the sleep routine - Part II

Dear Chicken Nugget,

With big work deadlines looming a week from now, a half-marathon in ten days, family worries, and general busyness keeping me from writing you these notes, I feel like it's been forever. 

There's way too much going on and it has affected my sleep and running, but there's always moments in life like this when everything seems to happen at the same time.  Luckily, deadlines pass, races are run, and relaxing times are just around the corner. 

In the meantime, I've been coming home and spending lots of awake time with you.  I haven't been getting to work until you fall asleep - sometimes 9:30pm.  Even now, it's midnight as I write this.  I've been working this entire time. 

Through all the work, lack of sleep, and stress, you've been giving me a beautiful gift for the last three nights.  In recent weeks you've fallen asleep with your mom.  But, for the last three nights, you've been falling asleep in my arms.  A couple of nights ago you had fussed a little, letting us know you were starting to get tired.  I put on some karaoke-versions of Michael Buble songs and sang to you while holding you and dancing with you. 

As I sang, you put your head on my chest and relaxed.  If I stopped singing, you lifted your head up and stared up at me until I started again.  Less than three songs into it, you were out.  It was adorable.

Last night it happened again, this time you were out in about a song and a half.  Tonight it took about four songs but it ended with you snoring on my chest.

 
So, yes, I have lots of work to do.  Yes, I could use more sleep.  And yes, I should resign from my position on any number of extracurricular activities.  But, through all that overloaded, overworked, overtired crazyness, I come home to you and your mom and get to sing you to sleep.  Totally worth it.



Eternally yours,

Tu Papa

napping with you

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Yesterday I came home early from church to help take care of you.  With teeth working their way through your gums, you've been having some fussy periods.

I came home to a screaming baby Nugget.  You wanted to be held close.  You had little patience for any activity and preferred to just be in arms.

When I saw the signs of your getting tired, I cradled you, and rocked you in the rocking chair.  The apartment got quieter as your lids grew heavier.  I put you down in our bed and laid next to you, my hand on your chubby leg, and you feel asleep.

As I got up to sneak away, you opened your eyes and grabbed my shirt tight.  I laid back down, you still holding my shirt, and watched you fall back asleep.  You wanted me to stay with you.  I did.

I ended up taking a nice 45 minute nap with you.  It was wonderful. 

I woke up to the sounds of a screaming Nugget.  Eh. 

I still love you, though, and I absolutely love napping with you.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

I sing, you laugh

Dear Chicken Nugget,

I like to sing out loud.  Your poor grandma had to listen to endless hours of me singing along with Menudo, Michael Jackson, Dr. Dre, Third Eye Blind, or whoever my favorite artist was at the moment of my indoor concert.

There's audio tapes of my singing as a kid somewhere that my mom had me record.  Still, no one ever taught me how to sing and no one in my family told me I had an awful voice.   

When we were 11 or 12 years old, my friend Rolando yelled at me for trying to imitate Michael Jackson's voice.  He told me it sounded terrible.  I never really took that to heart.  Your mom still has to deal with my high-pitched warbling.

In High School the music teacher asked me to try out for the Choir.  She had heard something relatively good during class and wanted me to try it out.  On the day I tried out, standing before some pretty good singers, I unleashed about a third of a decent scale before my voice broke into a series of cracks and shrieks.  The music teacher kindly told me it was just my voice changing and suggested I try out again in six months.  I never went back.

No one has really said much about my singing since.  I think folks are just being nice. Then, last week you started laughing at me.

Recently you've been going to bed without the need for any sleepy time routine.  However, with teeth seeming to push and cut their way through those little gums, you've been getting a little fussy at night.  So, this week we went back to the sleep routine.

As I picked you up and cradled you in my arms, with a slight bounce in my step, I broke into Frank Sinatra's "The Way You Look Tonight"...

Some day, when I'm awfully low...

Heh, Heh, Heh

When the world is cold...

Heh, Heh, Heh

I will feel a glow... Heh

Just thinking of you... Heh, Heh

Your mom heard your raspy laugh and started cracking up. 

For about a week now I've been laughed at when I sing.  It's cute.  For now.  Because you're little.

Hopefully I'm not doing any long term damage.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

the sleep routine

Dear Chicken Nugget,

Today you are two months old!  It's been incredible having you in our lives and we look forward to so much more time with you.

You're growing physically and are becoming more aware by the hour.  You love hearing the vowels in Spanish and laugh when I howl like a wolf.

loving listening to the vowels in Spanish

And, you love it when your dad puts you to sleep.  You've been a really good sleeper, by the way.  When you're tired you'll fall asleep in a baby carrier, in the swing, on the changing table, and while feeding.  You've actually been sleeping through most of the night - waking up to eat once or twice but falling immediately back to sleep when done.

But late evening when you hit that over-tired point your mom and I go into the sleep routine.  While she goes off to get ready for bed, I get you ready for bed.  What started as an hour long routine is now usually done in 15-20 minutes.   It involves some walking, some white noise provided by the kitchen fan, and even some singing.

Now, while I won't promote my singing in any way, it seems that it helps you go to sleep.  I have two theories for this: my droning monotone has a hypnotic effect or you essentially give up because sleep is the fastest way to get out of hearing me sing.

So far I've used a number of songs to help lull you to sleep (in no particular order):

How's It Going To Be by Third Eye Blind
Lean On Me by Bill Withers
Stand By Me by Ben E. King
The Way You Look Tonight by Frank Sinatra
Motorcycle Drive By by Third Eye Blind
Amazing Grace by John Newton
Hound Dog by Elvis Presley
That's Life by Frank Sinatra
Donna by Ritchie Valens

Tonight, the song that made you pass out was Fly Me To The Moon by Frank Sinatra.

Somehow these songs work.  Then again, considering my monotone voice, they might all just sound the same and I'm simply boring you to sleep.  In any case, it works.

When it comes time for you to learn to sing I'm definitely handing the reigns over to your mom.  She comes from a clan of musicians and singers.

In the meantime, I'll continue to help you fall asleep for the night.  It's my pleasure to sing my baby boy to sleep.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa

badass grizzly warriors of Astoria

Dear Chicken Nugget,

This afternoon when I came home from work I found your mom on the couch, holding you, and looking more tired than I've ever seen her.  She communicated in a series of twitches and grunts that she was tired, hadn't napped at all today, and needed sleep now.

I've been to Yellowstone National Park a couple of times and have read the manuals on what to do when you encounter a grizzly bear.  Basically, you assess the situation and your surroundings, you calmly and slowly back away, and you keep your pepper spray ready to shoot.

That's how I treated this encounter.  I swooped you up, placed you in the Ergo carrier, and slowly backed out of the room.  I took you for a nice long walk so that the momma bear could get her nap.

As we walked down the streets of Astoria, you sleeping soundly at my chest, I noticed another gentleman carrying his baby in a carrier.  As he walked by he smiled and nodded.  I nodded back.  Then, a couple of blocks later, another guy with an Ergo walked by, baby at his chest, and dry cleaning folded over one arm.  In the hour and forty minutes that you and I spent zig-zagging our way through the neighborhood I counted five guys carrying their babies.

But, here's the interesting part: they were carrying their babies alone.  Somehow, between 5:25pm and 7:05pm six guys from the same neighborhood found themselves carrying their babies in some sort of baby carrier with no partner in sight.

It made me wonder if they too had encountered a sleep-deprived momma bear back in the home cave.  This is going to sound corny, but every time I passed one of those guys there was a nod or wave exchanged.  It's like we belonged to a club that the rest of the neighborhood wasn't cool enough to know about.

Early on in my running career when I was stupidly starting to train for my first marathon, I experienced something similar.  When running in New York City you often end up running by another runner.  This is no big deal.  It happens many times during a run.  Sometimes you make eye contact and acknowledge one another and sometimes they run by as if you barely exist.  It's New York, that's just how it is.

But, on one cold, rainy Fall day I had to go out for a long run and the weather wasn't supposed to get any better; I either did my long run in the rain or I waited a day and ran my long run in the rain.  So, I suited up and got myself going.  As I ran that day something special started to happen.  Fools Folks running by, and there were few that day, actually waved and called out a "hey!" or "hello."  It's as if we belonged to some ridiculous cold rain running club.  It made me feel a little badass.

Of course, this...

...doesn't look badass, Nugget.  But it is.

What looks like just a regular guy carrying his baby around the neighborhood is actually a warrior who probably managed to narrowly escape the charge of a momma grizzly.

At least, that's how I felt.


Eternally yours,

Tu papa



[PS - Readers of Dear Chicken Nugget may have noticed an ad for BabyEtte on the side bar.  We love their products!  Although I mentioned carrying Nugget in the Ergo today, we also have a wrap and a sling from BabyEtte and we love wearing our little Nugget around the house and 'hood.  They're a small family-owned business and we highly recommend them for your baby-wearing needs.]

Wearing my Grumpy Pants

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As I write this I'm waking up from a nap.  In the future your mom may caution you to stay away from me as I re-enter the waking world.  In fact, she's learned to ignore me until I speak first.  Apparently when I wake up from naps, I'm often wearing what your mom calls my "grumpy pants" - whatever that means.

After four-something years together your mom has learned to read me and will know by just a glance that I'm upset with the world.

Just so you know, I'm not really upset with the world or anyone in it.  I just happen to enjoy sleeping.  I enjoy the deep peace of a siesta and the bizarre action-packed dreams that frequently come with it. 

Waking up often feels like I'm being yanked from paradise.  One minute I'm in a profound slumber fighting zombies (and winning) on the beaches of Cancun, Mexico and the next I'm waking up on the couch, wickedly thirsty, and realizing that I forgot to go to the supermarket to buy stuff for dinner.  So, yes, sometimes I wake up in a wee bit of a bad mood.

Your mom claims that as I roll out of my naps I growl like bear.  I swear there are actual sweet words of love coming out of my mouth - maybe your mom has a hearing problem.

I have learned recently that getting to work on something immediately after a nap often helps soften the blow to the helpless bystander.  For example, writing this entry has helped get me out of my "grumpy pants."  I'm not sure if it's because it's given me time to focus on something other than the fact that I was painfully pulled away from a beautiful rest or if its because I'm thinking about you.

If it is you that is helping my post-hibernation depression then be prepared to be used as a human shield.  I'm pretty sure your mom will use you to disarm the drooling papa bear that rolls menacingly off the couch.

Hopefully it works.


Yours eternally,

Tu papa

on sleep

Dear Chicken Nugget,

As I write this, your mom is already in bed.  I'm still up like I typically am. I usually stay up later than your mom.  Not because I'm working on something important, though in this case, I'm writing you a letter and that is very important - no, I usually stay up later because I'm trying to answer the questions floating around in my head.

I'm sure a therapist could help me resolve my need to answer questions late at night, but for now, Google.com has been a tremendous help.

But, this is not about your dad's obsessive need to know everything.  This is about sleep.  Your mom gets plenty.  I get less than desired amounts of sleep.

It's partly a habit that I developed in High School.  Back then, I would sleep five to six hours a night and manage pretty well.  On the weekend I would sleep in and get back on track.  The five to six hours of sleep habit continued through college and into my early teaching career.  Then, around my mid-twenties something happened.  I started getting older.

Though I could still function on six or fewer hours of sleep, I started realizing that seven to eight hours was even better.  All my aches and pains and fatigue went away when I slept more.  How about that?

Then, as I entered my late twenties and, now, my thirties I could no longer function on six hours of sleep.  Now, six hours is a bad thing.  I need eight hours.

Why do I tell you all this, chicky?  Because I hope you're smarter than your dad.  I hope you learn early on that sleep is a good thing and that getting lots of it is not only good for your health but good for your soul.

Be more like mom, Chicken Nugget - get your sleep!


Heading to bed,


Your papa