Our Video baby Monitor and the Harry/Voldemort Connection

I love our baby monitor.  I mean LOVE. Sean also loves our baby monitor, in that he would LOVE to smash it with a hammer in the driveway.

My argument is that the baby monitor saves me tons of time and sleep.  Since I have become a mom, I hear every sound my baby makes in her crib.  Every coo, every cry, every fart, every gurgle, and every grunt.  I can hear these sounds if I am elsewhere in the house, or even outside in the garden. If I'm sleeping, it always wakes me up.

My sister-in-law recently likened my strange connection with Millie to the link between Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort. This is an analogy that totally holds up. You know how Harry can tell what Voldemort is up to even though they are separated by distances? I can certainly do that with Millie. Also, Millie was born without eyebrows, which doesn't prove anything, but you have to admit it's suspicious. (Yes, in this comparison I am Harry and my baby is Lord Voldemort, stop judging me! I think that makes Sean Hermione, but I'm not sure.)

Our baby monitor is awesome because it has a live VIDEO STREAM from the baby's crib.  That means that when Millie wakes up in the middle of the night, I can glance at the monitor and tell if she needs my assistance. If she's stuck against the rails, or has rolled over on her belly and is now trapped, or has cast the dark mark onto the ceiling of her nursery, I can go help her. If she's just throwing a fit, I let her work it out on her own. It's a system that works for us, and by "works for us," I mean, "doesn't require us to get out of bed."

On the other side of the argument is Sean, who says that the baby monitor turns me into a crazed junkie who can't stop checking to see if the baby is ok.  This is a totally unfair accusation, just because I watch it continuously throughout the day and evening, and physically confront anyone who blocks my view of the screen! That proves nothing!  I don't want to switch fantasy-series analogies on you, but my relationship to the baby monitor is exactly like that of Smeagol and the PRECIOUS ring of power.

One day, when Millie is old enough, we will stab the baby monitor with a Basilisk fang, or maybe throw it into the cracks of Mount Doom-- I'm not sure.  Either way, there is going to be a shitload of spells and general wizardry, which will be BAD ASS. In the meantime, I'll have my work cut out for me here, because I can see from my baby monitor that Millie is awake, and has started speaking to her nursery toys in parseltongue.

Sleep Training

As the parents of a new baby, the most precious commodity in our house is sleep.  Sleep is what we covet, what we dream about, and what occupies our most elaborate fantasies.

If the pornographic film industry wanted to make a dirty movie just for parents of young babies, then the guy who shows up and says "I'm here to fix the cable," would just go into the bedroom with the buxom young home occupant and sleep.  If it they were REALLY NAUGHTY, they would turn off the baby monitor during their nap.  SO BAD.

Sleep is also an important resource for our little one.  There is nothing in the world sweeter than a baby who has gotten enough  sleep. They are adorable, life-affirming little cuddle machines that make you amazed to be alive.  When our baby has gotten enough sleep, she is like a combination of a golden retriever puppy and a new baby kitten, multiplied by a unicorn.

Conversely, when our baby has not gotten enough sleep, she turns into a hateful little snot-harpy, who wants nothing to do with life, her parents, or anything in the world apart from screaming at her crib mobile.

When Mille turned four months old, her sleep-- and by extension OUR sleep-- took a definite turn for the worse.  Even though she had been sleeping in 7-9 hour stretches since she was 2 months old, she suddenly began waking up 5-6 times a night. Sean and I were getting almost no sleep. If you looked at our internet browser history in those days, you would see searches for terms such as "sleep training," "cry it out methods, how old?," and "sell baby on craigslist, how much?"

That's when we read the book "Solve Your Child's Sleep Problems," by Dr. Richard Ferber. If you are a parent whose baby is having problems sleeping, I would definitely read this book.  (Unless you hate yourself, your baby, and your marriage, in which case I would keep to your current course!) If I ever meet Dr. Richard Ferber, I will probably try to open-mouth kiss him.  So will Sean.  Odds are good on both of us sticking our tongues down this poor doctor's throat and frenching his face off-- just to show how grateful we are for our improved quality of life.

When we started his program, our baby considered going to sleep without nursing to be a barbarous activity, roughly equivalent to water-boarding. It took at least half an hour to get her down for each nap or nighttime waking, and each time there was a strong chance she would wake up again as we transferred her to her crib. We began following Dr. Ferber's program of heartlessly listening to her cry at increasingly long intervals.  The first time she cried for 30 minutes.  It was agony. We were the WORST PARENTS. The second time she cried for only five minutes. It wasn't so bad. We were okay parents really. The third time, she rolled onto her side, sucked her thumb and fell asleep. It was heaven. We were the BEST PARENTS IN THE HISTORY OF PARENTING.

Now, it's like we have a whole different baby.  She doesn't have to be rocked or nursed to sleep, and she doesn't cry at all when we put her into her bed.  She just smiles, sucks her little thumb, and rolls one her side to sleep.  The best part is, since Millie goes to bed so early, Sean and I have some free time to watch movies in the evenings.  The past couple of nights we've been watching "Lethal Weapon," but I'm hoping the pornographic film industry will take my hint and make "Debbie Does NyQuil" soon. I can't wait to see adult film stars Lunesta Jamison and Yawn Jeremy in action as we curl up on the couch and rekindle our pre-baby romance.  Dr. Richard Ferber-- wherever you are-- you're welcome to join us.

Let the Wild Rumpus Start!

As a mom, I doubt I'll ever be one of those women who makes it look easy.  You know, the moms who bring the orange slices and capri suns to every soccer game, who know how to get the grass stains out of blue jeans, and who almost never say the F-word in front of their kid's Sunday School classes? Yes, I'm sure Millie has lots of embarrassing mom-moments in her future, but, there is ONE day of the year where she can feel smug and superior that I am her mother: Halloween.

I know it's only June, and that's a little to early to be thinking about Halloween costumes.  However, I am someone who like to play to my strengths-- and so I've decided that a smart parenting style for myself will be to become one of those parents who lets my child wear costumes and super hero garb YEAR ROUND. This will increase my value to Amelia, and also provide us with the maximum amount of hilarious photos for us to embarrass her with once she starts getting boyfriends.

With this in mind, I've created the first of many, many costumes for her to play dress up go to the grocery store in. Inspired by Max from Where the Wild things Are, this hat/mitten combo makes the statement: I AM AMELIA, QUEEN OF THE WILD THINGS, but is still subtle enough for everyday wear.

Here is the pattern and a photo tutorial of how I did it, in case you want to knit one for your little monster: Max Hat and Wolf Mittens.

So--other moms-- you can keep your orange slices, stain removers, and profanity-free sunday school lessons-- I don't need them!  My daughter will be the one in the corner with the cape on-- and she'll be looking so awesome that no one will hear me anyways.

Serendipity: a Book Review

When my sisters and I were little, our favorite set of books by far were the Serendipity Books by Stephen Cosgrove and Robin James.  These were a wonderful collection, featuring rich, fantastical illustrations, environmentalist messages, and occasionally, a giant silver unicorn named Morgan.  These books were so coveted by our childhood selves, that my older sister preemptively stole my parents' entire collection years before any of us were thinking of having children.  When I became pregnant, I began to lament the fact that I had allowed Kelly to abscond with these books uncontested, only to learn that my mother-in-law had the entire set (in hard cover no less) saved in a box in her basement. Oh what joy! The books would be mine, and my daughter too would know the pleasures of the creatures, the magical kingdoms, and especially, the giant pink Ocean monster, Serendipity.

We received the box, and I unpacked them with relish. I gave them a place of honor on the nursery bookshelf.  Then I settled in with my daughter on my lap to relive the magic of my childhood. The first book I opened was a book called "Creole," which was supposed to be about not judging people by their looks, but actually just teaches kids that the "fat" monsters are unattractive. I was disappointed, but I guess it did teach an important lesson: society is a bitch, and even illustrated swamp monsters will judge you based on your appearance.  The next book I tried was "Morgan Morning," and this one had a more uplifting message. If you disobey your mother and run away from her, you will fall off a waterfall and turn into a unicorn. This one didn't bother me too much, because I figure there aren't many waterfalls where we live, so it's pretty low-risk.  Finally, I turned to the one book in the set I knew would be a slam dunk-- Everyone's favorite pinkish purple plesiosaur-- the anti-littering spokes-creature, and "lorax of the sea,"  Serendipity.

The first thing that struck me is that this book had roughly the same plot as "encino man." A giant, prehistoric egg is frozen in an iceberg, until one day it thaws out, hatches, and joins with the modern day sea creatures on a path of self discovery. That's a pretty good start, because, let's face it, Encino Man was an awesome movie.

As I continued to read on, however, I spotted a few holes in the otherwise killer plot.  Most disturbingly, there are several spots where the book is biologically inaccurate. Now, this may come as a surprise to you, but as a child I was sort of a nerd.  Ok more than sort of.  Alright I was a huge nerd, and I read science books all the time.  The point is, I knew very well that dolphins were mammals, not fishes, so why did I turn a blind eye when--in a plot twist worthy of M. Night Shyamalan--Serendipity's traveling companions, the Dolphin and the Walrus turn out to KINGS OF ALL THE FISHES!?

I think it's because, in my adolescence, my method of evaluating quality literature was slightly different than it is now. Here's my estimation of how the two compare.

So-- according to my two systems of Literary Review, how does Serendipity stack up?
If you are a 3 year old, I would definitely recommend the book Serendipity.  There is royalty, talking animals, and gratuitous use of the color pink, so I think you would enjoy it.  If you are a 30 year old, I would recommend that you read Wendell Berry's "The Unsettling of America" instead, which is basically the same message, but a slightly better read, despite its disappointing lack of talking animals. If the author of Serendipity is reading this, I would recommend a revision of your timeless childhood classic as soon as possible, to introduce a new unicorn-based character into the plot line, and possibly a foreword by Michael Pollan.