What Dreams May Come

You know, I should have left this title for a super oovey-groovey post about Angelsnshit but I am too lazy to come up with another way of saying - dreams do come true. It can happen to you, if you're tough at heart....

Well, not heart tough actually, more like heart-filled with love, tears coming down your face but loving your little person enough to set a boundry and help him learn something all the while with endless love you are psychically sending from the next room as you are furtively writing down the times and resetting the timer and walking in and carefully leaving in thirty seconds and sighing and crying and hoping it will end soon. But here's the result.

It works.

He's sleeping Through, not around, not beside, not above, not below and not any other preposition. Through the night.

Can I hear a what, what?

Last night was the one week anniversary of the first night of letting the boy cry which as you know from the recap sucked. And the rest of the score?
Check it out:

Night One - 1:01
Night Two -: 20
Night Three - : 04
Night Four -  :38 - * I speculate it was rougher here due to the fact that we were stressed around here getting ready for an event the next day...
Night Five -  :28
Night Six - :03
Night Seven - :02

Last night he slept from 7:03 pm to 6:30 am. I'm beside myself (and more prepositions). The previous two nights before we only heard about four minutes of crying somewhere deep in the night. You know deep in the night, the part where I used to jump and and run in there and feed his little face sometimes a little dangerously because I couldn't remember doing it? That part. Now I raise my head and my hand enough to jot the time and make sure the crying doesn't go past five minutes, because then I would have to do something. Holy hallelujah.

So I do not intend this as cyber bragging, it is not. It is me saying the following. When I birthed this little boy I said 'hellsnonowaynohow am I letting him cry it out, those people are savages'. No offense to you people, I know you know. But now after the last four months of the rocking, swaying, singing, feeding, rocking, swaying, feeding singing to sleep and the four and five times up before actually finally going down making it a three hour process sometimes, I've changed my tune.

We did it all in one fell swoop. Nights, weaning from night feedings as well as naps. All at once. All from the Sleepy Planet program. Totally recommend this, it's working great as his naps are even shaping up really well too. Today he was down for two this morning, and I just put him down for midday and we heard 30 seconds of crying and then nothin'. We'll see him in an hour or so. Peeps, I'm just sayin'. It's a freakin' miracle.

Here's the link again. Big shout out of love to those purty ladies, big ol recco on the DVD as well. Sorry this is a big commercial for them, but you know - I want to say to my comrades suffering out there - I'm out of baby jail and life is pretty sweet.

Liar, Liar

Night # 3. I put him down at 7pm. He cried for four minutes.

(space for emphasis!)

I checked in a bit later and found that he is doing his usual starfish impression with the flung out arms and adorable peaceful face. Not a peep since.

So dear friends, needless to say, I've joined the ranks. I'm a believer. He's learning a new skill, and doing a freakin' great job. Clearly all of the fish oil that cute hubs gagged me with is working. Our son is a genius.

I thought you people were lying. No offense, but I really didn't believe you when you said that it's not just selfish people wanting a life back (I mean, how rude!) but it's better for the child. You said, Jane not only is it better for you, but guess what? better for you is better for the child and he's got a skill for life, blah blah blah. I thought y'all were mean-spirited cry-lovin' people and you were all trying to make me into a baby terrorist.

But now, I'm an evangelist for your team. I mean, four minutes? Really? God bless him, I do think he's happier. I used to feed him all the way to sleep, now he doesn't have to wake up :40 minutes to burp.  Or wake up going 'Ok. I don't think I drank that  much, but last I remember I was in her arms and it was warm and now I'm in this crib, wtf wahhhhhhhhh!' God forbid it was looking like beginnings of a black out drinker. I just saved him from hours of life not having to go 'Hi my name is...'

The first night after I wrote the last post, skeeeroll down if you want to see what I"m talking about, turned out to be a pretty rough night. I stayed up typing to you to give him the preemptive 11:30 feeding, went great, he went right back down. Bed at 12. I was planning to feed him again around 3:30 to avoid the usual 4:30 or 5 feeding. It's the way the pretty ladies at sleepy planet recommend you wean night feedings: wake him up an hour before he usually eats. Feed him some. Slowly each night make it less and less, then you're done. We'll see, but so far, so good. I gotta say, I kinda want to make out with these chics. Not in a hot MLF on MLF kinda way, in a OMG you've just saved my life kinda way.

Back to the action. Unfortunately he beat me to the preemptive 3:30 feeding and woke-up and cried at 2:30. So. We did the routine. Check in at 5 minutes. Check in at 10. If he stops crying for longer than :30 seconds wait to start a new round. Moral, it was 45 minutes of this. Then I had to wait for 15 more minutes to make sure he was back down to go back in and wake him back up to feed. Did that feel broken? Yes. Poor guy just got back to sleep and I'm in there bugging him with a boob.

But! He fell right back to sleep and slept very peacefully til 6:30.

However I did not. I could not get back to sleep. Could not, no way, not happening. So, on night one I got 2.5 hours of sleep altogether. But! if last night (only 20 minutes of half-hearted protest and no problem going down both times I woke him to feed) and then this four minute magic tonight have any bearing on my future...I think it will clock in as fawking worth it.

But we'll see. Ebbs and flows. Teeth will come. Sleep will go. Illness will come. Peace will go. But you know what? I think I just got out of baby jail. I can hire a babysitter and go out after 7. I feel like a blinking stumbling hostage who wandered into the sun with just a little bit of rope burn and a silly big grin of freedom. My nights! Are back! Ahhhhhhh maaahhhh god!

Thanks again for your support y'all. It is truly, totally, utterly helpful.

PS - He doesn't sleep on our bed anymore- he's a crib lovin' dude. And the blanket is not over his face, I swear. In fact, here's the close up:

PPS - How cute is this?

PPPS - He's starting to cry right now. Drat. This is the result of the gloat, karma moves fast.

PPPPS - It's not a cry, it's a little coo-ing whimper. Hmmm, now what? Damn I wish I had a video monitor.

Cry-Baby

Yep, we're doing it.

We're 'sleep-training' or 'sleep-learning' or any other euphemisms you'd like to throw around which basically means, our tiny boy is crying until he sleeps. Tonight is Night One. I know what you want to know, and keep reading, I'll tell you.

LCD regulars will tell you I was deeply troubled by this idea. In fact, I was even all the way to (what? No!) judgmental about it here. Quick aside, how freakin' pretentious is it that I've initialized the name of my blog? Um, seriously. AND, it makes me really happy.

So I wanted to throw up all day. This morning I watched the DVD from the nice pretty ladies at Sleepy Planet. Let me tell you what, no other book - not even theirs got me there. But their lovely little faces being all super genuine and I don't know, mothering totally put me over the edge onto 'this is a good idea and not only am I going to do it, I'm even going to do a totally ridiculous fist-bump with the cute hubs that means game-on'. Because you can't go back on a fist-bump, I mean. That wouldn't be right.

Let's be clear - as a filmmaker I can be pretty sensitive and - let's be clear - critical of all things video. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't totally annoyed with the music. But otherwise? It's a good piece of media. Good graphics, good talent, good other mom's that we follow through the harrowing experience of 'sleep learning'. My mom and I watched it and I just wept. Wept. She's so sweet she encouraged me all day when my little eyes would grow big with fear and when I would convince myself that he was teething! we couldn't do it or that he is sick was that a cough? we shouldn't do it and that the moon isn't full enough or do you think we should wait til the economy is better to do it? but really we shouldn't do it because of my hangnail because I can't handle any more emotionally, so we really, really shouldn't do it.

God bless her, right? Example enough that this parenting gig is tough, seeing as how she has had to put up with this hot mess for so many years.

But tonight at 7pm when the show was all set to start, she was so outta here. I can't say I blame her. I'm sure she was so worn out from supporting me all day with the pre-cry crying. And helping with preparations for this film fundraiser we're holding this weekend. And the cleaning out my fridge! I mean, really? What on earth did I do in a past-life to deserve this much goodness? Man, I'm grateful.  She even dropped off some delicious tacos from Hugos before her exit.

So the cute hubs and I sat there with our digital clock and pen in hand and listened to the dreaded soundtrack. Here's the craziest part of all. I didn't cry. Not until I saw some welling in the big blues on the cute hubs and then I melted a bit. But it was a strangely dry-eyed experience for me. But! Don't worry friends, there's always tomorrow. Or later tonight.

And the answer to your question is one hour. I think most people don't have to endure it that long, but for us, tonight, with various breaks at various intervals the total was one hour, one minute.


I'm putting this picture here because it's a good visual on the BHB mid-cry. I'm a jerk too because my mom and I had a good laugh at this moment - we said together 'that is ONE pissed-off-pumpkin!'

 

City of Angels

Sometimes magical things happen that are inexplicable.
And sometimes they don't.

Almond Joy has nuts, Mounds don't.

OH MAN I am showing my age. If you're young and fabulous and you don't know what the hell I'm talking about, move along. And if you're old and fabulous then yes I just dragged that catchy tune that tortured you from your childhood into your mind, you're welcome.

Back to the topic, thanks for going with me on that. I live in a city called Los Angeles, loosely translated: " city full of pretty people who drive like completes shitheads and have a shocking lack of confidence which is hilarious considering the attitude". No wait, that's not it. According to wiki the full name is "La Ciudad de la Reina de los Angeles" - or The City of the Queen of the Angels.

And who is that you might ask? The Virgin Mary is apparently the Queen of the Angels. Now this makes no sense to me because according the Doreen Virtue's Angel Cards, Angels are totally hot. And from what I remember from bible study Mary is a no-sex-havin', virtuous holy gal who you know, hangs out with sheep.

Man, I keep wandering off here tonight. Clearly I'm tired. Okay. Here's what's up.

I am going to reveal something kinda embarrassing and ridiculous and/or totally bitchin' depending on your point of view. But here goes. I talk to the Angels. Like. All the time.

Yep. Uh-huh. Totally.

I am tempted to close the post here and see what happens, but foolishly I"ll go on. I've referred to the oovey-groovy side of myself a few times up here and just sorta whitewashed over it. But I'd be remiss in sharing a real picture of this little Momma if I didn't just overshare a little bit on this topic.

It seems like ever since I gave birth and had my self, physical and otherwise, split open I've been exactly that, more open. I'm getting more 'information' from you know, guidesn'shit. And taking care of this little tiny Angel-faced person has inspired me to chat up the other Angels more often. I 'read' the Angel deck, pulling cards for every reason I can. What's amazing about this is how often the information is so freaky-deaky truly uncanny and also quite soothing. Or how I'll ask a question and the same card will come up again and again. Seriously. In a deck of like 44 I think, I ask the question get a card. Shuffle. Shuffle again. Ask the question again, here comes the same card. Fuuuuhreaky


In fact, when I was preggers with BHB I talked to a psychic and she mentioned that he will love unicorns. Well, that remains to be seen - his only interests at this point involves my anatomy. But at some point I'll be able to confirm this and that will be hella interesting. In the meantime, anytime I would ever ask a question of the angel cards that relates to the boy, I get the same card over and over again that happens to be a damn Unicorn. Unicorn Angel. Which is nuts, right? In so many ways, but I mean in the 'whoa, that can't be a coincidence way'.

Tonight I went to a class to kinda purse this new line of thinking some more to see if all of my talking to Angels and various other folks seen and unseen was a reasonable thing to do. But you know, when you go to a place promoting such activity you're not going to get any kind of helpful perspective. So I don't have any. So instead of going on here, I  am going to go chat up the Angels about sleep. Mine, his and yours.

Btw, thanks so much to all of you who commented on my previous post about that topic, I totally freakin' appreciate you. Nothing has been resolved over here, in fact the cute hubs is singing song #4 right now as I type to see if he'll go back down. I've already offered way too much food for 11:42 at night and so now we're into the Opera (again). I will keep you posted.

Sigh. Now a new song is in your head, isn't it?

Says she talks to Ang-el-s, they call her out by name..

Boys Don't Cry

Or do they?

Oh how I hate this conversation I'm about to have with the virtual you, the person out there, over there, my friend, my new friend and yet a stranger. It's just so hard and stupid and annoying and we'll never agree and we'll go in uncomfortable testy circles until one of us will get mad and stomp off.

Boy that just sucked you right in, didn't it? Deep breath, here goes.

Did you do it?
Did you let your baby cry?
Are you one of thoooose parents?

Or did you sleep with, cradle and rock, let him nurse himself to sleep until he was 3? Did it solve itself magically at 16 months? Then you stood victorious and gazed down upon all the fallen ones shaking your head and wondering how they could be so dangerously mean and awful and those poor dear children who are scarred for life wondering if their parents love them. Knowing they don't.

Did you regret letting him cry?

Are you so glad you did?
Are you the one who can say my kid sleeps 12 hours a night it's non-negotiable he's an amazing sleeper and is so well adjusted and I'm a better parent and we're all happier and it's a beautiful gift and what is wrong with teaching your child an important skill that they need for life?

Or are you like me. Living somewhere in the middle of this dangerous battlefield. Working for the little man. Then when there's nothing more that can be physically done, sucked dry of milk, unable to hold the squirming body that threatens to jump out of your hands. (god forbid) Unable to sing the way the Dad does. You let him cry for 11.5 minutes.

Did you regret caving and going in there and being the one, the only one that can make that horrible sound stop? The one that is greeted with a giant tear soaked smile and a little elvis hip-shaking dance? Getting to pick up the sweet smelling person and having him go heavy in your arms with relief? Knowing that tomorrow night is another night of hours and hours of trying, rocking, dancing, singing, nursing, wondering, what-am-I-doing-here-and which side will I run to?

When the cute hubs gets home I recall the tears, his and mine. I ask him. Where will we end up? Will we regret it?

I send up the white flag. Please tell me what you did. In the meantime check out the gorgeous pumpkin.

La Belle Vie

Sometimes, despite the dumb ass shizzle that abounds and multiplies, life tastes good.

Today is one of those days. Today I went and heard my meditation teacher speak. He tumbles wisdom out of his mouth with such force. I try to record the thoughts between my synapses and come up with mostly. Yes. What you said. Yes. And I remembered why I meditate and realized that even though there is a baby person taking up oh so much of the time, that I remembered that I do, I could, I can and I must have 20 minutes twice a day to find. What's up naptime! Since the boy always, always wakes up at 7:00 am, I bet if I got up at 6:30, I could meditate. Could, can, will, must? Will.

Today I didn't eat sugar. Again. This was Day 3. Well, at least blatent stoopid sugar like ice cream and scones. I suppose I did have a little slip onto a trail mix that had cranberries off the sugar tree. But who wants to eat cranberries without some sweet? That's a pucker-rrefic experience. I guess the answer is me, I'm committed to cutting out all sugar. And I shoulda read the label. So I'll be starting over with Day 1 tomorrow but I have that head start of already feeling so damn much better. As you can tell by my jaunty words. I feel so damn much better.

By the way I won't be going on about this here anymore, I've splintered off to another blog to talk all things sugar. I hope you'll follow me over there, it's a project that's been in my heart, mind and off and on my body for ten years. I've had some fun spoofing the F U Penguin blog and my site is of course called F U Sugar. Fun and prizes to be had over there, comon' by...

Today I woke up at 7:20 to the sound of the BHB just cooing and muttering to himself after having slept most of the night. I'm talkin' 8 hours in a row. Whaaat! That is some rock solid goodness right there people. Yep. I know. Clearly I'm an amazing mother.

Today we went to the farmers market. We bought stuff to smoosh into baby mush. We sampled tasty wares. The sun was slanty and shiny and our feet moved across the ground with ease. You know what I mean? Warmth on back. Everything through the amber sunglasses looks good. We run into a family that seem really effin' cool for the third time so we get their digits. Like that. 

Today we went and saw a great friend who is helping us with our short film. I've been remiss in sharing updates about said short film, but it's still grinding along. More on that later, let's just say that we're not shooting in two weeks, more like 2 weeks x 10. Let's just say that my idea of stretching a budget and what is actually real and possible didn't match up, so we're moving into a fund raising phase. Which is awesome. And by awesome I mean Ack. Let's just say it's time to suck it up and start begging.

But back to today and it's delicious tart and fresh offerings. On the way home from dear friend the cute hubs got the boy into a full tilt giggle that just wrecked me it was so good. Thankfully I didn't wreck the car. Here is some photographic evidence of the overabundance of cuteness.


How I could go from a state of 'giant-potato-peelers-took-off-my-skin-and-there-are-giant-lemons poised-to-squirt' feeling to a super yummy 'I'm-a-meditating-sugar-free-rockstar-momma-with unreasonably-cute-boys-in-my-life' in one week is beyond me. And you too I bet.

The Fly

*I planned to post this last night. Blogger was down (whatthehell!) so I was unable. Please ignore the one day-off-ness of it all....

Four days ago bhb had his first bite of solid food. He enjoyed the first few bites and then grabbed the spoon and shoved it in his mouth. Gifted child.

Three days ago bhb and I wrestled with gravity.

Two days ago I told the internet about it.

One day ago brown dog started blinking and looking miserable with his left eye. We’ve seen this all before. You may remember that he recently had to have surgery on his right eye.

Today we find out that indeed he needs surgery again. I worry that when you ask people who perform eye surgery if a dog needs eye surgery that you’re going to get the answer “He needs eye surgery”. Unfortunately the last time this happened and I wanted a different answer, I went to a holistic vet who said. “Well, there is a danger that the eye can explode.” Or was it implode? “Get the surgery.”

So we did.

My logic was, our dog has really pretty eyes. And he probably likes having both of them. And I’m not interested in exploding eyeballs. And here we are again, same story, but but now we’re looking at (get it?) the other eyeball. Cute hubs said to the vet:

"Thank god he's not a pet fly!"

Comon! You gotta give it up for the hubs on that one. Funnnnny. I laughed heartily in fact. The fact that we are joke cracking and guffawing is pretty impressive for people starting down the chute at another freakin' expensive event, and of course since it is Surgery (capital S) he has to go under - gak. Also here comes another three weeks of the cone of shame, putting goo into his eye twice a day and a cooped-up-not-hiking-frustrated animal who can vibe like no-body's business.

Tonight when we arrived home from a slightly contentious (ok...maybe it did get to us) trip up the local mountain I found myself having to convince brown dog to come out of the back of the Prius. He was reluctant. I took the muzzle-to-face opportunity to plead with him to stop manifesting these crazy-ass physical expressions of his emotional despair about having a new baby-person stealing away everyone’s attention. Ironically I said this with a hoarse voice due to the brutal and breathtaking cough that I currently have. And I leaned a little funny to the right because this morning I trashed my shoulder and neck by tweaking it during a coughing fit. The fact is that I have been in nauseating pain all day.

Guess I should listen to my own speech. Let’s try it. “Hey, Jane, stop manifesting weird physical shit that’s clearly the result of your emotional angst.”

Harumph.

Unfortunately the aforementioned contentiousness leaked into the house and as we were putting bhb to bed I stomped around here annoyed with it all. And I even tried to fold laundry angrily. Have you ever attempted this? Haughtily folding sweet smelling fresh laundry and slamming it down into neat piles is not very satisfying.

The worst part? I’ve decided to stop eating sugar. Again. For anyone who knows me, I’ve done this no less than 200 times. A few times I’ve been successful, like years-at-a time-with-no-sugar successful. I made sure our wedding cake had fruit on the top so when we did the obligatory stuff cake into each other’s faces I wouldn’t have to eat sugar. Can you say freak?

But.

I always feel so much better.

I always lose weight.

And I always cry at least a few times in the first few days.

The first five to seven days will suck-ass as I’m forced to feel my feelings and notice how uncomfortable I am. Well, damn. I’m uncomfortable anyway, might as well get rid of the ‘crack’ (that’s what I call the white devil). So I’ll keep you posted on all the fun I’m having.

Anyone want to join me? Comon’! It’ll be awesome. No, really.

Tonight I leave you with some pictures of our first born when we first adopted him @ 3 months old.  He's a ridiculously cool dog...