I took notes on those ones, because we’d probably be friends. The babies, however, were the best part. For some, you could tell this was the best hour of their week. For others, it was like music was poison. One little girl spent the whole time trying to figure out how to open the door and get the hell out. She was the one in the Grateful Dead t-shirt, whose mom probably wanted to have some sort of rad, music-loving child, and instead got this one. It was amazing.

Anyway, here’s a recap of the next 30 minutes or so. Singing, clapping, dancing (Yes, dancing with your baby around other people dancing with their babies. Kill me.) and then finally a parachute. This is when things got a little sketchy for the Hubner clan. Remember the Grateful Dead baby? Well, the only part she decided was worth her time was when the teacher got out a parachute that the babies could sit under and have their minds blown by the psychedelic colors. This made her extremely excited.* I put E under the parachute, not knowing that all out chaos would ensue. I did my best to keep an eye on him, but between the swirling and singing, something happened under there. Maybe the colors were too much. Maybe Grateful Dead baby clobbered him. All I know is that he started bawling, and I pulled a sweet duck and swoop maneuver and rescued him — all without interrupting the song. One of the “clapping only” moms whispered, “Nice, move.” Two check marks for her on the we-could-maybe-be-friends mental list.

At the end, the teacher pulled out a guitar and sang a calm, cool down song. This is the part where I discovered the E might have a “type”. All the other babies kind of looked around and sort of kept playing — Elliott froze. He couldn’t take his eyes off that woman with the guitar. So, lookout singer-songwriters everywhere. My blue-eyed baby is coming after you.

Once the song was over, class was dismissed and my anxiety level dropped to almost nothing. Yes, because it was done, and also because E wouldn’t stop “talking.” It’s like he was saying, “Mom…mom…mom… did you see? They had instruments and were clapping and were playing guitar. IT WAS THE COOLEST THING EVER.” And that’s when I decided that despite the shoe removal, awkward adult jamming, and parachute mayhem, I would probably be coming back. Because, guess what? It’s not about me anymore. And who knows, maybe if I’m forced to sing in public enough times, I might actually end up liking it.

*See Grateful Dead, mom? Maybe she is cut from the same cloth just a little.

Yup, we’re mobile.

February 2, 2015 / Tara / 0 Comments

He waited exactly one day after turning 7 months to start army crawling. It’s this hilarious maneuver where he sticks his tush up in the air, wiggles it from side to side, and once he has enough momentum, drags himself across the floor with his arms. He only moves about six inches, but that’s plenty of mobility to say, grab the cat or dog, a charging cord — or if we’re lucky — a sanctioned and approved toy on his play mat. Of course with this monumental achievement came the regular I’m-not-going-to-sleep-because-this-is-awesome-let’s-party routine at 2 a.m. for a few nights. Everyone made it though. In some cases (me), just barely.

Army crawling and balancing on all fours. It’s about to get real.

The best part? I was home to see it. I seriously saw it first. Yes, I was sleep deprived and barely hanging on, but I saw my boy discover the freedom of movement. I witnessed the pride on his face when the water bottle that had been eluding him for months was finally something he could get ahold of all by himself. And I loved it.

In other words, working part time is so far pretty awesome.

Regarding the job, I know it’s only been two weeks, but I friggin’ love it. I’m on a small team, which means I get to do everything tip to tail with very few layers of approval. Plus, I get to help start their social media program from scratch, which is always exciting. But almost as exciting as the job was the fact that I almost got to pump with Peanut.

See, one of the therapies they do at Mount Saint Vincent is animal-assisted therapy. They have dogs visit, go to a ranch to learn how to ride horses, and they have a guinea pig that lives there named Peanut. Peanut hangs out in a room by himself on the 2nd floor of the main building. The kids come by a few times a day to feed him snacks and say hey, but for the most part it’s pretty vacant. But for a brief moment, Peanut almost had the opportunity to get the show of his life and a little company from yours truly three times a day.

The staff had been on a building wide hunt for most of the morning on my first day trying to find a space with a door that locked where I could pump. I share an office, so as cool as it is to kick my officemate out so I can have some oh-so-awkward workplace naked time, they figured I might want a different space to conduct my business. And the first location that came to mind was Peanut’s house. Sadly, my weekly column that was going to be known as “Pumping with Peanut,” will never see the light of day. They found me a supply closet two doors down from Peanut where I could pump. And I have to say, I’m a little disappointed. “Pumping in the supply closet” just doesn’t have the same appeal. Oh well. The pump probably would have given Peanut a heart attack anyway.

In conclusion, here is one more adorable photo of E. Because I’m at home more and I take boatloads of photos. So there.

Looking dapper in our Kennedy sweater.

Full-time no more

January 7, 2015 / Tara / 9 Comments

I remember the exact day I decided that I didn’t want a full-time job. It was the day E rolled over for the first time. It was an accomplishment that took two weeks of sleepless nights to achieve, and I wasn’t there to see it.

Instead, Mrs. Laura saw it first. When I picked up E from daycare, she excitedly told me all about it. While my face was smiling on the outside, my heart was breaking on the inside. All I could think was, “I should have been there.”

Ok yes, I know my son won’t remember that I wasn’t around for the first time he rolled over. But I will. And yes, I know that I could have just as easily been at the grocery store or the gym when it happened. But I wasn’t. Instead I was working, and I didn’t even have a shot at seeing it.

Sitting up like a boss.

On that day, something in my brain shifted. I went from the gal who was DYING to get back to work after only a month of maternity leave, to the mom who drug herself into the office every day feeling guilty and full of regret. I had to change.

And so change I did. I’m over-the-moon excited to announce that I’ve taken a part-time social media coordinator position with the Mount Saint Vincent Home. I get to keep doing the type of work that I love, stay in the nonprofit world, and spend more days a week with my son than at an office. Oh, and did I mention that it’s only a MILE from my house? 3 minute commute. Booyah. It couldn’t be more perfect.

So, cheers 2015. You’re a new year with new adventures, and I can’t wait to get started.*

*I’d like to take a moment to mention how truly awesome my husband is. He’s supported me through this whole thing, figured out all the finances, and has been a strong voice of encouragement when I question myself and my abilities as a parent. I never thought we’d be in a position where we could afford for me to go part-time, but here we are. And I’m sincerely thankful.

Sleep training, part two

January 6, 2015 / Tara / 12 Comments

Ok, y’all. I have a confession to make. I totally wussed out on REAL Ferber last time I tried it. I’d get 7 minutes in to that third round of crying and I’d race in the room and put in his pacifier. It totally worked, so I didn’t think anything of it. Then E turned 6 months old, and everything changed. We began to encounter a little thing known as “object permanence.” Basically, that means the little guy all of a sudden realized when things were there — and when they were suddenly gone. During the day, it’s totally awesome. He recognizes when people, toys, pets, etc. are in the room and when they leave. It’s like he’s an actual tiny person now — completely a part of this world. However, what was a totally doable paci plug up once a night became putting in a pacifier every 45 minutes. All. Night. Long. Because, well, that thing he fell asleep with would fall out and be gone, and when he’d transition to another sleep cycle (I’ve done a shit ton of research, as you can see. I told you I’m obsessed with the topic of sleep.), he’d wake up because his paci was missing. Mixed with a dose of illness (both him and me) and Christmas “vacation,” and you’re looking at a haggard momma who hadn’t slept longer than 2 hours in a stretch in over two weeks. I was a zombie — and I was done.

And so real Ferber began.

Napping in his crib, wearing tiny jeans, like a big boy.

Actually, let’s clear a few things up. First, I made sure E wasn’t sick. We hit up the doctor, got all checked out, and he got a clean bill of health. Second, when he would wake up at night, he wasn’t angry. Just awake. So I knew he wasn’t hungry or in pain, he just didn’t know how to put himself to sleep without a pacifier. Third, I made sure both Peter and I were on board. I knew if we were going to do this thing, we both had to do it.

I started with his first nap of the day because I knew I’d be able to handle the crying a lot better in the day time. I did like the book said and started with 3 minutes, then went in and consoled him for less than a minute, then left. Then 5 minutes, then 10 minutes, and on and on… it took only 12 minutes. I was shocked. The second nap went about the same. Needless to say, I was feeling pretty good about this whole Ferberizing thing.

Then came the night.

At bedtime, we did our evening routine and once again it took him about 12 minutes to get to sleep. I went to bed at 8 p.m. because I just had this feeling that things might get real. At 11:40 p.m., they SO did. E woke up crying. So, I started in with the check and console thing. And I continued it for TWO HOURS. I had the shakes. I had the nervous laughs. I questioned the meaning of life. But at 1:30 a.m., he finally went to sleep. And stayed asleep until 6:30 the next morning. When he woke up, he looked at me and gave me the most beaming smile. I smiled back, fed him, and then began nursing the raging headache I had. It was rough, but we made it out with grins on our faces.

The following day was awesome. Both naps only had about a minute of crying before he was asleep. I couldn’t believe it. At bedtime, it was maybe 7 minutes. Of course, I was a nervous wreck all night, so I woke up at 2:30 a.m. and couldn’t fall back asleep. I heard him sing himself to sleep at 3 a.m., cough at 4:30 a.m., and then finally wake up crying at 5 a.m. I kind of panicked at this point. It’s so close to his normal wake up time — what do I do? Go in there? Feed him? I waited a bit and when he kept crying I went in. He had a blow out diaper and was most certainly hungry. I changed the diaper and his PJs, fed him, and he went back to sleep until 6:40. I felt like I had won a major award.

We’re now almost a week in, and I swear some sort of sorcery has occured. He doesn’t even cry anymore when I put him to sleep. He just talks a little, rolls over, and night night. He still wakes up angry between 4 and 5 a.m., but after a diaper change and some food, he goes back to sleep. Does anyone know what I should do about that early morning wake up? It’s so close to his actual wake up time that I don’t feel like Ferberizing is the key, but maybe I’m just wussing out again? Perhaps I should just keep going to bed at 9 p.m. so I can be ready for my early morning wake up call? Help, friends!

Happy baby in a box of bubble wrap. It has nothing to do with sleep training, but it’s cute. So there.

Sleep training. Lol.

December 9, 2014 / Tara / 0 Comments

I’d be willing to bet that every parent has a topic that they obsess over. Maybe it’s breast feeding or child care or cloth diapers. Mine? Sleeping. I have read the internet forwards and backwards on the topic. I’ve absorbed articles on co-sleeping, Ferber, extinction, graduated extinction, cry it out (or CIO in those lame forums), sleep crutches, overtiredness, baby sleep cycles… seriously, the list is endless. I’ve even contacted sleep consultants. Why? Because I’m a lunatic. And also because I LOVE sleeping.

You know who doesn’t love sleeping? Babies. Now that I have one, I really have a lot of rage for that old saying, “sleep like a baby.” Because babies don’t sleep. They wake up every couple of hours because, well, God only knows. Hungry? Maybe. Dirty diaper? Perhaps. I saw this color today, one that I had never seen before, and it was the sweetest color in the history of the universe and now I can’t stop thinking about it? Also a possibility.

Napping. On the couch. Across my lap. Again.

The point is, baby’s gonna do what baby’s gonna do. But despite that, I attempted to try a little something called, “sleep training.” There are books and websites out there that claim if you use one of 5,000 different techniques (see list in first paragraph), you can train your baby to put themselves back to sleep at night, thus eliminating the need for you to get your ass out of bed and begin guessing as to why you and baby are up at this undignified hour. Because, yes, midnight, 3 a.m. and 5 a.m. are indeed undignified. My baby is extremely hard to guess lately because when he gets up he’s not pissed about it. He just wants to talk, sing, and essentially throw a middle of the night party. So cute and so dumb.

However, instead of tackling the horrible nighttime hours right off the bat, I thought that I would attempt fix to our little napping situation and pray that my work trickled over into the P.M. You see, my son naps like a boss. At daycare. On weekends, he falls asleep in his crib just fine but then pops awake after 30 minutes and thinks that’s acceptable. The only way we could get him to actually nap for a reasonable period of time is to lay him across our lap and let him pin us to the couch for hours. Me and my back were so over it. So last weekend, I embarked on sleep training*.

I guess you could say I did Ferber, except like I said, my baby doesn’t cry when he wakes up. He talks. And talks. And talks. And rolls. And fidgets. And talks. And clangs his pacifier along the bars of his crib like a tiny prisoner. And talks. For 30+ minutes he’ll just sing and talk and move. So I let him. I just left him in his crib to play and do whatever. However, after the 30 minute mark he finally cried. Up until this point, I had never made it past 30 minutes before because I’d lose all hope and retrieve him from his cage. Turns out, I was just not patient enough. After he cried for 5 or so minutes, I put his pacifier back in, rubbed his tummy for about 10 seconds, left the room, and waited. Well, guess what? About 10-15 minutes later he fell asleep. FOR TWO WHOLE HOURS. I gotta say, watching the situation unfold on a monitor was kind of like playing a sport, and the poor boy doesn’t even know yet how competitive his momma is. But guess what? I won today, buddy. I won. Sleep training worked.

A typical napping scene.

Believe me, I realize the emphasis I should be putting on “today.” Because tomorrow, he’ll do something different. He’ll BE somebody different. I have to constantly remind myself that he’s only been in this world 5 months. Every face, color, action, texture — blows his mind because he’s never experienced it before. You know how sometimes you wake up at 5 a.m. because you have that big meeting or idea and you just can’t sleep you’re thinking about it so much? Well those big moments happen all day, every day for him. It’s a lot for a little noggin to handle.

So, while I absolutely HATE waking up 2-3 times a night, I also realize that it’s just a phase. And I’m happy that my baby wakes up happy — just ready to tell me all about the amazing things he saw that day or dreamt about that night. We’ll just work towards the goal of having these conversations over a nice dignified breakfast at 8 a.m.

*Now, folks. All I’m doing here is saying what seemed to have worked pretty well for me. What I’ve realized by reading all those articles and forums is that people are WAY opinionated on this topic. The co-sleepers are die hard. The cry it out folks say it’s the only thing that worked. Some people have those babies that sleep 12 hours straight and don’t move a muscle all night. And everyone hates on everyone for just doing the best they can. So my point is this; don’t hate. Congratulate.

It’s official. I’m a milk donor.

November 7, 2014 / Tara / 1 Comment

If you’ve read my blog before, then you know that I have a little problem with milk overproduction. While certainly better than the opposite issue, my overactive cans have caused their fair share of pain and problems. Well, now my pain is gain for other babies. I am officially a milk donor.

I get enough to eat. As evidenced by my leg, wrist, and neck rolls.

I have to say, I had no idea milk donation was even a thing until a few months ago. But oh the things you learn! There are apparently human milk banks across the country whose goal is to provide safe, pasteurized milk to babies who need it because of medical conditions such as formula intolerance or feeding issues related to prematurity. Coincidentally, there just so happens to be one right here in Denver not two miles from where I work. Score.

People had been telling me about it for a while, but ever the procrastinator, I waited until the freezer was so full that whenever you opened it you risked some kind of frozen lactose landslide (more on that later). When I finally realized that I had well over 200 ounces crammed in there, I figured it was about time that I made the call to the bank.

As it turns out, they couldn’t have been nicer people. I was treated like some kind of royal guest — constantly with an escort, showered with gifts of milk collection bags and pump sanitation gear, told stories of how my milk would save lives. They run their operation much like a blood bank, so there’s a blood test required and you have to fill out a questionnaire with things on it like, “Have you been to west Africa?” and “Have you received money, drugs, or other payment for sex?” There are also a few additional breastfeeding specific questions about medications, herbal supplements, alcohol, and caffeine. And of course, it has to be ok’d by E’s doctor. As it turns out, I’m pretty squeaky clean and both Elliott and I are ideal candidates for milk donation. So they gave me a donor number.

The next step was to drop off my milk. First, I had to make sure all of my little frozen packets were labeled with month, day, year, and donor number. This required pulling them out of the freezer, something I decided to do after the baby was asleep one night since it’s the only time I had to do it. Of course, like a bad game of Jenga, I pulled one packet out and they all started to slide. Dozens of rock solid frozen packets started slamming into the hardwood floor, baby sleeping just on the other side of the wall, and there was nothing I could do about it except desperately try to slam the door shut again. Peter came flying up the stairs from the basement and started “yelling” in an angry whisper, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??” Of course I fire back in my best Jack Bauer loud-whisper-for-dramatic-effect, “I’M TRYING TO GET THIS MILK OUT OF THE FREEZER. WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I’M DOING. STOP YELLING AT ME.” Then like a nice husband, he grabbed a towel and crouched under the freezer door to catch anything that fell out, which of course it didn’t because he was there.

All my little frozen milk packets ready for delivery.

The next morning I took 84 ounces of milk in frozen packets to the milk bank. A smiling woman met me at my car with a reusable grocery bag and whisked away all of my hard pumped work. Part of me was a little bit sad, strangely enough. But a larger part of me couldn’t be happier.

So to all those overproducing gals out there, keep on expressing yourself (pffffffffffffhahahaha). Then find a milk bank and donate. You, other babies and moms — and your freezer — will be glad you did.

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