When I was awakened this morning at 5.20 a.m. by robust squawks from the nursery, I didn’t have too much to complain about. Michael had sportingly taken the lead in manning the nursery door, delivering the line — “Good night, August. Sweet dreams. See you when it’s time.” — and August had magnanimously refrained from crying most of the night. Sleep training … so far, so good.

All in all, I had a relatively good night’s sleep under my pajama waistband. I was encouraged. August and I started our day well: We hung out. We sang. We fed. And THEN it was time for the morning nap.

See, what I had omitted to factor into this whole sleep training thing, is that the training doesn’t stop when the sun rises. Nope, it continues well into the next day and naps — sigh — are no exception. We are on the express track, my friends.

Before we set loose the sleep train, I had envisioned every nighttime scenario and planned out appropriate solutions. What will I do if he cries for three hours nonstop? What will I do if he wakes me up before I wake him for the dream feed? What will I do if he can’t fall back asleep? What will I do if … well, you get the idea.

But stupidly, it hadn’t occurred to me that the following day I’d be sitting on the sofa listening to more shrieks issuing from under the nursery door. Call me a fool today. But trust me, this time tomorrow, I’ll be prepared. Oh, and for the record? Daytime nap training is far worse than nighttime sleep training. Especially when you’re home alone.

Tags: Crying, Sleeping

OK, I’ve got a greedy guts on my hands.

Given that the child issued from the loins of Greedy Guts Herself (c’est moi), that may come as no surprise. But seriously this is ridiculous.

The child cries as if he has never eaten before.

The wails begin small and slow. Let’s say that’s a 2 out of 10 on the hunger scale.

After a minute, the cries elevate to a solid 4 out of 10. The mouth tips down to a frown.

Then, before you can say milk, the hunger stacks up to piercing, 10 out of 10. Blink once and it’s 11 out of 10. Then 12 out of 10.

(“Help! Help! Somebody save me!”)

We’re now at 13 out of 10.

14 out of 10.

Grab the trusty Boppy…

(“It’s been hours since I ate!”)

Unhinge the nursing bra…

(“I am deprived!”)

16 out of 10.

(“If I don’t eat in the next 10 seconds, I will never survive!!!”)

20 out of 10.

(“Help! Help! “)

Sling baby over the Boppy…

(“Kkkkkkkkkk. Kkkkkkkkkkkkk.”)

Offer baby the breast. BUT in the 2.7 minutes it’s taken to get organized, the greedy guts has worked himself up into such a state that he is simply too hungry to feed at all. One tiny fist flies through the air to punch ol’ mum again and again. The world is a mess of tears and sorrow.

Oh, but wait, is that gulping, I hear? The rhythm starts up and great big loud swallows that makes starvation sound moderate compared to what he’s been through. Glug, glug, glug, gulp, swallow, glug, glug, glug, gulp, swallow, glug, glug, glug…

We’re just fine now.

To try and avoid these types of antics, we’ve enforced a new feeding schedule:

6.30 a.m. (half feed)
7 a.m. (other half)
9.30
12 noon
2.30 p.m.
5.30 p.m. (half feed)
6.15 p.m. (other half)
10.45 (dream feed)
2 / 3 / 4 a.m. (Auguie’s choice)

You think that’s deprived? Hmm, me neither.

Tags: Crying, Feeding, Schedule

Over the past few weeks August has been on a bit of a no-sleep-non-stop-crying bender which I blame on the construction project upstairs combined with my thinking that it might be OK for a 2-month-old to miss his midday nap. (What? I must be sleep-deprived! If a child under one year ever, ever, EVER looks you in the eye and communicates that he is not tired enough to sleep and that he can skip his nap, don’t ever, ever, EVER believe him.)

In any case, among other things, this bender caused us skip Halloween since the child was simply too cross to be costumed. I’m certainly glad we didn’t spring for the $30 peapod outfit with detachable foam “peas” and matching hat.

When August is older and he asks me what he wore for his first Halloween, I’ll tell him: a sleep suit. And when he asks me what he did, I’ll tell him: he cried. And then I’ll serve him peas in their pods for dinner. So there, Aug.

(By the way, if you’re wondering what he would have been had he been in better humor, he would have been New Orleans Saints quarterback, Drew Brees.)

Tags: Baby Clothes, Crying

Some things just go together —

For example: Red beans and rice are a natural combination. So is peanut butter and jelly, cookies and milk (see previous), hot dogs and mustard, bangers and mash.

And some things just don’t go together —

Babies and construction work.

So, here’s the thing, if anyone was wondering why Baby Augie hasn’t been updated in a while (Lauren), it’s because we’ve suffered the most almighty construction project. Located where? Right above the nursery.

Here’s what happens: At 7.56 a.m., we hear the first clomp, clomp, clomp of workers’ boots entering the apartment. There is about half an hour of touring as the workers examine everything that happened the day before. Then they start pounding the walls with what — pick-axes? crowbars? heaven only knows what — and rocks, rubble and dust come flying down the walls entering our apartment under the floorboards. That continues until 12 p.m. when the workers take a break for lunch. Then, at 12. 30 the workers return and the drilling begins. A bit of drilling here and a bit of drilling there. Then there’s quiet for a while and then, just when you least expect it, the drilling will fire up or an entire bathtub will dropped or a cement-mixer or whatever it is they’ve got up there. And that continues until 5 p.m. when we hear the clomp, clomp, clomp of the workers’ boots leaving the apartment.

Meanwhile, downstairs in the Donner apartment, August wakes up and just when he’s about ready for a nice quiet feed on the couch, the pounding begins over the living room. So we hoist ourselves off the couch and move through to the bedroom (mercifully quiet), and there we hang out doing our best to ignore the pounding until nap time. Then August is wrapped up and dropped into his bassinet for his afternoon “nap.” The screaming begins after about 4 seconds, rising in pitch and intensity because it’s not his crib and it’s not familiar. And that continues interspersed with bouncing and shushing for about 30 minutes at which point August is placed lovingly in his stroller and pushed up and down the Upper West Side.

Then we return to the apartment and ensconce ourselves in the bedroom coming out only to change nappies amidst the construction dust clouds. Finally, ready for his late afternoon nap, August is once again placed lovingly in his stroller and carted about through Central Park where his eyes finally close. Then at 5 p.m. we’re back at the apartment where a desperately unrefreshed August is encouraged to wind down in his bedtime routine.

The nursery is a safe zone by then, so after a calm feed and a calm bath and another calm feed, he is wrapped up and placed in his crib and oh my-oh my-oh my-noooooo! Where is the bassinet? The crib is unfamiliar, the nursery is unfamiliar. And after bouncing and shushing and rubbing and calming, August finally — finally — drops into a fitful sleep waking up mummy oh, only 40 times-or-so during the night. And well, so the cycle continues.

So, in case anyone was wondering, that’s where we’ve been and no, construction works and babies do not go together.

Tags: Crying, Nursery, Sleeping

On the heels of Desperate Times for Desperate Measures, my darling baby woke me five times last night. This behavior was previously unheard of. At most there were two wakings and more recently there was just one.

But last night, August broke his own record. The wake-up calls began around 2.30 a.m. and continued through to 6.45 a.m.

There was certainly an avalanche of tears for every hour: 2 a.m., 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m., 6 a.m.

Good grief, it makes me tired just to write it.

Obviously, the child understands that his mum suffers unconditional love or he’d never behave like that.

As a result, we operated on a rigid schedule today and did boring things like go to the bank and thumbed through Gina Ford for the thousandth time to see if there was some crucial elements we’d missed. We skipped fun things like baby yoga and seeing friends. That’s what happens when you wake up five times in one night. No prizes for you, Aug.

Tags: Crying, Gina Ford, Schedule, Sleeping

It’s a truth universally aknowledged that babies cry.

Which is fine.

And truthfully, I really don’t mind it when babies around me scream their guts out. As the books say, they’re just trying to tell us something.

What I do mind is the sound of my baby crying. I mind it especially when it begins at 6 a.m. and it keeps up a steady and consistent pace until 7 p.m. when my baby mercifully passes out in snarling exhaustion.

Today was one of those days.

After I’d tried the bouncing and the shushing and the feeding and the burping and the singing and the dancing … and after I’d tried the trusty pacifier and had it spat back into my face five times, I resorted to yoga. Why not? All else had failed.

We began by singing three times the song of om. August cracked a smile which grew into a grin. But wait, was he laughing at …  me? Harrumph.

Enough of om. Aug lay back in savasana and I ran my hands down his torso to his toes.

At this point I had his attention and was it … focus?

Then we did a visualization exercise which went something like this:

You are outside, lying on a bed of soft grass. You are warm, well-wrapped in a blanket. (Actually let’s make that a swaddle.)

You are looking up at the sky. Surrounding you are trees, their leaves turning from green to yellow to orange. The yellow leaves start floating and spiraling down and land on your tummy. They land on the grass beside you. You can make out the branches against the sky.

You start to notice the sound of waves lapping at the shores of a nearby lake. A mist emerges from the water and twists among the tree trunks, rising up, up, through the branches to the leaves…

…And so on…

And then August started to cry. But hey, it soothed him for 10 minutes, and for today, that was a record.

Back to BabyAugie.com

Tags: Crying, Exhaustion, Parenting, Schedule

(1) Snarls when interrupted during feeding (attack dog)

(2) Roars in proximity to food (lion)

(3) Occasional grunting (pig/wild boar/warthog)

(4) Gnashing gums … August doesn’t have teeth, but if he did they’d be sharp as sharks’ teeth (shark)

(5) Jaws of steel … akin to a vise … Clamp & Snap! (alligator)

(6) Sharp claws which grow back almost instantly after clipping (tiger/common house cat)

(7) Spiked hair … not in itself dangerous but gives a monstrous impression (stegosaurus)

(8) Daily screeching (banshee/bat)

(9) Legs of iron designed to strike blows at his victim’s (make that mum’s) softest body parts (wild horse)

(10) And last but not least … poo … strikes at random, targets with precision (snake)

* * *

Back to Baby Augie.

Tags: Crying, Feeding

Baby is screaming.
Inconsolable.

Back arched, hands rolled into fists, he is stiff as a board.

He breathes rapidly through his tears, trying to catch his breath as the cycle starts anew.

You pick him up.

You press his chest to your chest.
His head to your cheek.
His nose dips into your neck.

You circle your arms around him.
Cradle his head.
Whisper shush.

And all of a sudden, the crying stops.
He softens.
He melts.
Your arms are the the safest place in the world.

You feel his warmth.
His breath is slow and steady.

This, this, is worth living for.

Tags: Crying, Mother

It’s not enough to call August, August. We need additional names. Many additional names that get to the heart of his highly complex and multifaceted personality and emotions. (“Feed me!” “Cuddle me!” “Change me!” “Let me sleep!”)

As I reflect on the nicknames that have cropped up most frequently in our household, I can’t help noticing that none of these names sound particularly endearing or charming. But they’re charming to me. And so’s my little piggie wig wig.

General Food-Related Names
Meatball
Ham Sandwich
Honey Glazed Ham
Pork Chop
Pork Thighs
Turkey
Heavy Goose

Size- / Shape-Related Names
Smudge
Scraps
Scrap Heap

Facial Names
Snarly
One-Eyed Jack

Crying Names
Squawker
Squeaky

Bathtime Names
Smelly Fish
Squishy Fish
Squeaky Fish

Feeding Names
Monster
Shark / Shark’s Teeth
The Machine

In the comments below, share some of the nicknames you’ve used for your own children, nieces, nephews, baby brothers, baby sisters et al. C’mon, it’s fun! (No need to reveal your real name.)

Back to Baby Augie.

Tags: Crying, Feeding, Sleeping

Baby Knows Best

Mothering is HARD. There’s no one way to do things. There’s no right way to do things. It’s an art form that’s desperately devoid of facts — trial and error are the rules of the game.

But it’s not for a lack of literature on the topic. There are manuals galore, yes, but they all contradict one another. Never cuddle your baby; Always cuddle your baby; Sometimes cuddle your baby. So which is it?

In the end, you have to make your own rules. And just when you think you’ve established some sort of formula about the way things are going to be done, then you find yourself backtracking on all you’ve decided. Two steps forward; two steps back: The momma-baby two-step.

In fact the only thing you can really count on is baby’s yelling. Because you can be absolutely sure he’ll let you know when your so-called rules don’t fit his agenda.

Sometimes, I try things that make my baby cry LOUDER THAN EVER.
Sometimes, he looks at me in horror as if to say, “I can’t believe you just did that!”

And that’s when the doubts creep in. Because, truthfully, I don’t know the first thing about babies. I’m an infant novice. What if August works this out? What if he puts two and two together and realizes I’m not the perfect mum?!

And it’s times like these that I have to remind myself that we’re each just learning one another. He’s new to me; I’m new to him. At some point we’ll find our rhythm. You know, maybe when he’s 20 and I’m 53.

Back to Baby Augie.

Tags: Crying, Fears, Mother