The other day while Ryan was giving Hayden his bath, I walked in the bathroom. I looked down at my baby—and saw a little boy.
It was something about how his legs were so long. I realize they’re not that long, but baby legs are chubby, stubby little things. Haydie has little boy legs now.
Sigh. I’m not going to cry (this time).
My dad sent me a somewhat sad study today: College Students More Narcissistic.
I won’t debate the findings, but one of the researchers offers this depressing solution:
“We need to stop endlessly repeating ‘You’re special’ and having children repeat that back,” said the study’s lead author, Professor Jean Twenge of San Diego State University. “Kids are self-centered enough already.”
What should I do instead? Scream “HAYDEN! YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*“? Yeah, that’s better. Now he hates himself and me. That’ll fix it.
Do you have kids, lady?
*I don’t mean it , Haydie. You’re the best boy in the whole wide world, and my (current) favorite.
This morning after we got back from the gym, I fixed Hayden’s breakfast: applesauce. I thought he might like something a little “fancier” (and a little more substantial) so I added a little bit of baby oatmeal. I went to add a little cinnamon, too. But we have this giant honking bottle of cinnamon. I can never add just a little. So I added too much.
Now, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I took it over to the sink and blew on it to get the extra cinnamon off. Cinnamon and baby oatmeal flakes flew everywhere—most especially my eyes. They’re still recovering. And I’m an idiot.
In other news, I’m taking over for Andy Beal at Marketing Pilgrim while he’s off in Australia speaking (and then in Tahiti, vacationing: lucky!). I’ll be the main blogger on the #7 marketing blog in the world (at least in Todd And’s opinion) for just over two weeks. Wish me luck!
Hayden was very whiny while Ryan and I ate dinner. We were even nice enough to feed him some of our dinner from our forks. But it soon became clear that the food wasn’t really what he was after. He continued to scream. We were both getting pretty frustrated.
Finally I realized he wanted to hold our forks. No way—I don’t want him to poke himself. Or us, come to think of it.
So I grabbed one of his spoons for him. Ryan realized that he just wanted to be like Mommy & Daddy:
We probably should have figured this out sooner. Tuesday he did the same thing—clamor for our flatware and then eat out of the bowl. I have a video of him feeding Daddy and himself pretend stew.
Just goes to show you: change your frame of reference. Here I was, getting frustrated with a whiny kid and all he wanted to do was emulate me. When will I ever learn?
Sleep update: Last night, Ryan and I went to bed at 9, since Haydie usually sleeps for a while at first. Of course, as we walked by his room, the door creaked and he stirred. He moaned for a little while, but finally fell asleep on his own. And slept until 4 AM—at which point, he screamed very loudly. He soon fell silent, though.
Ryan still went in to him since he has a horrific diaper rash and we didn’t want him sitting in a wet diaper. Ryan found Hayden sucking his fingers, which he continued to do contentedly throughout a quick diaper change. I could hear him talking to Ryan a little—almost as if he were giving him instructions. After that he went right to bed and slept until 8 AM. It was wonderful.
I forgot to mention that my last post, “Where I belong,” is featured in the Carnival of Family Life #42.
It’s been a long week—and it’s only Wednesday. We’ve been “sleep training” (crying it out) for almost two weeks, and it’s just getting worse. Hayden hasn’t nursed at night for 13 nights, and he’s still spending hours on end crying, screaming and moaning. He absolutely refuses to console himself, even though he’s perfectly capable of doing so.
It’s gotten to the point where he’s completely inconsolable: neither Ryan nor I can get him to calm down, and if by some miracle we do get him calm, when we put him back down, he’s even more hysterical than he was in the first place.
Hayden’s getting just enough sleep to be just a little grumpy all day long—except for when he was in the gym’s daycare this morning. Of course.
We’re wracking our brains trying to figure out what could be wrong with him. I think he’s eating enough during the day—I feed him until he refuses to eat any more. He does have a nasty diaper rash, but that’s only developed in the last day or two. It’s been relatively warm and spring-like here lately, so I don’t think he’s too cold.
Sigh. I’m afraid that we’ll just have to endure more sleepless nights until he becomes so exhausted that he can’t NOT sleep.
Yesterday I took my sister Brooke and a couple of her friends to look for apartments for next fall. We looked at three places, including the complex where I lived my first year off campus. It was my idea to go there—I was arguing that it’s really nice to have enclosed hallways, instead of your apartment opening up right into the cold. (Also, with the strict curfew rules the university imposes on approved housing, it’s a warm place to hang out with friends after curfew.)
It was kind of weird to be back there. It even smelled the same. Brought back a lot of memories. We sat in the office and ate the freshly (under)baked cookies they had for us, and I imagined how much fun my sister and her friends will have, no matter where they live. I reminisced about how much fun I’d had, and my mind came back to something I think about probably all too often—what my single friends are doing now.
They’re following their dreams in law school, grad school or careers. They’re doing things for themselves. They’re dancing, partying, having fun. I’m getting up at 7 AM, changing diapers and watching television all day long, and going to bed early. I’m not even twenty-four. While I love Ryan and Hayden and I know this is where I belong, I can’t help but feel jealous of my friends who can still live for themselves.
Yesterday as I was back in my single stomping grounds, I reminisced about how I spent my singlehood—in those conveniently enclosed hallways. There was one boy in particular. I wanted so badly for him to care about me—not in a romantic way, though. I wanted him to be my best (guy) friend, my greatest confidant. And while he wanted to be my friend, he never could give me the depth of friendship that I needed. After I moved out of those apartments (and into Ryan’s neighborhood), he and I spoke only twice.
Last night, after stoking the fires of nostalgia all afternoon, I came home to Ryan waiting for me on the couch. He invited me to curl up with him. As I settled into his arms, I realized that Ryan was the friend that I’d yearned for years earlier, my greatest confidant. And while my friends do get to pursue their dreams now, I know I’m where I belong.