In China, Sleep-Deprivation is a Form of Torture

So, there's this idea that when you work really hard towards something, you supposedly appreciate the success more than if it had come easily.  Like, in school, for example.  Kids who breeze by, acing exams and reports with little effort are, apparently, not going to appreciate that "A grade" like someone who had to really study and make some sacrifices in order to achieve the good marking.

But what about when you put everything you have into being successful at something and then you fail?  Is the degree of disappointment the same on the opposite scale?  If you screw something up you weren't very committed to, I'm sure the loss is no big deal.  But if you have been devoting your heart and soul to something and it is still not reaping any rewards, are you going to be more depressed when it tanks?

I will testify that, 100%, absolutely YES, when you put more effort into something, the feeling of success - or total failure - is that much more palpable.

And I am in a vicious cycle of "fail."

It's no secret that I am a huge advocate of sleep-training and getting babies/children onto decent routines and schedules.  It benefits not only the existing members of a new baby's family, but I know that it also is a huge issue of health, growth, and brain development for kids.  We live in a world where kids are diagnosed with ADD or food allergies before parents are willing to admit that maybe their kid just needs a nap or a decent bedtime.

It is also no secret (I don't think) that I am one of those people who struggles with post-partum depression.  I have not had the aide of medication or therapy this time (long story), and that probably hasn't helped.  But if you compound with that the fact that I am sleep-deprived and also feeling like a total failure, then you can imagine that the amount of "crazy" I often feel is quite exacerbated.

This post is going to come across as a little self-serving, but that's ok because that's my intention.  I need to purge some frustrations.

The hospital that I gave birth to Daphne in had been labeled "baby friendly."  Basically what that means is that they are huge advocates of breastfeeding, co-sleeping, etc.  The problem, however, was that it was difficult to get a nurse to come in for anything other then the checking of vitals.  As a C-section patient, this was a little irritating, because I could hardly get out of bed on my own, more or less, with a newborn infant in my arms.  As a result, Daphne spent almost all of the first 72 hours of her life in my arms.  When I got home, it was very difficult to get her to sleep ANYWHERE but in my arms.  With 2 other children to care for, this was just not going to be acceptable.

So, despite having never done it so young, I decided to do a little bit of sleep-training with her when she was only 5 days old.  This was a very difficult decision for me to make.  I can NOT stand to hear my babies cry.  Those of you who lived near me when Malia was a colicky infant will totally understand why.  I have actually been diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder because of Malia's colic (which is embarrassing for me to admit because, honestly, how can you get the same disorder over a baby crying that people get after being shot at every day and watching people die in a foreign country)?  But I digress...

At not even 1 week old, I made sure she was fed, clean, and burped, and as soon as she started to dose off, I sang her a quick lullaby, swaddled her up, laid her in her bassinet, and walked away.  And yes, she started to cry immediately.  I checked on her in increasing amounts - 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes - and soon discovered that she was the type who that only made things worse for.  So I had to leave her be.

When I sleep-trained Malia after her colic was gone, she was 6 months old.  The first time, she cried for HOURS!  But she was also much older and more manipulative.  However, after that first session, she never cried for more than, maybe, 30 seconds.  And she has been an angel ever since.  When I sleep-trained Cecily right after my PPD depression diagnosis, she was 6 weeks old, and she never cried for more than 20 minutes.  Ever!  And we never had to make her cry-it-out at night, either.  She weaned herself from any night feedings.  It was awesome!

Daphne's first cry-it-out session lasted the entire nap.  When I finally fed her again, she was, of course, exhausted, and crashed for the next nap.  Having read multiple books and already sleep-trained 2 other children, I knew it would take a few days.

Daphne is 7 1/2 months old, and she STILL is not a great sleeper.  No matter what I do with how long I keep her awake, trying to give her more solids, more naps, less naps, etc., she is still inconsistent. She is, without a doubt, my most sensitive baby.  She is actually quite pleasant in nature, but very touchy when it comes to sleep.  While she's awake, if I'm holding her, she rarely fusses.  But if ANYTHING (teeth, gas bubble, toes a little cold) is off, she does not sleep. And I'm exhausted.

And I feel like a terrible mother/wife.

I am so tired and so frustrated that I am rarely happy.  The post-partum depression mingled with sleep-deprivation and the fact that I have put every effort I have and all of my consolidated sleep knowledge (which is a lot!) into trying to help this child get onto a good routine and sleep well is turning me into someone I'm just... not.  I feel like I have completely lost myself in calculating naps and the length of how long she should be awake.

And one of my greatest pet peeves is when people say, "Well, maybe she doesn't need a schedule."  Are you kidding me?!  That only makes things worse for a baby like Daphne!  If I were just to go about my day and not try to give her regular naps then nighttime would be much worse than it is (hard to imagine).  I just want some SLEEP!  And a little predictability from her for this A-type OCD personality wouldn't hurt either.

If people were watching a movie of my life, they would probably be appalled at the moments (and there are many) where I am on my knees, sobbing in my room because Daphne is, yet again, not sleeping well.  For a while we thought it might be the cranial band she had to wear for 2 months.  And, admittedly, her sleep did improve a little once that came off.  But if you're wondering why the occasional bad nap and poor night sleep would send me into an emotional downward spiral,  it has a lot to do with being tired and battling PPD; but I think it has even more to do with what I mentioned at the beginning:

I have worked SO hard to understand Daphne's personal sleep needs and I have sequestered my extroverted self like a hermit in my home for nearly 7 months to respect those needs and keep her from getting overtired, and I feel like I have gotten nowhere.  If I was dragging her around on outings all day, I'd expect her to sleep poorly.  But I haven't been doing that.

All summer long, I kept promising Malia, "Next summer will be better.  We'll go do fun things. I promise."  And when the girls raised their voices to normal child-like volumes, I would be shushing them with aggressive intensity.  The tension in my home has been palpable, and I'm ashamed to admit that it's all my fault.

That's the hardest part of all.  Knowing that this affects me the way it does; the self-abhorrence.  I'm tired, yes.  I've put a lot of work into it and feel like the success is not equally reciprocating, yes.  But anyone who has ever had depression will understand that the feeling you get when you become disappointed in yourself is dark and horrid.

I wanted 6 children once.  To be honest, I still do.

But it saddens me beyond anything I can explain that I know I can't.  And it embarrasses me that the only explanation I have for it is basically because I'm crazy.  I know I should be careful what I wish for, but I can't help but think I'd rather say I'm done having kids because someone had to take my uterus or something of the like than to say it's because of my inability to just, plain and simple, "cope."

I'm crying as I type this, of course.  And I may look back on this post and wish I hadn't written it for the blogosphere to see.  But I'm hoping that, somewhere in the (please be near) future, I will able to look at this and say, "Hey!  I'm glad that's over!  Daphne is a great sleeper!  I'm having more fun with my kids!  I'm being nicer to my husband! ... and my house is clean!"

Until then, my posts will still be few and far between.  (I just don't enjoy depressing the rest of the world).  And, as hard as it is on my pride to say this, could you maybe throw a blurb up to God for me when you pray?  Don't go out of your way, or anything.  But just a quick reference?  I know He's aware of me.  I know there must be something I'm supposed to be learning.  But maybe if enough people bug Him... you know?

Thanks for listening.

A Letter

I got a call the other day from a friend who has a friend who is currently suffering with PPD.   She asked me to get in touch with her friend and offer her some words of advice/comfort/insight.  Last night, Daphne slept terribly, so I'm very tired.  I made the mistake of writing this friend of a friend this morning because, due to my sleep-depravity-induced emotion, it became quite embarrassingly long-winded. 

Who am I kidding?  I'm always long-winded. 

I put so much effort and heart into this letter to her that I felt the desire to put it into my blog for posterity's sake (or my sake).  Names have been taken out to protect the innocent:


Hi, D*******.

I'm a friend of A*** G*****'s.  She texted me the other day about getting in touch with you.  She thought maybe I could be a valuable resource for you.  I figure, there's always strength in numbers.

She mentioned you just had your 4th child (!!!) and that you may be struggling a little with PPD.  She knows I am very open about my bouts with it, and asked if I'd get in touch with you.  I had my 3rd daughter almost 5 months ago, and I think it is still lingering for me. 

I don't know if I had it after my 1st was born.  She had severe colic - the kind where the pediatrician often asked me how my marriage was since my baby was crying so often and so loud.  A chiropractor fixed it when she was about 6 months old, but then we had months of horrid sleep-training ahead of us.  Once she was on a good post-colic sleep schedule, though, she became an angel.  She is now 6.5 years old and an amazing little girl. 

My 2nd was born and my body seemed to go into a panic for no reason.  She wasn't colicky, but even the slightest little baby cry from her sent me into a spiral of anxiety.  When she was about 6 weeks old, I realized I was crying about 10 times a day and that something was wrong.  I went to a friend who's a therapist for LDS Services, and she connected me with a therapist and my OB got me onto Prozac right away.

I cried for 45 minutes before I took that first pill.  I felt weak; I felt like I was less of a person;  I felt I should be "above" all of this.

The therapy and the medication worked wonders.  But what helped even more was having the therapist tell me it was ok to let my baby cry a little in order to learn self-soothing skills.  She told me that a lot of my PPD was from PTSD from having such a colicky baby.  I was afraid of a baby crying because I felt so much guilt for letting my 1st cry at all once I had discovered she was actually in pain.    It wasn't perfect, but once I got the ball rolling, my 2nd little girl became a wonderful sleeper, and at such a young age!  Getting decent sleep coupled with an objective therapeutic perspective turned my world back around.  It wasn't all lollipops and rainbows... but I was more able to taste lollipops and see rainbows when they were there.

Because of my first's colic, I had read every sleep book known to man.  Some people thought I was obsessed.  But I am very type A and like to control situations, and putting my young babies on a routine helped combat the anxiety.

Baby #3 comes along.  To this day, despite all of my efforts and hard work to teach her otherwise, she is a terrible sleeper.  I didn't go on medication this time.  And we can't afford the therapy (last go-around, our ward covered the cost).  I've had struggles... a LOT of struggles.

There will be days when I'm fine and then she wakes early from a nap, and my blood begins to boil, my stomach twists in knots, and I'm a blink away from sobbing.  My PPD is very trigger-induced.  I'm ok until certain things go awry.

I don't know much about what you're going through.  But A*** seems to think maybe I could be a resource for you.  I'm still in the midst of it, I fear, so I don't know how much "help" I can be.  But it never hurts to feel like there are people out there who "get it."

Depression makes someone feel very lonely... because, unless someone's actually "been there," they really can't understand, can they?  They can't understand how one can be totally fine one minute, and then feel like they wish they could just vanish from existence the next.  They can't understand how one can sit there and hold and kiss and snuggle this baby they love so infinitely, but at the same time, wonder why they thought they wanted it in the first place.

I hope I am helping.  And, who knows?  Maybe we can help each other.  After all, misery does love company.  ;) 

Please don't be afraid to respond and reach out to me.  I can be a little abrasive and inappropriate and, sometimes, quite bitter and pessimistic.  But I still know, deep in my gut, there's a purpose to why some of us have to go through this.  I will not have any more children. I wanted 6.  I have 3.  It's more than I can handle, I fear.  But having this trial has taught me to be less judgmental of others.  Being a mom is HARD!  And I now look at other moms with a silent respect - even if their child is running up and down the Church halls like a psychopath.  I have no idea what they go through at home, so I've learned no to judge. 

Right now, my relationship with God teeter-totters.  But I know He knows I will never completely lose faith in Him.  I know He knows that this is something that is just so gosh-danged hard for me.  I know He knows when my breaking point will be.  I feel like I've hit it multiple times, but apparently, I haven't, because I'm still being bent.  I suppose I should take it as a compliment that He sees me as being able to withstand more pressure than I, myself, assumed I could.

One last thing:  Depression lies.  It tells you you're terrible.  It tells you you're incapable.  It tells you you're failing or weak or doing this motherhood thing all wrong.  It tells you that when you let your little baby cry for 10 minutes in order to fall asleep on her own  that you're abusive and that she's going to grow up hating you and her life will never be decent because she felt neglected at 3 months old.

But it's lying.  And sometimes, when we're in the midst of being lied to, we can't see it for ourselves. It's like the bad high school boyfriend who's cheating on you and when you're best friend tells you, you're so deceived by him you end up being angry at the best friend instead of at him.

If you need someone tangible to reach out to that you know "gets it,"  I'm just a facebook message away...

Because I "get it."  I get that, sometimes, when you're on your knees in the silence of your own tears, that the silence can be unbearable.  So I can be as much noise as you want until His comfort finally breaks through that lonely silence.

Until then... you know where to find me.

Something I Have to Say

I have to leave for Church in less than 10 minutes, but I have to say this in case I don't get the chance later (which is highly likely - having 3 kids is kicking my butt).

I seriously have been blessed with one of the highest-caliber, most amazing, kindest, good-hearted, and supportive men on the earth as my husband.

I'll wax poetic later, but for now, I just had to get that off my chest.

And he deserves to hear it.

Thanksgiving in Japan 2001

Sometimes I Cry... REALLY Hard

So, last night I cried a lot.  There are multiple reasons; all of them stemming from the fact that I have issues with post-partum anxiety coupled with a lifelong struggle with control issues... plus, I'm drama.

Thing is, I have read EVERY book on the discussion of infant sleep.  Thing is, I have aided so many of my friends with the problems their babies have with sleep.  Thing is, "I'd like to bear my testimony on healthy sleep.  I know this to be true."

Thing is, my babies NEVER succumb to my wealth of knowledge and its applications.

I think it's 'cuz they're hyper (my fault).  I think it's 'cuz they're smart (Dave's fault).  I think it's 'cuz they're not predictable, programmable ROBOTS (God's fault).

As Daphne ages, my anxiety becomes slightly more manageable, and the attacks become slightly less frequent.  But when they come, they knock me over with intensity.  

My friend, Liz, recently wrote about her panic attacks.  It was a very good read because it does give a bit of insight into the world of mental illness.  But I'm going to quote a sweet little old lady from my ward who gave me a hug a couple weeks ago and said into my ear, "People just can't understand unless they've been there."  AmIright, Liz?

It's true.  And, I'll be honest - mine is not nearly as intense as some others.  But when it peaks, I think my poor hubby just wants to go hide in a corner. 

So do I.

When I have these crying jags, Malia says, "Mommy?  Do you need a hug?" and gingerly comes to give me her comforting touch.  Sometimes, she even begins to cry a little.  It makes me feel guilty.  But I know myself enough to know that holding it in is the greater of the two evils.  CC says, "Are you crying, a-GAIN?!"  It's totally heartless and totally hilarious.  And, believe it or not, makes me laugh every time.

I cry easily anyway, to be completely honest.  I mean, PIXAR movies tear me apart.  Even the occasional commercial.  Yeah, sometimes (all of the time) I even cry at the end of "Full House" when Danny Tanner waxes all philosophical on his kids.  But these anxiety-ridden cries SUCK.

I am counting down the days until my hormones finally feel like they are finding a balance again and when Daphne is old enough that her sleep will organize into a place that finds consistency and I have more control over it (most babies do this at around 4 months, where Daphne is now.  But guess who's baby isn't?  *thumbs to self* This gal's!).

But I really do need to work harder at enjoying "the now."  I need to find ways to overcome those moments when the floodgates are bowing with the pressure of the tears waiting to overflow.  But, as anyone who has to deal with these things - these "mental illnesses" - knows, sometimes that's nearly impossible.

So sometimes, you sit on the living room floor, after all the kids have gone to bed, and you sob.  HARD.  And your poor husband sits on the couch staring at you, because nothing he says is right.  And then you go to bed with a headache.

And then you wake up the next day and promise yourself not to let it get that bad again.

And it will.

But, hey.  At least that's one consistency I know I can count on...

He Has 3

*I love, love, LOVE this article.  Read it.  It will make you cry.  In a good way.

"They say that from the instant he lays eyes on her, a father adores his daughter. Whoever she grows up to be, she is always to him that little girl in pigtails. She makes him feel like Christmas. In exchange, he makes a secret promise not to see the awkwardness of her teenage years, the mistakes she makes or the secrets she keeps."
-Anonymous-

Dear David, 

Sometimes I think I need to apologize that there are no sons to be had in our family and its future.  And then I retract that thought because I can't imagine we could be any more blessed than we already are.  But what's even more amazing?  These girls could not be any more blessed than they are to have the father they have.  If there's one thing you are better at than being a good husband, it's being a good Dad.

Happy Father's Day.

 

Dad

Tonight I will most likely post something about my husband - one of the best fathers "in every contri" (as Malia so eloquently put it on her card to him).  But right now I feel compelled to talk about my dad.

A lot of people who met me after my time moving out of the house at 18 have never met my father.  They've met my mother and possibly most, if not all, of my siblings.  But most of my acquaintances have not met my Dad. For this reason, I feel the need to introduce him to you, through my eyes, on this day that celebrates fathers.

My dad is not an emotional man.  In fact, I could count on one hand the number of times I've seen him get emotional in my 30+ years of life.  He does not like to be a vulnerable man.  He's not mushy or sentimental.  He is proud.  Very proud.  He is an extrovert.  He enjoys the knowledge and wisdom he's accrued in his 75 years.  And he especially enjoys sharing it with people.  If I were to list what I think are the things most important to him, I'd guess health, hard work, music, family, the Gospel, old cars, and Diet Coke.

My dad and I are close in a weird way.  I am not close to him in the way my brothers are, because I am not his son.  I am not close to him in the way my older sister is, because he isn't sensitive with me as he feels he should be with her.  I'm not close to him the way my baby sister and he are, because he isn't tender with me and because I am not his baby.  I'm like the son he never had and the daughter he never wanted.  I don't mean that in a negative way at all, despite how it may sound.  I feel like my dad talks to me the way a man talks to his sons, but because I am his daughter, it is still different.  There isn't pretense or caution with me.  He says what he means with me.  In fact, of all of my dad's children, I acknowledge my personality is most like his.

People have commented that this is the case for years.  I generally nod my head and laugh, and he denies it.  I'm not sure why he denies it.  I mean, come on. I'm wicked awesome.  I think he denies it because it terrifies him.  Like me, he appears incredibly confident, self-assured, and ready to take on the world.  But I think, like me, he's incredibly insecure, desperate for approval, and in constant fear of the offenses he may have unintentionally caused.  He likes to tease.  I'm easy to tease.  The combination has occasionally been volatile.

My dad is a talented man.  He is so very proud of the talents of his children.  And even though a large deal of the credit goes mainly to a stay-at-home mom who worked endless hours teaching us, I believe strongly in the influence of genetic make-up when it comes to a person's skill set.  And the gift of music comes from his blood as well as my mother's.  He plays multiple instruments and plays them well - the majority of them having been self-taught.  He has an ear for harmony and a love for the music of his youth.  He is incredibly closed-off to modern music, and I'm not sure if that's because of or in spite of his great appreciation for good music.

He's loud.  (See? I told you the apple doesn't fall far from the tree...).

He loves animals and always has to have dozens of them around.  He grew up on a farm.  This also speaks to his respect for hard work and discipline.  He's sustained multiple work-induced injuries in his life.  This aspect alone makes me feel like I need to get on writing his life story.  Oh, the stories he tells...

My father was the disciplinarian.  When we misbehaved, we felt guilt towards our mother... but we feared Dad.  Some people think that's not necessarily the best way - but 5 children who are all active in the Church and worthily hold current temple recommends speaks for something.  My dad was always the one to say "no."  Sometimes, even to this day, I think he said it too much.  But he didn't want to take chances with his children straying.  He didn't trust the world, and sometimes, maybe, didn't trust us.  It was frustrating sometimes, especially when we felt we were trustworthy, but my dad is not the kind of person who likes to tempt temptation.  When people try to tell me about their strict parents and how sheltered they were, I want to laugh, loudly, in their face.     

My dad is not openly preachy with his testimony of the Gospel.  In fact, I've heard him bear it a very small number of times.  But I've never doubted he has one.  His strict self-discipline and hard-working nature combined with the moral choices he makes in his daily life were testimony enough.

My dad is always himself.  He doesn't put on a show.  What you see is what you get.  I like to think I got that trait from him.

  

When people ask me to describe my Dad, the word I use is "eccentric."  He is an older man who works out at the gym 3-4 times a week, has an addiction to garage sales, has - very possibly - the worst fashion sense I've ever encountered without a care that that's the case, keeps an odd array of animals in his backyard (we've had pigs, sheep, cows, emus, swans, dogs, lizards, etc.), goes bottle hunting whenever he gets the chance, has no qualms approaching perfect strangers with an observation about their body and how they can improve it, gets up in the middle of Sacrament Meeting and goes to the back to jump up and down and wiggle his joints in an effort to avoid stagnation and the pain it can bring about (he's a Chiropractor), will repeat a story over and over if it has been successful at garnering laughter before, is convinced that hydrogen peroxide and exercise are the perfect prescription to any ailment, and, despite a near obsession with the health and well-being of the human body, drinks liter after liter of Diet Coke and will even consume expired food & beverages in an effort to not be wasteful.  There are so many more things I could say as evidence to his eccentricity, but I have children to take care of and a life to live...

I remember meeting the fathers of my friends as a kid, and there were definitely moments I would think to myself, "I wish my dad were more like their dad."   I think all kids go through that.  

But if you were to ask me today with the gift of hindsight and the humility of adulthood if I wished I'd had a different father, I would reply, without hesitation, "Are you kidding me?!  So much of who I am comes from who he is."

That, and I think other dads would've been boring...

 

 

"Don't Go, Daddy"

In the last week or so, CC has really taken a liking to her father.  Every day for the last few days she's let him know she'd rather he didn't have to leave. "Don't go to work, Daddy.  I will miss you," she says.  

(I really wish these were better quality.  They were taken on my phone while I nursed Daphne).

6/4/2012

Dear Daffodil -

I intended to write you this letter last week when I wrote letters to your sisters.  That's not to say I forgot about you.  Quite the contrary.  It was because of you I just didn't have the time.  You have proven to be my most "complicated" newborn. I can't quite figure you out.  Your oldest sister, once I resigned myself to the fact, was the "screamer."  For 6 months, all she did was cry with brief moments of intermittent smiles.  Your other sister was a totally chill baby, fairly submissive, for the most part, predictable.  I think I've hesitated pinpointing exactly what you are because obviously, with your sisters, I was way off.  Malia ended up being a very cheerful and happy child while Cecily has become quite the firecracker and totally unpredictable.  I think that, despite your being my 3rd child and my supposed "experience" having done this 2x before, I know less about you than I did about your sisters.  I don't know if it's because I've become more humbled with each child.  I don't know if it's because it's impossible to pigeonhole whatever your disposition is because your moods shift unpredictably (and maybe that's the result of being born to a mother already riddled with anxiety).  I don't know if I'm just too tired and thus loosing my once fairly-honed skill of discerning people.  Or maybe, just maybe, it's because no 2 people in this world are alike and you are just as unique as can be.  Yes.  Probably the latter.

Before I continue this letter, I want to make one thing perfectly clear to you: you are not my last baby because of anything you've done or been.  As you grow, you may wonder why we never provided you a brother or even another sister.  You may wonder why I, coming from a family of 5 kids, and your father, having 5 siblings of his own, decided to stop after you.  No matter what amount of teasing may ensue (as is inevitable in this family), know that you are my last baby because I wanted to mentally and emotionally still "be around" as you aged. Believe it or not, your mother was once an energetic, free-spirited, funny, kind-of-awesome-to-be-around person (or so I've been told). I just have a hard time in the first 1/2 of a baby's 1st year.  And as I feel my energy and personality depleting, I realize that, as my 3rd child, you're beginning to get the raw end of the deal with me because so much of me has been lost.  Not to blame you or sisters, by any means.  It's because I, having many other talents, simply struggle in the beginning of motherhood every time a new life comes into this home.  The sleep-deprivation coupled with my self-doubt and PPD-induced guilt slowly chips away at my fragile spirit.  The transition wears on me.  Throw any musical challenge you want at me; I'll conquer it.  But give me an amazing little human that I can't control or communicate with?  I'm a disaster.

So remember - it's not BECAUSE of you that you're (most likely) my last, but FOR you.  

You are an incredibly beautiful baby.  I could stare at you all day.  I don't know how long your dark skin will last.   And although your hair has thinned out a little in these first months, it is black as night and straight, with the exception of a little cowlick on the crown that curls up like Alfalfa after your bath.  Your eyes are still so dark I can't quite pinpoint their color.  They look to me like dark, silvery mercury for now - some sort of a metallic liquid.  There seems to be some blue, but I don't think that will last.  They are so dark, I am currently leaning towards the possibility of them being green like your sister Malia's or hazel like your father's.  I don't believe there's any possibility they'll end up blue like mine or CC's, but if they do, we'll be in trouble.  With your dark complexion, if you have blue eyes, we'll have to fend the boys off with a stick and a pair of Rottweilers.  Who am I kidding?  I can already tell we'll be doing that anyway.

You are trying so hard to be the good sleeper Mommy wants you to be.  Even though, when you are awake, you are incredibly laid-back, easy-going, and pleasant, you struggle if I keep you up for too long.   The problem is, you don't start to tell me it's been too long until it's too late.  If I want to get a nice full nap out of you, I have to lay you down while you're still smiling, cooing, and babbling at me.  It's painful because I want to play with you; talk to you; learn more about you.  As I change your diaper before a nap and start to swaddle you, you are grinning at me and telling me all about yourself while also occasionally trying to frantically jam your fist into your mouth.  I know I've timed it right when I sing to you and you stay calm and quiet and then go down without any protest.  But if I keep you up even 5 minutes too late, you cry before your nap and wake up far too early.  You are like both of your sisters were - you are so alert and take so much in very quickly, and I think it wears you out fast.  I, admittedly, am anxious for the next few months to hurry by because I want you to be able to be up for longer stretches and to be able to handle going down 15 minutes late for a nap, if necessary, without it throwing you completely off.  I want to get to know you, and it's hard when you have to be napping almost all day.  (Also - if you could start sleeping through the night...?  I mean, I'm chunking you up fairly nicely with my milk, so I think you could handle the occasional fast).  You're chunky and in the higher percentiles with your weight, but your feet are still itty-bitty.  I can't even get size 1s to stay on your feet.  Even though you're good-sized now, I wonder if that means you'll be petite like Malia.  Feet usually tell.

You like to be a one-hit wonder.  The first time you smiled you were very young and it brought me so much joy, but then you waited a while before showing it to us again. You rolled over at an incredibly young age as well (2 weeks!) but never did it again consistently until at about 10 weeks.  I got a laugh out of you 2 nights ago (also early for a baby), and have tried, fruitlessly, to garner it again, and all it makes you do now is grunt at me in annoyance.  I guess I'm learning that one thing about you is for sure: you are smart but only ready when YOU are ready.  *sigh*  Just what I need.  Another brilliant child like your father with my strong will.

Your favorite person to talk to is Daddy.  Your favorite person to smile at is Malia.  Your favorite person to stare at and also ignore is CC.  And your favorite person to cry for is me... can I trade somebody?

You've been diagnosed with torticollis.  It's a condition where a muscle in your neck has been damaged and so you often favor looking to the right.  We noticed this when you were only 2 or 3 weeks old.  The pediatrician seems to think you'll grow out of it as long as we are consistent with doing physical therapy every day.  Your father and I are always stretching your neck.  Sometimes you don't mind it.  Sometimes you squawk at us.  It's getting better.  You are looking more to your left with more agility than before, but you still always sleep with your head to the right, which brings us to the other issue:  Plagiocephaly.  The right side of your head is getting quite flat and it's causing your beautiful face to lose some of it's symmetry.  One eye is starting to look a little smaller and one cheek is starting to look a little bigger, and your right ear is shifting closer to the front of your face than the left.  Next week we have an appointment with specialists to look into a cranial band.  I'm sad at the prospect of having to make you wear an annoying helmet for 23 hours a day for a few months, but at the same time, I hope you realize we want to do it to help you.  You are so very pretty, and we want to keep it that way.  When you are older (if the band is necessary) and you look at pictures of yourself as a baby, and think, "Man, my parents were cruel!" I want you to then look in the mirror at how stunning you are, and retract that statement.  We love you so very much.  We only want to make your life as wonderful for you as possible.

You are the namesake of your father and I combined.  Dave + Tiffany = Daphne.  And to look at you, you are just that.  Malia looks so much like Daddy, and CC so much like me.  You are kind of a little mixture, although your father's dominant traits are a bit more prevalent.  

I am anxious for you to begin to become more of a little person so I can more readily help you with what you need, and not feel (as I often do with babies) like I am failing to achieve that.  I apologize for some of the crying I've had to allow you to do.  And in turn, I apologize for the crying I've done in response to it.  I also apologize for the Cafe Rio I had last week that seemed to give you gas for 3 days.  If it makes you feel any better, I'm avoiding chocolate for you.  Some day you will realize just what sort of a sacrifice that really was for you.

I love you more than chocolate.  And that's big.

Love,

Mommy 

5/21/2012 (Cecily)

Dear CCLemon -

Like with your sister, I don't even know where to begin this letter to you.  But unlike your sister, it's because I sometimes feel like there are no words.  Anyone who knows you or interacts with you would know exactly what I'm talking about.  You are something else.  You are basically the poster child for the old parental adage/curse, "Someday I hope you have a child that's just like you!" You're stubborn and strong-willed and feisty and smart and silly and funny and talented and defiant and a delight, all rolled up into one, solid little toddler.

And you are solid!  To look at you, you look like the average-sized 3-year-old.  But when I pick you up, I feel like I'm going to break in half.  You get that from my Dad, your Grandpa, who can't float in a pool to save his life.  You're not an obese child.  You are just solid as a rock, and I wonder if that contributes to the fact that you are constantly losing your balance as well as destroying anything in your wake.  I am amazed at how clumsy you are sometimes (and maybe even annoyed).  I mean, seriously, how many glasses of juice can one child spill in a day?!  And when we ask you to tiptoe past your baby sister's room while she sleeps, you are so compliant, but your tiptoes are louder than the average adult's footsteps!  It's hilarious to watch you so gingerly obey, but to hear the tramplings of Godzilla in accompaniment. 

You've watched a lot of TV in the last few weeks, and I hope I don't ruin you.  I did the same to your sister when you were born, and she seemed to turn out all right so far.  It doesn't help that you are so willingly entertained by it.  Seriously.  You can watch 4 consecutive episodes of "My Little Pony" and not say a thing to me!  I haven't decided yet if that's good or bad.  Speaking of this hard transition - this addition of a sibling - aside from Church, you've been doing ok.  But, oh my gosh, Church!  You are fighting Primary so hard these days.  And a couple of weeks ago, as I was holding your baby sister in the back of the Chapel, trying to keep her from waking up, and you came looking for me with your Grandma who was visiting for her blessing, and then you turned around and booked it all the way up the aisle!  I've never had a child do that before.  I've seen kids do it, and I've judged their parents.  Lesson learned.  Most of my lessons in humility often involve you somehow.

You are (basically) potty-trained!!! YAY!  Aside from the Pull-ups I buy you for nighttime, we are now only buying diapers for one child, again!  Thank you, Cecily!  Thank you.  And aside from the trauma it seems to be for you to have to poop on the toilet, it's been a fairly successful venture.  I remember your sister struggling with "#2," but it's because she was always constipated.  For you?  It's like you just can't be bothered with the time commitment.  You want to sit on the toilet, do your thing, and get on with your life.  If you have to actually spend time there and make an effort, you get so angry.  I'm hoping it's just your disposition and nothing I've done to create such an issue for you... oh, who am I kidding?  I'm sorry for all the issues you'll have in your life because I'm your mother.  Somehow I think you'll be ok, though.  You just have that way.

Despite the afore-mentioned clumsiness, I love to watch you move your body to music. You are influenced by the tempos and the quality of sound in a way that doesn't come natural to all kids.  I can't wait to get you into dance lessons in the fall.  If you can listen and obey (heaven help us), then I think you will actually be quite good at it.   You will also be entering pre-school in the fall, mostly because I want you to have friends and learn to be in classroom settings.  And if you can listen and obey (have mercy), then I think we will be pleased with just how smart you really are.

I know I talk a lot about how you are somewhat of a challenge, but I don't mean it to make you feel like it's a bad thing.  When people talk about these last days, and how certain types of spirits are saved for these times because they have to be able to withstand a lot of crazy trials, I think of you immediately.  You are a warrior.  I can already tell.  I don't want you to feel misunderstood.  I know what it's like to be a certain kind of person, someone with good intentions.  I know what it's like to do everything with all of your heart and soul, and have people think it's that you're defiant and stubborn, when really it's just that you're passionate and feel what you feel all the way down to your toes.  And I know that's why you are the way you are.  I guess it's mostly for Mommy to try to learn how to nurture it for the good of yourself and the world.  And I'm flawed at that.  It's not that you are a "difficult" child.  You're a phenomenal child.  People adore you.  Despite tantrums and  the occasional (always) sass, people usually comment that they just like to sit and watch you because you are so amusing and already your own defined little self.  It's incredible, really.  You are definitely the teacher in this mother/daughter dynamic.  You are teaching me about myself.

Love,
Mommy

5/21/2012 (Malia)

Dear Malia -

I don't even know how to begin this letter to you because so much about you has become multifaceted.   Even addressing you as "Lili-Bug" as I usually do when I write these seems somehow like it just doesn't fit you anymore.  I guess that's what happens when a person really begins to "grow up."  As always, you are still strikingly beautiful.  When I look at your face, and I observe that most of anything baby or toddler about you has officially vanished, I see this pretty girl with the amazing eyes and perfect nose dotted with "angel kisses" (as we call them), and the potential to be incredibly appealing physically - and it scares the ever-loving daylights out of me.  Your Grandma Renee (my mother) made an interesting comment regarding this:  "There's a different challenge that people who are physically attractive have to deal with."  While she may be right (I wouldn't know), I think the challenge it will be for your parents to ward off the male species is going to be even more difficult.  And it doesn't help that you have this darn little charming personality to boot!  And brains and talent, as well!  The Lord was not sparing in handing out blessings to you.  Maybe He was trying to make it up to you ahead of time for sending you to this "special case" of a mother...

Last week, when I dropped you off at school, there were 2 days in a row when I pulled up right next to the fence where about 1/2 a dozen kindergarten boys were kicking a soccer ball around.  When one of them caught a glimpse of you running by, I saw him yell your name.  All of the other boys looked up, and followed suit, running to the fence, beckoning for you to come play with them.  You smiled and waved to them, and I could actually see it affect them... and I panicked.   I even had a dream about you going on your first date - as a 6-year-old!  When one of my friends asked me what I thought my subconscious was trying to tell me, I told her it was that I'm going to need to buy a shotgun.  Just kidding!  ... sort of.

Your favorite thing to do in your free time is to create books from scratch.  All I have to do is hand you a pile of printer paper, folded in 1/2 into a booklet, and you will go into a corner with crayons and a pencil and be entertained for hours.  This makes me proud because it is such a creative and smart way to spend your time, but also because someone I know used to love to do the very same thing (me).  There are, literally, 15+ of these books in the other room as we speak, and I even made you throw 1/2 of them away yesterday.  Your current topic of choice is black holes.  Seems a bit of a stretch from the usual ponies, rainbows, & butterflies, but as I mentioned at the beginning of this letter, you are multifaceted.  Hold on to that. 

You've become increasingly sensitive and emotional since the birth of sister #2/child #3.  I can't really blame you, though, since I have too.  I think the transition has been harder for you this time around.  Maybe it's because you're older and more aware.  Maybe it's because the burden of Mommy's occasional meltdowns are becoming your burden.  Or maybe you're just a girl who's coming more into her own, new sister or not, and I just need to brace myself for the potential hurricane of PMS this household is going to experience in the not-so-distant future.  (Your poor father.  I like to think your current interest in "Star Wars" is softening the estrogen-fueled blow a little). You still try so hard to be obedient, as you always have.  You still try so hard to be happy, as you always have.  You are still exceptionally easier to handle than the average child, as you always have been.  But there's something bothering you lately, and when I ask you, you can't express it.  Hopefully it's because you're not sure what it is, and not because you just don't want to tell me.  You've always been so honest with me.  I never want to do anything to make you feel like that can't continue.  

Even though you and CC have been fighting more and more lately, you are still the best kind of big sister.  On Saturday, I took you both to a birthday party while Daddy stayed home with a napping Daphne, and I noticed that Cecily was following you around like a lost puppy dog.  I was concerned you were going to get annoyed (as you often do at home), but you were amazing with her - helping her on slides, getting her a snow-cone, letting her sit by you during games and activities.  On the drive home, I thanked you for being so wonderful with her and you simply said, "Well, I didn't want her to get lost or hurt because she's little."  So sweet.  But also funny because, even though you are still a few inches taller than her, you only weigh 3 pounds more than her.

I can see you light up in those few moments when you and I are alone, while your sisters are both napping.  I will try my best to always have alone time with you, even if I have to write it on a calendar.  Lately, that time has been when I take you to dance class on Saturdays.  You love dancing.  You love music.  You love singing.  The other day, as I was singing and playing the piano, you came over and joined me.  You didn't know the song at all, but you read along and sang (the wrong notes) along with as much gusto as you could muster.  It was totally off pitch and totally loud, but it totally melted my heart.  If there's one thing I do right, I hope it's to teach you to love music as much as I do.  It will buoy you up in the darkest of times.  That and the Gospel.  So, 2 things.  Hopefully, I do 2 things right.  The Savior and music.  With those things, this life will be endurable for you.  

 You are nearing the end of kindergarten, and it really is bringing to light for me the old cliche' of "they really do grow up fast."  You're excited about being able to play on the big kid playground next year.  I haven't decided how I feel about you being at school for twice as long as a 1st grader.  I'm not sure how I feel about saying I'll have a 1st grader.  Please slow down.  I'm not ready.

Love, 

Mom

Questions from Jean

Another one of my dear friends who had the nerve to move away, Jean is one of those people that a person like me definitely loves to have around.  She laughs at everything!  Aside from that, however, she is also one of the kindest people I have ever come to know in my lifetime.  She's not perfect, however.  I mean, she DID have the nerve to move away from me as well.  Just saying.  I don't know if you've noticed from these postings, but I'm getting a little lonely down here in SoCal.

Question #1:

 What's your favorite episode of Arrested Development? 

 Oh, man.  I haven't watched AD in a VERY long time!  It's one of the only television shows we have actually purchased the DVD set to.  I'm more a fan of certain characters (Gob, Buster) or one-liners (Tobias) and running gags (the chicken dance) than I am of full episodes.  But I do remember very specifically laughing literally out loud at the episode with the Charlie Brown pout reference.  I don't remember if the whole episode is actually that funny, but that gimmick has infused itself into our lives (we hum the song whenever we're willing to laugh at something we're bummed about).

 

Oh, man.  I should watch it tonight.  Thanks for the reminder!


Question #2:

What's your favorite Disneyland memory?
Oh, geez.  Impossible.  I'll give you the first few that just POP into my head.

RE: Malia

One Labor Day, David took the day off and we risked possible crowds and went to Disneyland.  Malia & I went often, but rarely did David come.  We planned to spend the entire day there as well, also something we didn't often do.  Because Malia is so petite, it took a while before she could go on a lot of the thrill rides, so we were amazed to discover she was tall enough for the Matterhorn.   I was pregnant with CC at the time, so I was bummed I couldn't take her.  She had no idea what to expect, however, and willingly went with her Daddy.  

When I saw their car pull up a few minutes later after the ride was over, she looked very calm, which surprised me.  When they approached me, I could see the utter terror in her face.  No tears.  Just a calm... fear?  David said that she was fine for about 20 seconds, and then as the ride picked up speed, he felt her body tense, and she spent the rest of the ride saying, in a very calm voice, "Ok.  I'm done now.  I think I'm done.  I'm done, now."  I was just so amazed she wasn't even crying.  She was just "done."

And despite the hundreds of times I've taken Malia to visit TinkerBell, nothing will compare to the very first time we went.  We waited in the line for 2 hours! (Since then, I avoid it entirely if the wait is more than 45 minutes).  She was absolutely giddy.  Even more so when she saw that Silvermist & Fawn were also there. I remember it being very hard to get her to calm down for bed that night... but it was totally worth her joy.  (Also noted: the kid really was very good at waiting patiently in line; especially for her age.  Until CC came along, I never realized how lucky I was with that).

 

RE: Cecily

CC went to Disneyland for the 1st time when she was just shy of 8 weeks old when David's family came down for her blessing.  It was an amazing day for me because my mother-in-law carried her in the Bjorn all day with the exception of the times I nursed her, so that I could run around and go on all the big kid rides.  It was awesome.

 

I remember another occasion with Cecily when we went to the Princess Faire (something I didn't normally like doing).  It was so fun to watch her get a lot of attention from the Disney cast members.  Malia has always gotten ridiculous attention when we visit, so it was fun for me to see that Cecily had that magnetic appeal, too. 

  

 RE: Me

When I was in high school, despite being one of her more musically-gifted students, my choir teacher was always getting on my case.  Somehow I just managed to always get under her skin - mostly with the volume of my voice, both in singing and talking.  I was always losing my voice right before competitions.  It drove her nuts.  My hyperactivity and inability to focus were also things that often had her rolling her eyes at me and disciplining me.

We had a competition at Disneyland, and I was in New Orleans Square with some friends when the little jazz quintet that does a show around the area appeared.  We were dancing along to the music when the tuba player, noticing my over-zealous personality, grabbed me and pulled me into the center to dance with him.  He started doing some goofy moves and I started mimicking them.  He turned and shook his booty at the crowd, and I turned and did the same when I heard a familiar voice shout, "Tiffany!  Have some self-respect!"

I had just shaken my tooshie right in the face of my choir teacher.  I have never forgotten that experience.

Another one of my favorite experiences was, no lie, when we took the Andersons (you, Jean!) to Disneyland for your very first time.  Even though I was pregnant with Malia and had to stand at the exit of all the roller coasters holding everyone's stuff, I still had such a good time watching people experience the Happiest Place on Earth for the first time.  I like to take the blame for your addiction.


Question #3:
When are you coming to Utah next?????
I do hope to make it out there next year some time.  Maybe in the summer.  But first, I'm trying to just survive this week.  LOL.  Having 3 children has definitely increased travel costs, and so it'll be when we decide to be stupid enough to take that long drive.  But it will definitely happen eventually.  I miss Utah.