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Archives from 2002-2006

I never thought I would have a year-old baby who still isn’t sleeping through the night, but unless Dylan gets it all figured out in the next few weeks, that’s exactly the situation I’m in. It’s not ideal by any means, but as long as 1) he stays asleep from his bedtime until at least 11 or so, giving me those mission-critical few hours of downtime, and 2) he wakes up only once or twice and goes back down with a minimum of fuss, it’s doable. I GUESS.

It’s certainly not as bad as it used to be, what with the screaming and the screaming and oh yeah the scuh-reaming, but I do hate the inconsistency. I put him to bed at 7 and it’s anyone’s guess as to what happens next. He could sleep straight on through until 6 AM (very rare), sleep until 2 AM and wake up demanding a bottle (fairly common), wake up at 9-goddamned-thirty and refuse to go back to sleep until midnight then wake back up at 5 (not sure what this one was all about but it happened last night and suuuuucked).

During the Time of the Wee-hour Screamfests I’m not sure if we made a real, textbook attempt at crying it out or not. There were definitely some nights when there was a whole shitload of crying, but I was so addled by the whole thing I kept going in or not going in based on random data points like how clinically crazy I felt at any given moment, rather than the scheduled comfort visits as recommended in various sleep training methods. Sometimes he would cry no matter what I did, so what was there to do but put him back in his crib and pray his furious blattings eventually exhausted him while I lay in my own bed staring at the ceiling praying for death relief? I’ll tell you one thing, that kid had stamina. He could outcry any Ferber expert, and he could outcry any AP fan who dared to bring him into bed, where he would yell and kick and thrash his way around the mattress.

It was so awful for a while that I hardly dare complain about having to get up once or twice, but still: dude. It’s been almost twelve months. Riley slept like a champ starting at eight weeks, and I honestly just assumed that’s what babies did, unless, you know, you screwed things up somehow. Ha ha ha. Ha?

On the plus side, there is no feeling in the world like a baby nestling into your chest, making himself comfortable in order to fall asleep on your body — even if it’s at 3 in the morning. I know he won’t do this forever. Every day I hope he’ll stop, and then I think: wait.

In other news, do you mind if I take a moment to plug Bodies in Motivation? Because seriously, there is some very cool stuff over there, and I can say that because the majority of it isn’t written by me. There are awesomely inspirational success stories, calls for reader advice; a growing list of bloggers who are sharing the good, the bad, and the totally-relatable; and much more. If you’re not already visiting, I’d be honored if you stopped by. Any feedback is more than welcome!

It’s the rare blog post that I regret for its honesty, but I do find that I often feel compelled to provide an immediate update when the last entry is Uncharacteristically Bleak. And so: my morning sucked, and then the day improved immensely, thanks in no small part to your comments. JB took me out to lunch, the boys joyfully greeted me at home with their usual blathering chaos, and the badness was swept under the rug where it has no doubt taken up residence with all the other unpleasant experiences that you hope you don’t re-visit on your deathbed.

I never know how to say thank you in a way that conveys how much I mean it, but I’d hate to not say it at all, so just this, then: thank you.

In a return to humor in our household, JB showed me a text message he’d received today by accident. Now, most of us would probably either ignore a wrong-number text message, or perhaps provide a polite “Sorry, you have the wrong person” response, but not JB. Oh no. Behold his creative response (his messages are in green):

Sadly for us all, the no-doubt confused and unhappy Friend of Ruth never wrote back.

Lastly, I’ve been walking by this toy for the last several days and every single time I see it I think LABIA. I’m not saying this is what my own personal labia resembles, but am I just a dirty-minded Liberator-owning smutbag here or is this thing totally pornographic?

PS: It is a pirate hat. Supposedly.

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