Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Monday, October 12, 2009

We begin here...

I made the decision to start a blog simply for the purpose of killing time while
my daughter naps. You can only spend so much time lurking around on Facebook and sending your husband Scramble challenges. A 10 month old's naptime, for most mothers, is synonomous with "finally I can get some crap done around here!" It's usually a time to attempt to piece your living space back together...scraping dried bananas off of the carpet, collecting dirty diapers from various imprompteau changing locations, scrubbing 72 different varities of sippy cups. For some lucky few, it may even be a chance to brush your teeth or watch the first half of a Redbox movie that should have been
returned 12 days ago and you now owe...well...12 dollars on.
For me, my 10 month old's naptime consists of falling asleep in my arms while nursing and remaining there until the neighbor's stupid dog is let out and begins barking incessantily, thus waking her. Most reasonable mothers would attempt to transfer their sleeping child to a more suitable location, and most reasonable children would continue sleeping with little to no intermittent fussing. We just haven't gotten there yet. If the only daytime sleep this kid will agree to requires me to sit in one position for an unagreed upon amount of time, then for now, so be it.

To be totally honest, I often lay awake at night worrying about the crummy sleeping habits we've inadvertantly established. Leftover from Faith's hellacious bout with colic, her refusal to sleep anywhere but with me or on me has me fearing I'm headed for the Bad Parenting hall of fame. I'm sure in the larger scheme of things it could be worse but at times, here in this little microcosm, it seems detrimental. If my child wets her pants until she's thirty-two and eats dirty cotton balls for a midnight snack, it will be because I can't kick her out of our bed and get her to sleep in a crib.
I am finding, however, that "blogging" on an iPhone is proving to be somewhat of a pain in the ass. Predictive text might be the death of me.