Anti-sleepy

February 26, 2013 by Beth Shepherd

“Look at that graffiti,” I shouted to Big Papa as we stood on the perimeter of Republic Square in Yerevan, Armenia. There it was, written in plain English on the pink tuff stone: Anti sleepy.

We both chuckled and I snapped a photo. Baby Bird was snugly strapped into the Baby Bjorn carrier on Big Papa’s chest, sound asleep.

During our first weeks of new parenthood, while we waited for Baby Bird’s passport and visa to be processed, we’d leave the apartment where we were staying and walk the streets of Yerevan. Baby Bird loved riding in the carrier, and she loved being outside. She’d smile and coo and, after an hour or two, she’d fall asleep.

I remember smugly thinking that she was a darn good sleeper. Every night she settled down for twelve hours without a peep. Lucky us—we weren’t going to be one of those bleary-eyed families pacing the floor several times a night bouncing and rocking our baby, praying for sleep. Granted, she fussed and struggled with her afternoon nap, but if we packed her in the carrier and went for a walk, we were practically guaranteed she’d conk out.

Flash forward. Baby Bird still sleeps a good 12 to 13 hours each night. We give her a bath, feed her dinner, put her in her pj’s, read a couple bedtime stories and boom; she’s out cold in a matter of minutes. And do you want to know why? It’s because she is flat-out exhausted.

As it turns out, Baby Bird isn’t a very good sleeper after all, at least where deep sleep is concerned. A few months ago, we found out she has sleep apnea. To make matters worse, Baby Bird is also a very poor napper. It is not uncommon for her to nap less than 30 minutes the entire day.

So even though Big Papa and I get a good night’s sleep (for which we are both extremely grateful), we spend the better part of our days with a very tired toddler. Baby Bird gets so tired that on some days, by early afternoon, she is literally falling over. She might lie on the floor and say “sleepy” over and over. But she won’t nap.

We have black-out curtains in her bedroom, a white noise machine, a sleep sack and a “sleep sheep.” Except for giving her a bath, we follow the exact same routine for her nap as we do in the evening before we put her to bed. We’ve tried playing gentle music; rocking her, swaddling her, sitting with her, and lying down with her. We make sure she’s had fresh air in the morning and plenty of opportunity to run around and get her ya-ya’s out. But she just won’t nap.

I’ve tried taking her for a walk in the stroller, hoping to replicate the sleep-inducing walks from our three weeks in Yerevan. Nope: not napping.

There was a period of time, some months ago, when she might fall asleep in the car. I spent a lot of time in the car, driving. On more than one occasion, I confess that I drove from our home in Seattle, 40 minutes north to Woodinville, known in our greater metropolitan area as “wine country.” I would drive; she would sleep a little; I would buy a few bottles of wine and we’d go home. Win-win. Sadly, those days are over. For the most part, even the car won’t lull her to sleep.

A few weeks from now, we are taking Baby Bird to have her tonsils and adenoids reduced (a procedure that whittles them down, but doesn’t remove them entirely) in the hopes that our little bird will be able to get more sound shut-eye. But until then, Baby Bird is decidedly anti-sleepy. Oh the irony.

Row, row, row your boat

August 10, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

“Row, row, row your boat…” sang the little voice just feet from my bathroom stall. “…gently down the, Mommy how many times do I need to sing it?” she asked plaintively. “Twice,” her mom replied as I walked out to suds up my own two hands.

I can’t remember learning how to wash my hands. Or brush my teeth. These daily habits are so deeply ingrained, that I take knowing how to do them for granted. I put on my pants without giving it a second thought. Left leg first? Right leg? Both at the same time? Truthfully, I’d have to stop myself midway to know what I do for sure.

Yesterday, Big Papa and I spent at least fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to strap a Baby Bjorn carrier to him. I’d picked one up at a yard sale for a good price. When brought it home, we figured we’d give it a spin. It was a sobering experience trying to decipher which strap went where, what this or that buckle was for and how to adjust the carrier to fit Big Papa who is 6’1” versus me at 5’5″, much less perform this task with a wriggling little one waiting in the wings.

Many of my same-age peers will laugh reading this. They’ve already mastered these skills once, twice or many times over. I’m sure they could diaper an infant with their eyes closed, and may already be doing so with their first grandchildren.

Not us. Big Papa breaks into a cold sweat at the thought of trying to give a squirming kid a bath without drowning him, and I feel a bit nauseous when my mind runs through the list of feeding, dressing, diapering and bathing skills I’ve yet to acquire. Between us our baby savvy is about a 1 on a scale of 1 to 5. Big Papa was the youngest in his family, and I was only three when my sister was born so we have no family history with any of this and virtually no babysitting experiences to fall back on.

We’ll have to figure it out all if we plan to keep the kiddo alive when we bring him home. And, as time goes by, we’ll need to teach him all the tricks of the trade too. If we want reassurance that he’ll aim to hit the toilet bowl and not the wall, we’ll want to come up with our own personal arsenal of training techniques.

Thankfully, we live in the age of the internet. Our moms hauled out the latest edition of Dr. Spock or just asked the neighbor when they needed to figure out how to soothe a teething infant, but I envision yelling, “I’ve got the diaper in my right hand and I’m holding him upside down by the legs with the left,” as Big Papa Googles ehow.com and calls out the steps.

Some days thinking about it gives me a headache and puts me into deer-in-the-headlights mode. Other times I’m proud to learn the sign language word for banana and hopefully excited as I imagine teaching my boy how to plant tomatoes for the first time.

My feelings are a jumble of sheer fear and unbridled joy. From what everyone tells me, that’s what parenthood is all about.

Gift from the heart

July 12, 2009 by Beth Shepherd

It isn’t the size of the gift that matters, but the size of the heart that gives it.
~The Angels’ Little Instruction Book by Eileen Elias Freeman

Yesterday, I received my first baby gift. It was a moment that was both touching and quite unexpected. I was on a shopping excursion to pick up a prescription from Pharmaca when I stumbled upon the Madison Park neighborhood sidewalk sale.

I confess to having the garage sale gene. If it’s marked down, lovingly used or sitting on a table on some sidewalk, driveway or front lawn, it already has a leg up in appeal for me. Wandering past candles and coasters and assorted knick-knacks, I slowed when I came to ‘The Original Children’s Shop.’

Bright colored geegaws lay splayed across the table, pint-sized clothing, toys and sorts of goodies for kids. All on sale at fifty percent off! Before I knew what hit me, I had a good stash piled table-side.

I should mention that, until this point, I have not been one of the mothers-to-be who already furnished her child’s room, packed the closet with outfits and the shelves with toys. I read about these moms every day, in online chat groups with prospective adoptive parents nattering on about coordinating crib bumpers to match the color scheme of nursery walls, all before they’ve even completed their paperwork.

My hesitation isn’t due to lack of thought about my future kiddo. I think about him every day. I imagine holding him in my arms, quieting his cries and watching him learn about the world for the first time. And, I’m definitely not a procrastinator. I don’t want to be in a last minute retail feeding frenzy, racing around the city to locate all the items we need for our wee one’s homecoming.

Some of my slow-out-of-the-gait buying behavior is self-protective caution. We haven’t received our approval from the Armenian Prime Minister yet, much less a referral. I don’t know whether our kiddo will be ten months or fifteen months when we bring him home.

The Urban Cabin is very small. With space at a premium, I need to edit my desires for stuff. There is also a small part of my brain that worries I’ll “jinx” the outcome by prepping too soon. Or that I’ll find myself more despondent spending months staring at a fully-furnished nursery sans kiddo.

I’ve allowed myself a few indulgences, mostly in the form of children’s books, which I love and have loved even before I imagined myself as a mom. I had a pretty healthy collection going for years. Turning the pages of a children’s book gives me outright joy, from the colorful pictures to the simple messages, whimsical story lines and side-splitting humor.

So there I stood, chatting it up with the sweet and friendly staff at The Original Children’s Shop. I told them my story of adopting from Armenia, as a first-time mom, at fifty. I asked for advice about rattles, teethers and Onesies…at what age would my kid still like this thing or that.

I fell for a few of the obvious, velvety soft My Own Monster Penguino and orange Two-Dees cat. I rationalized a couple of practical purchases: a plastic bib with a cool train on it, a rockin’ red Baby Bjorn potty chair, and plate and spoon set.

Filling in the mix were an assortment of rattles and teethers from Sassy, a brand of products that promise to nurture and edify at the same time. I debated, the ‘Shake and Sprout’ plus the ‘Coolin’ Teether’ or the ‘Fascination Station’ and the ‘Smile Baby Camera.’ Then I saw it, the Sassy ‘Welcome Baby! Gift Set with nine toys.

All the while, the Children’s Shop staff patiently answered my questions, listened supportively and smiled enthusiastically. I gathered my loot and laid it on the counter. As one young gal started to ring it in, she turned to the woman on her left and said, “Which one mom?” “This one,” the mom replied, pointing at the Sassy Gift Set. Turns out the owners are a mother-daughter duo.

Then she looked up at me and said, “This is our gift to you.” “Congratulations on your upcoming adoption. We hope you’ll bring him in once you get him home.” Tears welled up in my eyes and I thanked her. I walked to my car clutching my purchases and my gift, my first baby gift from a mom with a generous heart to a mom-to-be with a hopeful heart.