Life in Chicago

Sleep Training, For Real This Time

It's sleep training week. It begins tonight.

For real this time.

Not like last time.

Tonight at 7pm we will give Veronica a bath and then we will put her in her pajamas. We'll turn on her nightlight and her sleep sounds. We'll kiss her goodnight and at 7:30 we will put her in her crib and we will leave the room and close the door behind us.

Then I will leave the house. For at least an hour. Maybe two.

It's time. We're at our wit's end. The kid has got to start going to sleep unassisted.

No more walking her around the house for hours.

No more endless nursing sessions.

No more fights between me and Greg as we take turns giving up our entire evening trying to put her to sleep.

No more giving up and bringing her to bed with us because it's easier.

Tonight she cries.

And I'm dreading it. I've been feeling anxious about it for a week already. I hate hearing my little girl cry. Every part of my being reacts. I want to upend buildings and cars and whole chunks of the earth to get to her and make it stop.

But I'm feeling like a pretty bad parent these days. I'm feeling like we've let this go on for way too long. Like we've done a lot more damage than good lately. Like it's just time to teach her how to sleep, and to get our evenings back.

I'll be heading over to my neighbor's house this evening to hang out on their couch while Greg monitor's Veronica's crying. I'll leave tomorrow night too if I have to. And I guess the night after that if necessary.

Please, please let this take just three nights like everyone says. Please, please don't let my little girl hate us, stop trusting us. Please, please let her learn to go to sleep on her own.

Please wish us luck!

How Do You Know if You Chose the Right Baby Name?

Last week I acquired the final piece to our nursery makeover: A beautiful set of baby name blocks. 

It got me thinking about the name we chose. 

One day, before I was ever pregnant Greg suggested a name to me and proposed that we use it if we ever had a little girl. It was perfect. I said yes immediately. That will be the name of our daughter.

It was not Veronica.

Let me just say now that I'm not going to tell you that other name. For a lot of reasons. Maybe we'll use it someday. Maybe I don't want to hear any criticism. Maybe it's something sweet to keep a little private. 

But the funny thing is that all through my pregnancy we planned to use this name if we had a girl. I even wrote letters to the little baby in my stomach using that name, so sure that if we had a daughter we would call her nothing else.

But in the eleventh hour something shifted. I'm still not sure what. And I came back to a name that Greg had brought up early on in our naming lists, a name I'd dismissed quickly: Veronica. Suddenly something about it seemed right. I like the letter V. I liked how versatile the name could be (Vera, Ronnie, Nica, V), and I loved that it was the name of Greg's great-grandmother.

After she was born and was indeed a girl, we decided to sleep on it. In the morning we made a decision. Or rather, Greg let me make a decision. 

I chose Veronica.

And ever since I've wondered if I made the right decision. Sometimes I worry that I chickened out and took the safe route. (The other name was decidedly different.) 

I really did love that other name. Sometimes I whisper it to her, just to see how it feels to say.

But lately, when I do that, it feels off. More and more she is growing into her name, into being Veronica. Maybe we all need to do that, grow into our names, or have them grow into us. Or maybe I'll always regret my choice just a little. 

--

Like these blocks? Here's a link to the Etsy shop where I ordered them.
 

Tuesday Morning

It's Tuesday morning and snow is falling softly outside the windows. Today I like the snow. It's been bright and cold for days now and the snow softens everything, slows it down, absorbs all the edges and sharp lines. As I stare out the window I have one of those moments where the present feels like a memory, as though I already know what it will be like to look back on these days as a young mother in Chicago.

For the past couple of months I've dropped Veronica off with the nanny at my friend Sarah's for four hours while I go to the coffee shop to write, but as of today that is officially over. I had been working on a writing project which has come to an end for now, and I had also been grappling with a whole slew of emotions surrounding how much time I was spending away from my daughter.

I finally decided that four mornings in a row with the nanny was too much, and as much as I enjoy this time to write I'd rather spend it with my little girl. So now, here we are. Listening to Glenn Gould, watching the snow and playing with toys, (and me eeking this out, a few words at at time). 

It's an incredible responsibility to help this this little person join the world. I want to teach her things and hold her hand as she plows bravely ahead (whisking cat food bowls and DVD cords out of the way just in the nick of time). I want to take her to new places and introduce her to all kinds of people. I want to play music for her and read books to her, watch her touch a new material for the very first time, her eyes wide as she glances back at me before reaching for it more firmly.

I want to be as present to these days as possible.

A Girl and Her Cat

Her and Me and Him

On Tuesday night Greg and I left V at home with the nanny and went out to dinner. I defied winter by wearing high heels and a top that was in no way winter-practical. We drank cocktails and ate copious amounts of finely crafted sushi. I don't even eat meat anymore but I still partook in a ridiculously good appetizer involving very thinly sliced sirloin and a rock that has literally been heated to 600 degrees.

Greg and I laughed and spilled a little wine and we leaned into each other and we talked and talked.

I had forgotten how good it felt to be us, just me and Greg out in the world, on a date.

As I felt myself do so I realized I have forgotten how to relax.

Being a parent is confusing. It's the ultimate identity crisis.

I can hardly remember what it was like to come home from work with an entire unplanned evening stretching out before me, to not think about what time I would go to bed or how much sleep I might get. I can hardly remember what it was like to decide to go to the movies on a Saturday afternoon on a moment's notice.

I don't remember what it was like to eat a meal languidly, to not feel as though I have to finish it as fast I can because I need to be prepared for whatever is coming next. I can't remember what it was like to drink too many glasses of wine, to stumble to bed tipsy, not worrying about anyone or anything. 

I don't remember what it was like to carry a tiny purse, just lip gloss, a cell phone and a credit card. I don't remember what it was like to think about the future as a flat, irresponsible thing, a span of time all mine. 

But I also don't remember a time when I loved anyone as much as I love my daughter. I don't remember ever wanting to be with someone the way I want to be with her. I don't recall anyone ever smiling at me the way she does, first thing in the morning, her eyes closing as a soft, little smile spreads across her face.

There are little moments, the way he leans into me as we walk through a fancy cocktail lounge together, that make me remember my old life, the one before her. But then there is her and her warm hand on my cheek as she sleeps, hot breath on my neck.

All the things I don't remember are practically irrelevant. They are no longer. There is only now and this and her and me and him. There are hours and days and time that moves so, so fast.

Of Bed Dragons and Tiny Teeth: 7 Month Letter

Dear Veronica,

Yesterday you turned 7 months old.

7 months. An age I hadn't even considered. You are truly no longer a baby. I can't believe how fast it's all happened. When I was pregnant and I thought about my future, the one in which I would be "a mom with a baby," it never occurred to me that you wouldn't always be a baby. In my imagination whole years of having this "baby" unfurled, months of toting around a little papoose, days and endless days of swaddling and nursing, and stacks of tiny diapers.

But all of that has begun to dissipate. The baby in you is ebbing. You are becoming a little person, nudging and eeking out your place in this world. You have a wonderful amount of determination for such a little thing. I hope it continues long into your adulthood. Determination is a good thing.

Now that you have discovered your own strength the days of you complacently sitting on my lap are over. You are on the MOVE, crawling, climbing, standing, never wanting to sit still, not when you can dive head first into your toy chest or sneak up on a sleeping cat.

You weigh almost 19 pounds and your hair is finally beginning to grow, sweet little tufts of it puffing out over your ears in the most ridiculous way. Our favorite nicknames for you this month are Bugaroo, Veronica Sweets & Spices and Bed Dragon...because you are ALWAYS in our bed. Oh kid, this sleep thing better improve soon or we're sending you to live with your grandparents in Ohio.

You also had your first Christmas, where you played with all 5 of your cousins, you continued growing those tiny teeth (PLEASE unlearn how to bite me while nursing), you've tried all kinds of food, none of which you are terribly interested in, and you had your first trip to the ER for a double ear infection. And you got a pretty new nursery.

But this month, sweet little bug, this is the month in which you truly fell in love with your Daddy. 

 

I think you always liked him, but now you adore him. Each day when we hear the backdoor open, signaling his return from work, we stand up and head towards the kitchen. Who's that, I whisper to you as we listen to him take off his boots, hang up his winter coat. Is that him? You squint through the distance, your lips pursing in anticipation. Is that him? And then as he comes into view your eyes widen and a smile breaks across your face, a little ohhh, emerging in your sweet voice. It is him! You reach your arms out and your daddy scoops you up, his face lighting up too.

It struck me the other morning that he is the man against which you will measure all other men. I can hardly describe what it felt like to realize that. I was filled with such gratitude, with such pride and with peace of mind. I mean, you would hope that I would think that since I married the man, but it wasn't what I was thinking about when I made that decision. And realizing this the other morning I felt such a profound sense of relief. As though, if I've done anything right by you as a mother, it was in choosing your father.

I thought about the way in which I knew my father, about the ways I loved him, and about the ways he taught me about the world. I thought about the things he left me with, the influence he had on my idea of men, of parenting, and of love. And then I thought about how the man who you will feel this way about is Greg, and for that I am so very glad.

Anyway, I have to close now because you are due to awake from a nap any minute now. In this next month I would like much more of the same, with maybe a bit more babbling and slightly less biting.

With all my love,

Mom

Make video montages at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Every Parent's Rite of Passage: A Trip to the ER

It's something every parent hopes they never have to do, and it's something that pretty much every parent does have to do. For some, it's sooner than later, but at one point or another the obligatory first trip to the ER can no longer be avoided.

Luckily our 5-hour stint at Illinois Masonic last night wasn't as dramatic as it was long. Veronica had been sleeping all day and in the early evening I discovered that the ear thermometer I'd been using was giving an entirely different temperature reading than the underarm version, which reported a 100.6 temp. After speaking with a nurse over the phone we packed up our things and headed out to the ER at 7pm.

Poor thing who had been flushed and weak and moaning all day long of course perked up once we were settled indefinitely in the waiting room. Her temperature was around 101 when we arrived so they gave her some Motrin and then proceeded to have us wait for about 4 hours to see a doctor.

We juggled her back and forth and took turns guessing the details of the other waiting room patrons around us. I stared for a while at the doors to the ER, remembering almost 7 months ago when I walked through them, grossly pregnant and in the middle of a fierce contraction. I didn't even make it to the check-in desk before I was doubled over with concentration, the pain pulsing through my body. I never even noticed the waiting room on that visit, and last night found it amusing to think of all the people who had surely enjoyed such a cliched scene of pregnancy. You were born here little Bug, I whispered to Veronica as she gummed the collar of my sweater.

Around 11pm the doctor diagnosed her with a double ear infection, but not before receiving some smiles and charming coos and declaring her competition for the Gerber Baby. We were all in bed together by 12:30am, our first ER trip checked off the list. It won't be the last of the firsts we see this year, although hopefully most of them will be more fun than this one.

Do you have an ER story? A favorite first? Any great tips for ear infections? Want to come over and babysit while Greg and I take a nap?

2009: Year in Review

So I spent a couple of hours yesterday working on a really long year-in-review post that I just deleted in its entirety. It's been that kind of year, I guess.

For the last three years I've spent a lot of time during the very last days of December writing and reflecting on the previous twelve months.

• 2008 Year in Review
• 2007 Year in Review
• 2006 Year in Review

It's usually a pretty interesting experience to look back on all that has happened in a 12 month span. It's always a lot more than I realize. But something about doing it this year felt particularly self-indulgent.

This is the year in which I have given myself over to another person. I would like to say that I did that when I got married. But I didn't. And really, if I had, it probably wouldn't have been a good thing.

Earlier, as I spent time writing about each of the last twelve months it just felt like a silly exercise in vanity. The thing is that for as complicated as Veronica has made my life, she's made it a lot more simple too. Life is a lot less about me, a good thing.

Tonight Greg and I took my desk down to the garage so that we could expand the front of our apartment and make more room for Veronica to have a place to play. It felt so symbolic -- my giving up of my writing center to create living space for my daughter.

But I have to remind myself that I haven't given up writing, I haven't given up who I am, rather I'm just squishing myself into new shapes and corners, while at the same time opening up my whole person to another.

And she's more than worth it.

This is the year my daughter was born. 

Wishing everyone out there a joyous and abundant new year. Thanks for sharing some of this last one with me.

And I don't actually expect any of you to watch this, but I really enjoyed making this photo montage of 2009.

Photo and video editing at www.OneTrueMedia.com

Sleep Training FAIL

Greg and I forayed into the dark, dark world of sleep training last night. It was miserable. Veronica wailed. I cried. Greg was mean.

Admittedly, we tried a not-very-thought-out version of the famous CRY IT OUT method. Over the last six weeks we've had our fair share of rough nights and it just felt like it was time to do something. Anything.

Here are our sleep problems. I know all of you out there without kids are on the edge of your seats.

Scenario number one is some nights it's just hard to get her to go down. This means that she'll fall asleep nursing as we watch a dvd after dinner and then I let her snooze in my lap for a while, making sure she's really asleep. Then I tiptoe back to the nursery with her and oh-so gently place her in the crib, at which point she sits straight up and starts crying. Awesome.

The Christmas Blahs

I'm feeling a little blah about the holidays this year.

Now, before you get all preachy with me and berate me for feeling blah when I'm healthy and employed and have a wonderful husband and a beautiful baby girl who will celebrate her first Christmas, let me just say I KNOW. And I already feel bad for feeling bad.

There's no real reason for my holiday blahs. I just don't feel very sparkly about it all.

It's a combination of a few things, I think. Mostly, I'm really missing my family this year, and I don't just mean my parents. This will be the third holiday season I've spent with the Boose family and while I'm very grateful for this and do enjoy going to Ohio (for any Booses reading this, please don't take it personally), I just miss feeling connected to my roots and my past during the holidays.