Sleep Routine Revised

After such a thorough analysis, a funny thing happened when I started to get the hang of my little angel’s sleeping schedule. She decided to change it so that it now way near resembles what it consistently did for the past couple of months. She now goes down for the night around 7:30 instead of 10. I would now consider myself the luckiest girl in the world if she were waking up only twice a night and though I know she’s tired, she refuses to nap longer than forty minutes and wakes up rubbing her eyes. The worst part is during the night, when she now cries for a half-hour or so every time I put her back in her crib after waking up, which seems to be happening every two hours. I stand by the crib, unable to figure out why she is crying and how I can soothe her.

Determined to help her learn healthy sleeping habits, I have resorted to reading and following ideas I found in the “The No-Cry Sleep Solution.” My doctor recommended letting Caroline cry herself to sleep until she learns how to comfort herself, but it just doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. I find myself constantly worrying that ignoring her in this way will scar her for life and she’ll develop negative feelings towards sleep.

So here I go again, another project, another plan. Today begins day two of the process, and so far it’s been rough on both of us. I know my new method requires patience though, and if it means a few months from now she’ll be a well rested and happy little girl most of the time, it will most certainly be worth it. And I will feel much better knowing that I’m doing all I can to comfort my baby.

My Birth Story

I must have read at least fifty different tales of women giving birth by the time I was 39 weeks pregnant, and that was the best thing I could have done to prepare myself. Here’s my own…it’s long, but I wanted to remember every detail:

It was Wednesday, November 16th, when Shannon drove down to Newport to hang out with me for the day. She was visiting for just four days with the ultimate goal of meeting our little girl before heading back home to Utah. My doctor had scheduled an induction on Friday morning if I hadn’t gone into labor on my own yet, so I was hopeful that the baby would be here by Friday evening at the latest and Shannon would be able to come see us at the hospital before she left early Saturday morning. Being stuck in bed going through labor was exactly what I didn’t want, but would be unavoidable if I was induced, so I was determined to do whatever it took to go into labor on my own before Friday.

It was a gorgeous afternoon and especially warm for November. Shannon arrived and we decided to take a walk to Starbucks. Miraculously my back, which had given up on trying to support me in the last weeks of my pregnancy, had seemed to heal itself over the past couple days and I was feeling good. Waddling a couple miles for an eggnog late and piece of banana bread was a pretty big accomplishment, nonetheless. Shannon and I had such a great day together. We talked a lot about the baby, our families, our career paths, and the million random topics that spark up when you’re catching up with your best friend. The moment we got back to my house I ran up to the bathroom. I would have never imagined discovering what something as disgusting as a mucus plug was could bring such joy. Shannon left about 6:30, which is when I started timing my contractions just to see if there was any regularity. They were inconsistent and still far from uncomfortable, yet I couldn’t help but feel excitement.

Chris and I decided to go to the Red Parrot. We had been using the excuse that “tonight could be our last night eating out just the two of us” the past ten times we’d been out to eat. But since I was at least two centimeters dilated at Monday’s doctor’s appointment, had gone for a long walk earlier in the day and my contractions seemed to be coming every eight minutes or so now, I had a feeling tonight really would be our last night out before we’d be a family of three. I could barely squeeze myself into the table they sat us at. Chris and I discussed names one last time and were both feeling giddy as my contractions continued through dinner. Chris practiced his breathing every time he took a break from biting into his hamburger. I had a cup of French onion soup, hopeful a light meal like that wouldn’t show itself again later that night or next day (I planned on having a very clean delivery and baby). We got home, after being pulled over for Chris’ tail lights being out (thinking back, we missed a good opportunity to freak a police officer out), and I went to bed shortly after, knowing I would need to rest while I could. It was about midnight when Chris climbed into bed with me, not even noticing I was awake in the dark room. I was not confident I was going to be able to sleep through the contractions at that point, though they were still approximately 7-8 minutes apart. Every third or fourth time I wouldn’t feel anything, so I was still questioning whether it was true labor. I sat up over a stack of pillows and practiced breathing while Chris slept next to me. At about 2:00 am, I moved to the rocking chair in the nursery, imagining the tiny person who was going to be moving in and tried to comfort myself, when my contractions suddenly started coming every five minutes. I woke Chris up and he called our midwife, who told us she’d inform the hospital we were coming, and meet us there. I called my Mom, who I had asked to be in the delivery room with us. Since I don’t recall hearing the phone even ring before she said "hello," I imagine she had it gripped and already at her ear, waiting for my call. I remember feeling foolish that I had to take a break in the middle of our conversation so I could breathe through one of my contractions.

It felt as though we got to the hospital in a flash, but the nurses asked us what took us so long when we arrived. Apparently, an hour had passed since Kathy had called to let them know we were coming. The hospital is only a mile or so from our house, but I had to stop every five minutes or so, making my way to and from the car and hang on to something while I breathed through the pain. The car ride was no picnic either and I couldn’t wait to get out. The first nurse who checked me was new. She said I was about 6-7 centimeters dilated and a second nurse came in looking doubtful about her estimation and wanted to check me herself to confirm. My ability to smile while in pain might have thrown her off too. With a look of surprise, the second nurse confirmed it and began hooking me up to the monitors to check baby’s and my heart rate.
I was asked to fill out paperwork and answer ridiculous questions like "what was my birthday" while I had all I could do to keep from vomiting. My Mom arrived just forty-five minutes after we did, so I knew she had called someone to drive her speedily to Newport. I was so thankful that she was finally there and tried my best to throw a smile on to greet her driver Ralph as I walked ten-minutes to my room five feet down the hallway.

The pain was like nothing I had ever felt before and all I could do was work on relaxing in between each one. I remember being thankful that there was at least two minutes in between, which was enough for me to recuperate before the next one started. My Mom and Chris were put on contraction duty, informing me the second after each contraction would peak on the monitor, so I would know that relief was soon to come. The nurses were busy trying to hook up the birthing tub, which provided us with some welcomed entertainment. Forty-five minutes had passed by the time they had everything set up and one nurse was soaked from one of the hoses not being on correctly. I could not wait to get myself into the warm water of the whirlpool, which proved to take the edge off at the height of my contractions. By then I was already at nine centimeters. I wasn’t under the jets for too long before I felt just a slight urge to push and the nurses escorted me to the actual birthing tub.

My mom and Chris situated themselves on either side of the tub to hold my legs up. Once the first contraction hit, I tried so hard to push. Kathy had initially made it known that she had to leave at 9 am for her daughter’s awards banquet in Providence and I was doing what I could to deliver before then. I had read so many stories about the pushing stage being such a relief, but to get that relief I needed to get myself over a hump of incredible pain. Once the relief came, I grunted as her head made its way towards the outside world. Kathy encouraged me to keep pushing, sometimes three times during a contraction and I felt like I was just not giving enough. I could barely tell when my contractions would start (I’m not sure if that was from the warm water or my body’s own pain relieving ability) and was taking every opportunity I could to rest. I could hear my Mom’s grunting as she pushed with me each time. Each push took every ounce of energy I had and when Kathy told me she could see her head and with one more push my baby would be out, I found the extra energy I didn’t know still existed within me. I grabbed onto the back of my legs, tucked my chin to my chest and pushed as hard as I could. Her head was out and Kathy told me to stop as she unwrapped the umbilical cord from around my baby’s neck. The next few moments I didn’t recall until Chris and my Mom told me about them later. I was so exhausted I could barely muster up the energy to listen to the words coming out of Kathy’s mouth as she told me to grab hold of her head and deliver my baby. My eyes were open but I felt as though I was in another world, in a dream like state. The sound of each long, exhausted breath was loud and it was as though this was the only one of my senses that was still working until I looked down. My baby girl was out, limbs flailing about in the water as her first moments of life outside the womb began. It was the most incredible sight I have ever seen. She was so alive. With dark hair, eyes wide open and little red lips, she was the most beautiful, most perfect human being I could ever imagine. Her first seconds of life could never be erased from my memory. Chris reached in and rocked her in the water as I laid my head back in the tub, still trying to catch my breath. Our life as a family had begun.

Caroline Elsie Cole was born at 6:15 a.m. She was 7 lbs. 13.6 oz and 19 inches long and so clean. I couldn’t have asked for a better labor. The pain was intense, but it was so quick and it was only the last hour that I questioned whether or not I could find the strength within myself to fight the pain and deliver my baby. It was the most incredible experience I have ever been through and to think that another human being resulted from it is just so unbelievable. The fact that I had ever worried about adapting to motherhood now seems so silly. I fell in love with this tiny person instantaneously, just like everyone told me I would. The attachment I feel towards her is so overwhelming. I would do anything for her to keep her happy and comfortable. I haven’t been able to stop staring at her little face since she arrived. Thinking that she is a part of both Chris and I and a result of us loving each other, it is all such a wonderful miracle. Every time I pick her up and hold her body close to me, all I can feel is love.

The Perfect Home

My friend Heidi lived only one house away, but each time I walked through her door it was like I had stepped into another world. Her family was always home and usually someone was visiting for the day. The fire was always going, keeping the house at the perfect temperature to curl up on the couch and take a nap. Her dad and brother were usually outside building something, stacking wood or had just gone to purchase materials for their next big project. You could find her mom hanging the clothes out to dry, cleaning, or baking something good to top off the big meal they would eat every night at the dinner table or if it was summertime, out on the porch. They had two dogs, two cats, two goldfish and daily chores and their homework was expected to be finished before any video games were played or TV was watched. It was the kind of home they made TV shows about. I cannot deny they were a family I sometimes wanted to be a part of.

I’m not saying my house was not home to me, because it most certainly was. It was just a different kind of home. It was the kind of home that seemed unoccupied most of the time. Our family time was spent in the car, driving to numerous baseball practices, hockey games, all of the far away tournaments that preceded each season and both sets of grandparents got their share of visits from us too. When we weren’t traveling as a family we were all off doing separate things. When my Dad was home from work, sometimes my Mom worked. Or if they were both home, they were usually doing different things to keep the house up and once in a great while, they might get a chance to enjoy themselves. Unless it was down pouring, when my brothers and I were all home, we were outside in the neighborhood, playing with our different groups of friends. Our cabinets were stocked with meals any five-year old could easily put together in two minutes. On Sundays though, my Mom would cook a nice hot meal and we’d all sit at the table together and devour it in twenty minutes or less. We were a busy family. My parents did everything they could, making ends meet, while managing to cart us around to the million activities we wanted to and did take part in. As a result, I feel like I was brought up to be well rounded. I was a ballerina and a tap dancer, a figure skater, a girl scout, a softball player, and a terrific colorer from the hundreds of hours I spent on the bleachers with my coloring books while my brothers played their sports. My parents made sacrifices so we could have fun. We got the chance to be children, which not everyone is fortunate enough to have growing up.

I hope the home we create for Caroline and all of the children I give birth to in the future is a perfect combination of the type of home I grew up in and the one I was a part-time member of. I want my children to have fond memories of the hundreds of cookies we all baked at Christmastime. I want them to learn the importance of pitching in to help keep the house clean so it is a comfortable and welcoming place. I want them to invite their friends over because they love being home. I also want them to be active. Coordination, socialization, teamwork, and learning that becoming good at something takes practice are just some of the many benefits sports and other activities taught me, not to mention learning how to have fun in the process. Perhaps most importantly though, I want them to value what they have. Everything I know about hard work, sacrifice, planning, and budgeting (without a word ever being spoken about money) I learned from watching my parents. They may not have had the hours of playtime with me that I would have liked so many days during my childhood. But even back then when I couldn't fully comprehend everything they did for my brothers and I, never did I question how much we were loved.

Sleep Routine Analysis

I’ve been tracking Caroline’s sleeping and eating routine for the past 10 days in an effort to get her on a schedule and here are my results and conclusions (and yes, I feel like I’m doing a project for school):

Her Schedule:
- Wakes up between 7:30 – 7:45 every day
- First nap 9:00 – 9:15
- Naps four to five times a day
- Naps last anywhere from 35 minutes to 2.5 hours (makes it difficult to plan anything!)
- Eats seven to nine times a day (not including two nighttime feedings around 1:00 and 3:00)
- Bedtime has changed from 10:00 to 9:00

Getting her to sleep (I’ve tried a few different methods over the course of ten days):
- Rocking her no longer works unless she has already cried in her crib for a while and tired herself out
- Letting her cry for a minute sometimes works. Sometimes it takes her a minute to realize she can comfort herself to sleep with her thumb and sometimes she does want to be picked up for just another minute
- Feeding her always works, but I don’t want this to become a habit!

Conclusion:
Based on my results, here’s my plan:
- I will put her down for naps at 9:15, 12:00, 4:45, and 7:00 every day.
- I will try not to feed her before her first nap (my general rule is no sooner than 1.5 hours between feedings)
- I will rock her in my arms for a minute, put her in her crib and leave the room. If she is still
crying in two minutes, I will go in and try to soothe her. Being able to see me only makes it more difficult for her to calm herself down

Coming up with a plan like this seems like the right thing to do, however, if I find she is constantly fighting me, I know I won’t be willing to force her into it. I’ve learned that just when you think you have the hang of it all things can change so quickly. Just the other day, Caroline wouldn’t be able to fall asleep for the night before 10:00 and now she falls asleep on her own at 9:00 on the dot. I also decided last night I would let her cry in her crib for at least one minute if she woke up during the night wanting to eat and guess what? She didn’t wake up until 7:45 the next morning! Though it was a little upsetting at first when I could no longer rock her to sleep like I used to for her naps, I think it was Caroline’s way of telling me that she needs to fall asleep on her own now. She never ceases to amaze me every day.

Diet Update - Week 2

I’m stuck. I’m still a couple of pounds above my goal weight, but really, I would like to be a few pounds below my goal weight so when I weigh myself at any time of day I am not over my ideal weight. I woke up the other morning finally feeling thin, but that was before breakfast and I haven’t felt that way since. Dieting is more difficult this time. I haven’t touched a cookie, scoop of ice cream or piece of cake in 17 days (I know this doesn’t sound like a long time but for me it feels like an eternity!) and to still be above my goal weight is so discouraging. I know it’s partly due to the fact that I haven’t been sweating my butt off in exercise classes every day while eating good, like I was before the baby. I'm lucky if I can get 30 minutes in more than three times a week. I just have to accept that the weight loss will be much slower this time around. I am finally feeling comfortable without wearing one of the seven hoodies I purchased to cover up my post pregnancy belly, so I know I have made a lot of progress. I wonder if cutting back on watching the food network will help my weight loss since I do still indulge in staring (and drooling) at all the most delicious looking desserts just about every minute of the day. Perhaps when I do lose the weight I’ll think about tackling my other favorite habit: torturing myself.

Diet Update - Week 1

Though I have been trying to diet since January, it is really only the seventh day of what I consider to be my true weight loss phase. My will has finally agreed to cooperate with my desire to lose weight and already, I have lost approximately seven pounds! (Yes, I am aware and don’t care that this is probably all water weight). I am ashamed to admit that it took writing and hanging on my fridge a list of virtues that I believe myself to possess, however, don’t always care to use where sweets are concerned. I read these every time I found myself in the kitchen for five days straight, until finally that feeling of thinness came back and that now gets me through. (Just to clarify, the feeling comes long before the actuality of being thin).

More than ninety percent of the time I do eat balanced, nutritious meals. The problem for me comes in when I see a delicious dessert recipe on the Food Network that I just happen to have all the ingredients in my pantry for, whenever it snows, whenever it’s Saturday, or whenever I decide it would be the perfect time to bake and eat a delicious dessert. I truly believe I have been cursed with sixteen sweet teeth instead of just one. The other problem, of course, is that I truly do want to diet and know that having sweets in my own house ultimately always leads to catastrophic failure. The minute I am finished baking the most delicious brownies or chewy chocolaty cookies, I force myself to eat every single one so that I can begin my diet without such burning temptation. I wonder if this mentality is one bulimics share, however, I’m also one who hates to waste and wouldn’t dream of turning over my delicious creations to the ceramic throne.

So the dieting continues. I have a “no list” on my fridge of all my most favorite indulgences. It is only until April 21st, the day preceding my friend Jess’ wedding, that I am forbidding myself these sweets. I plan to be at my goal weight by then and pray that looking in the mirror and liking what I see will stop me from overindulging from that point on. My goal weight is only a few more pounds away, but this time I expect my midsection to hang on to the little tire of fat it has accumulated during pregnancy for dear life. But as the list on my fridge will tell me, I am a fighter and I will win.

Goals, Goals and More Goals

One thing that helps me to stay sane staying home all day, every day is setting and achieving goals. I write a list of at least five things I want to focus on for the week every Sunday night and I make myself commit to getting those five things accomplished before the next Sunday comes. At least half of the things on the list I feel foolish even writing down because they are no more challenging than tying my shoes, however I know myself well enough to know that I won’t get these things done if I didn’t have a strict plan. After three weeks or so and having many little and big tasks crossed of my list, I already feel quite accomplished.

This week, I have only one goal: to come up with a “go to sleep” routine for Caroline. She is getting stronger and heavier by the day and is so wiggly that bouncing her around in my arms for an hour to get her to sleep is becoming out of the question unless I start an intense weight lifting program. Luckily, getting her to bed at night and to go back to sleep during the nighttime hours has not been difficult thus far. Her naps, however, are a big struggle.

My initial reaction every time I have a question about anything is to do research to get the answer. God forbid our internet connection be down one day or I not have the time to wait for Amazon to ship and deliver books on the subject. I can typically come up with the answer on my own if I just stop being so lazy and turn my brain on. In regards to parenting, I have decided to work to come up with my own solutions first and turn to others only if all else fails. So here’s my plan:

1. Track nap times. Each time Caroline goes down for a nap this week, I will write it down and try to find patterns when the week is over.

2. Establish a routine and be consistent with it each time she gets tired. My routine will be to change her diaper, rock her in my arms, set her down and stand by the crib, and leave the room. If she’s still crying after one minute (with real tears), rock her again and only feed her as a last resort.

After this week, my hopes are that I can work to get her to go down for naps close to the same time every day, which shouldn’t be difficult. She already goes down roughly at the same times every day, but it always takes a while to get her to sleep. The next step after the week will also be to shorten the time I spend rocking her and standing by her crib until she falls asleep on her own. Wish me luck!

Life Before Baby - 3 Days to Go!

This is a journal entry I wrote just three days before giving birth. I just want to make a note that I felt extremely guilty at the time for taking maternity leave before any contractions began. God forbid, someone might think of me as a slacker!

Today marks my first official day of maternity leave. No, there is no baby yet, though I was planning on having her over the weekend; on Saturday actually, just after our friend Jeff’s wedding. I think it’s funny that so many women are such control freaks that they have a difficult time not being able to plan or predict when their babies will decide they are ready to enter the world. I am okay with waiting; until Thursday that is, which would leave Friday open for my best friend Shannon to meet this little girl before she head’s back to Utah. I trust that she’ll arrive when she is ready, when she knows I am ready, however, if I have the option to be induced before Shannon leaves, I just might have to try it out. I feel like everything is clean enough, the nursery is set up and my rocking chair is here. I have even frozen some vegetable lasagna and have all the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies as soon as my labor begins so I can have a treat at the hospital. If there were ever a time when I deserved to be referred to as a domestic goddess, now would be it. The only stress left is the stress of not having a name picked out for our daughter yet. I envision us at the hospital, staring at her tiny face, our friends and family crowding into our room, and our stress level rising higher and higher as we cannot decide which of the twenty names we’ve listed would suit her best. We will have to decide sooner or later. But now, it is my nap time, so I will take a break from thinking about it.

The 6th Key

There is one more key that I’ve learned is necessary to being a good mom and it is simply to believe you are a good mom. I’ve found that there are so many questions in which there is not one correct answer. There are a number of solutions to every problem, which in turn forces me to keep asking myself if I’ve done the right thing in every situation.

Trying to “train” Caroline so life will be easier for me means getting her on a feeding schedule, getting her adjusted to her crib, getting her to fall asleep on her own, getting her to play contently by herself etc. etc. The list seems long for her not even hitting four months of age yet. Though I do generally know what she needs when she cries, the solution seems to be ever changing. I find that I’m constantly questioning whether I should have done something differently: should I have held on for five more minutes until she fell asleep before deciding to feed her? Should I have let her fussed for another minute in her crib before picking her up and rocking her to sleep? Is she ever going to be able to entertain herself if I’m playing with her 90% of the time she’s awake? Am I being selfish when I allow her to drowsily breastfeed for just a couple of minutes when she looks so comfortable or for holding her so much? I drive myself absolutely crazy on a daily basis wondering how my decisions are shaping Caroline’s personality. I know that if I just keep doing what I think is best for her, everything will be okay. I just hope that kissing her a million times a day or cuddling up with her once in a while is not encouraging her to become totally dependent on me for the rest of her life.

So far, I am confident that all of our decisions concerning Caroline have been the right ones. I know there will be times as she gets older and her personality develops more, that we will have regrets thinking the outcome would be different if only we had reacted differently in certain situations. I believe Caroline is a good baby. She’s calm most of the time unless she needs something, she laughs and plays well by herself and she generally seems happy. My only concern is that she is quite attached to me. Leaving her is becoming more difficult as she cries more when with her dad and refuses to drink from a bottle. She typically stays content with her other relatives holding her for only a few minutes. But I have heard that many babies that breastfeed react this way. If my only source of food came from the ice cream truck, I know for a fact that I’d be running down the street all day trying to catch it.

My point is, I think I’m doing an okay job as a mom and I’m going to continue to tell myself that in hopes it will save me the expense of therapy every day for the rest of my child raising years.