Oct
29

No More Swaddle, My Mother is a Witch, and Other Headlines.

NO MORE SWADDLE

Simone outgrew the Miracle Blanket. We knew this was coming: she’d been wriggling out of it a few times a night for a while now, but still, we pressed on. Scott’s baby-wrapping skills have never been as strong as mine, probably because of all those joints he didn’t roll in college, so eventually it became my sole responsibility to shoehorn Simone’s thrusting feet into the foot pocket and stretch the fabric around her fat, shimmying torso until tiny rips appeared in the seams. But as of last week or so no bonds of cotton can hold her, and so we decided to zip her into a sleep sack and call it a night.

…Only as it turns out, the swaddle was doing most of the work of putting her to sleep. We knew she had some issues with self-calming and regulation, as is common for preemies, but we didn’t realize just how ferociously she sucks at falling asleep until the first swaddle-free night, when she lay in her swing for over an hour looking at her arms as they floated slightly in front of her, UNBOUND, a sad, baffled, and not at all sleepy look on her face. Eventually she ended up in our bed where she smacked me in the mouth several times, scratched the inside of my nostril, and gave my hair a good pull before taking a quick 15-minute catnap. Then she repeated the smack-scratch-pull-catnap bit ad annoyum for the rest of the night.

After some trial and error, we settled on the following bedtime routine:
1. Nurse baby until she is drowsy but suspicious.
2. Holding baby parallel to floor, do 20 minutes of swaying torso twists until baby’s suspicions are allayed and she and your arms are asleep (incidentally, this also counts as your workout—congratulations!)
3. Place baby in swing for 15 minutes until deeper sleep is achieved
4. Transfer baby to crib

We do this at about 6:30, and Simone stays asleep until at least midnight. After that, all bets are off, and finally she’ll end up in our bed, smacking me happily and chatting with the crack in the ceiling plaster. Sometimes she laughs gaily (read: LOUDLY) at the mobile over her crib next to our bed—you know, the crib she’s not in. Apparently this mobile is much funnier seen from a distance.
I complain, but I do admit it is nice to have her next to me sometimes, all warm and milky-smelling and convenient for the odd is-she-still-breathing? poke.

Anyway, having barely begun to make progress on swaddle-less sleeping, we’ve decided its time to shake things up once again, by expanding her crib to its full size (we have it in the “bassinet” configuration currently). It will be an adventure, and not just because there is scarcely space for the crib in our room. SEE the baby’s confusion! HEAR the resultant wailing! LAUGH as the mother pours Prevacid into her coffee instead of into the bottle!

MY MOTHER IS A WITCH.

My mother is in town from Switzerland, and last night she offered to take care of Simone so that Scott and I could go out to dinner. We had a lovely meal, and only the untimely appearance of the waitress kept me from licking the residual salmon teriyaki molecules from my plate. After a rousing, pointless argument in the car (about videogames and their status as an art form), we returned home to find Simone dead asleep in her crib, where my mother had placed her without first utilizing the swing.

The woman just plopped my baby in her crib (already sleeping, as my mother has a sinisterly soporific effect on infants) and said baby STAYED there, ASLEEP, as in NOT SCREAMING. And yes, I checked the levels of the liquor bottles and counted my tranquilizers.
My mother fed Simone pears, and Simone didn’t simply spit them back out again. She also casually reported that she’d found time in the 90-minutes we were gone to work on her unassisted sitting (Simone’s unassisted sitting—my mother’s is already quite good) and read MULTIPLE bedtime stories. And of course she’d turned the pitcher of water in our fridge to wine, if we were thirsty.
Sometime in the middle of her improbable tale of a well-behaved baby and productive caretaker Scott and I began exchanging incredulous looks.
“Witch,” I whispered, sidling up to him. I narrowed my eyes at my mother, trying to see whether she looked as if she weighed more or less than a duck. (About the same, I think).

OBSTRUENTS!

Simone can hear at least one thing: if you make a clicking noise with your tongue, she will usually turn to you. The witch My mother first discovered this last night, and I am finding it very useful when attempting to feed Simone solids in the presence of Lennie, who has expressed an interest in expanding his diet to include oatmeal, rice cereal, and fruit purees. Simone finds the cat much more interesting than food, but if I click at her she will turn long enough for me to wedge a bit of pear in her mouth. This makes me suspicious that perhaps she can hear, but is only interested enough to react to, by my count, three sounds: the word “eel,” a tongue click, and the phrase “Guten Morgen Meine Baby!” which is what I say to her every morning when we get up. She isn’t hearing impaired, she is simply difficult to impress! Or she can hear one frequency, the German/sea-creature/clicking frequency.

MOST VERSES HAVE ACCOMPANYING MOTIONS

Many of you claim to be fans of the original “Little Bar of Soap” song, so I thought I would graciously share some of the verses of “Oh I Wish I Were a Little ‘Lectric Eel”:

Oh I wish I were a little ‘lectric eel
Yes I wish I were a little ‘lectric eel
I’d go sparky sparky sparky, way down in the ocean dark-y
Oh I wish I were a little ‘lectric eel

Oh I wish I were a little hungry goat
Yes I wish I were a little hungry goat
I’d go munchy munchy munchy, right through everybody’s lunch-y
Oh I wish I were a little hungry goat

Oh I wish I were a little octopus
Yes I wish I were a little octopus
I’d go wave-y wave-y wave-y, to the sailors in the Navy
Oh I wish I were a little octopus

Oh I wish I were a little spotted cow
Yes I wish I were a little spotted cow
You’d get milk out of my udder, and you’d churn it into butter
Oh I wish I were a little spotted cow

Oh I wish I were a little bite-y shark
Yes I wish I were a little bite-y shark
I’d go swimmy swimmy swimmy, then I’d tear you limb from limb-y
Oh I wish I were a little bite-y shark

Oh I wish I were a little hanging bat
Yes I wish I were a little hanging bat
I’d go dangle dangle dangle, at a terrifying angle
Oh I wish I were a little hanging bat

Believe it or not, there are MORE, including one about a giant squid (winky winky winky, squirts you with its ink-y) and one about a pig (snuffle snuffle snuffle, finds for you a truffle), but I am tired, and should probably unload the dishwasher.

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |