Friday, January 30, 2009

Morning Report

The little booger slept until 7 a.m. That means he went seven hours without needing to nurse. The good mother thinks: Woohoo, little Jameson! You did it! Good boy!

The seven months sleep-deprived mother thinks: I feel so manipulated. So used. How could I have fallen for big, blue eyes and a bad comb-over?

Sleep Log

It's 2:06 a.m. Night #1 of the something's-gotta-change-palooza at the Webster household.

For 7 and a half months I've survived on less than a full night's sleep. Most nights, I nurse Jameson to sleep around 8 p.m., fall asleep on the couch watching "The Daily Show" or "Colbert," wake up when the baby cries around midnight and feed him again, "fall asleep" with him in the daybed in his room -- but not a deep sleep because he's nursing off and on, making little piggy noises, and alternating between snuggling and kicking me, wake up at some point next to a sleeping baby and move him to his crib, go to bed in my own room -- but Frank's already asleep and snoring so it takes a while for me to fall asleep, wake up to Jameson crying around 4 a.m., return to his room to rock or nurse him, fall asleep in the rocking chair or daybed again, wake up around 6:30 and return him to his crib, go back to my room for my final thirty minutes of sleep before Sophie wakes up and needs breakfast. It's crazy, I know. I sleep in three different places most nights. I don't think I've hit REM cycle in ages. A glance in the mirror tells me I am NOT getting my beauty rest. But in a weird way, it's been working for us. I don't want him to wake up Sophie or Frank and it's just easy to nurse him down to sleep than to let him cry. It also assuages my guilt of not being with him all day -- I tell myself that he's a little night crawler that needs to feed all night. But the truth's time. He's old enough, fat enough, happy enough.

So here's the report for tonight: he went to bed at 8 p.m. I nursed him again around midnight. He woke up at 1:33 crying and I let him fuss until about 1:55 before going in to pat him and give him a pacifier. That really ticked him off, so I left and came in to the computer room. At 2:06, when I started writing, he was still fussing. Now it's 2:20 and he's quiet. Back to bed for me.

Postscript: When Jameson was born, Melanie (our good friend and Sophie's "nini" nanny for two years) visited us in the hospital. While she held Jameson for the first time, she told us that she was pregnant. And now, these many months later, Baby Carter has finally arrived! So I pass the up-all-night torch to you, my friend. Welcome to the world, Carter. And welcome to the night life, Mel.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Pillow talk

I talk in my sleep. A lot, apparently. Frank likes to prompt me and have long ridiculous conversations that he then records in a journal and endlessly teases me about. According to the journal, I have recurring nightmares about scrubbing bubbles. You know, the Dow chemical cartoon kind.

The other night I was rocking Jameson in his room about an hour after Sophie had gone to sleep, and I heard her kicking the wall between us. Light at first, then like an elephant dancing on the wall, then it stopped. After I settled Jameson in his crib, I snuck into her room. She was deep asleep, but her head was at the foot of the bed, one of her feet was on her pillow, and the other one was kicked up against the wall. I did a quick ninja move to flip her around and her eyes popped open. In a very distressed voice, she asked, "Are we out of eggs?!" "No, honey, we have a fridge full of eggs." "Oh...(smile breaks across her face), I'm a silly woo." And then she was out again.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Little Man Update

You know what Santa brought Jameson? His two front teeth. Front and bottom, anyway. The first one was peeking through the gums right before Christmas. He grew a whole new tooth sitting in the Charlotte airport. There was nothing else to do.

Other things to note: His hair is turning blonder. It gets lighter in color every time we wash it -- it's like we're washing the dirt out. (Which, I know, we are...and the smashed nanner and the sweet potato and the rice cereal, but the kid was born with dark brown hair and it's getting closer and closer to Sophie's color every day.)

He makes noises. His first intelligible sound was "AGUA." He said it four times in a row. Frank was very excited because now we can list his first language as Spanish when we're filling out college scholarship applications. He also says "ba" and "da" and "nanananananananananana." He skipped the "ma" but whenever I say it he grins really big. My theory is that he knows how to say Momma and he's messing with me.

And he MOVES. It's not a get-up-on-your-knees-and-go kind of crawl -- more of a military crawl. And every move involves a might YAWP. See for yourself:

Fake it 'til you make it, Part 2

See that crazed look on her face? I know, you're fixated on his crazy hair, but check out the girl. This is Sophie's "and if you believe that, I've got a bridge to sell you" look.

Last night it occurred to me that we have a school holiday coming up. When we visited her school last year around this time, the kids were singing about brotherhood. Very touching. So I asked her, "Sophie, do you know who Martin Luther King, Jr. is?" (Her head nods.) "What did Martin Luther King do?"

Her response: He danced around a lot. With the princesses. And he sat on the Easter Bunny's lap.

Sigh. I want my January tuition money back.

Monday, January 12, 2009

When you don't know, make it up

Maybe we shouldn't have spent the first three years of Sophie's life just making crap up when we didn't know an answer (or didn't want to deal with a meltdown). Like the many, many times when we pointed at store signs and said things like, "That says no kids allowed -- we have to wait here for Daddy," or "Look -- that sign says NO YELLOW PILLOWS" when we wanted her to leave the pillow in the car.

We were talking about school the other day and I asked her about a new girl.
Me: What's your new friend's name?
Sophie: The one with brown hair?
Me: Uh-huh.
Sophie: That's curly? And she has glasses? Red ones?
(Yes, yes, and yes. She definitely knows the kid.)
Sophie: Ummm. I think her name is Sausage.
(No. It's NOT Sausage. I found out when I dropped her off that the new girl is Emilia from Guatemala.)

The next day driving to school:
Sophie: Did you know that my friend Arden also flew on an airplane?
Me: Really? Where did she go?
Sophie: To Guacamala.
Me: Oh, I think it was Emilia. She's from Gua-te-ma-la.
Sophie: Say "Gua." (Gua.) Say "Ca." (Ca.) Say "Mala." (Mala.) Good job, Mom. Arden went to Guacamala.

Sunday, January 4, 2009

Christmas Morning Mayhem

Santa delivered the requested bear.
And the child was happy.
Baby J was most thrilled with the wrapping paper.

And just a little concerned about the jack-in-a-box his sister gave him. Watch out, Soph! This crazy gnome keeps popping out of there!

Santa Did His Best

Sophie dictated a letter to Santa a few weeks back. Here it is:

Dear Santa,
My name is Sophie. And I want you to bring me a present today. Tomorrow. I want a teddy bear. My name is Sophie and I'm really good. I feed my brother. Jameson wants to get a present, too. He wants a hippopotamus. I love my momma. I love my daddy. I love my baby. I love my friends. And I love my Callie Dog. She wants a bone, like (bone-crunching sound). I would also like a flower toy and a remote control that you can push buttons and race cars. And I want a new book. Santa can choose. Love,

And then she wrote an S. And she drew her little alien versions of Sophie, Daddy, Mommy, Jameson (a dot on the page), Callie, GramKat, Granddad, Mamaw, Leroy (that's our lizard that lives outside on the porch, but on the picture he looks a lot like Mommy), Laney, Lucy, Papa, Papa Joe, and a few more S's.

I figured Santa would have no problem with the bear and the book. Easy peasy. We decided that the remote control car might be a good thing for Santa to bring next year. I had already bought a flower wreath for dress-up, so I figured that would count for a "flower toy." And to help out Santa even more, I went online and located a wooden hippopotamus for Jameson. Done.

Until the day before Christmas. I finally sat down and looked through her school folder of artwork, and found a Dear Santa letter that she had dictated to her teacher, Miss Rachel (and then she traced over about half of the letters).

Dear Santa,
I would like a teddy bear for Christmas. I also want a CD of witch songs and a toy hamster. Love, Sophie

Yee-ikes. Do you know how hard it is for Santa to find Halloweeny music at Christmas time? And the toy hamster? She is almost assuredly referring to these dancing hamsters at Laney's house that play the banjo song from Deliverance. Not exactly Toys R Us merchandise. But Santa came through on the bear request. Good ol' Santa. And I think he's checking for some ebay hamsters for Valentine's Day.

Angel Babies

So, on Christmas Eve at our church we have a "live nativity" of sorts. Not the kind where you pet camels, but the kind where kids dress up as anyone they want to be and act out the Christmas story. One year you might end up with seven Mary's, two Joseph's and twelve donkeys...the next year you might have an outbreak of shepherds. I asked Sophie who she wanted to be a couple of days before the "play." Mary? A shepherd? A fuzzy lamb? A wise guy? She wanted to be the star. Not like "the star of the play," which I'm thinking would be Jesus, in this case. No, she wanted to be the STAR. The one that appeared in the field. I thought that was AWESOME and started dreaming up ways to make a golden star costume, but ten minutes later she changed her mind and wanted to be an angel. I tried to convince her how unique and amazing the star idea was, but glittery wings had more appeal. Jameson joined his sister on stage as little brother angel. Guess he's still trying to earn his wings.