The Adventures of Super Q

I keep outdoing myself with these long pauses of blogging. Keep trying to shake you people -- but you've got quite a grip! Much like a certain little girl I know.

So where did we last leave our tiny but ever-growing heroine...?

After her little Birthday Bash, we had a busy work week (to make it even more busy, I returned to my Master's program), then my parents came to town for a visit on their way to Florida for work. Quinn and the dog were delighted.

Reunited with their youngest grandchild, my parents looked complete. Jack and I were mere spectators, but we loved every minute of it.

Within a few days of my parents leaving, Jack had a Army bash in Nashville that we had quite some preparing for...

The only suitable dress I had turned up at a dry-cleaner's in Massachusetts, we needed to coordinate with the babysitter how to get to the hotel we'd all be staying at, any shoes the dog might find had to be stashed since he gets a foot fetish whenever we leave town, and in the meantime we would also need to pack for our short annual ski trip to Utah.

Yeah, THAT ski trip. The one that last year caused Quinn to be a Utah native instead of a Cali kid.

It was a cluster, to say the least, but all went well and we had a blast. The flight to Utah felt a bit like a time machine because we had gone to bed after midnight and by 5am were at the airport not having a clue if we'd packed anything other than diapers.

I'm not a big drinker, but I feel hungover any day I have to wake up before 5am. That just isn't natural.

We weren't really eager to subject Lil Lil (as she's also known) to yet another journey across country (by the end of this trip, it would be her 9th flight!). But this trip was special. It was our chance to see our close friends Tom and Jill, while Tom was back on a break from his year deployment to Iraq.

Had we missed it (and THANK YOU Army, we almost did), it would be somewhere between two and three years since the last time Jack had seen Tom, and we just couldn't let that happen.

Besides, the mountains had snow! Almost as much as the dumping Tennessee had (see Quinn riding in our makeshift sled, touring our TN 'hood).

As expected, the trip to Utah was fabulous... I'm starting to think EVERYTHING in Utah is fabulous.

Giving up a half day of skiing, Jack braved a tour of the NICU where Quinn and I spent the first two months of her life. One of the nurses took him to the room where my NICU buddy, Tiffany, and I spent countless hours hovering over our kids, and showed him a baby about the same size and gestational age Quinn was when she was born.

He couldn't believe you could pick such a tiny being up without breaking her. And to think she was one of bigger premies!

While Jack got entrenched in all things-NICU, Quinn and I hung out in the hallway with some of the amazing and wonderful nurses I befriended there.

As crappy as it was to have a premie, Quinn couldn't have been born in a better place! I can't believe how much I adore and miss those ladies. It felt like a whole 'nother kind of homecoming for me, and Quinn was bubbling over with joy.

Despite having my camera hung around my neck, I totally spaced on taking pictures until I met up for lunch with two of them -- Emily & Galina, and Galina's newborn, Peter. Phew!

From there we stopped by the Ronald McDonald House where I burrowed a home in the snow...

And yes, it looks like a B&B because it used to be. Wasn't quite B&B kind fun while I was living there, but I so appreciated a quiet and beautiful home to be in while trying to stay sane.

After touring Salt Lake and grabbing a bite at the tasty crepe place, the three of us headed to Park City to meet Uncle Tom and Auntie Jill.

To really pack in the fun, the plan was for Tiffany and her family to drive down and spend the night there too, so we could spend the next day cross-country skiing with the premie pack.

But shortly after we arrived in Utah, Tiffany called to say the boys had a cold. It probably wasn't RSV (a particularly nasty virus for premies) since they had the vaccine against it, but it was a cold nonetheless.

They were still willing to make the drive down, but being as neurotic as we, they figured it was probably best to cancel. Quinn hadn't had her first cold yet, and we were trying to keep it that way until RSV season was over in April. It was a huge disappointment, but we promised to have a reunion this summer or fall, the next chance we get, and to skype plenty in the meantime.

Well, long story short... The trip to Utah was fantastic. Quinn had her first experience spending the day with a babysitter. Jack and Tom had time to get all caught up on Army life, deployment details, and plenty of fresh tracks down the mountain. And Jill and I impressed the two of them, and ourselves, after we boot-packed to ski down some crazy heights.

The trip back to Tennessee was smooth and all went well until a few days later when I started to get sick... and then, Quinn started to get sick. Unfortunately, sporting a mask and sterilizing everything I touched didn't keep it from getting into her system.

Was kind of hoping to be the first to give her a driving lesson, or a hug after a teenage heartbreak, but not her first cold!!! I felt like such a failure, and a giant a-hole.

The first chance I got I took her to the doc, only to hear the horrid news that she probably had RSV.

After two months in the NICU, you too would be convinced that RSV is the virtual plague for a premie. It's bad bad bad. Yet this doctor wasn't freaking out. Her only cause for alarm seemed to be because it looked like I might pass out.

Both my parents and Tiffany gasped when I told them the prognosis, which made me feel a bit more sane for being freaked.

She gave us some instructions to help get her weight up (over the course of three weeks, she's down from 16lb 3oz to 16lb 1oz...gulp!), some antibiotics for her ear-infection (now I'm ready to sob), and something to lessen the pain in her ear canal.

As of yesterday, it wasn't clear if or when either of us would get better. But this afternoon, Quinn is definitely more like herself (i.e. abusing the dog, bouncing and squealing in Jack's arms like a rockstar, and blowing spit bubbles at me).

So, the lesson for today has been: less coughing = less cough-induced vomiting, which means more calories, which (I'll help you extrapolate if you aren't good at logic) is a good thing.

So, take many loads of vomit-laundry, add a few tons of Kleenex, and top with three or four mind-bending graduate school papers... you wind up with one very bad blogger.

But, we are certain to still come out ahead -- or so I think (can you tell I'm not so good at math?). More health and (hopefully) humor to come...

Until then,

Love from Super Q and Her Entourage

Are We There Yet???

Long time no talk... I'm really striving to be a bag blogger it seems. So I'll try to bring ya'll up to date.

We did make it back safely from our cross-country roadtrip. Memphis was great, and Quinn dined at her first Southern BBQ joint. The staff at Central BBQ was so enamored with her they gave her some plain grilled chicken to gnaw on while we wolfed down things I won't publicly admit to ingesting.

A grandmother at another table thought we must have been starving her when she saw how this tiny child could inhale chicken bits. The college students sitting nearby couldn't help but notice her trying to flirt with them and flirt right back, which brought out her rock-concert squeal making the night feel like a happy end to our long trip.

Early the next afternoon, which was three weeks after we'd left town, Jack, Quinn and I were finally back in our own house. The trouble was, it didn't feel much like a home.

A few days before we had left Tennessee, we decided we should have the filthy, nasty, pee-scented carpeting we inherited from the previous owners taken out and replaced with wood floors. The upside would be that we wouldn't be around for the noise and dust, but we had to move all our of furniture out of my office and our bedroom. Not a big deal, but not exactly fun either.

Long story short, since we were doing the floors we also decided to finally rid our lives of the freakish colors too and paint the walls of those rooms... which we had yet to do.

So our return home from a fun, but not entirely relaxing trip, was to roll up our sleeves and get a bit messy whenever Quinn was cooperative enough to take a long nap. Then after she went to bed we'd knock ourselves out spackling, priming, and painting until 2am when we'd collapse on the living room couch.

A good friend who was scheduled to come out for a visit had offered to come anyway with paintbrush in hand, but realized what a mess we and the house were and offered to visit another time.

By Tuesday, when Jack had to return to work, the painting was complete and we were sleeping in our own bed... Now picking out our mistakes in the paint job instead of someone else's.

Then before we knew it, we were back in the car heading down to Alabama to visit friends who we had hoped to see on the drive back from California.

Climbing into the car for another 7 hour drive wasn't exactly what we'd been hoping to do, but we'd systematized how to keep Super Q feeling pretty super even though she would spend the time straight-jacketed in a carseat.

Besides, we knew she would have a blast as soon as we set her loose around the dozen people who would be gathering to welcome Jack back and meet her for the first time. And if that didn't do it, we hoped Quinn would forgive us when she had her first taste of cake because she'd be turning a year old among her new collection of friends.

And that is precisely how it went.

Quinn had a comfortable ride, and made herself right at home as she explored every corner of our friend Sue's house.

When new people arrived the next day, she was eager to play with someone other than her drab parents, and kept us all guessing at what all her babble might really have meant.

Saturday evening, the house began to fill up with new faces and the growing clamor of a celebration.

Conflicted by her body's fatigue and the thrill of her first party, Quinn would rub her eyes and let out a feeble cry and then muster the energy to flash a smile and wave at the next arriving friend. And so, it was a long fussy night until she gave in and passed out.

But it was a night to remember as Quinn had her first taste of dairy-free chocolate-free (but definitely not sugar-free) frosting, and loved it.

After Skyping with her Grandparents in California, Quinn received a load of presents, and lots of attention as people lined up with super sanitized hands to give a hug to the Birthday Girl. If this party set the bar for birthday bashes, we are in for a festive future, that's for sure!

Home at last,
The Travelin' Murphys

Santa and His Blue-Suede Shoes

Last time Jack and I took a road trip was for his R&R back in April.

We rented an RV and poked along the California coast, familiarizing ourselves with the Sonoma County vineyards as we fumbled our way through the unfamiliar territory of parenting.

This time we have a slightly better clue of what we are supposed to do with such a little passenger in tow, but of course the game has changed and Quinn too now has her own ideas of what we should and shouldn’t do.

One thing that didn’t go over big was when half an hour farther down the road, horrified, I realized I’d left my bag (ok, purse) in a Starbucks and we had to turn around. Or as we headed towards sunrise and heard something like a bullet hit the car.

That time, Quinn knew it wasn’t something worth waking for. Nonetheless, her parents and the dog made quite a commotion when they realized not a bullet but a rock had fallen from an overpass and shattered the car’s back window.

After the chore of getting the window fixed in Flagstaff, Arizona, we all enjoyed a day’s break from the breakneck speed of the highway when Jack and Quinn saw Santa Fe for the first time.

There wasn’t much patience for museum hopping, but we did peek at some O’Keefe portraits of the desert landscape.

Meanwhile, Quinn summoned a small crowd when she flashed her three teeth at a group of tourists. Before we knew what was happening, five strangers were gathered around letting her flirt her way into their field of view.

By the time we left, they said getting to see her entire face smile had eclipsed the rest of the museum’s artwork.

Being entirely objective, we happened to agree but were generous enough not to charge an admission fee.

Now we’re back on the road, heading out of Oklahoma and on to Beale Street in Elvis’ hometown.

All the best from,
The Memphis-Bound Murphys

On the Road, Again

A bit belated, but a Happy Holidays and Merry New Year to all of you!

We've been on a bit of a whirlwind since Jack's return to the States, it's been fun and all but I'm about ready for things to settle back down.

Since it had been well over a year since Jack's parents had seen him, and they had yet to meet their first grandchild, we headed to Seattle to see them and friends that are family.

The weather was stellar, as it always seems to be in Seattle when I go (makes me think those are some lyin' locals who speak of "endless rain" just to keep us Californians from invading).

But the weather was just the highlight to the reunion with Jack's folks and their introduction to Quinn.

Her grandmother, Nguyet, couldn't resist trying to give Quinn jewels of jade and telling her stories about how Jack loved his bottle of milk even after he started school.

Meanwhile, Grandpa Jim crawled around on the floor with her exploring all that Quinn found fascinating and pretending to find it as such too. It was a short visit, but instantly became a treasured memory.

We then spent Christmas day with Madeline Quinn's namesake -- lovingly known as "Auntie Maddy," which was just the relaxing day we had been craving.

There weren't any presents to unwrap, but a lot of catching up and laughing to do over fantastic food and a beautiful walk around Lake Washington.

Awaiting us down the coast at my parents' place was our dog and my beloved Subaru, so we wrapped things up and hit the road yet again. Considering it's nearly a thousand mile trip, Jack and I were especially grateful our rental car happened to be a hybrid.

We built in a few treats for ourselves by stopping in Portland and Berkeley long enough to see my friends and their spouses (Luna, from my days at Smith, and my high school friend Rachel -- and to meet her super cute and super tall 6-month old daughter, Isabella). That was a real pleasure for us and Quinn, but another would be found once we got to Monterey.

Quinn was greeted with a welcoming committee unlike any other when the three dogs started to jump out of orbit with glee and her only two cousins came running to the car door.

Who knew that a 10-year old boy would find his infant niece any fun (it probably helped that we took them to see elephants and a hyena...). But because he and his 6-year old sister took such interest in her, Quinn now squeals with glee whenever she sees their pictures.

The final departure from my parents' place was tough. We extended it by a day because it was just a little too painful to peel Quinn and the dog away without a little more time for all of us to adjust to our new reality.

When I left for a year in Monterey I was hopeful all would go well and it wouldn't blow up in my face damaging my relationship with my parents. Fortunately that was far from the case.

It is rare that an adult gets to return to live under her parents' roof and it not be unhappy circumstances.

That I had that opportunity to share a space with two people I admire more than virtually any other, without the veil of teenage angst, was a real gift. And that not only did I benefit -- but so did Quinn -- was ever the more a year to cherish.

So now the three of us and the dog are back on the road, making our way to Tennessee.

Quinn has adapted as best as a kid could to such an erratic schedule, and shown herself to have a most patient, resilient, and sweet of dispositions... We just hope it lasts so that even in her teenage angst she can enjoy another roadtrip now and then with her folks.

Love from the road for the New Year,
The Midgety Murphys

Looking for Southern Comforts

As you probably surmised... Jack is back!

Maybe a bit later than anticipated, but back safe and sound. And life? It's really really good.

It was good before, but there's no mistaking the difference now that he is back within arm's reach.

The last few days and hours before his return passed at a snail's pace, especially for him and the other ~150 soldiers stranded in Romania. In those few days, it felt like yet another year was ticking by.

His flight arrived at 3:30am last Sunday, and considering the repeated delays they kept the pomp and circumstance to a minimum, which we all appreciated.

Yet, we weren't home until just before sunrise when we popped open a bottle of champagne and tried to coax the kid back down to a nap.

Considering all the timezone tweaking, Quinn went with the flow of being awoken in the middle of the night to bright lights and a blaring band.

She was momentarily out of sorts when I handed her off to Jack for the first time, but since then it's clear his is a familiar face to her. More than that, it's like she's living with a rockstar as she squeals with delight virtually NONSTOP!

Unfortunately, we haven't had as much time with her Jack-Daddy as we'd hoped because of the mandatory seven days of "reintegration."

It's the Army's way of saying in many different ways "don't be a moron" by: beating your spouse, drinking and driving, eating your child's homework, super-gluing your brother-in-law's bum to the toilet seat..." You know, the stuff people do when they return from a year of combat.

I'm all for screening people for PTSD, but I was about to go postal on Uncle Sam when it started to feel harder to have Jack home than in Afghanistan.

At least while he was there, I didn't have any illusions or delusions about seeing him; but now he's right here. That is, until 6:30 in the morning when he leaves for reintegration and then gets sucked into work stuff or other fanfare, and doesn't get home until late in the day or even evening.

It's nice not to have to worry about his well-being or safety, but it's a real buzz-kill to have him come home and not get a day off to truly celebrate since.

That will all change though, as of Wednesday we are headed back to the left coast.

There Quinn will meet her other set of grandparents, the "auntie" she's named after as well as another -- both of whom strategically set up Jack and me, to our great gratitude.

More blogging to come from the air and road, and pictures as well.

Being completely spent before 9pm each night has kept me so quiet. But I am certain now that Jack is fully "reintegrated" and we have a chance to get better reacquainted as a family there will be more time for keeping things current.

Many thanks for all the well-wishes and prayers -- they paid off!

Love,
Mama J, Miss Quinn AND Daddy-Jack

Going Grinch

Tick tock, tick tock. Time moves at a glacial speed when you're just days, if not hours away from being reunited with your loved one.

Jack's return has been delayed multiple times because the plane -- she's a broke. And the plane coming with the part to fix his plane -- she's a broke too.

Excellent system. Top notch sort of organization. Sad to say that when it comes to my own work I can relate entirely too well to such inefficiencies. Yet, I'm not schlepping the U.S. Army around, or the heart-strings of their families!

So for now, my loved one is stuck in Budapest. Confined to the hotel (because everyone is armed) people are starting to go batty. Someone was thoughtful enough to get a tour bus and take the soldiers out on a field-trip before someone lost their mind (not a good idea when armed). Jack didn't sound terribly excited so I mentioned that a friend did his mission for the Mormon church in Budapest and loved it. That's when he realized he was so out of sorts when he got there he thought it was Budapest, when it's really Bucharest! Silly silly Jack-Jack.

Even though I'm starting to feel out of sorts myself, I haven't lost touch of where I am... But it does feel like someone keeps promising me that Santa is coming tomorrow yet he never shows, he just keeps getting hung up there in the North Pole or some one else's chimney.

Considering how unfathomable it was that Jack might actually be coming home, I feel like the kid who always suspected there wasn't a Santa and is now finding evidence pointing to this sad reality.

Stupid reality. Stupid Santa.

Quinn is much more resilient and willing to bend her experience of said reality. She's adapting to seeing her grandparents as 2-dimensional beings over Skype, and seems willing to believe it's still them just a lot flatter.

While she mimics their sounds, they watch her snarf down multiple bowls of food, all the while slapping at me to bring her more more more.

Not sure I've ever mentioned it, but for months this girl has been eating the equivalent of a 150lb person ingesting: 6 bananas, 2 bowls of cereal, and 1 bowl of yogurt -- topped off with a sip of tea in one sitting! Who needs Santa when there's the Endless Belly of Quinn to be the 8th Wonder of the World?! Seriously.

With a new home to explore, she's having a blast with door-stops, a big tub, and even the poorly inflated inflatable pool (which I'm afraid has a lethal leak). Even though she had a few hard cries and has been a bit more clingy than usual, Quinn is adjusting to her new surroundings well. She's smiling at strangers and getting to know neighbors, it's really endearing.

I'll let you know if my Santa Soldier arrives, or if he is just a figment of my imagination after all.

Cheers to you and your Santa Somebody. And may you be worthy of receiving something much warmer than coal!

Impatiently,
J & Quiescent Quinn

The Kindness of Strangers

Last Monday, my parents loaded up me and the twerp for an early flight back to Tennessee. It was a year to-the-day since I packed up my car, my belly, the cat, the dog and drove across country to live with my parents.

Watching the rain come down in sheets for some reason made me less inclined to cry, even though it was feeling a little more bitter than sweet at the moment to leave the comforts of California for a long trip to our new "home."

Balancing one bag on one handlebar of Quinn's stroller, and the cat on the other, while hanging on to a huge bag weighted down with all the baby essentials, and mine as well, and a carseat base dangling from fingers free from steering the stroller -- I wasn't sure I was going to make it past security let alone to Nashville.

The line was longer than we had imagined, but that was in part to our late start out the door... Which all began with the moment my Dad picked up one of my two massive duffel bags and it literally began to burst as the seams. Thankfully he made a mad and successful dash to their attic for a replacement bag, and was well into transferring my oodles of stuff by the time I reappeared with a semi-awake kid.

Back to the fiasco at security. Let's just call it a cluster, of sorts. Shoes off, jacket off, computer out, boarding pass in hand, liquids and gels bagged. My fear was they would make me toss Quinn's breakfast of breast-milk, but that turned out not to be an issue. (The TSA lady mumbled something about doing some sort of litmus test on it... Yeah sure, I buy that.)


No, the nutty part was that they wanted me to take the cat and the baby out of their respective "containers" and hold both of them while walking through the metal detector -- AND showing my boarding pass. Now, I'll admit anyone who can make breakfast from their teets is pretty freaking amazing, but I'm not THAT talented, or stupid. Besides, my cat still weighs more than my baby (18lb>15lb), and both of them can have really sharp claws!

It must have been the look I gave my parents like I'd might as well just turn around and go home with them that another TSA person offered something a bit more reasonable... that I carry one and then come back for the other. So, we survived, and I didn't get clawed to shreds.

Unfortunately, the chaos kept me from giving my parents a proper goodbye, but perhaps that was a good thing since I'd just start bawling and then the TSA would have to test my tears to make sure they weren't really a secret weapon of sorts.

The rest of the trip (two flights and a shuttle ride) went incredibly smoothly. That was entirely thanks to the kindness of strangers. It was awe inspiring. Three people, who weren't even with the airline, went way out of their way to help me and my traveling circus.

When I had ten minutes to make more moo before the next flight, someone offered to take a picture of Quinn on my lap (the cat is next to us but I reconsidered the temptation to get him in the shot too). Those individuals made our journey so seamless (unlike my duffel bag that morning), I can't believe I'd considered driving.

I must add that before she took our picture, the woman looked at me in horror when she thought Quinn had meowed. (I nearly fell over in hysterics when she asked me how she did that.)

My two travel companions were extremely relaxed and easy-going as well. Neither Quinn nor Carlos-kitty made a peep for most of the way. People had no idea either were on the flight. The only time Quinn did fuss was when I put some saline gel up her nose to help keep her from catching an airborne cold or flu.

It wasn't a pleasant feeling, which I say with some authority since I showed her I'd do it to myself before doing it to her. Only much much later (well after chatting the ear off a stewardess whose jump seat was next to mine at the back of the plane) did I realize that the stuff also has a tendency to bubble back out of your nose and hang there a bit like rubber cement. Cute on a baby, maybe. Definitely not cute on her mother.

So now we are back in Tennessee (swimming pool and all) awaiting Jack's return -- which is said to be tomorrow!

He's been underway since two days before I left for a total of five from Afghanistan. The jet-lag is sure to be brutal but I'm just thrilled to have him out of that country and soon in our own.

Pictures and more to come... but I'll try not to blather on so much (just got my internet connection hooked up today -- yay! I can function again!).

Happy travels near and far to all of you,
Mrs J and Her Traveling Circus

Dear Sleep, I've Missed You!

Sleep and I have been busy getting reacquainted this past week, and it has been grand!

The downside, is I've neglected everything from emailing and blogging, to sewing and eating and counting days on the calendar until Jack comes back.

Sleep has eaten up so much of my attention it seems that it's in short supply for the remainder of our stay here in beautiful California. It's now only a few days left before Quinn and I fly the Grandparents' coop and head back to where Jack will be meeting us in nearly a week!

It's hard to believe 50+ weeks has dwindled down to just one. In fact, I'm so doubtful of this new reality that I find it hard not to ask Jack if there isn't something I could send him (it's been weeks since shipping off his last care-package, which leaves me feeling rather delinquent).

In between intermittent rendezvous with sleep, I've been packing up all my belongings and the more useful baby stuff. Nearly all of it is already en route to greet us in Tennessee. My poor brother-in-law, Paul, (who has been taking care of our place) might second guess if I was the Octomom once the boxes of stuff arrive. It will seem not only did I go forth and multiply, but so did my crap!

To spare Quinn the experience of driving across the country twice (I'll explain later), and keep me from losing my renewed sense of sanity, she and I -- and the cat -- will be flying back, just a few days ahead of when we hope to welcome home Jack. It's very exciting, and very surreal.

It's been an ongoing adjustment to this "new normal" of being a quasi-single Mom, but overall, it has come feel comfortable. To change things up yet again, even in such a great way, is still a bit scary.

Neither Jack nor I have a need to romanticize what it will be like. We're not expecting to see something like Northern Lights shoot through the sky as he steps off the plane.

Besides, (in case you haven't noticed) I'm weird. Considering that it took me ten of his 14 R&R days to adjust to him being underfoot, and that after having only been deployed a few months; it might be a bit before I can fully relax into yet another "new normal." So, I know that, and don't expect it all to feel like roses and truffles -- or for my taste, orchids and sushi -- at least not at first.

Sounds silly considering how much I enjoy sharing Quinn's development with my parents, but in some ways I'm not eager to share her with someone who has equal say in how to rear her. Guess it's no shock to some that I'm a bit of a control freak, and don't mind being the boss, especially when it's something (or in this case someone) I've been working hard to take care of (ever since she was back in the belly).

All that being said, I'm certain it will be fantastic to have Jack back. The closer that time gets, the more real it feels.

And, just in case we're under-romanticizing it, I'll bring my camera to catch those stunning "Southern" Lights when his smile lights up our memories of how incredible it is to be together again.

Much love and sweet slumber,
J & and Miss Quinn

Slaying the Sleepless Monster

That was nice of you all who knew better not to tell me so that the whole "she's teething" theory is pretty much bunk. No no, really, I can appreciate a learning curve when it rises before me, with my ignorance looming almost as tall.

To no surprise to you of course, the teething tablets did nothing for Quinn's restlessness. Before packing up my various baby books I flipped through to see what they said about the joys of teething. All four said it was blamed for more than is reasonable. In fact, early in the 20th Century, a new tooth used to be charged as the villain for a child's (otherwise unexplained) death. Instead, all that can be attributed to a baby's pearly whites is some minor pain lasting only a few days.

This revelation made me wonder if I had unwittingly been roped into the soothe-the-bebe game this whole time. So I tried not responding immediately when Quinn started to cry in the middle of the night. If it continued for more than ten minutes, I resolved to only give her the nukie (pacifier) back, instead of a fresh bottle of milk.

Just as the teething tablets had failed, this too bombed. The decibel of her cry negated the need for a monitor in my room, and the nukie didn't last more than a second after I plugged it in her mouth. Dazed, I concluded she really was hungry so I resumed the pattern of giving her a bottle, until she fell asleep and I could wander back to my slumber.

As of last night, my latest theory was that Quinn wasn't eating enough during the day, so if I worked harder at stuffing her gut she wouldn't wake up hungry. So, I made sure she ate and drank plenty. All went well... until she went to bed. Figuring I was being played by her inherent baby games, I resisted coddling her after I put her to bed; only returning to give her the nukie and to keep her from scratching off her ears and pulling out her hair (this has become another nightly ritual).

Over an hour, Quinn's cries seemed only to escalate. When I finally picked her up she stopped crying only long enough spew her dinner of avacado, rice cereal, and breastmilk all over herself, the floor, her bed, and me. Copious amounts of puke... Yum. (And thank you Dad for being the clean-up crew!)

Of course, at the sight of this I was pretty sure I won the "Crappiest Mother" award for a failed attempt to steal some sleep by engorging the little girl. Quinn got over it as soon as I plopped her in the tub, refilled her belly, and deposited her back into a clean bed. That was until she woke up multiple times throughout the night, again.

Today a stroke of sanity came my way.

One of the NICU nurses, Angelia, had talked Tiffany and me into getting a book on getting a baby to sleep. I hadn't read much of it since Quinn was a few months old, at which time the ongoing mantra is "You can never spoil a baby." So, I thought I was safe until she was a bit heftier and clearly getting spoiled.

Fat sleeves and all, it didn't seem like Quinn was bulky enough to ignore her cries for food in the middle of the night. And, considering she'd polish off a couple of bottles between 10pm and 5am, I thought it was safe to conclude she really needed those calories.

Apparently, I'd been had.

All I've been doing is perpetuating her and my on-going lack of sleep. By going into her room, giving her a nukie, or uttering utter nonsense to her is enough positive feedback to get her hooked.

Try it yourself sometime. It's hard not to want to soothe a baby and stop the madness of her cries. Evolution-wise, a baby's cries are supposed to remind us not to leave the helpless being outside the cave, at to feel like the sound alone could burst apart every fiber of our body.

Maybe the most evolved of all of us, my Dad has been the biggest pushover when it comes to any baby crying. Apparently, I was notorious for doing the same thing well into my toddler years (and all this time they have been blaming ME when it was really their reinforcement that kept it going so long!).

The few times I'd tried to let Quinn "cry it out," I'd click on the monitor's video only to see she had stopped crying because my Dad had scooped her up and was cooing her to more subtle sounds. Out of her bedroom she would come with a victorious smile, and I'd wonder if she started to prefer him over old-slow-to-respond Mom.

Not to mention -- back in the hospital, it was thrilling to imagine the normalcy of being sleep-deprived and having to feed and comfort her at home. Although I've complained now and then, it really hasn't been a big deal -- except I'm slightly less sane as the sleepless nights pile up.

As of today, no more soothing. Not by me, grandpa, or even the animals who after enough crying will flock to see what is amiss.

My parents read the parts of the book that seem to speak right to us and little Miss Quinn. Considering it is Thanksgiving week, it seems appropriate we go cold-turkey.

So Quinn's sticky fist doesn't rule all hours of the day any more. Her hours of operation have been cutback to the day-shift only, excluding naps.

From now on, she will be sleeping through the night, and so will I. I can hardly wait!

Goodnight to all,
The Hoodwinked Mommy & Bamboozling Baby

Gnawed Off Shotgun

This kid is ready for center stage. She is not only a handful, she is a handful of ham (as Jack put it).

The other day, she showed off to him by climbing up the entire staircase while he watched online. Today, she bounced around and squealed while stuffing fist-fulls of rice krispies in her beak.

I try to help by dressing her as a girly girl with a barrette one day, and then a punk rocker the next. That way, she can experience the gamut and be good at all of it. And then I will introduce her to my wig collection, and all will be holy and complete!

Tonight though, I'm hoping she takes an intermission from practicing for her Broadway solo by belting out the lyrics to her incessant teething pains.

Some sentient being creating chamomile tablets made for such a situation. After dissolving and then rubbing some on her gums I am told it should work to allow her to sleep without pain. Or maybe it just transfers the pain directly to my fingers since she nearly gnawed them off... Ouch! We shall see soon enough.

In case you were wondering, the gas tank boobytrap is still set... Once I do catch the siphoning simpleton, I will definitely let him/her get gummed to a pulp by the every chewing Miss Q!



Off to dreams of chamomile sans tea,
Not-a-Morning-Mama J & Broadway Que'd