The crying game

Sleep. Sleep. SLEEP. Why is it so challenging and elusive? Anyone who is a parent, knows a parent, ever met a parent, has perhaps seen a parent walking down the street or in the grocery store knows that sleeping is an issue. It’s not something that just comes naturally to parents or our tiny screaming offspring.

I sit here at the computer trying to unravel this age old mystery, as my adorable little boy screams his head off in his room. While my husband and I are not officially “ferber-izing” our child, we have found that the only way to get him to sleep is to let him cry it out. Trust me when I say we’ve tried everything else (rocking for an hour, walking around for 45 minutes while bouncing or swaying, swings, vibrating bouncy chairs - you name it). It just prolongs his fussiness and ends with his crying it out in his crib. Amazingly, he then wakes up as happy as a clam.

So, you might be asking yourself “Why is she complaining?” I’ll tell you why. This method goes against EVERY mothering fiber in my body. Every instinct screams “Go to your baby. Comfort him. NOW!” So, this leads me to the other subject of this blog: food. The moment he starts crying I start craving anything (usually a glass of wine and something salty - but chocolate will also due). The problem with this is much like the freshman 15, the pregnancy 25 (or 50) is much easier to put on than to take off. Because of this crying technique we’ve adopted and breastfeeding, I’ve actually found that I am hungrier now then when I was pregnant.

So, in an attempt to regain some semblance of my former physical self, I am and will do my best at saying “No” to the cries of these sirens that beckon me to the kitchen every time my baby whimpers. Instead I will channel my anxieties into you.

A chip off the old block

Last week my four month old started showing interest in food and watching me eat. I thought “Woo hoo. He’s already intrigued by food (just like his mommy).” In all my excitement, I rushed out and purchased a highchair (the Chicco Polly - great features and value). It was imperative that I encourage my little gourmet in the making.

The scene.

Candles lit, table set, a lovely bolognese (yummy) with hand cut pappardelle.

Enter Baby in highchar and parents.

The moment the highchair approaches the table, SCREAMS explode from the baby. Devastated, the mother takes the baby back to the spit-up-covered quilt to play with the soggy and over-masticated hippo rattle. Through tears the mother thinks “Oh well, maybe next time.” She returns to the table to some cold pasta and her husband who has finished his dinner and is engrossed in a vampire novel…

I must admit that this is the shocking tale of my little gourmet’s first table experience.

So, in my best mothering fashion, I tried again the next day. This time around I kept it simple.

The scene.

Table strewn with old papers, mail, and what not, a turkey sandwich, chips, and a pickle

Enter Baby in high chair and disheveled mother

The high chair approaches table sans protest. So far so good. The mother immediately grabs a potato chip (Cape Cod Low Fat). Every bite is delectable - salty, crunchy, the slightest hint of oil - heaven. While lost in the raptures of her potato chip, she fails to notice the cooing taking place next to her. By the 3rd chip, she is ripped from her ecstasy by a squeal. Her four month old, too, is in raptures over the potato chip. He LOVES it. The act of taking the chip and placing it in the mouth; the crunch; and yes the moans of sheer joy from his mommy.

So, out of pure benevolence for my child I am required to eat potato chips every day for lunch. As a side note his second favorite food to watch are carrots.

It’s all about the poop

Too much

Too little

Funny color

Funny smell

Too runny

Too thick

Too often

Not enough

You name the problem and us moms can relate it to poop. Actually, I feel proud every time my little guy goes (evidently one of the many odd things about motherhood). But this post is not about baby’s poop. Its about mom’s poop. None of the books discuss this very important issue.

I’ve ALWAYS been very regular and well, enjoyed pooping. That is until after my c-section. It took me days to even pass my first “bowel movement”. And when I did - whew…. it was something to write home about (not that I wanted to ever think about it again). I assumed that this is where the “fun” ended and that everything would go back to normal (after all, I’d been taking stool softeners). But I was sorely mistaken.

As the weeks passed and I worried about my baby’s poop and tried to not think about the pain from my own (oh yeah - pain and bleeding. It truly felt like I was pooping baseballs), I began to dread this once enjoyable activity. I was too embarrassed to ask anyone (what if it was hemorrhoids?!? I didn’t have them during pregnancy or delivery. So, why now? ) I mean, I couldn’t find anything on the Internet about it - I MUST be a freak. Finally I called my doctor who simply said that I had torn my butt. AHHHHHH. And that I should eat more fiber. No sh*t Sherlock (pardon the pun).

After many meals of Fiber One and no improvement, I brought it up with my sister-in-law. She recommended changing my vitamin. I was still taking my prenatal that was chocked full of iron. Ah Ha. The moment I switched - the problem was solved. I still eat Fiber One - it’s delicious and well, just in case. I also brought it up at my mother’s group and discovered that I was far from being alone.

So, all moms know that it’s all about the poop.

My baby’s _____ is bigger than yours

So, all modestly aside, I consider myself a relatively relaxed and level-headed mother.

Today I went to a mother’s group (which by the way I recommend to all new mothers. It’s therapy to get out and meet people that don’t mind talking about babies for 2 hours and who completely understand everything you are going through). Within five minutes I found myself coaxing my baby into preforming any and every one of his new tricks (regardless of his desires).

“Gosh darn it - roll over. Okay. Stand. Now, laugh and blow bubbles.”

It’s like he was my show pony.

Suddenly I stopped and asked myself “Am I really this insecure? Is this how I validate that I’m a good mother?” I looked around and saw 10 babies dressed in their finest being put on stage to perform. There was lots of “Tommy has been rolling over for weeks” and “Little Suzie has been saying Mama since she was five months old”. It was a scary glimpse into myself and motherhood. Every mother I meet is always second guessing herself and worrying that she isn’t doing enough for her baby. I blame all the “What to Expect” type books and the increase your child’s IQ toys.

Mothers can no longer just let their babies play and learn. They must be striving towards milestones and accomplishments, which is tragic. Life is full of To Do lists and goals.

Shouldn’t babies have a pass?

I’m a blogger?

As my four month old little boy drifted off to sleep at 8:45 (woo hoo), I decided to see what all this blog hype was about. So, I turned to my trusted friend and food lover’s blog ( Kate F___, Girl Reporter) and took a look. To my delight I found a fun and entertaining glimpse into my friend’s life and kitchen. So Kate F, thank you for motivating me to start sharing my tales of food and baby, how babies affect food, and how food affects babies (pretty much my life).

Objective: To entertain myself and hopefully a few others with my stories of baby and food.

I should also give some credit to my wonderful blogger of a husband (herbietown). You are my inspiration (kind of).