Parenting from Scratch

At about 6:00 Thursday morning, I nursed my first babydoll. I’d been wondering when it was going to happen, and figured it was bound to at some point, with Sadie still nursing and with her growing attachment to her babydoll.

Sadie got her first babydoll for Christmas last year from her Mimi and Papa. She instantly loved it, and we were surprised by her enthusiasm at such a young age. She’s definitely had spans of time where her interest isn’t quite so intense, but for the most part, Sadie is a babydoll kind of girl. (I, on the other hand, was not. Sure, I had a few Cabbage Patch dolls, but I was SO much more interested in Barbie. I didn’t want to change diapers; I wanted to go out on dates.)

As Sadie has grown and learned and observed more and more, her relationship with Baby (as she calls her) has matured. Sadie now frequently insists that we swaddle (SWA!) Baby. She loves to rock her, to pat her, and to shush her. She requests “Rock-a-Bye Baby” be sung while she rocks Baby multiple times a day. It’s really been a joy to see Sadie love her Baby so much, because I feel like it’s a genuine reflection for the love we’ve been pouring into her for the past 19+ months.

Thursday morning, though, a change took place. Of clothes, that is. On Monday, I’d picked up some dresses and outfits from Sadie’s Mimi for Sadie to wear this winter and next spring. These are mostly handmade clothes that have been worn by girls in our family for many years. Well, there was one that didn’t have a hanger, and somehow it ended up in Sadie’s hands. She brought it, and Baby, to me and indicated that she wanted Baby to wear it. The end-of-the-day report from Aunt Gwen (who Sadie still calls “Girl”–too cute!) was that Baby was an integral part of Wednesday. They had done everything together.

Ever since I read this hilarious essay, Nursing Johnny Depp, I wondered if my time would come to nurse something other than Sadie. I mean, with an old enough nursling, surely it happens at some point. So it wasn’t ALL that surprising when, early Thursday morning, Saide said “nuh nuh, Baby” and put Baby to my breast so Baby could nurse, too.

I wonder if this will become a trend. And I wonder who or what else I’ll be asked to nurse.

At the very least, I guess I can take it as a slightly hopeful sign that Sadie would, if the time came, be willing to share the Nuh Nuhs with a REAL baby.

In other Nuh Nuh news, Saide is also beginning to generalize my breasts with other breasts. It first started by her pointing at one of my bridal portraits. Specifically, my boobs. “Nuh Nuh!” she said. Yes, those are Nuh Nuhs. (This is the ONE body part I am temporarily using a made-up word for. It started out as a verb; now it is both verb and noun.) But there have been other times recently she has pointed to a photograph of another woman and said, “Nuh Nuh!” Yes, those are also Nuh Nuhs. Let’s just hope this one doesn’t come back to embarrass me.

She’s also got an incredible memory for the Nuh Nuhs. While at the Memphis Zoo a few weeks ago, a mama giraffe was nursing her baby. I couldn’t resist, so I held Sadie up and said, “Look, Sadie, the baby giraffe is having Nuh Nuhs!” Now, every time she sees an image of a giraffe, she says, “Nuh Nuh.” Oops.

For the most part, the fact that I never get around to posting hasn’t meant too much. In other words, although Sadie is cutely chugging along through toddlerhood, most of the things in our lives are pretty much the same.

Well, there are actually a couple of things that I’ve wanted to write about, but haven’t gotten around to doing it, so now you can have them at once, because they’re kind of related.

First! Trevor’s lovely sister, Gwen, has recently moved to Little Rock. As in, she arrived Wednesday night and is going to be living in our garage apartment! This is awesome on many levels. One, Trevor will finally have an immediate family member within hollerin distance. His family is pretty tight-knit, so it’s been a big deal for him to be so far away (Have I mentioned that I hijacked him to begin with?) Two, Gwen and I really get along well. We’re actually closer in age than Trevor and I are. So it’s like having a fun friend living in the back yard. And three, we are going to be taking Sadie out of daycare, and Gwen will be keeping Sadie at home four days a week. Needless to say, we are all very excited. Of course, you’d never know it in person, because I think Trevor and I might be the least outwardly excitable people alive.

Gwen and the Sadiebug.

P.S. Gwen comes as a package deal with her dog, Omie, who looks like Nari’s cousin and will be a great addition to the pack once she calms down a little about the cats (Sadie suddenly decided that the cats are now “Cats!” and not “Kitties!” the other day.)

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Second! Tomorrow, I am leaving for a very exciting, pretty selfish vacation to Orlando. My college roommate and I are celebrating her graduation from pharmacy school (amazing) by going to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter (and also the rest of Universal Islands of Adventure and one of the Disney parks). OMFG, I am so excited about this. We made these plans when Universal first announced they were going to open the WWHP… back before Sadie was even a sparkle in my eye (gag).

Leah and me in our glory days of youth.

So… Sadie is staying home. The plans were back and forth for a while about whether or not she’d come with us, and it ended up working out logistically best for her to stay home with Trevor. This will be made possible, too, by Gwen’s presence. I am all kinds of mixed up about this emotionally. She’s too young to understand that “I’ll be back in a few days” doesn’t mean “I’m never coming back.” She’s not weaned in the slightest. I recognize that this might be a total disaster for everyone involved who isn’t going to Orlando… and I’m really nervous about it. This is probably the least Attachment Parenting thing I’ll have ever done. But. I’m going. It’s happening. Everyone will survive. Just some of us will have more fun than others (and this is usually not me, so that’s probably why I’m having such a hard time wrapping my head around it). I’m ridiculously grateful to Trevor and Gwen. And to Leah.

I learned two valuable lessons from Sadie Diane tonight.

First. Never put an enraged toddler to the breast. She will bite. You will bleed.

Second. Don’t confuse informed force with providing options. It may lead to rage.

To explain the second lesson (I assume the first is pretty self-explanatory), allow me to tell you the story. See, for months now, bedtime at chez Edwards has been a pretty easygoing, nonviolent affair. We’re pacifists, after all. Enter the toy cell phone. (Sadie has very few noisy toys, but she’s been increasingly desperate to play with our phones. She’s not the most careful with things, so I thought the time had come to go ahead and get her a little flip phone, and I did just yesterday. To say that she loves it would be an understatement.) Now, normally I’ve got a keen eye for ridding her room pre-bedtime of any toys that might cause her trouble winding down. Guess I missed one.

Oftentimes, like when she’s playing in the driver’s seat, but it’s time for her to get in her car seat, I’ll give her two options. She can climb into her car seat on her own, or I can help her into it. Much of the time, she chooses to do things herself. And she seldom makes a big deal if I “help” her.

As it turned out, this little tidbit of parenting wisdom does not apply when trying to get Sadie to hand over a still-new, awesome, noisy toy at bedtime. Not surprisingly, she elected not to give up the phone. So, I took it. By brute force. Because I’m the mama. Because I could.

Screams, tears, fit of rage.

Enter: Trevor. Unable to calm her down.

Exit: Trevor.

Enter failed attempt at breastfeeding as a calming technique, only to result in a bleeding boob: Here.

Enter swearwords yelled at top of lungs: Here.

Re-enter: Trevor, armed with his own phone. Rejected. Sent back for play phone.

Now, you might be thinking, Oh, jeez, you caved in, and her tantruming won. Not so, I believe.

While all of this was going down, my mind was racing through what had happened and what my remaining options were. What I realized was, I hadn’t genuinely presented Sadie with a choice to make. That tool (trick?) only works if she’s actually open to one of the choices.

So we started over. I pulled Sadie into my lap and let her play with the phone until she’d calmed down. Then, I told her it was time to put the phone nite-nite, and that she could not nurse until she had put it away. For the next 10 minutes or so, we went back and forth about the phone. Sadie would take it to her table, but kept coming back with it. We told the phone goodnight; we gave it goodnight kisses. I started working on getting Sadie interested in one of her baby dolls. I patted it’s back; I sushed it. Finally, Sadie had set the phone on the table, and I saw my opening. I made a crying sound and told Sadie that her baby was ready to sleep. She came right over, without the phone. She nursed, I put her to sleep, and I haven’t heard a peep from her since (knock on wood).

I think the important thing is this: I knew Sadie wasn’t taking that phone to bed. I had two options–I could either continue on with the “I’m the boss” tactic, and she could worn both of us out in the tantrum. Or, I could put a little of the power back in Sadie’s hands. She left the phone behind, but she did it on her terms.

I think we both won, and I feel a touch wiser from the experience. Of course, you can bet your sweet ass I’ll make sure that phone is way out of sight before tomorrow night. And every other.

So, last Thursday morning (What is it with Thursdays lately?), right when I was about to leave for work, I went into Sadie’s room and discovered this (this is taken a few minutes later):

Yep, Sadie’s crib rail split. We’re not sure if one of us did it, putting Sadie back in sometime in the course of the night. Or if we need to be concerned that The Company is going to come looking for Sadie. Either way, suck-ola. So! I might have been a little hasty when I commanded, TAKE THE DAMN THING APART! I could just imagine Sadie busting through it that night, or gouging her eye out on the jagged wood (and I use the term “wood” lightly here). Sadie thought it was fantastic (say CHEESE):

How fun to have her bed on the floor! I’d been thinking off and on about transitioning Sadie to a low bed, especially since hearing a friend of mine talk a little about what she’d learned about low beds in the Montessori tradition. I definitely hadn’t quite planned on doing it yet, and I really had wanted to be slow and deliberate about it (as I was moving her from the bassinet/our bed to the crib/our bed to just the crib). But I’d just heard how good Sadie has been sleeping on her cot at daycare, so I figured, what the heck. We’ll give it a shot.

So I mulled this over on my way to work. And the whole morning, I kept thinking of how not-entirely-baby-safe Sadie’s bedroom was. Sure, she could hang there unattended for a while with one of us in the house, awake. But the thought of her roaming her room in the middle of the night, with a diaper pail to get into and who knows what else… So, I took the afternoon off. I did a tiny bit of shopping and found at an antique store a little table and stool that seemed just the right size for Sadie. I rearranged furniture and cleaned the floor. I was actually getting a little excited.

I took out most of her toys and left behind just a handful. The Montessori concept as far as sleeping goes is that all children, even babies, shouldn’t be restricted in their movement–night or day. I was prepared that Sadie would likely wake up in the night, as she does in her crib. But I kind of imagined Sadie getting up, playing with a puzzle or baby doll, and then putting herself back to sleep.

I was obviously out of my gourd. That night was a total train wreck. I’m sure that if you start your baby from infancy in a low bed, having a night like we had happens every so often. It took me nearly two hours to get Sadie to sleep, eventually letting herself wear down by running from the low bed to me and back, again and again, nursing every handful of laps. She slept soundly from 9:00 to 3:30 in the morning, but then she was up! Up. As in, took Trevor and me until 5:15 to get her back down. Not okay. And the way we got her back to sleep? Trevor rearranged the room halfway back to how it was and put the crib back together. He duct taped the split part and put that part against the wall. Not exactly ideal, and I’ve got some phone calls to make to see about a replacement part. Some of my work has stayed, though. We all really like the table and stool and the dressing area. Sadie can pick out what she wants to wear, and she even will put her shoes back when she’s not wearing them. She’s definitely a big girl, but I think we’re going to wait quite a bit longer before trying the big girl bed again.

Does anybody have any tips on how to make this transition easier next time? I’m sure just her being developmentally more ready will make a big difference. But I’d love to hear some success stories.

How sad is it that this is the first chance I’ve had in a while to post, and I’m posting from my phone while waiting in line to get my passport renewed. Pretty sad.

No, I am not about to be whisked away on an international escapade. But I do work for an international organization, my passport is way out-of-date (I got it in 1999, when my last name was still Stapleton, and I didn’t smile in the photo so my braces wouldn’t show), and prices on passports go up tomorrow. So! Here I wait.

Things are great at our house. Sadie is now exactly half my height. She says “Sadie” sometimes when prompted, which is totally awesome. And she will cock her head to the side and say “peek!” She’s climbing now, resulting this morning in a “thwap”‘as she fell off the desk chair.

Whew, I finally got a seat. My legs are tired, because I did a whopping 80 equate last night. Okay, they weren’t great form, but still. I’ve added squats to my exercise regimen. Oh! And I’m taking ballet! I’m super excited about it. I’ve ALWAYS wanted to take ballet, and there’s a new studio opening in town with an adult class and very reasonable fees. I’m even going to do a little class Saturday mornings with Sadie.

Trevor’s got an out-of-town race this weekend, so it’ll be us girls Saturday. We’ve got Sadie’s BFF Margie’s first birthday party, and we are thrilled to celebrate with her family and our friends. Family vacation is coming up soon, too.

I guess that’s about it. I’ve been obsessing over preschool issues lately, so hopefully I’ll write a post about everything thats been rattling around in my head soon.

Also, I’m toying around with the idea of adding contributors to Parenting from Scratch. I’m clearly short on time these days, but I like what I’ve had going on here. If you’re interested, do let me know!

(Black beans, then blueberries; not pictured, cereal.) (Oh, and the next-to-last one, her mouth is open so wide, because she’s exclaiming, “YEAH!” after fitting the big berry in there.) (Parenthetical words don’t count, right?)

So, I’m getting a little worried about something. Water. And Sadie. Not mixing so well anymore.

Apart from her first bath, Sadie has pretty well liked bath time, and I seem to remember her really digging the pool (and the lake) last summer. Now, not so much. I’ve tried to take her swimming twice, and neither time has gone well. And baths have become a struggle. One night this week, she refused to sit in the tub, so I just held her in my arms next to the tub and wiped her down with a washcloth.

So much mad for such a little baby.

Enjoying the lake.

Is this a phase? Gosh, I hope so. I was terriffically afraid of water for a really long time when I was a kid. My parents say it’s because my mom startled herself and me when giving me my first bath. My aunt says my dad tried to “cure” me of my fear by taking me in a boat and rocking it to show me it was no big deal. I have no memory of either. I do remember once, when I was little, taking my floaties off so I could get onto a foam surfboard in a swimming pool. I’d pulled the board over to the edge, because I couldn’t get on it from in the pool, as my floaties kept getting in the way. Of course, I fell straight in and couldn’t swim. I remember my little brother (a fish from the start) helped pull me out somehow, and my dad got me the rest of the way out. I didn’t need resuscitating or anything, but I think it definitely cemented my fear of the water. My aunt recalls, when I first came to stay with her and her family when I was 7, that I wouldn’t take a shower or a bath without screaming. I just stood in the tub while she bathed me. I kind of remember this, but I’m not sure if it was just that first night that I was like that, or if it continued.

I did eventually grow out of this fear, but it wasn’t until I was in the fifth grade that I learned to swim. My Girl Scout troop went to a dude ranch for a weekend, and my friend, Megan, got me to finally swim in the deep end. It took me another year before I’d jump off the diving board. To this day, I still can’t dive, and the best I can do is not drown.

I don’t want this for Sadie. I want this to be a phase. This is just a phase, right? What do I do? Can I do anything?

Everything I just typed disappeared into the Interwebs clouds. It’s 11:17, and I’m really tired and burned out from thinking. So here’s the bulleted version of a sweet post I wrote about Sadie and her 1991 Cabbage Patch Preemie doll.

• Got him at a flea market this past weekend.
• She wasn’t interested in him at all at first.
• I got him anyway, because it made me nostalgic, and it made me feel better for not buying her all of the hideously ugly dolls she’d been drawn to (Mama has standards).
• Now, she’s freaking in love with him. It’s the cutest thing ever.
• She hugs him tight.
• She pats his back.
• She gives him kisses.
• She shushes him.
• She’s slept with him every night since.
• We took them both to vote this morning.

I let her borrow my I Voted sticker for the photo. Then I took it back.

Notice the death grip she's got on him. She was a sad gal when we had to leave him behind after our walk home. We're not risking losing this guy at daycare.

Girlfriend wants my iPhone so bad.

P.S. If you’d told me five years ago I’d be standing over my kitchen sink at 10:30 at night, scraping digested food bits out of cloth diaper tabs, I’d have called you a lying whore.

I try to take pictures of Sadie in her cloth diaper; I fail, because she wants to take the diaper off.

I try to take pictures of Sadie’ 11curling hairs; I fail, because she wants to know what I’m doing behind her.

Maybe I should try taking pictures with something other than my phone.

At least I got a cute shot of loverman Tarzan bein the cutesy cat alive.

So remember when I was all, I’m grossed out at the thought of Sadie drinking cow’s milk? Right. Well, now I sure wish she would. I had my last pumping session last Friday. I had been considering it, and after 15 minutes of pumping, I had only a measly two ounces to show for it (yes, I do recognize that for some women, two ounces would be fantastic, but for me it was not). I used to feel really productive–in the most literal sense ever–in the Mother’s Room. So now Sadie only gets breastmilk straight from the source. That’s totally fine with me, as long as she’s still getting enough of what she needs, which I really don’t know how to tell. Her solids diet is pretty balanced, I believe. And she nurses twice in the morning, sometimes when I pick her up from daycare, and always at bedtime. In fact, she can now verbally request to nurse (“nuh nuh?”), and I almost always am able to nurse her within moments of her request (not, you know, in the checkout line, but once we get to the car or something). She likes drinking water, so I don’t think she’s at risk of becoming dehydrated.

I will not drink it from a cup. I will not drink it with my sup.

But every time Sadie takes a sip from her sippy cup and it has milk in it, she pretty much just dribbles it out of her mouth. We’re on probably our third half-gallon of whole milk (I’ve tried both organic from the grocery store and locally-sourced milk). She’s not a fan at all of soy milk, either. I know there are other nut/grain milk options, but they just don’t have enough calcium or protein by comparison. And something tells me she’d reject those anyway. Homegirl accepts no substitutes, apparently.

So what’s a mom to do? Do I have to go back to pumping? Is it alright if she just has water all day at daycare? Should I just try cow’s milk every couple of weeks, once a month, once a year, to see if she’s changed her mind?