Bath Time Torture

My babies hate baths. We go through the ordeal twice a week, and each time I hope maybe this time it will be okay…

I set up the baby tub carefully on the dining room table, a nice fluffy towel, some cotton balls, baby shampoo. Undress the first baby, she’s fine. Take her over to the tub, she’s fine. Wipe a little water on her face with a washcloth, sometimes she’s okay. Dip her in the tub WAAAAaaaaAAaAH! And then, as the bath continues, the cries grow hysterical. Wah! Wah! Wah! Wah!

Meanwhile I try to remain calm, speak soothingly. “It’s juuuuust water. Nice warm water. It’s really not that bad, is it? It’s really not that bad, is it? Beginning to wonder myself if it is somehow bad, hands shaking. Does this bring up traumatic NICU bath memories of some sort? Nerves fraying.

Our pediatrician recommends a bath as part of a nice, soothing, go to bed ritual. Not in our house. Today is bath day. Actually yesterday was bath day, but I just didn’t have it in me. Twice a week the dreaded day comes. I’ve gotten very quick at giving baths.

Note: I composed this blog in dread just before I had to give the twins a bath. I am happy to report that both baths went okay. Okay meaning there was some crying, but not the breathless, hysterical crying that sometimes ensues, and at least one twin smiled at me from the tub. So maybe we are getting somewhere. I remain ever-hopeful.

And ever-exhausted.

Yours,

Sparrow

Baby Clothing Swap

This past weekend I went to the Park Slope Parents’ baby clothing swap. I was really excited about this clothing swap. I’d had it on the calendar for weeks. The idea of exchanging old things I can’t use for new things I need, not spending money, gets my blood pumping.

The event was in a stuffy, dank basement of a church in Park Slope. Volunteers had set up a bunch of tables mounded with baby clothes, which grew higher as more people arrived with their own clothes to swap.

After depositing my donation I angled my way into a spot at the 0-9 table. I was somewhat surprised to find women standing around idly chatting, sifting through the clothes in a leisurely fashion. “Oo, isn’t this cute?!” “What size are you looking for?” “This is nice, but I don’t know if it will fit Franny in the spring; you take it.” Some had babies on them in carriers. Meanwhile my adrenaline was pumping as if I were embarking on a Survivor challenge. “Grab the baby clothes! Winter is coming! Winter!”

A little war began to wage inside me. I tried to listen to the “Be polite! Make small talk,” voice, but I couldn’t keep my hands from searching and grabbing, flipping over whole stacks like pancakes to get at the clothes underneath. I could appreciate that maybe these women didn’t want to feel like they were at the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest, but I couldn’t hold myself back.

I don’t even know what ended up in my bags. Stretch pants with cherries, a dress from Guatemala, anything fleece that looked warm, and at least four pairs of overalls. (Turns out I can’t resist a pair of overalls.) At the end, I quietly made my way out with my two large bags feeling like a thief. I have twins! TWINS! I wanted to say. I brought this much with me!

When I got home, I showed off the haul to D as if they were hunting trophies. “If we can do this every year, maybe we’ll never have to buy baby clothes again!” I said, “Except for maybe winter jackets and socks.” “It’s true,” D said, “All the baby clothes have already been bought.” I don’t know why I’m this way, but at least D humors me.

Sleep Trained What?

Did I say the babies were sleep trained? Not so much. There were a couple nights where they slept until 5:30, and a few where they slept until 4:30. Then the night before last when they woke up at 2:30 again…

We were getting up when they did to check on them, and most times ended up getting them out of bed to change them. The last few nights we also started giving them a pacifier to quiet them back to sleep.

After reading up on sleep training, I realize maybe giving them the pacifier wasn’t the best idea in terms of helping them learn to soothe themselves. So last night we tried the Cry It Out method for real. They woke at 12 and cried, fell back sleep then woke at 1:30 and cried for two hours, fell back asleep finally, then woke one final time before waking at 5:45 am.

Did I mention they are in our room? In the same crib? Did I mention we are in an apartment building? Did I mention this involved listening to my babies crying all night? Maybe deciding to do this starting Monday night wasn’t the best idea, either. A full night of real sleep, though, is becoming urgent.

Last night, after two hours of crying, I finally heard the sound of sucking as one twin, and then the other, found a hand to suck on. I was so happy for them. Congratulations Little Ones; self-comfort, first life skill.

My next mission is to figure out some good nap times. Right now they are both in their cribs drowsy, hopefully dropping off for a good nap. Sleep is complicated, it turns out, and there’s a lot we have to learn.