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Monday’s Child: Why he doesn’t care whose birthday it is…
February 18th, 2008 § 10
I burst into tears this morning…
February 9th, 2008 § 12
Because I’m exhausted.
Caspar and I share a room. That’s a necessity, living in my sister’s house. But he’s getting too big to share a room with now. I guess he’s no longer a baby and he no longer sleeps like one. He wakes when I go to bed, and he wakes me up unpleasantly in the morning, leaving me drained.
I’ve been slack lately, too tired to deal with him crying so I get him up when I should be falling asleep; so I give him cuddles and let him sleep with me. But I’m not good at sleeping so by the time he settles, I’m stuck in my insomniac state again and it feels like I never get a chance for natural rest. It’s driving me batty and it’s making me extraordinarily cranky in the mornings which isn’t nice for anyone.
Last night I went to bed very early, 10pm, to try and catch up. It was a waste of time, which is what led to those bitter tears this morning. I really need a good night’s sleep; one where I go to bed when I’m ready, read until my eyes are closing of their own accord and wake up slowly, snoozing a little more if I want to and rising when I feel refreshed.
Refreshed.
Yeah.
That’s not a feeling I’m familiar with at the moment. It’s my own fault because I pick him up and I know that I should really let him cry himself back to sleep. I also know that he’s a very good sleeper and that makes it all the more frustrating. But it’s much easier to let your child cry when you’re not right there in the room, when he’s not crying directly at you, just a metre away from where you’re trying to sleep. It’s not like I can hide. Just me being there in his line of sight is enough to wake him up more fully and make him more insistent.
I love him dearly, I even love the midnight snuggles, but while I don’t require a lot of sleep, right now I’m at breaking point. I know I need to let him scream at me in order for him to get back his ability to soothe himself, in order to break his habit of waking which I’m actually encouraging with the "reward" of cuddles and snuggles.
And isn’t it always the way that you have to do the hardest things when you have the least ability to do them?
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One, two, three…
January 31st, 2008 § 6
Cas obeys many things. He puts stuff in the bin, he sits down, he turns the telly off. He dances, jumps, spins around, and “goes upside down.”
But he doesn’t “come here”.
While it is very amusing to watch him do the silly things I tell him to, I’m pretty sure that for his safety and well-being “Come here” is important. And to teach him? I’ve found myself saying, One… Two… Three…
This must be one of those subconscious motherese type things because, really, it makes no sense. He just looks at me, his head cocked to one side, and when I hit 3, I go and get him. Surely the only thing that teaches him is that if he doesn’t come to me, I will come to him when I’ve finished counting? Why do I do that?
Then again, why do I now speak in the 3rd person? Why do I speak in a higher pitch? Why do I lapse into Yoda-like grammar? Yup. Motherhood changes you.
Anyway, as I’ve come to understand that 123 is a ridiculous instinct, and possibly counterproductive, I’ve been trying to figure out how to teach him to come when I call. My solution isn’t highbrow, but if it’s okay for domestic pets it should be okay for kids, right?
My solution is treats. More specifically, chocolate freckles.
Like I said, its kind of low. But it seems to be working.
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Caspar learns how to say no…
January 29th, 2008 § 5
He has understood Yes and No for quite a while so I’m not sure why he has taken so long to use it. I ask him questions a lot.
Do you want to go for a walk?
Are you ready for a bottle?
Would you like a story?
Do you want to draw?
Are you clever?
He nods when the answer is yes, but just stares when he isn’t that interested. Until recently. Now I’m getting the shaking of the head every now and then. A picture of things to come, I’m sure. At the moment, however, this appears to be less of an emphatic statement and more of a joke. He seems to think it is funny to shake no when he means yes, the same way he likes to hold things out to me and then snatch them back.
Now when I put him to bed and say, Lie down on your pillow, he gets all snuggly and tucked in and then shakes his head at me with a big grin on his face as though he doesn’t want to go to sleep even though he is obviously happy and looking forward to his bottle.
He’s a comedian, my Cas.
I wonder how long it will be before No no longer amuses me?
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Monday’s Child: Sleepovers and shopping…
January 21st, 2008 § 3
I had a girlfriend over for the weekend, which rocked, and we went out to Direct Factory Outlets shopping, as girls do. I got a lovely dress as a very early birthday present.
Yup. That’s the end of this post. I’ve got to get everything sorted for enrolment tomorrow. It will probably be about a 5 hour round trip and enrolment will take around 3. I’m taking Cas, so it will require some organising to be up and out of here when we need to be.
But it’s Monday, anyway. You’re only here so you can look upon the most amazing person in the history of the universe, right? Oh, that’s my friend with him. She’s pretty cool too.
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Monday’s Child: 1 year ago…
January 14th, 2008 Comments Off
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Saturdays and reasons to smile…
January 12th, 2008 § 4
This isn’t the most uplifting blog and even without my current state of mind, It will probably never be. I’m a serious person and, when I’m at my best, I have serious things to say. Intense, exhausting and emotional are probably the three most common criticisms of my character. The first two I accept but as criticisms go, I often consider the things I care about more important than them. The third one I reject as entirely mistaken. Having a passion for ideas is not the same as being emotional.
Having made that grandiose – and serious, and not uplifting – statement, that doesn’t mean that I don’t smile, or laugh, or feel happy. Sometimes I am am full of glee, like a child. So tonight, before I start playing in my theming sandbox (it is my night off after all), I’m going to take a leaf out of Lightening’s book, and have a Smiley Saturday.
I love rolling down hills.
In fact, anything that children take pleasure in, from climbing trees to fairy floss, gives me unadulterated joy.
I like how that word begins with “un-adult”. It should tell us something.
The word adulterate actually comes from the latin ad., “to”, and alterare, “alter”. The resultant latin verb, adulterare, means “to corrupt” and the word adult does not have the same etymology. It’s from adultus, the past particle of the Latin adolescere, “to mature”. Why am I telling you this, when this post is supposed to be smiley? Because that’s the kind of thing that makes me laugh.
I like my sense of humour.
The jokes I tell that I enjoy the most are silly plays on words and often nobody understands why I’m giggling. Someone will say some commonplace phrase and I’ll complete their sentence by finishing the quote from so long-forgotten poet they didn’t realise they were quoting. And I laugh because of the games that language plays. It’s weird contradictions, it’s accidental conflations. I laugh because they are looking at me blankly and I realise the odd, quixotic nature of my mind. I laugh at myself.
Un-adult isn’t really a particularly funny one but it does bring me to something that really does make me smile. A person. He’s not an adult and he makes me smile all the time, no matter how I feel.
He makes me smile when I ask him, What does a fish say?, and he pop-pops with his mouth, almost making the sound.
He makes me smile when he throws himself face down into the froth of my doona, with complete trust that there will be a soft landing, in spite of the bruise he got mis-aiming not so long ago.
He makes me smile when he sees the cat and leans down to rest his head on the its belly, giving it a cuddle.
He makes me smile every time he awakens and wants me to lift him to “touch the moons”, the mobile above his bed, still wondrously tracing their outlines when he catches one although he sleeps beneath them every night.
Those words make me smile: I like my son touching the moon.
He makes me smile because whenever he hears music he dances.
He makes me smile because he cannot get enough of pointing at things for me to name for him.
He makes me smile because he knows far more words than I am even aware of.
He makes me smile because he is purely himself. He is unadulterated.
And I plan on doing everything I can to keep him that way.