The Longest Solstice (or Happy Sixteen Month birthday, Sally!)

"This day, Sean ... I mean ... this day.  I have to write it down."
"Just start with the popsicle story."

OK.

Sally shivered gleefully in her highchair, stripped down to her diaper, sucking on a popsicle.  Walter and I sat with our feet up on each other's chairs, lounging a little, luxuriating in popsicles of our own.  Sean stood by the microwave, waiting for his dinner to be done. Hank sat like a sphinx in the middle of the kitchen floor. Riffing on a favorite Daniel Tiger tune, Walter sang: "When you're sick, you can get a red popsicle!"  Sean cracked up, and then Walter and I did, too.  Sally clapped, and to our delight, he sang it again.

Here's how we got there:

This morning I woke up with an undeniable lingering head cold, which in my profession is known as "the thing that happens every Christmas."  I lingered in bed a little longer than I meant to, but got up when I heard Sally waking over the monitor.  Umma (holding Sally,) Walter and I converged in the little hallway between the kids' rooms.  Walter got out a few bars of the "good morning song" before I turned everyone's attention to the situation at hand: Sally had pink eye.

The sight of her eyes all gooped shut made me angry.  When is this baby going to catch a break?  She just finished an awful round of croup, and was starting to get back to her sweet, sassy Sally self.  Now this. Ugh.  I hugged her close and gently wiped the goop out of her eyes ... where it stayed, firmly ensconced in her long lashes.  "OK, maybe I need to be slightly less gentle with the next cotton ball."  Sally stayed still and leaned her face toward me to help me get a better angle ... she wanted the goop out, too.  "Eyes, eyes," she said, smiling at me.

Sean took Sally to urgent care while Umma, Baba, Walter and I headed to church.  It was a beautiful service.  I always look forward to the Sunday we read the annunciation story, but I look forward to it with some trepidation, because those verses in Luke about Mary are so dear to me, so close to my heart, that I worry I won't do them justice in my preaching.  Fortunately, my preaching isn't the only means of grace in worship, and today everything came together: the incense burning on the altar, the service we put together using music from Holden Evening prayer, the solos sung by teenage girls, bringing Mary's song to life.  "Holy is Your Name," which always gets me.  And the sermon turned out to be a good one, too.  We didn't get it recorded, which is fine.  Sometimes a good sermon should be ephemeral, like incense.

After worship, we all got into Baba's car and Walter was completely delighted to find me sitting next to him.  He held my hand and we snuggled under blankets together, and he smiled and smiled.  I wonder if he remembers how I used to sit next to him in the car when he was a baby, before we added that second carseat?  I was very grateful to have that moment next to him, too, and his hand in mine.

The four of us had a very nice lunch and headed home to rejoin Sally and Sean.  They'd had a nice morning together, too, even with the sickness and urgent care visit.  Sally was hungry and in a good mood. Umma and Baba headed home. Sally did a great job with her eye drops.  I nursed her and she fell asleep; after putting her down all cozy in her crib I joined Sean in his efforts to get Walter down for his nap.  As we left Walter's room, we heard Sally throwing up in hers.  In the manner of people who have done this countless times before, I took care of cleaning up Sally while Sean took care of cleaning up her crib.  Walter left his room and ran around singing and laughing at our requests that he return to his bed.  We got Sally back to sleep ... I don't remember how ... and it took a very long time for Walter to go down for his nap, but he eventually did.  I didn't sleep; too congested.  But I got a nice little rest.

Walter woke up about an hour too early, climbed into bed with me and watched some cooking shows until we decided it was time to wake Sally up and start working on dinner. Sean worked on a beautiful stuffed pork roast while I played with the kids.  Sally did some truly amazing dancing--I have never seen such moves on one so young.  When Sean went to bind the roast together, he realized the string mesh the roast had come in was gone.  He also couldn't find his ball of kitchen twine.  But, more pressing, where was that mesh?

There are times in adult life when it's not entirely clear which emergency you should attend to first.  As we looked around for the mesh and realized it wasn't there, the "we need to get that roast in the oven and feed our children" emergency took a serious second to the "maybe our dog ate something that could really hurt him" emergency.  The way we decided who got to take Hank to the emergency animal hospital and who got to feed and entertain the kids was by having one of those brief, but meaningful, check-ins that spouses do.  We checked in with each other, and it was clear: Sean would take Hank, I would stay with the kids.  Sean and Hank headed out into the dark night. (Sean: "I was imagining so many deer all the way to Kronenwetter.")

I got Sally in her chair and started heating up leftovers for dinner.  We ate.  I sent Walter to the potty ... where he peed all over the floor.  I mean, puddles.  I gave him a roll of paper towels and went back to helping Sally finish up dinner.  Walter got the bathroom clean enough that Sally and I could come in, and I gathered up the paper towels and got him out of his clothes.  By this time, Sally had pooped, so getting them both into the tub seemed like the obvious course of action.  They were delighted, and co-existed in the tub very well (for the most part.)  They took great delight in washing my right arm with great vigor and thoroughness (Sally: "Arm! Arm!")   I got them both out of the tub before they wanted to get out but also, crucially, before they stopped having fun and started really bugging each other.

I got Sally dried and dressed, and Walter, too.  Two clean kids, ready for books.  Sean blooped to update us on Hank: a dog his size could probably pass the mesh with no trouble, but the vet decided to induce vomiting just to be safe. The mesh came up right away, and they followed up with some anti-nausea medicine, and Sean and Hank started the thirty minute drive home.

In that time, Sally demonstrated a very limited capacity to sit and read books, as well as a tenacious desire to stand precariously on Walter's rocking chair, bringing all of his books down off of the shelves (and onto her head.)  I looked up from our book and said to Walter, "She's making me nervous.  You?" "Yes," he said, somberly.  We decided to call Umma and Baba.  Sally did some more energetic dancing, was very happy to see Umma and Baba, and then cheerfully headed back to the bookshelf for more wanton destruction. She happened to step on one of Walter's favorite old birthday cards, and it played a few bars of the Israel Kamakawiwo'ole version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow."  Both kids were enchanted.  Walter took the card and looked at it, pointed to the writing at the bottom and said, "This is from Henry."  "Did you read that, Walter?" "Yup!" he said, and smiled.  I think he probably just remembered, because it is a favorite card and Henry is a favorite friend, but still.  We looked up the song on youtube and watched several versions together, while Sally continued to squirm around and climb all over the world.

Then I heard her poop again ... and again with the assuredness of one who has years of experience with such things, I knew that it was diarrhea this time, and that my window of non-blow out opportunity was small, if any.  Sally did not want to have her diaper changed and so the window closed, and so I cleaned up a very messy baby.  (Me: "That tub might have been premature.") I got her clean and diapered and then thought ... what the hey ... she's naked, she's sick ... let's get her rehydrated.  Popsicles for everyone! (Regular for me and Walter; pedialyte for Sally.)  That's when Sean and Hank got home.  "Hey, naked baby!" Sean said to Sally, who looked up from her popsicle and smiled winningly at him.  I wanted to say, "They were clean. They were in their pajamas." But then Sean hugged me so tenderly ... I knew he was just relieved, and glad to be home.  And very tickled by the comedic brilliance of our son, who can make a Daniel Tiger song his own with the best of them.

After the popsicles, there were wash cloths ("Maybe another tub?" I mused, but dismissed it. It was getting late.) After the wash cloths, there was Walter draping a knit blanket over his head and proclaiming, "I am the king! I am the king!" Soon he clarified that he was a king bringing presents for Jesus.  He brought some shoe boxes and race car tracks to Sally (Jesus.)  "Jesus, some tracks for you!" he said.  "Jesus, some tracts for you!" Sean added.  When Sally slid off my lap and went off to make mischief (again) Walter informed me that I needed to fill in. "You are a baby named Jesus!" I obliged.

I sat on the couch next to Hank while Walter and Sally piled up more and more presents for me (Jesus.)  Hank watched the kids with what looked like great tenderness, or possibly the remnants of some nausea.  He seemed (and still seems) a little extra tired.  While the kids played, I got to pet him gently for awhile, which did us both some good.

Eventually, we got the kids to bed.

Today is Sally's 16-month-birthday.  It's also the winter solstice; the Longest Night.  Friends, I have to tell you: it was a long day.  Also, the only picture we took today was this one, sent to my email from Sean's phone, with the subject line: "It's out!"

 
We didn't get a picture of Walter with his royal blanket.  We didn't get a video of Sally's amazing dance moves.  I didn't even snap a quick shot of my two beautiful kids in the bathtub ... that classic picture that parents cherish (and kids too, secretly, right?) for years to come.  And that's OK.  Some of these long days should be ephemeral, like incense.

But you can see why I had to write it down, right?

The important things in life

Sleeping, eating and pooping.  A baby's day (and night) really depends on those three things going well.  And there are many competing schools of thought out there on all three.  At the risk of scandal, here's where Sean and I stand on these important issues (and on the sleeping and eating, too.)

Pooping

"And then she put a new diaper on and I pooped AGAIN!"

The least controversial of the three.  Pooping itself is not at all scandalous, although we do try to bring it up whenever the pre-teen and teenaged young women of my congregation oooh and ahhh over Walter. ("He's so cute!" "Yup.  And he pooped ALL over me yesterday.  It was yellow and sticky.  I still kind of smell like poop ... here ... smell ...")  It's really how you collect the poop that can be a litmus test for parents. We use disposable diapers. Knowing that I have some crunchy granola tendencies, people are sometimes surprised by this.  But the amount of water we already use on laundry is obscene, and I can't even wrap my head around the laundering we'd have to do (or pay someone else to do) for cloth diapers.  Ideally we'd use those disposable diapers you can plant in your garden.  But, ideally, we'd also be made of money. 

Modern disposable diapers are ridiculously advanced.  The moisture wicking technology keeps Walter very dry and comfy and that's very good for his sensitive bum.  The disposable diapers are so good and comfy that Sean's thinking we should switch to cloth when potty-training time comes as a motivator.  But, for now, we are Pampers people. Size three (although those are starting to get a little snug.)  Movers for the day, night-times for the night.  Walter's timing for peeing right on Mom and Dad: impeccable. Blowouts: frequent. Baby's face when he's peed on Mama while she cleans him up after a blowout: so proud.  But where does all that poop come from?

Eating

A little privacy here, please?

Definitely a touchy subject.  Walter is exclusively breast milk fed.  I can't tell you how lucky I feel to be able to say that.  It makes me superstitiously nervous to even put it down in words, just in case something happens and I can't keep breastfeeding him.  Breastfeeding has not been easy, but like I said, we've been lucky.  The most persistent problem I've had is over-supply and fire hose levels of pressure which makes him cough and gag when he's eating.  Sometimes he has green poop and other signs of GI distress that's probably related to this problem.  But even this problem could be worse (*walks around the house frantically knocking on wood*) and usually our mealtimes go well. I love feeding Walter.  It's so relaxing for both of us, it makes us both so happy.  At 3:30 this morning I picked Walt up to feed him and he did his happy shimmy, gave me a hug (he really does give hugs.  It's incredible!) and then planted a kiss on my cheek.  He's been working on his kisses for awhile, but this was the first time I realized what he was doing.  Previous to the kiss I got this morning I was pretty sure he was just hungry and trying to eat my face.  But, this time, he touched my cheek with his open mouth, then brought his head back and said, "Mwah!"  I kid you not.  It was unmistakably a kiss.  This is a long way of saying that I really look forward to mealtimes, and Walter does, too.  He's very good with a bottle and Grandma and Grandpa and Daddy have all had great bonding times feeding Walt.  But nursing is very special Mommy/Baby time, no doubt about it.    

I have an office with a solid door that I can lock, the flexibility to pump when I need to and a safe, easy place to store the pumped milk at work.  I have a flexible enough schedule that I can nurse Walter once during the day at daycare.  I have a spouse and family members and colleagues and church staff and congregation members who support breastfeeding and who specifically support my breastfeeding.  I have a really nice breast pump which is an expensive piece of equipment that makes it possible for me to keep my supply up and Walter's bottles full while I work full time.  I am undeniably, unimaginably blessed.  And lucky.  And any of those things could have been different and led to us needing to switch to formula.  And it could still happen. And I would be sad, but I would not feel guilty.

At Walter's one-week visit to the pediatrician, Dr. L said this: "I think you know the benefits of breastfeeding. I don't want to understate those. But I don't want to overstate them, either. If breastfeeding is not working and your relationship with your baby is suffering, then breastfeeding is not the best thing for you and your baby. Don't be hard on yourself.  Whatever works best for you and your baby is what is best for you and your baby."

And a sigh of relief was heard throughout the land. 

Dr. L recommends we put off introducing solids (including cereal) until Walt is 6 months old, because that seems to help with preventing some food allergies.  Two more months seems like a long time to wait, especially considering the intense interest he's shown lately in everything Sean and I are eating and drinking.  My favorite recent moment was at coffee hour at church.  I was eating a cookie.  Walter watched me intently, folded his hands very politely and gave me a "please?" look.  I smiled at him. He smiled back and reached for the cookie. When I yoinked it away he barred his tiny teeth at me.  

Two tiny teeth, to be precise.  They showed up right in the front on the bottom on Friday, March 2, which was also the day of his 4 month well-baby visit. His stats: 20 lbs, 4 oz; 26 3/4 inches tall.  95th percentile for everything including noggin size.  Charmed everyone in the doctor's office with his big smile, even giving some big smiles after getting his vaccines. Dr. L said: "He's healthy, happy and growing like a weed.  If I tell you to do anything different than what you're doing now, ignore me."

Which brings us to ...

Sleeping

We take the literature we get from the doctor's office pretty seriously, and our 4 month take home sheet said we should gently let Walter know we're there when he wakes and cries at night, rather than rocking, holding or feeding him.  We tried it out and had good success right away: a full almost 8 hours of sleep with a couple wakings that were easily met with an "I'm here, baby" here and an "It's OK, baby" there.  Since then, though, not a lot of luck with this approach.  He's been waking up really angry--every hour or so early in the night, then settles down a bit--and we scoop him up and comfort him with rocking, feeding, lullabies, limericks ... whatever works. 

So many things wrong with this picture

Just thinking about all the conflicting advice out there about babies and sleeping makes my head hurt. I don't know if Sean and I really subscribe to any particular philosophy on this.  We don't co-sleep because we're big  people and heavy sleepers who do a lot of rolling around ... and the idea of it just makes us nervous.  We try to follow the anti-SIDS guidelines but Walter seems to breathe and sleep better on his side than on his back, and sometimes there's a blanket involved, and the blanket inevitably ends up right up by his face where he seems to take immense comfort from it.  We always respond when he cries.  When I have the time and the opportunity, I like to hold him while he sleeps.  Sometimes we snooze a little together in the rocking recliner I like to nurse him in.  He sleeps much better when he's held than when we put him down in his play yard.  When I put him down in the crib he grabs my arm to stop me from pulling away; often, he wakes up and cries.  We try to keep him up and active during the day, but if he sleeps and stays sleeping, we let him, even if it means a more wakeful night. 

There are probably things we could be doing better or should be doing differently.  I've gotten great advice and lots of help from friends who have been there and done this before.  We try new things, we try to be flexible and responsive, we try to pay attention to what's changing with Walt.  Funny story about that.  We read somewhere sometime before Walt was born that he could/should sleep in a bassinet in our room until he was 6 months old.  Great!  Plenty of time to get the nursery ready after he's born! At about 2 am on March 1 I woke up to some squeakings from the bassinet.  When I investigated, I found Walter had rolled over onto his belly and was doing tummy time exercises, lifting his little head and shoulders proudly.  "Oh no," I said.  "No more bassinet for you."  As I scooped him up, he gave me a huge smile and a look that said clearly: "Accomplishment, Mama!  Accomplishment!"

The nursery is almost done, thanks in large part to help from Auds and Curt and a young man from our congregation--B is coming back tomorrow evening to help Sean assemble the crib and get some final basic things together so we can make the big move by the end of the week.  For now, Walt is sleeping in his playyard in our room (in the bassinet setting, which is deep and wide enough that we're not worried about him rolling out/tipping the whole thing over.)  Some nights are hard, some nights are pretty great.  Almost every night, something funny or wonderful or absurd happens.  One night last week, I sang Walt his lullaby and it worked.  Like in the movies or on sitcoms.  As soon as I started singing he stopped crying, listened intently, and then his eyelids got heavy and he did this perfect slow blink right into sleepyland and 7 straight hours of independent sleeping.  Glorious.  The next night I tried it again and he laughed at me.  Not just little giggles--big, huge belly laughs.  Almost maniacal.  I think there was at least one "bwha ha ha" in there.

Tonight I came home from midweek worship sad and worried (see this post from earlier tonight.) But I also came home to a hungry baby, who nursed sweetly (no biting!), fell asleep, stayed asleep for the arms-to-bed transfer, and is still sleeping.  I can hear him snertle-ing away, not too far from me.  I was able to pray while I nursed him and rocked him to sleep, and that somehow made me feel more connected to my dear ones far away, and to God who is nursing us and cradling us and watching over all of us tonight.

Sleep well, children of God.  And blessings on all of the other important parts of life, too.