Hug time: parenting when the world is too much

I didn’t know what had happened in Las Vegas. Maybe I could leave it alone. Maybe I could pretend I hadn’t seen it. Maybe I could find out what happened later, after the coffee kicks in. At least after the sun is up.

Monday October 2nd. It was an early morning here. We’d all been sick for almost a week and we were finally starting to feel more alive. So surely sleeping past six was too much to ask. We were testing our freshly healed stomachs with black coffee, laughing at Wyatt as he played with his baby doll Carter. “Aw, are you showing him outside?” Papa asked. No, we realized, as Wyatt carefully wedged each of Carter’s little plastic feet under the edge of the mini blinds and left him there to hang upside down. We laughed and laughed.

Of course I had to take a picture. Of course I had to instagram it. “Are you posting that right now?” Evan asked. Of course I was. Because it was hilarious, and I’m addicted.

Within seconds of clicking that irresistable Instagram icon, I saw it: the words “Pray for Las Vegas” on an attractive graphic. It caught my eye immediately, but didn’t register at first. There’s been such a constant flow of tragedies and disasters recently it can be hard to keep up. Another account I follow had posted something similar, and I quickly realized this was a new one. I didn’t know what had happened in Las Vegas.

Maybe I could leave it alone. Maybe I could pretend I hadn’t seen it. Maybe I could find out what happened later, after the coffee kicks in. At least after the sun is up.

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How I learned to stop cosleeping and love the crib (an experiment with gentle sleep training)

As I struggled through one final night of being climbed on and kicked while my baby babbled and headbutted for four hours solid, I realized: This isn’t good for him either.

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Just the essentials: binky, lovey, and tiny Jabba the Hutt.

This is a hard post to write. At risk of losing my crunchy mom cred, I’m here to say I just had the best night of sleep I’ve had in months. I feel just a little more alive than I’ve become accustomed to. My eyes opened easily after only one cup of coffee, instead of the usual two or three. I woke up feeling rested and ready to start the day, not ready┬áto curl up in a ball and die hibernate. I woke up at 6:30 to the sound of my baby’s cry — from his crib, where he’d slept since his 11 pm feeding. Cue the Hallelujah Chorus.

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A few simple rules

At three and a half months, there are a few simple rules…

At three and a half months, life is still pretty simple. Eat, poop, sleep, repeat. We’re starting to add in some excitement, like holding toys (and sucking on them), reading books (and sucking on them), and rolling over (and sucking on whatever your face lands on). In Wyatt’s eyes, I’m pretty much still the greatest. I don’t leave the house to work, and generally don’t have many obligations that have to happen at a set time, so most of the time we get to do whatever he wants, whenever he wants. This suits us both fine.

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