Twomims

Alt title: SEVEN STEPS TO SLEEP TRAINING FOR WORKING MOMS

I don’t think there is a bigger struggle for a mom returning to work than SLEEP. You want it. You can’t have it. You are a baby-cereal-covered zombie dialing in for a conference call on your stapler, and it’s time for something to change.

You’ve heard about letting the baby ‘cry it out.’ I couldn’t do it. Here are the seven steps I followed, with great success.

1. Know why the baby wakes up

When a baby wakes in the middle of the night to nurse, he is most likely not searching for food but instead closeness and bonding. The baby sees the momma and wants that closeness, even if he isn’t hungry.

2. Break the habit in stages – Start on a Thursday

This process begins on a Thursday night because it will be a tough night, and it is important to have at least three consecutive nights to get a good start.

3. First, Dad puts the baby to bed

Mom leaves the house an hour before the baby goes to sleep. The baby gets the message from dad, ‘It’s just you and me, kid!’ This happens for a couple nights.

4. Second, No nursing from Mom

After the baby is asleep, dad is the only one to go in and see the baby when he awakes. He can hug, cuddle and even offer a bottle a few times. The only thing off limits is mom, until morning. Step 3 and 4 happen simultaneously.

5. Now, only one bottle in the middle of the night

So, you hopefully have had some success where the baby is decreasing night wakings, finding them unsuccessful (i.e. no mom).  We allowed one bottle for a couple nights, typically around 4 am.

6. Push back the night waking time, one hour at a time

Now you gotta get rid of the 4 am feeding. Here is where a little crying comes in but it is very ‘kind’ and doesn’t break your heart like true CRYING IT OUT.

Here’s how this stage works: For example, he wakes at 2 am, Dad goes in and pats him but doesn’t pick him up. He’ll probably get furious when dad  leaves the room. Dad waits 5 minutes, goes back in and pats him and leaves the room again. The KEY is every time it was the same thing: Dad comes in, pats three times, says “time for bed” and then walks out.
This way it doesn’t become a form of entertainment for the baby. It is predictable and boring. DO NOT PICK THE BABY UP! If the baby is standing in the crib, go ahead and lay the baby back down, pat three times and say “time for bed.”

This can continue for an hour… You can also increase the time from 5 minutes to 7 minutes between pats. At the end of an hour, that’s enough crying. Dad would usually feed the baby a bottle, pick the baby up and then rock a little bit then put back into bed.

7. Welcome to 6 am, MOM!

Now the baby is awake at 6 am. MOM feeds the baby to signal, “YES, this is the time that we can get up.” Then MOM has to stay awake with the baby. Resist the urge to just put the baby back to sleep. This is the training to the baby so they understand what you view as the correct waking hours. Yes, it’s early and tough, but it’s better than night wakings.

Aside: Honestly I got to the point where I enjoyed the bleary-eyed 6 am wake up call… before the rest of the world woke up, before I had to become my work self…. as a pure and simple time. It was just me and baby. Still dark outside with just a whisper of pink sunrise coming through the blinds, and only her gurgles to break the silence. We’d be sitting on the floor of her room – she’d be exploring board books while I watched her, thinking, Yep, kiddo, we’ll figure this thing out together.

Special thanks to Nancy Birkenmeier of the St. Luke’s Sleep Clinic, the sleep angel!

Little Angel #1 has been at her new preschool for under 3 months, but yet I have already been hit by Tshirt sales, wrapping paper sales, two different book sales drives and a couple various pay-to-play activities. I am not complaining, I love the potential for involvement and general buzz around the school.

The most recent drive has been a put-a-piece-of-your-kid’s-artwork-on-something sale. Seriously, you can put it on anything. It goes way beyond a tote bag or mouse pad to include yard flags for $25 and ceramic soap dispensers for $44 (!?)

So, I am basically thinking no way. Overpriced scam!

…Until I open the packet and see what she’s drawn. It’s pretty good! And I ask her, “Tell me about your picture.”

Here’s what she said, “They said to draw something, and I thought mmmmm, I think I will draw my mommy and my baby because I love them.”

HEART MELT! I immediately begin calculating how much it would cost to get the ceramic trivet, tote bag, notebook and coasters.

Then I said, “Well, honey, this is so pretty! Is that me in the middle?”
“Yes, and that’s Ellie.”
“Well, that is so sweet. And who is this?”
“That’s just somebody.” Pauses… “I guess it’s daddy.”

So basically she was in on the scam the whole time. Daddy wouldn’t have bought the stuff anyway.

Let me start by saying this book was written over FIFTY YEARS ago and it couldn’t be more relevant to today’s mothers if it had been written fifty days ago.

It is a compilation of meditations by Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Before the book, I had only known her for being the mother of the kidnapped Lindbergh baby. Turns out, she had five children, was the first woman to earn a glider-pilot’s license and won an award from National Geographic and was a bestselling author.

But wait. This isn’t a ‘you can do it too!’ motivational book. Anne Lindbergh was also plagued by doubt, felt overwhelmed, and struggled to maintain a balance between her outside world and her inner peace.

Within 10 pages I was absolutely blown away by the truths she exposed, one that is especially relevant to moms in marketing:
“Woman’s normal occupations in general run counter to the creative life, or contemplative life, or saintly life…. [the problem] is more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life; how to remain balanced, no matter what centrifugal forces tend to pull one of center; how to remain strong, no matter what shocks come in at the periphery…”

Something to make you smile:
In the book she talks about her ‘Martha tendencies’ for having to keep the house clean. While of course she was referring to the Martha in the bible, I find it quite hilarious that modern women are comparing themselves to yet another Martha!

Summary of why you should read it:
•    It was initially recommended to me by a fellow MIM, and she knows good books.
•    It is a soothing, calming read.
•    It has short chapters, so you can sneak in reading 10 or 15 pages at a time.
•    It will make you feel good.

by Guest Blogger, Barb Adams

Guru of Steve Adams Studio and author of Notes from the W.G.

Last day of summer.  Everyone grab your kaleidoscope and shake.

You’re watching Mad Men, right?  The character I relate to the most is Sally, the Drapers’ ten year old daughter.  That was my perspective in the late fifties, early sixties.  Thankfully, my mom was a lot warmer than Betty.  As a ten-year-old, I really thought my options for a career were nurse, teacher or secretary.  My artistic bent lent itself to drawing on reams and reams of outdated stationery that my dad brought home from the office, but I wasn’t thinking “how can I make a living doing this?”

In the late sixties, everything went boingo.  Gloria Steinem, Betty Friedan, the pill, and Title IX meant that the world was busted wide open for me and women coming after.  Coming from a family that had attorneys going back three generations, I stepped in line and went to law school.

A career switch to managing a photo studio after having kids left me striking that balance between work and family, which is a never-ending walk on the tight rope.  And the funny part is, just when you think “OK – the kids are launched” they come boomeranging back into the picture, having lost the roommate in the apartment, or signing on for grad school.  And then your parents, the ones who were the rock during all those early years, are slowly but surely requiring a lot of time, attention and care.

So there you find yourself on the bridge, looking back at all the frantic early years of building a business, scheduling orthodontia appointments, figuring out the craft project for the Brownie troop, soliciting ads for the school Buzz Book, etc. and looking forward to more of the same, except there’s been a twist to the kaleidoscope of your life and it all looks just a little bit different.  Same colors but different shapes.

Enjoy every moment, ladies, because it all starts whizzing by at warp speed the farther down the road you get.

Here at MIM headquarters we’ve developed a term that we think can really catch fire: “The Third Shift.” Let’s see if this sounds familiar: Wake up, frazzled race to get out the door, work, come home. First shift over, put on mom jeans for second shift. Dinner, baths, homework, clean up dinner, playtime, break up fights, monitor television use, bedtime for kiddos. Then a nice glass of California Red Zin, a TiVoed episode of Oprah…
No. Get on up! It is time for the Third Shift. This is the time when you prepare for the next day. What happens in Third Shift? Bottle washing. Lunch packing. Sorting socks, you name it.
Of course, if you brought work home like most MIMs do, there is a healthy debate going on if it belongs under the header “third” or “fourth” shift. I think the idea of adding a fourth shift seems depressing, so I will include working at home as part of “preparing for the next day.”
There is some solace in designating this part of the day as a “shift.” Giving it its own daypart and grouping it all together somehow slightly elevates the grunt work. It is a way to mentally feel in balance… Work? Check! Family? Check! Home life? Check!
Not that you ever needed it, but we just found another reason to love Friday: No third shift.

Alternate title: Flying on a new airline

As part of the collective belt-tightening we’re all enjoying, the airline industry has found a new tighter notch — eliminating more flights and routes. Which means that those of us in a secondary market have less choice.

Want to go to California? Here’s when the plane leaves. Don’t like it? Well, go fly with those guys.

And this is precisely what happened. I had a true MIM Moment where I had to take a later flight so I wouldn’t miss my little girl’s first birthday party. In doing so, I ended up on a carrier with whom I have no status. This means:
No seat selection
No express line for security
No priority boarding
N0 room in the overhead bin!

I am reminded of the Seinfeld episode where Jerry argues to Elaine that he HAS to have the first class seat, because he’s flown first class before. And therefore would know what he was missing. As I type this from the middle seat in Row 19, I definitely know what I’m missing.

Now, let me balance all this prima donna talk with a link to one of the funniest clips I have seen in a long time. It is comedian Louis CK talking about people who take flying for granted.

Just a starter list.. Own it, ladies!

1. You would use a term like “back out a schedule” or “plan for execution” when planning a baby shower.
2. You read a magazine for fun and take note when a brand has introduced a new campaign. You then dissect the new campaign, figuring out the new strategy behind the shift.
3. You have purchased designer maternity jeans.
4. You have pumped-in-style in airport bathrooms or in a high-rise-office bathroom.
5. You attack discipline books with the same calculated methodology as an RFP.

This week the entire family got the flu. The summer flu, the high fever, achy, coughing, terrible flu. One by one we dropped like flies. First it got my husband, then me, next my 1 year old, and lastly my 3 year old. I, of course, was allowed to stay sick for the shortest amount of time. Who else would take care of this sickly brood?

The first day, was oddly wonderful. My husband lay on one couch, me on the other. We dozed in and out of sleep in front of the TV all day long. I couldn’t remember the last time the two of us were alone, all day long, doing absolutely nothing. We had short conversations, as we passed the box of tissues back and forth. Taking turns getting up to replenish the Gatorade and ibuprofen.

At 4pm we got the call, the “your kid is sick, come get them,” call. The four of us spent the evening curled up on the couch, watching movies together. The next day we took the boys to the doctor, together. Again, I couldn’t remember the last time a trip to the doctor wasn’t something that I crammed into my already busy schedule, in between meetings and conference calls.

All in all, those 2 days were the most amount of time that we had all spent together at our house, doing nothing in a very long time. I loved it. Being sick gave us the instant excuse to escape the normal routine, the obligations, the responsibilities, and just be. Almost like a snow day, there was no need or reason to go anywhere, or do anything, and just be. As the dishes piled high in the sink, and dirty laundry covered the floor, the four of us snuggled in on the couch together.

Friday morning I took my 3-year old to his first dentists appointment. After the dentist we walked down the street to get a bagel for him and a coffee for me. I looked around the patio at all of the other mom’s out with their kids, enjoying a relaxing breakfast. I was quietly daydreaming about a life without work, and leasurely days at home with my kids, when quickly, I snapped out of it.

“Mom, hurry up, I don’t want to be late for splash day!”

Ahh, splash day. The splash day that required swim trunks, flip flops, and a beach towel. The same swim trunks, flip flops and beach towel that I didn’t just forget at home, I didn’t even pack the night before. At this point I had a 10am conference call to get to, and no time to run home and get the goods. Glancing around the strip mall, I noticed an Old Navy at the other end. 

I tore the price tags off the new gear and put it into a reusable shopping bag I had in my car just as we pulled in to my son’s daycare. We went inside and his best friend asked him where he had been and why he was late. Without missing a beat my son announced to the entire class and teachers, “My mom forgot all of my stuff for splash day, so we had to go buy all new stuff.”

Outed by my own son. But then again, who was I trying to fool? A mim’s gotta do what a mim’s gotta do.