Not crying, yet strangely not silent...

That's right, Kalina talks! Here's a video of her greatest hits.

Things that go "waah" in the night

Whenever Matt's out of town overnight, my imagination runs amok. Somewhere out there, I believe, there's a weirdo with an ax who's out to get me. It only takes one. Every night he's gone becomes a relatively sleepless one, as I plot strategy for either thwarting intruders or escaping them every time one of the cats so much as yawns a little too loudly. I even asked Matt to buy me a rope ladder once.

Now that I have a mini-me, I know I was crazy. Instead of an ax murderer, there's a kidnapper with his or her sights set on the cutest baby in the world: mine. I'm even suspicious of strangers who take too much of an interest in Kalina. Why do you need to know if she's sleeping through the night?

Seeing as Matt was out of town last night, I braced myself for a busy night as I simultaneously tackled would-be marauders and fed and changed a baby who was coming off one of her fussiest evenings ever.

Kalina finally dozed off around a quarter to 8:00. Exhausted already, I headed downstairs for some snacks and TV for an hour before my brand-new bedtime. I noticed it was dark: a bad sign. Marauders like the dark. I flipped on the front porch light--an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

Finally bedtime arrived, and, as I predicted, I was wide-eyed in the dark for quite some time. I wisely used the time to plan my strategy. I knew that:

1.) Would-be kidnappers would have no intention of harming Kalina, since she's so cute. They would simply want to silently secure her and sneak out of the house and into the night without being detected
2.) My baby monitor would be some help, as chances are Kalina wouldn't go quietly
3.) Our stairs squeak loudly whenever Kalina's sleeping (I haven't noticed whether they do when she's not sleeping), and the stairs are the only practical route to and from Kalina's nursery
4.) My cell phone was right beside my bed, and police are out en force on Friday nights in Durham

I decided that I had the advantage in that I wake up whenever Kalina blinks. Seeing as I'm about as tough as a marshmallow Peep, my challenge would be to remain calm and silent while I, in fact, actually let the weirdos kidnap my baby. My second challenge would be to follow them, not letting them get out of sight, while calling 911.

I also wondered how they'd react if I simply opened the door and growled a Momma Bear growl at them.

(I'm not kidding, by the way.)

Somehow, I fell asleep. At 2:00 I was awakened by Kalina's grunts and pre-cries. Kudos, Child, I thought. Six hours is a respectable amount of time to sleep. With no thoughts of simply replacing the pacifier and hoping that would work, I fed her. So far so good.

And then came the diaper change. The key, by the way, for nighttime feedings and diaper changes is to keep things as low-key and quiet as possible. Wake up yourself and the baby as little as possible, and you might actually both get back to sleep relatively easily. Two trips downstairs to try to dig up an extra pacifier and adjust the thermostat, and two bright-eyed lamplit "episodes" later, I was dripping sweat, frustrated out of my mind and ready to feed her again. The pressure is astounding at that time of night.

Then I looked at the clock. Why is it 12:24? Why isn't it 2:24? Dang. I knew I was in for another night feeding, and probably an early-morning one as well. Our baby slept better as a 3-week-old. Fortunately, Kalina went back to dreamland easily enough.

Which is more than I can say for me. Wide awake, I worried simultaneously whether Kalina were too warm or too cold, and wondered when the marauders would arrive. I also calculated, as I can't help but doing, that so far I'd gotten probably a little less than 2 hours of sleep. I finally drifted off again.

At 3:30 I awoke to general fussiness. Was Kalina finally being kidnapped? She wasn't. I then lay awake until 4:00, when she fussed again, this time definitely hungry. I calculated an additional hour and a half of sleep, bringing the total to 3 1/2.

The next time I woke up it was a glorious 7:45. And, thankfully, Kalina was fussing happily and hungrily in her crib. Somehow, we'd both survived the night, and chances are we'd make it through the day (day being lighter than night). Thanks to my constant vigilance, she got 11 hours of peaceful sleep, oblivious to the dangers around her. I managed 5 1/2 of not-even-close-to-peaceful sleep, but at least I never had to pull a Momma Bear on anyone.

Kalina hits the big screen

We knew she was talented, but we seriously underestimated her abilities. It appears that Kalina is well on her way to becoming a movie star. Take a look at her very first film, and just try to tell us she doesn't have fame and fortune in her future.

Special thanks to Grandpa Hanks for providing the video camera and figuring out how to post the videos for all to see. Special thanks to Daddy, too, for charging the camera and reading the instructions before the trip to the hospital. Good thinking! I'm sure Kalina with $thank$ you both even more once she's made her first million.

Look for more of Kalina's blockbusters in coming posts.

The surprising history of the baby monitor

The earliest record of the use of a baby monitor comes from ancient Babylonia. On a stone tablet found in a room of a house that had cute carvings of lambs and bunnies on the walls, reference was made to a "Baby Hearer" in a list that also included "Baby Excrement Collector" and "Baby Wrap-Me-To-Keep-Me-Warm Cloth." However, homes weren't very big back then, so some archaeologists, surprised at the need for a baby monitor, have concluded that a "baby hearer" could instead be a device for listening to a baby's internal organs, just for fun. About a dozen grad students are currently researching the topic so we can all know for sure.

The next reference to a baby monitor isn't until years later, in ancient Rome. A wall mural found in a large home shows a woman listening to a box with an antenna, while another box with an antenna sits at the other end of the mural next to a crying baby. The woman, however, is laughing and eating grapes with friends, looking well rested, so there's some doubt as to the validity of this baby monitor, too.

During the dark ages, no one could afford baby monitors, or babies, for that matter. Monks, however, perfected the design and added the video feature that is still in use at times today.

In the age of chivalry, baby monitors were once again put into play, but only in the richest and most noble households. It was widely accepted, however, that they weren't so much used for listening to babies as they were for spying on family members who may be plotting a coup. "Kitchy, kitchy coo, I'm going to murder your daddy so I can claim the throne, kitchy coo!" and so forth.

It wasn't until the enlightenment that anyone thought of using baby monitors as torture devices. Babies' cries were transmitted into dungeons where the most dangerous murderers and Protestants were kept. The next day, their bodies would be dragged out into the street as a warning.

In the Victorian era, all babies had rosy pink cheeks and never stopped smiling. Baby monitors were not needed because they never cried.

During wartime, baby monitors were collected by the government to be used to pick up enemy radio transmissions, since sometimes they do better at that than picking up sounds in the baby's room, anyway.

The 1950s, the golden age of households, was another a low point for baby monitors. Perfect housewives were much more able than they are now, and could cook a large Thanksgiving-style dinner, vacuum the whole house, attend a charity lunch, scrub the kitchen floor and toss in a load of laundry all while putting the baby down for a nap in the back bedroom. However, they were advertised as "The nanny of the future" and many people owned them simply so they could brag to their neighbors about them.

During the "empowerment" era of the 1980s, baby monitors were used, but usually ignored, much like ancient Rome. Phrases such as "just let the baby cry it out" were in vogue. If Baby cried, Mommy would just rush out and buy herself a cute new pair of shoes to help her feel better.

In modern times, baby monitors pair with the wisdom of the day (respond immediately to Baby's cry until she's 4 months old, and then respond promptly) to make life as difficult as possible for the new mom. Never before in history have moms been able to hear every peep their baby makes, and at the same time be fair game for public shunning if they dawdle on their way to the baby's crib.

The latest developments in baby monitors include "Husband Headphones," which are earbuds connected to the monitor that can be placed in Daddy's ears while he sleeps so Mommy can take a break, and heavy-duty models, which can survive hammer blows and being held under water for 10 minutes. In some households, cats are being trained as first responders, with limited success.

Please help

Hi everyone,

This is Kalina writing. Please don't tell Mom I'm writing on her blog, but I need to ask you a favor. The thing is, I think she's planning to change my clothes again tomorrow, or even today, and I simply won't stand for it anymore.

I've already lodged an official complaint with the Better Baby Bureau against her, but I haven't heard back. I told them that I've never heard of anything as absurd as needing to change clothes at least once a day, and besides, I like what I'm wearing. It's pink and it has a squirrel on it.

I try my best to fight her on this, every single time. I have my ways. After all, she can't very easily get a new onesie over my shoulders with my arms raised, now can she? And there's no way I'm going to let her get my hands through the sleeves--the closer I hold them in, the harder time she has.

And of course, I always pull out the secret weapon: shrieking loudly. I'm trying to convince her that I equate changing my clothes with peeling my skin off.

It's been a lot of work, but I know my efforts have paid off. Mom wouldn't dare change my clothes now unless they're well-soiled. I even test her limits sometimes, spitting up all over myself just to see if she has it in her to face another scream session. It can go either way: sometimes she gets that ultra-resolved look in her eye that I know means she's put in imaginary earplugs and has bought something new for me that she desperately wants to see me wear. Other times she pretends it's not too bad and we go play.

And this brings me to what you can do. I need you to help convince Mom of any of the following things:

1.) Spitup is the latest accessory fad: wearing it makes you cool

2.) Changing a baby's clothes has been scientifically proven to cause acne, ADHD and, in extreme cases, kidney failure

3.) I'm always clean and sweet-smelling, and that my current outfit is the cutest one you've seen in your whole life, ever--it should never be removed

Thanks in advance. Working together, we can ensure I never have to face a onesie change again.

-Kalina

Oops. Uh-oh.

The other day, we brought Kalina to a dinner party with family. Big mistake. She absolutely loved it--she spent several hours, mostly awake, I think, just watching. She loved the faces, the talking, the bustle. She even added some of her own babble to the conversation. And the next day, instead of being respectably tired and withdrawn, she cooed and smiled like a pro as she soaked in every face she could possibly see.

In short, we think we have an extrovert on our hands. We don't know how it happened. It doesn't make any sense. And we have no idea what to do about it.

Both being staunch introverts ourselves (Matt more so than I), this is the last thing we expected. Can we nip it in the bud? Or will she, poor girl, spend her whole life craving interaction and trying to convert introverts? "Come on, it'll be fun!" she'll say to all the homebodies she knows, lurching them out of their quietly contented lives. We shudder.

And that's not all. Most babies this age are happy to stare at brightly colored toys, batting at them like kittens, or at least to suck on their hands a while. Not Kalina. She prefers faces and human interaction. To add insult to injury, after 10 1/2 long weeks of staring at her mommy, she's now thoroughly bored with me. Perfect strangers now get the heart-melting grins that once belonged solely to me.

She also loves to talk, having picked up an African tribal language that's comprised mainly of squeals and clicks. As she practices her enunciation with Matt and I, she encourages us to learn it, too, screaming when we get it wrong.

Fine, Child, I decided a couple days ago. If you want to be social, we'll go out. I'll just ignore those screams as I put you in the carseat. Hah! Take that!

I ended up carrying her most of the way through the stores, and then buying her a new toy. I sure showed her!

So how are we going to deal with an extrovert? As we're usually too boring for them, we don't know quite what to do with one.

We're hoping the cats will help. After all, can Kalina really know yet whether she's human or feline? We don't speak tribal African, and neither do the cats, so we can't tell her. She's about the size of a cat, often sitting at about their level, and she also sometimes sounds like one.
And fortunately, judging by the conversation she had with the ceiling fan this morning, she's not too picky about who she talks to.

Matt and are hoping we can at least be as exciting as the ceiling fan in the years to come. Wish us luck.

Lulling the baby

Once, when Kalina was still very brand new (as opposed to now, when she's practically old hat), I decided to join the age-old ranks of parents who sing their babies to sleep with peaceful lullabies. [side note: has that ever worked?] I sang the first stanza of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Coincidentally, her eyes drooped slightly. I decided to pull out the big guns (to use a phrase of Matt's) and try Braham's Lullaby.

I opened my mouth, and...wait, how does that go again? I was stumped. However, I soon remembered the words went something like this:

Lullaby, and good night,
You're a cute little baby.
It's time to rest, now, go to sleep.
Mommy really wants a shower.
Lullaby, and good night, please sleep right now.

Lullaby, and goodnight,
You still are not sleeping.
Close your eyes, and go to sleep,
So your mommy can shower.
Lullaby, and good night, please sleep right now.

Or at least, that's how the words went that particular day. I've found it's a very adaptable lullaby.

Then there's the very pretty All Through the Night. I found the lyrics, and have translated them into modern words as follows:

Sleep my child and peace attend thee,
[Baby, go to sleep and stay quietly asleep]
All through the night
[All night]
Guardian angels God will send thee,
[Maybe someone else can take care of you for once]
All through the night;
[All night]
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
[It's getting really late]
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
[Everyone else gets to sleep]
I my loved ones' watch am keeping,
[But I'm still awake jiggling you until my arms fall off so you can sleep]
All through the night.
[All night]

What a pretty song.

Fortunately, and likely not related at all to lullabies, Kalina is a good sleeper. This means we can keep the lullabies to a minimum, which probably saves both of us some embarrassment.

We also have a CD of Toddler Tunes we sing to occasionally, usually out of sheer boredom (she's systematically rejected all her toys and can't be bothered to sit on Mommy's lap for a story, and Mommy feels like she must stimulate her baby somehow). For a while, Little Bunny Foo Foo was guaranteed to get rave reviews from my critical audience.

The worst part of all these songs is that they're just so great, the toddler who apparently lives in my head just can't resist singing them all day long. Which means that, every night as Kalina sleeps rather peacefully in her crib, I drift off to the lulling sounds of London Bridge.

"I'm possibly the slightest bit hungry," and other loud screams

When assessing Kalina's vocal expressions of displeasure, Matt and I like to rank them on a scale of 1 to 5, not unlike the hurricane scale. Perhaps they are, therefore, more accurately referred to as squalls.

Level 1 crying is what you hear on TV. People without kids start to look concerned, whereas people who have small children barely raise their voices to continue their conversations. This crying will escalate within a minute, but is easily consoled by shifting the baby's position, offering a pacifier, burping her or feeding her.

Level 2 crying is like Level 1, but louder and Kalina's face starts to turn pinker than it already is. It's mildly annoying and we move fast to fix it lest she hold a grudge.

Level 3 crying is when things really start to get serious. Kalina's demands are obviously not being met and she's severely displeased. These are some of the loudest cries, and most disharmonious. They can cause hearing loss, and they make Kalina turn bright red like a sunburn. The good cat runs for cover and the bad one tries to nip Matt on the leg so he'll make it stop (I'm not kidding--she's never threatened the baby, only Matt).

Level 4 crying is truly a feat, because this is when she starts to scream without making any noise. At this point, friends without kids are politely excusing themselves to go home and friends with kids are mentally making notes to never let us babysit. Kalina is now purple.

Level 5 screaming involves sounds apparently only a baby can make. I tried, with no success. Some are almost like a fast clicking, others are Level 4 silent screams that are so intense they've added some noise back in. This type of crying takes at least 15 minutes to calm down from, and then we really have to take it easy the rest of the day (no carseats or onesie changes, for example).

Truthfully, though, Kalina is a benevolent dictator. She is very clear in her demands, as long as they're met immediately and entirely she's good-natured. This means occasionally Mommy gets to use the bathroom during the day and only has borderline carpal tunnel. Kalina's wishes are as follows, in this order:

1. Do I have the munchies? Could I possibly manage to eat a little something? If I'm busting at the seams,
2. Am I held upright, facing out, and is the person holding me walking around so I don't get bored? If I'm held by a human, positioned correctly and well entertained,
3. Do I need a pacifier, even if you have to hold it in the whole time because I only kind of want it and only part of the time? If I'm plugged,
4. Do we need to start counting some sheep (I think there are at least 38 in my nursery)? If I'm well rested,
5. Could I possibly be gassy? If my only bubbles are made of spit,
6. How long has it been since I've been held by my mommy? If I've had plenty of mommy time,
7. I'm not having my onesie changed or fresh out of the tub, am I? If so, make it stop immediately.

I do have a favorite cry. It's when she sticks out her bottom lip, pouts and kind of whimpers, and it, admittedly, makes me chuckle because it's so cute and I know nothing is really wrong. This doesn't even register on the cry scale, kind of like how a lawn sprinkler doesn't make national weather news or even get its own name. I certainly don't inflict anything on Kalina to produce this cry, but it might tempt me to linger a split second before calming her, just to watch. (Truthfully, the cry only lasts a split second before it escalates anyway; otherwise, I'd post a picture for you.)

Even though I often complain that Kalina is fussy and on the bad days nickname her Fusspot, she's really not that bad (once again, if her demands are met). I'd estimate she cries no more than a total of 15-20 minutes a day. The truth is, I might be the one more aptly described as fussy, because what I really mean is that I'm short on patience and was really hoping to be able to change out of my pajamas and perhaps eat lunch. The problem I face is that taking care of Kalina and taking care of myself are usually mutually exclusive, and doing something such as brushing my teeth breaks at least one of Kalina's cardinal rules. Sorry, Baby, but I really do tend to blame my trivial problems on you. Hence, Fusspot.

Whenever Kalina's screams reach a Level 3 or higher, Matt and I both have noticed we get a bit edgy. In fact, we've heard that recorded baby cries have been used as weapons during wartime. We wonder if the attackers even had to lift a finger to destroy their enemy or if, spurred by the horrid sounds, the defenders just gave up on themselves and each other.

Fortunately, we're not at the point of giving up. Just ranking.