Sleeptalking

Our whole marriage, Caleb worked late nights & slept in most mornings. Now that he's waking up early day after day, he falls fast asleep really quick every night. Which should be great, but it's also had one super-creepy side effect: he's started sleep talking. Like, nightly. 

Now this isn't totally new to me. In college I shared a room with my friend who sleep shouted things at me all the time. (My favorite: "You, me, and Kayden! Six o'clock!") But she at least had the common decency to sound groggy when it happened, and she'd fall right back asleep afterwards.

My dear husband, on the other hand, is a wild card. I never know what he's going to do. And I genuinely can't tell if he's truly awake or not. He just says things so clear, too clear for someone who is apparently REMing it up.

Like tonight: I stayed up reading for awhile after he'd gone to bed. When I clicked off the lamp it must have somewhat woken him up, because next thing I knew, he was sitting up on his elbows, his face not one inch away from mine, and just sitting there. 

Me: Caleb? What are you doing?

Caleb: What do you mean?

Me: You're just sitting there all creepy! Stop it!

Caleb: I'm just looking at you!

Me: It's pitch black in here!

Caleb:... But I can still see you. 

Me: (pocket dialing 911) How? 

Caleb: What do you mean how? (and then he scoffs, like I'm the crazy one.)

It's not even like you can talk to him and learn his deepest, darkest secrets. It's literally like being thrown into someone's dream. It makes no sense.

A few nights ago, he turned over and, clear as day, asked me, "Do you still have the same iPhone?"

You mean the same one I had when you fell asleep? Believe it or not, yes! 

Sometimes we play the "you're not really awake" "yes I am" "prove it" game, but it generally produces confusing results. 

Me: Prove you're awake. 

Him: I really am! I don't know how to prove it. 

Me: Ok, you sound normal. I guess I believe you. 

Him: Good. Thanks. I'm really proud of you for throwing this party. 

Me: ....aaaaannnnnndddd apparently you're asleep.

The problem with these late night chats is that they usually wake me up, and I have a hard time falling back asleep. And what's even worse, he never believes me about it the next day! It's getting to the point I think he really believes I make it up for attention or something. I'm starting to feel like I'm losing my mind. And he's the crazy one, not me! I'm normal! I'M NOT CRAZY.

So, I'm laying here trying to fall asleep, half afraid that my husband is going to turn over at any moment and ask me if I want to go snorkeling with the queen tomorrow. And there is nothing I can do about it.

This isn't really where I thought life would take me. But at least he's cute.

It has begun

I'm going to need both grandmas to take a deep breath and read this post through to the end before you get too excited, ok?

And keep this in mind: when I was pregnant with Dayen, I had full blown anxiety attacks when my friends announced they were pregnant with their second babies, and their first babies were still babies. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that my closest sibling is 5 years older than me, but having kids close together was never on my radar. I just don't see the appeal of multiple kids in diapers, multiple nap schedules, basically anything multiple and tiny.

And the risk involved! It would take a lot to talk me into a second kid in under 3 years, but there is the worlds smallest chance that I could have twins, Heaven help me, and then you have THREE under three and from there you basically never wear make up again and turn into a crazy momster 24/7.

My heart is going a million miles a second just thinking about it.

But if I thought I had any control over, well, anything, I've finally learned that I just plain don't. Not even over my own mind or emotions.

I went to bed one night totally content with my one sweet, adorable baby, with no thought of future babies and no plans of even having thoughts of future babies for at least a few more years. Because, give me a break, I'm pooped! I see women popping out a baby every year (looking at you, Duggars!) and I want to cry! How do they do it? Do they like pregnancy more than I did? Because I love Dayen, but that whole getting him here thing was worse than being water boarded. (I assume, but I'm fairly certain.) I never slept. I was sick all the time. I had heartburn more painful than I knew you could experience. I had horrible things happen that even I am too ashamed to blog about. And it lasts for SO LONG! How, how, how do you willingly sign up for that again?

But then I woke up one morning, right after the Day baby's first birthday, and my body, my hormones, whatever- completely betrayed me. It was like my body realized, "Now is an acceptable time for you to have another kid." And even though it was pure torture, it just expects me to go through it all again. Just willingly walk into 9 long months of probably feeling a lot like I did just a short year ago. 

And it's playing dirty, too. Because suddenly my sweet little baby isn't such a baby anymore. I can see him growing into a little boy every day, and it's baffling to watch. It's cruel! I spent all that time cooking him up, all those hours in labor, and all I get is a few short years before he starts being embarrassed to be seen with me in public?

It just isn't fair! It all happens so quickly. He turned into a toddler overnight! 

These pictures were taken less than two months apart. Two months and my chubby baby turned into a kid! It completely blindsides you even though every one tells you how fast it's going to go. When you're up all night with a teething baby that's been crying for days, you don't believe them.

But I believe them now! And I finally figured it out. It's not another baby that I want (at least, not yet.) I want to start over with the same baby! I would willingly go through that awful pregnancy and labor all over again to see Dayen as a tiny baby one more time. To let him fall asleep in my arms more, to revel in that new-mom feeling that is so unlike anything else. 

It's such a strange feeling because the baby that he was is just gone, replaced with this older, larger, less-cuddly kid. I know it sounds stupid- I get it- but it's a loss. My brain truly can't understand where my baby has gone. 

And he's still a baby! Oh, it's going to get so much harder. I know that. 

Me and my little buddy have a lot of our firsts behind us. I can't replace him with baby #2, and having another one will likely be worlds different than it was the first time around.

But I will always be grateful to this sweet kid for going through all this with me. For being so understanding when I had no clue what I was doing. For being so insanely easy, cute, and fun. For making me a mom.

I'm excited for that next step some day. I will love to be a mom again.

But for now, I'm going to go snuggle this cutie while he's still too little to stop me, I'm going to kiss those cheeks as long as I can, I'm going to take and post way too many pictures so I won't forget what he was like. 

I'm going to enjoy this. Today, right now.

Next time I complain, remind me, will you?

Diaper Rash

Yeah, you read the title right. I am writing a blog post about diaper rash, because apparently that's who I am now. 

There will come a day when Dayen might kill me for posting this, but he gets the WORST diaper rash. I mean, it's not his fault. He inherited, unfortunately, my extremely sensitive skin, and no matter how quick I change him, most days he is bright red and screaming and can't even sit it hurts him so bad. 

Guys, it's really bad.

So, being the concerned mother that I am, I've of course been looking up every possible way to treat it. I was even tempted to try DoTerra oils, which I fully believe to be a huge crock, or maybe some ItWorks wraps because everybody is freaking out over those these days. (Note to all my ItWorks salesman friends: you guys start making some diaper cream, I might buy it. Because I need that a lot more than I need a quick fix to slightly differ a normal looking persons stomach. Priorities.)

Enter Google. My best and worst friend for all questions remotely medical. After scaring me that diaper rash could be a sign of a much more serious issue, it gave me a few options to try.

And trust me, I tried them all. All the creams and powders, the diet changes. But, lets be real: any of us would get diaper rash eventually if you had to wear a diaper and, ahem, do your business in said diaper. Round the clock, everyday. It's just a fact of life for babies.

But finally this morning I decided something had to be done, and I read you can give them a bath with baking soda. Of course, I didn't think of this until I'd already taken off his diaper, and I wasn't going to put on a new diaper for ten seconds while I went and filled the tub. Besides, by BFF Google told me to let him go without a diaper whenever possible to keep him dry. This was the one hint they gave me that I had any hesitation about. I mean, sounds more than a little risky. But it would be less than a minute while I filled the tub. What could happen?

So I set him on the ground, butt naked (sorry teenager Dayen) and went to fill the tub.

Any of you out there with kids can probably guess what happened next.

I returned, not 30 seconds later, to his carpet completely covered in poop. He had clearly pooped, then crawled through it a few times. (Again, sorry teenager Dayen, but you kind of deserve it for making me clean that up today.) Dega was standing there staring at it all in horror and looking at Dayen like you are gonna be in so much trouble. He should know.

Google fail.

I sort of went into my-house-is-being-destroyed panic mode and realized I just filled the tub! So I carried him (at arms length, mind you) down the hall and plopped my little poop-covered baby in the tub... And immediately realized all I had done was made a little poopcuzzi for him. He squealed with glee while the little poop nurdles floated around him and he tried to catch them. First I tried fishing them out myself (while muttering "being a mom is the grossest thing I've ever done) and then finally realized I would just have to drain the whole tub and refill it. Goodbye, carefully made baking soda mixture I so lovingly tried to use to heal my child's diaper rash. Goodbye, clean tub. See ya later, sanity.

An Open Letter to MAM

Dear MAM,

I've been doing this whole mom thing for almost a year now, and amongst the plethora of parenting knowledge I've gained over the last year, one thing has rang especially true for me: MAM binkies are the best. I constantly hear from friends that they are the only binkies their children will take. This has certainly been true for my little boy from day one. 

Dayen, one week old, with his favorite bunny binky.

Now please don't get me wrong here: I am grateful for your binkies. They have saved me from a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of tantrums, and I'm not ashamed to admit that they seem to work as a literal plug when he starts crying. It's incredible. 

It's just that, and call me cynical, but I can't help but wonder: Why only MAM? Why are children everywhere in agreement that MAM binkies are far superior to other binkies? How do they know?

I don't mean to sound ungrateful here, but I do feel like I was tricked into using your product in the first place. Dayen's favorite bunny binky actually came free in our bag of stuff from registering at Target. I figured hey, free binky. It's a little girly, but whatever. I actually threw it in the bottom of our bassinet in case the binkies I was planning on using got lost. But somehow, it ended up being the only binky he would use! 

And let's not forget the time this binky appeared on How I Met Your Mother! 

We were excited for it to make a cameo, sure, but I was also starting to feel like it was haunting me.

And you know what? That much would be ok. I could handle the MAM company big-brothering me for whatever reason because in the end, I have a happy baby. But there is an undeniable flaw in your product design, something unnoticed by babies but surely I can't be the first mother to notice that nearly all your binkies are white or clear. 

I get it: it's like what shampoo companies do when they try to get us to lather, rinse, and repeat. Only suckers repeat. And only suckers buy binkies that go missing so easily!

Let me tell you, we took care of that thing almost as good as we took care of our kid. I actually dropped him off at my brothers once with the instructions, "if something happens to Dayen, I will be upset. But if you lose this binky, we are going to have some major problems."

And of course, inevitably, it happened anyway. Christmas Eve at the new Star Wars movie, Dayen dropped it and it must have dissolved or transferred to another dimension or something cause I'm telling you, that thing was gone. We had half the theater looking for it before we decided we'd better cut our losses and make it to the store for a new binky before it closed.

(When I gave him his new binky, he took it hesitantly, then smiled like, "oh good. It's a MAM.")

And even once I had a backup binky, they seemed to disappear in pairs. Dayen wakes up in the middle of the night screaming and all I have to do is give him his binky, and we can both fall right back asleep. But somehow it always goes missing. I tear his crib apart, shaking out blankets and tossing out stuffed animals, crawling on my hands and knees feeling every corner of the room for that stupid, invisible binky.

And that's what I'm really writing about. Because it's 2016. If you guys are going to be the best and somehow convince infants nationwide that those weird circle binkies that let you see inside their mouth while they suck, or the funny binkies with fake moustaches glued to the outsides pale in comparison to your binkies, then I need you to make them light up! I need them to have a homing device, and an alarm. I need them to sprout wheels and drive themselves into his mouth at the sound of his cry. I need them to be a color easily seen in my half-asleep state at 2:00 am. We've invented reflectors for bicycles and safety vests for hunters: it's irresponsible that this hasn't happened yet. 

Sincerely,

Anndee Fonnesbeck, the mom

and Dayen Fonnesbeck, who is probably going to secretly pack this binky when he goes to college.

If he can find it. 

Baking Cupcakes for the Dog

When Caleb started his new job, I planned to find another nanny job and keep working. I am lucky to be able to bring Dayen with me, and there didn't seem to be any reason not to work. So, I started a new job and after the first day I realized: this isn't what I want anymore. I was so attached to the last little girl I nannied, and she just got me. She knew what to expect from me, and vice versa. As the little boy was throwing a tantrum about not wanting the sandwich he had just begged me for, I just felt myself totally deflate. I just thought: I don't want to start over with another one. 

So, despite how much I've always loved being a nanny, I decided to try this stay at home mom thing, while focusing on my photography business. 

I was a little nervous because I've never just stayed home before. But I decided, if I'm going to do this thing, I'm going to to it right. 

And let me tell you, that first week was magical. 

I woke up early every day. I took Dega for a walk all while feeding Dayen in the stroller. I came home, exercised, and was totally ready for the day by 9 am. So I did the dishes, vacuumed, watered flowers, played with Dayen, edited pictures, vacuumed again... After awhile that Tangled song started to get stuck in my head... "7 am the usual morning lineup..."

I'm not complaining about any of that. I might be single handedly setting feminism back about 50 years with this statement, but I genuinely enjoy taking care of my house and family. I get enough satisfaction from that to feel accomplished every day. 

But the whole supermom thing is bound to fall apart sometime, and for me it didn't take nearly as long as it should have. 

Saturday I spent the whole day cleaning and baking for Dayens birthday party. I made these beautiful cupcakes, arranged them on a platter, then rushed off to do two back to back photoshoots. And I wasn't complaining. I felt like I was juggling everything like a pro.

Then it happened: while I was in the shower that night, our dog Dega ate the cupcakes. 

Like, almost all of them. 

At least 2 dozen cupcakes, and the wrappers. He didn't even make a big mess of the tray, almost like he was daintily picking them up one after one... "Ok, I'll just have ONE more."

I don't think anyone out there would be surprised to hear that I was upset. Even though it was inconvenient and Dega was sick for the next two days (and our backyard is now spotted with shreds of colorful papers) it wasn't that hard to make more cupcakes. It was an easily solvable problem. What really bothered me was that I realized it was a perfect metaphor for what I had been feeling lately: like everything I do is basically just making cupcakes for the dog. 

I spend hours planning and preparing dinner, and it's gone within minutes and I'm left with a dirty kitchen that I spent an hour that morning cleaning. 

I am patient and kind and loving to Dayen day after day, but then in one moment I get upset with him and feel like I undo everything else I've ever done. 

I hop out of bed in the morning, do 10,000 things, then look around at the end of the night and it all looks pretty much the same. Because that's what I signed up for: the behind the scenes stuff. The closets and drawers are always full of clean clothes. The muddy paw prints on the floor disappear like magic. The fridge and pantry refill to keep us well fed. And like any good director, I'm never actually seen in the final product. 

Don't get me wrong, its not a thankless job. My sweet husband always makes a point to acknowledge me for what I do. It's just that sometimes, all I'm doing is baking cupcakes for the dog.

But it's helped me to learn to step back and just enjoy the fruits of my labors. Stop trying to find distractions for Dayen so I can work, and instead spend some time enjoying his cute laugh while we play with the same old toys and read his favorite book for the thousandth time. Not everything I do is going to be monumental and life-changing, but I am still building a really beautiful life.

Cosleeping

I've been getting in trouble a lot this week for not letting a lot of our friends and family know that after 7 years, Caleb quit Maddox and just started a new job this week! I will forever be grateful for Maddox because that is where we met, but boy am I glad that we are both done with that place. His new job is at a software company called Spillman Technologies. He has really loved it so far and we are both really excited! 

The hours are a big change from the late nights he worked as a server, so we have all been adjusting to him getting up at 6:00. Dayen, who is the lightest sleeper known to man, hears him getting ready in the mornings and usually wakes up. This morning, I had a genius idea: why not bring him into bed with me? Cosleeping is all the rage these days. Our pediatrician begged us not to and I never saw the appeal (my personal bubble grows ten times its normal size while I'm asleep, so adding another person to our bed never sounded fun.) plus Dayen is such a light sleeper that any time we moved he would wake up. He started sleeping in his own crib in his own room pretty early on, and even now when we put him down he usually looks at us like, "great, now get out of here so I can get some sleep".

STILL, my friends rage about it (or are upset that they have to now that their kids are used to it) and in my minds eye I could wake up in a couple hours with this little cutie snoozing next to me. 

So I figured, why not?

The following is an account of my tragic, short experience with Cosleeping.

He picked my nose.

He tried to see if my nose was removable. (Almost, buddy. Almost.)

He scratched my face repeatedly, and when I tried to tell him not to he laughed maniacally. (I've never seen such a diabolical look in a man's eyes.)

He stuck his gross, dirty stuffed elephant on my face while I tried to fall asleep. Although to be fair, that's what I do to him, so I guess the sentiment was sweet.

He took up more than half the bed. How does such a tiny human need that much room?

He tore through my carefully constructed pillow walls then tried rolling his way to freedom.

He laughed loudly every time I closed my eyes to try to sleep. You're so funny, mom. That's not what we're here to do. 

He pulled the blanket over his head and then just sat there, waiting to see how long until I'd save him from asphyxiation.

He poked me in the eye. On purpose. When I opened my eyes he had one little finger out, poised to do it again.

He used me like his human jungle gym. 

He wanted the left side of the bed. Just kidding, the right. Ok definitely the left was better. Nope, right again. This was a good object lesson to me about how the grass is always greener...

He had a nice, loud chat with his binky. And his hand.

And finally, he went back to his own bed, where he quickly fell fast asleep. 

Cell phones

I hate phones. Hate, hate, hate them. And I say that despite the thousand ways having a cell phone has benefitted me. I say that despite the bajillion pictures I've taken of my cute baby with my cell phone. I say that even as I write this blog post from my cell phone. That is how much I hate them.

Sometimes I think I was just born into the wrong generation. Sometimes I feel like maybe I should have been born in the 1800's so I could wear big foofy dresses and Oreos wouldn't exist (and therefore couldn't tempt me, so I'd be more likely to fit into my corset) and cell phones wouldn't even be thought about. It sounds perfect until I remember sewage also ran freely through the streets, and then I'm like, ok no thanks.

But it's almost worth it. I almost hate cell phones that much. 

The problem, I guess, isn't the phones. It's the fact that everyone from my 10 year old neighbor to my grandma is addicted to them. (No offense, grandma. I'm just assuming. You always text back right away, so I know your phone is nearby. I hope I'm still the favorite after this.) 

I was one of the few in High School who didn't get a cell phone for a really long time. My parents made me pay my own cell phone bill, so even though I always had a job, I wasn't willing to spend my meager pay checks on a phone bill that, back then, was pretty ridiculous considering you could only talk on nights and weekends and every time you accidently clicked the "internet" button you'd have to frantically click end because that was a luxury you couldn't afford.

Back then, when I was one of few of my friends that didn't have a phone, it was always annoying when everyone would be texting instead of paying attention to everyone we were with. (Although I have to admit, when I finally got a phone, I texted a LOT, and I'm sure I did my fair share of ignoring friends.)

But now, it's so much more than just texting. There are endless, completely mindless things we can do on our phones to distract us from reality. That's part of the reason I gave up Instagram and Snapchat a year ago, and even though I still have my fair share of distractions, I have been SO glad to be rid of those. I can't tell you how annoying it is when I'm hanging out with someone and they obsessively take pictures of themselves, themselves with the food they ordered, with my dog, with my baby, etc. (that's right... You know who you are!)

I know I'm not a genius here for discovering this first. We are all aware what a problem it can be, and yet few seem to care. I am not exaggerating when I say it is rare these days for me to have even a short conversation with someone that isn't, in some way, interrupted by a phone. I can't stand it when I'm trying to talk to someone and they are mindlessly scrolling through Facebook. I've started saying random things when I know they aren't listening: "so I'm hoping my unicorn will be back from the shop tomorrow so I can ride it to school." Most people just nod and smile and pretend to listen. 

Are you starting to see why I hate, hate cell phones?

Because usually, usually whatever you're doing on there can wait. Because if you need to make a phone call or send a text, I understand. When you are carrying on another conversation with someone who is not in the room with us, I don't understand. And frankly, let's just say it: it's rude.

But what really gets me about it is that it seems to get worse with every generation: Dayen is already so surrounded with it that even at 9 months old, he is fascinated with phones. (And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that I'm constantly sticking my phone in his face trying to get him to smile.) He already reaches for our phones and sobs when we wont give it to him, even though we've never let him play with them before. 

Sure, right now he just wants to eat them. But really, what message is he getting when everyone he knows and loves is constantly glued to those little devices he doesn't understand? What is he going to think when he gets older and it's hard to get moms attention when he does a cool trick because she's staring at that tiny screen?

I accept that our phones connect us to friends and loved ones, people we haven't seen for years and people we'd otherwise never talk to again. I know that the Internet connects us to nearly all the knowledge ever known to man, and that we can do worthwhile and incredible things with the tiny phone we carry in our pockets. 

But, speaking for myself at least, MOST of what we do our phones is time wasting and meaningless. The games we spend hours progressing on we will soon give up. The pictures we scroll through will be forgotten. Even the pins we pin and intend to bring to life, we generally don't. 

That's why I finally got so fed up with my phone, and really with everyone else and their phones, that I decided to give it up. At least, as much as possible. Id like to "downgrade" my phone and have nothing but calls and texts, but Caleb (who thinks im slightly crazy) reminds me to not make any rash decisions. Because I want to focus my time and attention on things that last, things that matter. 

And of course, I'm not telling you what to do. But just know the next time we're hanging out and you are pretending to listen to me while you play FarmVille (is that still a thing?) I am kicking you in my mind.