Woo-hoo Maxie-poo!!!

Night #3 had five minutes of crying at 10 pm, but otherwise solid sleep from 7 pm to 7:30 am.

Night #4 had five minutes of crying at 10 pm, otherwise solid sleep from 7 pm to 8 am, with a nursing at 5:30 am.

But what about me? (That's a question that's been on my mind since the twins were born...) I'm awake at least four times a night because I hear Max crying for me, but then I realize that he isn't crying. I lay awake listening to the crying...do I hear it with my ears, or am I imagining it? I really do hear it with my ears, but its origin is my imagination, not the baby. Ever since the twins were born, I hear crying where there is none.

The night weaning is difficult because I miss Max. Ten hours is a long separation when you've been in close physical contact with someone every few hours since they were conceived. But on the other hand, my own drive to get enough sleep is powerful, too. Fortunately his bed is next to the guest bed in the basement, so when he cries at 5 am (and by 'he' I mean the baby, not the voices in my head) I leave James, Oliver, and Wesley sound asleep upstairs, descend two flights into the basement, and take Max into the guest bed with me for the final few hours of the early morning.

Thanks, friends, for showing love and interest in me and my wee one. He's one baby out of millions of babies in the world, just growing up in his ordinary way. May each of those millions of babies have a precious few loving adults who wish sweet dreams upon them.

baby boot camp, night 1

Max went to bed at 7 pm, was awake at 10:30 crying to nurse. I refused...he cried for an hour and fifteen minutes. During that time I held him, calmed him down, he dozed on and off...and eventually fell back asleep. Awake at 3:30 for nursing, which I gave him. Then he slept until 7:30 am! That's a great night.

It's 8:15 pm now (night #2), and he's been down since 7 pm. I'm going to bed now, and James will handle the 10 pm refusal, if it happens.

The Human Pacifier

I'm making my New Year's Resolution now, on January 22. I resolve to make Max sleep through the night. There, I said it.

It's a 'give an inch, take a mile' situation. Max has realized that he gets faster service now that he sleeps in a room with Oliver, so he screams 'to shake the timbers', in his father's words, the instant he wakes from sleep. I run to get him because Oliver gets upset when he is waken by Max. Don't even get me started on why Oliver and Wesley can't sleep in a room together - just believe me, it has to be this way. One nursing each night turned to two, two turned to three, and then last night it was bed at 7, nurse at 8:30, 12:30, 3:30, and 6. I get mad, get up and get him, and then it just feels so good to be with Max that I whisper promises to nurse him any time he ever wants, and never ever let him cry.

My plan for sleep-training him is to go in when he cries, give him a nuk, hold him, and as soon as he stops crying, set him down again. He'll cry. Let 5 minutes pass, repeat. I think we could repeat this for about an hour, once or twice a night, for two or three nights, and then he would be fine.

But here's the thing: I can't handle it when Max cries. I cry. Here's the other thing: I never nursed Oliver and Wesley on demand, never rocked them to sleep, and never slept with them in my bed. Never even once. They were trained to sleep on their own and eat on schedule the very day they were born, and we had to stick to a very strict schedule for their health and for manageability of the whole situation. But Max...there's only one of him, so he can stay in my arms longer, and it is possible to give him whatever he wants almost all the time. And believe me, his skin, his breath, his warmth, and his cooing is all worth losing sleep to be near.

But as of this writing I have a pounding headache, blurred vision during intense daytime headaches, and Max and I are just sitting here in the living room for at least an hour and a half waiting for everyone else to wake up. And I realize it's not good for him to have such frequently disturbed sleep. And, if I'm really honest, there's a kind of nursing that just makes me feel used...I've become the human pacifier.

Tonight I need to take Max to the basement, put him in the pack-and-play, and I'll sleep in the guest bed. The boys and James can stay in their bedrooms upstairs. Max and I will cry it out together, and we'll both try to grow up a little bit.

We Made Elves Of Ourselves

Click here for Parises being dancing elves. We keep watching it over and over... even Max likes it!

Home is where the gross is

This post is for Wesley's eyes only. No one else should read it.

Oliver was diapered, Max was diapered, but Wesley remained undiapered. Need I say more?

The master bedroom closet has an organizer insert that has a center tower of five shelves, and a top wire rack that runs the length of the closet - it's an open rack, not a solid shelf. Wesley climbed up the tower and laid on one of the tower shelves, pretending to go to sleep. Cute! He climbed up to another shelf and did it again. Cute! He climbed up to the top shelf, about five feet off the ground, and threw all my sweaters to the ground. Still cute! I was standing there spotting him, talking to my dad on the phone. I was watching every second, and was less than 18 inches away from him, but still couldn't intervene to stop the inevitable. He squatted, made the tell-tale facial expression, and suddenly poop rained down on my clothes. Well, to be specific, it rained on the closet rack, hangers, my skirt, two sweaters, bathrobe, back of the closet wall, and carpet. Not cute! The skirt went straight to the trash, and everything else (including Wesley) got a scrubbing.

Isn't this going to be a great story to tell Wesley in about 12 years? I told you not to read it.

Let Us Go To The House of the Lord

We live in a very exciting place; within one mile of home, Oliver and Wesley can (and do) identify the following: creek, water, train, truck, bus, car, airplane, sky, bird, Thomas, and church.

Yesterday was a cold, rainy day so we laid on the couch watching Thomas the Tank Engine. Then we went over to campus for a cold, rainy walk, during which we saw a real train. I agreed that it was Thomas, even though I knew it really wasn't (Thomas has a face, and our train didn't). I should have said, "No, this isn't Thomas, but it's his friend." More truth next time.

We drove home past our church, which, along with the railroad tracks, is also on campus. Oliver started crying hysterically, and I thought he had pinched his fingers in his carseat. Several seconds later he managed to lament, "Chuuuuurch! Chuuuuuurch!" The boy wanted to go to church! It gave me one of those rare moments in which I think we might be doing something right.

Grandpa and boys fixing toy

Grandma and Grandpa came to visit a few weeks ago and everyone had a great time.

Grandpa with boys and toys

Wesley's $100 haircut

Today's bribe involved getting to hold grown-up scissors in exchange for sitting still for a haircut. I was so focused on the haircut that I didn't notice Wesley scratching the kitchen table as deeply as possible with the scissors. We paid $100 for the table, so does that mean Wesley has a $100 haircut?