When the Lights Are Out

The other day, Matt and I realized it was probably time to move Nathan's crib mattress down a level. He's never shown any signs of pulling up on the side or any other dangerous activities, but he is definitely at that age when it could start happening at any moment. We'd rather be proactive about it than discover just too late that we should have already taken care of this task.

When we put his bed back together, we debated about whether to put his crib bumper back in. Patrick has recently decided it's just another of his toys, and we've found it draped around the room several times lately. To preserve our own sanity, we made the decision to see how Nathan did without it.

At first, he seemed to be a little confused. "Why can I suddenly see out of my crib, and not just what's above it?" Then he settled in; he seemed to like the new view.

Patrick did too. He also seemed quite curious about the new look to Nathan's crib, inspecting it even before we left the room for the night. Still, Matt and I left to let the two of them get used to the change, expecting the worst.

I was surprised when I didn't immediately hear cries behind me. I shrugged in the silence and went in the other room to play on the computer. About ten minutes later, I needed to do something right outside their room. When I got there, I heard a weird noise.

"Is that Nathan crying?" I wondered. It sounded like his voice, but it wasn't quite a typical cry. "Oh, no. I get it now. Patrick's laughing." I could only imagine the kind of torment he was inflicting on his brother that would cause him to laugh that mischievous laugh. I had pictures in my mind of Patrick poking at his brother through the slats and pulling his blankie away from him and who even knows what other mischief he could devise.

Then I heard it again and knew the sound for what it was: Nathan's laughter. It was the wildest, most hilarious laughter I have ever heard out of this perpetually happy baby. Between two crazy laughs, I heard another quieter sound. This time it was Patrick's voice. He was talking to Nathan in a sweet but silly voice.

My two boys were having an impromptu slumber party in their room, reminiscent of the late-night chattering my sister and I would do from time to time when we were young. The two were having such a grand time that I didn't want to interrupt them, even though they needed to sleep and it was probably my duty to put an end to the fun. (That's what mommies do, right?)

Instead, I called Matt to come listen as well. We practically melted as we listened to our boys interacting with each other and entertaining each other. It's a sound that I'm sure will become irritating as they grow older and we are forced to put an end to on a regular basis to ensure they get enough sleep, but for this one night, we revelled in the noise.

It's nice to have proof that our boys do love each other after all. For now.

Brotherly Love

This crazy kid, this one right here, is absolutely, definitely talking. I know I keep talking about it, but that's because I keep trying to convince myself it's possible. Patrick talked so late that it's ridiculous to think a baby could be communicating using real words this early. I mean, he's only nine months old!

But as more time passes and he attempts to talk more and more, I am forced to admit that not only is it possible that he is talking but almost certain. Also, he is not merely repeating us; I think he actually knows what he is saying sometimes.

For example, he frequently says "Amber" unprompted now. He sees her and instantly gets excited and starts repeating her name. I think he is trying to get her attention, which she is only too happy to give most of the time.

This morning's incident is what proved it to me once and for all, though. I had just rescued him from his room for his first feeding, and Patrick was just barely awake. He was jabbering about having me tuck in his bear again, and I did so while holding Nathan. As soon as we got back in our bedroom, Nathan started repeating, "Gaga," his name for Patrick, oddly the same as Patrick's name for him. Then he said, "Uh wuv uh." This time he did not repeat it after I had said it. It came from nowhere.

"Gaga, uh wuv uh. Gaga. Gaga, uh wuv uh." He continued to repeat it while I stared at him in awe. He was clearly saying something with that phrase, and I'm hesitantly suggesting that he does understand what the words mean, at least to some extent. Regardless, though, I'm quite positive that he does indeed love his brother.

No Way!

I'm quite certain that Nathan is talking, and not just babbling. We have had more instances where he has fairly clearly said, "Amber," when Amber was around or he was trying to get her attention. I have also heard him repeat, "Gaga," when he was trying to get Patrick's attention. In fact, one day when Patrick was crying near Nathan, I could swear I heard Nathan say, "Gaga. Pah-tree." That one I'm less certain about because, after all, Patrick was crying loudly in my ears.

Nathan also says, "Dada," when he wants his daddy's attention and either "Mama" or "Nana" when he wants me. He's consistent enough about all his different words and when he uses each one that it seems entirely likely that he understands what he's saying, at least to some extent.

But today's new phrase caught me totally off guard. Nathan had done something cute and got me to smile, so I leaned down and gave him a kiss, telling him, "I love you." Then I turned around to do something else. From behind me I hear, "Uh wu-oo."

I swung that head around so fast in shock. How could Patrick have woken up and snuck out of his room without my hearing it? But, no, Nathan and I were alone--and Nathan was grinning from ear to ear.

I know, I know. Nathan was just repeating me and very likely had no idea what he was saying. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to treasure this day forever and ever--the first day BOTH my boys told me they loved me.

What I Want to Remember

It's the middle of the night, and the house is quiet. I'm desperate for sleep, my eyes trying to close on their own despite my best efforts to prevent that very thing. I'm frustrated and grumpy, jealous at the heavy breathing I'm hearing on the other side of the room that tells me Matt and Amber are getting the sleep I wish I could get.

Instead, I'm rocking back and forth, back and forth in the glider, with Nathan passed out on my chest. It's the third time he's woken up after getting put in bed, and I'm out of ideas how to get him to sleep. He won't let me put him down without screaming as though he's in pain. I've gone through the whole list of possible problems and solutions, and nothing seems to be helping him--just sleeping on me while I gently rock him.

As I attempt to overcome the frustration that I'm not sleeping, I'm transported back several months, to the days when this glider got used regularly. I remember the days when Nathan was a newborn suffering from awful gas pain that we had yet to diagnose. He would cry for no reason at night for sometimes hours at a time. I finally found a specific way to hold and rock him as I walked, and I spent hours pacing and rocking, pacing and rocking, until he was relaxed enough that I could carefully perch on the glider, keeping up the same rhythm of the rocking with my arms sore from holding his weight for that long. I remember how anxious I was that any change on my part would wake him, bringing on the crying fit yet again. In these days, the whole goal was to be able to eventually transfer him to his bed without disturbing his sleep.

How could it be that I miss these days with all the anxiety of getting him to sleep? How could I have not grasped the wonder at the time that I had a miracle sleeping in my arms, that I alone could find the formula to his contentment in the midst of such pain?

So tonight I change my goal; it is no longer to get him to sleep in his own bed but to cherish the precious moments I'm sharing with him. I focus on the increasing weight of his body against my chest as he falls into a deeper sleep, his gentle sigh-breathing against the backdrop of his daddy's heavy near-snores, the soft fuzz of his hair tickling my chin. This is what I will remember from the night, not the frustration or sleep deprivation.

Moments like these are growing few and far between, and I do not want to look back months and years down the line and wish I had taken time to cherish the occasion instead of complaining about it. Instead, this moment will be wrapped up and placed in the far corners of my memory where I can treasure it and pull it out from time to time to reminisce about such sweet moments I have shared with my precious son.

Letters and Sleep

As I'm writing this, Patrick is playing with his letter puzzle, the one intended for ages three and up, and he's astounding me with his knowledge--or perhaps his memory. We've made it through all but about six of the letters, and I've helped him with only one so far. And really, I can understand how he can mix up a V and an A. I won't pretend he knows the names of all the letters yet, but I wouldn't put it past him. He hears each letter every time he does the puzzle. At the moment, I suspect it's more that he remembers where he saw the letters in the puzzle last and can match up the shapes pretty well. Still, I think he's pretty smart for being able to do that much.

Nathan, on the other hand, is sleeping peacefully in his bouncer chair. He's continuing to stretch his time between feedings overnight, now going eight hours on a fairly regular basis. I'm proud of him, but not as proud of him as I would be if those eight hours started closer to the time I'm ready to go to bed. As it is, I'm still getting up between three and four in the morning for his "morning" feeding. Fortunately, he usually goes right back to sleep after that feeding for about four more hours. I'm probably getting enough sleep after all, but it's getting kind of old to have the sleep interrupted every night.

Yet somehow I don't mind it much, despite my complaints about the interrupted sleep. I know I won't have opportunities to cuddle with my little baby alone in the middle of the night for much longer. There's something so sweet about those special quiet moments with no other distractions, and I suspect I'm going to miss them when they're gone. I do miss them with Patrick. So as long as Nathan still needs to eat in the middle of the night, I'm going to cherish those snuggly moments. I'll get chances to catch up on sleep later, but I won't have another chance to get these bonding times back when they're gone.