Dear Jude,
You’re still not sleeping through the night. Someone needs to coin a term for new parents who are sleep deprived and completely forgetful…something that justifies the condition along the lines of, “Sorry I’m so absent-minded, I recently had a lobotomy!”
Yesterday, at my Rowayton new mom’s group located at a trendy coffee bar in SONO (I managed to dress myself and Jude in time although I did accidentally put two different socks on him. None of the other moms batted an eye), I voiced discontent over the whole sleeping at night debacle.
“It would be one thing if he just got up once or twice, but his sleep patterns are so inconsistent,” I whined, as I downed two expressos to the pulsating music.
The seasoned mom of two, my savior Suzy from Canada, nodded her head thoughtfully before asking, “What’s his nap schedule?”
“Schedule?”
“That’s the problem.”
For the next hour, I listened dutifully as though she were Moses dictating the Ten Commandments on how to get your baby to sleep through the night. On the back of my coffee card, I scrawled down the acronym “EASY”, which stands for “eat, activity, sleep, you.”
Personally, I like the “you” and I underlined it a few times for extra emphasis.
“Babies need routine and structure. Without it, they never know when to sleep, eat or wake up. It’s also important to put him down awake so he learns how to soothe himself to sleep.”
Clearly, she doesn’t realize I have an exceptionally irascible child, I thought to myself.
Later that morning, around noon, I put Jude down for his first of three “scheduled naps.” The smile quickly faded as his face turned red upon realizing Mommy was not going to play anymore. I stood at the corner of his bedroom just under the red lettering “JUDE”, physically restraining myself from picking him up. After ten minutes I reminding myself that babies can’t die from exercising their lungs as he shrieked in utter defiance: thrusting his fists upwards as though protesting the outrageous gas prices and arching his back. Then, his eyes rolled back, fists fell as he nodded off to sleep.
For the rest of the day I religiously followed my newfound routine, even going so far as to clean off the dry-erase board filled with doodles and phone numbers to make way for Jude’s schedule and EASY.
Personally, I feel an enormous sense of relief establishing a schedule because it allows me to carve up the day in a predictable manner rather than just crossing my fingers, hoping he won’t be irritable or hungry if we go out.
On the downside, since his bedtime is now at 6:30, it means that many days Matt won’t be able to tuck Jude into bed, nor will he be around to take over bath time so I can have a break. It also means saying “no” to spontaneous weekend get-away’s since its important to stay consistent with the routine.
With Jude strapped to me like a mini-spiderman in the Baby Bjorn at the grocery store, I’ve slowly been inducted into the society of womanhood/motherhood. Mothers of all ages approach me, asking Jude’s age and always complimenting his radiant blue eyes. Next, I, a complete stranger, am suddenly privy to their most personal birth experiences/sleep issues/post-partum depression episodes as they always divulge a few stories.
I hear more about other women’s vaginas than those depicted in Georgia O'Keefe's "flower" paintings as no details are spared about episiotomies, tearing and other issues resulting from childbirth.
In the produce aisle, as I debated over whether to buy an eggplant or carrots for dinner, an elderly woman with purplish lipstick confessed, “I was never able to fully regain control of my urethra after the birth of my daughter.” OK, carrots it is.
A year or so ago I would have been alarmed and somewhat horrified, but I suppose after your body has served as a vessel to produce and give way to a life, such personal matters are no longer embarrassing or very private.

Oh, and on a lighter note, the top five best and most “challenging” (hellish) things about being a stay-at-home-mom of an infant:

1. Hanging out with Jude when he’s smiling, laughing and cooing. (+ +)
Hanging out with Jude when he’s irritated, hungry and just downright cranky. (-)
2. There’s no such thing as a Monday slump. (+)
At the same time, there’s no Friday and Saturday night booze-fests, nor is there an opportunity to catch-up on lost sleep on Sunday….Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday..etc. (- - -)
3. Never having to worry about what I wear or having to squeeze into uncomfortable high-heels, meeting deadlines, having a boss to brownose. (+ +)
Worrying that I’ll never get my body back in time for bathing suit season. (-)
4. On beautiful days, being able to get outside whenever I want to enjoy the weather. (+ +)
On crappy days, being stuck inside all day with a crying baby and cursing myself for living on the east coast. (- - -)
5. Showing Jude off and essentially getting free clothes/knit blankets/vacations from family far away who desperately want to see him and friends who don't have kids of their own with money to burn. (+ + +)
Trying to coordinate schedules, having to break plans, making new plans and attempting to balance friends/family who want to see him even though he’s cranky or we’re tired. (-)