Imp, the Destructor

I have determined that there is no such thing as "babyproof". "Baby-less-accessible" or "baby-supposedly-out-of-reach" or "baby-less-than-easily-destructible" maybe, but definitely not "babyproof". Just when you think something is safe, they will find out how to defeat your best efforts.

This morning, I came into the livingroom to find Imp stuck in a corner between our couch-side table and coffee table, trying, it seemed, to climb on top of the coffee table from that angle. Apparently, Aunt Nanny had just left the room for a minute to go to the bathroom, (I was getting ready for work) and in that time, Imp had figured out how to squeeze through what I thought would have been an impassible network of fan, futon and table legs. I could maybe understand how he could have gotten there in a decent amount of time, but how the heck had he gotten through so fast? The world may never know.

Imp's current favorite activity is taking all the books off of his shelf and stacking them to try to reach the plants on top. Husband and I are trying to think of a way we can engineer something so that we can keep the plants in that window (the best one in the house for them) and still keep them out of reach. I, however, am becoming convinced that Imp has super-gadget-arms, and that "out-of-reach" would involve some sort of warping of the space-time continuum. 

Thing is, Imp isn't even walking yet. Crawling quickly, yes, pulling to standing, yes, cruising adeptly, yes, but not even walking. As excited as I am about the prospect of first steps, soon after he'll be running all over, and then what shall we do?

I used to think bolting furniture to the wall was overkill. I used to think that parents who put foam cushions on everything were being overprotective. I used to think that I understood how to make a room safe for a baby.

Enter Imp, the Destructor.

Everybody Pukes

"Everything that happens to me is the best possible thing that can happen to me" -- Zen and the Art of Happiness

This morning, Imp woke at 6 a.m. ready to play. I had allowed Husband to sleep as much as possible through the night by feeding Imp every 3 hours even though we had been working on stretching it to 6 - Husband had gotten a call from his boss at 10 p.m. last night to have a rather heated discussion about some major miscommunications they'd been having, and he was anticipating another unpleasant meeting today with some other parties involved... so I let him sleep. He was stressed and anxious, I was exhausted, and Imp was his typical teething self. Good morning all!

Husband wanted to take the car to the dealer to be fixed this morning before his meeting because the driver's window was not closing properly, so he tried to move as quickly as possible to get out of the house. Of course, this was one of those mornings when Imp wanted to be held or played with at all times, so I was in some ways grateful for the 6 am wakeup because of the extra time it allowed. Husband left with the car by 7:30, and right before Imp's aunt/nanny came out to take care of him, he spat up rather spectacularly all over my shirt. I went to change, leaving him fussing in the livingroom. I heard Nanny Aunt come out of her room and go to the bathroom, and while I stepped over to the mirror to tie a headband in my hair, I stepped in a giant pile of cat puke. Nanny Aunt came out to deal with fussing Imp, I changed socks and cleaned up the puke, and then stepped out of the house to go to the car -- only to remember Husband had taken it to the dealer. My bike still had a flat tire from 2 weeks ago, so I figured since I had to walk the 1.5 miles to work, I'd drop it off at the bike repair shop just 3 blocks in the opposite direction. Of course, I walked it over there only to see they don't open until 10 am (it was 8:30), so I walked it back to the house, and then noticed Husband had called -- it turned out the dealer only took cars by appointment, so he'd driven to the subway station instead and would have to take it in next week. So I could have taken the car, which might have been nice in this heat...

On days like this, two thoughts quickly pop into my head -- 1st: why is it that all the small creatures in my house puke everywhere? 2nd: How the hell are these things the "best possible" things that can happen to me? I read "Zen and the Art of Happiness" a few years ago, and I found it the be rather soothing and helpful, though at times it is stretch to make the philosophy apply. Maybe I'm being puked on to remind me to be more humble? Maybe Husband is going through all of his work-based-hell to help him deal with these situations in the future? Or to help him learn to remain calm and cool-headed under stress? Maybe walking to the bike shop to find it closed, or driving to the dealer to find one needs an appointment is a reminder to plan ahead?

As I write this, I am trying to ignore the ache in my cheek from going to the dentist yesterday (lost a filling which my insurance may not cover the repair of since it was so recent), and I keep having to backspace using a broken backspace key (it broke a week ago), and stretching out my arches, which are slightly achy from walking 1.5 miles in new sneakers which do not have anywhere near the arch support all the reviews said they had... the best possible thing...

At least for the moment I'm not covered in puke. Simple blessings. 

The Routine Essentials

"For pragmatic reasons, I love the routine. I love the structure of it. I love knowing that my days are free. I know where I'm going at night. I know my life is kind of orderly. I just like that better." - Andrea Martin

Last night, we had our first experience, since establishing a bedtime routine, of getting Imp to sleep in a location different than home. We planned it as well as we could, packing up everything we could need to keep his nighttime routine as much the same as possible -- his favorite bath toys, his blue puppy, his "Goodnight Moon" board book -- and hoped for the best. Imp has never been the best of sleepers, and we had worked very hard at setting down a routine that worked. Usually, during the week, I get home between 5 and 5:30, then he gets dinner around 5:30-6, immediately followed by a bath, then a little bit of play time before starting the bedtime routine at 7-7:30 (feeding, diaper change, book, song, bed). Nervously, we did our best to replicate these exact things with as minimal "stuff" as possible. Amazingly, it worked. Imp went to sleep at 7:15, and didn't wake until his feeding at 10 (typically 10-11, when we usually go to bed).

I was so glad, and frankly, so surprised how well having a few familiar things and a set routine worked, even in a strange location. Yes, all the books tell you how much babies love routines, but seeing it work was more of a relief than I can explain. We didn't really start this routine until Imp was 6 months old. When he was born, Imp did not like at all sleeping on his back -- he slept in a swing, a bouncy chair, or in the bed with us. The third of these, which became our standard after the first month or so, scared the crap out of me. I had read far too much about the dangers of having the child in the bed with you -- SIDS, possible suffocation, etc, that I was afraid to move at night. I would hold him so carefully making sure that his face was completely uncovered and protecting him from the minute possibility of myself or my husband rolling on to him. I inevitably woke up stiff and achy, but at least I knew he was okay. When he got a little older, we would place him on a waterproof pad between us, but both my husband and I were so worried that we would sleep on less than a third of the bed each, giving Imp the lion's share in the middle. In the evenings I would hold Imp to get him to sleep, and he went through one period where he would scream even while I held him. Every once in a while we tried to put him in the crib, but we would inevitably not be able to deal with the tears and would bring him back to bed with us. For all the good things I had heard about cosleeping, none of us ever really slept while doing it, and so we started trying to figure out what to do to fix the situation. Imp needed to learn to sleep in his crib, on his own.

We turned to books -- reading all about the various "training" methods, and finally settled on one we felt we could deal with. Until we get a bigger apartment, Imp will share a room with us, so the "cry it out" methods we felt would never work. And cosleeping wasn't working either -- so most of those "no cry" solutions were also out. We settled on one in between -- "The Sleep Lady" method specifically -- which involved putting Imp to sleep drowsy but awake, staying with him until he fell asleep, but slowly, night by night, moving farther away while he went to sleep until we could put him down and leave the room without him crying. One of the keys to this method (along with almost every other method) was the routine. I looked at the advice about how you shouldn't feed them right before putting them down, the importance of a "lovey" (his blue dog), and all the other suggestions, and found something that worked for us. It took a few weeks, but eventually, we could put him down, leave the room, and he would at least half the time go down without a fuss. Of course, we've had some bumps -- when he learned how to stand up and spit his pacifier across the room was an issue, for example, but for the most part, he goes down to sleep fairly well, and stays down until our pre-bed feeding.

Taking this set routine and moving it out of the familiarity of his bedroom was something I wasn't sure would work at all. But it did, and now I can shake off some of my fears about our upcoming family vacation, and other future adventures, knowing that at least for now, it worked.

But babies aren't the only ones that need routines. One of the main stress issues I've been having lately is how often I feel that I am rushing around, always working at something, but nothing is ever really getting done. There always seems to be laundry to do, bathrooms to clean, urgent experiments to plan, pressing papers to read, etc. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I am trying to figure out ways to make myself feel good every time I accomplish these little things, but it still feels sometimes like I am just running around like the proverbial chicken. Career wise, I often feel like I'm treading water -- I know where I want to go, and I think I know how to get there, but the destination seems so distant, and the goals so long term, that I often feel like I'm making no headway. But lately, I've started making checklists, setting mini goals, and making myself my own routine, and so far I feel a lot better. I downloaded a few apps for my phone to help (never knew how much I'd LOVE a smart phone) -- a checklist app, a daily chore app -- and somehow, just seeing things get checked off every day, even the routine things, makes me feel like I'm getting somewhere. While sometimes it may seem monotonous and pointless, there is comfort in the routine, and seeing it checked off in front of me serves as a reminder that even the simplest step does have a point. Even if it's just a matter of knowing that if I keep on top of the little things, the daily things, then the big things don't seem so big any more.

For babies, routine is having the same story every night, the same stuffed animal to hug. For adults, I suppose, it's having a set of goals every day, and a means to acknowledge when they have been achieved. If I can set my routine, then maybe it won't matter where I go (literally or figuratively), and I can feel like everything will be alright. It's like the PhD/Mom's equivalent to "Goodnight Moon".