Lest you think parenting is all adorable photo ops, giggles, and developmental milestones, let me tell you about my morning.
KC's out of town, so last night I faced a solo night of sleep training. Earlier this week Jory accidentally revealed that he is completely capable of going at least 8 hours between feedings during the night - busted! So we're trying to get him to sleep through the night so we can stop stumbling around like the walking dead.
Last night Jory went to bed at 7 pm, woke at 2 am and ate a bit, got a little cranky at 4 am and 5 am but went back to sleep, and then snoozed until 7:30 am. In other words, I woke up feeling pretty good.
We went downstairs for Jory's breakfast - formula and vitamins. Then we both got dressed and we went for an early morning walk around town. Delightful!
Upon our return, Jory was pawing at his mouth, so I figured he wanted to finish his bottle. To my surprise, he became very fussy after only a few minutes of feeding. He finally made it clear that he wasn't going to eat any more; I decided to take him upstairs and check his diaper. I picked him up and began patting him on the back to burp him.
He let loose a simultaneous burp and barf. That's right, he barped. All over himself and all over my chest. He rolled into the barf on my shirt, causing our clothes to stick together.
Seriously gross.
I took him upstairs, set him on his changing table, and stripped my shirt off, which I then used to mop up the stringy mess that had slid down my collar. That shirt went in the pile of laundry, along with Jory's clothes. When I got him undressed I was reminded that he needed a diaper change - and sure enough, there was a huge load of last night's carrots! I pulled that diaper off him and substituted a new diaper ... too quickly, as it turned out.
Jory continued to take his carroty poop as I was changing him. I frantically pulled out a diaper wipe to catch the new business - and as I did that, he stuck his foot right in the old poopy diaper.
I got that mess cleaned up, disposed of the diaper, wrangled him into his new outfit, and realized I'd forgotten to get a new bib. So I picked him up and carried him over to the closet.
He barped.
I lunged for the pile of bibs and managed to catch 90% of the new barp in the fresh bib. The remaining 10% went all over my bra (I was shirtless, remember) and chest ... as well as Jory's new outfit.
Jory looked at me and gestured at his mouth, clearly indicating that since he'd refunded his second breakfast, he was going to need more food.
However, I decided that it was time for his morning nap so I could shower and debarf the clothes. He disagreed.
He went in his crib and I went in the shower. When I got out, I looked at the clock.
9:30 am.
Democracy has been suspended in our household for the day.
KC's out of town, so last night I faced a solo night of sleep training. Earlier this week Jory accidentally revealed that he is completely capable of going at least 8 hours between feedings during the night - busted! So we're trying to get him to sleep through the night so we can stop stumbling around like the walking dead.
Last night Jory went to bed at 7 pm, woke at 2 am and ate a bit, got a little cranky at 4 am and 5 am but went back to sleep, and then snoozed until 7:30 am. In other words, I woke up feeling pretty good.
We went downstairs for Jory's breakfast - formula and vitamins. Then we both got dressed and we went for an early morning walk around town. Delightful!
Upon our return, Jory was pawing at his mouth, so I figured he wanted to finish his bottle. To my surprise, he became very fussy after only a few minutes of feeding. He finally made it clear that he wasn't going to eat any more; I decided to take him upstairs and check his diaper. I picked him up and began patting him on the back to burp him.
He let loose a simultaneous burp and barf. That's right, he barped. All over himself and all over my chest. He rolled into the barf on my shirt, causing our clothes to stick together.
Seriously gross.
I took him upstairs, set him on his changing table, and stripped my shirt off, which I then used to mop up the stringy mess that had slid down my collar. That shirt went in the pile of laundry, along with Jory's clothes. When I got him undressed I was reminded that he needed a diaper change - and sure enough, there was a huge load of last night's carrots! I pulled that diaper off him and substituted a new diaper ... too quickly, as it turned out.
Jory continued to take his carroty poop as I was changing him. I frantically pulled out a diaper wipe to catch the new business - and as I did that, he stuck his foot right in the old poopy diaper.
I got that mess cleaned up, disposed of the diaper, wrangled him into his new outfit, and realized I'd forgotten to get a new bib. So I picked him up and carried him over to the closet.
He barped.
I lunged for the pile of bibs and managed to catch 90% of the new barp in the fresh bib. The remaining 10% went all over my bra (I was shirtless, remember) and chest ... as well as Jory's new outfit.
Jory looked at me and gestured at his mouth, clearly indicating that since he'd refunded his second breakfast, he was going to need more food.
However, I decided that it was time for his morning nap so I could shower and debarf the clothes. He disagreed.
He went in his crib and I went in the shower. When I got out, I looked at the clock.
9:30 am.
Democracy has been suspended in our household for the day.
I'm pretty sure democracy should be suspended in general in your house in general. My mother constantly informed us that we were not living in a democracy; rather she ran a dictatorship. That might be too extreme, but until Jory manages to display sound judgement, he shouldn't get a vote. And his method of evaluating his bath toys does not indicate sound judegment.
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