A day without Mommy

Just a short year ago, when Kalina wasn't sleeping and required Mommy's constant attention, I longed for the day when I could escape her clutches. Her cuteness, while magnetic, occasionally couldn't surpass her neediness and frankly, I needed a break.

On Tuesday, it came, in the form of a business trip to visit a new client: Grandfather Mountain. Had the client been a dreary one, I don't think I could've torn myself away from my little cupcake, who is far easier to manage now, but the North Carolina Blueridge area is tough to pass up. I committed to attending.

*gulp*

Swallowing my true feelings, I commenced writing a 3-page, single-spaced document about Kalina's care, feeding and napping (which required a whole page all of its own) during the 10-hour period she'd be in the hands of her grandpa and her Aunt Nancy. They laughed, but committed it to memory, I'm told.

I was to leave for the 4-hour journey upon Matt's arrival home from work Tuesday evening. On Monday, Kalina was a perfect angel, sweet as sugar sweetened with honey. (Yes, it would've been much easier to leave if she'd been disagreeable--I'll admit it.) On Tuesday morning, she said her first sentence: "I love you," to me, with a smile and a hug, and I felt like the worst mommy in the world. During naptime, I tried to think of every excuse I could to get out of the trip. At snacktime I burst into tears and Kalina tried to cheer me up by waving at me before breaking down into sobs and needing a hug herself. And on Matt's arrival home, I reluctantly left a crying Kalina with her Daddy.

That evening, while I was sitting in a car with 3 coworkers, trying to make light conversation through a sore throat and congestion, Kalina was visiting the mall with Daddy. They played upstairs in the food court before heading back home for bedtime.

My bedtime came much later. And to my dismay but not surprise, the peaceful full night of sleep I'd dreamed of for a year and a half was not forthcoming, as the temperature of my room escalated to at least 85 degrees and my head cold didn't allow me to breathe very well. I think I slept worse than when I had a 7-month-old. Amazing.

However, I was cheered by the knowledge that Kalina was up long before I was (my alarm rang at the sunny hour of 7:00), as well as an email from my dad that showed Kalina tolerated the hand-off from Daddy to Grandpa quite well and was already gleefully breaking rules Mommy had set only a day before.

While I toured the mountain, enjoying lore as amazing as the views and braving strong, cold winds to cross the mile-high swinging bridge, all the time wondering whether I would die first from frostbite or from being blown off a cliff, Kalina relished the sole attention of her grandpa and her Aunt Nancy. The little ham was on her best behavior, and managed to put on quite a good show for them as well as she enchanted them with smiles and sorted blue objects. She also learned a new two-syllable word: out-side.

At naptime, I was engrossed in discussing the future direction of the organization's marketing with half my brain and using the other half to calculate whether we'd make it home before bedtime (yikes, what if we didn't?!?). Kalina was undergoing her nap routine, as carefully outlined in a full page of my Kalina Kare document, at the hands of Aunt Nancy. Despite a few self-proclaimed potential slip-ups (do I turn out the light before or after Kalina is in the crib?!?), Aunt Nancy managed to get Kalina down for a successful nap. Fortunately, Aunt Nancy never had to use the suggestions under the bullet points: "if Kalina talks for 45 minutes and then starts crying..." or "if Kalina wakes up early...."

My afternoon was spent enduring carsickness and dry contacts on the way back home. Kalina's was spent at the park with her Daddy, who took off early since he'd worked a lot on the weekend, Grandpa, and a friend she saw there.

The one mishap of the experience happened around 5:30 when the day had already been long for Kalina and Daddy mentioned the "M" word in the most innocent way: "We haven't seen Mommy for a while, have we?" Oops. The tears flowed, but fortunately Kalina was able to bottle them back up.

I was thrilled to see that my homecoming wasn't met with the nonchalance or misbehavior several books had warned me could happen. No, instead I was greeted by a little girl so joyful that she couldn't help but practically skip toward me as fast as she could, toddler-style, arms open wide. Kalina spent the rest of the evening exuberantly pulling me around by my finger.

Photo: Kalina and her mommy's cousins girls, ages 3 and 5, whose visit to the area last weekend Kalina thoroughly enjoyed (as did the rest of us).

Kalina's inner circle of free babysitting

As the first grandchild on both sides of the family, Kalina's a pretty big deal--and has been since she was about the size of a lentil.

So much so, that one side of the family has migrated the the area to be closer to her (and, possibly for warmer weather as well, and other reasons, but these don't matter to Kalina) and the other visits regularly.

To keep it straight, we now have Grandpa Tom and Aunt Nancy in town, as well as Uncle Tom. Grandma visited recently. And Cousin Poky-Dog is here as well.

With this bolus of family comes the offer of free babysitting. And it always leaves me mystified.

What? You want to sit and play with the baby? While I go do something else? Maybe even something fun? You want to? Hmmm. Let's go over this again.

Not that I don't enjoy playing with my child--I do. But I have to like to play with her--I'm her mommy. The same mommy who will always take her side in a schoolyard dispute, even if she started it (the other kid looked at her funny) and tell her that her purple plaid pants look just adorable with her red striped shirt--because they will, Mommy says so.

And not that Kalina's not a sweet child to play with. I guess it's just that after 16 months of being held captive by my little girl, I'm not quite used to being allowed out into the real world again.

Not that I never have free time. I have it every evening, and most naptimes. When I'm not freelancing, I get to watch old videos of Kalina, stare at pictures of her, or even go shopping for her if Matt's kind enough to stay home. Or I can blog. So, I'm not exactly deprived of time to myself.

I can even understand offering to babysit while Kalina's asleep, and Matt and I have had some nice babysitting exchanges with friends that have provided us a date night or two.

Then why is it so astounding to me that family would want to babysit Kalina? Is this a sign that taking care of my child has become too much of a chore? After all, I'd be equally astounded if someone enthusiastically offered to sweep my floors or dust up my cobwebs. And I wouldn't let them: "This is my dirt--I can wrangle it myself. Now you go and enjoy yourself," I'd tell them. If I had enough energy, and if I wasn't wrangling Kalina too much to protest.

Besides, what if Kalina needed me, as she surely would? Nobody can take care of her like Mommy can. What's that? They might take care of her differently but just as well? Hogwash.

Fortunately, Kalina likes her extended family. She's not entirely relaxed around them yet, though. A hospitable little hostess, she jumps up to show them her new tricks every time they visit. "Look, I can stick out my tongue!" she exclaims proudly. "And that beep? That's the microwave! It's over here, and now we open the door to see what's inside," she happily explains.

Even better, I can occasionally leave the room, focus on something else, or, if the stars align, leave the house without the child pitter-pattering after me in hysterics (this works especially well during naptime).

But not everyone is welcomed immediately with open arms into Kalina's inner circle. It takes persistence, dedication and, in the event of Aunt Nancy, a voice that sounds comfortingly like Mommy's. Grandma, for instance, needs to be around for about a day before Kalina curls up in her lap for a story (not bad considering Kalina sees her only about 4 times a year). Aunt Nancy is cool as long as we see her every few days. Grandpa Tom is instantly popular out of doors, and fun to entertain indoors as long as he doesn't make any sudden moves to pick her up. Uncle Tom is still a bit scary for now, albeit hilarious at times. Poky Dog is greeted immediately, given the best seat in the house and as many Cheerios as Kalina can sneak away.

It may take me a while to get used to this whole free babysitting thing. And Kalina, too. Soon enough, though, I'll learn that being away for a few hours every now and then is good for my psyche, not to mention my career. Kalina, for her part, will learn that her world can stay intact even if Mommy is not sharing the same roof with her at the time. And probably, eventually, that she can get more candy out of the people not responsible for her dental bills.

Babysitting round two

Believe it or not, we babysat again, for the child of someone who read my last post, no less. It surprised us to be asked as much as it's probably surprising you. Needless to say, we jumped at the chance to give babysitting another shot.

The scenario:
A 2-year-old boy needed to be fed, kept safe and entertained while his parents were out to dinner. The job would last 2-3 hours, and shouldn't require anything as complicated as oh, say, calming a baby and putting her to sleep.

Advantages on our side:
The child is known for being well-behaved and easy-going. An added bonus is that he considers us family. When he lists his family members, we're right after the grandparents and before the aunts/uncles. Not sure how that happened, but I think it helps that his mom and I look similar and we live in the area whereas his extended family lives out of state.

The babysitting job started disastrously. Apparently, the child had recently been frightened by a dog, and, seeing our cats as mini-dogs (something they would be shocked and appalled at), cowered in his mother's arms as soon as he saw them. We rounded them up and herded them into various upstairs rooms to stay for the duration of his visit. Crisis averted, the parents left for their dinner as the child was beginning his.

We crossed our fingers. No tears. We began the tricky process of figuring out how to babysit a two-year-old.

First up was feeding. We knew we needed to convince the slightly picky child (it turns out, pregnant women and two-year-olds have a lot in common when it comes to eating) to eat all or most of his food, and avoid giving him his milk, which it seems he could drink all day, until we absolutely had to, because one sippy-cup-full was all he would get (this was his mother's advice). We also needed to fix our own dinner at some point, etc.

Within 5 minutes the child had convinced me to give him his milk, had rejected his pasta and raisins and was going after tiny, slippery bits of peach with a fork. Very impressed that he managed to carefully stab each peach piece and get it into his mouth, I was eager to "help" (read: see if I could do it, too). It took me a couple of tries and slightly annoyed the child because I'd taken his fork away, but the result was successful, and I even gave him his fork back once I'd fed him all the pieces that he truly wouldn't have been able to get. While he was so distracted, I managed to take his milk away for a little while (don't worry--he asked for it again and soon had it finished). I also slipped him some pasta and raisins, so he had a fairly complete meal.

Then it was time for us to eat, and also experiment with holding our own conversation while still being dutiful babysitters. Yes, he was something of a practice child during this time. Fish Tank once again got MVP, as it's right there in the dining room and fascinating to this particular two-year-old. He also entertained us with his singing caterpillar toy--we're still singing along days later. And Matt and I managed to have something of a conversation--not bad!

As a side note, we wrestled with the question of what good babysitting really constitutes. We often found ourselves sitting there staring at the child--not doing anything, just staring. Was this necessary?

The child's mom had clued us in that his favorite game nowadays was to sit in a couch-cushion fort and hand stuffed animals back and forth. Matt thought this sounded like great fun, so he headed upstairs to bring down our plethora of extra pillows while I cleaned up dinner. He then delighted the child for more than an hour with an awesome, tunnel-like fort, and we dutifully passed the stuffed whale and stuffed turtle back and forth until my pregnant self had to quit crawling around on the floor.

Our minor mishap was a bump on the head, caused by a non-child-proofed end table. We did not abuse the child! The child fell on his own! Any bruises are not our fault! He's a tough kid, though, and didn't even cry. Personally, I would've demanded ice cream.

The evening ended with a reading of Fox in Sox by Matt. That's a really in-depth book! I'd forgotten there was so much to it, so I listened in, too.

But wait...was the evening ended? It wouldn't be over without one final catastrophe and lots of tears. Fortunately, it happened after the parents had returned.

The incident involved the couch-cushion fort. The guys/child were still playing in it, and...oops!...it fell in on the child. That in itself wouldn't have been a huge problem (it had happened earlier in the evening), except things got a little tangled and the child couldn't push the cushions, blankets and pillows off of himself. Hysterics ensued. Once he was on his mom's lap and had a graham cracker for each hand, he felt better. (I, again, would've demanded ice-cream.)

Overall, I think this is one that might've earned us a call-back. Meanwhile, I'm trying my best to figure out how to birth a two-year-old instead of an infant.

Officially freaked!

We babysat last night. The child in question is a 3 1/2-month-old known for being a good sleeper and a cheerful baby. Apparently, it was opposite day at the Odegaard household!

Baby was comfortably fed, diapered, swaddled and on her way to a deep sleep when her parents left. I remembered being disappointed that I wasn't going to get any "baby time," as she would very likely sleep soundly until her parents returned. In fact, she hadn't napped well that afternoon, so she was doubly guaranteed to spend the evening in dreamland.

Five minutes after her parents left, she fussed a little. And a little more. And a little more. I waited a full minute before heading upstairs to calm her (or so I thought...).

As soon as Baby laid eyes on me, she started crying even louder. I scooped her up and proceeded to use the tried-and-true soothing techniques I'd learned from a great DVD, Happiest Baby on the Block. One by one, they all failed.

Time to resort to our universal baby calmer: the fish tank. The light and smooth motions of the fish always seem to attract the attention of our friends' kids, and everyone from a three-month-old to a two-year-old have loved to just stare at it.

It worked! Temporarily, anyway. I'd accomplished the task of quieting the baby, but she certainly wasn't sleeping. At least it was some relief.

At this point, Matt had gotten dinner ready, so we took turns eating and trying to keep the baby calm. Soon, the fish tank, a really cool fuzzy book, our ceiling fan and other things failed us, one by one. We checked the diaper: dry. We tried a bottle: she sobbed between sips.

This is when I started to notice our parenting styles come to light. Scientific, ultra-patient Matt rationalized that nothing was actually wrong with the baby, and was prepared to wait it out. I freaked, blamed myself for causing the poor child emotional turmoil that would haunt her the rest of her life, and hoped that the baby's parents would still be friends with me.

The freaking out led to the best idea I'd had all evening: I called a friend with a 5-month-old. Hearing the cries over the phone, she knew the baby was very tired, but couldn't necessarily calm herself down at this point. Her guidance helped us coax the little one to sleep within 5-10 minutes--using the same DVD techniques I'd tried earlier! Whew! Problem solved, right?

But then, we noticed we were one cat short of our pair of cats. The missing cat is a regular Houdini when it comes to sneaking wraith-like into small, hidden places, only to appear hours later. She also yearns with a passion to be outside. A quick, yet thorough, search of the house yielded two possibilities: either she was in the room with the baby or roaming the neighborhood (Matt had been grilling and going in and out a lot). Neither was appealing! Do we risk waking the baby to try to find our cat? Do we start combing the neighborhood? We decided to risk the baby's room.

Matt ventured in with his trusty flashlight. Our other cat immediately recognized the beam as a toy and went happily romping in with him, only to get tossed rather harshly out. He looked all over the room for a full 5 minutes, successfully not waking the baby. No cat. we searched every other room, top to bottom, several times. No cat. Matt walked outside around the house. No cat!!!

I went into the baby's room to look for myself. No cat. Matt went back in. Cat!!! She had been wedged in between the two mattresses of our daybed, completely hidden from view. He'd only found her by sticking his hand in. I heard the small meow of protest on the baby monitor when he pushed her out.

The rest of the evening was, fortunately, uneventful. I was finally able to be soothed with ice-cream. I learned several things:

1. I might be frustrated, tired, and confused as a new mom, but I will not be bored.
2. At least I'll have the home-field advantage with Baby Girl.
3. Matt's patience knows no end whatsoever. This will come in handy.

Anybody else want us to babysit? :)