Captain’s Log, March 21st two thousand and fifteen: My ducks are huge. My baby is huge. I’ve slept a total of one hour in the past month and I am covered in turd.
Most parents develop strong opinions about the sleeping habits of our little ones, and while I’ve never been hardcore about any one practice of putting my kids to bed, I have often leaned toward co-sleeping mainly because it’s so cozy…and also convenient with a capital I HATE THE SOUND OF A CRYING BABY IN THE NIGHT.
I’m tired, and I think we can all agree–no matter the studies on attachment–that my baby will be way better served by not dying in a fiery car crash that will happen when I conk out at the wheel on the highway; my entire family will benefit from Arbor sleeping in her own bed from now on, in her own room, if it means having a mommy who is significantly more loving and patient and present during the day. I do not like the cry-it-out method, but that’s what I’ve come to.
Arbor is now in the transitional stage of going from the central 6 feet of an entire king-size bed, to this awesome pack-n-play:
And by transitional, I mean that Arbor is neither sleeping in the bed or the crib, but in my arms in the rocking chair which is in between the two:
Because every time I put her down, she screams, and her face goes purple with rage and I worry that her brain is going to explode because I’ve so heartlessly abandoned her like the cruel maternal figure that I am for wanting my own sleep.
Fourth kid, people. Still haven’t figured this out. I go to my crying helpless baby and I haz cuddles. But at least I won’t burn in hell.
On the house front, we who have been walking in darkness have seen a bright light:
Toilets. And that’s about as clean as it will ever be again.
Caleb will soon have another house to build–because ducks? They grow at an obscenely fast rate of quadruple their size every day. And the poop–oh geez the poop–is unimaginable. I am keeping them in a bin in the garage for now but I see it lasting maybe another week, tops. They’re still cute, and funny and quirky and I still love them, but they need to be not in my house. Mia and Merrick have both conceded and agreed to a roasting of any extra male ducks after a certain number of months. We will hold onto the ladies so we can devour us some duck eggs, which I hear are tasty yum.
And that’s been our spring break, pretty much, in a shell. Any advice/encouragement on the issues of babies/house-building/ducks is welcome.