Messed Up Sleep Schedule Leads to a Cranky Day's Shopping
Baby Dog has been letting us get full nights of sleep of late, but somehow or other the whole schedule got messed up last night. She went to bed a tad late, but not unusually so. Then she woke up for feeding at one in the morning, and again just to be generally cranky at four. I went to her room and sat in the rocker, shushing. She had been up crawling around the crib, screaming, seemingly ready to start the day, but almost as soon as I started shushing she plonked herself back down and went to sleep. Feeling accomplished, I crawled back to bed.
To our surprise, we woke around eight without having heard another peep from her. That’s the longest we’ve slept in in ages. It felt good to get the sleep, but almost immediately I had an uneasy feeling that this boded ill for the rest of the day. Sure enough, she finally woke up around nine, and had her nap times pushed back all day. But worse, she was pretty much continuously cranky in between naps. At (late) morning nap time, she screamed and screamed. I went in and sat down in the rocker again. Mama Dog always asks why I don’t pick her up when I shush her. My reply at 4 a.m. was “Because in my experience, that just wakes her up, and the objective is to get her to sleep.” I suppose that sounds a tad male. It’s true, though. When I pick her up, it just gets her active, wanting to play. I figured there was less to lose trying it at a naptime as opposed to at four a.m., so I picked her up, set her on my shoulder, shushed and rocked. To my surprise, she was lolling unconsciously on my shoulder in minutes. I kept rocking until I was sure she was conked out, then lay her back in the crib. It felt like a real accomplishment.
In the afternoon, we decided a little family outing would be the thing. Baby Dog always loves going places in the car, and sure enough she stopped crying once we were underway. We did a little recon for possible lodgings for Grandpa B when he stays here for Baby Dog’s inaugural birthday. Then down to Jack London square to look for overpriced household goods. At Bedroom, Bathroom, and Beyondroom, we got a new shower curtain and Baby Dog spotted a huge rubber ducky she needed to examine further. She held it with her in the stroller as we scoured the Bath section of B, B, and B, and when time came to go and I had to put the duck back, she squawked and burst into tears. Yes, she has reached the age where particular Things have intense if temporary significance, and you can no longer make her forget about said Things by making a fart noise or pointing at her reflection in a shiny surface. At Cost Plus* we were looking for wicker somethingorothers, seagrass baskets or suchlike, but never really found le panier juste. Baby Dog, on the other hand, demonstrated that she can definitely tell the difference between a toy and any other piece of yuppie crap. After wheeling through the entire store, letting her reach out to solemnly pat baskets and appliances, I did a pass through an aisle featuring shelves full of fuzzy animals, and Baby Dog went bananas. She has never seen advertising, but already she’s primed to take part in our consumerist culture. How does that happen?
When we gave up at Cost and More Cost, Mama Dog decided she wanted to get something to eat, so we headed to Pizzeria Uno. We were very surprised on arriving there to find out that it’s now something called Pizzeria SFO, having apparently lost the franchise last September. Figuring it couldn’t possibly make much difference, we went in. The waitstaff were very nice, flirting with Baby Dog and assuring us we need not worry about the litter of Cheerios on the floor. “We get that all the time,” our server said. They were also helpful when we found that the first highchair we received had a broken strut on the bottom and the second had part of the belt strap missing. What is it about restaurant high chairs? It always seems like the first two are too thrashed to operate. The third worked fine, but I once Baby Dog was in I discovered to my surprise that I’m a more nervous father than I’d thought. She kept thrashing from side to side or reaching behind her to grab at the chair from the other table, and I couldn’t help but have visions of the highchair toppling over. It’s weird. We’ve been out to restaurants bunches of times and I’ve never had such a paranoid reaction. I guess it was something about the angle I was viewing her from that made her seat look more precarious than it really was. When I pulled my chair over to her corner of the table, it looked fine. Unfortunately, it was impractical for me to stay there; when my pizza arrived, Baby Dog immediately reached out and grabbed hold of it. I pulled it away and, yes, she burst into tears. I’m not sure if it’s because I took the pizza away or because it was too hot and hurt her hand. At any rate, I had to pick her up and walk her around the restaurant to calm her down.
After the big outing, she fell asleep in the car. We got her to the crib without waking her, but in my haste I forgot to remove her little Baby Canadian shoes. Let the baby sleep in her shoes or take them off and risk waking her? Of course we left he shoes on. Afternoon nap lasted from 5:30ish to 7 at night. Bedtime is normally between 8 and 9. We finally got her to sleep for the night around 10. Now I’m pooped as all hell and hoping that whatever she does, she doesn’t let us sleep in in the morning.
___________________
*And stop me if you’ve heard this one, but isn’t “Cost Plus” the worst name you’ve ever heard for a retail outlet? “We’ll charge you cost…plus!” I mean, “Cheap & Cutrate” wouldn’t exactly be a better name, but why do we want to shop at a place that promises in its very name to overcharge?
To our surprise, we woke around eight without having heard another peep from her. That’s the longest we’ve slept in in ages. It felt good to get the sleep, but almost immediately I had an uneasy feeling that this boded ill for the rest of the day. Sure enough, she finally woke up around nine, and had her nap times pushed back all day. But worse, she was pretty much continuously cranky in between naps. At (late) morning nap time, she screamed and screamed. I went in and sat down in the rocker again. Mama Dog always asks why I don’t pick her up when I shush her. My reply at 4 a.m. was “Because in my experience, that just wakes her up, and the objective is to get her to sleep.” I suppose that sounds a tad male. It’s true, though. When I pick her up, it just gets her active, wanting to play. I figured there was less to lose trying it at a naptime as opposed to at four a.m., so I picked her up, set her on my shoulder, shushed and rocked. To my surprise, she was lolling unconsciously on my shoulder in minutes. I kept rocking until I was sure she was conked out, then lay her back in the crib. It felt like a real accomplishment.
In the afternoon, we decided a little family outing would be the thing. Baby Dog always loves going places in the car, and sure enough she stopped crying once we were underway. We did a little recon for possible lodgings for Grandpa B when he stays here for Baby Dog’s inaugural birthday. Then down to Jack London square to look for overpriced household goods. At Bedroom, Bathroom, and Beyondroom, we got a new shower curtain and Baby Dog spotted a huge rubber ducky she needed to examine further. She held it with her in the stroller as we scoured the Bath section of B, B, and B, and when time came to go and I had to put the duck back, she squawked and burst into tears. Yes, she has reached the age where particular Things have intense if temporary significance, and you can no longer make her forget about said Things by making a fart noise or pointing at her reflection in a shiny surface. At Cost Plus* we were looking for wicker somethingorothers, seagrass baskets or suchlike, but never really found le panier juste. Baby Dog, on the other hand, demonstrated that she can definitely tell the difference between a toy and any other piece of yuppie crap. After wheeling through the entire store, letting her reach out to solemnly pat baskets and appliances, I did a pass through an aisle featuring shelves full of fuzzy animals, and Baby Dog went bananas. She has never seen advertising, but already she’s primed to take part in our consumerist culture. How does that happen?
When we gave up at Cost and More Cost, Mama Dog decided she wanted to get something to eat, so we headed to Pizzeria Uno. We were very surprised on arriving there to find out that it’s now something called Pizzeria SFO, having apparently lost the franchise last September. Figuring it couldn’t possibly make much difference, we went in. The waitstaff were very nice, flirting with Baby Dog and assuring us we need not worry about the litter of Cheerios on the floor. “We get that all the time,” our server said. They were also helpful when we found that the first highchair we received had a broken strut on the bottom and the second had part of the belt strap missing. What is it about restaurant high chairs? It always seems like the first two are too thrashed to operate. The third worked fine, but I once Baby Dog was in I discovered to my surprise that I’m a more nervous father than I’d thought. She kept thrashing from side to side or reaching behind her to grab at the chair from the other table, and I couldn’t help but have visions of the highchair toppling over. It’s weird. We’ve been out to restaurants bunches of times and I’ve never had such a paranoid reaction. I guess it was something about the angle I was viewing her from that made her seat look more precarious than it really was. When I pulled my chair over to her corner of the table, it looked fine. Unfortunately, it was impractical for me to stay there; when my pizza arrived, Baby Dog immediately reached out and grabbed hold of it. I pulled it away and, yes, she burst into tears. I’m not sure if it’s because I took the pizza away or because it was too hot and hurt her hand. At any rate, I had to pick her up and walk her around the restaurant to calm her down.
After the big outing, she fell asleep in the car. We got her to the crib without waking her, but in my haste I forgot to remove her little Baby Canadian shoes. Let the baby sleep in her shoes or take them off and risk waking her? Of course we left he shoes on. Afternoon nap lasted from 5:30ish to 7 at night. Bedtime is normally between 8 and 9. We finally got her to sleep for the night around 10. Now I’m pooped as all hell and hoping that whatever she does, she doesn’t let us sleep in in the morning.
___________________
*And stop me if you’ve heard this one, but isn’t “Cost Plus” the worst name you’ve ever heard for a retail outlet? “We’ll charge you cost…plus!” I mean, “Cheap & Cutrate” wouldn’t exactly be a better name, but why do we want to shop at a place that promises in its very name to overcharge?
posted by PapaDogDuvalier | 10:30 PM
2 Comments:
Pizzeria SFO turned out to be far inferior to Pizzeria UNO. Everything about the restaurant -- including the people -- appeared grubby and coated with a thin veneer of grime. My mushroom pizza lacked any kind of tomato sauce, too, which left me craving something zesty and tangy for the rest of the evening.
Maybe Cost Plus means that you buy the crap at COST -- PLUS freight, tax, and retailer mark-up?
Down here (Texas) Cost Plus is now just called World Market - I guess to alleviate the false feeling of a great deal.
Post a Comment
<< Home