Dreaming, all right

Chloë is currently passed out on the floor. Sometimes she wants to sleep on the thick double-layered blanket that she likes to keep on the rug by her bed, but before I went in just now she was simply splayed face-down, half on the blanket, half off, hand outstretched to the turtle planetarium night-light she had undoubtedly been playing with after she got done kicking the floor and walls.

As you might guess, we're having sleep troubles.

She switched to an afternoon nap recently--or rather, stopped going to sleep during morning naps and started falling asleep during TV time in the afternoon. So Eric's been putting her down with Maia's afternoon nap, since that way they can coordinate actual activities in the early or late afternoon. But it doesn't seem to be suiting her exactly. She sleeps late and heavily, and then at bedtime, as tonight, she won't go down. We used to have a sweet bedtime ritual: naked time with books, then pajamas, tooth-brushing and nose medicine (Ayr saline gel to protect against nosebleeds), good-nights, and then an oral bedtime story and a song snuggled up in the dark before sleep. We still have it, but she doesn't sleep after the song. She wants to snuggle.  She wants to sleep on the floor. She wants this, wants that. She needs her moon back on. She needs a tissue. She needs to pee. She doesn't want to be alone.

We've tried toeing the hard line, since that worked before--making sure she has what she really needs, then checking on her occasionally as needed but not giving in. Then, not checking on her. That's resulted in lots of wall-kicking, calling for us, crying for us, getting out of bed, and sleeptimes of 10:30 or later. (Bedtime is 8:30-9.) But I don't think indulging her is going to help--or at least, not in anything but the very short term. There was one night I did go in and snuggle with her, I think because she was sick. She fell asleep while I was there, but then she woke up and found me not there and called for me again. Repeat twice and then it was my bedtime. I think that might have been the night I stayed and we were both awakened by Maia in the wee hours (or I was awakened by her and Chloë was awakened by me) and she said, "Mommy don't leave me," and I explained I was going to go feed Maia, and then she finally went to sleep for the rest of the night.

I think that Chloë's napping too late in the day. But Eric has difficulty getting her to lie down any earlier, and has trouble planning activities when they have breakfast and then Maia goes down and then they have lunch and then Chloë goes down and then Maia goes down again; and he's running the daycare. I can and do prevent her from sleeping any later than I get home, but that's still pretty late. Eric thinks the problem is simple overtiredness, which can also (rather frustratingly) delay sleeptime. So all we really know is that something's not right. So we'll try one thing, then another, to try to fix it. Poor guinea pig baby.

Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies

Chloë has entered the much-anticipated "why" (or rather, "Because why?", which I submit is much cuter) stage. Why is Daddy going to work? Why is it too late to make cookies? Why does water run out of the tub? Why isn't the moon in the sky?

(She's suddenly become extra-obsessed with her "Cat in the Hat in Space" (actually There's No Place Like Space) book, demanding six or seven readings today. It details the planets, the sun, and moon, and a few constellations. When we went to the window this evening to see if the moon was out, it wasn't but Jupiter and Venus were, and Orion was spread out against the sky like a patient etherised upon a table--I mean, like he is in the book. I pointed him out, and she talked about "Orion the Hunter" a few times afterward. At bedtime she wanted to see him again, and--surprise!--the moon was out. "I thought the moon would be in the 'ky. Maybe it would," she said.)

At the same time she's learning various truths about life, I think she's starting to consider withholding some of her own. Today was her bath night, and she had bubble bath, and bath crayons, and toys, and foam letters. It was a complex bath. Maia stood at the rim, as she does, and helped by gnawing on duckies and then knocking them into the tub. I pulled out a few for her to play with, put the books up on the second shelf instead of on the floor so they wouldn't be dripped on when we put the toys away later, and drew duckies for Chloë which she then added orange feet to, so they could go to the grasshopper (don't ask):

I got distracted by something or other (maybe the thought of the nefarious duckipede) and shortly thereafter Chloë said "Look Mama," and handed me Mr. Brown Can Moo, Can You?, which is a board book we've designated as a bathroom book.

It was sopping wet. "Oh, no!" I said, already knowing what must have happened and considering how to present this conversation. "It's all wet! Was it in the tub?"

"Heth," she said.

"How did it get there?" No answer. I tried prying a couple of pages open, gingerly, hoping the cardboard wouldn't separate. "Did Maia put it in the tub?" No answer. "Did something else happen?"

"Domething happened," she agreed, hesitantly.

"Did you take it from the shelf and put it in the water?" I said.

And there was this moment where I waited to see if she would decide to lie to me. I hadn't presented any anger, but I'd made it clear that this wet book was not something I had expected or wanted. Would she decide to lie to avoid my possible wrath? Would it even occur to her to do so? She's told untruths before, but they've been pretty clearly (a) a case of not understanding a word, (b) not being able to control her language to match her meaning (i.e., "I don't want it! --I do want it!", or (c) being totally silly, never with the intent to deceive.

I'm not sure if it did in the circumstances, and the evil-scientist part of me wishes I had put on some display of anger just to see if that response could be provoked, if she's developmentally mature enough for that. But she confessed, "Heth."

So I told her, calmly, that books are not meant to get wet and only her two bath books can go in the tub. Luckily we have another copy of that book, so it's not a big deal. I wonder how long it will be, though, before her first true lie.

Baby mysteries

Maia got a "My Pal Violet" for Christmas. It's similar to, but much less creepy than, another talking puppy that Chloë has. (Had. Is it still around? I haven't seen it in quite some time. Oh dear, I suppose it's possible we may have accidentally mislaid it.) It says some pretty cute things, and has a bedtime-music function and an assorted-songs function, and by "function" I mean "touch-sensitive paw." It's been programmed with her name, favorite animal, favorite color, and favorite food. She doesn't have any of the latter, except maybe breastmilk, but apparently that wasn't a choice because Eric selected bananas. He also selected blue as her favorite color, on the basis that it is not likely to be her favorite color and he wants to see if she can be, well, programmed to prefer it.

This morning Chloë brought it into her room to play with. Chloë likes the thing more than Maia does; it's a good thing Chloë also received a gift that calls her by name (Tag Junior, also by Leapfrog). She pushed buttons and so on, and Maia didn't really notice until "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" came on. Suddenly she snapped to attention, listening and bopping her body to the music, as babies do. It was adorable. The only thing is: I've never sung her that song. Her bedtime song is "I Gave My Love a Cherry," with "Lavender's Blue" for variety. Possibly she's been present when I sang it to Chloë a few times, but she's only been exposed to it in toys, her stroller lion and her aquarium and so on. So where did she learn this preference for it? That'll teach me to think that babies have no secrets.

Spelling may take a while

Chloë has a colors book that is particularly simple, with each color's name spelled out in capital letters. Since those letters are really all she's experienced, she started pointing them out, and at some point Jenny started having her point them out in order. So from the book she has learned "G and R and E and other E and N spell gween!" Learned, at least, as long as the letters are right in front of her.

Today I'm wearing my Alton Brown T-shirt, which, on the reverse, says "SCIENCE! It's what's for dinner!" I was on the floor with Maia and Chloë came up beind me on the couch, and starts pointing at the letters: "S and C and I and E and N and C and E... spell Daddy!"

Yeah, OK, I'll take it.

Elementary, my dear minions

"When I am overlord, everyone must be able to recite the periodic table upon request, or BE SLAIN."

The nose knows

After work yesterday I held my love close, enjoying the contact after a long day of separation. I inhaled--and recoiled. "You smell like...another woman!" I accused.

She cooed.

There are apparently studies that show that a baby can identify her mother's breastpad and will ignore other women's, and that women can identify their babies by smell alone. I wasn't so sure I believed that, since humans hardly ever use their sense of smell compared to other mammals, but now I think I do. Yesterday was Chloë's first day at daycare proper, and when I picked her up after work she did, in fact, smell like another woman. Actually, she must have smelled like at least three of them, since different teachers were there when I dropped her off, nursed her at lunch, and picked her up; and the smell might have been partly the place itself--and it was mixed in with the milk that collects in her neck when she gets bottles. But it all added up to Someone Else Has Been Handling My Baby, and I didn't like it at all. She got a bath last night. It was time for it, but I might have insisted on it anyway, just so she'd smell right again. We'll see whether I can handle the residual scent tonight, or whether her two- or three-times-weekly bath will become a nightly ritual.

Did you realize...

This came up Friday night from one of our commenters: Did we realize that L.E.O. will actually be born under the zodiac sign Leo? To which the answer is:

1) Yes, but
2) We didn't notice it until a month after the blog started (and therefore several months after the project started), and
3) We take pretty much zero truck with astrology, at least partially because
4) The sun won't actually be between the IAU boundary of the constellation Leo and the earth when L.E.O. is actually born.

The sun will actually be pretty close to Asellus Australis, the central star in Cancer--assuming due dates stick appropriately. I suspect Jenny will have been induced long before the sun gets near the Cancer-Leo boundary (9h20m, or about 10 August).

Interestingly, it appears that Hindu astrologers use a zodiac that more closely resembles at least a vague match with the actual ecliptic. One wonders if the Forer effect would hold just as well for horoscopes produced by both sets of astrologers, or if people would actually be able to differentiate between the two. My bet is, as always, on Forer.

Dad makes the geeky announcement

Project Little Evil Overlord is coming soon. You will be conquered... by cuteness.

Project L.E.O. is currently approximately fourteen weeks along. Circulatory and basic neurological functions are established and have been detected. As of yet, doctors have proscribed bionic and nanotechnology systems; the project goes forward nonetheless, and is on track for an expected completion date of 30 July.

The expectant mother is doing well except for occasional bouts of discomfort, and alternating joy and paranoia about her future son or daughter taking over the world. The expectant father is currently working on fortress plans and procuring over-powered but occasionally faulty weaponry with obvious self-destruct mechanisms. Just in case.

Applications for minions are already being accepted! No experience is required, though basic diaper changing and bottle-feeding techniques, ability to make cooing noises, and willingness to be cannon fodder when the "good guys" assault the fortress are a plus.

Alas, poor junk food, I knew you well

We went up to Michigan this weekend to attend Confusion, a science fiction convention. We've been going for years (Eric longer than me) and it's always a good time. There are panels on writing, media, science, books, art, and random silliness, which is what I like, and there's a big game room, which is what Eric likes; and we both like the room parties (it's held at a hotel) and the consuite. The consuite is a big suite always open to everyone at the convention where they have seats for people to sit and talk, and free drinks and snacks, and things like magazines to read and a Sunday pancake breakfast. Good stuff. There's also an art show and a dealer's room and a masquerade and a dance and other random stuff that happens when a lot of geeks get together.

We both had fun, though I missed out on some of the usual nighttime things because I was sleeping ten hours a night. I also confirmed that either my body is programmed to behave a lot better when I'm pregnant than when I'm not, or L.E.O. is totally uninterested in junk food. The consuite had a great selection of junk: salsa and chips, Cheetos, brownies, M&Ms; but all I wanted was peanut butter sandwiches and grapes and carrots. I did get a few Skittles--I think those got a pass because they're fruity--but that was it. What a drag this kid is.

Of course, apparently studies show that a fetus exposed to a particular taste (like alcohol or anise) in utero like the smell better after they're born, so maybe avoiding junk food now will mean a kid with healthier eating habits later. But this is my one chance to eat whatever I want and be able to explain it as "Oh, I'm pregnant" to anybody who might otherwise be horrified, and I'm wasting it.

Pfft. Amateurs.

Note to other future supervillains: if the only people you have tailing you are the cops, you're doing it wrong.

I suppose we can give them the benefit of the doubt; perhaps this was all a cover-up for their real operation.