Tuesday, November 29, 2011

She's on a roll. . . . . and I'm on edge

When my girl gets going, there is no stopping her. Now she is constantly rolling. All the time. Everywhere.

Which is great, because she should be rolling and moving and getting that little body going. (She also made forward movement yesterday. Forward movement. That's almost like crawling. But that's another story.)

Except for one teensy little problem.

Like Zoolander, she's not an ambiturner.

She rolls onto her stomach and then starts screaming like the little banshee she can be for someone to PLEASE COME TURN ME BACK OVER!!!!!

Again, this is fine and all, because while most babies first learn to roll from their stomachs to backs, thus avoiding this whole issue, my babies learn to roll back to stomach first, so I got used to doing this with Bjorn as well. But what isn't fine - no, it's not fine at all - is when she rolls over onto her stomach when she's sleeping and spits up. Then, when I go to check on her, as I am prone to do every few minutes now, I find her face down in a puddle of baby spit-up, curdled milk lodged up her nose, in her eyelashes and all over her face.

No, no. This isn't fine at all.

Because she is a horrible napper anyways. Fights us until the bitter end, sometimes screaming her little monkey wail for as long as an hour and a half, the whole time never opening her eyes because she is so tired but she.just.won't.go.to.sleep.

But now? Now I can't even put her down in her crib and hope that she cries herself to sleep. Because now I know that there is a very very real possibility that she will roll over onto her stomach, not be able to turn back over, and find herself - again - in a puddle of curdled milk and such.

After the curdled-milk-in-face debacle, she fought her nap today, screaming for 45 minutes. When she had finally completely exhausted herself, I laid her in her crib, and watched from the rocking chair closeby. Within three minutes, she was on her stomach, screaming again. I rolled her back onto her back, she surrendered to sleep and five minutes later, did it again. This kept up for 30 minutes, and I spent the majority of her nap playing Words With Friends in the chair, waiting for the next time to turn her over.

Until she learns to turn over both ways, this rocking chair is going to be my favorite spot and Words With Friends is my best friend.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Stop. Drop. and ROLL

Peanut rolled over.

Or, at least, I think she did.

See, last night, I put her on her back on her playmat, looking up at the toys dangling above. Then walked into the kitchen - a mere 10 feet away in an open floor plan - turned back to her. . . . and she was face down. Well, not really, because her face was very proudly up, looking around, not down, in the mat or anything, but she was very definitely now on her tummy.

Damn. Could I really have missed her first roll-over?

I called The Hubs, who was at the local hardware store. "You missed it!" I said. "She rolled over!" Of course, I was here. . . and I missed it, too." He told me to grab the video camera, but a watched pot doesn't boil and a watched baby doesn't roll.

We tried the rest of the night, but only wound up tiring her completely out with the effort.

This morning, I again put her on her back on her mat in front of the couch. I grabbed a cup of coffee from the kitchen, walked back to the living room. . . . and there she was, on her tummy.

Not only did I miss the first roll-over, I missed the second, too.

I'm starting to think she does it on purpose. Because I was very attentive after that (I was not about to miss it again!) and not once, not once, did she roll over. She's waiting until I leave the room, doing a quick one-two-three-heave count and throwing herself onto her tummy. Just because she can.

If she is this sneaky at 4 months, what am I going to do when she's a teenager?!

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Shaping the future one embellished onesie at a time

When we bought our house, we were newlyweds who had literally just moved halfway across the country.

Three bedrooms, two bathrooms and 1500 square feet seemed like way too much room for two 20-somethings and a 40 pound dog. In fact, for over a year, two of the bedrooms served as nothing more than storage for crafting, beer brewing and jackets we didn't need for Phoenix weather.

Now the dog is 50 pounds, the 20-somethings are both over 30 and our family of two has become four.

Three bedrooms is starting to feel a little cramped.

When we found out Peanut was on the way, we knew we had a choice. Move her in with Bjorn or turn the guest bedroom into her nursery. Considering that none of our family live within driving distance - not even i the same state - we decided to keep the guest bed up and ready for use.

But we didn't want to bunk Bjorn with his baby sister.

It took a little bit of logistics, and alot of convincing the Hubs that it would work, but we wound up keeping the guest bed in Peanut's room. But because it is such a small room, and such an odd shape (angles everywhere!), we barely had any room left. Peanut's crib went against one wall, and her changing table? Well. . . . the dresser became her changing table, and that went in her closet.

Yup. In her closet. We (and by 'we', I mean, 'The Hubs') took the doors off her closet, and we (by 'we', I mean, 'me') put up a curtain valance to hide some of the storage on top. But it's still a closet.

Every time we change her diaper, she lies on her changing table, staring straight up into a sea of colors and textures. She sees pinks and purples swirls, green polka dot pants. Sweatshirts with shiny stripes down both arms. Blue shirts stitched with flowers and trees. A lime green raincoat that makes me long for a thunderstorm.

Her arms reach up and she touches velvet and chiffon, silk and cotton. Each fabric designed to draw out a different reaction, and she does not disappoint. Her eyes light up and she smiles that wide open, gummy, toothless smile we parents will do anything to get. And all it takes are a few clothes.

I can't help but imagine that maybe having her changing table in a closet could shape her future. I imagine her as a fashion designer, or a model, touching the fabrics much as she does today, letting them slip and slide through her fingers. Maybe she will design furniture or homes, her inspiration drawing from those early days when she was exposed to more colors and textures than she knew existed. All because her changing table wouldn't fit anywhere else.

I always think that you are where you are in your life for a reason. To teach you something, or give you something.The people you meet are there for a reason, and when they leave from your life, it is because their purpose has been fulfilled. Maybe we are here in this house for a reason as well. Maybe while we have cried and raged at the injustice of the housing crisis, this house really has been what we needed all along.

Maybe our modest little home, with its modest little bedrooms, will breed imagination into our children in ways we never could have expected.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Life. Interrupted.

If you would to look through my blog editing page, you would see 6 unfinished posts. From the last week.

I've tried to write. To keep you, and I, and my kiddos, whom I hope will read this in the future as a love letter from their mother, because you better believe I'm never going to finish those damn baby books - to keep you all updated.

But I don't want to just write stats and information. I want to tell a story of our life. Weaving the words together to show you what our life is like, what our days entail. I want to make you laugh and cry everytime that I laugh and cry.

But I keep getting interrupted.

By a little girl who won't stop crying. Who doesn't sleep during the day but for 45 minute increments. By a little boy who so desperately wants someone to play cars with him. And puzzles. All day. By a husband who wants his wife to sit with him, and talk with him for a few minutes after both kids are asleep. By my own busy mind that relentlessly asks the same questions, without any answers.

And while so much of motherhood sounds like complaining (When do I get to sleep? Where did these stretch marks come from? Why does he have to ask me the same thing twelve times? Why can't he just freakin' find the butter himself?), it's really not. I promise. It's just that sometimes, misery loves company.

Things are great, really.

Because in all those interruptions, in all those moments when I don't get to finish what I wanted to, or take that moment I thought I could take, those are the moments where I am living. I'm not writing about the past or the future or the hopes.  I'm living.

I'm racing cars down a track, then stopping to say 'hi, green car, how are you?', giving a big car hug when they meet at the end. Where there is a dinosaur and a dragon the car stops from attacking.

I'm playing Peek-a-boo with a drama queen of a Peanut whom loves attention - craves it - and watching her smile take over her entire face.

I'm holding hands with the man I married, on the couch, watching our favorite DVR'd shows, thinking that ten years ago, on a Friday night, I would've been at the bar, sipping rum & coke in a short, little dress, scoping out the scene and this - the couch, the TV, the sweatpants - this is so much better.

So that's why I haven't written about the fire house tour we took, where Bjorn jumped up to volunteer a demonstration of 'Stop, Drop and Roll' in which he stopped, dropped, and when asked to roll. . . . . he pretended he was bowling. Because that is how we allow him to 'throw' the ball in the house - by rolling.

Why I haven't posted pictures of our Halloween costumes - the Arrrgh Pirate Family - and told the story of a 2 year old and his little girlfriend, actually understanding what Halloween is all about, trick-or-treating through the neighborhood, fearlessly running from door to door. . . until that one, last, scary house.

Interruptions are why I haven't told you that Peanut has slept through the night every night for as long as I can remember now. How she smiles and laughs and actually grabs at and plays with her toys. I haven't told you that she can stand - by herself, all by herself! - for a millisecond, how she can hold up her head and chest and how she is thisclose to rolling over, from her back to her belly, which is supposed to be the most difficult of the rolling, but it's the one Bjorn did first as well.

I've decided that my life is built around these interruptions. They aren't annoyances, nor are they diversions from the life I should be leaving. Nope. These interruptions are my life. I'll enjoy them while they last.