Not sleeping

I know, I know. I haven't posted in more than a month. But I have a really good excuse: The Wunder household is officially NOT SLEEPING

When Maya was about six weeks old, she suddenly starting sleeping through the night. And not just for five or six hours. No, no. This angel slept for 11 hours straight. Every night. It was pure bliss. Having done very little to prompt this — no sleep training or meticulously scheduled bedtime routine — I knew I was damn lucky.

Then, when she was about 4 1/2 months old, she got her first cold. (Not coincidentally, this was also a few weeks after starting daycare). So, with all the sneezing and congestion, she had some trouble sleeping. But it wasn't too bad. We'd get up with her, use the bulb syringe (or as we call, the brain sucker) to clear her nose a bit, then help her fall back to sleep. Sometimes, I'd nurse her if she were really having trouble sleeping. But all in all, this only happened once or twice a night, and only lasted for 15 minutes to an hour. No big deal, especially because one week of getting up at night while baby gets over a cold isn't that bad.

Except, after that cold, she got another one. And then another. And another. In fact, for the past two months, she has been just getting a cold or just getting over one almost every day. And her nighttime wakings have been getting worse and worse. Currently, she has a nasty chest cold that has her stuffed up and makes her cough a ton. We have a cool-mist humidifier running, but it doesn't seem to help. For a while, we had her sleeping in her bouncy chair because it kept her a little more upright, and that helped for about a week. But it's not working anymore.

The past week has been absolute hell. She will only sleep when face down on either my or Chris' chest — preferably his as it's wider and far less bumpy than mine. Unfortunately, though, neither Chris nor I can sleep like this. So we take turns not sleeping. (To be fair, Chris takes the not-sleeping duty way more than me.)

Some nights, like last night, she just won't sleep. I tried all the go-to moves: face down on chest, upright in bouncy chair, rocking, nursing, brain sucking, rhythmic butt patting. Nothing worked. She just cried, rubbed her eyes, coughed, sneezed, and cried some more. It's so frustrating. And she seems to sense this because most nights, when I feel like I've reached my limit, she'll suddenly stop crying, look up at me, take my face in both of her hands, and give me the biggest, sweetest, toothless smile. Like, "Hey Mom, I know this sucks, but thanks for sticking around. Love ya!"

At least, that's what I'd like to believe. Chances are, it's more like "So, who's holding me anyway? Oh it's you. I know you!"

Oy.

I've read up on all the sleep methods, sleep training, etc. Problem is, these all say you need to try when baby's healthy. So, maybe when cold and flu season officially ends in late-April/early-May, we'll start sleeping again.

Which should be right in time for teething.

Curling, pillows and smelly cat

I must admit that I've really gotten into Olympic curling. I don't totally understand it, but it's fun to watch anyway.

Last night, Chris and I came home from a wake (sadly, this was the second wake Maya's attended in her 5 months of life), opened a beer, and promptly fell asleep on the couch watching women's curling. When I awoke and tried to get Chris to come up to bed later, we had this exchange:

Chris: Did you remember the stuff?
Me: What stuff?
Chris: The baby's hair stuff.
Me: Huh?
Chris: The stuff she sits on.
Me: What?
Chris: The Olympic stuff.
Me: What stuff?
Chris: The curling stuff.
Me: What are you talking about?
Chris: Nevermind. 

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but Chris talks in his sleep. Not often enough or with enough hilarity to start a blog like this one, but it's nonetheless entertaining — like the time a few years ago when he woke me up and asked me if I remembered to get the dog's uniform. 

Although sometimes it's a little scary. For example, a few weeks ago he got up in the middle of the night and started patting down his pillow. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he wanted to see if the baby was in there. I of course freaked out and started asking him why the baby would be in his pillow case. He got confused and went back to sleep. I ran to the crib, where the baby was sleeping soundly.

There have been many other times he's woken me up to ask me random questions. Unfortunately, I usually fall asleep again and can't remember what was exchanged. I should start keeping my cell phone nearby so I can tweet what he says.

In totally unrelated news, I've been reading this blog lately called This Old Smelly House. It's about a couple who bought a house from a crazy cat lady. Some of the stuff they've uncovered is eerily similar to things we've found. It makes me wish I had done a better job of documenting every crazy discovery we made after moving in because — surprisingly, and somewhat sadly — the walls covered in bird poop and pee-soaked carpeting were just the tip of the iceberg.

Sweet free

If you watch way too much TV like I do, you might have noticed that the fast food restaurants are starting to roll out their fish-themed advertising. (McDonald's "Give me back that filet-of-fish" is easily my fave, though I haven't seen it yet this year). This influx of meat-free ads means one thing: it's Lent. Well, almost. It starts tomorrow.

After sort of giving up alcohol last year (I gave it up, but really just used Lent as an excuse for not drinking because I hadn't revealed my pregnancy yet), and giving up meat in 2008, I thought I'd try on a new vice to banish. So as of tomorrow, I'm giving up sweets. No cakes, cookies, candies or confections.

Appropriately, I've so far spent my Fat Tuesday eating Oreos and chocolate-covered pretzels.

This is a strange restriction for me. During my college years, I totally lost my sweet tooth. I'm not sure why. I remember going months without eating sweets for no reason other than having absolutely no taste for them. Then, I graduated and started working in an office. And that's when the 3 p.m. sweet tooth set in.

Now, when late-afternoon rolls around and my morning coffee has long worn off, I start scavenging for sweets. Mostly, this scavenging takes places in my cube mate's desk drawer. When the drawer's offerings aren't up to my standards, I try the kitchen on the off-chance that there are leftover cookies from a client meeting, or one of our many fabulous home bakers brought in some goodies. When all those options bear no fruit, I usually give up. Although on occasion, I hit up the vending machines or convenience store for my fix (typically, peanut M&Ms).

I still haven't worked out the exact restrictions. Can I have a fruity cocktail? O how about pancakes if I don't use syrup? And what about jelly? I don't know. Guess I'll figure it out along the way (i.e. justify that something isn't technically a "sweet," eat it, and then feel guilty....have I mentioned that I'm not Catholic?)

Christmas Cards

Back in December, I sent out a round of Christmas cards, mostly to people who live out of town, knowing that those cards would take the longest to arrive. Then, in mid-January, I sent out another set. This time to family in and around Chicago. I saved many of my friends for the last stack, knowing they'd be most forgiving about receiving a Christmas card in late-January.

But now it's February, and that stack of about 20 cards still sits on my desk at work. Cards I stuffed into envelopes, addressed and return addressed, and then never sent. I have excuses: Every time I went to CVS to get stamps, they were out. Then I went back to work full time, then we went out of town, then... it just never happened.

So I've decided that as penance for my extreme tardiness, I need to hand deliver the rest of my Christmas cards. Because really, I'd rather visit and socialize with my friends than send them some meaningless card. That's the whole Christmas spirit, right? Taking the time to keep in touch with old friends?

At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Merry Christmas everybody!

Combo-Combo

When you have a birthday near Christmas like I do (my 30th was on New Year's Day), you get used to getting the combo present. As in, this present is both your Christmas present AND your birthday present.

When you marry someone who also has a Christmas-time birthday (Chris' 31st was Dec. 27), you get the combo-combo. As in, this present is for both of you, covering both of your Christmas presents AND both of your birthday presents.

When I was 12, I hated the combo present. Now that I'm older, wiser and own a home that's quickly filling up with baby toys, clothes, jungle gyms and other assorted baby gear, I'm beginning to appreciate the whole "quality over quantity" idea.

For example, last year, Chris' parents got us furniture for our combo-combo. And this year, they got us a Wii and the Wii Fit Plus, which we are loving. Chris has perfected playing tennis while holding Maya. It's like a combo-combo workout.

My parents and sister also got us tons of home repair gifts — a circular saw, sander, workbench, massive pliers, etc. So, we're finally going to tackle a handful of home projects when we have time. Although somehow, many of our weekends between now and August are already starting to fill up. I have no idea how. I swear we're not that popular. But we have a ton of little trips and events planned for the next few months. (In fact, we just got back from Florida last night. I'll post pics and tales from taking a 3-month-old on a flight soon.)

On the weekends we're not traveling, I'm hoping to do some races. Without officially making a New Year's resolution, I'd like to say that I plan on doing a triathlon this year. And I really, really want to do the Soldier Field 10 Miler in May. But we'll see. Can one of you out there hold me accountable please? Maybe give my butt a little kick? Thanks. 

Me and Bret Michaels

When I was pregnant, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes, and part of that diagnosis meant that I had to get tested again after having the baby to determine if I'm actually diabetic. So a few weeks ago, I took a follow-up glucose test, and my numbers came back high. So, I made an appointment with my doctor, and in the days between receiving my results and my doctor's appointment, I freaked out a bit. But eventually, I came around to the idea that although I was diabetic, it was something I could control and live with. I even decided that whenever I would blog about diabetes, I'd use the label "Me and Bret Michaels" because on Rock of Love, Bret Michaels often mentions that he has diabetes and he pronounces it weird ("dia-bettis").

So I went to my doctor's appointment last week fully expecting to get educated about my condition, get prescriptions for more lancets and testing strips, and be on my merry, little low-carb way. Instead, the doctor gave me a quick A1C test, took a look at my results, and determined that there was no way I'm diabetic.

Although I'm very relieved that I'm not diabetic, the news was a bit jarring. Since July, I've been counting my carbs and trying to eat a healthy, balanced diet. And now I don't have to anymore. Which, believe me, is welcome news. But at the same time, I sort of enjoyed having to follow a diet. So despite this diagnosis, I'm going to try to continue eating the same way. (Although if my eating habits of the past four days are any indication, this will be short-lived.) Having gestational diabetes means I'll always be at an increased risk of forming diabetes later in life, so hopefully, I can always keep that "later" part 20 years away.

Live-Action Christmas Card

We wanted to get a picture of Rosie and Maya together for our Christmas card this year, but figured that the chance of getting the two of them to hold still long enough to get a good shot were pretty much nil. So instead, we shot them together on our Flip cam, which allows you to turn video into stills.

Here's the video...


Live-Action Christmas Card from Sarah Wunder on Vimeo.


...and the resulting pic.

Although Chris really, really wanted to send this one out instead.

Happy holidays everyone!

On leave

First of all, here are the results to the "3 Reasons" post:

1. To hear how Maya vocalizes her love for left thumb.
2. As Highnumber correctly guessed, to hear Chris get very impressed with a midget's weight.
3. To hear the thumb-sucking stop long enough to let out a nice fart.

You missed that last one, didn't you? I think you should go back and watch it again.

Second, I've returned to the working world, and honestly? I couldn't be happier. I struggled with, and am continuing to struggle with, the fact that I did not enjoy maternity leave. It was hard. Really hard. Harder than my job by a long shot.

In the first few weeks, I was physically limited. I couldn't sit for very long, or stand for very long, or walk for very long. I wasn't sleeping and barely had time to eat or go to the bathroom.

As my strength returned, Maya also starting sleeping at night (or perhaps my strength returned because she started sleeping at night), which made things a bit easier. But sleeping at night meant she was awake most of the day. And most days, she spent a good deal of her awake hours crying. If she'd been changed, fed and burped and still cried, pretty much the only thing that made her stop was being carried around while I paced the halls for hours. We'd walk from the living room to the kitchen and back. Over and over again. Then up and down the stairs. Again and again.

Sometimes we'd go for a walk outside, but this was more difficult than it sounds. Going outside meant I'd have to change out of my pajamas and into real clothes and shoes. And that process was not fun because it was usually accompanied by a screaming baby. Once I'd put her in her crib to go change, she'd start screaming. The kind of screams where her whole head turns red and no sound comes out and tears roll down her cheeks, and I'd feel so terrible that most days, I'd choose to pace the house for hours rather than put her through 5 minutes of this type of screaming.

There were a lot of days that I wanted nothing more than an hour to do the dishes and tidy up. The house got so unorganized. We had tons of gift boxes and bags from friends and family on the coffee table, in her room and on the floor. Newspapers piled up on the front porch. Dishes overflowed the sink. Dog hair covered everything. We went weeks without changing the sheets. In my old age, I've become more and more obsessive about a clean house. When the house is full of clutter, I get stressed out. And many days during leave, I'd sit in the rocking chair nursing Maya, staring at all that clutter, about to have a nervous breakdown.

And some days, I did break down. She'd cry all day, and so would I. It wasn't until she was about 8 weeks old that her crying slowed down. She's take regular naps and I've have a chance to eat, clean and relax. And when she was awake, she was in a good mood and we'd play. That's when maternity leave started to get fun. But it's also when I went back to work.

Currently, I'm working from home a few days a week and going into the office on the other days. Chris is doing the same, and my parents babysit once a week. Next month, Maya starts daycare. And although I'm a little sad about her spending the majority of her waking hours with non-family members, I know that it has to be this way. I like going to work everyday. I enjoy eating lunch at a leisurely pace without the fear that the baby will begin crying any minute. I like have the option of going to the bathroom when nature calls rather than getting trapped on the rocking chair holding a nursing or sleeping baby. I enjoy working with people, helping clients, solving problems, and most of all, not watching TV all day.

And I like missing Maya. It sounds terrible, but it's true. I'm so happy to see her when I get home from work everyday. But when I was on leave, I can't say I was always happy to see her. When Maya was about 5 or 6 weeks old, I went to the grocery store by myself, and Chris stayed home with her. It was the first time in her life that we were apart for more than a few minutes. I was only gone for about an hour, but honestly, I wanted to stay at the grocery store all day.

Part of me feels terrible for feeling this way. As a mom, I'm supposed to cherish every moment I spend with my daughter. I'm supposed to wish I could stay home with her. I'm supposed be the only person who knows how to make her happy or stop her crying. But I'm not that mom. I'm the mom who loves her daughter, but also loves her job. And I'm the mom who sometimes — a lot of times — has no clue how to make her daughter happy.

I'd like to conclude right now with something like "but I'm OK with that." But I'm not yet. On one hand, I'm glad that I value both my career and my family, and that I can admit that I don't have all the answers when it comes to being a successful mom. But on the other hand, I can't help but beat myself up over the fact that perhaps I wasn't born with that mom instinct.

So instead, I'll conclude this way. I still don't know how to feel about any of this, but I think it's important to be honest about it in a public way. There were many days that I'd think about and reread this post from my bloggy-friend Melinda, and this post from my co-worker Michelle to remind myself that yes, I'm miserable, and yes, that's OK.

My little turkey

For Thanksgiving this year, Chris, Maya and I went to Pennsylvania, which is where most of Chris' relatives live. His parents and sister also came up from North Carolina. Chris' dad is a professional photographer, which means that with little more than Grandma's couch, a camera, a fancy light, and a blue Snuggie as a backdrop, we got some awesome pics that look like they were shot in a studio. Jealous? You should be.

There are 3 reasons you need the sound on for this video.

Can you name them all?

Maya's Thumb from Sarah Wunder on Vimeo.