... big girl sleep with the aid of jelly beans

Our sweet girl has been, most of the time, a pretty good sleeper. We've had our nights of unrest, but for the most part, we-the-parents have escaped the same kind of nighttime torment many of our poor friends have experienced with their children. We-the-parents, though speaking seldom of it, have always been thankful of this great mercy in our lives, conscious that it's a rare gift to have a child who goes so easily to sleep.

When we found out that our Baby-Toddler-Preschooler-Bee would become a big sister to Bun, we-the-parents contemplated the ways that baby-adorable-the-first 'might-could' react to the introduction of the new family member. We read about tantrums and regression and tears and prepared ourselves for giving extra attention, having more patience and returning to the 'pull-ups' stage for a bit. And while we knew that there could be (and probably would be) times when our newborn's cries would wake our elder daughter, we did not anticipate that this family transition from three to four would influence the well-established sleeping habits of our three-point-five-year-old to such a great degree.

Bun's arrival didn't bring any tantrums*. Our sweet big sister was excited to meet her "new baby", and has not shown any of the typical symptoms associated with the addition of a younger sibling. Except one:

She is no longer willing to go to sleep. Mama should actually include the qualifier, "alone".

The tiny girl is absolutely willing to go to sleep with a friend. She'll go to sleep at her friends' house (**thank you Mrs. Beth for caring for our first baby while we had our second**). She'll go to sleep in the company of the entire family as we ride in the car. She'll go to sleep in her uncle's arms as he carries her from the carousel back to the bookstore. And she'll go to sleep at home, in her own bed even, as long as either her Mama or her Dadoo (though preferably her Dadoo) is cuddled up right next to her.

This unwillingness to fall asleep alone is not confined to the initial falling asleep, but extends to every falling asleep throughout the entire night, so that each time a plane, helicopter, tree-branch, motorcycle (thanks biker neighbors for your super loud cruising at eleven p.m., we love it, really), squirrel, dishwasher, ice-maker or whisper from her parents awakens her, she needs/wants one of us to crawl back in bed with her.

Though we'd struggled a tiny bit with this sleep thing before baby-the-second arrived, in the weeks preceding the birth, things had settled down a bit. Then, we brought the baby home, and things ceased to settle ... at least in the evening hours. Mama spends most of her evening hours awake feeding Baby-Bun, and Dadoo spends most of his evening hours awake, calming Baby-Bee and attempting to persuade her into long slumber.

Our success has been limited, like our sleep and our dwindling patience. Until the introduction of what some, more judgmental persons (who are obviously better parents) might call a bribe. We-the-parents call it desperate times, and thank heavens for William Schrafft or whoever created the jelly bean.

Big girls are polite, obedient, and rested. Big girls sleep all night long in big girl beds, all by themselves. Big girls eat big-girl-breakfasts of jelly beans, cheerios and occasionally, Pez. And we, ladies and gentlemen, are raising a big girl. A sweet, going to bed with less and less assistance kind of big girl who loves Jelly Belly beans in watermelon, bubblegum, blueberry and cherry. A big girl who, though lying awake and singing for an hour after we put her there, stays in bed, alone, all night.

Well, at least for the last few days. Still, it feels like we're closer to being back on a relatively normal sleep schedule, and we'll hold onto whatever hope we have right now. Because, as previously mentioned, it's desperate times in the sleep department. And we-the-parents are rapidly re-affirming the realities that:

a.) we are no longer in our twenties,

b.) we are much better and more coherent people when we get at least three hours of uninterrupted sleep in the evenings, and

c.) our tiny-bee is much happier and well-behaved when she, too, gets at least three hours of uninterrupted sleep in the evenings.

Hear, hear and hip, hip for the jelly bean! Long live the bean and the refreshing minutes of rest it affords! Hooray for our big girl! Hooray that she loves her little sister and is merely struggling with sleep and not some urge to beat up the baby. Hooray for big girls who go to sleep late, but sleep in a little later so Mamas get time for coffee. And blogging. *wink*

**We-the-parents do realize it's early days, and we're not counting any chickens at this time.**

... a little rest

Each time our girl crawls into her bed, for nap or nighttime, we-the-parents begin the countdown. It's the countdown to noise, running, comfort and disentanglement.

Our daily exercise in emergency response usually begins with the sounds of our tiny girl's cries, sometimes even screams. These cries coincide with the rapid approach of another noise: the oh-so-soothing sound (complete with accompanying vibration) of the military aircraft that fly in increasingly lower flight patterns over our home.

Ordinarily, the tiny one is fascinated by all things aeronautical. We love to drive after jets and Coast Guard choppers in the car, or run after them at the park. We stop everything during mealtimes to run to the back door and peek up through the trees to catch a glimpse of whatever the moment's flying object may be.

Except when it's time to sleep.

When it's time for sleep, be it a short nap or a full night's slumber, those same super-exciting flying chunks of metal become the ghost in the corner, the monster under the bed, the terror in the closet. When it's time for sleep, the sound (and feel) of these aircraft send our girl into panic, and us into high-speed rescue mode.

Lately, we've had more frequent fly-overs. Last night, in fact, more than six super loud flying machines passed our house in an hour. Each time the tiny one cried out, each time Mama raced across the house, each time there were more tired tears, and longer moments of comfort needed before those little arms would release Mama's neck.

Today, during naptime, same thing. In fact the first words our tiny one spoke as Mama went to rescue her from bed were, "Mama, something's always making noise out there and waking me up".

So this evening, we-the-parents prepared once again for the onslaught of aviation action. Except for some reason, Uncle Sam's flyboys are off duty this evening. We've only had the pleasure of one flyby. And this time, the girl did not awaken.

Perhaps it's sheer exhaustion. Perhaps she's getting used to them again. Whatever the cause, the small, sleepy girl is finally getting some rest. She's sleeping so hard, in fact, that when Dadoo went in to check on her, she didn't even move as he removed her safety supply of nighttime friends*: two Pez dispensers (one bunny, one clown, both empty and lying under her stomach), 3 race cars (Lightning McQueen, El Segundo, and Cheerios, also lying beneath her stomach) and 1 stuffed rabbit (in red evening coat with carrot, this too, lying under her stomach).

Sweet dreams.

*The nighttime friends supply was once down to a mere five count of soft, furry things. It now includes the aforementioned pez dispensers, race cars and rabbit, as well as the bigger Bunny Hop, the smaller Yellow Bunny, Cupcake the cat, Otter, Cinderella (yeah, hard plastic), Leopard, Owl, Baby, and Lion. Sometimes we also include Thomas, Percy and Toby (the trains) and depending on the night, Hermit (no misspelling) the frog. She keeps saying her bed is too small ...

. . . more germs

The house is a germy mess. The child is an even germier germ-generator (say that ten times fast) who makes germs faster than this mama can clean them up. The mama is quickly becoming germier herself, what with an increasingly sore throat, stuffy head and achy ears. The Dadoo is looking a little bit tired. Not grey yet, thank goodness, but certainly paler than days past.

The sick-in continues here at Chez-icky-yuck as we-the-family mark the thirteenth (count 'em, that's a one-three) day of the seige. Our defenses are battered, our noses are sore, our eyes are puffy. And this morning, the girl's eyes were sealed shut with more of the green gunk. It. is. so. fun. here.

Last night, however, was even better. Last night, we-the-parents had the joy of experiencing the return (ladies and gentlemen - hold on to your hats), of the violent poo. And by return, mama means the absolute explosion. Neither Dadoo nor mama could've foreseen such an incredible experience in our future. We naively thought that since our sweet girl is so much older now, those poos were a thing of the past. We, as last night proved, were very much mistaken.

The hero of this story is Dadoo, who thankfully noticed a not-so-subtle-hint of fragrance coming from the nursery nearly an hour and a half after the girl was in bed. We-the-parents thought we'd prepared for the worst, and yet, once again, were amazed to find ourselves woefully lacking in imagination. Suffice it to say that a complete bed and pillow change, a bath for baby and mama and new jammies were in order. Along with some bleach and a lot of Desitin.

The girl was unbelievably happy at being awakened from her deep slumber, and surprisingly not one bit upset that she was covered in ick and being quickly stripped of her warm (stinky) sleeper. She laughed her way through a bath, snuggled with Dadoo for a few minutes and cried for only half a minute when she was placed back into her crib. All in all, a fairly decent ending to a truly not-so-pleasant beginning.

Still, hope has not vanished here in the middle of the ickiness, and Mama believes that the days of wellness are coming, if not near. The sun is shining after all, and surely that's a sign.

. . . an early bedtime

For the first time since she was born and sleeping all the time, baby-so-tired has put her little self to sleep early. Like 2 and a half hours early. Babymama is anxiously continuing to check on that precious baby, each time expecting to go in and find her awake in her cradle, but each time, she is still all swaddled up and snoring the sweetest, tiny, baby-snores. Babymama can not believe it.

What all this means is yet unclear. Until tonight, baby-on-a-schedule goes to sleep every night between 9:20 and 10 p.m. She makes the exact same sleepy face, rubs her adorable baby-blues and makes that cute little anh-anh sound. Babydaddy & mama then transport her from the playground that is our living room to the dresser-turned-changer in our room. After a fresh diaper and a quick change into jammies, baby-sleepy is wrapped up in the miracle blanket (it truly is - our amazing friend gave it to us, and we OWE her for such a kindness). Thus prepared for slumber, baby-wants-to-stay-awake spends between 5 and 10 minutes walking in daddy's arms, and is finally deposited, with much kissed cheeks, into her cradle.

This is how it works. And in the brave new world of parenthood, we've learned that there is so much that one can't depend on, that things change more & more quickly every day, and that if anyone is so very lucky to find something in this world of babyness that is scheduled, regular, or consistent, that very fortunate parent should rejoice and exploit it to the fullest. So we have. We've loved every moment of our regularly scheduled bedtime routine. And so has baby-sweetheart. But now . . .

Now, it's back to that uncertainty. Is this a test? A new baby joke? Is baby-tricky setting us up for something? Is there some late-night party surprise happening this evening that we aren't aware of? Does this mean no more sleeping through the night? Or, is this (as babymama swears she will believe), the beginning of one less nap during the day and a few more hours of sleep at night?

Only time will tell what awaits us, so for now, here's one of those moments caught on digital and guaranteed to give you sweet dreams.



Beautiful.

. . . the reggae

Currently listening to: Majek Fashek's I come from the ghetto from 1991's Spirit of Love. This seems to be a huge aid in facilitating Averie's morning nap, although the soft sounds of her breathing are randomly punctuated by little squeals and sighs. We think it could be gas, but babymama & daddy can't seem to figure out a way to prevent it.

Not long before cutest baby was to be born, smart, kind, wonderful babydaddy signed us up for real cable. This has been a huge help for babymama - first while she was home from work on bedrest and now while she's home on maternity leave with baby-sweetheart. Included in this awesome tv package are roughly 20 music-only channels, one of which is the reggae channel.

Baby-adorable sometimes has trouble calming down, and like most new parents, babymama & daddy have tried, and are willing to try, anything and everything they can think of to soothe her. Best options? A tight swaddle and either the reggae station (sometimes in combination with the special calm-that-baby-down dance) or electronica (daddy favors the Nike Original Run mix).

So today, after a late night 12:00 a.m. bedtime with special party interludes at 3:45 a.m. and 6:00 a.m, baby is finally full and sleeping to the sounds of Nigerian reggae. Babymama is relaxing to the sounds herself, and is finally able to gulp down some of that much needed coffee.

In other news, Averie went out for Mexican last night and slept soundly through the entire meal. She did, however, make up for her silence with loud and unceasing wails on the car ride back home.