There’s nothing quite like the feeling of climbing into a bed made up with freshly washed, crisp, white sheets. No wrinkles, plump duvet, you can just feel the stresses melt away.

Isn’t it just the best?

Well, that was my night last night. I climbed into bed, eyelids heavy with exhaustion and I plumped up my pillow and turned to one side and shut my eyes. And then I turned to the other side. And then I opened my eyes. And then I stared at the ceiling for a while. And then I rearranged my pillows and tried sleeping on my tummy. And then I went back to my original side and tucked my legs up. And then I dozed for a while…but wait, did I hear crying? Yes? Yes?

No — just the sounds of the night. And then I watched the monitor with its green eye and then just as I my eyelides were starting to close, the monitor perked up — beep beep beep — with a lost signal. So I hopped out of bed and fixed it.

Back into bed. Looking at the ceiling. Is the nursery to warm? I’d better go check. Temperature fine. Baby breathing. Check, check.

Back into bed. Looking at the ceiling. Checking the clock. Tick tock, another sleepless hour logged. Turning to my side. Plumping the pillows. Counting back from 20. I hear the songs of the They Might Be Giants ABCs soundtrack. It’s rocketing around in my head like … rocks. Check the clock. Check the monitor. Close my eyes.

And the monitor perks up and lights flash blue, the wailing begins. Over to the nursery for a feeding. Baby up, baby fed, baby down.

Back into bed. Looking at the ceiling. I close my eyes. It’s almost 4 a.m. Sleep descends And then, good morning! It’s time to wake up, it’s 6.15 a.m. on a glorious Monday. Up, out of bed, off to the nursery to collect the squawker.

Who needs sleep anyway?

Tags: Mother, Sleeping

This past weekend they let the Momma Pig out of the Pen (so to speak) to attend a wedding.

It was, I’ll be honest, exhilarating, to be surrounded by so many grown ups and to set the baby talk aside for a while. (August, I love you, but I can use a break from “Song of the Piglet” every now and again as I’m sure you can, too.)

What a thrill to mingle among adults. We spoke of careers and alma maters and sports. We filled our bellies with wedding cake and raspberries. We drank drinks. We danced to LOUD music played by a band with a BRASS section. We wore party dresses and high heels and — gasp! — mascara. The Champagne flowed and the men wore black tie. Wheee!

And then before you could say, “Cinderella,” the clock struck 11.55 and away we dashed into the night in our pumpkin taxi. We hurtled across the park, gallop, gallop, gallop lurching to a stop at No. 108 and bursting through the front door at the promised 12.15 a.m.

Goodbye babysitter. Hello Kid-Ville. It was fun while it lasted.

Tags: Mother

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

There’s no doubt about it — mums are squares.

It’s not that I was ever particularly cool, but let’s put it this way: I was never as uncool as when I became a mum.

Dork, square, call me what you will. Either way, the desperately uncool antics spill over to every corner of life. For example —

You might catch this mum singing three consecutive cycles of “Baby Beluga.” In public? YES!

OR….

You might spot her doing dances and jigs and slinging her hips from side to side just to make baby feel wonderful.

OR….

You might overhear her talking about the weather — rain! sun! sad bones cloudy skies! — as if it’s the latest gossip.

OR…

You might observe her reading aloud from “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” with the same relish as a normal person would devour a Stieg Larsson novel.

It’s just part and parcel of being a mum. (Or so I tell myself.)

Of course, if August were 15 (actually, make that 9 … or even 7?) he would be mortified by the sing-songy-hip-slingy lady who is his mum. But, today he’s not complaining. And who’s watching, anyway?

Back to Baby Augie.

Tags: Moms, Mother, Playing, Songs

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

Today, I took a nap that lasted just four minutes.

Four minutes, people.

Then August resumed his wailing.

Thanks, Aug.

Tags: Mother, Napping

The curtains in the nursery are drawn, a night light casts small stars on the walls and ceiling. The baby is blessedly asleep. He went down without too much squealing and squawking. All in his bedroom is peaceful and dark.

In the living room, however, here is mum, awake, but barely. They say that when baby sleeps, mum should sleep, and yet, it’s almost impossible to turn down this opportunity for a bit of me-time; a bit of time to check the bills, empty the dishwasher and maybe even post to this blog.

Time keeps ticking and each second draws closer to the moment that the wails will pierce through the drone of NPR and Baby Augie will have to be hoisted out of his bed and bounced and fed and me-time will fade away like a dream.

Can I bear to sacrifice me-time for an hour more of sleep? Survey says: YOU MUST! And yet, here I sit, unable to drag myself away from this grown-up world . . .

Tags: Exhaustion, Mother, Nursery, Sleeping

“I’d better take a shower before this day is over.”

Tags: Mother