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What's up:

Still trying to get Olive to sleep better. Still not getting enough sleep myself. Still struggling with anxiety and self doubt. Nothing new in this department.

People giving advice. Well meaning people with well meaning advice. All of which directly contradicts the advice of another person. Or that expert book. I say, kaka. So Douglas and I decided last night, as I tearfully laid in bed exhausted yet unable to sleep, that he is going to be the logic around all sleep decisions these days. I'm not going to read anything more about it - he will do the reading, and he will be in charge of reality checks. I just have to keep my head down and keep trying to get Olive and I some sleep in the happiest way possible for everyone.

Revelations about childcare. I'm not into daycare for babies. I am not into daycare period. But I have to work half-time if we're going to eat, so Olive needs some care. Luckily that care will be in the form of my best friend and her little daughter Etta Mae, so Olive will spend her time with someone who loves her and with a companion. I will take Etta on my days off, Jana will take Olive on her days off. We need extra high chairs, car seats, a double stroller, yada yada. Oh yeah, and, it's going to be REALLY HARD. I watched Etta on Friday and got a bit more of a reality check than I had in the past because, guess what? Etta runs. Runs away. Runs around. Sticks her fingers in things. Our house? Not baby proof. Yikes. So, anxiety has now set in about caring for two very loving, very sweet, very precocious babes who DON'T SLEEP easily on very little sleep myself. Oh, sweet baby Jesus, sweet mama earth, please, please help me through this.

On the up side I'm busily knitting away on my cashmere sweater. I bought some adorable fabric to make the misses summer jammies. And Etta's birthday crown is under way.

High ho.

And her first word is mama!

There is some debate around our house about whether it is indeed a legitimate first word (does she know what she's saying or is it just an easy sound?), but I attest that when a baby says 'mamamamama' when she has just woken from a nap or wants a boob or wants to be picked up, she knows what she's saying. Or she knows that this sound is an effective tool for getting what she wants, all of which revolve around me.

I deserve the first word!

My poor babe is sick. Yesterday evening involved some spraying of saline, some resistance to spraying, some hating of the humidifier, some biting of mummy's precious nips (6 times now, I'm keeping track. There's nothing like a nip on the nips to make a mummy rethink her idea of nursing until her babe self-weans. Oi. I don't put my foot down about much yet with this monkey, but biting and stealing glasses are off limits). Anyways, I was so sleep deprived and upset about the biting that I passed out on the couch (after a rant at my sweet husband - because you can't rant at the sick baby) and left Doug and Olive to play until 11 o'clock at night. At which point I returned to duty and would you believe that she slept for 3 STRAIGHT HOURS? Sweet Jesus, why can't she do that all of the time?

Anyways, small blessings and all that.

Oh, and I got out a great book on embroidery to guide me in my refurbishing of all of my ancient, stained clothes - because why buy new when Olive will just grind her smut covered jowels all over it, causing me to cry? So, embroidery and applique, here I come.