Screw the bird

Remember Monday when I was all "Three kids is easy! No problem!" and I said that things were so perfect I thought I heard a bluebird singing as I left the house?

Yeah, well that stupid-ass bluebird shit on my head yesterday.

Maeve decided sleeping in the morning was for suckers, literally, as she required me to shove the pacifier in her piehole every 30 seconds for what seemed like infinity, but was really probably 20 minutes.

While I was trying to lie in bed and squeeze the last 20 minutes of rest out of my morning, you know, in between sticking a pacifier in someone's mouth, I was battling Jack about staying in his room. Since he puked last week, he refuses to sleep with the door shut and that means we have lost the ability to lock him inside in the morning. So now he comes into our room every morning to present bizarre scenarios to me that would require him to come out of his room. Today he asked me to come look at his finger because he thought there *might* be poop on it. I believe I have never moved so fast.

Then while I was threatening him with the loss of a morning video (a clearly empty threat, considering that video allows me to take a shower) Emmie started shrieking to get out of her crib. That's how she rolls -- a shrill, high-pitched whine that does not abate until someone comes into her room and turns on the light. So to save my eardrums, and those of the neighbors in a three-block radius, I hustled in to get her.

After getting everyone settled with breakfast, a breakfast no one liked anyway because god forbid I should top a waffle with almond butter instead of regular butter, I went to run the water to fill the Pur water thingy we have in the fridge.

No water. What the? Oh shit, it was really cold out and I forgot to run the water in a steady drip all night. And when you live in a 130-year-old house with pipes on an outside wall in Chicago where it drops below 10 degrees, you need to drip the water or bad things happen. Despite paying thousands of dollars for blown-in insulation around those very pipes, THEY STILL FREEZE.

I called Josh and pulled him out of a meeting to inform him I am a dumbshit and forgot to run the water. He told me to get my hair dryer and aim it at the cold-water pipe until it thawed out.

So it's 8:30 a.m. and we need to walk out the door for school in exactly five minutes and you want me to hold a blow dryer under the kitchen sink for who knows how long? Not happening. I snapped that I had a few more important things to take care of as Emmie screamed in the living room because Jack ripped the tag from her new shirt out of her hands. Yes, World War III began over a Gap price tag. Please someone just shoot me and put me out of my misery.

Nobody wanted to put his or her coat on, nobody wanted to get into his or her car seat, nobody wanted to mix Mommy a mimosa. Total bullshit all around.

After dropping Jack at school,I came home and tackled the stupid pipe. I ran upstairs to get the hair dryer while Maeve screamed her head off and Emmie ran around yelling "Mafe! Crying! Up! Mommy! Up! Mafe!" So helpful of her to offer a play-by-play of the screamfest like I wasn't right there.

I tried to plug the dryer in under the sink, but it wouldn't work. Again, and again, and again I tried the plug and hit the reset button and nothing. Swearing, I ran back upstairs to get an extension cord. Then I spent the next 10 minutes with my head under the sink while Emmie tried to stick her head in with mine and Maeve screamed relentlessly for the boob. After all that, the pipe was still frozen and I was frazzled.

After throwing the hair dryer across the room, I sat down to feed Maeve and turned to my favorite babysitter, The Wiggles, to pacify Emily. I shit you not, as I felt the milk let down, I heard the pipe start to drip and then the water run full force. Alle-freaking-luia, it was fixed.

Apparently I don't need a babysitter to get things in order, I need a handyman.

Refreshing, like a mountain spring

Monday night, Josh left for DC and I crawled into bed and hid from the kids all night. Well, except for Maeve, because she can find me anywhere by following the scent of my milk. Damn these boobs for being so fragrant. And I didn't technically hide from Jack or Emmie, either, because they were already sleeping. But I would have, had they been awake.

Tuesday morning, I bit the bullet and answered the feeble call of Jack at 6:15, "Mooooommmmmmmyyyy, coooommmmeee innnnnnn." Maeve opened her eyes as I got up to tell Jack that yes, he could indeed go pee on the potty. And again when I had to help him wipe, because he decided he needed to poop as well. And once again when he wanted to tell me he was going to wear his gray shirt to school. And once more when he got up for the day at 7:15 a.m.

After putting Maeve in the swing and getting the kids their morning cup of milk, I installed them in front of the "Diego" show and went upstairs to take a shower. I know! I showered with three kids in the house by myself. Maeve, ever the people-pleaser, remained asleep in the swing in our room. I only needed to threaten to come downstairs one time after I got out of the shower, so I considered that a win.

Ready for the day, or at least presentable considering the circles under my eyes these days resemble black holes, I went downstairs and made breakfast for Jack and Emmie. And when I say "made breakfast" I mean I really did -- I whipped up some scrambled eggs and toast; none of that bullshit instant oatmeal I usually plop down in front of them. I packed Jack's lunch and made sure everyone had brushed his or her teeth and hair and went up to get sleeping beauty and put her in the carseat. She remained asleep during the transfer, which means she gets a pony when she's older for making things easy on Mommy.

Because it's the freaking arctic here in Chicago right now, everyone needed coats, hats, gloves and boots on before we left. No problem! Right on schedule, we left the house and I even dropped a bag of trash in the can outside. I swear I heard a bluebird twittering above my head as I marveled at the bright sunshine and clear, crisp morning air. I manged to buckle everyone in, climb into my own heated seat and depart for school. No, I wasn't wearing a dress and pearls, but I could have if I wanted to.

After dropping Jack off, I brought the girls home and figured Maeve should probably eat. After hanging out and having Emmie take my order (she loves to play restaurant, but you're only allowed to order milk or coffee) Maeve was asleep on the boob so I took her upstairs to the swing and she stayed conked out.

What should I do with all this time on my hands, I asked myself. Seems like a good time to clean the bathrooms! Oh yes I did. All three of them. Emmie wasn't all that pleased about my plans and tried to thwart me at every turn, however. Even the lure of Jack's special Matchbox town setup didn't make her happy. Now I see why 1950s housewives had playpens.

Maeve, oblivious to all the fun we were not having, was still sleeping. Unfortunately, I had to go to Costco and time was running out before lunch. I broke the cardinal rule and woke a sleeping baby, sticking her in the carseat and she once again went back to sleep. The three of us had an uneventful spin around the store and arrived home in time for Emmie and I to eat lunch.

Emmie napped and Maeve ate and napped on me until it was time to pick Jack up. Again, coats, hats, boots, etc. and we were off. I am lazy and it was still freezing, so we drove instead of walked. After picking him up and getting a report that his behavior was awesome, we stopped at a drive-thru Dunkin' Donuts for doughnut holes as a reward.

We spent some time hanging out and playing before it was time for Jack's swim class and the babysitter (Aunt Marnie!) arrived, thus ending my time alone with all three kids. No one was injured, everyone was fed and clothed, and everyone had a smile on his or her face. I call that a success.

Then I went to book club and drank wine and enjoyed adult company because damn it, I deserved it after the performance I turned in. The moral of the story? Three kids: easier than you think. Also, I am awesome. See, you lower the bar enough, accomplishing anything seems like achieving peace in the Middle East.

Head case

Biggest take-away from our conference with Jack's teachers last week? We have an almost-4-year-old boy who likes to fool around and get attention.

It's not like they told us anything we haven't already heard. He needs reminders to stay on task. He can't keep himself quiet and he can't keep his body still. He doesn't take a nap and he can't lie there quietly for the half-hour when everyone else does.

But you know what? HE'S (almost) FOUR. For the love of God, it's preschool. It's not like he's preparing for the SATs here. Of course I didn't say that to his teachers, because I get it. He's disrupting other kids and they can't spend all their time focusing on him. And that's not fair to anyone.

But in the end, I think it's just Jack being Jack. He wanders around here at home. He has never been a fan of using his inside voice. He's spent the last two years hip-checking his sister and not showing remorse about it. He rarely takes a nap on the weekends and he's definitely not quiet for a half-hour in his room.

When we picked him up from school today, his teacher said he had an awesome day and she couldn't believe how great he was. Apparently, the key to good behavior is a head injury, such as the one he got last night.

If you follow me on Twitter, you know we took Jack to the ER because he fell and hit his head at the pool, complained he was going to throw up an hour later and fell asleep in the car on the way home.

Josh had taken Jack and Emmie and I stayed home with Maeve, so I got the information secondhand, but apparently he was walking away from the hot tub area and the floor was super slippery and when he fell backward, the back of his head hit the raised tile ledge around the hot tub. Josh said he cried for about 10 minutes, and was fine. They went to dinner afterward and during dinner, he ate some pasta but then didn't want his pizza and started crying that he felt like he was going to throw up. After he fell asleep in the car, Josh started to suspect maybe these things were all related.

After they got home and he told me what happened, I called the pediatrician's service and the doctor on call told us we should probably take him to the ER just to be safe. He was sobbing that his tummy hurt and had a bump the size of an egg on the back of his little skull. We had our awesome neighbor (and longtime reader), Chris, come over to stay with a sleeping Emmie and an awake-and-ready-to-party Maeve and headed out to Children's Hospital.

After bathing ourselves and Jack in hand sanitizer several times during the 25-minute wait in urgent care, a doctor pronounced him "likely fine" and told us kids can actually puke twice after a head injury before they even think about giving a CT scan. Who knew?

Jack of course stopped crying the minute we left the house and was all smiles for the nurses and doctor. He gave them all a play-by-play of the events of the night and made everyone laugh with his detailed descriptions. Thanks to our (recently changed and expensive) health insurance, that little excursion set us back a couple hundred bucks. Awesome!

After returning home with the doc's permission to send him off to school in the morning, he finally got to sleep around 9:30 p.m. We were instructed to wake him once an hour to make sure he wasn't concussed and since I am awake multiple times per night to feed Maeve, I just went in and checked on Jack as well. Of course, he was up and ready for the day at 6:15 this morning. Seriously, does this child never sleep in? Does he have a secret alarm I am not aware of?

But apparently, his tiredness made for some docile behavior today. And lucky me, because we dealt with all that nonsense and didn't know how he would be today, Josh didn't fly out as scheduled and worked at home today. Yay! A one-day reprieve from single-parenting! And one more day to sleep in! I mean not that I don't love having my husband around, but let's face facts: my sleep is more important than anything right now.

But he left tonight and I was on my own for bathtime and bedtime. And let me tell you, at one point, everyone but me was crying. And I just had to laugh because there was nothing else to do. I came downstairs with Maeve to find an empty wine rack -- and that's when I started to cry.

Puke-tastic, part the second

At midnight last night, Josh woke me up with the dreaded words, "Jack's throwing up."

Four days after we dealt with Emmie's chunk-blowing, we had the pleasure of repeating it with Jack. Unfortunately for us, instead of puking on the rug, he puked all over his bed. The sheets, the comforter, his little blanket, his lovey, his carpet, his jammies, everything. Why yes, he did have pizza for dinner, thanks for asking.

Josh took the poor traumatized child into the bathroom while I got to work stripping the bed. Gagging repeatedly, I managed to get the job done while Jack was puking again in the bathroom sink.

I ran a load of laundry and sprayed the rug down with the Nature's Miracle I bought earlier in the week after the Emmie debacle. Nobody paid me to say this, but if you are a parent, you should always have a bottle of this on hand. It seriously takes the smell out immediately. I laid down a plastic tarp and a sheet on the couch and went back to bed, leaving Josh to spend the night with the puker on the couch downstairs. Seeing as I would have to feed the baby, Josh drew sick duty.

Good thing we didn't send him back to bed because he puked twice more before finally falling back asleep at 3:30 a.m. But of course, he was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6:30 this morning.

I stumbled back downstairs at 8:30, relieving Josh of kid duty so he could get some decent sleep in our bed. As we passed on the stairs, I told him I was thanking my lucky stars this didn't happen next Monday. You know, when I am alone with all three kids for four straight days. I shudder to think what I would have done if I had to clean up, get Jack settled, stay with him on the couch and still feed Maeve multiple times overnight and get Emmie up for the day. Single parents -- you have my complete and total respect.

Because Jack was so sick, we kept him home from school, but we still had the conference with his teachers. I am digesting all the info and trying to figure out what to say about it all. So I'm sorry, but I will have to take the weekend for that. Suffice it to say we're not raising a sociopath, but he definitely needs to work on his impulse control. As do I, seeing as I stress-ate several more cookies than should be legally allowed prior to the meeting.

Tell me how you really feel, Jack

In case you can't see the above picture, it is an art project Jack brought home from school. They asked the kids what they wished for and the teacher wrote it down. My child's says, "I wish I liked my mom."

My first reaction when I saw it was to laugh, because I figured they said "What do you wish for?" and he thought wishing was similar to liking, so he said "I like my mom." At least that's what I was going with until I saw his art teacher at a PTA meeting tonight.

I asked her what the heck and told her how I thought it was funny, and she said he really did say that and his teacher felt bad for writing it that way, but it was what he said. I kept a fake smile on my face while she said she heard his dad was away for work and that we had a new baby at home, so maybe this was his way of telling us how he felt.

Oh my holy hell. My 4-year-old is going passive-aggressive on me through art projects. Not so funny anymore.

I still think he said he liked his mom, not that he *wished* he liked his mom. But wow, really looking forward to the conference this Friday even more now.

Puke-tastic

Last year, the day before her birthday, Emmie woke up from her nap covered in puke. That was really awesome. Today, almost exactly a year later, she puked her shit again, this time all over the living room area rug.

If you've never tried to clean a seven-year-old Ikea rug with a Hoover carpet cleaner, well then you've never lived. Not only does my entire house now smell like puke, it smells like wet puke. You're welcome if you just threw up in your mouth.

I was still sleeping, but word on the street from Grandpa was that one minute she was playing nicely and the next, she was yakking all over herself and the rug while Jack stood by yelling, "Emmie is growing up! Emmie is growing up!" Later we corrected him, you know, when we weren't cleaning chunks out of the rug.

My mom woke me up with the news and I came downstairs to find Emmie running around as if nothing ever happened, the rug covered in towels and Jack immersed in a play-by-play of the events of the morning.

Again, Grandpa was a trooper. The man had never changed a diaper until this year, despite having raised two daughters of his own, but this is the second time he has cleaned up after a puking grandchild. The man deserves a medal for this performance, seriously.

Emmie seemed herself most of the day, but we didn't let her eat anything except a few pretzels and a small container of applesauce. She refused to drink any Pedialyte or apple juice and since we wouldn't let her have her beloved milk, she settled begrudgingly for small amounts of water. By dinner time, she had regained her appetite and wolfed down some turkey, a bite of toast, 1.5 cereal bars and two oatmeal raisin cookies.

The most amusing part of the entire day, however, came when she accidentally slammed her fingers in the cabinet door. She was screaming bloody murder and Jack ran up the stairs and yelled in the most excited voice I have ever heard him muster, "Is Emmie throwing up again?!" Apparently, her vomiting made quite the impression on him.

When I asked him before bed tonight what his favorite part of the day was, he didn't even hesitate.

"When Emmie got sick!" he said. Perhaps we won't need to save any money for medical school, seeing as his bedside manner leaves something to be desired.

Emmie: Two years

Dear Emmie,

Happy 2nd birthday big girl! I'm pretty sure there has to be a mistake because there's no way you are actually two whole years old, but then I look back and realize yep, you really are.



I thought you changed a lot in your first year, but wow, year two was just as amazing. You started out not even being able to walk, with no teeth and no ability to communicate with us. You ended being able to run and gallop, with 10 teeth and speaking your mind on a variety of topics in two- and three-word phrases.

Your personality has grown along with your body this past year. You love baby dolls and cats and going outside. You hate being denied a request for a snack, your brother taking toys away from you and having your fingernails cut. Oh my God, the fingernail cutting -- you act like I am trying to pull them out one by one instead of simply cutting them slightly. You love to take your socks off, but love to put your shoes on.



This last year's biggest change happened when you became a big sister. While I was pregnant with Maeve, you had to become a lot more independent because I couldn't lift you up. So you learned to crawl into the stroller, the high chair and your car seat by yourself. You spent a lot of time with your grandmas and grandpas when I was out of commission with surgeries or hospital stays and you really bonded with Daddy when he took over bedtime and bath duty for a few months. After Jack, Daddy is definitely your favorite person. I call you "Mini Josh" because you look so much like him. But thankfully, despite my limitations, you never wavered in your delightful outlook on life. When Maeve finally came along, you were so excited. You loved her from the minute you saw her and learned to say "Mafe" right away. You beg me to hold her, sitting on the couch and patting your legs yelling, "Lap, Mafe! Lap, Mafe!" You run to get the pacifier whenever she cries and you love to pat her head and hands. There's an occasional eye-poke, but you like to poke everyone in the eye, so I don't think Maeve should take it personally.



Your relationship with Jack was very up and down this last year, meaning you spent a lot of time hitting the ground while looking up at him crying. You took your licks from him, but in doing so, became a tough little girl. You run around at the playground and bounce off other kids without a second thought. You stand your ground when it comes to staking out territory in the sandbox and you're not giving up a favored toy without a fight. As the year went on, and you were able to run and jump and communicate, Jack started taking more of an interest in you and actually playing with you instead of pushing you around. The two of you jump from the ottoman to the couch and laugh hysterically. You play "ship" with Daddy by pushing the toyboxes and little chairs and couches together. You love sharing a bath with Jack, splashing him and dumping water on each other. You kiss and hug each other goodnight every night. When we take Jack to school in the morning, you always look a little sad, but when we pick him up, you are genuinely excited to see him.



You are fearless when it comes to running, jumping and climbing. I can't keep up with you at the playground because you do all three of those things at once, thinking you are one of the big kids. I beg you to stay in the sandbox and then you laugh and run to the slide. You love the pool and the lake, fearlessly jumping in and under the water and riding the jet ski with Daddy.



At every meal, you request cheese and milk, which you call "num num ma," and love "okurt" (yogurt), "bockee" (broccoli) and "appasass" (applesauce). If we let you, you would shun all bread products and go on the Atkins diet. And your love for cereal bars borders on addiction -- you have one with every meal and if we don't provide you with one, you break down into a screaming mess. Needless to say, we buy them in bulk and we're going broke doing so.



Bedtime is awesomely easy and has been for just about all of the last year. You take a bath, brush your teeth, get your jammies on, read "Goodnight Moon" and we put you in your crib and you go to sleep with three fingers on your right hand in your mouth. Just like that. You play the music on crib soother, Turtle, and we don't hear from you again for the next 12 hours. Hopefully things will stay this easy for the rest of time.



While there are a lot of things you love in life, your fascination with "The Wiggles" creeps dangerously close to obsession. "Go-gee-goes," as you call the show, is the one thing we can use to get your attention. We can use it as a bribe, a reward, a promise or a calming technique. You can be throwing the world's biggest tantrum and if we offer up "The Wiggles," you stop crying, run to the couch, sit down with your legs sticking straight out and your fingers in your mouth, in rapt attention. You also enjoy "Ee-go" (Diego) and "Door-dah" (Dora), but not nearly as much as your beloved Wiggles.

I love that you are my cuddly girl. You crawl up in my lap just before lunch time almost every day and lay your head on my chest, happy to just chill for several minutes. You love to sit with us and read books, especially "School, School, School" and "Go, Train, Go." You also beg us to color at every opportunity, begging us to do it with you saying, "cuh-wer, cuh-wer, sit!"



You are smart, loving, energetic, adorable and fun. I am so proud of the little girl you have become. You are curious and inquisitive and you learn things so quickly. I watch you play with your dolls, seeing so much of what I do in your actions. You pick your babies up and pat their backs, kissing and hugging them. You put them in the stroller and in your little sling and carry them around, kissing them on the head. You feed them and play with them -- and incidentally, you call them all "Mafe." But watching you play with them makes me so proud as I see how caring you are.

People say that the middle child gets the shaft, because you're not the oldest and not the baby. But I will always pay special attention to you, even when you're 16 and screaming about how unfair I am and how nobody ever sees anything your way. You were my first daughter, my sweet little Emmie. With your little face, your blonde hair, your tall, skinny body and your huge brown eyes, I can't imagine life without you. You have brought us such joy this last year and I know the next will be even better.



Happy birthday sweet girl -- I love you so much.

Love,
Mommy

Love you, smooches

You guys are the best. I want to shrink you all and put you in my pocket and bring you out during the parent-teacher conference next week for moral support. You could stand in your little miniature forms like an army on the wee little Montessori tables.

Or I could bring a webcam and broadcast it live! How awesome would that be? Or, perhaps, I could live-blog the meeting. Although I imagine his teachers would wonder why I was typing distractedly on my laptop the entire time, snickering about something funny I was about to send out to the masses.

Stay tuned for the post about that whole ridiculousness next Friday because I guarantee it's going to be all kinds of awesome.

Anyway, wanted to thank everyone for the ideas. I heard through the grapevine there is a super-secret room where some kids go who don't nap and they -- GASP -- read books. I have no idea why Jack's teacher is holding out on me, God knows it would make her nap time experience so much easier, but she is. I was discussing it in hushed tones with a friend on the playground after school and I laughed and told her it was like we were conducting a drug deal. But I got the goods and I am going to dramatically bust out this knowledge during the meeting. I am imaging something like Tom Cruise, veins bulging, screaming, "You can't handle the reading!" Except it will be me instead of Tom Cruise. Because him being at Jack's conference would be weird. And besides, Tom's probably busy with Suri and her own preschool conferences.

Also, oh my HOLY HELL tomorrow is Emmie's second birthday. One day she was toddling around with no vocabulary and boom, now she's 2. I can't believe it. Full birthday post tomorrow for Emily, the lover of Wiggles, milk and dolls.

Towing the line

I'm just all about reaching out to my readers this week, it seems.

So. Jack. Love of my life, smart, witty, amusing, adorable, frustrating, loving Jack. Mr. Soon-to-be 4 Years Old is having an issue at school. He doesn't want to take a nap. But the rules are the 3- and 4-year-olds either take a nap or have to lie quietly on their cots for the duration of nap time, which is about an hour.

Now Jack, he's not so much about the nap. Definitely not about the being quiet either. He's actually slept three times since September and has remained quiet maybe half the time. This week, things have gotten a little more, shall we say, challenging.

When he came home Monday, he announced, "Mommy, I did not take a nice nap and I wasn't listening. I was standing on my head on my cot!" Imagine that said with a huge smile and a gleeful yell. Mmhmmm. OK then.

Yesterday, I received a phone call at 2 p.m. from Jack's teacher.

"Hi, this is Miss A. from school," she said.

"Hi Miss A.," I replied cautiously.

"I have Jack here with me and he was being so loud at nap time that we had him go out and sit in the hall," she said. "Then he was so loud in the hall that three other teachers had to come out and tell him to be quiet. So I took him in the classroom with me (the kindergartners in his class work on reading when the younger kids nap) and he was disruptive in there as well. I thought a call to you might be helpful. Would you like to talk to him?" she asked.

"Put him on," I said with a sigh.

I hear a little voice.

"Mommy! I was not listening at nap!" he said with pride in his voice. "Now I have to go home early. Oh, and Mommy! I lost my shoes!"

I remain calm and say, "Jack, you need to listen RIGHT NOW. You tell Miss A. you are sorry and you will try harder and you stop yelling and being loud right now."

Miss A. takes the phone back and says she did not tell him he had to go home early and that his shoes are not lost, they were in his locker. She thanks me and says she'll see me at pickup after school.

She waited until after school to request a conference with herself, the other teacher in his class and Josh and me. Awesome. My almost-4-year-old needs a formal conference because he can't keep his shit together for an hour at nap time.

The other issue is that he laughs when disciplined or when he has an altercation with another student. As in, if he hits someone (which I think is pretty rare) he smiles while the other kid stands there crying. Miss A. says this upsets the other child even more because Jack doesn't show any remorse. We certainly see this behavior at home with Emmie, so no surprise there. Another example: he headbutted Maeve last night and I got in his face and yelled about as loud as I could and he laughed hysterically the whole time.

Not sure what the hell is going on, but the fact he shows no empathy or remorse is a little disconcerting. Most kids I know cry or get scared when faced with that kind of yelling -- not mine. And he's always been like this. I remember him laughing and running from timeout when he was 2 and not caring at all when I raised my voice.

So this leads to two questions:
1. Is it an outrageous expectation for an almost-4-year-old to remain quiet and lie still for an hour? What does your school do about nap time for your kids?

2. How does your child react to yelling or punishments? And should I be concerned about the lack of remorse?

Thoughts, please!

At least she doesn't snore

Before I became a mother, I would scoff at people who slept with their kids. I mean, come on, who the hell encourages her children to climb into her bed night after night? Don't these people want to sleep uninterrupted? Don't they want to have sex? And for the love of God, kids are notorious for kicking you in the head and stealing the covers. I have to deal with Josh's snoring, isn't that enough?

And then I pushed Jack out of my nether regions and my view changed immediately. My baby in my bed? Does it mean I won't have to get up and walk all the way down the hall to feed him five times a night? I can just roll over and stick a boob in his face while I drift back to sleep? Because I am nothing if not supremely lazy, I signed on the dotted line.

To be clear, I did co-sleep. But I set some limits: he started the night in his own crib and I would bring him in to our bed when he woke up the first time, we didn't pull the covers up anywhere near his body, the pillows were kept far from his little head, we left the bedside lamp on so we could see him and he slept between us so he wouldn't be in danger of falling out.

When I weaned him at a year old, I weaned him from our bed as well. He never protested, mostly because I think he associated sleeping in our bed with nursing and since he didn't have 24-hour access to the boobs, he didn't need our extremely comfortable queen-sized bed and 800-thread-count sheets either.

We followed the same protocol with Emmie, although she seemed to prefer her own space and spent more of the night in her crib than Jack did. Maeve started off preferring to sleep ON me in our bed for the first few nights she was home, but now spends most of the night in her swing and occasionally transitions to the bed if she falls asleep nursing during the early morning.

Again, I don't co-sleep because I think it promotes bonding or I like the idea of the family bed, I do it because it is easy and I am all about doing whatever is easiest and provides the most amount of sleep for the most amount of people in this family.

I bring this up because recently, The Milwaukee Journal Sentinel has focused on infant co-sleeping deaths. I grew up in Milwaukee and still read the hometown paper of record online every day. I noticed in the last few months that they were reporting more of these cases. Just in the last two weeks, three infants died while co-sleeping in Milwaukee County.

In one of those cases, the mother said she took precautions for co-sleeping and kept the pillows and blankets away from her five-month-old baby, put the baby to sleep on her back, slept lightly and gave the baby plenty of room. Despite her precautions, her daughter still died in her bed.

In many of the cases I read about, one or both parents had been drinking. Some, excessively, to the point they did not realize they rolled over onto their baby and suffocated it.

Now, I am not judging anyone. But clearly, drinking and sleeping with your baby is a terrible recipe for disaster. But what about people who don't drink and grab some shuteye with baby? It's practiced in many cultures around the world. It seems so natural -- the baby spends nine months attached to you, taking him away from your body and forcing him to sleep alone doesn't make much sense biologically.

So I want to know: did you (or do you currently) co-sleep? If so, why? If not, why not? Not trying to incite a riot here, but I genuinely want to open a discussion on this and see what people think. Let's keep it non-confrontational though. Everyone's opinion is valid, just please express it politely. So no "zomg u r killing yer preshus baby you stoopid whore" comments, please.

Maeve: One month

Dear Maeve,

In the year before you were born, a lot of people followed an exercise plan called the "30-Day Shred." I am proud to report that your first month did not almost kill me like the exercise plan does most people. Instead, it was an awesome month spent getting to know you, the newest member of our family.

You came out on your own terms, a day before you were set to be evicted, and have continued to set the pace since then. You sleep well and eat well and generally go with the flow.



Your favorite thing is to be held. If someone is holding you, whoa boy, the sleep records you can set. You came home from the hospital sleeping six hours overnight and for that, Mommy is so thankful. You don't do it every night, but enough to make me not want to tell anyone about it, lest the karma bite me in the butt. Your personal best record was seven straight hours, but you did it sleeping on my chest, so I'm not sure if that really counts because I slept fitfully in mostly 15-minute increments. Since you sleep so well when you're held, we tend to hold you, well, all the time. Hence the reason you sleep approximately 22 hours per day.

If you're not sleeping, you usually have a boob in your face. The breastfeeding got off to a rocky start when you decided you weren't going to latch on properly and instead wanted to do it your own way. The way that caused massive pain, cracking and bleeding for Mommy. You'd think being my third baby, my boobs should be totally conditioned and a little latch problem wouldn't make a difference. You would be wrong. So we enlisted the help of a pro-fesh-ional lactation consultant, who gave me permission to use a nipple shield, pump and give you bottles for a few days and prescribed the magic Jack Newman's nipple cream. The cream worked it's mojo, you didn't starve or need formula and the nipple shield stuck around for about three weeks.



We're finally to the point where I don't wince and dig my fingernails into the nearest hard object when you latch on, so hopefully the breastfeeding will be smooth sailing from here on out.

Your first month was a little bit of a learning curve for everybody in the family. Mommy was figuring out how to get enough sleep and feeding you through the pain, while Daddy was trying to get to know you and spend time with Jack and Emmie while generally playing the role of Mr. Mom. Speaking of your big brother and big sister, they have adjusted pretty well to your entrance into the world.



Emmie is so curious about everything you do. When she hears me get up in the morning, she runs to the bottom of the stairs and yells, "Baby? Baby!" She loves to watch you eat and constantly gives you kisses. She runs around looking for blankets for you and at the slightest peep, she runs to me and wants me to come and pick you up. She also loves to hold you on her lap and calls you "Mafe."




Jack is so gentle and loving with you, it's hard to believe he's the same kid who can turn around and whack Emmie 10 seconds after he kisses you on the head. You are the first person he asks about when he comes in the door from school and he loves to crawl up next to me while you are eating and gently stroke your head. Tonight, when Grandma asked him if he is gentle with you, he replied, "Grandma, I do not hit Maeve, just Emmie." All right then. Guess you have an ally for life.

Your first month also found you opening Christmas presents and ringing in the New Year. Your Daddy is really excited to finally have a December baby and thanks you for the tax implications. It was weird to have such a little baby at the holidays, and it made Mommy a little crazy because it's also the germiest time of the year and I didn't want anyone touching you and contaminating you, so I kept you safely ensconced in the sling at every gathering.



Now that you are here, I can't imagine how we ever got by without you. Your sweet little face, your huge dark eyes, your little snort when you are really pissed off and hungry, your long skinny legs and penchant for sleeping with your hand next to your cheek -- everything about you is perfect. I had no idea what you would look like, act like or even what sex you would be, but you have exceeded every expectation I had. You are my sweet second daughter, my littlest girl, my Miss Maeve.

Love,
Mommy

PPD: Postpartum Disgustingness

God help me, we are heading to the Wisconsin Dells tomorrow afternoon for three days of waterpark fun. Why yes, I did just have a baby one month ago. And yes, I am going to be seen IN PUBLIC in a swimsuit. Clearly, I have lost my mind.

Josh found some ridiculous deal on the Internet and my parents said they would love to join us for reinforcements, so we decided Jack could miss two days of school as a special treat before Daddy starts traveling next week.

Not such a special treat will be me in a swimsuit one month after giving birth. I mean I have lost a lot of weight, but we're not talking bare-it-all condition by any means. Thankfully, I do own a rather flattering tankini, so nothing that shouldn't be on display will be.

I am anticipating many harpoon and whale jokes to be made the next few days. Most of them by me.

Tastes great, less filling

Today I spent a great deal of time in the return line at Target -- no, I totally didn't return YOUR gift, I loved it, it was someone else's gift -- and felt the need to update the world via Twitter that no one works anymore. I know this because on the first day back at work and school for most people, the return line was 15 people long at 1:30 in the afternoon.

One of the perks of being a stay-at-home mom is being able to go to the grocery store or Target in the middle of the day when no one else is there. So all you people who should have been at work today and weren't? You were seriously cramping my style. Also, I have very little time alone and spending it in the Target return line instead of in the Target Starbucks sipping a child-free beverage of my choice made me a little stabby.

As I was glancing at my fellow customers, I happened to notice the dude in front of me was holding a case of Miller Lite. An open case of Miller Lite. Cans. There were clearly a few missing.

Now my first thought was that perhaps he had just bought the beer and it broke open on the way to his car and he was wondering if he might not be able to get a new case. I was thinking faulty packaging, an accidental grabbing of the flimsy handle in the wrong spot, that sort of thing.

Beer Man steps up when the way-too-chipper-for-this-time-of-year Target employee summons him and plunks the open case down on the counter.

"I need to return this," Beer Man said.

"Because...?" Target employee asked, his eyes widening.

"It was flat," said Beer Man.

I snickered at this point. I just couldn't help it.

"Umm, how many cans are left in there?" Target dude asked.

"I drank two," Beer Man said. "They were both flat."

"Do you have a receipt for that?" Target Dude inquired.

"Uh ... no," said Beer Man.

I snorted and tried to cover it up as a sneeze. Beer Man, who looked as if he might have shotgunned the two missing beers in the parking lot, shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "That's all I got."

"Sorry sir, we can't take that back," Target Dude said.

And with that, Beer Man heaved the 22-pack of beer back into his arms, shuffled slowly to the exit and left with his flat beer. I can only hope he found solace in a nice Coors product, or perhaps something from the King of Beers line.

As I was next in line, I sauntered up and wryly asked, "Think he'll try to return a bag of peanuts tomorrow?" Target Dude didn't even crack a smile. My humor is clearly wasted on the retail set.

Happy New Year!

Nothing says 2010 quite like Trader Joe's truffle brownies, so I whipped up a batch on Wednesday. And then Josh took them to a party. A party I did not go to. Instead I stayed home with a baby on my boob for three straight hours. Seriously.

Since he thefted my precious chocolaty goodness, the same chocolaty goodness I promised my babysitting-on-New-Years-Eve-out-of-the-goodness-of-their-hearts parents, I made him go buy another box of mix on Thursday so I could whip up a batch for the new year. Oh who am I kidding -- those were going to be gone before 2009 was.

I let the kids help make the second batch. They loved it.


Sorry, daddy gets to lick the spoon.


OK, that was a lie, Mommy is licking the spoon.


But I want to lick the spoon! Damn it, I am sick of breastmilk.

Then we had a little countdown with the kids before their bedtime, complete with noisemakers and party hats. Jack loved counting down and Emmie was fascinated by the noisemakers. Maeve was pissed it held up her dinner hour by a few minutes. Also, she was not a fan of her hat. But it was jaunty! A jaunty New Year's hat for our 2009 baby!


OMFG get this hat off me.


5, 4, 3, 2, 1...


Happy New Year at 7:05 p.m.!


Let's see how many times I can blow this and annoy the shit out of Mommy.


Even Daddy was excited to ring in 2010.

Happy New Years to all! I am resolving to try and not kill or injure anyone in my family in 2010. Not sure how doable that is, considering Josh is leaving me alone with three kids all week every week, but in the immortal words of Jack, "I can just try."