Some solid questions

Next week we are starting solids with Andrea.  I desperately wanted to wait until the 6 month mark which is also my birthday.  What better way to say, "Hey, I feel really old!" than feeding your child rice cereal for the first time?  But I have to admit my intentions are not very pure.

If you've spent even a small amount of time reading this blog you know Andrea and I are in the middle of a sleeping war.  I'm losing.  I knew that getting up in the night was part of having a baby, but I had no idea how hard it would be on my body.  Mothers all around me told me that it gets better after three months and I waved hello and then goodbye at the three month mark with no change in her sleeping behavior.  Now I'm on my fifth month of no sleep with little hope that I will ever again get a full nights rest.  But those same lucky mothers whose little darlings slept so well also have told me that solids will help.  So every evening when I pray my nightly prayer and cry my daily cry I pretend they are right.

This last week my pleasant child has been crankier than usual for no reason I can find.  She demands to be held all the time an if I move even a few feet from her little play area we have tears.  My house is a disaster zone 'cause I can't get a darn thing done!  I'm wondering if she still feels satisfied with just nursing.  She paws at my food and watches me eat with great fascination and I ask myself, "Am I giving her enough?"  Part of me feels that solids will help her feel more satisfied and this cranky streak will end.

So, as I pontificate the value of solids, I ask myself why?  Why am I delaying this?  What difference will the thirteen days between the first of June and my birthday make?  Am I just prolonging my sleepless torment because I'm too fixated on a date?  But a bigger question haunts me and I try to push it away.

Are solids really the answer to all of my problems?

I secretly hope so, but I openly doubt it.

Which leaves me in the same place I've been since December.  What do I do?

Her and her big mouth

Today I sat and marveled at my tiny little girl with the big mouth.  My mother-in-law told me the first thing she notice about Andrea as she took her first breaths and wailed to be back in the dark and warmth of my womb was her big nursing mouth.  She was right too.  Her mouth mastered nursing quick and the corners soon began their treks up into her dimpled cheeks as she impressed us with her large toothless grins.

And then at 2 1/2 months two little teeth began to prematurely press their way to the surface, and I, the first time mom, found myself at Walgreen's talking with a pharmacist about natural pain relief options at ten o'clock at night.

On Sundays we would doll her up in colorful dresses and haul her to church.  She'd sit on our lab and drool on her clothes until the opening hymn would play and send her into a fit of humming.  She'd hum and hum out of key until the music stopped, and she'd resume when the next song began.

And Paul and I marveled.

The around three months she discovered her hands as well as her talent of putting her whole fist into that big, beautiful mouth.  I gave her teething toys and pacifiers to suck on, but nothing could compete with her own 10 fingers.  She soon noticed others had fingers and hands that tasted just as good, if not better.  And she became The Vampire.

Her big mouth blew bubbles, licked rattles, squeaked, squealed, cried, and giggled so well, and I couldn't help but be impressed at every action.  

Then at five months and two days she demonstrated just how talented that little big mouth was.

"Ma ma ma"

And Paul and I marveled yet again.

Now, I know she's not really saying my name.  It's just her first real consonant.  Everything is "ma ma" right now.  But, I am happy and hoping this grows into a first word in the next few months. :)

Crhappy Mother's Day

I'm giving up on sleep for the night.  I've been up since 2:30 thanks to all 25 inches of cuteness finally asleep in her crib.  My alarm was set to go off at 7:00, and although my body aches with exhaustion, I don't see the point in laying down for a mere thirty minutes.  So I'm here, shivering in the living room, watching an infomercial for Wen hair product, eating leftovers, and praying for the strength to stay awake during church.  I'm fighting the temptation to nap in the mother's lounge after Sacrament meeting.

As I sit here in my state of half-delirium I wonder why I'm even attempting to write.  My attention span is that of a six year old boy and I think my eyes are twitching.  But through all that exhaustion the song "Count Your Many Blessings" is ringing in my ears. . . almost against my will.

Yesterday morning I threw a mini temper tantrum.  Andrea had kept me up since around two that night as well and I was not a happy camper.  My kitchen was a mess, as was the rest of the house and I wanted a nap so desperately but couldn't because of a primary activity I had to attend.  I was dreading Mother's Day because turning the primary over to the men of the ward was stressing me out.  I'd been calling people for days trying to recruit enough volunteers so the sisters could have a break for just one hour on their special day and I still hadn't heard back from a handful of the brethren.

I was also bummed that Sunday was my anniversary.  Due to finances, I was 99.999% sure Paul was getting me nothing for either of special days May 8th was to me this year.  So I had a temper tantrum.  I laid on the bed and cried and when Paul attempted to understand my charming swing in mood I told him it was just stress and that I'd get over it.  Some days I feel so mature. . .  Thankfully, my day was busy which kept my mind off of the list of things bothering me, and as I ran to and fro Paul took care of Andrea so I had one less thing to worry about.

In the evening I took Andrea to the store with me to give him a much needed break, and with his permission, I picked out a Mother's Day/anniversary gift to me from him.  A hot glue gun.  It was less than three dollars, and though it seemed completely unromantic, I wanted it.  And I felt like I deserved it.  Me being mature again.

When I got home Paul was cleaning that messy house I had neglected for a few days.  I marveled at his kindness and wondered why I was so annoyed at him earlier.  In the last week he has watched Andrea for countless hours so I could work on various things.  He's held her while she threw up repeatedly from the flu, and he's changed at least a million diapers.  He even got up with her in the night a couple times so I could try to sleep.  He has given me a Mother's Week.  And you know what?  That means more to me that a bouquet of flowers or even a hot glue gun.