THE GAME CHANGER

Four weeks into my Mommy-In-Training program, I was feeling great. I had figured out the balance of caring for a 6-month-old, completing personal errands or tasks, working out and maintaining sanity. I found solace in the weekends; Sundays were my days. The vibe was good, and then the little man decided to change the game.

Yesterday I turned on my computer, aghast to find the time to be 2:03 p.m. I lost out on yet another cup of warm coffee, the breakfast I was planning to prepare became my lunch and I cannot even tell you the last time I had had a moment to myself in the bathroom. I felt like it was 10 a.m., mostly because the little one had only been up for two hours, but I finally had a handle on the day.

It felt great to have a handle on the day – and to realize that my friend would be arriving home from work in just a few hours – but I also felt a bit like my day was ending before I was ready. The little man has apparently inherited, along with his father’s facial expressions, his non-traditional sleeping habits. A fan of sleeping for a few hours at night and then crying every hour thereafter, he was wide awake before I was (my alarm is set for 6:45).

This was the day that I thought the words, “I need more sleep before I can handle you. How about 30 minutes? Can I nap for 30 minutes and then we can try this again?” I actually tried negotiating with a 6-month-old. I thought to myself that if I was not responsible for a child, I could have gone back to sleep…unless I had another job that also required me to be awake early on a Monday. So I grabbed the little man and whisked him into my room.

Sitting on my bed with a giggling, raspberry-making 6-month-old before 7 a.m., I began to think of how life changes when children enter the scene – for good. Paul and I quite often say things like, “I’m tired. I am going to nap.” And then we joke about how we would not be able to nap if we had a kid in the picture. I now know that I can only sleep when the kids sleeps and if he’s awake, I am not sleeping no matter how tired I may be.

All the jokes relating to people without kids vs. people with kids began to fill my head as I thought about the simplicities we enjoy, like doing whatever we want to do whenever we want to do something. Michael McIntyre has a hilarious bit about leaving the house. “People without kids say, ‘Let’s leave the house’…and then they do!” It takes me three trips to get out of the house for a walk with a stroller and I am not chasing around a toddler who needs shoes and a coat that no one can actually zip.

My friend who birthed the little man said more than once, “You just do, because you have to.” I had told her that I don’t know how she does it and, Saturday, while noticing that it took two of us to leave the house with a baby, I couldn’t help but exclaim, “I have no idea how single parents do this!” Yes, I am the stupid, outspoken, annoying person without kids who says all those things that actual moms never, ever want to hear.

We had play time until 8 a.m., when he decided he was ready for a nap. He slept in his crib the majority of the morning but the last hour and a half or so he spent in my arms because I just wanted to hold him a little while longer. And, for the record, I never expected him to sleep as long as he actually slept. I tried waking him around 11:15; I tried again around 11:30 and 11:45 but he just wouldn’t open his eyes. I finally succeeded in witnessing the awakening at noon when I told him that he just had to get up.

This week I was feeling like I had it all figured out. I know my general routine, accepting that the schedule will never be the same. I know the difference between his hungry cry and his sleepy cry. I know when his grunts are just grunts and when his grunts mean he is doing something in his pants. I know how to play the binky/bottle game and win. I know how to make him stop crying. I know how to manage caring for him while taking care of business and accomplishing tasks like completing two – yes, two – loads of laundry and the dishes all within a couple hours. Yesterday I cared for a child and still had time to read a book (well, at least a few chapters) and enjoy an evening run. Minus a minor rolled ankle injury, I was successful. I realized that I can handle this.

Then the game changed.

Last week was the first week that the little man slept in his crib all evening. This week we are sleep training. There are new rules and new sleep schedules. Last week, the little guy would be up around 8, we’d eat, go for a walk at which time he would have a 30-minute nap, we would get back inside, eat some more, have some play time and then he would nap again, anywhere between an hour and three hours, depending on his state. More play time in the afternoon, another bottle and then mom would be home.

This week, he is awake before I am, two days running. He is ready for playtime by 7 and then he crashes before 8:30. He sleeps for three hours in the morning and then we start the day again. We are no longer using feedings as sleep enticers so the binky/bottle game is over. No more bottles in the crib. Game changer.

I thought I had my schedule down but now it seems my schedule needs adjusting. Tomorrow I will set my alarm for an earlier time. I will be ready for immediate play time and a bottle and then prepare to do a workout and eat breakfast before noon. Bring on tomorrow!

THE NANNY CHRONICLES

A week before I began my duties as a summer live-in nanny, I found myself in a small church I attended when I was younger. Small town churches have prayer time and, in the case of this church, a microphone was passed around the congregation of 100 or so people so that anyone who had a request worth mentioning would have the opportunity. After a few people had spoken, I raised my hand and took a turn at the mic.

“Next weekend I will begin a great opportunity to be a nanny for a dear friend of mine for the summer. Since I do not have any children of my own, I ask for wisdom…” I paused only because I was interrupted by laughter that filled the entire sanctuary. Why are you all laughing at me?! I wanted to shout. I had plenty of experience caring for children of all ages, including many who grew up in that church as I did. I was a nanny to a child of 7 and cared for infants from the time I was a teenager. I was trustworthy and confident and fun. Kids loved me. Why did they think I was about to endure a challenge unlike any I had ever known?

I went into my nanny gig with an open mind and a prayerful heart. I asked God for patience and the ability to do whatever my friends wanted for their child, whether or not I agreed with their tactics or reasoning. I can confidently tell you that I have learned more about life and little ones in 2.5 weeks than I have learned in any classroom or coffee shop chat.

I have learned that everyone’s parenting styles are vastly different but that each style has goals directed toward the betterment of the child. My friends and I have contrasting parenting philosophies, the greatest variance being that my friends actually have a child and my philosophies are all in my head. I may have childrearing experience, but only from a part-time perspective.

After three weeks, my mind still cannot comprehend being on call and responsible for every single aspect of a little person’s life every single day for the rest of my life. I know what I do each day: feed, educate, love on, play with, change, put to sleep. But when my friend comes home, I am more than willing to hand over the child, whether he is in a good mood or poor.

My first two weeks went like this:

Day 1: Realization – nothing I want to personally accomplish will get done. Ever.

Day 2: Praying to do what my friends say without questioning the methodology.

Day 3: I am caring for Mr. Crankypants today. I accept the fact that nothing I do will make him happy.

Day 4: Today I learned to feed myself with my left hand while feeding a sleepy baby a bottle with the right hand. OMG he fell asleep. Now, what can I do? I need to throw in a load of laundry, I want to clean the bathroom; it would be nice if I would sit and do the coursework I haven’t touched in more than two weeks, and I am really tired so, actually, I could use a nap. But naptime is inconsistent. It could be 30, 45 minutes…2 hours? How do I know how much time I have? What do I do?

Day 5: I will actually let a baby fall asleep in my arms if I know that is the only way to get him to fall asleep.

Day 6: Baby vomit looks exactly like dropping Mentos into Diet Coke. Also, slipcovers might actually be a good thing.

Day 7: I found my zen – a 6:45 a.m. run. Two 10-minute miles with only myself. No one else around. No crying baby. No time limit. Just the sidewalk and me and all of the morning commuters.

Day 8: Letting a baby cry for five minutes in order to teach him to try to sleep without being held is the longest five minutes I have experienced in a really long time, and this isn’t even my kid.

That was the day that I sent a text message to the baby’s mother. “Mom advice – he falls asleep everywhere except his crib…he drifts to sleep but fails to go all the way. If I pick him up, he zonks. Do you want him to sleep in the crib (which will require crying it out), or should I let him fall asleep in my arms?” By the time she texted back, “Let him sleep in your arms,” I had already grabbed him from his place of unrest.  

Nearing the end of week three, I have lost all self-worth. I have been peed on, vomited on, raspberried on, have picked nose boogies, have had my hands in poo and sat by and watched as pureed peas were spat upon half my body, including my slippers. I didn’t care much about my appearance after living in PNG but I now care even less. I shower at night because why would I put effort into making myself look and smell just a little bit decent when an entire day of mucus, slobber, bodily waste and general filth await?

And yet, something somewhere deep inside me still sees images of Paul and myself with a little somebody of our own someday.