Goodnight, moon

In the great green room,
there was a telephone,
and a red balloon,
and a picture of
a cow jumping over a moon…

It is night time, so we have read Goodnight moon, by Margaret Wise Brown, to our daughter five times, or maybe more, if you count our recitals by heart (but wait, you forgot the toy house, my husband says, and he is right). It is like this most nights. She loves this book, the two kittens, the mush and goodnight nobody, because why not when s/he is always there? She has a special squeak for all animals, but especially the the kittens and the mouse. The bunnies standing in for humans get none, but why should they when they waste a perfectly good bowl of mush?

How great is my Friday night?

So much cooking

The freezer is currently empty, bar about 30 pouches of breastmilk and some frozen peas. This is a disaster in the making, because despite usually loving to cook, I can’t muster up the will to do it (and quickly) on weeknights. It’s too stressful. Whereas before figuring out what to cook for dinner was a leisurely activity, these days, it feels like a sprint up a mountain pass with three packs full of bricks on my back. All of this means that despite good intentions, my daughter now points to the microwave when she’s hungry.

At least she loves peas.

I don’t know about you, but when I first imagined motherhood, I envisioned cooking nutritious, beautiful meals for my little one, which we would eat at the dinner table, peacefully. I’m not sure where I got this idea from. Cereal boxes? Too many reruns of Full House when I was growing up? Usually, if we manage to get dinner on the table by 6, things are ok until, all of a sudden, they are not. Any later than that and the ok stage doesn’t last long enough for her to actually eat anything, even if she is sitting on my lap, which then leads to a scream filled evening and later on, nightmares for me about whether she’s getting enough iron.

Oh the joys of doing baby led weaning AND being a research junkie.

I started doing meal planning not too long ago. This used to be a thing I hated and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do. After all, who could possibly know what the want for dinner a week in advance? But now, it is magical because I don’t have to think when I get home. I have ingredients (the fewer, the better), a 3-4 step super quick recipe, and about 10 minutes. Brilliant.

This is how I discovered that I no longer have the capacity to make decisions by about 6 at night. I am already maxed out for the day, and probably have been for several hours by that point. Funny how that happens.

Anyway, all of this is leading to the fact that tomorrow will be a day of cooking. I can feel it (fingers crossed, pretty please). And tonight? One of blissful sleep, if I have anything to say about it.

(Given that we’ve had three wake-ups already due to molars, just like every other night this week, I am clearly delirious).

Quiet time

It’s Friday night and I am already in bed, listening to my daughter breathe rhythmically next to me. She’s never been a good sleeper. We gave up on the cot long ago, except as an extension to our bed, because at bedtime, she went into a panic whenever we would lower her onto her mattress. She preferred to be right up close to me, her fingers curled around my shirt collar–her way of keeping me there just for her.

Before she arrived, I never thought I’d be sitting here, watching an infant (now toddler) sleep night after night for over a year. But she was so persistent, so determined. Any attempt at sleep training failed, and honestly, can I fault her? We’re asking her to go against her instincts, to cooperate, and to abandon her persistence. I suspect these traits–so irksome now (or are they?)–will serve her well one day. Once we stopped trying to change her and simply worked on accepting things as they were, I stopped minding the arrangement. It may be unusual and it has taken some sacrifice, but it works for us.

If there’s a lesson in there, it is this: what works for you and your family may surprise you. Embrace what feels right, whatever it happens to be, and forget everyone else.