A day in the life, part III.
Aug. 11th, 2005 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaWhen Alex was three weeks and six weeks old, I posted a 24-hour log of my day. (Man, is that three-week log hard to read now. I really had forgotten how out-of-control hard things were in the early days.) At four months, our lives are certainly very different. So, for posterity, here's a day in the life of the mother of a four-month-old:
1:00am: Alex starts a fretful whimpering which quickly escalates to crying. I scoop her up along with her sleepy blanket and her pacifier, mix her a 6oz bottle, and settle down in the rocking chair to feed her. She takes 4oz and drifts off to sleep again while I'm burping her. I try to encourage her to finish the bottle (full stomach = longer sleep) but she pushes the nipple back out with her tongue.
1:20: Back in bed. She stirs and opens her eyes when I put her down, but quickly falls back to sleep when I settle in with my arm around her. I do too.
4:20: Alex is restlessly moving about. I pull her out of the cosleeper and wrap her in my arms. We go back to sleep.
5:15: Alex gives her hungry cry. I offer her another 6oz bottle of formula - she takes three.
5:25: I am rocking a sleepy, yawning, eyes-drooping baby and hoping against hope that today will be different from the other days this week.
5:30: Nope. She's wide awake, and suggests that it's time to get about our busy day of playing and gross motor activity. I try rocking and shushing her to no avail.
5:45: I decide to try putting her down in bed, thinking that maybe she'll get bored and go to sleep on her own. She doesn't cry. But she kicks, thrashes, and babbles to herself. Every time I open my eyes to check on her, she catches my eye and grins. She's too active for me to be able to fall back asleep, but at least I get a few more minutes of lying motionless with my eyes closed.
6:05: She starts to practice her latest new skill, blowing raspberries. This is so funny that I can't help but wake all the way up and laugh at her. I get up, throw some clothes on, change her diaper (she grins delightedly at me from the changing table) and take her downstairs.
6:15: Playtime on the living room floor. I participate minimally at first, occasionally handing her toys while she thrashes around happily. As time goes by I get a bit more involved. I put her on her tummy and she rolls over onto her back, twice. She blows more raspberries.
6:40: I put Alex on her playmat and go into the kitchen to wash bottles. I am not terribly happy to find a sinkful of dishes from last night, but I go ahead and wash them too. She amuses herself with the playmat toys.
6:55: Alex is no longer amused. She yells for me and then starts to cry a little.
7:00: I put her in her sling and give her the pacifier and sleepy blanket. She whimpers for a couple of minutes and then falls asleep. I trim her fingernails (waaaay overdue) and then put my head back and fall asleep myself, sitting up in the couch. I do briefly wake to check in with Michael as he heads off to work.
8:00: Alex and I both wake up. She stays on my lap and we play together: reading stories (Jamberry) is a current favorite), singing and playing little lap-bounce games ("The Grand Old Duke of York" is her absolute favorite right now - it makes her laugh out loud), and cuddling a lot.
8:30: She lets me know that she's hungry, and sucks down 3.5oz of a 4-oz bottle. I change an enormously stinky diaper. More playing.
9:15: We try some more tummy time, and she gets fussy afterward. I offer her the last half-ounce in her bottle and she sucks it down. So I make two more ounces, which she wants nothing to do with.
9:30: I try to put her in her bouncy seat so that I can shower. She is initially happy, but is crying by the time I get to the bathroom.
9:35: I put Alex on a receiving blanket on the bathroom floor, and she is perfectly content. Every time I peek out of the shower she grins at me. But she starts to do some sleepy fussing while I get dressed afterward.
10:00: She drinks down the 2oz formula I tried to offer her before, and settles into the sling for her nap. She tries a little protesting, but given that her eyes are tight shut I am unconvinced. She's fast asleep by 10:10.
10:15: I make myself some Cheerios and a cup of tea, take them upstairs, and breakfast in front of my computer while I read LJ and the mothering.com forums.
11:00: I force myself to shut down my browser and open some data analysis files. Mmm, fun with salivary cortisol assays.
11:50: Alex wakes up with a big happy grin. I change her diaper and take her into the bathroom for a bath. She's done a 180-degree turn on baths - she used to threaten to call CPS every time I got her bathtub out, and now she grins and wiggles and splashes around. I decide that, after the inevitable collapse of civilization, I'll grow beets in the dirt that builds up in Alex's neck folds. When I pour water over her to rinse her chest and neck, she opens her mouth wide, so I get a little tap water and dribble that into her mouth. She looks surprised, but not displeased. I dress her in a pretty summer outfit because we're going out later.
12:15: I deposit Alex on her playmat and start up the work laptop. I've brought down a diskette with my salivary cortisol data, which proves to be a problem because the laptop doesn't have a 3.5-in disk drive. (I knew that, but I thought the drive was in the carrying case. No, it was at work. Along with my USB key, apparently, so that's not a solution to the problem. Oh, and also? The fine computer guys at work didn't install data analysis software on the laptop, even though I asked them to. Fortunately, I anticipated that and brought the program CDs home.
12:30: I go back upstairs and burn the cortisol files to CD. Alex yells a couple of times to check on me but does not actually cry. When I return, she watches raptly while I install software (SPSS and my latest addiction, Microsoft Publisher) on the work laptop, which luckily has not been crippled by the fine computer guys at work. (On my desktop computer, I don't even have privileges to change the default audio player from Windows Media to iTunes, much less privileges to install software.)
1:00: In the middle of bouncing on my lap being oung to, Alex suddenly starts crying hard. I give her 3oz of formula.
1:20: Surprisingly, she shows signs of wanting a nap. I settle her in the sling and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a lemonade-and-seltzer, and a handful of baby carrots.
1:30: Alex falls asleep. I eat lunch.
1:40: I am completely fucking unable to open the fucking CD with the cortisol data. The computer keeps getting hung up. Restarting doesn't help. Finally I shut down and do a cold re-start. That works. I have more fun with salivary cortisol assays.
2:15: Michael comes home, having been released early because the National Federation of the Blind's annual employee picnic is this afternoon. He packs up the diaper bag and we agree to go as soon as Alex wakes up from her nap. I continue to have even yet still more fun with my data.
3:40: Finally, in desperation, I jostle Alex a bit and she wakes up. We change her diaper, pack her into the car, and drive off to Patapsco Valley State Park.
4:00: At the NFB picnic. We parade the baby up and down for admiration, eat snacks, and try to tune out the godawful karaoke. It's pretty hot. For a while I lay Alex on a quilt on a picnic table, because she seems too hot in my arms. That helps some. We have to go a long way from the picnic shelter before she'll settle down enough to take her bottle - under the shelter, there's too much to see and too many people to flirt with. Later on, she gets cranky and I take her for a long walk to inspect some trees. Michael finds us there and suggests that we leave before a meltdown occurs.
5:30: The meltdown happens just as we get Alex strapped into the car. I work pretty hard to cheer her up with songs ("When the cow gets up in the morning, she always says 'moo'...") and bits of poetry, including as much of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish as I can remember. ("Look what we found in the park, in the dark. We will take him home. We will call him Clark. He will live at our house. He will grow and grow. Will our mother like this? We don't know.") This works pretty well and gets her giggling.
6:00: Michael takes Alex. I go upstairs, put on some music, and surf the net for a refreshing hour.
7:10: She seems sleepy, so I settle her into the sling and rock her. Her eyes drift shut, but she can't quite drop off. I offer her 2oz of formula. Then we go upstairs, in case the noise of Michael watching "We Are the 80s" is bugging her for some reason. (She usually has no problem sleeping with the TV on.) In the bedroom she falls asleep quickly as I rock her.
8:15: I ease a sleeping Alex into bed, sling and all, and go downstairs to make dinner, reading Joan Aiken's If I Were You in between cooking tasks.
8:50: We sit down to have a very simple meal: leftover roast beef, corn on the cob, storebought garlic bread with parmesan cheese melted on top, and a glass of shiraz. Mmm. We watch a TiVOed edition of "The Daily Show" while we eat.
9:30: I pull out my cross-stitch project for the first time since Alex was born and do needlework for a while.
10:15: I get Alex's bottles ready for the night, brush my teeth, and go to sleep.
1:00am: Alex starts a fretful whimpering which quickly escalates to crying. I scoop her up along with her sleepy blanket and her pacifier, mix her a 6oz bottle, and settle down in the rocking chair to feed her. She takes 4oz and drifts off to sleep again while I'm burping her. I try to encourage her to finish the bottle (full stomach = longer sleep) but she pushes the nipple back out with her tongue.
1:20: Back in bed. She stirs and opens her eyes when I put her down, but quickly falls back to sleep when I settle in with my arm around her. I do too.
4:20: Alex is restlessly moving about. I pull her out of the cosleeper and wrap her in my arms. We go back to sleep.
5:15: Alex gives her hungry cry. I offer her another 6oz bottle of formula - she takes three.
5:25: I am rocking a sleepy, yawning, eyes-drooping baby and hoping against hope that today will be different from the other days this week.
5:30: Nope. She's wide awake, and suggests that it's time to get about our busy day of playing and gross motor activity. I try rocking and shushing her to no avail.
5:45: I decide to try putting her down in bed, thinking that maybe she'll get bored and go to sleep on her own. She doesn't cry. But she kicks, thrashes, and babbles to herself. Every time I open my eyes to check on her, she catches my eye and grins. She's too active for me to be able to fall back asleep, but at least I get a few more minutes of lying motionless with my eyes closed.
6:05: She starts to practice her latest new skill, blowing raspberries. This is so funny that I can't help but wake all the way up and laugh at her. I get up, throw some clothes on, change her diaper (she grins delightedly at me from the changing table) and take her downstairs.
6:15: Playtime on the living room floor. I participate minimally at first, occasionally handing her toys while she thrashes around happily. As time goes by I get a bit more involved. I put her on her tummy and she rolls over onto her back, twice. She blows more raspberries.
6:40: I put Alex on her playmat and go into the kitchen to wash bottles. I am not terribly happy to find a sinkful of dishes from last night, but I go ahead and wash them too. She amuses herself with the playmat toys.
6:55: Alex is no longer amused. She yells for me and then starts to cry a little.
7:00: I put her in her sling and give her the pacifier and sleepy blanket. She whimpers for a couple of minutes and then falls asleep. I trim her fingernails (waaaay overdue) and then put my head back and fall asleep myself, sitting up in the couch. I do briefly wake to check in with Michael as he heads off to work.
8:00: Alex and I both wake up. She stays on my lap and we play together: reading stories (Jamberry) is a current favorite), singing and playing little lap-bounce games ("The Grand Old Duke of York" is her absolute favorite right now - it makes her laugh out loud), and cuddling a lot.
8:30: She lets me know that she's hungry, and sucks down 3.5oz of a 4-oz bottle. I change an enormously stinky diaper. More playing.
9:15: We try some more tummy time, and she gets fussy afterward. I offer her the last half-ounce in her bottle and she sucks it down. So I make two more ounces, which she wants nothing to do with.
9:30: I try to put her in her bouncy seat so that I can shower. She is initially happy, but is crying by the time I get to the bathroom.
9:35: I put Alex on a receiving blanket on the bathroom floor, and she is perfectly content. Every time I peek out of the shower she grins at me. But she starts to do some sleepy fussing while I get dressed afterward.
10:00: She drinks down the 2oz formula I tried to offer her before, and settles into the sling for her nap. She tries a little protesting, but given that her eyes are tight shut I am unconvinced. She's fast asleep by 10:10.
10:15: I make myself some Cheerios and a cup of tea, take them upstairs, and breakfast in front of my computer while I read LJ and the mothering.com forums.
11:00: I force myself to shut down my browser and open some data analysis files. Mmm, fun with salivary cortisol assays.
11:50: Alex wakes up with a big happy grin. I change her diaper and take her into the bathroom for a bath. She's done a 180-degree turn on baths - she used to threaten to call CPS every time I got her bathtub out, and now she grins and wiggles and splashes around. I decide that, after the inevitable collapse of civilization, I'll grow beets in the dirt that builds up in Alex's neck folds. When I pour water over her to rinse her chest and neck, she opens her mouth wide, so I get a little tap water and dribble that into her mouth. She looks surprised, but not displeased. I dress her in a pretty summer outfit because we're going out later.
12:15: I deposit Alex on her playmat and start up the work laptop. I've brought down a diskette with my salivary cortisol data, which proves to be a problem because the laptop doesn't have a 3.5-in disk drive. (I knew that, but I thought the drive was in the carrying case. No, it was at work. Along with my USB key, apparently, so that's not a solution to the problem. Oh, and also? The fine computer guys at work didn't install data analysis software on the laptop, even though I asked them to. Fortunately, I anticipated that and brought the program CDs home.
12:30: I go back upstairs and burn the cortisol files to CD. Alex yells a couple of times to check on me but does not actually cry. When I return, she watches raptly while I install software (SPSS and my latest addiction, Microsoft Publisher) on the work laptop, which luckily has not been crippled by the fine computer guys at work. (On my desktop computer, I don't even have privileges to change the default audio player from Windows Media to iTunes, much less privileges to install software.)
1:00: In the middle of bouncing on my lap being oung to, Alex suddenly starts crying hard. I give her 3oz of formula.
1:20: Surprisingly, she shows signs of wanting a nap. I settle her in the sling and make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a lemonade-and-seltzer, and a handful of baby carrots.
1:30: Alex falls asleep. I eat lunch.
1:40: I am completely fucking unable to open the fucking CD with the cortisol data. The computer keeps getting hung up. Restarting doesn't help. Finally I shut down and do a cold re-start. That works. I have more fun with salivary cortisol assays.
2:15: Michael comes home, having been released early because the National Federation of the Blind's annual employee picnic is this afternoon. He packs up the diaper bag and we agree to go as soon as Alex wakes up from her nap. I continue to have even yet still more fun with my data.
3:40: Finally, in desperation, I jostle Alex a bit and she wakes up. We change her diaper, pack her into the car, and drive off to Patapsco Valley State Park.
4:00: At the NFB picnic. We parade the baby up and down for admiration, eat snacks, and try to tune out the godawful karaoke. It's pretty hot. For a while I lay Alex on a quilt on a picnic table, because she seems too hot in my arms. That helps some. We have to go a long way from the picnic shelter before she'll settle down enough to take her bottle - under the shelter, there's too much to see and too many people to flirt with. Later on, she gets cranky and I take her for a long walk to inspect some trees. Michael finds us there and suggests that we leave before a meltdown occurs.
5:30: The meltdown happens just as we get Alex strapped into the car. I work pretty hard to cheer her up with songs ("When the cow gets up in the morning, she always says 'moo'...") and bits of poetry, including as much of One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish as I can remember. ("Look what we found in the park, in the dark. We will take him home. We will call him Clark. He will live at our house. He will grow and grow. Will our mother like this? We don't know.") This works pretty well and gets her giggling.
6:00: Michael takes Alex. I go upstairs, put on some music, and surf the net for a refreshing hour.
7:10: She seems sleepy, so I settle her into the sling and rock her. Her eyes drift shut, but she can't quite drop off. I offer her 2oz of formula. Then we go upstairs, in case the noise of Michael watching "We Are the 80s" is bugging her for some reason. (She usually has no problem sleeping with the TV on.) In the bedroom she falls asleep quickly as I rock her.
8:15: I ease a sleeping Alex into bed, sling and all, and go downstairs to make dinner, reading Joan Aiken's If I Were You in between cooking tasks.
8:50: We sit down to have a very simple meal: leftover roast beef, corn on the cob, storebought garlic bread with parmesan cheese melted on top, and a glass of shiraz. Mmm. We watch a TiVOed edition of "The Daily Show" while we eat.
9:30: I pull out my cross-stitch project for the first time since Alex was born and do needlework for a while.
10:15: I get Alex's bottles ready for the night, brush my teeth, and go to sleep.
