How To Put a Baby to Bed (in Under 3 Hours)

According to parenting experts, all you need for happy bedtimes is a good evening routine. Here’s what that looks like in real life (at least some of the time):

6:30- Dinner time. Prepare various mushy foods and serve to baby. Shoo dog away from under the table, where he’s patiently waiting for flying food.

6:45- Remove food globs from baby’s high chair, hair, face, clothing, ears and nostrils. Wipe down all floors and furniture in a nine-foot radius of said high chair. Attempt to remove sticky streaks from own hair; quickly give up. Wish dog was around to help clean up.

6:50- Wonder whether any food actually got into baby.

7:00- Bathe baby in a warm tub of lavender-scented bubbles (to promote relaxation). Change into handy bathrobe after getting soaked by splashing, squirming baby, who is happy but obviously not relaxed.

7:10- put sweet-smelling baby in cute little footie pyjamas.

7:12- smell foul odour; notice stain spreading across back of baby’s pyjamas.

7:13- change slightly less sweet-smelling baby into clean jammies; start a load of laundry.

7:20- return to scheduled events. Story time: read Guess How Much I Love You and Goodnight Moon, gently removing books from baby’s mouth every few minutes. Marvel at baby’s obvious appreciation for literature.

7:30- Chase dog out of room after he starts growling at the ceiling for no apparent reason. Ignore the fact that he has stolen a sock and is carrying it away. Return to bed for last feed of the evening.

7:35- Yell in pain after being bitten by over-zealous teething baby; baby cries from fright. Cry from guilt (and fear of having scarred the poor child for life)

7:36- Husband runs in and comforts everyone. Back to scheduled events, once again...

7:35- Lullabye time. Try "rock-a-bye baby"; find self unable to finish due to realisation of how beastly the words are. Try "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star". Sudden attack of "mommy brain" causes memory loss- can’t finish song. Hum for a minute, then take it home with a stunning rendition of the theme song from "Friends".

7:45- first attempt at bed. Put baby down while he’s still awake (as per instructions in baby books). Head out to living room for quality time with husband.

7:50- hear strange noises- baby seems to be singing.

7:51- ... and now he’s crying. Pat him on the back- still crying. Pick him up- nope, still crying. Take another crack at "Twinkle, Twinkle"- baby starts laughing hysterically. Realise that he’s about a quarter-past overtired already. Put him back to bed.

8:00- Baby crying again. Have short "discussion" with the Hubby about whose turn it is to go in, as he did nap time this afternoon.

8:01- Hubby goes and walks baby to sleep. So much for putting him down awake, but at least he’s asleep.

8:30- Haul wailing baby to rocking chair in the living room; wish Hubby was watching a movie that did not involve gunfights and swearing. Return to baby’s bedroom to cuddle and sing. Give up on pacifier after he spits it out for the seventh time.

8:40- Resign self to life imprisonment in the baby’s room, singing self hoarse.

8:45- Baby’s eyes start to close. Hold breath...

8:46- Nope, they’re open again. Release breath and return to singing. Oh, there they go again...

8:50- Success! He’s finally asleep. Find self unable to put him down, after all- enjoy time to cuddle without any squirming, screaming or biting.

9:05- Put Baby down in crib. His eyes flutter open; offer hasty prayer that they’ll close again.

9:08- Offer prayer of thanks while backing out of the room and closing the door.

9:10- Collapse into living room chair, ready for quality time with patient and understanding husband.

9:15- Zzzzzzzz...........

See? Nothing to it.


......12:30 a.m. - Remember that load of laundry. Get out of bed to move laundry over to dryer, motivated entirely by guilt at the thought of mold growing all over poor baby's pyjamas. Peek in at sleeping baby- goodness, he does look sweet. It's good to be me.

Friends

If you read parenting magazines, you've probably noticed several common themes: potty training, bed sharing and whether it's still appropriate when the child in question is fifteen, and discipline (or lack thereof). And there's always a page or two devoted to the trials and tribulations of being a parent, including the lack of privacy, lack of sex life, lack of... well, you get the idea. The one that always worries me is the lack of friends issue. OK, not lack of friends, exactly, but the changes that friendships go through when one friend has a baby.

I've never had a lot of friends. I had a good group in high school that I hung out with, and my dorm-mates at university were an amazing group... but I've managed to lose touch with all but a special few of those people as our lives changed and went in different directions. I might as well be honest- I had lost touch with every one of my high school friends before we went back for our graduation ceremony in the fall. It's not that I don't care about my friends- I really do. I just don't notice how much time passes between letters or phone calls, and then I'm too embarassed to call and say, "hey, remember me?" I'm also not much good at meeting people. I'm shy, I'm generally a lousy conversationalist, at least until I get to know you. Then you can't shut me up.

That's why the idea of losing the friends I DO have is so worrisome. The magazines tell me that we're living in different worlds, now. I'll annoy my friends by talking incessantly about my baby, and they won't understand why I don't have time for partying... hang on. I never had time for partying. Well THAT'S a relief, anyway! Actually, I don't think it's a problem I need to worry about right now. Here's why:

I have great friends.

I'm not trying to suck up to anyone, this is just what's on my mind today. Mr. Cranky Pants and I went to the mall yesterday with a friend who (insert dramatic music here) doesn't have kids. It's not the first time, and it won't be the last. Little Mister makes shopping trips difficult, but my friend (heck, lets call her "Jenn") just goes with it. Have to go back to the little room at Sears to breastfeed? Sure, meet you back here in twenty minutes. Want a cup of tea, but the line at Tim Horton's stretches down the escalator and out the door? No problem, I'll stay here with the little guy. You get the idea. So yesterday I got adult conversation AND I got out of the house. It was great! Last week "Jenn" and her husband (hmm, what to call him?... "Chris" sounds good) invited me over for dinner while Mr. Me was at work. The food was amazing. The company was better. The baby was... crying. Not exactly an ideal accompaniment to a nice meal. But they've never made us feel bad about having to leave the table during a meal- heck, they offer to do it for us. Like I said, I have great friends. They love our boy, even when he's being a Cranky Pants. They go out of their way to get me out of the house and into adult company. That just doesn't sound to me like those friends the magazines talk about!

I've been blessed with friends here in town and half a country away who, even though they've got totally different things going on in their lives (and would probably be justified in dumping a friend who does, in fact, talk about the baby all the time), do their best to keep our friendship alive. Whether it's a trip to the mall or a conversation online with my roommate from school, they all keep me going however they can. I can't think of any way to repay their kindness, except to say that if you ever need me to get YOU out of the house, I'm there. And thanks for everything.

I'm the luckiest mommy in the world!

Mr. Cranky Pants

I just remembered something. When my mom used to do daycare in our home, it seemed like mommies always went back to work when their babies were about six months old. This might have had something to so with the length of their maternity leave, but I'm re-discovering another truth: six month-old babies just aren't that much fun.

My little buddy turns six months old today, a fact that I find hard to believe. Was it really 6 months ago that the hubby took me to the hospital at 7 in the morning? Was I in the recovery room a half-year ago (to the minute), cuddling our new little bundle and trying to move my frozen legs so we could go upstairs? It doesn't seem possible. And yet here I am with a cranky little fellow half-way to his first birthday, and I'm trying desperately to figure out what I can do to make him happy. The last six months have, overall, been amazing. I love my sweet little man, and we have way more good days than bad. The last week, however, has been... less than blissful.

Is he teething? I really hope so, because at least that would mean that the end is in sight. I don't see any bumps on his gums, though. My mom says that six month olds get cranky because they can see so much going on around them, but they're not mobile yet- they can't get to all that cool stuff, and they get frustrated. That's a bigger issue- Mr. Cranky Pants (as he's affectionately known these days) rolls onto his tummy and holds his head and shoulders up very nicely, but he's a long way from crawling. A long, frustrating way from crawling. Whatever the cause is, he's CRAN-kay. If he's not asleep, he's grumbling, whining or crying. His Baby Einstein DVD keeps him occupied; I confess that I'm letting him watch more TV this week than I ever have before, just to keep him happy. Yesterday I made him a "train" out of a cardboard box and pushed him around the living room. That kept him happy for about 5 minutes, which I considered a huge victory. We try to read stories, but we only get about half-way through "Goodnight Moon" before he gets restless. He won't eat a good meal. He won't have a good nap. He won't play on the floor.

Am I complaining? You bet. For the record, I'm aware that I signed up for this job. I still wouldn't trade it for anything else. That doesn't mean I can't bitch about my bad days.

That said, it could be worse. There are good moments in between the whining and crying; a few days ago I was getting some big laughs when I bounced him up and down on my foot. And even the difficult times aren't all bad. Yesterday when my poor fellow couldn't sleep, I cuddled him during his whole afternoon nap just so he could get some rest. I really didn't care if it was spoiling him- he got some sleep, and I got to sit and watch him do it. Good deal.

I know there's a reason that he's upset. When I think that looking after a cranky baby is the hardest job around, I try to remember that being a baby is a lot harder. And I'm praying, for his sake and mine, that this stage passes REALLY soon!

Mommy Brain

I don’t remember ordering a lobotomy to go with my c-section, but it seems that they gave me the 2-for-1 special, anyway. My brain seems to have gone AWOL since the little guy was born- that, or it quit it’s job and I lost the letter of resignation in that pile of unsorted papers on the dining room table.

Now I’m certainly not claiming that I was a genius before I got pregnant- I’ve had more than my share of not-so-bright moments, and math in any form has always been a little beyond me. But I’m not taking about normal memory lapses here. I’m talking about those "what-the-hell-was-I-thinking-oh-my-gosh-I’m-losing- my-mind" moments (or let’s be honest, days) that generally mean one of two things: advances senility, or motherhood.

Last week after I made a cup of tea, I put the sugar bowl in the fridge. That was fine, but it was a bit harder to explain the next day how the milk got into the pantry. I lose the car keys, I lose the camera, I lose the glass of water I was drinking 30 seconds ago. I baby talk to my poor husband. I sing and dance to TV commercials. I answer the door in my pyjamas. Nearly every day I let the dog out and then forget that he exists until the cat yells for me to let "his" dog in. But that could happen to anyone, right?

It didn’t occur to me that I had actually lost my mind until the night that I lost the little man’s diaper. He was lying on the bathroom floor, fresh from the tub, waving his sweet smelling little hands and feet in the air. I reached for the diaper that I had laid out with his little footie jammies (see what I mean about the baby talk?)... And it was gone. There was the bum cream, open and waiting... and the baby lotion... there were his jammies... but no diaper. Yes, I know I could have gone and got another one, but I REMEMBERED putting this one out. Quite clearly, in fact. I looked on the counter, under the towels, behind the toilet, even in the tub- nothing. I was ready to go check the pantry when I looked down at my laughing baby- who was happily patting the diaper I’d already put on him. It was clear that I needed a nap. Or a stiff drink. Maybe both.

At least I know I’m not alone in this. "Mommy Brain" seems to be almost as common as mommyhood itself, and there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot we can do about it. Is it caused by hormones? Possibly. Lack of sleep? Probably. Being distracted every waking moment by the little bundle we've brought into the world? Definitely. Too bad none of them are things we can do anything about as long as we have children. But there is an upside to all of this, I guess: everyone knows that crazy mommies are way more fun than sane ones!

Britney Copied Me

OK, anyone who knows me personally has already heard me bitch about this. I’m sorry, but it pissed me off just a little when I was pregnant. You know how every woman who gets pregnant wants to be the centre of the universe for a little while? Some get to do it publicly (many of you also heard my rant several years ago about how Celine Dion apparently thought she was the ONLY woman to have ever squeezed one out), but most of us just enjoy this special time with those people who are closest to us, knowing that the child growing within us is undoubtedly the most special one ever conceived. It’s our right as pregnant chicks. I was thrilled (if also terrified) when I found out I was pregnant. Imagine my shock when not long after, tabloid headlines in supermarkets everywhere started screaming that BRITNEY IS PREGNANT!!! (Bold letters and exclamation marks standard).

What the hell?!! Britney was SO copying me! It was a joke I shared with a few people, as in "Oh, she’s such a me wannabe!" as if the fallen Pop Tart was closely following the goings-on in the life of a middle-class retail worker in Canada. As time passed, though, the tabloids informed me of too many similarities for me to think that it really was just coincidence:

-Britney was having a boy. I found out that we were having a boy WAY before she did, or at
least before the news leaked to the press. TOTALLY copying me.

-Britney had a caesarean section. Now, one could argue that having a boy was not strictly copying me, if you buy into the argument that she didn’t choose the sex of her baby. Fine. But after I had my emergency c-section, I learned that Brit (I now felt that we were close enough to refer to one another informally) was going to have a PLANNED c-section. Some might have said she was just "too posh to push". I knew the truth- she was trying to be like me.

-She gave the baby an uncommon name. Not the same name as we chose (thank the Lord!), but one that's equally uncommon. We chose Simon- a good, strong name, but not one you hear every day. She chose Preston. Sean Preston, to be exact, but still. Work with me here, people. On a related note: Earlier in Britney’s pregnancy, I heard that she was thinking of a name for a baby girl that we had talked about OVER A YEAR EARLIER. Still think I’m paranoid?

-And the last straw: A few months after my baby boy was born, I took him on a trip to Ontario to visit my family. The hubby had to stay home because he couldn’t take the time off work. So what does Mrs. Federline do? She takes her baby boy home to Louisiana for a visit, and leaves her husband at home. Folks, this goes way beyond coincidence. The woman is obviously stalking me.


You’ve seen the evidence. Now, I’m not trying to say that everything she does is copying me- I’ve never gone into a gas station bathroom bare-footed, and I haven’t taken the dive into trailer trash couture yet (though we looked at a lovely mobile home a few weeks ago...). But come on... it’s a little suspicious, don’t you think?

All joking aside, I wish Ms. Spears all the best, and hope she's enjoying her little guy as much as I am mine. We might be from different countries, different backgrounds and from slightly different income levels, but we've got the best thing of all in common- we've got sweet little bundles to love. And I'm not even going to be mad at her for that one.