Mission: Be Like Bree

So after one night of controlled crying (which involved more crying by the adults in the house than by the Spud and we vowed NEVER to do that again) we seem to have broken his spirit trained him to sleep fluked a freakin' miracle and he slept all night in his cot. Let me repeat that:

Slept. All. Night. In. His. Cot.

Reeling from too much sleep and not enough delerium (or perhaps just the right amount) I realised that I need to work harder at getting the relationship with Monkey Boy back on track.

Here's the best advice I could find on the matter:

from Housekeeping Monthly, 1955, The Good Wife's Guide

• Have dinner ready. Plan ahead even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready, on time, for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good mean (especially his favourite dish) is part of the warm welcome needed.

• Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you’ll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch-up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

• Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and on of your duties is to provide it.

• Clear away the clutter. Make one last trip through the main part of the house just before your husband arrives.
  

• Over the cooler months of the year, you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind my. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.
  

• Prepare the children. Take a few minutes to wash the children’s’ hands and faces (if they are small), comb their hair and, if necessary, change their clothes. They are little treasures and he would like to see them playing the part. Minimise all noise. At the time of his arrival, eliminate all noise of the washer, dryer or vacuum. Try to encourage the children to be quiet.

• Be happy to see him.
  

• Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first. Remember his topics of conversation are more important than yours.
  

• Make the evening his. Never complain if he comes home late or goes out to dinner, or other places of entertainment without you. Instead try to understand his world of strain and pressure and his very real need to be at home and relax.
  

• Make him comfortable. Have him lean back in a comfortable chair or have I lie down in the bedroom. Have a cool or warm drink ready for him.
  

• Arrange his pillow or offer to take his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.
  

• Don’t ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him.
  

• A good wife always knows her place.

See, that's my problem right there. I'm not gay enough.

Grim Fairy Tales

It occurred to me this morning that I am living the fairy tale.

No, not the "happily* married to spunky younger man who stays home to look after his child that we actually managed to achieve with good old penis-vagina sex who is adorably cute" fairy tale.

The Goldilocks and The Three Bears one. Or - more correctly - Spudly and The Three More Nights Like This And You're Out The Bloody Window.

Once upon a time there was a little boy called Spudly who wanted to have a darn good sleep but couldn't, for reasons unknown to the scientific community.

First he tried the Big Boys Bed and said "I can't sleep in this bed because its too hard and there's too much space around me."

Then he tried the Little Baby's Bed and said "I can't sleep in this bed because its too soft and bouncy and I cant turn over."

And then he tried the Grown-Ups' Bed and said "I can sleep in this bed because its not too hard and not too soft and there's heaps of room for me to thrash around and get comfy even if I am hitting mum and dad while I do it but isnt it great that they're here too because I like having company when I wake up for those three seconds every fifteen minutes."

Just then Mamma and Pappa decided they weren't too happy about there being a Spudly sleeping in their bed who was still there, so they jumped up and ran away into the forest and never again returned to the house of the Whinging Spudly.





*Happiness level in indirect proportion to duration of sleep deprivation.

Spudly For Sale

Lala pointed out that its been six days since my last post and I could have sworn it was only about 20 minutes.

As I said to her, my life has consisted of cleaing the house and saying "Spudly! NO!" on a regular basis.

He's 9 1/2 months old and has already taken his first steps. He LOVES his little push-along truck and almost runs behind it. He even shows off a little and walks behind it with only one hand on the rail. My prediction: he'll be walking by 10 months. Holy shit.

The Cot In Own Room Experiment has been discontinued on account of its spectacular failure at getting anyone anything remotely resembling sleep, and Spudly a one-way ticket out the window at speed. We put him back in his hammock in our room and he slept soundly for about 6 hours, which was very lucky for him because his mother was a little hungover that night. Following attempts at duplicating the results of this sleep event have not worked. This kid wants a comfy spot inbetween mamma and pappa and nought else will do.

I know its because he needs the closeness right now, but goddamn I'd like my room back. I'd like to be able to go to bed and not have to whisper. I'd like to sleep more than two hours in a row. I'd like to be able to have some Grown-Up Snuggle Time without there being wailing (not mine) at a very inopportune moment.

Mamma aint particularly happy. And if mamma aint happy, aint NOBODY happy.

As retribution for weeks of no sleep, I give you Spudly in the Hottest Baby Attire of 1950, courtesy of Great Grandma:

Oh Yeh, I Have A Blog...

Seems I forgot. Sorry 'bout that.

But on the plus side I have a garden full of veggies and three rooms that are Spud-proof, which is lucky since he can now stand unsupported for 20 seconds, crawl at full-speed and is sleeping being put to bed in a COT in his OWN ROOM!

And, AND: Spudly has learnt the art of the tantrum. Food on plate equals food for him as far as he's concerned. It doesnt matter that its food he cant eat or wouldnt like. Mamma food = Spudly food, so dish up or screaming will ensue. Luckily I have learnt to deal with this behaviour before with our cat Basil. Now if I could just find that squirty bottle.

2006: A Re-Cap

So that screeching noise wasnt my IQ dropping at an alarming rate after all. It was 2006 passing me by.

I feel like I have done nothing at all for the last twelve months, and yet it went by before I had time to blink. When people ask me what I've been doing I never have an interesting answer. What the hell has filled up the last 365 days and nights?

There were some major renovations while heavily pregnant, death of a beloved kitty, something about 3 days of labour I vaguely remember, a screaming underfed baby, a happier well-fed baby, a teething baby, a husband with a shoulder reconstruction, major gardening projects, parents in the hospital, a family breakdown, a buggered knee, an anniversary holiday, a baby with separation anxiety, more gardening projects, a teething paby (part 2), and then the year is over.

This year, I'd like less of the bits that involve hospitals and screaming, and more of the bits that involve me with a glass of wine, swaying palm trees and Jack Sparrow to feed me oysters.

Happy OughtSeven, y'all.