Of teleportation and clothed cats

Irresistibly precious, this face.

My husband described to me the other day how someone had labeled the act of picking up a sleeping child and depositing them in bed as being 'teleported'. The person describing this was fondly reminiscing about falling asleep in one place and waking in another.

This teleporting has become a sweet routine for Alexander and I, for you see, the days of co-sleeping are done. I discovered that Alex sleeps more deeply without the disruption of larger bodies tossing and turning around him. It would wake him and set him to rooting for some comfort nursing.

A few weeks ago, we had a very busy Saturday, where we gave Alex very little chance to rest and nap. But come bedtime, he was keyed up and as bright-eyed and bushy tailed as could be. Both exhausted and unprepared to entertain him, my husband brought him into his own room to play out his energy in his crib.

To his surprise, Alex turned onto his side as soon as Dan put him in bed, blinked his eyes a few times, and promptly fell asleep. I had already passed out myself having had little sleep the night before. Dan came to bed. Next thing we know, it's six AM and Alex had slept the night through in his own bed.

I've remained determined since to continue the trend, and have put him in bed at 8 PM every night since. He wakes only once, always around 11:30ish, where his cries are more substantial than the brief winging of sleep cycle transition. I get him, carry him to bed, let him nurse himself back to sleep, and then put him back on his crib to sleep 'til morning.

This ritual is deeply wonderful. When I go to fetch him, he is clingy and drowsy, crying with impatience as I nestle in beside him to nurse. He nuzzles in and drinks deeply and soundly, his draws growing softer and fainter as he submits to sleep again. Then he rolls over onto his side, his back nested against me, and falls into a deep slumber.

I then slip out of bed and gently gather him up into my arms. There is truly nothing more precious than the warm, dangly limbed, neck nuzzlingness of a sleeping baby. I slide him into his bed, and he rolls onto his side or into the fetal position on his belly, and sleeps on.

I won't lie... I still wake up in blind panic because he isn't there. I still go in at 2:00 am to check on him. I still ask my husband as he is leaving at 4:30 am to look in on him too. But for the first time since early pregnancy... I am getting eight hour nights now and then. Interrupted, yes... But not like before.

Hood Strawberries made into baby food. Fresh and seasonal.

 Summer is here. I am trying to take time to make up some crafty goods to fill a table for a fair held locally. The bookshop closing has brought back what remains of my consigned artwork, so I figured those framed prints, my unframed ones, some bookplates, jewelry if I have time, and dolls from my spoonflower fabric, and I can make a few bucks. Let's see what I can finish before August.

  

These cats are in progress. They will be clothed.

These sheep are for my sister. They will be sent to Pensacola for pelts.

Life goes on, as they say. I had a stellar weekend at Hood River with my ORS chums, sailing the tall ships and flouncing about in costume. Alex accompanied me as usual, and was spoiled by everyone. He has many adoring aunties.

I too was spoiled on my first Mother's Day, so I am resolved to do something special for Dan too. Baby J has begun calling his father 'Da'. We thought at first it was coincidence since he has been articulating in Babyese lately... But whenever Dan is out of sight, Alex twists around to find him and cries out 'Dadadadaaah!'. My husband is moved to tears every time. So it is for those who try and try for a child... When we get one, we are amazed and humbled by every thing they do.

Dan's granny, whose dementia is worsening daily, and who cannot keep track of who is alive or who isn't, who can't recognise everyone, still knows to ask how the baby is, even if she forgets that the person she is asking is her grandson. My own mother is still transformed as well.

We have taken to writing a journal for Alex to read later on. So we can properly show him how loved and wanted he is.

Other than that, things are generally the same. I have lost a good friend because I have realized that in our difference of age, we speak different languages.  I don't stop loving people though, when things break down. So it is what it is. Life is about falling, getting back up, dusting off one's knees and marching on. I do not regret or hold bitterness about what was largely, a wonderful thing. No sense holding onto the crappy stuff. That drives people to drink... Or worse... To religion. LOL.

The digitalis/foxgloves have overtaken this year.
The absence of trees and late rains most likely are the cause.
there are hundreds. So beautiful.