The Delaney and Waylon Diaries

Exhale (for a minute)

This is probably not the longest break I've ever taken from writing on this blog but it's certainly the longest I've ever gone without reading or commenting on other blogs. I have no idea what's going on with anyone out there! How've ya'll been?

Life has had me by the hair and given me a good shake lately. "I'm busy!" is an understatement. We are living in the big house and it is fantastic but we're not exactly unpacked. The bare essentials are available to us indoors but lots of stuff remains in boxes in the garage. Makes me wonder if we need all that stuff (RIP George Carlin). I don't think we really miss most of it and it's possible I don't even know what's out there.

The old house is finally on the market as of a few days ago. While that lets Roger and me heave a sigh of relief, now we're just waiting, hoping, praying for an offer to come in, which isn't as physically stressful as getting the house ready but is kinda tough on the nerves. We've done all we can to freshen the place up and now what happens next is out of our hands. For a control freak like me, that's hard to take.

Work has been non-stop and while it (in addition to raising the kids) leaves almost no time for anything else, it's been so enjoyable. I'm lucky to get paid to do what I love. But it would be nice to take a break. Don't see that happening any time soon though.

Waylon got his Prevnar shot last week and, like all the other vacs he's received, what it really shot was his sleep pattern. He sleeps terrible for 4-5 nights after he receives them. And, because he's on the alternate vac schedule, that means we go through a crappy week at least once each month. Not fun, but I guess it's a small price to pay for the peace of mind I get from not giving him the shots all at once. He'll be six months old tomorrow and I haven't been able to fully process that, what with the move and everything else. It just can't be that six months have passed. They have truly been the most difficult six months of my life in terms of the stress and changes we've all been through but I wouldn't change a thing. He is big and broad and smiley and full of laughter and he never stops moving. I never knew that having a son would open my heart this way.

Delaney loves going to school three days a week (mom's kind of fond of it too). She had a few rough days transitioning from the old house to two weeks at nana & papa's house but once we moved into the big house she adapted wonderfully even though she caught a nasty cold. She loves her bedroom and her new playroom and outdoor playscape. She goes up and down the stairs with ease. And we no longer have a baby monitor in her room since we moved it to Waylon's room (this was a weird and big step for me because we've always had one in her room and not hearing my baby girl sigh in her sleep was unsettling for a night or two).

We are here, finally, in this house, making special new memories together. On our second night, after dinner, the four of us played in our new backyard. I sat with Waylon while Roger pushed Delaney on her swing. The heat of another south Texas summer day began to fade as a warm breeze blew around us, ushering in the beginnings of night. My heart flooded with a peacefulness and sense of complete satisfaction. This house, this kind of night, was why we'd worked so hard for so long, sacrificing weeks, really months, of family time. And it's only just the start of our wonderful, new life here together.

One of these things is not like the other

Delaney's dance recital last Saturday...I don't have any idea where she gets those exhibitionist, non-conformist tendencies from. Honest.

F*ck you, Chuck E. Cheese, you little rat bastard

We went there for the first time ever, two times last week (as incentive rewards for pooping in the potty, which doesn't happen often, and not hitting the baby, which also doesn't happen often). Or maybe I should say, "F*ck you, SpringFest!" that we attended at Delaney's school, along with about 200 other kids and their parents. Or, perhaps it should be, "F*ck you, three playdates!" that we had last week. Or even, "F*ck you, preschool!" Because somehow, somewhere, no matter how much Purell I used or how many times I scrubbed her little hands, Delaney caught strep throat.

I was really trying to stifle my germaphobic tendencies by letting Delaney loose at Chuck E. Cheese even though I was dreading it, even though I was pretty sure she'd get sick. And she did. But you know what? The world didn't end. She's on antibiotics and will feel better tomorrow. I guess that's what I have to remind myself of. Kids get sick no matter what you do or how you try to protect them. They may as well have fun doing it.

And the plus side to this whole thing? She is NAPPING now, something she's practically given up. So, this kid-getting-sick thing? Not so terribly bad after all.

Dreams no one cares to hear about except your mother

Delaney called out in the middle of the night, frightened by a nightmare. All she'd say in her sleepy state was that there was a dinosaur. I soothed her back to sleep but half an hour later she called out again. This time Roger answered her and eventually got her back to sleep. This was our conversation in the car this morning:

Me: So, what were you dreaming about last night?

Delaney: I had some dreams. There was a long tiger (???), a dinosaur and some bugs.

Me: Wow. What's a long tiger?

Delaney: He's body was just real long. He was trying to eat us.

Me: Oh! That must have been scary.

Delaney: Well, you grabbed the pieces and then we ran.

Me: The pieces? What pieces?

Delaney: The pieces of me that the long tiger bit off. You put them in your bag and we ran.

Me: Oh. Hmmm. I guess he didn't bite off your legs if you were able to run!

Delaney: Yeah, guess so.

Me: What was the dinosaur doing?

Delaney: He was (laughs) mixing a...cake!

Me: Hmmm. And the bugs?

Delaney: They were trying to tickle me!

I, too, have vivid dreams and I love recounting them to Roger who always tells me the same thing when I do:

Dreams are movies that play only in your head for a reason: no one else cares!

But in this case, mommy cares. I mean, long tiger? Really? That's creative and fascinating. At least to me.

Super Chardonnay-istic Saturday (the antidote to Brutally Honest Monday)

This week:

- I complained about being a mother (oooh, poor me!).

- Delaney may have bid farewell to The Nap (although she's cried no nap before so, God help me, I hope I'm wrong.).

- Waylon started giggling when I change his diaper. They do start that penis love early, don't they?

- A sweet bloggy friend sent me some cheer-you-up Sbux cash (Thank you, Karen, for knowing just what I need--caffeine and cranberry orange scones--even though you told me not to thank you and yes, you are crazy for suggesting I take both kids to Sbux but that's OK because I only target Sbux drive-thrus these days, thankyouverymuch, so your cool gift will still come in very handy.).

- I won a prize from the awesomest poly sci moms on the planet (Momocrats. What? You're not reading them? During the hottest political season ever? You SO should be. Check 'em out.).

- We attended three playdates in two days and no one got hurt.

- And...Delaney finally started to chill the F out. Sure, it could be a fluke. Sure, I'm probably jinxing it by even mentioning it. Sure, I might go back to bitching about motherhood tomorrow. But since my rant on Monday she's really turned things around (even without naps!) and been a pleasant daughter, sister and playmate. I'm so proud of her. I'm not sure what to attribute the change to but kudos to the powers that be. Keep up the good work (I'll burn incense and squirrel fur later tonight for an offering).

Now, both kids are in bed. I just enjoyed a takeout sushi dinner with my husband while forcing him to watch enjoying his company during game 1 of the Spurs/Hornets series and I'm drinking a dry, oak-y chardonnay. Not a bad way to kick off Super Chardonnay-istic Saturdays. Cheers! (and Go, Spurs, Go!)

Spit gets in your eyes

Waylon blew his first raspberries today!

In other news, Delaney's learned that she can get out of bed by herself--a revelation that now drags bedtime out to a darling, three-hour process as she invents every imaginable excuse to come into the living room to see us. Good times.

When you're up you're up, but when you're down you're DOWN

I was all set to write about my rockstar mama day today but then I got my comeuppance. Why is that always the case?

I started out the day after having received a lovely gift: Waylon slept for seven hours straight last night, nursed for 45 minutes, and then went back to sleep for two and a half hours!!! Nicole said I shouldn't blog about it for fear of jinxing it but I wanted to write about it so when I'm old and bored I can read these blog entries and know how far we came in only a matter of weeks--it was only 2 1/2 weeks ago when things looked so bleak and now things improve every day. Anyway, the day got better: Roger took Delaney to preschool and Waylon and I had breakfast with a friend. Blueberry and walnut pancakes. Does it get any better?

Next, we headed to Target. I'd fed Way right before we left (I've been proud of my ability this go 'round to nurse in public. I rarely did that with Delaney, mostly because I was unsure of myself. This time I'm a pro, having nursed in at least 6-7 restaurants and public locations in the past few weeks. Go, me!). He should have been sated for a while. But, if I'd been paying attention to the way he's been cluster feeding the last few days (nursing every hour to hour and a half) I would have realized that Target was a little ambitious for today. When he started screaming from his carseat, atop the cart, I knew we were in trouble. I pulled out my sling and popped him into it, hoping he'd go to sleep. No such luck. He was in close proximity to the boob and he knew it. He only screamed more. I'd never nursed him in the sling--the logistics hadn't made sense to me so I hadn't tried it. But, I did what any self-respecting rockstar mama would do. I pulled out my breast, stuck it in his mouth and continued to shop. It's deceptively easy to nurse in a sling while pushing a cart through Target. I doubt anyone even noticed. If they did, I certainly didn't care. Mama had stuff to buy, places to go and the baby was happy.

We followed that errand with a trip to the grocery store to get fixings for dinner. Then we came home, had a quick lunch, ran our paperwork to our tax man and headed off to pick up Delaney from school. I was beaming at all I'd accomplished today. Look at me! I'm a mother of two and yet I can get things done. I rock!

But just as I was patting myself on the back, things got dicey and I was reminded that you can be a rockstar mama one moment and the world's worst mother the next.

Delaney has a habit of running into the street or a parking lot and ignoring our pleas for her to stop and return to us. It's dangerous. It's potentially disastrous. It's not something she does all the time but she's done it enough to take several years off my life for sure. No matter what we say to her, how we punish her, she continues to do it. And she did it again today when I picked her up from school.

My hands were full carrying her brother, her lunch box and the ridiculous amount of papers her two-day-a-week preschool sends home. With full hands I had to unlock, open, relock and close a gate for us to get to the parking lot, leaving me with no free hand to hold Delaney. On most days handling all of this is an inconvenient hassle. But today that hassle could have turned deadly. As soon as I unlocked the gate, Delaney pushed past me and started running. The gate to the lot is located right near a corner where parents drive around to park and get their kids. Some parents drive a little too fast. Some don't look carefully to make sure kids aren't in the street. And some parents are careful and considerate safe drivers. But I honestly believe that even the safest driver, had they come around the corner when Delaney was running, wouldn't have been able to avoid hitting her. Our only saving grace is that there was no car coming around the corner today when Delaney ran out.

My rockstar mama status was quickly cancelled out by the fact that I am unable to control my child to keep her safe. I am at my wits end. I don't know how to get through to her about how dangerous her behavior is. I've punished her. I've talked to her. I've yelled at her. I've pleaded with her. Nothing works. If only there was a rockstar mama school where they could teach me this parenting sh*t. Because, although I have moments of clarity, I really have no idea what I'm doing.

I should keep my mouth shut

Because I keep saying, to anyone who will listen, "Well, at least things can't get worse!" Um, yes. Yes they can. OK. The world is not ending but still, things are pretty crappy right now. Delaney suddenly got even sicker instead of better. Yesterday, out of the blue, she got a terrible cough that prevented her from napping at all (and missed naps, all by themselves, tend to make mommy very cranky). Then she coughed ALL NIGHT LONG. Roger stayed with her in her room and I stayed with Waylon on the couch and none of us got any sleep. Poor Delaney was so miserable and sick at daybreak that I took her to the pediatrician this morning (luckily they have a Saturday morning clinic). She was diagnosed with an ear infection (her first ever which the doctor thought was unbelieveable) and bronchiolitis. The doctor also said that bronchiolitis is very contagious and that we need to keep Delaney far, far away from Waylon because if he got it, it could be very bad for him. Again, we live in a SHOEBOX. You try keeping a two-year-old away from the object of her affection in 1,000 square feet. It's a bit of a challenge and a nightmare and one that I've been living (unsuccessfully--he caught her cold, remember?) for a week. And people wonder why I'm a germaphobe. If you've lived with us for the last week and witnessed firsthand the ill-effects of this virus on our family you'd start obsessively carrying around antibacterial gel too.

At least the weather was warm and the sun came out today. I sat on the front porch with Way for about 30 minutes this afternoon and that definitely improved my mood. A kind commenter (Hi, Kristine!) wondered after my last post whether or not I'm suffering from PPD. I don't think I am but then again, would I really know if I was? I tend to think that my depression lately has been situational. I do smile, at least a little, each day. When the kids are feeling better, when the weather is nice and the sun is out, when Delaney's at preschool and I can get things done around the house, I really do feel better. I admit that I probably do have a touch of the "baby blues" and I don't think I'd be afraid to seek help if I thought I had PPD but I'm just not sure that's what this is.

Happy birthday to me (not)

I don't mean to sound ungrateful because I have just about everything in my life I've ever wanted. But I will always remember this as the toughest and certainly one of the most depressing times of my life (luckily for me I have very few of those). Just when I think we're about to catch a break (Waylon's weight is finally starting to rise; he is sleeping a bit better; Delaney has stopped attacking her brother; I was able to take a shower) some crappy thing happens (Delaney catches a nasty cold; her tiny brother catches it too and is completely miserable and can't sleep unless I hold him upright all day and night; I'm back to getting only 2-3 hours of sleep a night; Delaney throws sibling-angst-induced tantrums; Delaney wakes up with what appears to be pink eye). Add to those unfortunate circumstances the bleak, dark, cold January weather and you've got a recipe for "Woe is Me" pie (best served with hot coffee containing a shot--or eight--of Jack Daniels). Yes it's safe to say that on this, my 37th birthday, I'm wallowing in self pity.

My best friend (who just had her first baby in July) totally understands what I'm going through. Her daughter had colic and reflux. And, while I'm not dealing with those exact problems, I obviously have my own set of challenges. Her daughter is now six months old and so she keeps reminding me that it does get better. It gets easier. I remember that it did get better with Delaney but it was never this hard to begin with. Having two kids is HARD. Although everyone told me how hard it would be I had to experience it for myself to understand that. And it's to tough accepting how our lives have changed. Even though I know things will get better, easier (?) and more manageable, things feel pretty bleak right now. I feel trapped in this tiny house with two small beings who constantly need, need, need and who try my patience and push my buttons and some days all I want to do it make a break for it and drive south, alone, until I hit the beach.

Lot of friends also told me that three years old (or nearly so as Delaney is) is a great age for a child to have a sibling. But this is one of the toughest parts for me...dealing with Delaney and her feelings regarding her brother and this new situation. She acts out so much that we're constantly correcting her. This leads her to act out even more (because, as they say, it doesn't matter to the kid if the attention is bad or good as long they're getting some kind of attention) and we correct her again which leads to a vicious circle of more bad behavior. We're flying blind on how to help her through this and most days it feels like we're not doing that great of a job. I feel guilty that I can't spend as much time with her as I used to. I feel like I'm failing her daily as her mother. No wonder she acts out. She realizes that her formerly fun mom isn't fun any more and has been replaced instead by a tired old hag who can't seem to spend enough time with her and who only complains about what she's doing wrong. If I were her I'd act out too.

Still, ever the optimist (And why? I need to give that angle up. It's definitely not working for me lately.) who tries to focus on the bright side of life, I must mention that yesterday Waylon smiled at me. And not once, but twice and two more times today! So, there is that. He's developing his little personality and making me realize that although we seem to be mired in a dark hell right now, things are changing ever so slightly for the better. I suppose I need to turn my attention to the little things that count most to get me through these days. Because this is definitely the life I want, the life that's filled with my fantastic husband, my two kids, my family and friends, my job. And I am lucky. Very lucky. At least, on some level, I still know that.

When siblings attack

I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later but I wasn't prepared for it to happen today. Delaney attacked Waylon when I wasn't in the room. He was sleeping so I'd put him down in his crib in the bedroom that they share. Delaney was in the same room, looking out the window, watching Roger do yard work. I left the room for less than a minute and before I could return I heard a shriek from Waylon unlike anything I'd heard from him up until that point. I ran into the room and Delaney was looking at me and yelling, "I scratched him! I scratched him!" Poor Way was frantically screaming and on his little face appeared angry red lines from his forehead to diagonally down across his cheek. I scooped him up and tried to keep my composure as I talked to Delaney but the tears began streaming down my sleep-deprived face and I knew I was in no condition to handle her outburst so I ran outside and got Roger. He talked to her about her behavior and took away two of her favorite toys and gave her a time out as punishment. When she came out she apologized to me and Way but she didn't seem that bothered by what she'd done.

This attack must have been building in her for a while. Roger and I have been blown away at how well she's handled Waylon's addition to our family since his birth. Although she's started having some discipline issues with us that have escalated over the last week, until today she'd been nothing other than sweet and loving to her little brother. Minutes before the incident she and I were cuddling after I'd put him in the crib and things seemed great. But, yesterday she did have a pretty big meltdown after her nap--I'd even call it a tantrum which is something she's never had before--and that probably should have been my cue to pay even more attention to her. As Roger reminded me, this has been a stressful week for all of us, especially her and she's handled things incredibly well.

Still, I had no idea that I could feel such fury at my firstborn when she attacked her little brother. I was worried for him and angry at her. Yet, at the same time my heart broke for her because I knew that for her to act that way, she's feeling quite a bit of pain and she's not sure how to deal with it. Am I doing a good enough job helping her understand this big change in her life? I thought I was. I thought we were. Now, I'm not so sure. I'm not necessarily blaming myself because I know that lots of kids go through this when they get a sibling. But I thought she was doing really well. I'm not sure how I could have been so wrong. And now I'm afraid to leave her alone, even for a second, with the little boy she calls, "My precious baby."