BamamaPancakes

Let’s be honest.  Sheaff and I attempting to do anything 30 days in a row would be laughable at the least. All of our brain power involving consistent tasks is now being directed toward bedtime, during which we have become more superstitious than baseball players, convinced that very small and random aspects of our routine play a part in Adalyn sleeping through the night.  Everything from the lucky onesie to which sound machine noise we put on to which book we read last (The Very Hungry Caterpillar, of course).  Soon we’ll be tapping a bat to our heel five times and spitting twice before laying her in the crib. Does it matter if we are successful? *sound of laughter* No, what matters is that we pretend like we have as much control as possible in order to hang on to that loose strand of sanity waving in the winds of parenthood. I digress.  As many of you may know, November’s Facebook Newsfeed is full of two things: men with frightening mustaches and thankfulnes...

Halloween can evoke a lot of fears in people.  For some, ghosts and goblins and the grim reaper’s hooded figure. For others (ahem, Sox fans), umpires making ‘tricky’ calls in the 9 th inning of a tied World Series game.  I used to be afraid of the typical things. [1] Of bad guys, of horror movie scenes replayed in my head, of the serial killer who rode on trains that my brother warned me about, of spooky chills, and loud creaks upstairs where no one sleeps.  Well folks, I’ve gotta say.  I’m now afraid of a new monster at night.  And this one is far more ruthless, powerful, and downright scary. Her name is Adalyn, known to her late night minions as Fussy McNoCrib. I should preface this by saying that Sheaff, Wallie and I were spoiled positively rotten during months 3-12 of Adalyn’s life. She was a sleeping champ, and our bleary-eyed nights were few and far between, making us get down on our knees and give thanks to the Baby Gods for showing us favo...

October 8, 2013 Dear Adalyn, One year ago, you were still Sparkle to most of the world. My belly still hid my view of my toes as it rolled with your flips and turns. Your nursery did not smell of poopy diapers, and we had 70% more brain power than our current mode of operation.  One year ago, we headed bright-eyed and clueless to the hospital to be induced, due to a lovely condition called pre-eclampsia. We proceeded to spend the day walking laps, bouncing on the ball, eating popsicles, cursing catheters (our friend, “George”), greeting your beloved people’s campground, and hoping to be more than 1 cm dilated.  One year ago, we learned that the labor-prep class was a load of malarkey when they broke my water and any pre-conceived notions I had about pain. One year ago, we didn’t know your face, your hands, your chubby little toes; we were still talking to the tumble of limbs through my belly, the roll of someone we couldn’t wait to meet. We hadn’t heard your v...

With yours truly being Adalyn’s primary childcare, Sheaff and I were pretty pumped to bypass the daycare drama, thinking mainly this centered around a lot of drop off/pick ups, an intense immunity-build-up-boot-camp, and professionals who were licensed to never, never to bake a shaby.  We soon realized that if we had in fact planned to put Adalyn in daycare, we would have had to sign up approximately 2 years before we got married in order to ensure her spot. That’s right people, it’s a baby-eat-baby waitlisting world out there, and though we currently have escaped this for infant care, little did we realize that we are most likely already way behind the ball for preschool.  Apparently, preschool is harder to get into than Yale, and if we cared about our child’s education at all, we should have put Adalyn on a preschool waiting list Yesterday. Baby Center, for example, talks about researching this thoroughly in our community and perhaps writing a letter to get into “th...

It’s 8:45 pm; Adalyn has usually dozed off while Sheaff rocks her to sleep.  But tonight, he is making faces at her, and she cannot stop giggling.  The squealing, belly-deep, gives-you-the-hiccups kind of giggles.  The kind that makes me grateful. The kind that makes the timing of bedtime much less important, because I know this is one of those snapshots to remember. The clear sound of her laughing across the room puts this bright yellow, sparkling frame around our house, and the pieces that have been blurry all day suddenly click into place. There is too much that I want to say about Adalyn.  The funny things she does, the sweet things, the scary things.  Sometimes, I don’t know where to start. When I compare my thoughts with what everyone has going on, they seem incredibly insignificant. When I compare them with what else I have going on, they are huge. I have so much and so little to record all at once, fragments of thoughts floating around in my brain t...

I’m dreading it.”  I think that is the most common answer I hear from moms or dads who are about to return to work from their months of maternity or paternity leave. Their shoulders slump; they sigh loudly; their eyes anxiously dart to their little one, as though in that instant they can drink up every detail and every second that ticks by.  Having many friends who have returned back to work, we know the world will continue spinning; their baby will continue growing and thriving; they will continue to find their new balance and routine and everyone will be fine. I have pangs of sympathy, admiration, relief, a minuscule twinge of jealousy, and a bit of sadness to see a daytime friend move to their next chapter. But mainly, relief. To be home.   It’s asked often, right after how does the baby sleep. “Have you gone back to work yet, Carly?” Part of me almost responds with the tiny, tiny voice of regret, who intermittently longs for color-coded planners and meetings, a...

People always ask us how the baby is. “Oh she’s awesome!” we reply, even if she is yanking down my shirt in public while Sheaff is picking up the bag of cherrios she joyously flung to the floor (where is Wallie when you need her??), as she squawks loud screeches that greatly resemble a dying cat.  Sometimes we have the coherency of mind to remember there is a world outside of our diaper-bagged, pile o’ onesies, toy-scattered bubble, and we actually ask how that person is doing in return.  Other times, I get home an hour later and realize I forgot to ask about their mom, or new job, or honeymoon, etc. One day, I will be thoughtful in a timely manner again.  For now, there should be a big orange blinking sign in the road that says “Expect Delays.” I digress. I figured an easy way to start the blog is to answer the question, for those who do in fact want to know, How Is Adalyn. Sheaff’s response is, “She is happy and super-actively-great.” I asked if he had any other sp...

I’m pretty sure most blogs have a purpose.  Some sort of string that would hold together the loose and random beads that make up my thoughts these days. I would imagine that many parents go through something like this, where they want to express this journey that they are traveling. To vent on the days during which everything goes wrong; to smile about the days during which everything goes right, and to process the every-day in between.  You know, the blur of roadtrips with a baby, of trying baby’s first big kid food, of the lessons we learn as parents, the trials of naptime and bedtime routines, the milestones, the playdates and park visits and the insignificant details that currently make up the most significant thing we’ve ever done, which is to raise a tiny human while trying not to screw up too badly. One of my pet peeves about some of these blogs I read here and there is that they all sound the same after a while.  “Parenthood is beautiful, but parenthood is so...