... 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.**

. . . 26 days of sisterhood

It's been three weeks and five days since our first tiny baby became a big sister. In just two more days, a near month will have passed since the arrival of baby sister. Life here is different and wonderful and lacking lots of sleep for the three eldest family members, big sis included.

Nights and days blur, no one has his/her own bed anymore and things that used to be relatively easy, (making and eating lunch, for example), are now more complicated and require a greater time commitment from all parties. Even our big girl, (who's really just a little, tiny girl, says mama) is taking more time to get through her daily routines (brushing her teeth, finding her shoes, drinking her juice, going to sleep).

It's still the hardest thing we've ever done. And it's still the best thing.

And our sweet, baby-adorable, now a dear little girl of three ('and a half, mama' she often reminds me), is the most precious big sister, bringing kisses and hugs and toys and comfort to the tiny baby who "came out of mama's tummy", as Averie informs anyone she deems in confusion over the arrival of her sister.

One of the best parts of every day is the morning, when big sister wakes up and asks first thing to see baby "Iwah". This is what that kind of love looks like.

. . . an educational conversation with Dadoo

Life as a nursing mama provides lots of moments for sitting and listening. At chez-adorable, those listening-moments also provide lots of smiles. Take this afternoon's moment for example:

(Overheard from the mound of pillows in the nursing room bedroom while Dadoo and Averie are playing in the living room)

Averie: Dadoo, look! Look at this! Look at this fuzzy thing! Your leg! It has fur all over it.

Dadoo: Averie, that's hair. I have hair on my legs.

Averie: (puzzled) Why? Why do you have hair on your legs?

Dadoo: Well, that's the way God made me. (brief silence) Does that make sense?

Averie: Way-ul, yes. (Emphatically) But Dadoo, girls don't have that on their legs.

Dadoo: No, Averie. No they don't.

Mama: (Smile)

. . . a phrase or two

Overheard ...

"We can't go to Ty's house because it's too late and it's raining out and there's a storm outside."

"It's a gown, Mama. We call it a day gown." (* As opposed to a "night gown" which is a new gift from Gram just for big girls. This statement in response to Mama's request that she not lift up her dress in public.)

"Around the bend, Rusty! Around the bend!"

"That's a power station. We neeeeeever, ever touch a power station. It will kill us."

"Yeah, we call it a red-tail-hawk. So, if you see another one like that, it's got little wings, so birds can fly when it's daytime. You know how the birds need to fly home because the moonlight is drying away the rain? But I don't see the moon because it's raining. So, tomorrow I have oranges. Can I just have one popsicle? It's ok Dadoo. We dip into the paint and we paint our eyebrows."

. . . 3 years, 3 months, 27 days

In the flash of the last 8 months, our baby adorable turned three. She's officially just about three-and-a-quarter, and the reality of that seems impossible.

In the flash of the last 8 months, our tiny girl has gone from diapers to pullups to panties, and training cups to travel mugs to not needing or wanting that first morning milk. She's changed shoe sizes and pants sizes and grown an inch and a pound. Her hair is long, long, long. She walks (runs) everywhere and doesn't want to hold our hands except when something near her is loud. She talks about lots of things and asks a lot of questions and makes a lot of accurate observations. She sings and makes up her own songs. She laughs and makes up her own jokes. She lets us rinse the shampoo right out of her hair with no hesitation, no washcloth, no worries.

In the flash of the last 8 months, she's adapted to a lot of changes, learned how to write her name and added a million words to her speech. She dresses herself daily in a minimum of two different dresses. She even gets the buckle part right on her shoes ("I put the buckles on the outside, Mama!"). She pretends to sleep during naptime, but plays with her trains instead. She still doesn't eat much meat besides chicken, calamari and hamburgers, and she still loves sweet tea. She loves hotels and had a great time at Disney World.

In a few short weeks, she'll officially be a big sister to her very own little sister. She wants to name her 'donut' or 'fountain' or 'cloud'. She wants to teach her how to dig in the sand and how to walk and how to stand on one foot. She doesn't want her baby sister to sit in her chair or play with her trains or wear her new dresses. But she does want her baby sister to sleep in her bed.

As we-the-family near the day when our three becomes four, Mama still can't quite believe her tiny baby adorable is so grown. It did fly. It really, really did.

... 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 ...

. . . a quick panic, followed by dessert

Dadoo & Averie in living room.

Overheard by Mama:

Averie: (Screaming) AHHHHHH! Uhhhhh! Oh No!
Dadoo: (Running out of kitchen) Averie, what's happened?
Averie: Ahhh! Mosquito! Mosquito! Mosquito! Oh no!
Dadoo: Well, that's a mosquito hawk. It's not bad. Remember, we like them.
Averie: Ahhhh! Ahhhh!

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Averie: Did you get it?
Dadoo: No.

Thwack! Thwack!

Averie: Did you get it?
Dadoo: No.

Thwack! Thwack! Bang! Thwack! Thwack!

Averie: Did you get it?
Dadoo: Yes.

Averie: You did?
Dadoo: Yes, Averie. Don't open the door, ok?
Averie: Oh, ok, Dadoo.


. . .

Later, at dinner:

Dadoo: Averie, would you like some cake?
Averie: Oh! Sure! Sure I would. It's in the kitchen. I saw it there. I better go check on it. You stay right here, ok? I'll be right back.

. . .
*Um, yes, it's been awhile. Life, etc. More soon. Well, hopefully.