Good night, sleep tight; let’s move the crib into our room tonight. . .
It was inevitable. Lil C had completely outgrown her cradle. It was time for her to move into her crib. So, I did what any mentally sound mother would do. . .
I made my husband completely dismantle the crib, piece by painstaking piece (It is from IKEA after all), and move it into our bedroom. I honestly don’t even know why we bothered making a nursery. I mean, it HAD to be done before I gave birth, in a four day frenzy of paint fumes and exhaustion (otherwise known as intense nesting), but for what? The glider has been moved from the nursery to the master bedroom, and now the crib has followed.
I am happy to report that Lil C is sleeping quite well in her crib. I made my husband move the crib to our room because while Lil C could roll from her back to her belly, she wasn’t able to get back again. That was, until last week, about two minutes after he moved the crib into our room. Now, as soon as I lay her down she flips over onto her belly and she sleeps like a dream. Yeah, yeah, "back to sleep" and all that other good stuff; but the kid can roll like a champ now so I’m not concerned.
Speaking of which, when I left Lil C for a whole 30 seconds to go to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, this happened. . .
When I left the room to make my tea, Lil C was on her quilt over by the toy next to the blue sofa. No, not the centipede toy, not the plastic keys, she was playing with the complicated looking toy way over in the back of the picture, on her back. Is it just me, or does she look as surprised as I was when I returned to the room? But I digress. . .
This whole crib sleeping thing marks the first time that one of my offspring has slept in a crib all night long. Big I had the same crib, but she never slept in it. She always slept in our bed. When she turned two, we bought her a full size mattress and put it on the floor. She’s a long kid and after two years of sharing a bed with her, my husband and I knew that a twin bed would not ever work for her. While my husband and I prefer to put our heads on the pillows, Big I thought that Mommy’s back made a nice place to grind her head into and Daddy’s nether regions were a more than appropriate place for middle of the night leg slams. (It’s a wonder Lil C was even able to exist after the abuse he took.)
While we loved sharing a bed with Big I, we also equally love the fact that Lil C is perfectly fine sleeping on her own. She has always been a great sleeper and slept through the night at 3.5 weeks. And no, it wasn’t because we were putting ground beef in a bottle for her. (Seriously, I know someone who did that!) The kid gets her food the most natural way possible and always has; she just happens to be in love with sleep about as much as I am.
Amnesia
Back when I was in college, I witnessed an argument between what would be my future in-laws. My father-in-law stated that women have built in amnesia; as in, women don’t remember the pain of childbirth after the baby is born. My mother-in-law completely disagreed, and said that she remembered the pain and vividly. I sort of agree with both of them. I have given birth to two babies. While I remember that it hurt like hell (I’m one of those "No drugs thanks; I’d rather scream" women), I can’t put myself back in the moment of that intense pain and re-experience the actual pain again (thank goodness for that!).
I think the amnesia about certain things is a reality. When I was pregnant for the second time, I developed gestational diabetes. I had to stick myself at least four times a day to check blood sugars and I’d be lying if I didn’t say that it 100% sucked. I swore I was done with having kids. Lil C would be my last. The finger sticks only seemed bad until active labor started. I distinctly remember telling my husband, "It’s all coming back to me now." I remembered the pain of having my first daughter. It’s a very physical memory, like your body remembers but your mind forgets.
However, after an amazing delivery where my midwife actually had me reach down, grab my baby under her arms and bring her into this world, I couldn’t be so sure. Those finger stick couldn’t have been that bad, right? The experience of giving birth to Lil C was just so overwhelmingly good that it made all the non-stress tests, endless appointments, and finger sticks seem not so bad that I couldn’t go through it one more time if I had to or wanted to have a third baby.
As I tested for 5th kyu green belt tonight (green belt with two brown stripes), I couldn’t help but wonder at what point the amnesia starts. It seems that with the second pregnancy, my amnesia started much earlier than the actual birth process. During class tonight, my instructor asked me to lead our small class of youngsters in Pinan Nidan (kata 4); or in other words, the kata that I had to do properly in order to be promoted to the green belt that I earned about eight weeks before I gave birth to my daughter. I took my place in front of the dojo and commenced with Pinan Shodan (kata 5), the wrong kata. My instructor stopped me and asked me again to do Pinan Nidan. It took her standing there starting the first few moves of the kata until I remembered which kata I was supposed to be doing. Half way through the kata, I was stuck again. What is up with that? I know knew this kata by heart! Eventually, I got my stuff together and finished the kata; but seriously, what an example for the 5, 6, and 8 year old students in my class. I mean, duh!
I felt like a complete idiot. I pride myself on being on top of things, and that includes my karate. So, at the end of class, it was time for me to test. My instructor called me up to do the waza (small series of moves) that was required. I made it through that without a problem. Then came my kata. Let me just tell you that when you are first learning a new kata, it feels so insanely awkward. Eventually, though, you develop a flow and the moves just come to you. The more you do them, the more they sink in. It’s a good feeling.
This kata, this Pinan Shodan, is a serious pain in my butt. No matter how many times I do it, I can not seem to get the rhythm of it down. I know the moves. I know what it’s supposed to look like, but I just can’t make it look like that. Tonight was no exception. I can stand in my kitchen, living room or basement and get it right, but when it’s crunch time? Not a chance. I won’t pain you with all the details. Let’s just say it involved starting over several times, some awkward kick and cat stance that was so not working for me, and finally my instructor said, "You passed, now just do it right."
I was a high school English teacher. I stood in front of five sections of at least 26 students every single day for almost two years. I taught Shakespeare, grammar, and novels and not once was there ever a jitter. Tonight, in front of three kids (one mine), their parents, and my instructor . . .you would have thought I drank a quart of high octane coffee. I was shaking, jittery, sweating. . . it’s absolutely insane! For the first time, I actually felt like I did not deserve this promotion. It felt lousy.
I’m not the kind of person to make excuses, but if you forced me. . . I would have to say that I believe that my brain cells were forever altered during the course of my second pregnancy and birth. When it comes to karate, I have little or no recollection of what happened in the two months leading up to Lil C’s birth. It’s just like how my memory has been altered about dealing with the nuisance of gestational diabetes.
If I was forced to provide a second excuse, I would have to say that taking karate class with Big I lately has been, well, nothing short of a gigantic challenge. While the other kids are standing there listening to instructors, my Big I is fixing her hair in the mirror, smiling at herself and tossing her hair around. She also takes frequent bathroom breaks while there; and if you know her, you know the kid can go HOURS without a visit to the loo. Sometimes, when it’s all just too much effort, she sprawls out on the floor and yawns until I glare and tell her to "please stand up." Add to that the fact that if anyone other than me speaks to her (including our instructor who she has now known for two years!!!), she instantly tilts her head, ear to her shoulder and looks at me with puppy dog eyes, like "Mommy, I don’t have to talk, right?" I am starting to believe that all my, "Don’t talk to strangers" paranoia has been taken too far. I am beginning to suspect that we may need to have a talk and better define the term "strangers." I am also feeling the need to explain to her that spontaneous naps when out in public or in the presence of other people are just not appropriate. Then again, this may be genetic because my dad is renowned for his ability to sleep in just about any situation.
I am also seeing an unsettling trend with Big I. When partner work is required, like it was tonight, she is all too eager to take her turn whaling the bo in my direction. The benefit for me is that there is truly a real threat in the form of a staff wielding 5-year old who is just plain ticked off that we’re not having McDonald’s for dinner tonight. I have to work to keep my ankles from being taken out, and she gets her aggressions out, I guess. For this promotion I was also required to do a bo kata. When I pre-tested, my instructor warned me that I need to make sure I am always keeping the bo level. I am fully aware that the reason why my bo is not level, is because there is a certain 5-year old who is always standing way too close to me when we do that particular kata. So, instead of keeping a level bo, I am forced to avoid beaning my child in the head with the bo which requires evasive (non-level) maneuvers. Tonight, as we were practicing this kata, my instructor asked me if Big I knew this kata at all. My only reply? "Giddy-up," because to Big I, her bo (which is actually a dowel from Home Depot), is nothing more than a horsey. She has way too active an imagination.
I am also fully aware that I need to spend more time at karate. Before Lil C was born, I went one night without Big I, and it did wonders for my karate. I need to get back to that. (As my husband reads this, his head will drop into his hands and he will quietly sob. "Me, alone with both of the girls? You, away for several classes a week?") Mr. B, I’m sorry; it’s sad but true.
The childbirth-related amnesia may be partially to blame for my lackluster kata tonight. Maybe I need to take some time each day to get back in touch with my karate warrior self. Unfortunately though, the lousy feeling of screwing up tonight won’t soon be forgotten. You just don’t get to pick and choose your amnesia moments.
Hammer Time
My neighbor learned just how weird I was last year when she was helping me hang pictures on the walls. Instead of going to the basement to retrieve my hammer, I went right to my bedroom. My hammer was located beside my bed, propped against my nightstand with the handle end up. Hanging pictures in my room and felt too lazy to take the hammer back downstairs to be with its tool friends? No, the hammer was placed there strategically, much in the same way that a police officer places a gun in his/her holster.
The hammer wasn’t missing its tool friends either. Some random plumbing tool was keeping it company along with the wrapping paper under my bed. Its purpose? Well, my action-plan-demented-brain figured that any person who would break in my house in the middle of the night would go to the master bedroom. That’s where the goods are right? Potential items of interest for bad person: Adult who might try to stop robbery, potential jewelry and other valuables, money (which let me just save you some time as in, not, because I have about 30 cents in my possession at any given time.) Don’t believe me? Ask my mom who is constantly buying me lunch when we go out and always getting the tip too. Want a couple pennies to throw in the fountain? Sure, got that, but anything beyond that is pretty much not happening.
Anyway, back to the action plan. . . I’m sleeping, someone comes into my bedroom. I hear them and casually drop my arm down the side of my bed. . . and in one broad swooping swing, I no longer have a problem. Bad person. . . does.
This action plan was formulated courtesy of the job that kept my husband traveling an insane amount of the time. He was gone so often that I would occasionally wake up in the middle of the night, convinced there was someone breaking in, go retrieve my sleeping daughter from her bed, place her in my bed, and lock the bedroom door behind us. I may or may not have pushed furniture in front of that door. I know. It’s a little crazy, but I needed to sleep. Without the action plan process already in motion there would be no sleep.
So, my neighbor got a laugh from my strategic tool placement; and I got a good nights sleep. The hammer made that possible. I love hammers, which is why when my neighbor emailed me the link to this story, about a girl who used a hammer to fight off her kidnapper, I knew it was a girl after my own heart.
http://www.nbc17.com/news/8186167/detail.html Is she amazing or what?
The arsenal of basement tools has since been returned to the basement; but the bedside protection still remains in the form of wooden nunchaku. Oh, and an alarm system that I insisted on having installed since my attack cats are always on the fritz.
Time flies Big I
Five years ago tonight, I was in the hospital, just meeting my daughter for the first time. I was in some serious agony, and finally, after 14.5 hours of pitocin induced labor, I delivered her at 1:29 a.m. on 3/28. She weighed 8 lbs. 0 oz. and was 21 inches long. I was induced because she was late and apparently did not understand that her lease was up. Today she is 45 inches tall and weighs 42 lbs. She still doesn’t understand the concept of being on time (her nickname is ‘Pokey-hontas’), although that may be genetic. One thing is for sure; time has gone entirely too fast.
Big I-not even a day old
I remember crying when Big I turned a month old because I thought it was going so fast. If only I had known that every month there after would fly even faster. By the time she turned one, she had been walking for two months, knew tons of words, and was also fluent in baby signs.
Big I-First birthday party
At age 1 we had a lot of fun. Big I showed us early that she was going to be strong-willed and hit her terrible two’s a bit early. They were mostly out of her system by the time she hit two. When Big I hit 2, she did many funny things, but a few in particular stand out.
- Coloring our lavender sofa with a navy blue crayon (Thank goodness for IKEA slip covers because she was quite thorough.)
- Ruined my favorite lipstick by smearing it all over her mouth area Ronald McDonald style
- Found a black magic marker and colored herself graffiti style
Big I-age 2
Age 2 marked our first trip to Disney World where Big I’s love for anything princess was revealed. This was the age of non-stop talking, and the beginning of whining. This was also the age when Big I and our one cat became great friends.
Big I- Age 3
At age 3, Big I decided to show us her sense of humor. She enjoyed cracking us up on a daily basis with funny questions and even funnier faces. This was also the year of true bravery, as in, the child rode the Tower of Terror at Disney World four, count them, four times. She also decided this was the year to become a little mermaid and started swimming up a storm one day. She also started taking karate and ballet. What a combination!
Big I-4th birthday
This was quite a year for Big I, as she became a Big Sister. Big I went to all my appointments with me and endured multiple non-stress tests a week along with me. She became my appointment buddy and never ceased to amaze and amuse me with her drawings to entertain me and her "American Idol" like performances to make me laugh. She truly became a big girl this year and has endured having a sister around 100 times better than I ever thought she would.
Big I-5th birthday party
Every year on her birthday eve, I have told her the story, hour by hour of how she came into this world. Every year she has been excited to hear that story, and has asked me to tell her again and again. This year, she just wasn’t having it. . . yet another sign that this time has gone entirely too fast.
She is already starting to show signs that Mommy and Daddy aren’t always "cool" anymore. I mean, she’s not yet ready to have us drop her off at the mall unattended or anything, because yeah, like that will ever happen. But tonight, when she was being grumpy at the dinner table, I thought I could cheer her up by delivering a comical rendition of Nelly’s new song, "Smile for me baby. . . I wanna see your grill. . . you wanna see my what?. . . your grill, ya, ya, your grill." (For those people who think Nelly is the name of your local dairy farm’s prized cow, "grill" means smile or teeth, at least I think it does.) Anyway, it actually elicited an eye roll. An eye roll. The child is just turning five; and I can sing Nelly. I thought I had a least a few more years before the eye rolling started!
In the fall she will start kindergarten; and I seriously may need to go visit my doctor beforehand for some anti-anxiety help for that day. I have always stayed home with her; we have been together almost every day of her life; and I can not imagine how bad it’s going to hurt when she goes to school.
Last week I was helping her ride her bike outside. I told her that she was growing up too fast. I told her to slow down. She said to me, "Don’t worry, you will always be my mommy." This weekend, at her birthday party, I told her to slow down again and she said, "Mommy, I can’t help it. It’s not me growing up; it’s my body." She is so right.
Happy Birthday Big I! No matter how big you get, you will ALWAYS be my baby. (I will probaby always sing you silly rap songs too.)
Sai what?
Getting ready for karate class was not fun this week. It went something like this:
Me: "It’s time to get in your gi, Big I. Get dressed."
Big I: "No."
Me: "Yes."
Big I: "NOOOOOOOO. I don’t want to go. I HATE karate."
Me: "No you don’t. Why do you say you hate karate?" (thinking to self about how this child begged to start taking karate.)
Big I: folding arms and pouting with chin tucked to chest, speaking in baby voice, "It’s too tough. I’m not going."
Me: "Yes you are."
Daddy: "Do you like McDonalds, Big I?"
Big I: "Yes."
Daddy: "If you don’t go to karate you’re never going to McDonald’s again. McDonald’s is a treat that happens when you go to karate."
Me: (mouth drops. Thinks to self: "Did he seriously just say that?" (starts to compute in head the cost and time that will be devoted to therapy in the future for such a statement.)
Big I: getting dressed "Fine. I’ll go. But I HATE it."
So, we get to karate class and I say to our 20 something year old instructor, "How old were you when you started taking karate classes? I bet you thought it was hard, huh?" wink, wink and nod head in direction of Big I.
Mr. M: totally catches my drift and says, "Oh, well I was about 10 years old and yeah, it was really hard at first. But then it sinks in and gets easier and then it gets really fun." He looks back at me. I nod approvingly for a job well done.
Mr. M then spends the entire class catering to Big I, helping her with things she needs to know and making it fun in the process. He totally rocks, let me tell you. For a 20-something guy, he is so darn with it when it comes to kids. We spent time this week learning weapons kata’s. We worked with sai, tonfa, and the bo. By worked with, I mean that Big I sort of held the weapons but mostly just banged the two sai and tonfa together and made sweet music while the rest of us did our thing around the dojo.
When we got home from karate, I asked Big I which weapon she thought was the best. She paused briefly and then answered, "those metal things (referring to sai). . . you know why Mommy? Because they make the best music."
Music now, fighting expertise later. All in good time. I can wait.
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