Inappropriate Laughter

When your child does something he is not supposed to do, laughing definitely sends the wrong message. But sometimes it's just so funny I can't help it. So I laugh. And then he laughs. And then the jig is up, so to speak. For example:

Alex spits out his food. He has a cold, so his nose is stuffed up. That makes eating a bit of a challenge for him. He knows he can't breathe through his mouth and swallow at the same time, so he holds his breath and then opens his mouth for a bite (smart boy!). I put a spoonful of delicious sweet potatoes in his mouth. Then he decides he has held his breath for long enough, exhales sharply, and sweet potatoes go flying. The first time I thought, "heh." By the tenth time, I was giggling uncontrollably.

Alex falls down. It is not funny when Alex really hurts himself. And I don't want him to think I am laughing at his pain. But sometimes when he falls it is so slapstick I am sure he has a bright future in physical comedy.

Alex does something silly when he's supposed to be going to sleep. Bedtime has been going like clockwork for us lately. We bathe, we put on PJs, we read stories, we sing a song, and then in the crib and he's asleep in minutes. The morning nap is pretty smooth as well. So most of his antics occur when I'm trying to put him down for his afternoon nap. It has been taking anywhere between 30 and 90 minutes for him to go to sleep. Between the 20th and 30th minutes I start to get somewhat put out. Nonetheless, he can still crack me up with his inventive anti-sleep tactics. For one thing, he stands at the rail chewing the paint off the crib. So, in order to save the finish and prevent too much ingestion of paint chips, I go to lay him back down. On the way down, he manages to get a vise-like grip on the rail. As I tug to get him to let go, he laughs and laughs. There is something so knowing, so mischievous about this, and I can't help it -- I laugh. And then he thinks, "Mommy's laughing! I KNEW it was play time and not sleep time!"

I really need to work on my poker face. He already thinks it's funny when I try to use my serious voice (e.g., "no biting, Alex!"). Any attempts at discipline are going to be for naught if the first thing I do when he misbehaves is laugh.

Open Letter to Babies

Dear Babies the World Over,

Unless you were just born, 4:20 a.m. is not an acceptable time to wake up in the morning. No amount of pooping, shrieking, or smiling adorably will make it so.

With much love (and deep, dark circles under our eyes),
Mommies the World Over

A Day in the Life of Baby

I got some complaints that my last blog post was depressing. Sorry. I will attempt to make it up to you here. People have asked me what Alex and I do all day, so here is Alex's day, as interpreted by me.

5:15 a.m. Mommy, I'm up. Mooommmmy, I'm uuuuup. MOOOOOMMMMMYYYYY! Oh, hi. There you are. I thought maybe you couldn't hear me. What do you mean it's still sleeping time? It's getting up time! Up up up up up! I know it's still dark out, but it's winter in Seattle! It's always dark! Let's get up! No? Ok, fine. (Zzzzzzz)

5:30 a.m. OK, I'm up. For real. No more sleeping. Come and get me. COME AND GET ME! Hi again! Yay, I'm out of the crib! What are you doing? I don't want my diaper changed. No! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! Whew, that's done. OK, I'm hungry, let's eat. Now, please. Now. Now. Now.

5:45 a.m. Mmmmmmmmm, milk.

6:00 a.m. Yay, let's play! Look at me, I can crawl! Oooh, there's my ring tower. I bet I can tip it over. I did it! I got all the rings off! Mmm, that orange one is delicious. The yellow one too. Oh, no, it's under the couch. Stupid couch. I'll move it with my head. Why isn't it moving? Oh well. Ooh, there's the post from my ring tower. I think I'll wave it around. (Bonks self on head with post.) Look, Mommy! Post! Oh, hey, there's my rolly balls. I can dump them all out. Look how they roll! Tasty, too. Did you know if I bang two rolly balls together it makes a noise? Cool, huh! Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Hey, I can bang them on the floor, too! Bang, bang, bang. Where's Mommy? Oh, she's in the kitchen again. It must be cooler in there than in here. I think I'll go see. Hi, Mommy! Look how I can stand up on the dishwasher! Can I play with that knife? Why not? Hey, look what I found under the stove! "Give that to Mommy, sweetie, it's dirty." Geez, what a killjoy. Hey, what's that big white thing with the hot air blowing out? I should stick my hand in it and see. "No touch, Alex, that's hot!" Yeah, whatever that means. (Touch. Get whisked away by Mommy.) Oh, hey, look, Daddy's up! Yay, Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Look at me, Daddy! Aren't I cute? Let's play! Yay, the tickle game, my favorite! Yay, Daddy! Hey, where're you going? To work? Can I come? Oh. Can I at least play with your security badge and make you late? Solid!

8 a.m. "It's nap time, sweetie." No, it's not. "Let's read some books and have a nap." Yes to books, no to nap. Ooh, Little Nutbrown Hare, I love this book! Oh, now Mommy's singing to me. I think I'll just lay my little head down on her shoulder, but that should not under any circumstance be interpreted as me being tired. Nope, definitely not tired. I don't know why I'm in the crib now, I'm totally not sleepy. Not sleepy at all. Not sl -- (Zzzzzzzz.)

8:30 a.m. Nap time is over, Mommy! Hello? Anybody? Hi! What do you mean it's still nap time? Don't you see me standing here, ready to get up? "Lay back down, sweetie, it's still nap time." No, standing is better. "Lay down." No. "Go back to sleep." No. (Repeat until baby goes back to sleep or until Mommy gives up.)

9:00 a.m. Mmmmmmmmmm, milk.

9:15 a.m. Bye bye, jammies, hello big boy clothes!

9:30 a.m. Hey, there's my exersaucer. It must be Mommy's shower time. Listen, I can play piano with my feet! It's playing my favorite song, the Itsy Bitsy Spider! La la la la la. This rattle thing is pretty cool. Rattle. Rattle rattle rattle rattle rattle. This thing goes around, that's fun. Are you done yet, Mommy? I'm bored now. Hello? Finally. Get me out of this thing.

10:00 a.m. Let's play! I think I'll practice my standing. Look at me, Mommy! I can stand on the coffee table! I think I'll throw that coaster on the floor. And that one. And that one. Oh, hey, a remote control. I would like to watch channel ... 7. Hey, give that back. Fine. Oops, I fell down. Ow, my head! Mommy hugs, yay. OK, better now. I'd better practice my standing some more.

11:00 a.m. Mommy's getting my high chair, it must be lunch time! Up we go, yay! Cheerios, huh? I'm not so sure about those. Here's one for the floor, one for my lap, another one for the floor. OK, I'll put this one in my mouth. Oops, I missed. Let's try again. OK, it's in there, now what? Perhaps I'll use my new teeth. (Crunch. Makes a face.) Blech. I'd better try another one. But I'll dump some more on the floor first. Is Cheerio time over? It's oatmeal time now? OK. Yum. More, please. OK, how about some pears and raspberries now? That's what I'm talking about. Keep it coming. Yum. There's no more? BOO!

12:00 p.m. Mommy's putting my bear suit on me, that means we're going out. Yay, I love out. Ooh, we're going in the car. I have my own seat! Now we're rolling. I wonder where we're going. I like how my voice sounds. Uuuuummmmmm. Yeah, that sounds pretty cool. Are you listening, Mommy? Aaaaaaaaaaaaagaaammmmm. Aaaaaaaaaaablbbbbb. Phhhhhffffffff. Hey, we're stopping.

12:15 p.m. I know where we are, it's Gymboree! YAY! GYMBOREE! There's Teacher Auna, YAY! Let's sing, let's play, let's dance, let's blow bubbles! It's over already? OK, I guess I am kind of tired after all that hard work.

1:00 p.m. "It's nap time again, honey." No, I don't think so. No sleeping. It's just not for me. Why do you keep putting me in my crib? I told you it's not nap time. I guess it's not so bad in here. I'll just roll over and close my eyes for a minute. (Zzzzzzz.)

2:30 p.m. I'm up!

2:45 p.m. Mmmmmmm, milk.

3:00 p.m. Bear suit again, huh? Where are we going now? Oh, my stroller. This oughta be good. A walk! There's a car. Cool. There's another one. And another one. There's a puppy. There's a bicycle. This is awesome! Oh, it's the coffee place. Hello, coffee people. Why are we just sitting here, Mommy? There's so many cars to see! OK, good, we're leaving. There's a truck! And a car! And some birds!

4:30 p.m. We're home! Hello, toys! Mommy put on Sesame Street. There's Grover! He's so funny.

5:30 p.m. Dinner! Peas? Are you sure you don't have anything better? OK, fine, I'll eat them.

6:00 p.m. DADDY!!!!!!!!! Yippppeeeeeee!!!!!!

6:30 p.m. "Let's get ready for your bath, honey." I'm naked! Hurray! Naked! Bath! Hurray! Splash, splash, splash! Look how cute I am, Mommy! There's my bath toys, I think I'll throw them over the side. Splash!

6:45 p.m. Mmmmmmmmmm, milk.

7:00 p.m. Here I am in my crib, again. What do I have to do to convince these people I'm not sleepy? Look, I can pull my sheet back. I can stand up. I can bite the crib rail. Here's my kitty cat, I think I'll fling him around. Let's stand up. I can make a squeaky noise with my feet on the crib slats, listen! Squeak. Squeak squeak. Squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak squeak. I think I'll put my head down for a minute. OK, that's enough. You thought I was going to sleep, didn't you, Mommy? Ha! Sucker. It's time for more standing. Hey, if I sit right here and rock I can bang my head on the crib and make a fun noise. Bang bang bang. More standing up. Hi, kitty cat, I forgot you were here! Mind if I grab your whiskers? I bet I can put my toes in my mouth. Hey, I was right! Let's try that squeaky noise again. Yep, still fun! I'm getting pretty tired now. (Yawn.) Must. Stand. Up. Oops, I fell down. Maybe I'll just stay down here. My eyes are tired. I think I'll close them. Open them. Close them. Open them. Close them. (Zzzzzzzzzz.)

Sleep is for the Weak

That is what I used to say in college, when all-nighters were common and I scoffed at those who told me some sleep might do me good. I am now paying for that sentiment, here in the Land of the Baby Who Never Sleeps. Our admittedly adorable Mr. Baby is exceedingly nap resistent, and likes to wake up upwards of six times a night. Needless to say, this is a problem. So, I recently did what all nerds do when faced with a seemingly intractable problem. I read books. And the internet -- always reliable. Here's what I found.

Method: The Conventional Wisdom, Let him Cry It Out. If your baby cries, ignore him. If he cries louder and longer, ignore that too. It's good for him. Might as well teach him early on that you have none of the answers to his problems, and he can rely only on himself. If for some reason you are not capable of ignoring your crying child, it can only be assumed that you are some sort of terrible mother, willing to sacrifice your baby's well-being to indulge your pitiable weakness. If hours of pre-dawn crying makes you feel like stabbing yourself, go ahead. Better that than to have your son grow up to be some sort of commie momma's boy pansy.

Success? We succeeded in doubling the amount of crying Mr. Baby did at night, along with a corresponding decrease in the amount of sleep had by both Baby and Mommy. In some sort of hellish domino effect, we also destroyed his previously obtained ability to put himself to sleep at naptimes and at bedtime. That's quite an achievement, I think. Well done, us.

Method: Smug American Mommy. This is not a Crying It Out method. Nope. See, because instead of letting your baby cry while you sleeplessly marinate in your guilt in another room, in this method you are letting him cry while you sit right next to him, thereby taunting and confusing him with your refusal to pick him up and comfort him despite your obvious proximity. This totally worked with my children, and with scores of other children that I personally subjected to this treatment, so what's your problem?

Success? I lasted less than one night with this one. After an hour of crying and no end in sight, I decided it was ridiculous and no better than the first method.

Method: Smug British Mummy. This is a perfectly simple method in which you repeatedly pick up your crying loved one, wait for them to stop crying (but without actually helping them to do so by rocking, walking, or bouncing), and then put them back down again, at the exact right second. One second too early or too late, and you've botched the whole affair. Repeat ad nauseum. Except sometimes you don't pick them up, like if they're a certain age or crying a certain way or if the moon is aligned with Jupiter. If your baby stands up in their cot you have to lay them back down, no matter how many times they do it. If your baby decides this must be a fun new game to play with Mummy, you clearly haven't applied yourself to the task with enough seriousness. Sometimes you leave the room, but we're not going to tell you exactly when. You go back in when your baby starts crying again. No, not crying like that, crying like this. What do you mean, you can't tell the difference? You must be incredibly stupid. Or possibly deaf. You must stick to this method despite the fact that your baby is sure to regress, at which point you will have to do it all over again. Sound like a lot of work? Well, sure, if you're a lazy cow.

Success? Not so far. He may be shaving before I can figure out the rules of the game.

Method: Pompous Doctor/Daddy. The anti-Crying It Out. You must do everything in your power to get your baby back to sleep as quickly as possible. Nurse him, rock him, walk him, bounce him, let him sleep in your bed. If you do not sacrifice yourself physically and psychologically in the interest of catering to your child's every whim and cry, you are emotionally bereft and not fit to parent. Your son will clearly turn out to be a pet-torturing psychopath with you to blame.

Success? This method succeeds only in maintaining the status quo. Sometimes I default to it, but only because I am desperate for sleep, not because I agree with the philosophy.

Overall assessment: They can all bite me.

No one told me

that babies could projectile poop. Now I know.

Self-efficacy does not translate into actual efficacy

A "can-do" attitude is supposed to be a big asset. As I learned this week, however, having confidence in your abilities doesn't mean that you actually possess those abilities. I picked out a slightly beat-up rocking chair at a consignment store. The finish wasn't in great shape, but the design was simple and exactly to my taste, and when I sat in it I got the feeling it was made for someone exactly my size. All it really needed was a paint job. "No problem," I thought, "people paint their own furniture all the time." My parents and brother are tremendously talented when it comes to home improvement. I was sure I could handle this relatively simple task. (I should have remembered that the rest of my family members also have impressive green thumbs, and I really, REALLY don't.)

So we brought the chair home with us. We bought sand paper, white paint, and paint brushes. I sanded the chair, making sure to smooth out the spot where some kids had scratched a tic-tac-toe game into the seat. I painstakingly painted the chair. And wow, does it look awful. I'm not even sure what went wrong. But I am sure that I must have learned nothing from watching all those episodes of "Changing Rooms," "Trading Spaces," and "House Invaders."

The problem is not so much that I now am the proud owner of one horrendous-looking piece of nursery furniture. I'm sure the chair is just as comfortable as it was before I attacked it with vigorous, paintbrush-wielding enthusiasm, and it will rock my baby to sleep just as efficiently. The problem lies more in the failure of my original logic: if lots of other people can do this, I can too. Obviously, not so much. So when I tell myself, as I frequently do, that people have babies/endure labor all the time, and if they can do it then so can I, it just doesn't have quite the same resonance. But, as with the unfortunate chair, it is way too late to hire a contractor. No pun intended.